Max parked across the street, and I was out on the pavement practically before he’d got the engine off.
“Mimi, hold on,” he said. Presumably, he was interested in coming up with a strategy, in defining what our goals would be for this interaction. It was a smart way to go - figure out an angle, head into a situation with it. It was like using a lock pick instead of kicking at a door.
But he hadn’t done it yesterday at the hotel, his choice. Confronting Hank was mine, and I was going to go in for full-bore sincerity. I was annoyed, and this man got to know about it.
As if he’d known I was coming, Hank stepped out of the coffee shop just as I hit the curb. Right behind him were those odious sisters. They were both mid-laugh as if Hank had just said the most hilarious thing in the most hilarious way possible. One of them even stepped forward a little faster to get her hand on his arm.
That was Macy, who was tall and thin, and had her hair in a black bob. It would have made my life easier if the sisters were as ugly and croney on the outside as they were on the in. No luck, and while Macy wouldn’t win any contests for beauty, she had a memorable, strong face, marred only by the perpetual squint she looked out at the world with.
Behind her, looking at Hank like he was the next cream pasty on her plate was the shorter, plumper Stacy. She had a round face, but not the round pleasant face of a matron who ran a house of half a dozen kids and could whip them all into shape with just a tongue lashing. No, her roundness made her face look unpleasantly like a big, ripe orange just about to go rotten.
I always thought she looked a bit manic in the eyes, too, but then my judgment on these sisters was not purely objective. They ran Grand-Mere out of business. They practically ran her out of town and I was morally certain that she would still be alive today if not for their nastiness, their machinations. They had a habit of getting people into their back pocket. And here they were laughing with Mr. Suddenly Less Handsome.
“Oh, hello, Mimi,” Hank said, then he glanced back at the Jiggs and they burst out in a new round of laughter, as if something they’d just been talking about had showed up and looked upset at them. It took a lot of personal inner strength not to start becoming a harpy and shouting at them. (Actually, it took plenty not to cry, too, because for some reason Hank’s chumminess with the Jiggs felt like a slap in the face.)
“Hank,” I said, coolly.
Macy turned her imperious face with its impressive nose at me, looking at me like I was wearing white after Labor Day.
“Mimi Auclair, to what do we to owe the… pleasure’s not the word.”
“Inconvenience?” suggested Stacy. “Endurance? Test of our patience?”
“Now, now, ladies,” Hank said, still smiling. “Everybody can get along.”
“Mmm,” I said, noncommittally. I had nothing else to say, nothing else I could think of - what was Hank even doing there? With a little bit of desperation I tried to think of something exonerating. Maybe… maybe it was an undercover act. Maybe he knew like I did that the Jiggs were up to no good and he was trying to investigate them on the sly.
Still… grr.
“Have you had the French dip here?” Hank said. “It’s really amazing. Just enough horseradish to give it bite. Super thin sliced beef.”
“Mimi doesn’t dine in our cafe,” Stacy said.
“No, I don’t want to get food poisoning,” I said, smiling.
“Nonsense. We run the cleanest kitchen in town. Rumor says the Auclairs let a stray cat sleep on their kitchen counters and get on their food. They’re eccentric, I suppose, but I have animal control on the look out for the beast, in case it ever comes nosing around anywhere that actually cares about hygiene.”
That almost made me laugh. I would love to see the look on the face of any animal control agent who thought they could get the better of my familiar… But it wasn’t really a laughing matter, because the Jiggs were almost certainly capable of doing just what they said they would. They had their fingers in a lot of pies all around Lafay. It was almost certainly due to bribes being put in the right pockets… though the more I’d learned about these suspicious siblings, the more I wondered if those bribes had nothing to do with money and everything to do with nefarious use of magic.
That they would have some power over a local government entity like animal control? I wouldn’t doubt it.
“I’m so glad you’re here, though, Mimi,” Macy said, in her snide little voice. “Because we were both so worried we’d have to set foot in the flea bath of a tea shop to tell you about what we did. About what we do whenever spies try to get into our cafe, our street, our town.” She looked over my shoulder, and grinned.
I turned, just as a pair of police cars came around the corner and rumbled up the street. They didn’t have their lights or sirens on, but they moved swiftly like sharks, in a straight, deadly line aimed right at the front of Shady Tree.
“It was just a bonus that we got to spend some time with a handsome, engaging man,” Stacy said, putting a hand on Hank’s shoulder. He saw the cops coming, looked at the Jiggs, and his demeanor slipped a little.
“Wait a minute, ladies, what in the world—”
“Spies are everywhere. And some of them are ours,” Stacy said, her grin turning wicked. “And so when we told our friends at the police that a certain suspicious outsider to our town was in the hotel room of a recently murdered man, they asked us to make sure he stayed in our shop until they could come over to collect him for questioning.”
“And they’ll eventually find out how much time he spent with you, Mimi, and maybe even hear a suggestion that you had invited him to stay over with you, or even brought him to town.”
“So they’ll be coming for you soon, Mimi,” the Jiggs said, in unison, and they started to cackle. Hank and I looked at each other. His left hand began to practically twitch, working through some spell that he would use to extricate himself from the situation. I shook my head, no, just as Officers Frisco and Quincey stepped out of their car.
“Hank Kramer?” Frisco said. He was the good cop, clean shaven, fit, with a perpetually calm demeanor that made him good at de-escalating situations.
Officer Quincey was the opposite. Not too tall, not too bright, but as strong and thick as a linebacker with a nasty sneer on his face nearly all the time. He’d arrested my little sister not too long ago, and I would never forget the look on his face when he got to push her down into the car. He loved having power over people. He was the bad cop.
“He looks like he’s going to rabbit,” Quincey said, his hand going to the baton on his belt. “He looks like he’s the type who thinks he can get away.”
Hank hadn’t looked at either cop or changed his expression since the Jiggs showed their devious hand. I think, just like me, he was trying to think quickly through all the implications of what they’d done, of what he’d done. He grimaced, and turned away from me.
“I’m not gonna—”
Quincey moved in quickly grabbing both of Hanks’ arms and pulling them hard behind his back.
“Just try it, just try it!” Quincey shouted.
“For God’s sake, Quincey, what are you doing?” Frisco said, his eyes intense but his tone as smooth and diplomatic as ever. “Get your hands off him. Sir, we would like you to come to the station for questioning.”
Quincey let go, backed off, but kept breathing heavily, like a bull champing to be let out of its pen.
“Am I under arrest?” Hank said.
“Did the man say so?” Quincey practically bellowed behind him. Hank glanced back at Quincey, looked him in the face for a long, considering while, then turned back to Frisco, and repeated his question.
“No.”
“But you brought two cop cars in case, what?” Hank said.
“In case you try to pull anything, killer,” Quincey said, his voice lowering, his face suddenly inches from Hank’s ear.
“If I’m not under arrest, I can just walk away,” Hank said.
&nb
sp; “It would go easier for everyone if you just come with us, Mr. Kramer.”
Hank turned back to look at the Jiggs, and there was a hint of the old twinkle in his eye. What the heck that meant, I had no idea, but without another word he stepped to the police car. Frisco moved quickly to get himself between Hank and Quincey, so the thug wouldn’t have a chance to do something stupid and violent for no reason, just because he could.
Frisco didn’t so much as look at me, which was probably for the best. We were friends through Max, who had stayed across the street for this whole ordeal, and if Frisco could maintain a sense of plausible deniability that I had anything to do with this, that I just happened to be standing there on the corner minding my own business, it would probably work out better for both of us.
Stacy Jiggs must have come to the same conclusion, because she stepped forward and screeched, “You know these two are together. They went out last night, and everything. Who’s to say they weren’t working together? Who’s to say they aren’t in this whole thing together from the start?”
Quincey, who hated me as much as I hated his mustache, turned and looked at me, the instant after Hank had been secured inside the vehicle. “Oh, yeah? Is that so?”
“Mm-hmm,” Macy added, bobbing up next to her sister. “Keep your eye on the Auclair woman, she must know more than what she says.”
“Maybe he’s her connection,” Stacy said, gasping. “That’s where she gets them!”
“Them? What them?” Quincey said, eye-balling me.
“Quincey, let’s go,” Frisco said, still not looking at me.
“Hold up, Frisco. I’m being told this Auclair lady might have some kind of connection to all of this.”
Frisco made a mildly frustrated gesture, but he didn’t say anything. Quincey got a little closer to me.
“So, spill it.”
“Spill what?” I said, completely baffled.
“What’s your connection to this guy?” he said.
“Oh, you got me officer. I’ve done business with this man. Yesterday I…” I chewed on my knuckle, fought back a sob. “Yesterday I sold him some tea. At my shop. My tea shop.”
Frisco snorted, but Quincey just squeezed his eyes shut.
“That’s it, kitten. You think you’re smart? Well, you’ll be coming with—”
“Lawyer,” I said.
He froze, his eyes moving left and right like he was looking for where that odd, ominous sound came. “What?”
“Lawyer. If you would like to interview me, you can call Sherry Abrams. She’s got an office in the main park on Grand. Do you know Miss Abrams? Because believe me, she knows about you. I had a long talk with her just the other day about how some members of local law enforcement were being too heavy-handed with the local high school.”
“You ain’t in high school, lady,” Quincey said through gritted teeth, trying to make it sound like a real threat.
“No, but I do have a lawyer. Talk to her before you ever try to speak to me again.”
In my mind, an audience watching my little show applauded. In real life, when I turned around to walk down the street, the only thing that followed, other than the sound of grinding teeth from Officer Quincey, was Macy Jiggs saying, loud enough anyone nearby could hear, “Ask her what she’s selling out the back of her shop.”
I froze, and slowly turned to look at the ugly triumph on Macy Jiggs bursting-orange face.
“What did you say?”
“I’ve seen it. Little white bags of something. The little one, the girl in high school does it, I’ve seen her handing them out to those weirdos in town.”
Stacy Jiggs put her hands on her sisters shoulders and nodded, solemnly.
“I’ve heard that drug dealers often use people under 18 to move their product, because they can’t go to jail for long. Something should be done.”
Macy touched her sister’s hand and returned her nod.
I couldn’t believe the things I was hearing. That they would insinuate nastiness and ugliness on other people, even me, I could understand. It was the way they thought and dealt with life. But to drag in Lucy with their lies… and off all things to accuse me, me of selling illegal stuff from my store, the very thing that they were doing with their evil, mean-spirited magic!
I dodged both sisters and Quincey, diving toward the front door of their shop. I charged inside, ignored the startled noises from people who were enjoying their meals or, more often, who were staring out the front to see what the commotion with the cops was, and headed straight for the back of the shop.
That was where the Jiggs hid their magic. That was where they did their illegal activities…
And, as a low and angry growl reminded me, that was also where they kept their guard dog.
Chapter 14
All of the hair on the back of my neck did not stand up. They leapt away, trying to pull me back towards the door, away from the sound of the angry, approaching animal. I’d pushed open a wooden door to get into the back area, where I knew that the Jiggs made their tinctures and potions and prepared spells. They were brazen enough about it that they even printed up little labels with their names on them, so people knew where their mephitic magic was made.
I stepped back toward that wooden door, reached for the knob just to feel it slip away from my grasp, and for the door to slam shut. Gulp. The Jiggs must have had spells on their doors like I did on mine, and right now they were using theirs to keep me locked in with their guard dog.
In my zeal to show them out for the baddies they were I had forgotten a number of things. First, that there wasn’t any laws against selling magic the way they were doing it, because legally magic didn’t exist. Second, that when you’re inside any sort of magical person’s home or place of business, you are almost entirely at their mercy. Any self-respecting witch has numerous little secrets embedded in the very stones of their building, just waiting for someone unwanted and unwary to step in it.
And, worst of all, I’d forgotten the little but mighty bull terrier that they had bought for the express purposes of tormenting my familiar. Kashmir had broken into this place more than once, but the presence of a life-threatening dog had put a stop to that. Something I should have recalled as it stepped out of the shadows, just beneath the stairs, its white lips peeled back from its face in a menacing, terrifying growl.
“Nice doggy,” I said, which was not at all true. Nothing about this doggy looked nice, or friendly or tame or even particularly sane. It wasn’t that big, but it was built like a land shark, pointed and straight and all nasty, toothy business. I stepped backwards and grabbed the door knob, twisting it slowly.
It did not twist. It held fast, not even giving a little to test the lock. The entire knob felt like it had been held in place with cement. Or, most likely in this case, magic.
I glanced around the room looking for something, anything that might keep the dog away from me. There were glass bottles filled with powders and liquids, two mortar and pestles for grinding, and an entire wall filled with what looked like the world’s most elaborate spice rack. I knew if I looked at the hand-made labels for those spices, I wouldn’t be looking at parsley, sage, rosemary or thyme. It would be witch things with witch names.
Which might have helped me if I’d had couple hours and a recipe for dog-b-gone. Somehow, I could tell the bull terrier was picking up my growing panic, because its growl grew louder, and it drew closer. Spit was coming from the corner of its mouth, and I had the terrible feeling that I was about to die.
What could I do? My magic wouldn’t work here, I had nothing prepared, I was locked in. Could I punch a dog if I needed to? Kick it with my open-toed wedge shoes that looked so cute when I put them on this morning? Shows me for not being practical.
I did the only thing I could think of in the seconds before it charged.
“No! Be a good doggy. No growl!”
It paused, one paw up in the air, its hind legs titled back. It was crouching in the instant before it
was to leap, but it stopped. And looked at me, doing a subtle version of the dog-typical cocked head. Which it promptly flipped around to the other side, its clipped ears staying straight up.
Its ears twitched like they were trying to tune in to the right radio signal. Then it apparently found it, and received instructions to attack me. The dog set all four feet back on the ground, looked at me sincerely, and began to growl and rear back again. My fearful instincts were telling me to bang against the door, to cringe, to get something between me and that hunk of dangerous muscle and teeth.
But I had what I can only think of as a higher instinct, a magical instinct, maybe. I didn’t back away. Instead, I stepped forward, within reach of the dog, and with my hand out said, again, “No growl! Good doggy.”
I said it like a command, and put as much force as I could into my voice. Again, the growling stopped, and the dog looked confused as my hand came down towards it nose. It snorted, angrily, and then turned that snort into a sniff.
About 10 seconds later, the door behind me opened and Stacy Jiggs stood in the doorway, calling back, “I just hope the dog hasn’t hurt her. It would be awful…”
Then she was at a complete loss for words. I supposed she expected to see me crouching in the corner, harassed by their living security system. Maybe she was mean enough to hope to see me covered in blood and being used as a chew toy.
What she could not have expected was to see her big ol’ mean terrier on its back, one back foot kicking as high as it could in the air while I rubbed its belly for all I was worth. The dog whipped its head back and forth, slobber flying off of its jowly lips like a sprinkler system, hitting about everything in sight.
“Who’s a good girl? Who’s a good girl?”
“Rahab!” Stacy shrieked.
The dog and I both stared at Stacy. After a brief pause, Rahab the bull terrier got to its feet and walked, with a bit of wounded dignity, up to her master. I got to my feet and took the same path, though without the look of doggy shame on my face.
Never Date A Warlock (Sister Witchcraft Book 4) Page 11
