Witches of Three_Philomena

by Temple Hogan

  Chapter Five

  “What’s going on?” Charlie asked as soon as she climbed the steps to the porch.

  “Why would something be going on?” Phil answered evasively, turning to go into the house. Of course Charlie followed.

  “I saw your hunky handyman tearing out of here like the devil himself was after him and you’re standing out on the porch in your altogether. I’ll bet your neighbors enjoyed the view even if Beck didn’t.”

  “Oh, Charlie, shut up!” Phil snapped, taking a pitcher of tea out of the fridge, pouring a glass and handing it to her sister.

  “Aren’t you going to have tea?” Charlie asked.

  “I need something much stronger,” Phil said and marched into the parlor where she poured herself a stiff shot of tequila.

  “Hmm,” Charlie observed and reached for the bottle. “Let me make this a little more palliative.” She disappeared into the kitchen and soon returned with a pitcher of margaritas and salt-rimmed glasses. When she’d served Phil and herself with glasses of their favorite drink, she settled into a comfortable chair and looked at her sister.

  “Start at the beginning and don’t leave out any details,” she instructed.

  Phil sipped her drink and looked at Charlie who had been her confidant and her nemesis most of their lives. Still, she couldn’t resist the offer.

  “Beck and I spent the afternoon together,” she said.

  “And you did the dirty deed?”

  “With Beck, I wouldn’t call it that.”

  “He’s as good as he looks, huh?” Charlie observed and sipped.

  Annoyed, Phil cast her a sharp look. “He delivers,” she said shortly.

  “Then what’s the problem?” Charlie waited expectantly and now that Phil was faced with the obvious question, she wasn’t sure how to answer.

  “I’m not sure,” she said finally. For a long moment she sat contemplating her time with Beck. For once, Charlie remained silent.

  “I’m not sure about anything,” Phil said. “He’s very…cautious.”

  “About?”

  “Everything that’s happened to him. I suppose he has the right to be. He’s accused of killing his wife and no one will believe him when he says he didn’t, so he’s become defensive.”

  “Who wouldn’t in those circumstances,” Charlie agreed. “But the truth is, Phil, he’s the only one who could have done it.”

  “You think he’s guilty, too?” Phil looked at her sister askance.

  Charlie shrugged. “The police do, and they’re pretty sharp when it comes to this sort of thing.” Charlie waited a beat. “You’re not getting your heart involved with this man, are you?”

  Phil ignored her question. “What are they saying about the case? Have you heard anything?” she asked instead.

  Charlie shrugged again and drank more of her margarita than she should have because she came up coughing and wheezing. All a delaying tactic in Phil’s estimation.

  “Have they looked at any other possibilities?” she pressed. “After all, they know she had quite a reputation with the men in town, in spite of being married to Beck.” She paused, thinking back over the afternoon. “Why a woman would go looking for another man after Beck is beyond me.”

  “Uh-oh, sounds like you’ve invested more into your handyman than you should,” Charlie said, considering her sister with a measuring eye.

  “I would feel this way about anyone who was being wrongfully accused,” Phil said indignantly, drawing herself up.

  “That sort of thing is Sera’s forte, not yours,” Charlie reminded her. “Since when have you bothered yourself with guilt and innocence? Have you been reading Dostoyevsky again?”

  “Don’t be tiresome, Charlie. I really need some answers here. I know Beck is innocent. A man like him would never murder his wife.”

  “You’ve been using your powers, of course.”

  “Of course!”

  “Hey, honey, you’ve got it bad, haven’t you?” Charlie leaned close and gazed into Phil’s eyes then grinned. “Don’t tell me our free-spirited, queen of non-commitment, witch-about-town has finally been bitten?”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Phil said. “I just want to help him, if I can.” She pouted for a minute then sat up straighter. “The police have looked at other suspects?”

  “Of course.”

  “And found absolutely no one who had motive?”

  “Not like her estranged husband.”

  At this, Phil drew a deep breath and sat thinking, tapping her chin lightly. “There has to be someone else.”

  “Did I mention that she was pregnant?” Charlie asked.

  “Then maybe the man who’d made her so was enraged and killed her. Maybe she was making demands he couldn’t or didn’t want to meet. Maybe she had some other lover who found out and was enraged.”

  “Like a cuckold husband?”

  “Oh, Charlie, people don’t think like that these days,” Phil said with some irritation at having her train of thought broken. “There has to be something. I can’t just conjure it up out of the air, without a clue.”

  “I know. I’ve tried,” Charlie conceded.

  “With Beck?”

  “On another case I’m working on.”

  “Oh.” Phil’s shoulders sagged then she straightened and looked at Charlie with squinted eyes. “You use your powers to solve your cases and you come here and give me a hard time?”

  “You’re so easy to rile. I can’t help myself.” Before Phil could voice a reaction, Charlie hurried on. “You need to find out more about Diane’s activities, where she went and who her friends were.”

  “Oh, sure, how am I going to do that?” Phil muttered to herself.

  “You have a great source of information at your fingertips or should I say at your—no, I won’t say it. But the next time Beck comes to your boudoir, I’d do a little pillow talk.”

  “If he comes.” Phil bit her nail.

  Charlie shook her head. “For someone who’s as experienced with men as you’re supposed to be, you are surprisingly naïve.”

  “No, I’m not,” Phil said, hackles rising.

  “Killie,” Charlie said. “I rest my case.”

  “All right, sometimes I make stupid choices.”

  “That’s rather letting yourself off the hook too easily,” Charlie needled.

  Phil ignored her and with a snap of her finger changed into a pair of black jeans, a black turtleneck shirt and black tennis shoes.

  “What are you up to now?” Charlie asked.

  “I going to do as you suggested and search for anything I can find out about Diane’s friends and by that I mean lovers, past and present.”

  “You look like a cat burglar,” Charlie observed.

  “I’m prepared to do what I must to get the information.”

  “Do you know where to start?” Charlie eyed her speculatively.

  Phil’s shoulders slumped and she sighed. “I’ll start where I must,” she said, raising her chin.

  “You haven’t got a clue,” Charlie accused then relented. “Our records indicate she had a fondness for J&B’s bar and grill on Twentieth street. You might start there.”

  “Thanks,” Phil said gratefully.

  “No problem. That’s what sisters are for.” Charlie put her empty glass aside and got to her feet. “I have to go.”

  “Wait a minute. Why did you come in the first place?” Phil asked, following her to the front hall.

  “I forget,” Charlie said.

  Phil drew in a deep breath. “You were eavesdropping on me when Beck was here!”

  “Well, not really. I just wondered what you were doing.”

  “And jumped in your car and dashed right over,” Phil accused.

  “I waited until you were done, which I might say was much longer than I’d expected.”

  “Get out,” Phil said, holding the door open for her.

  “That’s no way to treat a sister, especially one who’s just given you priv
ileged information from police files.”

  “Out!”

  “I hope I helped some,” Charlie said, going down the steps. “If you need any more help, let me know.”

  Phil watched her go and felt an old familiar tug of affection for her outspoken sister. Still, Charlie shouldn’t have eavesdropped on Beck and her. She’d never done that to Charlie, well, just that once when they were in college and she was still a virgin and wondered what the big fuss was about and Charlie had mocked her so it had seemed fair. When she’d gotten over her shock and curiosity, she’d formed a grudging appreciation for her sister. She pushed the recollection away. She was off to J&B’s bar and grill.

  * * * *

  What the hell had he been thinking? He’d known he shouldn’t touch her and known he would. He’d never met a woman like her. She dominated his thoughts night and day like a sore thumb after you’ve hit it with a hammer. He’d imagined what it would be like to make love to her, imagined running his hands up her smooth, creamy thighs and exploring every golden inch of her.

  He hadn’t been disappointed. In fact, he’d been surprised at her passionate responses and at the electricity that had sparked between them. If she were here right now, he’d probably have to drive the truck off the road and make love to her again, thoroughly and completely, until they were both sweaty and panting. Just thinking about it excited him. He thought of turning around and heading back to her house, but he’d seen her sister pull into the driveway as he was leaving. No doubt they were making comparisons even now.

  Wasn’t that what women did?

  Not if they cared, he thought, then pushed that wishful madness away. There had been no caring, just fucking. The best fucking he’d ever had, but that’s what it was. Maybe that was why it had been so great, no commitment, no caring. Just two animals going at it.

  Was that what had drawn Diane to sex outside their marriage? No responsibilities. Had he failed her? He pushed aside the question he’d asked himself hundreds of times since he’d discovered she’d been unfaithful. He hadn’t been able to satisfy her, no matter what he did.

  Yet, Phil had looked satisfied. She’d absolutely purred and moaned and screamed her satisfaction. Once again he thought about turning the truck around then remembered her sister. Besides, he was at the lumber company and he needed to get his head back on the job. He had to forget the golden, passionate woman who thought she was a witch. Hell, the way he was feeling now, maybe she was. Maybe she’d cast a spell over him.

  * * * *

  Outside the bar, Phil glanced down at her outfit. Maybe Charlie had a point. She looked more like a butch biker chick. It might work here, or not. She bobbed her head and readjusted the skimpy top that suddenly appeared, baring her mid drift and most of her boobs. Her new skirt wasn’t much better and she could barely walk in the mile-high platform sandals. Oh well, she was a witch. She didn’t have to walk in them. She’d just glide along the ground and no one would notice the difference. She skimmed her way to the entrance and went in. The smell of stale beer and tobacco smoke mingled with grass, not the new mown kind, greeted her. The music from the jukebox was so loud, it hit her like a physical blow, but everything got real quiet. The sound of racketing cue balls stopped so abruptly, she wondered if she’d unwittingly thrown a spell. Just about every eye in the place turned to her and conversation suspended.

  Okay, that could be good or bad.

  Gathering her bravado, she made her way to the bar, not gliding, but lurching along on the platforms, managing to swing her hips so wide she feared she might throw them out of joint. No one seemed to mind. The men jeered, drew in their breaths with collective groans and adjusted their crotches, their cue balls momentarily forgotten. The women just glared at her. Phil flipped her cascading golden locks, squirmed onto a bar stool and crossed her long legs, allowing the skirt to ride up to dangerous heights. The female bartender slapped a wet bar towel down in front of her, spraying a bit of dirty water and beer over her in the process. Phil smiled sweetly and opened a tap with a raise of her eyebrow. Beer gushed out, wetting the woman’s front. Startled, she grabbed for the tap, closed it and glared at Phil as if it had all been her fault, which it had been.

  “What’ll you have?” the woman asked.

  “A margarita on the rocks, Maris, is it?” Phil said with a brilliant smile, eyeing the woman’s nametag pinned to her ample bosom. She wouldn’t get anywhere if she made an enemy of the woman. Bartenders knew everything or so they did in books, movies and television, and that was a broad enough scope for her.

  Maris didn’t confirm or deny but set about making the requested drink. When she shoved it across the bar, she glared at Phil.

  “Five bucks or do you want me to run a tab?” she asked grouchily.

  “Oh, run a tab. I plan to be here a while,” Phil said and took her first ship. Weak and watery was her first impression, but she scrunched up her face in a facsimile of pure delight. “Mmm, perfect.”

  She set the drink on the bar and leaned forward a little. Other men along the bar twisted to get a better look down her top at the smooth white mounds she’d displayed.

  “I was wondering,” she said, making her voice little girl small and soft. “If you’ve seen Diane lately. We used to be drinking buddies before I went away.”

  “How long have you been gone?” Maris asked in surprise. “Diane died two years ago, murdered by her husband, although the police ain’t arrested him yet.”

  “Diane was murdered by her husband?” Phil faked a tear. “And the police haven’t arrested him yet? Why ever not?”

  “They can’t prove it,” Maris said, wiping at the bar. “The bastard covered his tracks too well.”

  “Poor Diane.” Phil shook her head. “But I told her she should be more discreet.” She tilted her head. “Poor Johnny.”

  “Johnny?” Maris asked sharply.

  “Wasn’t that the name of her boyfriend?” Phil opened her eyes wide and looked confused. “She was crazy about him.”

  “She was crazy about a lot of guys,” Maris said. “The richer, the better.”

  She clamped her mouth shut as if to stop herself from saying more. Phil waited, but the woman moved down the bar and served other customers. Phil sipped her sorry excuse for a margarita, danced with the men who asked her but were more interested in just holding her tight against their arousals than in actually moving across the floor. While they imagined her naked in their beds, she asked them questions about her dead friend, Diane, and her boyfriends.

  Finally, when she felt she’d gleaned all she could, she minced her way to the door, smiled over her shoulder at her new friends who had their gazes pinned on her undulating hips so they barely noticed her wave, and escaped into the fresh cool air of the parking lot. Except she wasn’t alone. A man followed her. She felt her heart lurch then resignation settled over her. Well, she’d played the flirt, a free and easy spirit who might be interested in a rumple in the back of a pick-up truck, so she must expect to deal with the consequences.

  She smiled at the man as he approached.

  “Hi, sugar,” she called.

  When he got close enough, she pretended to weave and fell against him, ready to send him to the other side of the parking lot if she had to.

  “Look, you little slut,” the man said hoarsely and grabbed her roughly. Not a would-be lover, Phil thought, wincing at the power of his grip.

  “Ouch, you’re hurting me,” she said.

  The man shook her. “I’ll do more than that if you keep on asking questions about Diane Crawford,” he growled. “Forget about her. She’s dead. And you could be, too, if you aren’t careful.”

  Phil froze at his words, her mind moving swiftly over all the possibilities they might mean.

  “Are you Diane’s friend, too?” she asked, forgetting to slur her words to feign drunkenness.

  “Don’t worry about who I am,” the man said, releasing her with such force she nearly fell in her overly high platforms.


  By the time, she’d righted herself, the man had disappeared into the darkness. She stood staring into the shadows, trying to catch a glimpse of him then she moved moth-like around the building, searching, but he’d disappeared. Rubbing her arms against the sudden chill and her throbbing muscles where he’d grabbed her, she got back into her car and headed home. She was on to something, she thought.

  Chapter Six

  “Aigh! What are you?”

  The creature giggled. “I’m a girl. You’re funny.”

  “Where did you come from?” Phil stared at her visitor.

  “I’m with my daddy,” the little minx said saucily.

  Although Phil didn’t like children, she had to admit this one was rather pretty and lively.

  “Emily, I told you not to come in here,” Beck said. He filled the doorway, his eyes bluer than she remembered them, his expression guarded.

  “Today’s the first day I get to have her on my own for the afternoon. I have some wood and things from the lumber company to unload and thought she might like to see where I’m working.”

  “Daddy said you’re pretty and he’s right.”

  “Thank you, and so are you.” Phil darted a glance at Beck and back at the girl, who smiled charmingly. She had Beck’s eyes and a daintier version of his features, but her hair was caramel colored and hung down her back.

  “Are you a witch?”

  “Yes,” Phil said firmly.

  “You must be the good witch of the East,” the diminutive cherub said. “I think I’ll call you Glenda.”

  “Call me Phil. That’s my name. How old are you anyway?”

  The girl held up four chubby fingers.

  “Four going on fourteen,” Beck said with indulgent pride.

  “Oh, daddy,” the girl said and swiveled around to look over the kitchen. “This doesn’t look like a witch’s lair.”

  “I’ve disguised it,” Phil answered and looked at Beck.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” he said.

  “Silly, daddy,” Emily said, walking around. “Of course, she doesn’t mind. Witches like children.”

  “Where did you ever hear that?” Phil asked.