“You made these today?” There were various kinds of cookies on the tray. “All of these? How in the world would you have had the time?” I accomplished minimal today, and apparently most days, compared to Ruthie. “You told me your gift was knowing things. What’s that have to do with cookies?”
“I know how to make them delicious, of course.” Ruthie popped a nut roll into her mouth. “If I’m making one kind, I figure why not make six? Especially, when I got the likes of him gobbling them up like no tomorrow.” She playfully elbowed George’s large belly. He tried to look innocent, but his mustache betrayed him, displaying crumbs of multiple kinds of cookies tenaciously clinging to it.
“You could have a bakery. You’d make a mint.” I snagged a couple more cookies for my plate when George began ogling them for another round.
“Oh, I may, I may.” Ruthie straightened the coasters on the coffee table and brushed at the dust no one but she could see. “I’d planned to, say about twenty-one or so years ago. Had a few names I was thinking of and all, either You Know You Want a Cookie, or something like Delicious & Delectable.” She looked at me pointedly.
I shrugged, continuing to eat, not sure why it had anything to do with me.
“’Cause my gift would help me do grand in selling baked goodness, of course. Oh, Baked Goodness, that could’ve been the name, as well.” She nodded. “But more pressing needs came into play.” She smacked both of her hands down on her thighs, causing a minor quake of flesh, and then she clutched the fabric apparently in an effort to restrain her hand’s restless spirit.
“Besides, it’s not every day we have company. Especially your company.” Ruthie bestowed one of her dazzling smiles upon me.
George nodded his agreement as he shoveled cookies into his mouth. “That’s right, we been waiting on you a long time.” Cookie crumbs sprayed out, although most were captured in the mustache for later snacking.
“I don’t understand.” I sighed, putting down my teacup. “Why were you waiting for me?” I reached into my pocket to run my fingers over the magazine photo. “Is it because you know where I can find my mother?”
Ruthie stiffened and glanced to George, then shook her head. “Find her? Ahh, no.”
“None of this makes any sense.” I slumped back on the couch. One of the dolls tumbled over on to my lap, and her glass, heavily lashed eyes looked up at me. I gingerly replaced the doll back in her corner of the couch, resisting the urge to hurl the creepy thing. I didn’t want to offend Ruthie and George with my revulsion of their plastic children.
“It will. It will all make sense in time, child.” Ruthie patted my leg, looking at me with sympathy, and then turned to George. “It would’ve helped if Tessa told her a little over the years. She should’ve explained about the power to persuade to get her prepared, don’t you agree?”
“Yes.” George nodded, appearing reluctant to stop chewing and have to converse. Probably the only time he was quiet. I had the impression George agreed with most of what Ruthie said.
I set my plate on the table to eliminate the sugary distraction. “Please stop talking about me like I’m not here. What do you mean the power to persuade? How do you know Tessa?”
“I’ve always known her. How couldn’t I?”
“Now, now Ruthie, you can’t say always.” George chastised, waving a meaty finger. “You gotta consider those thirteen minutes.” George nodded at what he seemed to think was an obvious observation.
“Oh, fiddlesticks, George. Okay, okay, except for those thirteen minutes. You have to be so technical about everything. Like I could ever forget the thirteen minutes with the constant reminders from you and Tessa.” Ruthie poked his side again, and he giggled, gleaming a self-satisfied smile.
Cringing at their doughy display of affection, I bit back a curse of frustration while trying to follow along on their crazy train of conversation. It would be easier to solve a riddle than get a straight answer out of either of them.
Ruthie placed a doll with long, dark hair on her lap and stroked the doll’s head.
The action distracted me for a minute, making me think of Griffith doing the same to me, but Ruthie brought me back to the present.
“That’s why I chose her, of course.”
“Chose who? Tessa?” I wanted to make sure she hadn’t veered off onto another topic since she was lovingly staring at the dark haired doll.
“Couldn’t be anyone better.” George nodded his approval.
“Well, except for me,” Ruthie said with a snort.
“Oh no, they couldn’t have my Ruthie.” George pecked her cheek, leaving a few cookie crumbs adhering to her face.
The grandfather clock chimed. I’d have to get to the bar soon if I didn’t want to be late for my first day. “Ruthie.” I waited until she stopped mooning at George and gave me her attention. “Chose Tessa for what?”
“To raise you, of course. Who better than my sister?”
Chapter Seven
Chief was right. The late crowd was nothing like the one the other day. I was glad I’d made an effort not to park next to any of the motorcycles when I saw the owners. Huge, heavily tattooed men sitting elbow to elbow at the bar appeared to be looking for any reason to start a fight.
I squeezed my way to the bar. This place had to be way over fire-code. It looked as if it was on fire with the smoke and the burning end of cigarettes casting tiny lights through the shadowy interior. I fanned my hand in front of my face to clear the air.
Speak of the devil or whatever he was, Griffith was perched at the bar. The dim lighting prevented me from being able to tell if the odd haze surrounded him.
When I slipped into the kitchen to look for my apron, I ran right into Mrs. Shaw. Being the size of a tiny doll compared to me, her face bounced right off my breasts. I tried to steady her as she teetered on her pumps, but the polyester material of her shirt slid through my hands like melted butter. She avoided falling into the metal table serving as an island for food preparation by grabbing the paper towel holder.
“Oh, Mrs. Shaw, I’m sorry. Are you okay?” I bit down on my lip, to keep from laughing at the horrified expression she directed at my assailing breasts.
“I’m fine. Just be more careful where you’re going.” Mrs. Shaw clutched one hand against her chest, as if protecting herself from further attack, and fingered her necklace with the other. Straightening, she ran her hands over her skirt and turned to the large, white-faced clock hanging above the bar counter. “I see you’re, err, early.”
I could tell she’d been hoping to utilize tardiness as a counter attack, but was currently at a loss. “I wanted to get comfortable with everything, since it’s my first day.” I gave her my most innocent smile.
My eyes were drawn to her necklace. “What a beautiful necklace.” I cringed at the horrific masks, wondering what would possess her to want to wear them as creepy-ass charms. “Is there a significance to the animal charms?”
“Of course.” She regained her usual poise and held up the tiny dog head charm for my inspection. “The dog is faithful and loyal. While the snake is evil and cunning, and the horse can go great lengths to serve.” She nodded. “All display the great attributes of a good servant.”
“Oh.” She acted as if this clarified their meaning, but it made no sense to me. The familiar aroma of cinnamon permeated the air, and an ache began to build in my head. I closed my eyes. Not again.
Then, I heard it.
It was a soft sound. The crying should’ve been drowned out by the clatter in the kitchen and the boisterous men at the bar. But as the migraine crept into my consciousness, my senses heightened.
I peered around Mrs. Shaw. A young woman with hanging strands of long, dark hair obscuring her face sat hunched forward in a wooden chair by the exit door. She stared, transfixed on her phone screen.
“Who’s that woman?” I pointed, resisting the urge to rub my temples.
“That’s Isabel Hutchins. I’m giving her a ride home. She’s
obviously had enough to drink, and her bawling is disturbing the clientele.” She raised a thin eyebrow. “I can’t seem to make her stop crying even though I told her Josh was a no-good loser. He’s been using her for six months. Spending her money, living in her apartment, and she should be glad to bid him riddance.”
She studied me. “You don’t have another headache, do you? Didn’t you try any of the remedies I offered you?”
“No, I’m fine.” I lied to escape her, and walked toward Isabel.
Either Isabel hadn’t realized I was standing there, or she deliberately ignored me. My eyes watered from the cinnamon scent. I rolled my lips to moisten them, tasting cinnamon, and took a deep breath to focus through the fog of pain descending.
Damn it. I’d never be able to work tonight unless I warded off this headache.
“Isabel.” I placed a hand on her shoulder, shielding it from Mrs. Shaw’s view. A light mist emanated from my fingertips, awaiting direction. I willed down the urge to pull back into me, instead letting the familiar drain trickle through me, into her.
Isabel wiped at the snail trails lining her face with a tissue, and then looked up. “Oh, hi.” Her forced tight smile contrasted with the misery in her eyes. Curly tendrils of hair stuck to her wet cheeks. “Am I in your way, or did you need something?”
Stepping in front of her to rest my butt against the wall, I faced her. “No, but I think you do.” I wrapped my arms around her in a tight hug, ignoring Mrs. Shaw’s curious stare.
Isabel stiffened, then went limp as a cooked noodle and began to sob. As her pain began to flow out of her, my headache ebbed. The scent of cinnamon lessened and subsided, replaced by Isabel’s floral cologne. The ache in my head faltered, and the assault to my senses reached a plateau.
I’d found my pain reliever.
I slumped back in exhaustion. Smoothing Isabel’s heavy bangs off her forehead, I handed her another tissue. “What’s wrong?” I’d won the fight this time. The headache subsided before it could overtake me. My arms were numb and aching from my efforts.
“Josh left me.” Isabel sniffled and looked up with watery, red-rimmed eyes.
“I’m sorry.” I continued to pat her arm and her sniffles lessened.
“What am I going to do?”
I followed Isabel’s fixed stare to the phone screen and choked. “He broke up with you in a text?” What an asshole.
Isabel’s lip quivered.
I straightened my shoulders. “I’ll tell you what you’re going to do. First, you’re going to pull yourself together. Then, you’re going to go home and give yourself permission to cry your eyes out.” I held up my finger. “One good cry. Then you’ll see there’s much more out there in the world for a beautiful girl like yourself. Then—” I waited until I had Isabel’s full attention. “—you’re going to get mad.”
She looked confused and her lips formed a tiny “o.”
I looked at her closely until satisfied with what I saw. “Because you’ve been wasting your time with Josh. He’s been spending your money, living in your apartment and giving you nothing in return. You deserve better. You will find better. Once you rid yourself of this baggage.”
Isabel gaped, but continued to nod. “Baggage.” The word rolled off her tongue, as if she’d never heard it before.
“Mrs. Shaw’s going to give you a ride home. You’ll be fine. You’ll see.” I smiled, giving her another quick hug before walking back to Mrs. Shaw. My gait was slow, and I tried to disguise my exhaustion, wondering if they carried energy drinks here.
“How do you do that?” Mrs. Shaw asked as her gaze narrowed and scrutinized me.
“Do what?” I looked over my shoulder at Isabel, who sat a little straighter in her chair.
Mrs. Shaw crossed her arms over her chest. “Talk to people like that. Tell them things that should make them angry, but they’re happy to hear it.” She studied me. “That never works for me.”
I raised my brows. “It’s not nice to eavesdrop.”
She straightened, as if I’d slapped her, and responded tartly. “I’d say it’s my job. I’m looking out for the best interest of the clientele.”
I couldn’t refer to the regulars as clientele. Doing so probably made Mrs. Shaw feel better about working at a bar.
“Seriously, how are you able to do that? Persuade people? Make them hopeful?”
“Persuade?” I flushed under her inspection. Ruthie had used the same word. “I wouldn’t say that.”
“I’ve seen you do it,” she persisted. “At the bar.”
I wasn’t aware she’d been observing me. The woman must be like a ninja. That or those orthopedic shoes she wore, which I’d assume would be soundless.
“She would’ve come to realize that about Josh, in time.” I turned toward the kitchen. “I just saved her the time.”
“They say time heals all pain,” Mrs. Shaw said. “But it seems you heal the pain around here. Why would you say that is? How could you have gotten such a gift?”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” I wasn’t about to discuss anything personal with her. “I’m no therapist.” I shrugged. “Just a bartender.”
“So you say. Do you ever think it could be…something more?” She inched forward until she was uncomfortably close. “I’ve heard the stories. You know, about…her.” She fingered her necklace, the three tiny animal heads clicked against each other on the chain. She held up a plastic bag full of pieces of half-eaten hamburgers and hotdogs. “See? Just in case, doesn’t hurt to be too careful.” She nodded. “She rewards those who honor her, or at least lets them live.”
Her reverent expression and her cloying flowery perfume had me cringing back. “No, I don’t know what you mean.” I shook my head. “Just intuition, I guess.” I studied the greasy bag of food she held. “What is that? Trash?” Surely, Chief didn’t pay her so poorly she had to eat scrapings off people’s plates.
“It’s for her hounds. I always leave it out back.” Mrs. Shaw glanced around to ensure we were alone then lowered her voice to a whisper. “You know, Hecate. Isn’t that why you came?”
I wondered if Mrs. Shaw wasn’t slipping vodka into the tea she drank continuously.
I took a step back, bracing my hands behind me as my butt hit the wall. “I’d better get to work.”
She stood in indecision. “Fine.” She waved her hand over her shoulder as she regained her rigid posture and customary scowl. “Ruthie’s out front. You can relieve her to finish up in the kitchen. I’m going home.”
“Thank you.”
She hesitated at the door Isabel had gone through, leading to the back of the parking lot. “Hope?” She stood in front of the door, clutching the knob with her back toward me.
“Yes, Mrs. Shaw?”
“Be careful. The evil runs amuck here at the Crossroads, always the beginning, but so close to the end.” She made the sign of the cross and turned to smile in a way that made my skin crawl. When I didn’t respond, she continued. “But I think you already know that.”
“Know what?”
She turned the knob and let the door close behind her without replying.
“Good, you’re here.” Ruthie burst in from the front of the bar with her usual flurry. “I’ve got a whole mess of orders to get started on.” She tossed an apron in my direction, and I caught it mid-air. “Git on out there and get the drinks going, or Chief will be riding both our behinds.”
“But, I—Ruthie, what am I supposed to do about”—I inclined my head toward the bar—“you know, them?”
Ruthie frowned at me as if I’d grown another head. “Serve them drinks. What else?” She hustled over to the refrigerator and began throwing ingredients on the counter. “I know you ain’t all that skilled with making a mixed drink, but most of them drink beer and shots anyway, so it shouldn’t be much of a challenge. You’ll figure it out. I know it.” She laughed at her own joke.
“No, Ruthie,” I whispered. “Them.” I spat the word out as if it tasted bad. “
The ones, things, or whatever they are, who you told me to be careful of.” Which summed up all that she’d told me. A lot of good her vague advice would do.
“What? I ain’t got my hearing aid in. This darn bar is so loud I don’t usually wear it, or else I’m afraid my dang head would explode.” She rubbed the side of her head as if assessing it was still intact. “I get a horrible headache half the time as it is. Besides the noise and all the smoke, the jukebox blares crazy crap they call music these days. In my day, now that—” She paused in the middle of chopping potatoes and pointed the knife to emphasize her point. “—that was music.” She began humming a tune and swaying her hips from side to side.
“Ruthie.” She was more likely to give me a headache than any of the culprits she’d identified. “I think you’re trying to avoid the question. Either that or answer it in some senseless way,” I said, but she wasn’t paying attention.
“What?” Without a pause in her prep work, Ruthie spared me a glance. She appeared irritated from being brought back to the present and out of her personal journey back to the time of her youth.
I moved closer, cupping my hands over her ear, but kept my body away because it didn’t appear as if she was going to pause while chopping. Her knife rapidly flashed, and I had no desire for any bits of mine to be part of the French fries or onion rings she was in the midst of making. “Mrs. Shaw knows about them.”
“Of course she does.” Ruthie tossed unidentifiable frozen blocks of meat onto the counter. “She couldn’t work here, heck, she couldn’t live here otherwise. She’d never survive. Although, that woman’s got a backbone stronger than most men I know. This one time, when there was a huge black bear out by the dumpsters—”
“Ruthie…” When she paused mid-speech, to take a breath, I hurried on before she could continue. “She said about this being close to the end. Muttering about Hecate and hounds and carrying out old food. Is she spiking her tea? If not, what does she mean?”
“Often the journey is more important than the end, wouldn’t you say?”
Destiny Calling Page 7
