Over Hexed: The Hex Series

by Thompson, Vicki Lewis

  * * *

  Maggie used the time after Sean’s call to find Madeline’s house. Her husband Abe, a short man with a fringe of white hair wreathing his head, answered the door. A television blared in the background, so obviously nothing was wrong with their electricity at the moment.

  “You’re Maggie,” Abe said.

  “I am, and I hope this isn’t too much of an imposition. I told Madeline I’d be happy to pay for my room, but she—”

  “Of course you won’t pay!” Abe ushered her into the house, where the temperature was at least ninety degrees. “But you can help with my petition drive.”

  Maggie wondered if she’d have been better off with Denise. She unbuttoned her coat. “For what?”

  “More like against what. Here, let me take your coat.”

  “That’s okay. I won’t be here long.”

  “Nonsense. You can’t walk around the house with your coat on.”

  That much was true, considering they were living in a sauna. Besides, she didn’t want to upset her host, so she took off her coat and let him hang it in the closet by the door.

  “Now, then, Maggie.” He clasped his hands and gazed at her. “What is the single most detrimental element in our society?”

  She considered the energy required to overheat this old house. “Our waste of fossil fuel?”

  “Nope. I’ll give you a hint. It’s coming from that infernal box over there.” He pointed to the TV.

  She recognized an old episode of Friends. “Reruns?”

  “Hell, no! Reruns are nothing compared to this. Dig deeper!”

  She glanced at the screen. The storyline had to do with Ross bleaching his teeth so much they glowed in the dark. Okay, she had it now. “The pursuit of physical perfection!”

  He waved a hand, dismissing her answer. “Chicken feed.”

  “Then I give up.”

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “No.”

  “Canned laughter! Fake yuks! Artificial guffaws!” As if on cue, a blast of that very thing came from the TV. Abe shuddered, ran over to the coffee table and made a note on a yellow legal pad. “The research is killing me, but it has to be done.”

  Then he grabbed a clipboard and shoved it at Maggie. “Sign here.”

  She read the petition, which claimed that canned laughter was rotting the brains of everyone within range of a television signal. Underneath were two signatures, Abe’s and Madeline’s. Figuring it couldn’t hurt anything, Maggie signed.

  Abe beamed at her. “Excellent.” He unclipped the petition from the clipboard. “Now you can take it around.”

  Instantly on the defensive, she raised both hands. “No, no. I’m not good at that. You should be the one. You’ll bring more passion to the effort.”

  “I don’t have time, what with all the documentation. When I testify before Congress, I’ll need ammunition!” He rattled the petition. “Take it. Do your best.”

  “Okay.” She took the paper, figuring she didn’t have to do anything with it. In a couple of days she could give back his petition with its three lonely signatures and be on her way.

  “Good. Your room is up the stairs and to the right. I’d take you there, but—oops!” He leaned down and made another notation on his pad. “Can’t leave my research.”

  “No problem. I’ll find my own way.” Maggie hauled her suitcase up the stairs and into their small guest room on the second floor of their hot little house. Once there she changed into jeans, a black sweater and running shoes. A bikini would be more appropriate for the temperature, which was even more sweltering upstairs.

  As she began to sweat, she hurried back down to retrieve her coat. She still wasn’t looking forward to spending any time in that spooky old Victorian Sean loved, but it would be a relief to be out of this heat. She’d never been a sleep-in-the-nude person, but this oven of a house could drive her to it. She gave Abe a quick wave as she went out the door.

  “Get signatures!” he called after her.

  Rain spattered her windshield as she drove back to Sean’s house. No, not Sean’s house. Just because everyone else in town thought of it that way didn’t mean she had to. Soon it would belong to SaveALot, and within six months it would be gone, replaced by a store that would bring dozens of job opportunities to the town, whether they thought they needed that or not.

  Parking behind Sean’s battered truck, she climbed the wooden steps, which had been swept free of leaves, and walked across the wrap-around porch, also swept. She wished he hadn’t done that. If he thought cleaning up this old relic would sway her, he’d wasted his time. He might be hopelessly sentimental about the place, but she wouldn’t let herself fall into that trap.

  She’d scraped for a living all her life because that’s what her parents had done. It had been the only reality she’d known until she’d finally understood that her parents’ miserable and bitter existence stemmed from bad choices, not the bad luck they constantly blamed for their problems. Maggie intended to make her own luck, starting with this piece of property.

  The brass door knocker was an elegant lion’s head, tarnished from years of neglect. In a more urban setting the knocker would have been stolen a long time ago. Maggie had never lived in a place where you didn’t triple-lock the doors. She doubted Big Knob residents locked theirs at all.

  Miraculously, the frosted glass insets in the heavy door weren’t cracked, either. She’d been so busy noticing the peeling paint and the weeds out back that she’d missed seeing some of the nicer features. Maybe the demolition team could take this door off before bulldozing the house. The place needed to go, but that didn’t mean a few things couldn’t be salvaged.

  She used the tarnished knocker, relieved that Sean hadn’t polished it. Knowing he’d swept the steps and the porch was bad enough. Maybe she shouldn’t have accepted his invitation to revisit the house.

  No, it was a good idea. H.G. would be impressed that she’d taken time to give a complete report about the structure to be demolished. She’d get points for that, and she needed all the points she could scrounge.

  No one came to the door, so she banged the knocker again, louder this time. Finally she heard Sean calling out, telling her to come on in. With mice and spiders a distinct possibility, she wasn’t all that eager, but she opened the door and cautiously stepped into the entry hall.

  A crystal chandelier hung overhead. She didn’t inspect it too carefully for fear of what might be living in it. The place smelled musty, especially on a rainy day like this, but there was no dirt on the floor as she’d expected. Nothing scurried away from her or swung down from the chandelier overhead. Sean had been a busy guy.

  “I’m upstairs,” he called out. “Go through the door on your left and you’ll see the staircase.”

  The door on her left stood open, and she walked into a room with a marble fireplace on the outside wall. A fire would be nice right now. The house was chilly, although she’d rather have that than the overheated situation at Madeline’s. Here she could keep her coat on while she ate lunch.

  A staircase stood at the far end of the room. She steeled herself against falling in love with that staircase and its graceful wooden banister. The space underneath the stairs had been lined with bookshelves and would make a cozy library.

  At the top of the stairs, the railing continued along the hallway, giving her a view of the second floor. This would be where children could peer through the spindles and spy on their parents tucking presents under the Christmas tree.

  Reality check time. All of this was going down. No children would ever again peek through the railing to the living room below. No one would fill the bookshelves or decorate a Christmas tree placed perfectly in front of the corner window. Maybe the wood from the staircase could be salvaged. She could ask H.G. about that.

  The tall windows, which would never again be decorated with tissue-paper snowflakes or reflect the lights of a Christmas tree, looked out on the front porch and the trees surrounding the house.
The branches were bare now, but with spring and clean windows, the view would be lovely.

  Besides the grimy windowpanes, the windowsills and the mantle were covered in dust, which made her smile. Men paid attention to floors, but they usually forgot about the other surfaces.

  Sounds of banging and the scrape of metal came from over her head somewhere. “What are you doing up there?” If he was killing rats she was leaving.

  “Trying to get the balcony doors open.”

  “Sean, it’s raining.” She started up the steps, which creaked. Instead of being annoying, the sound sent warm memories swirling through her.

  Her parents’ old two-flat had creaky stairs, and she’d played on them as a kid. Life hadn’t been so bad, then. But eventually she’d become old enough to get a part-time job and was ordered to turn her earnings over to her parents. They’d squandered the money the way they’d squandered everything else.

  The banging and scraping continued on the second floor. “I know it’s raining,” Sean said. “But it might stop, and the view from the balcony is great.”

  She climbed the stairs, determined to set him straight. “Look, it’s obvious what you’re trying to do, but it’s no use.”

  At the top of the stairs she glanced down the hall and found the only open door. The sounds of Sean working on the balcony door were coming from there, so she headed toward it. “You can clean up this house and show me views until the cows come home, but I’m still going to buy this property for SaveALot. The location is excellent and the customer base is—”

  She reached the doorway and stared in speechless fascination at the setting he’d prepared. A quilt had been spread on the floor of what she guessed might be the master bedroom. On top of that sat a wicker chest holding two candlesticks and red tapered candles—both lit to chase away the gloom of a rainy day.

  In addition to the candlesticks, the chest held two sandwich plates complete with sandwiches and covered with wax paper, and two wine glasses. A bottle of red wine and a bowl of potato chips sat on the floor next to the quilt. In the corner of the room stood a small heater, which had to be fueled by propane since there was no electricity.

  Sean was on his knees next to the French doors leading out to the balcony. Wielding a mallet and chisel, he worked at the rust coating one of the hinges. He wore a tool belt, and Maggie had to admit that added to his Romeo potential. Or maybe she’d been influenced by all the talk in the Bob and Weave this morning.

  No matter. This kind of seductive behavior on his part just wouldn’t do.

  He glanced up from his work. “You cut your hair.”

  “Uh, yes. It was driving me nuts.” She ran her fingers through her shorn locks and wished she didn’t feel self-conscious. She shouldn’t care if he liked her hair or not, but he’d made a comment about it this morning. Ridiculously, she seemed to want his approval of the change and that was not a good sign.

  He studied her for a moment and nodded. “Nice.”

  “Thank you.” She took a deep breath. “Sean, this is all very inviting.” She swept her hand to encompass the carefully prepared setting. “But I’m sure it’s calculated for maximum effect, so I can’t stay, knowing what you have in mind.”

  He put down the mallet and shoved his glasses up against the bridge of his nose. “What do you think I have in mind?”

  She had a sudden vision of rolling naked with him on the quilt. “Convincing me to give up on this purchase.”

  “You just said it wouldn’t make any difference what I did. That you won’t change your mind under any circumstances.”

  “That’s right. I won’t.” Even if she had sex with him, which she had no intention of doing, her decision would be the same. But she was hungry and she couldn’t remember the last time a man had set up such a romantic meal for her. Maybe this was how he’d charmed all the women in Big Knob into thinking he was some sort of love god.

  “If nothing will change your mind, why not sit down and eat? Unless you don’t like chicken salad?”

  Naturally, she adored chicken salad. He couldn’t have chosen a sandwich filling she would have craved more. After eating eggs and two cinnamon rolls today, she shouldn’t be hungry, but something about this town made her famished for food and…other things that she’d best not think about right now. Until today she hadn’t realized how much her sex life sucked green bananas.

  Sean gazed at her a moment longer. “Go ahead and think about it. I’ve almost loosened this hinge.” He went back to his pounding.

  He did look manly doing that. In the MBA world she inhabited, the guys wore conservative suits and had their nails manicured every two weeks. Maybe that was another reason her libido had gone into hiding. The men she came in contact with didn’t inspire damp undies.

  To be fair, they might all look as sexy as Sean if they dressed in jeans and picked up a couple of tools. Using them with Sean’s level of finesse would be even better. That kind of expertise wasn’t usually called for in the corporate headquarters of SaveALot, Inc., though. She’d been free to concentrate on her career.

  She would still do that. Eating a chicken salad sandwich wasn’t likely to derail a tough cookie like her. And she was very hungry.

  “Got it!” With a smile of triumph, Sean laid down his tools. Then he stood, reached for the handle of the door he’d been working on and opened it with only a faint creak. “Still needs WD-40, but at least the hinge isn’t stuck anymore.”

  There was no mistaking the pleasure in his expression. Maggie knew that feeling of getting something right, and it was a feeling she had yet to experience on the job at SaveALot.

  Cold, damp air made the candles flicker, and Sean closed the door again. “If it stops raining, we can go out there. I want you to see the view.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re right about my plan. I want you to rethink buying the property and leveling the house.”

  “I won’t rethink it.” She glanced at the chicken salad sandwiches with regret. “And because I won’t, I would feel guilty eating your sandwiches. I’d better go.”

  “Please don’t.”

  “I have to. I’m afraid you went to all this trouble for nothing.”

  He shook his head. “Not for nothing. I haven’t had a meal in this house since I was seven years old. That makes eating here special, but I’d rather not mark the occasion by myself. You’d be doing me a favor if you’d take off your coat and stay.”

  She didn’t believe that for a minute. “From the conversation I heard in the Bob and Weave today, you could pick up your phone and have any number of women here within three minutes, all of them eager to share your lunch.” And your quilt later on.

  “But then it would be all over town that I have a key to this place. Technically, I’m trespassing by being here. I’ve been trespassing for years. I’m counting on the fact that you won’t want to advertise that.”

  Her glance strayed to the chicken salad sandwiches. Even covered in wax paper, they looked plump with filling. Ruffles of fresh lettuce peeked out from under the bread. Her mouth watered.

  “It’s only a sandwich,” Sean said. “That’s not much of a bribe.”

  Hunger overcame her better judgment. She’d always heard that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. The same thing seemed to be true for her. “Okay.” She took off her trench coat, folded it, and placed it on a corner of the quilt. “But no wine.”

  “It’s amazing wine. I got it from the Lowells, the couple you met at the Hob Knob. I’m not a wine drinker, but I love this stuff. You should at least taste it.”

  She gazed at him. “You don’t take no for an answer, do you?”

  He looked startled by that. “I haven’t had much practice hearing it, I guess.”

  “No, I guess you haven’t, judging from the way Sylvia, Angie and Francine talked today.”

  “Mm.”

  She shouldn’t have brought that up, because now she was thinking about the fantastic sex Sylvia a
nd Angie had raved about. She needed to eat her sandwich, partly to prove she could do it without compromising her principles, and then leave before she compromised something else.

  She started to step onto the quilt and thought better of it. “That looks like an antique. I’ll take off my shoes.”

  “It is an antique, but it washes.”

  “Even so, it’s muddy out there.” She nudged off her running shoes before positioning herself cross-legged on one side of the wicker chest.

  “Yeah, you’re right. No point in getting the quilt dirty.” Sitting on the quilt, he unlaced his work boots and pulled them off.

  The work boots were sexy, too. And he wore clean white socks under them, which was also kind of—Oh, come on, Maggie! You must be seriously deprived if you find clean socks sexy.

  She was seriously deprived, but she’d chosen to focus on her job. She happened to have a little down time right now, so her unmet sexual needs were popping up like dandelions in her carefully groomed lawn of disinterest. Considering the stakes—a lucrative career vs. unemployment—she had to rip those little dandelions out by the roots.

  Sean settled down on the opposite side of the chest, picked up the wine bottle and poured some into her glass.

  “Sean, I’m not drinking it.” Wine was liable to make her dandelions grow.

  “Then don’t. I am.” He poured his own glass full and set down the bottle. Then he picked up his glass and touched it to hers. “To friendship.”

  She left the glass sitting there untouched. “I don’t see how we can be friends. We’re both after this property, and we can’t both have it.”

  He smiled at her. “I’m beginning to think that being hungry makes you grumpy.”

  That made her laugh, because it was right on target. No man had ever noticed it before, not even the guy she’d seriously considered marrying. Henry’s work had taken him away from Houston and he’d assumed she’d leave with him.

  The timing had been lousy. She’d just landed the job with SaveALot and had been amazed Henry would expect her to abandon it. She realized now that he hadn’t known her at all, including how much she needed regular meals.