by Gina LaManna
Dougie was already busy scribbling a note. When he finished, he folded it over so many times it shrank to the size of a dime.
“Oregano,” Meg said. “Nice.”
Both Dougie and I gave Meg a look.
“What about oregano?” I asked.
“The art of foldin’ paper into small shapes,” she said. “Of course I know what oregano is. You think I’m dumb?”
I extended my hand to Dougie. “I’ll take your oregano now,” I said, daring him to correct Meg. No crotchety old geezer would make my friend feel bad today. I’d offended one person I cared about already, and I wasn’t about to make it two.
Dougie handed it over with nothing more than a loud sniff.
I smiled politely. “Nice doing business with you. Now, where are we headed?”
Chapter 5
HORATIO’S GRANDMOTHER lived in a house that had probably belonged to a witch at some point. Exactly eight minutes from the gas station, right as Dougie had predicted, we pulled up to a smallish cottage flanked by an overgrown garden of weeds.
The roof of the cottage sloped in nonsensical curves, forming pointy peaks and curly spires. The windows were covered with ornate metal grates and an apple tree bloomed next to the front door. The fruit tree bore only the shiniest of Granny Smith apples, and the stone path through the front gate was rife with cracks and loose stones.
Walking into the place felt like entering a voodoo castle. Meg and I looked at one another.
“Should we leave?” I asked.
Meg shrugged. “I’m kind of curious.”
“Me too,” I said. “But I don’t want to be pushed into a fire.”
“That was a candy house. Plus, you don’t look like Gretel,” Meg said. “I think we’ll be okay. I’m armed.”
Meg opened the leather vest, showing me quite an array of knifes, a gun or two, and what might have been a grenade. I took three steps backwards and nearly toppled into the rickety gate that boxed in the spooky home. “That is so not legal.”
“We’ve discussed that legal doesn’t mean much to you,” Meg said. “Anyway, I’m your bodyguard. So it actually is legal.”
“You’re not really a bodyguard,” I said. “I think you need a certificate for that.”
“I got one,” Meg said. “Online. University of...actually I can’t remember. Maybe I just made my own in Microsoft Word and printed it out. Either way, it’s hanging on the wall behind the bar.”
I made a mental note to look for said sign but, in the meantime, focused on making sure neither of us went up in premature fireworks. “Do you have a grenade in there?”
“None of your beeswax,” Meg said, shifting uncomfortably. “Just don’t shake me up too much if you wanna be safe.”
My face must have shown a bit of alarm because Meg laughed.
“I’m just kidding,” she said with a huge guffaw. “You can shake me up all you want; we rode a motorcycle here. If the grenade was gonna go off, it already would have.”
“Let’s just get this over with,” I said shakily, moving towards the front door. Suddenly a witch’s house didn’t bother me so much compared to my armed best friend.
Meg followed close behind. When I hesitated at the front door, she reached over my shoulder and knocked loudly. “What?” she said with a look. “You weren’t gonna do it.”
“I was building up my confidence,” I said. “No offense, but you kind of broke it down with your talk of explosives.”
Meg preened proudly at the comment.
I was going to suggest she remove her incendiary devices, but the door swung open before I could request anything. Instead, I had to go with the next best option. I reached for Meg’s vest and clamped it shut; making sure no shiny metal was visible beyond her studded leather vest.
“Yes?” an elderly voice croaked.
I had to look down towards my knees to find the speaker. The woman stood straight up and came to just above my belly button, her eyes holding mine with a pastel blue gaze that was a bit unnerving.
“Are you Anastasia?” I asked.
“You came to my house, don’t you know?” she asked. I detected a slight accent, but I couldn’t tell where it was from.
Meg snickered. “Feisty. I like her.”
“And who are you?” the woman asked, sizing Meg up and down.
“I’m Lacey,” I said, sticking a hand out towards her. “And this is my sidekick, Meg.”
“A psychic?” the woman asked, her gaze suddenly interested. “You are a seer, too?”
“A psychic?” I asked, confused. “Oh, no. Sidekick.”
“No, actually I am Lacey’s psychic,” Meg said, a sly grin spreading from one cheek to another. “Absolutely.”
“Pleased to meet you, my fellow gifted one,” Anastasia said, bowing low. Her nose nearly touched her toes, and I wished my body had that kind of flex. I’d even try yoga if I could make my body bend like hers.
“And I you, my darling,” Meg said, suddenly developing a British accent, or at least a cross between Scottish, British, and Australian accents. She didn’t sound anything like Harold, who was the most perfectly speaking Brit I knew.
“How can I be of assistance to you?” she asked, speaking directly to Meg.
“My betrothed has a question for you,” Meg said.
I looked at her with real confusion. “Betrothed?”
“Yeah, it means ‘friend’ to the layperson,” Meg whispered, dropping her fake accent to explain. “They use it over in England.”
“Betrothed means we’re engaged,” I said. “Not friends.”
“Oh, no wonder she looked so confused,” Meg said, gesturing towards Anastasia. “Don’t worry, Lacey likes men. So do I. Mostly.”
Anastasia looked back and forth between us, suddenly a bit less friendly. “What do you want?”
“Your grandson gave us your information,” I said. “Henry.”
“I don’t have a grandson named Henry,” she said, suspiciously. “I have two boys, but Henry’s not one of them.”
“Are you sure?” Meg asked. “A woman of your age, sometimes memory...”
“A woman of your young age would surely remember her grandchildren’s names,” I interrupted. With a sigh, I tried again. “Horatio sent us?”
Anastasia huffed out a puff of air that hit my kneecaps, and I had the distinct impression she wasn’t happy with my referring to her grandson as Horatio.
“That’s not his name,” she said. “It’s Garik.”
“Well, whatever the name, it sounds like we’re talking about the same person. Red track pants and glasses?” Without realizing I was doing it, my hands gestured around my waist as if I were holding a basketball to my stomach.
Another loud, guttural sigh escaped Anastasia. “That’s him. Is he in trouble?”
“Not at all,” I said. “He’s a friend. He thought you might be able to help us.”
“Well, I suppose that’s good news,” she said, turning and gesturing for us to follow her inside. “I already have one troublemaker. I’m not anxious to make it two.”
Meg and I wiped our feet on a mat I assumed said Welcome – the symbols weren’t in a language I recognized. The instant we stepped across the rug, two black cats appeared and slithered between our legs.
“Ying and Yang,” Anastasia said by way of explanation.
“But they’re both black,” Meg stated the obvious.
I gave her a light elbow to the ribs, but instead of hitting bone my skin cracked against something distinctly metal. Meg gave me a knowing look as I pulled my arm away, intent on not setting off any grenades with an accidental touch.
“You can sit here,” Anastasia said, leading us into a circular living area. There were plump pillows on the floor that resembled over-sized pin cushions, to which she directed our attention.
Meg and I awkwardly set ourselves on the makeshift seats. I nearly burst into giggles when I caught Anastasia glaring at Meg’s entirely squashed cushion. Mine maintaine
d only the smallest bit of puff, which didn’t exactly make me feel great, but at least it wasn’t yet a pancake.
“Tell me what you need help with,” Anastasia said, alighting on one of the seats and barely making an indentation.
“If you’re so psychic,” Meg said with heavy skepticism, “then shouldn’t you already know?”
Anastasia continued to stare directly at me, ignoring Meg as if her point was insulting.
I was a bit curious myself, but I preferred to stay on good terms with the woman whose home in which we were currently visiting.
“This is going to sound a little funny,” I said with hesitation.
“Funnier than two girls showing up at my doorstep, one of them armed as if she’s attempting to invade Russia?” Anastasia asked with a bite to her words. “I use my gift when it’s important, such as when someone marches into my house laden with a grenade.”
“It’s not a real grenade,” Meg said.
“Yes it is,” Anastasia said firmly.
“She’s right,” Meg whispered to me. “It’s real. I think she really is psychic.”
“Or she just heard us arguing outside her front door,” I suggested. Apparently that was the wrong thing to say because it got two pairs of eyes staring at me in a disapproving fashion. I wasn’t sure who to be more frightened of – the one with the grenade or the supposed psychic.
“Sorry, not a very funny joke,” I said, halfheartedly trying for a transition. “But do you know what is more funny? I’m looking for a special sauce. Do you happen to know a Dave that resides in or around Stillwater and makes some sort of special barbecue sauce?”
Anastasia fluffed her puffy chair, her eyes not meeting mine. “Who wants to know?”
“Me,” I said. “I heard, uh, great recommendations and wanted to try it.”
“Lies,” Anastasia said. Meg started to look freaked out, but I was pretty sure that I was just a terrible liar, and Anastasia didn’t have a gift.
“I’m getting the sauce for my grandfather,” I said. “Horatio is friends with my cousin, and your grandson overheard me asking about Dave’s place in Stillwater. I needed directions, so he drew me this map and gave me your number in case we had questions.”
I handed the map over to Anastasia, who barely glanced at it. Her eyes quickly scanned the X where Dave’s stand should be, then slid her gaze down to the phone number before glancing back up in my direction.
“There’s nothing there except for an old shack,” she said. “There are stories of that shack, but none of them involve Dave and his special sauce.”
“Ooh, what are the stories?” Meg asked, her eyes round as silver dollars. “I love conspiracy theories.”
“Not conspiracy,” Anastasia said solemnly. “Horror stories of a runaway boy who used to live there. A runaway. They say his parents—”
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” I said. “But I was just wondering if this has anything to do with Dave? It’s just that we have an appointment in an hour in the Cities that we have to be back for.”
“I don’t have to be back for three hours,” Meg said, looking down at her watch. “What are you talking about...Oohh.”
She caught on much too late that I was trying to keep the conversation focused on Dave. As much as I loved hearing stories, we needed to use our time wisely. Chasing down a winding road full of twisted psychic ghost stories, no matter however enthralling they might be, wasn’t the best use of our time. I refrained from shaking my head.
Trying to recover, I quickly added, “I know you don’t have to be back. But I do. I have to meet with Anthony.”
“Tell me, child, what it is you do for a living,” Anastasia said with an abrupt change of subject. Ying and Yang played a game of follow the leader into the room, parading their way around the little old woman and giving her the witchiest vibe I’d ever encountered.
“I, uh, work for the family business,” I said.
“And you need a psychic for that?” Anastasia asked, purring to one of her kitties.
I was confused until Meg jumped in. “She helps solve mysteries. I’m her psychic to help with that.”
“Is she any good at solving them?” Anastasia asked Meg.
“With me at her side, how can she go wrong?” Meg chuckled loudly, but Anastasia didn’t laugh. Meg cleared her throat. “Yeah, she’s good. Well, she wasn’t before, but she’s getting a little better.”
“I have a proposal for you two,” Anastasia said. With one cat draped around her neck as if in another life it’d been a scarf, her blue eyes chilled me with their gaze.
“A proposal?” I raised an eyebrow, but Meg gave a bewildered shrug. Some psychic Meg was...
“I’ve lived here for sixty-eight years. I moved straight here when I came to this country, and I haven’t left for a day in my life. Except that one trip to Mexico.” A blush bloomed on Anastasia’s cheeks as she hurriedly continued. “My point is that I know the comings and goings of Stillwater like nobody before me. I know the name of every citizen in the phone book.”
“Dang,” Meg said. “I wish I was as good of a psychic as you.”
Anastasia bowed her head. “It takes years of practice.”
“Your proposal?” I asked.
“Knowing everyone who belongs here,” the witchy woman continued, “comes with the ability to quickly pick out those who don’t belong...”
Her gaze raked over Meg and me with a calmness that didn’t feel welcoming.
“We’re just passing through,” I said. “Not trying to interrupt anything.”
“I’m not talking about you,” she said. “You’re simply unwelcome short-term visitors. I’m talking about the house down on Sixty-sixth Street.”
I shook off the double pronged comment about my presence. “And what’s happening in that house?”
“That’s the thing,” she said. “Something that shouldn’t be happening. Cars come and go under darkness of night. There’s never a rustle in the day or a car out front. But someone’s in that house and I don’t like it.”
“What if they’re just new to town and want some time to get adjusted before meeting all the townfolk?” I asked. “I mean, I sympathize. It’s hard being a newcomer here.”
“It’s not that,” Anastasia said, already shaking her head. “There’s something going on there, and I want to know what it is.”
“That’s great,” I said. “But I’m sure it’s nothing, first of all. Second, I already have a full plate of mysteries I’m working on. And since it doesn’t seem like you know anything about Dave, we’ll be out of your hair.”
I stood up and gestured for Meg to follow, but she was too busy petting one of the cats to notice.
“Meg,” I hissed.
“Your cat doesn’t let me pet him,” Meg said. “So I’m taking advantage. There, kitty, kitty.”
“I can get you your sauce,” Anastasia said with gleaming eyes. “Just how your grandfather likes it.”
“I thought you didn’t know anything about this sauce,” I said, my eyelids narrowing to slits. “I’m not sure I can trust you.”
“Wait here,” she said. “And try a sample of it. Then you can decide.”
At the mention of food, Meg jumped up from her perch on the floor, forcing the cat to leap away with a bit of a hiss. “Sorry, Charlie,” Meg said. “I’m getting in line for sauce.”
Anastasia disappeared and reappeared a moment later with two little bowls of sauce and two small spoons. “Tell me if this will be sufficient. I believe your grandfather will be pleased.”
I glanced at Meg, who shoveled the sauce down in one second and eyed mine with lust.
I moved my bowl away protectively.
“It’s not poisoned,” Meg said. “I’m a psychic now. I’d know if it was poisoned.”
Taking a hesitant taste, my eyes brightened immediately as the sauce hit my mouth. “This is amazing.”
A little bit spicy, extremely creamy and with enough flavor to beat the band, I n
early floated away as I savored the masterpiece. My taste buds screamed with delight, and in that moment, I was sure Carlos wouldn’t care whether the sauce came from Dave or Anastasia.
“I’m sure your grandfather wouldn’t mind if it were my name on the bottle?” Anastasia asked.
“This is delicious,” Meg said. “I bet it’s even better than Dave’s. Maybe Dave is a ghost.”
“I can tell you, there is no one here by the name of Dave that makes sauce. There’s the pastor, of course, but it’s not him. He goes by David. There’s been nobody here by that name for over twenty-something years.” Anastasia jabbed her finger at the X on the map.
“So the deal is that you’ll make this sauce for us if we find out who lives in the house on Sixty-sixth Street?” I asked. “How are we supposed to do that?”
“You had no problem walking right up to my door,” Anastasia said. “That would be a great place to start.”
“Huh, she’s got a point,” Meg grunted. “Let’s do it.”
“You just want the sauce,” I said to my friend.
“Yeah, but don’t you?” she shot back.
Yes, I do. But a part of me wondered what Carlos would say. If this really, truly was some sort of hazing or initiation, I wanted to pass it with flying colors. Maybe it wasn’t important, but I didn’t want to be the only member of the Family that couldn’t find Dave’s Special Grilling Sauce.
“Someone is leading you astray,” Anastasia said, her hand still on the map. “Take the deal.”
I shrugged at Meg. “We already sank so much time into this trip, I suppose it can’t hurt.”
“You’ve got more important stuff to worry about, anyway,” Meg said, walking over to me and speaking in low tones. “I thought you wanted to focus on the other thing. If you go say hi to the new guy on Sixty-sixth and then take the sauce, you can throw all of your energy into the other issue.”
“You’re right,” I said, thinking how little sauce mattered in the scheme of things. Find sauce or disable bombs that could kill hundreds of people? It was an easy choice as to where I needed to spend my time.
“Carlos will forgive you if you can’t find the grilling sauce,” Meg said. “Especially if you show up with something as good as Anastasia’s mix as a replacement. Heck, maybe he’ll love you even more for broadening his horizons!”