Over Hexed

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  He figured it was just another excuse to get him alone. ‘‘Couldn’t you just tell me here?’’

  ‘‘I want to show you what I’ve found on the Internet.’’ She lifted her dark hair from her neck as if dealing with a heat wave, despite the chill wind blowing across the square. The movement made her breasts quiver.

  Instead of getting him hot, her behavior only annoyed him. ‘‘I’ll come by a little later, okay?’’

  Denise pouted. ‘‘I thought you cared about this property, Sean. If you don’t want me to track down the title holder for you, just say so.’’

  As Sean was trying to decide how best to handle Denise, he heard a low whistle and a woman calling his name. He noticed a silver SUV gliding by with the window down and recognized Angie, an ex-girlfriend, behind the wheel. Not wanting to be rude, he waved at her.

  ‘‘Sean, I’m trying to talk to you about this property.’’ Denise sounded irritated.

  He glanced back at her. ‘‘I do care about the property. But I’m kind of busy right this minute.’’

  ‘‘If you’re too busy to look at what I’ve found for you, then obviously your priorities have changed.’’ Denise turned on her heel.

  ‘‘I swear, they haven’t.’’ But it was too late. Denise had stomped back into her office.

  Sean needed her help, so he’d have to go by later and soothe her ruffled feathers while trying to avoid ending up naked on her desktop.

  He glanced over at Dorcas and Ambrose. ‘‘Sorry about that. Let’s go.’’

  They’d taken about three steps when another female voice brought him to a reluctant halt.

  ‘‘Well, if it isn’t Sean Madigan!’’ Candice, a woman he’d dated two years ago, came running across the square, plastic grocery bags in both hands, her short plaid skirt hiked up to reveal a shocking amount of creamy thigh.

  Looking neither left nor right, she crossed the street, all her attention focused on Sean. Fortunately there wasn’t much traffic. ‘‘What a coincidence! I just bought a package of those little cakes you like, the ones with the cream filling.’’

  He panicked. Those little cakes had been part of some hot times. ‘‘That was quite a while ago,’’ he said.

  ‘‘Funny, it seems like only yesterday to me. We had such fun with those cakes, eating them in bed. Remember how I smeared them on your—’’

  ‘‘Gotta go!’’ Sean motioned to Ambrose and Dorcas as he took off down the street toward their house. ‘‘Emergency porch repair! Very critical!’’

  Within half a block, Dorcas and Ambrose had caught up with Sean, and they weren’t even breathing hard. He couldn’t help commenting on it. ‘‘You guys are in great shape for your . . .’’ He stopped short of saying age, which sounded insulting.

  ‘‘For our age,’’ Dorcas said with a wink as they reached the house, and she climbed the porch steps. ‘‘It’s okay. Our secret is great sex.’’

  Sean hadn’t meant to let his jaw drop, and he snapped it closed the second he realized what he’d done. ‘‘That’s terrific,’’ he said quickly as they ushered him inside. The house smelled of incense, which confirmed his suspicion that they were from out west somewhere, probably California.

  ‘‘Come in and sit down.’’ Dorcas hung her jacket on a coat tree in the hall. Underneath it she wore a silvery silk shirt tucked into her jeans. ‘‘What would you like to drink?’’

  After the morning he’d had, he could use two fingers of Scotch, but it was a little early in the day to start knocking back hard liquor. ‘‘Whatever you have handy.’’

  ‘‘I’ll make some herbal tea. I’ll only be a few minutes. Make yourself comfortable.’’ She gestured through a doorway into a sitting room.

  Definitely from California. If anyone in Big Knob drank tea, it was Lipton, hot in the winter and cold in the summer. Herbal tea sounded a little swishy to him, but maybe he’d like it.

  He walked into a room filled with colored light, sort of like a church. Pretty soon he figured out why. Dorcas and Ambrose had hung stained glass in the windows—free-form designs of red, purple, blue, green and gold.

  Or maybe they weren’t so free-form. The one in the front window might be an angel or a fairy. The one in the side window looked kind of sexual, almost like a couple was about to . . . Whoa! Startled by the explicit picture now that he’d figured it out, he turned away. Definitely California.

  ‘‘Let me take your jacket.’’ Ambrose had already shed his coat. He was wearing a long-sleeved black T-shirt with a picture on the front, a bumblebee wearing a halo. Underneath were the words BLESSED BEES.

  ‘‘A band,’’ Ambrose said by way of explanation. ‘‘I used to play guitar for them.’’

  ‘‘Oh.’’ Sean was having a tough time meshing the sexual stained glass with a religious-themed musical group. ‘‘You know, I didn’t get a good look at that porch,’’ he said. ‘‘Maybe I should go check it out.’’ Come to think of it, he hadn’t noticed any loose or warped boards when he’d walked in, but maybe they were off to the side.

  ‘‘There’s nothing wrong with the porch.’’

  Sean stared at him. ‘‘But you said—’’

  ‘‘If I’d said that you looked as if you were having a problem and we could help, would you have gone along with that?’’

  Sean backed toward the door. ‘‘You’re shrinks, right?’’ He might have a problem, but he didn’t need a head doctor to solve it for him. He wasn’t sure what he did need, but definitely not a session on the couch.

  ‘‘We’re not shrinks. We’re relationship counselors.’’

  ‘‘Same girl, different dress. And I have to say, I don’t think you’ll find much business in Big Knob. People around here don’t go for that stuff.’’

  ‘‘We’re not really looking for business. We’re taking a . . . a sabbatical.’’

  ‘‘Oh.’’ Sean wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, but the Lowells looked like the kind of people who would be taking one, whatever it was. ‘‘The thing is, I don’t need relationship counseling. I have more relationships than I can handle, and I wish they’d all go away.’’

  ‘‘That’s a problem in and of itself.’’

  ‘‘Yeah, but unless you can change me into some kind of loser who doesn’t attract women, you can’t help.’’

  Ambrose’s gray eyes brightened with interest. ‘‘You want to change your appearance?’’

  ‘‘Come to think of it, no. I’ve tried gaining twenty pounds, and it made no difference. The women said they adored my love handles. I grew my hair out, and they said I reminded them of a sexy pirate. So physical changes don’t work.’’

  ‘‘Fascinating.’’

  ‘‘Oh, I’m a regular science experiment. But since you don’t have a porch that needs fixing, I should probably be leaving.’’

  ‘‘Leaving? But I just made tea.’’ Dorcas arrived carrying an enameled tray holding a flowered pot, cups and a bowl filled with lemon wedges. She was followed by a slender black cat who pranced over to Sean and rubbed against his legs, purring loudly.

  When Sean reached down and scratched the cat’s ears, she wriggled in ecstasy. ‘‘Let me guess,’’ he said. ‘‘Female cat.’’

  ‘‘She is. That’s Sabrina.’’ Dorcas set the tray on the coffee table in front of a plush-looking sofa upholstered in purple fabric.

  Even the cat is fit, Sean thought as he stroked Sabrina’s soft fur and listened to the deep rumble of her purr. ‘‘Ambrose just told me that you’re relationship counselors.’’ He straightened, and the cat strolled over to hop onto the windowsill under the explicit stained glass.

  Dorcas frowned at her husband. ‘‘You did?’’

  ‘‘I also admitted there’s nothing wrong with the porch. Sean was about to go look, and he would have found out right away that—’’

  ‘‘Maybe not,’’ Dorcas said. ‘‘Have you checked the porch recently, Ambrose?’’

  Her husband lifted his eyebrows. ‘‘Did you—�
�’

  ‘‘Yes, but it doesn’t matter now, does it? You’ve let the cat out of the bag, so to speak.’’

  Sean wasn’t following any of it. ‘‘Look, thanks for offering to help me, but I don’t know what you could do.’’

  ‘‘He says changing his appearance hasn’t done any good,’’ Ambrose explained to his wife.

  ‘‘Really?’’ Dorcas surveyed Sean with amber-colored eyes. ‘‘We could try cutting off his pheromones.’’

  ‘‘Hey!’’ Sean backed up. ‘‘I don’t want a sex change!’’

  ‘‘It’s not that drastic,’’ Ambrose said. ‘‘Pheromones are chemicals that attract the opposite sex. Yours might need to be toned down.’’

  ‘‘Huh.’’ Sean had never considered that he had a chemical imbalance.

  ‘‘Can I take your jacket?’’ Ambrose held out his hand.

  Sean hesitated. Nah, they couldn’t do anything for him. No one could. ‘‘I’d better go.’’

  ‘‘It wouldn’t cost you anything except a little time,’’ Dorcas said.

  ‘‘I told him we were taking a sabbatical,’’ Ambrose said.

  Dorcas blinked. ‘‘Uh, right. That’s exactly what we’re taking. Anyway, you don’t have to pay us.’’

  ‘‘Thanks, but that feels like charity.’’

  ‘‘Then we’ll barter,’’ Ambrose said. ‘‘We could use some carpentry work in the master bedroom. I’ve designed a sex bench, and I—’’

  ‘‘A what?’’ Sean couldn’t believe what he’d heard.

  ‘‘A sex bench,’’ Dorcas said without blushing, not even a little bit. ‘‘And we don’t have a lot of square footage, so we want it to fold out from the wall. It was actually my idea.’’

  ‘‘But I came up with the design,’’ Ambrose said.

  ‘‘Yes, I have to admit you did, and I think the design’s workable. Chairs are all well and good, but we’ve broken a few. We could use a nice firm bench.’’

  ‘‘I see.’’ Sean would bet no other house in Big Knob would require a fold-out sex bench. Even though sex wasn’t a top priority with him right now, he was curious about the concept.

  ‘‘So it would be our expertise in exchange for yours.’’ Ambrose gazed at him.

  He was tempted. It wasn’t every day that a guy was handed plans for a fold-out sex bench. It would spice up his work routine considerably, and he did wonder what the thing would look like.

  As he debated whether he could afford the time away from the Gilmore job, the cell phone clipped to his belt rang. ‘‘Excuse me a minute.’’ He took out the phone and flipped it open. Speak of the devil; Calvin Gilmore was on the line.

  But the connection was bad, which was weird. Big Knob had a lot of drawbacks, but cell phone coverage was usually great here.

  He glanced up. ‘‘I need to take this call, and for some reason I’m not getting reception in the house. Can I get back to you about this later on today?’’

  ‘‘Absolutely.’’ Ambrose smiled and wrapped an arm around Dorcas. ‘‘We’ll be right here.’’

  Sean gave them one last look before he walked out the door. They would be there, all right, and after hearing about the sex bench, he had no doubt what they would be doing with their time.

  On his way across the porch, he tripped on a warped board. Funny, but he would have sworn it wasn’t there when he’d gone in.

  Chapter 2

  Once Sean had left, Ambrose turned to Dorcas. ‘‘You really think this is a good idea?’’

  ‘‘Look, I don’t know about you, but I’m getting sick of dealing with George’s hyper behavior. We’re relationship counselors. I miss doing the work I love.’’

  ‘‘Dorcas, there’s no way we can give up on George.’’

  ‘‘Believe me, I’m well aware of that. I realize he’s still our top priority. But I can’t resist the challenge of a guy like Sean. We could have such fun with him!’’

  ‘‘Just to remind you, my love, we’ve never tried turning a sexy guy into a dud before.’’

  She wound her arms around Ambrose’s neck and kissed him on the mouth. ‘‘Trust me. We can do it. Besides, he’s ripe for a soul mate. It seems as though he’s had plenty of sex, but I doubt if he’s had any deep relationships.’’

  ‘‘Shouldn’t we hold off on the soul mate part? He’s burned out on women.’’

  She shook her head. ‘‘No, he’s burned out on meaningless sex. A soul mate is exactly what he needs. Let’s find him one.’’

  ‘‘But we haven’t done any scrying for months, since before the trial. What if we’re rusty?’’

  Dorcas smiled. Ambrose was so cute when he was nervous. ‘‘We’ll be fine. It’s like riding a bicycle.’’ She headed toward the door leading into the basement. Sabrina pranced after her.

  ‘‘I still say we should wait until Sean agrees to let us change him. There’s no point in bringing her here with the way he comes across now. All she’ll notice is a hottie.’’

  ‘‘I can guarantee that Sean is coming back tonight, and we’ll have a head start on the project by the time he does.’’ Dorcas grabbed a butane lighter from the table next to the basement door. Once she opened the door, Sabrina tore down the dark steps. Dorcas took it slower, lighting candles tucked into niches in the wall along the winding staircase, while Ambrose followed behind her.

  At the bottom of the stairs, she turned to Ambrose. ‘‘You fill the cauldron while I light the gas logs.’’

  ‘‘Okay. And I’ll turn on the stereo.’’

  She paused, suspicious. ‘‘What are you going to play?’’

  ‘‘What I always play when we’re doing a soul mate search.’’

  ‘‘Dear Goddess, tell me you’re not playing Frankie Avalon.’’

  ‘‘His music works for me. I hear ‘Venus’ and I’m in the groove.’’

  ‘‘I hear ‘Venus’ and I want to kill myself.’’

  Ambrose looked affronted. ‘‘Now, now, stop complaining. Negative energy screws up scrying.’’ And off he went to turn on Frankie.

  Dorcas stuck her tongue out at his retreating back. ‘‘Bossy pants.’’

  ‘‘I heard that.’’

  Dorcas grinned as she turned on the gas logs. It was good to be working again. She needed this desperately.

  Puffing a little from the effort, Ambrose hauled over the heavy iron cauldron filled with water and hooked it above the flickering flame from the gas logs. Dorcas sprinkled herbs over the inky surface as Frankie Avalon began to warble about Venus.

  Dorcas glanced at Ambrose and Sabrina, who both stood beside her expectantly. ‘‘Ready?’’

  ‘‘Ready.’’

  Sabrina meowed.

  Drawing the magic circle, Dorcas closed them inside. As steam rose from the cauldron, Ambrose danced his jerky little cha-cha around the circle. He accompanied his shuffling movements with a rolling motion of his hands, punctuated with flinging each one alternately in the air. Sabrina followed behind, cha-cha-ing right along with him.

  Dorcas bit her cheek to keep from laughing. It was like old times watching Ambrose and Sabrina dance while staring at the steam and waiting for . . . there!

  ‘‘I see her.’’ Ambrose stopped dancing and his voice quivered with excitement. Sabrina sat down and gazed upward at the steam, her tail twitching.

  ‘‘I see her, too.’’ Dorcas focused on the steam as the picture evolved and the voices became more distinct.

  Ambrose leaned closer to the steam. ‘‘I think she’s being called on the carpet for some reason. The name-plate on the desk says H. G. STACKHOUSE. Does that ring a bell with you?’’

  Dorcas shook her head. ‘‘Never heard of him.’’

  ‘‘Her hair’s a nice shade of red, and the freckles are cute,’’ Ambrose continued, ‘‘but that’s the ugliest navy suit I’ve ever laid eyes on. Doesn’t she seem a little frumpy to you, with the glasses and everything? Maybe you forgot one of the herbs. What did you—’’

  ‘‘H
ush.’’ Dorcas concentrated on the scene in front of her. ‘‘I think she’s going to be terrific. Just let me listen for a minute.’’

  ‘‘Beat out again, Grady.’’ The man named H. G.Stackhouse steepled his fingers and gazed at the woman seated on the other side of the desk.

  Ambrose made a sound of dismay. ‘‘I’m not sure about the name, either. A girl named Grady?’’

  ‘‘It isn’t her first name,’’ Dorcas said. ‘‘This is the kind of man who calls his employees by their last names. Be quiet so I can concentrate.’’

  The woman sat straighter in her chair. ‘‘I will do better next time.’’

  ‘‘I like you, Grady,’’ H.G. said. ‘‘I liked you when I hired you and I like you now. You’re a smart cookie.’’

  ‘‘Patronizing SOB,’’ Ambrose muttered.

  ‘‘Shh.’’ Dorcas put a finger to her lips.

  ‘‘Thank you, Mr. Stackhouse.’’

  ‘‘But this is no personality contest, and it sure as hell’s no IQ test. It’s business, darlin’.’’

  Dorcas pegged him as a Texan from the way he pronounced business as bidness.

  ‘‘You impressed me from the get-go, Maggie Grady, coming out of the gate with a plan and all those locations you’d researched. Mighty fine piece of work.’’

  ‘‘Maggie’s a good name,’’ Ambrose said.

  Dorcas shot him a quelling look.

  ‘‘Unfortunately, we have nothing to show for that fine planning.’’ H.G. adjusted his string tie and ran a hand over his bald head. ‘‘It’s not enough to be a smart cookie, darlin’. You have to be a tough cookie, too.’’

  ‘‘I am a tough cookie.’’ Maggie’s quick swallow revealed how upset she was.

  Dorcas could tell this job was important, one Maggie didn’t want to lose. On the wall behind H.G. was a citation of some kind, but she couldn’t read it without her glasses, which she’d left upstairs.

  She nudged Ambrose. ‘‘Can you read that framed thing on the wall?’’ she whispered.

  ‘‘Yeah. It says COMMUNITY SERVICE AWARD PRESENTED TO SAVEALOT DEPARTMENT STORES.’’