by Amy Boyles
I cleared my throat for a good thirty seconds. "If you, um, like being around me? Well, that's nice and all, but um, perhaps we should focus on the job at hand."
He looked away. His jaw muscle flexed and tightened. Oops. I guess I said the wrong thing. "Well, since I've got some protecting to do, where can I take you?"
"You can take me to the Mouth of the South. I've got some sleuthing to do."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I found Jenny Butts sitting behind her desk at Rustic Touch and Travel. She was hard at work filing her nails down to the quick. She leaned way back in her chair when Roman entered. His bulk didn't intimidate me anymore, but I could see where the wide receiver of a man could frighten others.
Jenny raised a questioning brow. Okay, let's call it what it was, a nosy brow. "Why, Dylan Apel, what are you doing here? Want me to book you a trip to Hawaii? Or perhaps you want some of my copper-wire balls—they're perfect for any living room."
Tempting. "No, I had a few questions for you." I slid into a chair in front of her desk while Roman wandered around the room.
Jenny eyed Roman like a tiger surveyed her prey. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?" she cooed.
"Roman, meet Jenny. Jenny, Roman."
Jenny batted her fake eyelashes in his direction. "Nice to meet you."
Roman grunted. I suppressed a laugh. Jenny wove a finger through her Marilyn curls. "What can I do for you, Dylan?"
"I need some information."
Her ruby lips split into a smile. "You've come to the right place—or person, I should say." She settled back into her seat and returned to filing her nails. "What kind of info you looking for?"
"Did anyone new move into town about three years ago?"
She tapped the file against her cheek. "Now let me think back. Three years ago was when that little Ashlyn Sawyer was born with webbed fingers. Terrible tragedy, though the doctors were able to snip the webbing and give her normal-looking hands. Thank goodness, because otherwise she would have had to join a carnival in order to live a normal life."
Roman coughed into his hand. I ignored him. "Other than Ashlyn and the fingers, do you remember if anyone new moved into town, or if something strange happened?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Strange? Like what?"
I shrugged. "I don't know. Just anything."
She stopped filing and studied me. I suddenly felt like a giant mole had sprouted on the tip of my nose. "Is this about what happened to Reagan?"
"Do I have to answer that?"
She smirked. "No. It's not like I'm going to tell everybody or anything."
Right. It was definitely not like that at all. "I'm only looking for anything you remember."
"I heard they released Harry from jail. Are you pressing charges?"
I'd forgotten all about that. Detective Blount had left a message on my voice mail. I needed to call him. "No, I don't think so. Harry was drunk. A night in jail should have been lesson enough."
She sawed the file back and forth. "I mean, it's not as if you had anything to do with it. Some sort of freak accident, if you ask me. I figure she spontaneously combusted, and that's it."
Yeah, let's go with that. "So does that mean you don't remember anything?"
She caught Roman glancing at a poster of Italy. "Rome's half off right now," she said. "Trip for two will cost you only a sliver of what it normally does, but you have to book now."
"Thanks, but no thanks. I'm busy as it is."
Interest glimmered in her eyes. "Oh? How's that?"
"I'm actually about to change jobs."
She placed her elbows on the desk and pitched forward, letting her cleavage spill out the top of her blouse. Roman didn't even blink toward them. A small tinge of victory swelled in my core. I don't know why; it wasn’t as if he was my boyfriend.
"Oh? What are you about to do?" she asked.
I turned toward him. "Yeah. What's your new job going to be?"
He shrugged. "Nothing's worked out right now." He crossed his arms and turned his back to us. Conversation, over. But I wanted to find out more about this. I'd have to pick his brain later.
"The only thing I remember of any consequence is that redheaded woman you've been spending time with."
Em? "How do you know about her?"
"Please, Dylan. I notice things. I've seen her in your shop."
Fair enough. "So then, what about her?"
"It'll cost you twenty."
"What?"
She scrunched up her nose and smacked my arm. "Just kidding. I always wanted to say that to someone. But really, I remember her from a few years ago. I can't say it was exactly three." She stopped, thought about it. "Yes, it was. It was after Ashlyn's birth, because I was hitting the prayer group at that time. We met a lot at Java House. There's nothing better than coffee and prayer, I always say." She snorted. "One Saturday that woman walked right on in, that red hair all the way down to her heinie. Who could forget that fiery color?"
"She's very striking," I agreed.
Jenny frowned. "I wouldn't necessarily say beautiful. But striking, yes."
Was someone feeling a bit jealous? "Okay, but you're sure you saw her."
Jenny flashed me an oh-please look. "Do you think I'd forget something like that?"
"Jenny," I said, cinching my purse strap, "I doubt there's much of anything you forget."
***
I walked to Perfect Fit after that. Roman returned to his normal post of sitting in the SUV and watching from a distance. After thinking about it, was that really the most efficient way of keeping us safe? I'd have to ask him about that.
The scent of lavender filled the air when I entered. "Carrie, are you wearing some new perfume?"
She laughed. "No. It's the latest thing—scented nail polish." She wiggled purple fingers toward me. "Do you like it?"
"Yeah, it's interesting," I lied. Gag. It wasn't the lavender that bothered me, just the overwhelming scent of it. "Do me a favor and open some windows, okay?"
She left her post and crossed the room. "You think it's a bit much?"
I pinched my nose, desperately trying not to sneeze. "A touch. Let's air the store out before any more customers come in." I grabbed a small fan from my office, set it on the desk and got it going. Immediately the scent diminished. "Was anyone annoyed that we were closed last week?"
Carrie shrugged. "Not that I could tell. The woman who came in was just so happy to be here, she didn't care."
"Did she buy anything?"
"Oh yes, two hundred dollars’ worth of shirts and pants."
"High five!" We slapped hands, and I topped it off with a fist pump. "Great! I hope the rest of the day turns out as awesome. Want the afternoon off?"
Carrie's eyes widened. "Definitely! I've got to find shoes and a purse to match the dress I've chosen."
"What are you going to wear to the banquet?"
Carrie waltzed over to a baby-pink chiffon dress with a scoop neck. "This," she gushed. "I absolutely love it!"
I smiled. "It's one of my faves. Do you want to take it with you?"
She shook her head. "No, I'm afraid it'll wrinkle. I'll keep it here a few more days and take it home on Friday." Carrie pushed the door open with her backside. "See you tomorrow."
"See you later." Honestly I was glad to be rid of her. Maybe the smell would clear out now. I walked to the desk and called next door.
"Sinless Confessions," Sera said.
"Close for a few minutes and come on over."
"Excuse me, I can't just close the bakery. Someone might need a brownie."
"Then don't close. But that means you'll have to wait until dinnertime to find out what I learned."
"We'll be right over." Click.
That's what I thought. Less than thirty seconds later Reid and Sera tumbled through the door. "What'd you find out?" Sera asked, pushing Reid out of the way so she could get inside first.
I relayed everything Jenny had told me, minus the part a
bout the webbed fingers.
"But how could Jenny be sure?" Reid asked.
Okay, so I had to fill them in on the webbed fingers as well.
Sera nestled into a chair and stretched her legs on a pleather footstool. "So you think it's Em?"
I shrugged. "I really don't know, but it sort of makes sense. I mean, she wanted to teach us magic, but the method she used ensured we couldn't use our power to the best of our abilities."
"Hmm. But then why didn't she go ahead and knock you both out already? She's had plenty of opportunity, if you ask me," Reid said.
"Because of the assassin, dummy," Sera said. "She couldn't exactly off us with him around. And we can obviously clear him of any wrongdoing. Dylan's been with him plenty of times."
"I've seen you in that SUV talking to him, too," I said, trying not to sound defensive but failing epically at it.
Sera blushed. "I had a few things to ask him."
None of my business, but her evading gaze said it all. She liked him, so I couldn't. That was fine with me. I wasn't attracted to tall, hot, emotionally detached men anyway.
"So if it is Em, what are we going to do about it?" Reid asked.
"There's only one thing to do," I said.
"What's that?" Sera asked.
I stared at them both for a long moment. "We set a trap."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Milly pulled the wooden parrot from its cage and dusted it off before setting it back on the perch.
"Thank you," it squawked.
"You're welcome," Milly cooed. She turned to us. "What is it you want me to do again?"
I sipped sweet iced tea from a glass that had appeared moments before. Reid and Sera also sipped on tea, the three of us looking very Southern as we sat on her Victorian furniture drinking our refreshments.
"I'm not exactly sure. I need you to help us come up with a plan."
She snapped the wire door shut and waddled over to the recliner, cruising from one piece of furniture to the next without the use of her cane. "Let me get this straight." Milly wiped a line of sweat from the glass on the side table. "You want me to request the Queen Witch's presence and con her into doing a bit of magic that will make her create a thread."
"Right. Then we can match that thread with the one the witch doctor pulled from your ear."
She hummed a note, then stretched out her fingers and kneaded them into the plush armrests. "This is serious business. We're not playing games anymore. You start trying to bring down the Queen Witch, you'll have a whole host of problems you can't even imagine."
I gulped. Okay, perhaps I needed to rethink this whole thing.
"You want us to back down?" Sera said.
Milly gummed her lips. "I want you to be sure of what you're doing. This isn't something to trifle with."
"Neither are our lives," I said. "It's not like I'm singling Em out."
Milly glared at me.
"All right, I am. But it's for good reason. I have an eyewitness who remembers her from three years ago, around the same time Grandma went into her freeze."
"The council had to make sure Hazel remained safe. That's their job." Milly snorted. "So of course Em would have been around during that time."
Reid tapped her fingers against the tea glass. "What about her shoddy teaching skills?"
Milly rubbed her chin. "That's the one point worth investigating, and gives me pause. I know she wasn't taught witchcraft that way, so for her to nearly sabotage your learning makes me question her motives." She stared around her room as if taking a mental photograph. "We need to have the witch police on call. If she is indeed the killer, we won't be able to contain Em. They'll need to be ready to capture her. Dylan, can you handle that?"
Sure. I was best friends with the witch police. Had them over for dinner every night. "I'll see what I can do."
"Now”—Milly grasped her cane—“when are we going to do this, and what's the plan?"
Sera gave me a wary glance. "We need to do it before the solstice."
"Well of course we need to! If we do it after, you'll be dead."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I said.
"It's the truth," she said. "And we'll need your grandmother there."
A tidal wave of panic rushed up my chest. "What? Why? She might do something like cast a spell for winged monkeys to show up."
She slammed the cane on the floor. "This is a witch dinner. Hazel must be there."
I sank back into the couch. "No problem. She'll be there. We'll do it Friday night. The night before the solstice."
"Whoa. Wait," Sera said. "I've got a ton of baking to do Friday for the banquet on Saturday."
"And that's my problem?" Milly asked. "Do you want to catch a killer, or do you want to make cupcakes?"
Reid set her tea on a side table. "Actually…"
"It was a rhetorical question!"
"Milly," I said. "I speak for us all when I say, we want to catch a killer."
"Then we'll have dinner at your place, six o'clock sharp, Friday night. I'll get Em there. You do the cooking." She leaned over, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. "Now. Tell me your plan."
***
Since I had been deemed the witch police consort, I needed to use the one and only contact I had for them. Since this was a delicate issue, I felt a gentle hand had to be used.
I knocked on room 304 of the Magnolia Inn. Seconds passed before it opened. Roman stood sopping wet, a cheap motel towel knotted around his waist. Beads of water dripped off his chin, and his muscles glistened with a sheen that made my mouth fill with saliva.
He shifted to one side, and I made out the tattoo he'd told me about days earlier. Inked in black, the curling dragon, clearly influenced by Asian artistry, coiled down his shoulder and onto his rib cage. I nearly fainted.
Then I noticed the glare of molten lava he was giving me. "How'd you know where to find me?"
Was that a trick question? "There's only one motel in town. It didn't take much to figure it out."
He shuffled forward, glanced around to make sure no one was with me, and dragged me inside. Steam poured from the bathroom, the scents of soap and aftershave wafting about the room.
He shut the door behind him. "What's going on? I'm assuming this isn't a social visit."
"Actually it is. Want to grab some dinner?"
He cocked his head. "What are you up to? Trying to get me drunk?"
"Ha, ha. No. Just thought you might like a bite of Mexican. Nothing fancy."
"Let me guess. You need a favor."
How did he know that? "No. I don't need any favors. Just thought you might like a little company for once—outside of your truck."
He watched me as if waiting for me to cave in and tell him the truth. When I didn't, he crossed to the doorless closet. "I'll be outside in five minutes."
Okay then. I left and waited outside.
***
"Want a margarita?" I figured he was a straight tequila guy, but I felt it polite to ask.
He flipped the laminated menu over. "No. I don't drink when I'm working."
"Me either," I said.
He quirked an eyebrow. "Are you working?"
"Maybe."
We ordered, and I sank back into the booth. A mariachi band played in one corner, entertaining the families and couples who'd shown up for some food and fun.
"Want to dance?"
I looked around to see who had spoken.
"Dylan?" Roman said.
"Yes?"
"Would you like to dance?"
I stared into his brilliant eyes. Roman was looking at me. Roman had asked me. Oh my God! Roman was asking me to dance! I pitched to the side, catching the table with one hand before I fell out of the booth.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes. Fine. I'm fine." I placed a hand on my temple. "Just a head rush, that's all." I smiled. "I'm okay."
"Does that mean you don't want to dance?"
"Yes!" Wait. "No. No. Yes."
"
Breathe."
I did so. "There's not a lot of space to dance."
He shrugged. "We'll make some space."
"Um…"
"If you don't want to dance with me, just say so."
Oh God. No. Yes! I wanted to dance with him. Unable to trust my mouth to say the right thing, I nodded.
Roman gave me a warm smile. Was that a dimple? He extended his hand. I slid my palm in his. A shudder rippled down my spine. I tried not to think about it. About him. About dancing. About vomiting up the contents of my stomach all over his feet. You know, I tried to keep my mind blank.
He escorted me over to the band. I felt every eye in the cozy restaurant single in on me. My lower lip trembled, and I stopped.
Roman gave me a questioning look.
"There really isn't anyplace to dance," I whispered.
He leaned over and nestled his mouth to my ear. "We'll make one. In five minutes I promise we won't be the only ones dancing."
I slid a sweaty palm down my side. "Promise?" I whispered.
He placed a hand on my hip. I squealed. He squeezed and said, "Promise. Just keep walking."
I forced my feet to move, and we slinked past a couple of tables and secured a spot a little distance from the band. Roman pulled me to him. With one hand on my hip and the other chastely holding my hand, we started to sway.
It felt amazeballs, as Reid would say.
He released my hip, raised my hand and spun me around. I giggled. "So," he said. "What sort of business did you want to discuss?"
He pulled me to him. I rushed forward. My body crushed against his solid chest. "What made you think I wanted to discuss business?"
"Don't play. I've lived long enough to know these things. You need a favor."
"Maybe I do."
We swayed to the music. From the back of the restaurant, I noticed a young couple leave their booth. They threaded through the tables and booths and came to stand a few feet from us.
