“This is a surprise.” Faye was simply too likable to be rude to, so I grinned back. “What’s the special occasion?”
I shrugged, noncommittal. “Does there have to be a special occasion for me to stop in for lunch?”
“Honey, the chicken wraps are good, but they’re hardly worth a trip across town.”
She had a point. “Speaking of that, I want a chicken wrap with ranch, fries and an iced tea.”
“Sure.” Faye jotted down the order. “Are you going to tell me why you’re really here?”
“No. I’m on a mission.”
“That sounds like you.” Faye snickered as she started to move away from the table. “I’ll be back in a minute with your drink. I’ll tell Kenna you’re here so she can join you as soon as she’s done in the lobby.”
It was an offhand comment, but it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up and threaten revolt. “I’m sorry.”
“Kenna,” Faye repeated. “She’s in the lobby. We have a new desk clerk and Kenna is taking photos for that quarterly newsletter she prints to play up new faces in Eternal Springs.”
Ah, yes, the newsletter that anyone with taste uses to line their birdcages. What were the freaking odds that Kenna would be here doing that today? They had to be astronomical. “Oh, well … .” I swallowed hard. “If Kenna is busy you don’t have to tell her I’m here. I don’t want to interrupt her very important newsletter work. It might throw off her entire day if she knows I’m here.”
“I don’t think that’s true.” Faye winked. “I’m sure she’ll be happy to have someone to eat with. I’ll tell her.”
“I … .” Faye was already gone before I could think up a way to stop her from alerting Kenna to my presence. That left me with nothing to do but wait until Kenna appeared in the doorway between the lobby and dining room.
I saw her first. She wore one of her color-coordinated suits and a pair of shoes that I was certain cost more than my Vespa. She scanned the room and by the time her gaze landed on me I was a ball of nerves.
“Here we go,” I muttered under my breath as she squared her shoulders and headed in my direction.
“Well, well, well. Look who we have here.” Kenna sounded like the cat who was about to eat the bat. “I’m surprised you’re out and about so early after your little show with Augie last night.”
I scowled. “If you have something to say, please don’t hold back on my account.”
“I don’t intend to.” Kenna plopped herself into the one seat she knew would cut off my avenue of escape should I decide to run. “I blame you for last night. I hope you know that.”
Who else would she blame? No, really. Who? I accidentally caused the town to think she was a drunken American Idol wannabe. There was no one else to blame. “Oh, come on. It wasn’t that bad. I personally think everyone loved your rendition of ‘Man, I Feel Like a Woman.’ Dylan even asked if you were really a man pretending to be a woman.”
The only thing keeping Kenna from leaping across the table and strangling me was her insistence that the community see her as a professional. “Do you think that’s funny?”
“I think there’s a lot that’s not funny happening on this island right now, so I have to get my laughs where I can,” I replied without hesitation. “I’m sorry about what happened last night. No, I really am. I can’t go back in time and change it, so I’m not certain what you want from me.”
My matter-of-fact statement caught Kenna off guard. “Why are you acting so strange today? In fact, why are you even here? It would behoove you to lay low and hide for the next few days. That way people might forget the way you and Augie practically rubbed yourselves against one another for three hours straight.”
Now she was hitting below the broom. “I did not rub myself against him.” Okay, maybe a little, but I was very careful to make sure no one saw when I did it. “What happened last night was a fluke, so there’s no reason to dwell on it … even though I know you totally will because that’s your way.”
“Did you tell Augie it was a fluke?” Kenna challenged. “I’m not sure he’d agree.”
“Oh, he agrees. We already talked about it.”
“You did?”
“Yes.”
“And what did he say?”
“He blamed himself, which makes me feel even worse than I already do,” I admitted. “He thought he did something inappropriate and was horrified.”
“Oh.” Kenna leaned back in her chair. “Actually, that shouldn’t surprise me. That’s how he is. I guess it makes sense for him to assume he did something wrong.”
“Don’t worry. I made sure he was back to his obnoxious self before sending him on his way this morning. He’s over it.”
“Are you over it?”
What was that supposed to mean? “I was never under it … or him … or you know what I mean. Stop grinning like a loon. It makes you look deranged, and that’s going to ruin that professional image you’ve worked so hard to cultivate even though no one but you cares.”
Kenna’s smile slipped. “There’s nothing wrong with being professional.”
“Of course not.”
“You should try it.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
The anger flowing between us ratcheted up a notch. We were often the first to fly off the handle when it came to disagreements.
“If that’s all you have to say to me, I came here for a quiet lunch and alone time,” I said. “Sharing conversation over lunch will eliminate that possibility for both of us.”
“I don’t want to eat with you any more than you want to eat with me,” Kenna sneered, standing. “I hope you have a nice lunch … and don’t choke on it more than once or twice.”
I should’ve left the situation alone. She was furious and ready to strike, and I was agitated and poised to annoy. It was a combustible mixture.
The problem is, even when I know I should let things play out in a calm manner I often can’t stop myself from doing the opposite. This was one of those times.
“By the way, I hear your rendition of ‘Livin’ la Vida Loca’ was everyone’s favorite last night,” I offered. “The way you shook your bonbon was a particular treat.”
That did it. I knew I’d gone a step too far even before I smelled smoke. It was too late to pull the comment back. Kenna vented her frustration on a nearby plant, which burst into flames. It was such a large explosion that the smoke alarm immediately started whining, at which point the guests and workers began panicking.
“Omigod! The hotel is on fire!”
And just like that, I had the diversion I was looking to create. I guess things work out as they’re supposed to at least a time or two.
I MANAGED TO ESCAPE from Kenna’s wrath by using my beauty and brains. Okay, I waited until she was distracted and ran like a scared little girl. What? She can start fires with her mind. I’ve seen, like, five movies based on that exact scenario and not one of them turns out well.
I was at the back of the hotel when Charles Whitney’s door opened and he stepped out. He seemed confused – I didn’t blame him – and he looked in both directions before shrugging and starting toward me. He hadn’t seen me yet, which was a good thing, because I had a plan.
I pressed my hands to my forehead, whispered the glamour spell, and smoothed the front of my shirt as I slid around the building. I timed it exactly right so Charles would inadvertently run into me … literally.
“Oomph.” I bounced off him, making a big show of grunting as I started falling back. I expected him to grab my shoulders to keep me from falling, but the look he gave me was one of annoyance instead of sympathy when I hit the floor.
“What are you doing here, Rebecca?”
He didn’t look happy to see his mistress. In fact, he looked downright furious. That was interesting. “I came to see you.” That seemed a reasonable answer. I hadn’t spent any time with Rebecca, so I wasn’t familiar with her mannerisms, but I was hopeful that wouldn’t be too muc
h of an issue if I limited my time with Charles.
“Why would you possibly come to see me?” Charles’ tone was biting.
“Because I love you.” The words burned coming out – he was a gross old man sleeping with his daughter’s best friend, after all – but I somehow managed to maintain my cover. “You’re my … snuggly bear.”
The look Charles shot me as I struggled to my feet and dusted off my sore rear end said I’d taken it too far. I wasn’t surprised. I often take things too far. Go figure. “What did you just call me?”
“I was trying to be flirty.” I decided to go on the offensive to confuse him. “Don’t worry. It won’t happen again. I’m sure my imagination won’t allow it.”
“Whatever.” Charles rubbed his elbow as he glared. “You still haven’t answered my question. Why are you here?”
“I wanted to see you. I thought we should talk.”
“What exactly do you think we should talk about, Rebecca? What does that puny brain of yours need explained this time?”
My mouth dropped open at his hurtful words and tone. “Seriously?”
“I told you yesterday that we can’t be seen together on this island!” Charles barked. “I wasn’t talking merely to hear myself talk when I said it. I was serious.”
Clearly he was serious a hundred percent of the time. I should’ve realized he wasn’t the sort of guy who was in it for the laughs. “Yeah, well … you’re not the boss of me.”
“I’m not the boss of you?” Charles’ eyes widened to comical proportions. “That’s exactly what I am. Who pays for that condo you love so much? Who gives you a weekly allowance? Who made sure you got the stupid limited edition purple color for the BMW you wanted? That was me.”
“Those were … gifts.” I felt as if I was behind in the conversation and had no hope of catching up. “You said those were gifts.”
“No, I told you what I expected in return,” Charles corrected, his lecherous gaze causing my skin to crawl. “I spelled out what was expected of both of us when we started this, Rebecca.”
“I … .” What was going on here?
“You what?” Charles’ face was red with fury. “You forgot? You always forget. I shouldn’t always have to remind you.”
He looked so angry I momentarily worried about my safety. Then I remembered I was a witch and he was an angry old man who very likely needed to pop Viagra to get his motor running. “Knock it off.” I slapped a hand in the middle of his chest to make sure he didn’t advance. “There’s no reason to get worked up. You’re old. Your heart probably can’t take the workout.”
Charles’ face twisted. “What did you say?”
“You heard me.” I extended a finger when he opened his mouth to say something that was sure to be hateful and vitriolic. “Don’t even think of yelling at me … or doing whatever it is you usually do. I’m not in the mood and I have limited time.”
Charles was flabbergasted. “So what are you doing here?”
“I want to know how long you plan to stay.”
“I already told you that I can’t leave right now.” Charles’ temper was on full display. “Are you stupid? Do you listen?” He rapped his knuckles against the side of my head, causing my temper to spurt. “If I leave now it will look like I’m running. That’s not good, you moron. I have to stay here now. I have to deal with Blair’s death. I have to pretend to be the good and caring husband, even though I only came to this island to make sure Blair didn’t kill you and leave your body in the woods for the scavengers to fight over. Do you have any idea how annoying it is to pretend to be someone I’m not?”
“I know how annoying you are,” I shot back.
“What?”
“If you ever do that again I will hurt you.” I mimed cracking my own head with my fist so he would know what I was talking about. “I’m a master at inflicting pain, too. Just try it.”
Charles’ face flooded with confusion. “Why are you acting like this? Are you drunk? It’s barely noon and you’re drinking. That’s great.”
“I haven’t been drinking.” Now I kind of wished I had a rum runner, though. Hangover be damned. “Are you always like this?”
“Like what?”
I didn’t have time to play this game. Plus, I was coming dangerously close to blowing my cover. Clearly the real Rebecca didn’t have a problem with Charles’ attitude. I felt sorry for her … and kind of wanted to shake her until she came to her senses.
“What’s your next plan of attack?” I asked, forcing myself to remain on task. “What are you going to do about Blair now that she’s … out of the picture?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“What are you going to do about me?”
Charles furrowed his brow. “What do you mean by that?”
“I want to know what the future holds. I want to know if we’re going to get married. I want to know if we’re going to move in together. I want to know how long we have to wait to go public. Those things are important to me. I don’t really care what’s important to you.”
Charles worked his jaw, but no sound came out. He was silent for so long I thought I’d inadvertently broken him. When he finally did speak, it was with a tone laced with venom and hatred. “Are you trying to kill me?”
Was that a rhetorical question? “No, but I haven’t ruled it out.”
“None of that will ever happen. I told you from the start this was going nowhere. Are you telling me you thought that was going to change simply because Blair happened to take a rock to the head? I’m not going to change my mind.”
None of this made sense. None of it. Charles’ words were pretty much the exact opposite of Lena’s. Either someone was lying or he or she didn’t understand the realities of the conversation.
“So … nothing is going to happen?”
“Exactly.” Charles poked his finger into my breastbone. “Now you need to get out of here. No one can see us together. I told you that yesterday when you showed up in that expensive outfit you wanted to put on my credit card.”
I stared at him for a long moment, unblinking. Then I did the only thing I could do and rammed my knee into his groin. “I’m leaving. Try not to miss me too much while I’m gone.”
Charles sputtered as he listed to the side, his face a mottled shade of red as foam appeared at the corners of his mouth. I was already facing the opposite direction when I heard him hit the floor. If Charles Whitney wanted to convince me he wasn’t responsible for his wife’s death, he had a long way to go. The problem was, Rebecca couldn’t be removed from the list either. She clearly had her own set of issues.
What the heck was going on in this little group of rabid crazies?
Thirteen
I was so infuriated by my interaction with Charles Whitney that I needed to blow off steam. For me, that meant taking a long ride on my Vespa. The island is only so big – at least the parts I deign to visit – so that essentially meant I drove around for an hour and then headed to the newspaper office, still fuming.
The Town Croaker was essentially a three-person operation, but I did most of the heavy lifting. I had an occasional layout person and an advertising person, and they both worked from home. I was the only one who ever visited the office regularly, and I was seriously starting to wonder if it was a waste to keep up the lease.
Of course, my ultimate problem was that I didn’t want to operate The Town Croaker out of my home and the building’s true merit came in the form of a space to hide when I needed a break from Swoops and his corned beef hash mania. Also, well, who doesn’t like having his or her own building from which to conduct business?
I parked the Vespa in front of the building, leaving my helmet hanging from the handlebar as I scuffed my feet against the sidewalk and trudged toward the front door. I had my key out and my mind on running a background check on Charles Whitney when a foul odor – one that would make rancid eggs stand up and point – assailed my senses.
I stopped in my tracks, my
mind working overtime. I first thought someone dumped a body on the property and it had been left to rot. Yes, I’m morbid like that. I watch a lot of horror movies, so a dead body is often my initial guess.
It didn’t take me long to realize that was probably not the case, especially because I’d stopped at the building the previous day on my way to Coconuts and the smell hadn’t been present.
I turned slowly, opening my senses and allowing my magic to seep out and form a net of sorts. I used it like a grid, carefully scanning each direction. I didn’t ultimately sense danger as I slowly twirled, but I did feel … something.
Was it eyes?
I had trouble believing anything could sneak that close without activating my inner danger alarm.
Was it a malevolent force?
Maybe. After the fall of the school we remained behind for a reason. We were distracted, and that allowed a door that should have always remained closed to blow open. Even now, the ramifications of that one act haunted us. It was why we couldn’t leave. More importantly, it was why we couldn’t talk about it.
Things shifted into place quickly when I spied the ancient wishing well at the front of the property. I strode in that direction, determined despite the smell, and frowned as I leaned over and peered inside.
In horror movies the audience often understands what’s about to happen. Movie watchers scream at the hapless heroine.
Don’t go in there.
Don’t look in the closet.
Don’t go upstairs.
Don’t sleep with him.
The heroine almost always does those things and somehow she survives. That was me today, because even as I held up my keychain and flicked the switch on the small attached flashlight my brain told me I was making a mistake. It wasn’t until I saw the scaly creature sitting at the bottom of the well, his black eyes large and soulful, that I realized exactly how big a mistake I had made.
Bat Out of Spell Page 11
