“I should’ve realized that you didn’t know him,” Booker lamented, scratching at his five o’clock shadow. “If you didn’t know May, how could you possibly know about Wesley?”
That was a very good question. I locked gazes with Wesley, trying to find a bit of him in me. Other than the shape of his nose, there was nothing. “I’m not going to pretend to understand any of this,” I said, keeping my voice low and even. “I didn’t know May Potter existed until her will showed up three months ago. I guess I never gave a grandfather much thought because … well … I figured anyone alive who loved my mother would’ve tried to get in touch with me.”
“Do you honestly think I didn’t try to see you?” Wesley challenged.
My stomach flipped at the implication. “Are you saying my father kept you away?”
“I’m saying May kept me away,” Wesley replied. “We split up before Emma was out of high school. After that I was cut out of every decision. I didn’t get a say in where Emma went to college. I didn’t get a say in who she married. I was just some guy who provided sperm at the right time.”
That was an unsettling image. “But you could’ve approached me on your own.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not that simple, dolly.” Wesley forced a smile for my benefit. “You look a little pale. Do you need some water?”
“Sure. Thank you.”
Wesley shuffled over to a small refrigerator in the corner of the barn and grabbed several bottles, handing one to Booker before donating one to my pitiful emotional breakdown. He ignored Lilac and kept the third for himself.
I mechanically cracked open the bottle and drank, not stopping until it was completely empty. I hoped the water would serve to fill the hole inside of me, but all it left me feeling was cold.
“Are you okay?” Booker asked after a beat.
“Yeah, I’m just groovy.”
“Do you want to go home?”
Where was home? I didn’t feel as if I belonged anywhere right now. “I want to finish this,” I replied, squaring my shoulders. “Did Mark Santiago take anything from the chest?”
“Not that I saw,” Wesley said. “He wasn’t in there very long. I’m not sure what he was looking for, but at the time I thought maybe he was searching for old jewelry. I even considered that May hired him to infiltrate my house to steal back an old pair of earrings or something, but I didn’t have anything like that.”
“So what’s in the chest?”
“There’s a quilt my mother made May when we first got married,” Wesley replied. “It has all of these interlocking patterns on it. My mother said it was supposed to signify a life spent together. May packed it with my stuff when we split.”
“That’s all?”
“There are copies of divorce documents and a few things regarding Emma’s custody. Those wouldn’t come into play now, and it’s not as if there was bank information on anything. The divorce documents specified that May got the lighthouse and I got this parcel of land. That was before the farm was here – which I started right after the divorce – but it was basically a property split and we only had two pieces of property.”
“You didn’t want the lighthouse?” I was naturally curious.
“The lighthouse belongs to May’s family,” Wesley explained. “I never had a claim to it and no matter how rough things got between us, I never would’ve made a play for what belonged to her. My grandfather left this land to me.
“For years before the divorce it was used for herd grazing,” he continued. “There was another farmer back then, Robert Baxter, and I leased the land to him for grazing. Once the divorce was finalized, I was looking for something to do and realized that farming might be my future. It turns out it was.”
“What happened to the other farmer?”
“He stayed in business until the end,” Wesley replied. “When he died I bought out his land and doubled my parcel. Farming turned out to be something that was in my blood. Perhaps it’s in yours, too.”
I doubted that very much. Still, he seemed as if he was trying to be kind and attentive. I couldn’t ask for much more than that given the circumstances. “I had an ant farm as a kid.”
“Yeah, how did that go?”
“The glass broke and they got out and infested the kitchen. I could never have another pet after that.”
Wesley tilted his head to the side, something I did on occasion when trying to figure out how to respond to something ridiculous. “Ants aren’t pets,” he said finally.
“No. Definitely not.” I handed him the empty bottle. “Thank you for your time and the information. I’m sorry we dropped in without calling.”
Wesley’s expression was hard to read. “You don’t have to leave if … .”
I held up a hand to still him. “I need to do some thinking. It seems that’s all I’m doing these days, but I really need a little air and space. I’m not sure what to make of all this.”
“Fair enough.” Wesley bobbed his head. “If you want to talk in a few days – or even a few weeks – I’ll be out here. I’m sure you’ll have questions.”
“The problem is, I’m not sure you can come up with satisfactory answers.”
“Maybe not, but every story has multiple sides.”
“I guess.” I shook my head to snap myself out of an imminent case of melancholy. “I need to think a bit. I hope that’s okay.”
“It’s fine. Come out when you need to talk.”
“What if I never need to talk?”
Wesley took me by surprise when he chuckled. “Dolly, you might not be all me, but you still have a dose of my genes. You’ll need to talk.”
Oddly enough, I was pretty sure he was right. For today, though, I was talked out. “Thank you for your time. If we have more questions, we’ll give you a call.”
“DO YOU WANT to talk with us about it?”
We were back in the minibus before anyone spoke. I would’ve been happy to make the entire trip in silence, but Lilac had other ideas.
“I don’t know what there is to talk about.” I focused outside of the passenger window as Booker drove down the winding driveway. “It’s just more of the same.”
“How can you say that? You have a grandfather you’ve never met. That must be exciting.”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” I was anything but excited. “To me it’s just another person who knew who I was, knew I existed, yet did nothing to get to know me.”
Lilac remained optimistic despite my dour mood. “I’m sure he had good reason.”
“Shut up, Lilac,” Booker ordered, making a clucking sound with his tongue as he pulled onto the highway that led back to the city. “Can’t you see that she needs time to decompress?”
“No.”
“Then maybe you need glasses,” Booker charged. “Give her some space.”
“Yes, sir.” I could hear the pout in Lilac’s voice but didn’t shift to see if her expression matched the tone.
“As for Wesley, he’s a difficult and obnoxious man at times – but I’m sure you’ve figured that out yourself,” Booker said. “That doesn’t mean he’s not a good man. If he volunteered to answer questions for you, spend time with you, that means he really wants it to happen, no matter how gruff he appeared.”
“That’s true,” Lilac said. “He’s not a very good conversationalist, but you’re not either at times, Hadley, so you probably get that from him.”
“I’m totally going to thump you,” Booker growled.
Lilac continued talking, unbothered. “What you need is a nice dinner and some friendly conversation. I’ll help you cook, and then we can talk about our next plan of action.”
That sounded like a completely terrible idea, especially because I wanted to be alone. “Maybe … .”
“I have to finish your upstairs window, too,” Booker added. “Galen said he would stop by. You promised him dinner.”
It was as if he knew I was going to beg off and kick everyone out.
“Fine.�
�� I blew out a sigh. “We’ll have dinner and chat and pretend that I didn’t find out about zombies, witches and neglectful grandparents. It sounds like a fabulous evening. What could go wrong?”
“THE KEY TO great steak is to marinate it in red wine for a bit before putting it on the grill.” Lilac was in full chef mode as I sat at the picnic table an hour later and watched her rub four huge hunks of meat with a mixture of salts before shoving them in a bowl surrounded by ice and using plastic wrap to cover it. “Now we’ll let them sit for a bit and they’ll be delicious when we grill them.”
“I’m glad to know the key to a great steak,” I said, reaching for the remainder of the wine Lilac didn’t use for her marinating project. I considered pouring it into a glass, but that seemed a waste of manual labor when it came to dishes later. “I always thought the best way to get a good steak was to go to Outback Steakhouse.”
“You’re cute.” Lilac patted my head as if I were a small child who needed comfort. “But I’m starting to think that you’re losing your mind. I have tranquilizers if you want them. I think you need a good night’s sleep tonight no matter what. They’re very mild and go great with wine, so … .”
“Don’t even think about it,” Booker ordered, strolling toward the table with two bottles of water in his hand. He set one in front of me, eyed the wine bottle as I drank straight from it for a moment, and then shook his head. “Are you in the mood to get drunk?”
“I’m in the mood to get numb,” I corrected. “If I wanted to get drunk I’d be drinking straight from a rum bottle.”
“She has a point,” Lilac said.
“Nobody asked you.” Booker was clearly at the end of his rope and Lilac’s chirpy voice wasn’t doing much to stop him from metaphorically hanging himself. “Listen, Hadley, you suffered a hard blow today … .”
“Are you talking about almost dying in the middle of the night, finding out I killed a man, discovering a grandfather I didn’t know existed – and who clearly doesn’t care that I exist – or realizing I’ve been cooking steaks wrong my entire adult life?”
Booker blinked several times, his face unreadable. “You’re in a really bad place, aren’t you?”
“Nope. I have wine.” I took another swig, pursing my lips as Lilac and Booker exchanged an obvious look.
“Okay, forget what I said a few seconds ago about suffering a hard blow,” Booker suggested. “I have no idea where I was going with that and it obviously wasn’t going to help.”
“Why do you think I have the wine?”
“So you can forget,” Booker replied. “Is that really what you want?”
“For right now or ever?”
“Either.”
“For right now the answer would be yes. Forever? I’m still debating.”
“Oh, geez.” Booker pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am not good at this. I’m so not the guy you want around for an emotional meltdown. I can’t believe Galen talked me into staying.”
“You don’t have to stay.” I took another gulp of wine and smiled as my mind began doing that floaty thing I was so fond of. I wasn’t drunk … or even tipsy … but at this rate it wouldn’t take me long, and absolutely nothing sounded better than hiding in a bottle for the next few hours. “I know you don’t want to. Leave your bill for the work you did on the counter and I’ll pay you tomorrow … just as soon as I remember where I put my checkbook.”
“You’re not paying me for anything,” Booker argued. “I did the work because that’s what neighbors do.”
“Not in Detroit.”
“Yeah? Well, that sounds like a terrible place to live.” Booker’s patience wouldn’t last much longer. I could feel it. “Galen is paying for the supplies because he kicked in your door, and the labor is free.”
“That’s so sweet.” I reached up and poked his cheek, surprised by my boldness. He didn’t look like a guy who enjoyed being touched in a teasing way, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself. “You’re very sweet.”
“Are you already drunk?” Booker jerked the bottle from my hand, perplexed. “How much of this did she drink, Lilac?” His tone was accusatory. “You were supposed to be watching her.”
“I was watching her,” Lilac protested. “I was also giving a cooking lesson. She couldn’t have imbibed all that much, because I used more than half of the bottle to marinate the steaks.”
“Oh.” Booker furrowed his brow. “If you’re not drunk, what are you?”
I held my hands palms up and shrugged. “High on life?”
“You’re high on something,” Galen announced, appearing at the picnic table and shaking his head. “You guys have a lot of explaining to do. I heard where you went this afternoon, and I’m not happy.”
His face was so stern I couldn’t help but smile as I snagged the bottle of wine back from Booker and patted the open spot next to me. “Do you want to get high on life with me?” I waved the bottle, teasing.
Galen’s eyes darkened, something harsh passing through him. He recovered quickly and grabbed the bottle, taking a long drink before handing it back. “Why not? It’s always more fun to yell when you’re drunk.”
“That’s my philosophy.”
“Just great!” Booker’s eyes bounced between faces. “Apparently we’ve reached the crazy portion of tonight’s festivities.”
I beamed at him. “It’s going to be so awesome.”
Eighteen
“Tell me about your day.”
I found my fingers moving toward Galen’s hair before I could stop myself. What the holy heck is up with that?
Galen arched an eyebrow as he watched my hand, but he didn’t move to slap it away. He looked tired, as if the world was beating him down. I had sympathy for him, but it was nothing compared to what I was going through.
Yup, I was in full-on “woe is me” mode. I didn’t like it, yet I couldn’t seem to stop it.
“Well, it started with seeing a terrific case of bedhead and looks to be ending with some steaks and corn.” Galen grinned, the expression lighting up his handsome features. “Those are both the highlights, by the way. The lowlights are something else entirely.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask,” Booker said, grabbing a beer from the cooler Lilac placed on the table and twisting the top. “What did the coroner say about Mark?”
“That he had a lot of internal injuries and it looked as if he was either hit by a vehicle and left to die or fell a great distance and bounced off the ground.”
I jerked my hand back from Galen’s hair, the reality of the day setting in as I inadvertently sobered. I much preferred the fake drunk feeling I labored under moments before, but even my brain couldn’t seem to do what I wanted for the time being. “So I killed him.”
“No, you protected yourself.” Galen held out a hand and waited for Booker to pass him a beer. He took a long swig before continuing. “You did what you had to do.”
“I don’t think that’s going to go over well with a judge,” I argued, swirling the remnants of the wine bottle as I considered my fate. “Gee, your honor, I accidentally threw a man through a window using powers I didn’t know I had. Surely you can see it was an accident. Have pity on me.”
Galen’s lips curved. “You’re very dramatic. Has anyone ever told you that?”
Lilac raised her hand. “I have.”
“You have not,” I shot back, narrowing my eyes. “You’ve spent the entire afternoon trying to get me to be more dramatic.”
“That’s because I like drama.” Lilac’s smile reflected a bit of smarm and a whole lot of charm. It was hard not to like her, even when she was being a total pain in the keister. “Why do you think I took one look at you and knew you were going to be my new BFF?”
“Um … .”
“What’s a BFF?” Galen asked. “It’s that, like, a … chick thing?”
“That’s totally a chick thing,” Booker answered. “It means ‘best friends forever.’”
“Oh, so it’s like a young chic
k thing.” Galen snorted, whatever flitted through his head clearly amusing him. “Okay. I’m caught up. Continue. What were we talking about?”
“The fact that I can’t use magic as a defense in a court of law.”
Galen tilted his head so he could give me a hard stare. “Says who?”
“Says everyone. You might believe me, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be arrested, tried and sent to a prison where I have to make license plates for the rest of my days. Oh, geez. Maybe I should call my dad. I’m going to need a lawyer.”
“I’m not dissuading you from calling your father if you want to talk to him, but you’re not going to be arrested,” Galen argued. “I’ve already sat down with the prosecutor. He knows what happened, and it’s being ruled self-defense.”
I was understandably dumbfounded. “But … how?”
“The prosecuting attorney is a shifter and the judge is a mage. Do you think this is the first time we’ve had a paranormal dust-up on this island that resulted in death?”
Huh. I hadn’t even considered that. I drained the rest of the wine, rubbing my chin as I considered the implications. “But … I killed him. Shouldn’t I have to pay for that?”
“He broke into your house and attacked you with an ax!” Galen exploded, causing me to jolt. “Stop being a martyr and look at things realistically. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I … .” My mouth worked, but no sound came out as I blinked back tears.
“You might want to take it easy on her,” Booker advised, his voice soft. “She’s dealt with a bevy of stuff today that would’ve floored just about anyone else. I don’t think yelling at her is the way to go.”
“I’m sorry.” Galen rested a big hand on my shoulder. “I didn’t mean to yell and upset you. That wasn’t right or fair.” He shifted his eyes to Booker. “But I am going to yell at you. I think that’s both right and fair.”
Witchy Dreams Page 92
