"I take it none of these ‘guys’ are football buddies?” Justine asked bluntly. She forked spaghetti onto her toast, watching Jordan's expression from the corner of her eye. His face was slowly turning a dull, angry red. Good, she thought smugly. Now maybe she'd see some real anger. She didn't think it was healthy for him to keep it bottled up inside.
Apparently Jordan had other ideas. He pushed his chair back and came to his feet, looking at his mother. “May I be excused?"
Bea's voice shook with simmering anger. “Not until you apologize to your Aunt Justine."
"For what?” Jordan demanded belligerently. His fists were clenched at his sides; a vein pulsed in his neck.
Justine's heart went out to him. She felt helpless and frustrated. It was obvious to all something was wrong. Why wouldn't he talk about it? What happened to the old Jordan, the one who wouldn't hesitate to state his opinion, or talk about his problems with his parents?
Clay answered, anger sparkling in his brown eyes, eyes a few shades darker than Justine's own. “For being rude to Justine. She's a guest in our house—"
"Does that give her the right to stick her nose in my business?"
Bea gasped; Drew and Colby stared in shock. Clay pushed back his chair and threw his napkin on the table, his gaze narrowed dangerously. He reminded Justine of a hard-boiled lawyer drilling a frightened witness.
She felt awful for disrupting dinner, and from the looks of it, getting Jordan into trouble. She opened her mouth, intent on distracting her brother and perhaps easing the way for Jordan, but Clay caught the movement and effectively stilled her words with a single sharp glance.
"Wait for me in the study,” Clay instructed Jordan.
"Clay—"
"No, Bea. We've been patient and have tried to give him some breathing space, but I won't stand for this type of behavior. He'll apologize to Justine or he'll suffer the consequences."
Jordan stomped out of the room. Justine started to slump into a miserable ball, but her brother's sharp words jerked her straight again.
"And don't you dare blame yourself, Justine. You were just trying to find out what we've all been dying to know: what's eating Jordan."
"I think that's supposed to be ‘What's Eating Gilbert Grape,’ Dad,” Drew corrected, straight-faced.
Colby snickered.
A glance from their father sobered them quickly. “If you boys are finished, I believe the garage needs to be cleaned."
Neither boy protested. They dutifully took their plates to the counter before disappearing through the back door leading into the garage. After Clay had gone, Justine and Bea were left alone at the table. Justine cleared her throat, feeling miserable despite Clay's attempts to alleviate her guilt.
"I didn't mean to get him into trouble,” she mumbled, staring morosely at her plate.
"If you ask me, it's about time.” Bea rose and began to clear the table, her quick, jerky movements revealing her agitation. When Justine popped out of her chair to help her, Bea waved her back down. “No, don't even think about it. From what I hear, you had the weekend from hell. I've been waiting all morning to hear about it."
Justine stared at her, slowly sinking into her chair again. “How did you know?” More to the point, how much did she know?
"Carmella was at Rawhide last night when you got thrown out. She told Sue, and Sue called this morning. She said Carmella said two men were fighting over you.” Bea scraped plates and stacked dishes as she spoke, casting a worried glance now and then at the hallway leading to the study.
"And Carmella didn't recognize the two men?” Justine asked with mild sarcasm. She handed Bea the leftover bowl of spaghetti from the opposite end of the table. “I'll bet she's pulling her hair out waiting for you to call her back."
Bea laughed, but it wasn't her usual boisterous laugh. “She'll be bald, then. You know how I feel about gossip."
"Unless it's about your sister-in-law."
"Unless it's about my best friend,” Bea corrected, then added honestly, “and my sister-in-law. Besides, Carmella thought she recognized Barry Fowler, and she described the other guy as tall, dark, and handsome."
"How original,” Justine murmured. And how true. She watched as Bea paused in her cleaning to prepare the automatic drip coffeemaker. “So, have you guessed who the other guy is?"
"Been guessing all morning, and I keep coming up with the same answer.” Casting a conspiratorial glance in the direction of the hallway, she lowered her voice to a near whisper. “Zachary Wayne."
"Good guess, only he wasn't supposed to be there,” Justine whispered back. “I accepted a date with Barry hoping Zack would take the hint."
Bea's brow climbed, emphasizing the tiny lines in her forehead. “And he crashed your date?"
"Not only that, but he insisted that I told him to meet me there. By the way, why are we whispering?"
"Because if Jordan finds out you're seeing Coach—"
"I'm not seeing Zack,” Justine quickly assured her. She hesitated, then plunged on, “Bea, does Jordan know about...the cruise and Zack?"
Bea looked puzzled. “If he does, he didn't hear it from me. Why?"
"Because Zack swears that I called him from the store Friday night and told him that I changed my mind about dinner. I never left my apartment after I got home."
"So? He could have been lying.” Bea's gaze suddenly narrowed. “Is he implying that Jordan had something to do with this?"
Justine quickly told her about Zack's uninvited houseguest, the deleted caller ID, and the mysterious break-in at the store. By the time she finished, Bea's defensive expression had crumbled. “No one's accusing Jordan,” Justine stressed. “We're just trying to get to the bottom of this. And if by some slim chance it turns out Jordan was involved, no harm was done."
Bea was quiet as she filled two cups with coffee and set the cream and sugar on the table. She sat a cup in front of Justine, then took a seat, looking dazed and a little frightened. “We're not talking about a prank call here; we're talking about breaking and entering."
"I would never press charges against my own nephew!"
"I'm not talking about you,” Bea said. “I'm talking about Coach Wayne."
"He doesn't have any proof of anything."
"But he suspects him, doesn't he?” Bea guessed shrewdly. “He's thinking Jordan might be after a little revenge for kicking him off the team. What about fingerprints? If Coach Wayne tells the police about his suspicions, they could take Jordan in for questioning. If they find fingerprints on the telephone—"
"Whoa!” Alarmed at her words, Justine held up her hand. “You don't really think Jordan was behind this, do you?” She hadn't believed it either, but the fact that Bea was considering it frightened her.
Bea sighed and shook her head. Her eyes were suspiciously bright. “I don't know. Before tonight's display, I would have snapped your head off for even hinting at it. Now I just don't know. I've never seen him this angry, and if he does know that you're involved—were involved—with Coach Wayne, he might be mad at you, too.” Absently, she dumped three spoonfuls of sugar in her coffee and took a drink without stirring it. “Did you get a chance to talk to Coach Wayne about Jordan?"
Justine groaned inwardly. She had hoped Bea had forgotten about it. “I mentioned it,” she admitted reluctantly.
"And?"
"And he refused to discuss it."
Bea's spoon clattered to the table. “He didn't even give you a reason for not talking about it?"
Shaking her head, Justine recalled his expression at the time. He'd looked as if...he knew something that she didn't. But it was just a suspicion, not something she felt comfortable sharing with Bea. “No. He just clammed up and wouldn't talk about it."
"So where do we go from here?"
Justine wished there was something she could say to erase Bea's miserable expression.
Unfortunately, nothing came to mind.
"Poor kid,” Mini whispered as she gazed into the cry
stal ball at Justine and Bea. She glanced sideways at her husband and saw from his expression that he shared her sympathy for the young mortal, Jordan. “And I thought by creating a mystery we'd found a way to bring Zack and Justine together, at least for a short while. Now they're blaming Jordan for what we did. We can't allow this to continue, Reuben. The poor mortal child has enough on his mind."
Reuben stomped his foot on the perch and muttered, “Wretched mortals! Why do they have to think so much?"
"Because they're mortals, darling,” Mini explained patiently. “They don't use magic, so they have difficulty believing it exists. Therefore in their minds everything that happens must have a logical explanation."
"Are you saying they have no imagination?"
"No, I'm not saying that at all. If they actually saw magic, then they might believe in it."
"Might believe in it?” Reuben repeated incredulously.
Mini nodded. “It's true. Some mortals refuse to believe in magic even when they do see it for themselves."
"What about Justine and Zack?"
She tipped her head, staring at Reuben suspiciously. “If you're thinking what I think you're thinking, you can forget it. We can't have mortals knowing about us, darling."
"Why not? Why not just tell them exactly what happened aboard the cruise ship—show them on the crystal ball.” Reuben tried to snap his fingers, growling an oath when he only succeeded in loosening a feather. “Our mission would be over, our sentence reduced. We could go home."
"Reuben—"
"I don't like it here, Mini.” Reuben's voice took on a familiar grumble she'd hoped never to hear again. “I hear things at night, slithering, hissing sounds. I think—I think she might have rats.” He shuddered. “I haven't slept a wink since we got here."
Mini laughed outright, unwilling to confess the true nature of the slithering and hissing. Her husband had yet to find out about the reptile room. “I'm the one who doesn't sleep at night. You snore loud enough to wake the dead."
Reuben looked intrigued. “You think so? I tried raising the dead once, but the spell mentioned nothing about snoring.” He pressed his wingtip to his chin in thought. “Perhaps that's why the spell didn't work."
He was serious! With a gasp, Mini said, “Reuben, do you know the penalty for raising the dead?"
"I wasn't aware there was a penalty."
"There is.” Mini paused a beat, then added fearfully, “They take away your powers."
"No!"
"Yes."
"No! For how long?"
"Forever."
Reuben thrust his chest out in an act of bravado, but Mini noticed his eyes had widened in shock. “Well, I was a nasty warlock at the time. They can't hold my past transgressions against me...can they?"
"They could, but they don't. They can, however, watch you very closely because of your past...transgressions. Now, back to why we can't clue Justine and Zack in on the fact that we're witches—"
"Ahem."
"A witch and a warlock, although I can't imagine why you still insist on being called a warlock.” Mini sniffed to show her disapproval. “As I was saying, showing ourselves to Justine and Zack and telling them the truth would be too easy."
"What's wrong with easy?” Reuben demanded.
"We're being punished, darling. I don't think the witches’ council will reduce our sentence just for delivering a message any witch could have delivered. Justine and Zack must resolve this issue themselves."
"Then why are we here?"
Mini frowned at his sarcastic tone. “We're here to make sure they have an opportunity to resolve their differences."
She wasn't about to explain to her husband she had taken the assignment for other, more personal reasons, such as finding out why Reuben had changed over the past hundred years or so from a happy, loving husband to a restless, grumpy warlock. Or that she hoped the courtship between Justine and Zachary would remind Reuben of what they once had.
"Well,” Reuben sneered, back to his old nasty self. “So far all we've managed to do is create more problems."
Unfortunately, Mini thought gloomily, thinking of Jordan, he was right.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Nine
When Justine came into the shop Monday afternoon after a quick visit to the bank to make a deposit, she walked into a scene that made her question why she had chosen this particular line of business over something staid and normal...like a flower shop, or a clothing store.
Chris, whom Justine had always admired for his cool, unflappable reaction in the face of disaster, was hysterical to the point of wringing his hands. And who wouldn't be? Justine reasoned, staring open-mouthed at the enraged monkey hanging from the overhead light fixture.
The little monkey glared at them, pointing and chattering and occasionally baring his teeth in what might have been a smile, but to Justine looked more like a grimace. Black with the exception of his face and throat, he had anchored himself to the fixture by curling his long tail around the protruding base.
And he didn't look as if he planned to come down anytime soon.
Justine closed her eyes and slowly counted to ten. If she believed in witches and curses, she would have considered the possibility that she had offended someone with the power to make her life miserable. The sprinklers, the break-in...now this?
She opened her eyes to find the monkey staring at her with bright hostility. “Chris, call Melissa and ask her to come down here. Tell her it's an emergency."
"Okay, but I swear I didn't realize there was a monkey in that crate,” Chris began to babble. “I thought it was the shipment of ferrets you ordered. When I opened the crate, he jumped out and scared the daylights out of me. Before I could grab him—"
"I'm not blaming you,” Justine interrupted. But the delivery man would certainly get an earful when he returned, which wouldn't be for...two weeks? She gritted her teeth in frustration. What in the world would she do with a monkey until then? She knew little about monkeys, wasn't sure she was licensed to handle them! Perhaps whoever had been expecting him would trace the delivery back to her store.
As Chris went to call Melissa, the door opened and Bea and Jordan came rushing in, bundled against the cold in heavy coats and toboggans. Hiding her surprise at their unexpected visit, Justine quickly pointed to the monkey and warned them to stay by the door. “I don't know if he's dangerous, but I don't want to take any chances."
She noticed Jordan's interest had sharpened at the sight of the monkey. All three of her nephews loved animals, but Jordan had a special way with them that always made Justine's chest swell with pride. Hope dawned. Maybe he could help her with the monkey.
"So, what's up?” she asked, keeping a cautious eye on the primate. He'd grown quiet, regarding Jordan with equal curiosity.
Bea pulled her amazed gaze from the sight of the monkey and gave her head a disbelieving shake as she looked at Justine. Her lips curved upward, but Justine noticed it wasn't Bea's usual full-fledged smile.
"Jordan would like help you in the store after school this week,” Bea announced.
Justine quickly translated, and her heart sank. Clay was forcing Jordan to help her as punishment for his rudeness yesterday at dinner. Didn't her brother realize he was only making things worse?
She summoned a warm smile for her nephew, but Jordan's fascinated gaze remained glued to the monkey. Justine pretended not to notice that he was ignoring her. “Wonderful! I could use an extra hand this week. Chris won't be here on Wednesday or Friday because his parents are going on vacation and he's house-sitting.” She turned to Chris as he joined them. “Isn't that right, Chris?"
"Yeah, that's right."
"Then he won't be in the way?” Bea asked anxiously.
"Not at all.” Justine felt a draft of cold air and looked around to see that the local vet had arrived. From the looks of her reddened cheeks, she'd ran the block and a half from her office to the pet store.
Melissa was a pre
tty woman in her early forties, with curly black hair that seemed to have an energy all on its own. She shrugged out of her heavy coat and laid it on the counter next to the covered cage housing the lovebirds, making herself at home. “It's like a sauna in here, but it feels good after being outside.” Melissa rubbed her cold hands briskly together. “Now, what's the emergency?
Justine didn't have to explain. The monkey, agitated over the newcomer's arrival, began to screech and chatter. The light fixture swayed dangerously as he crawled from one side to the other, then back again. He glared down at the group, pointing his long finger as if accusing them.
Melissa's mouth opened in surprise. “Where did you get a capuchin?"
"A what?” Justine asked, frowning.
"A capuchin, native to Central America.” Melissa pointed to the black fur covering his body, then to his snowy white face and throat. “They're named after a Capuchin monk because of the black cape of fur that resembles the cowl the Capuchin monks wore. Some experts say they're considered the most intelligent monkey of the species."
"The delivery man left him by mistake,” Chris informed her, flushing a guilty red. “He was in a hurry, so I let him leave before I finished checking the inventory."
"Stop blaming yourself,” Justine ordered. “I've done the same a dozen times.” To Melissa, she said, “Well, what do you think? Is he dangerous? Rabid? Or just plain frightened?” Justine was experienced enough to keep her voice low and even to keep from startling the monkey. He'd fallen blessedly silent again, watching them intently. If they didn't get him down soon, she thought with growing concern, he might work the wires loose from the ceiling and electrocute himself.
Melissa walked around the monkey, studying him from every angle. Finally she sighed and shook her curly head. “He looks healthy enough, from what I can tell. A young monkey, too. I'm not an expert on monkeys, though. You might consider calling the Animal Control Center—"
It Takes Two Page 9
