by Cindy Stark
“Of course. Do let them know what happened with Basil. It might save some heartache later.”
Sophie nodded and then hurried around the back of the house to the door she must have used to leave in the first place.
Hazel frowned as she watched her go. At least she’d have something to report to Peter when she saw him later, and her visit wouldn’t be a complete waste of time.
Oh, who was she kidding? She loved that he was attracted to her and hated herself for loving it. Seeing him would never be a waste of her time.
Not that she’d admit that aloud.
She sighed as she made her way down the slippery driveway, cursing her crazy feelings. Not only was she a witch, but her mind was a very messed up place to be.
If Peter was smart, he’d run in the other direction.
Seven
Hazel waited until after her teashop closed for the day before she drew up her collar and walked the short distance to the police station. This way, she didn’t have to explain to Gretta where she was going and why. Her assistant was a smart woman, and she already had her suspicions about Hazel and Peter’s flirtations, which Hazel had vehemently denied.
No sense giving her more fodder for her wild stories.
By the time she reached the old courthouse that housed the police station, the frosty air had chilled her nose and toes. She never tired of viewing the charming old building built more than a hundred years ago from gray stones of various sizes held together by plenty of mortar. Her ancestral heritage first brought Stonebridge to her attention, but the historical architecture encouraged her to visit the town, which led to her wanting to stay. That and the fact her ex didn’t live here.
The downside to waiting until her shop had closed meant that the receptionist Margaret had already left the police station for the day. As far as Hazel could tell, only one other officer remained in the office, seated at the far end of the room, and he had his attention glued to a computer screen. She walked toward Peter’s office, half-hoping he might be out as well.
She peeked inside and found him at his desk, also fixated on a computer screen. His gaze flicked from his work to her in an instant, and then a smile broke over his face that left her knees weak. “Hazel. Come in.”
He stood and helped her with her coat, and then proceeded to shut the door, closing off the outside world. “I thought you’d forgotten.”
She claimed her usual seat. “Sorry it took me so long. The shop was kind of busy this afternoon.”
He slid behind his desk and focused on her eyes. Then smiled. “You do realize you’re a terrible liar, right?”
She lifted her brows in an innocent gesture as her throat tightened. “What do you mean?”
“Really? Was your shop that busy? Or were you waiting until most people in town had gone home so you wouldn’t be seen with me once again?” The man was too smart for his own good.
She pursed her lips. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to keep gossip to a minimum. The more often I have to explain there’s nothing between us, the less likely people will believe me.”
He genuinely seemed confused by her explanation. “So? You’re single. I’m single.”
“The whole town thinks we’re dating.”
“Maybe we should be.”
She inhaled, prepared to explain why that would be a bad idea, but he wouldn’t understand without full details. And those, she couldn’t give. “Maybe…you should complete your questioning so I can get home. Apparently, I’m the new owner of a cat, and I need to check on him. He wanted shelter during the storm and hasn’t left yet.”
He chuckled. “Did you feed it?”
“Of course, I fed him.”
“Then he’s officially yours. What did you name him?”
She paused for a long moment. “Kitty.”
“You named your cat, Kitty?”
“Mr. Kitty?” She shrugged. “I haven’t picked out a proper name yet, okay? He’s salty like someone else I know, and all the names that come to mind would probably offend others.”
He laughed and let it fade into a smile. “What am I going to do with you?”
She lifted her brows. “Question me about the theft at the Fingleton house?” she asked innocently.
The growl of his stomach echoed in the quiet office. “Can we order in burgers and fries while I do? I’m starving, and John will go pick them up if I buy him one, too. Can your kitty wait that long?”
She couldn’t very well say no and still respect herself as a caring person. “Fine.”
He grinned. “Be right back.”
Less than a minute later, he was. “Great. Let’s get business out of the way first, and then we can relax while we eat.”
He pulled out a familiar yellow pad. “Tell me what you know.”
She sighed. “This is ridiculous, you know. I don’t know anything. As I said earlier, I brought my delivery. Dotty invited me inside. I waited while she ran upstairs to grab money, and then she screamed. When I got to the top of the stairs, she was in the hallway and said she’d been robbed. I called the police, and you came. The rest, you know.”
“Only Sophie and Dotty in the house when you were there?”
She drew a strand of hair across her lips as she thought, trying to remember any minor details that might appease him. “As far as I know. There was one thing that happened after I left, though.”
He raised his brows. “Go on.”
“When I walked out of the house, I heard voices, and they didn’t sound happy. I couldn’t make out words…but the tone wasn’t a good one. As I neared the corner, I heard a man say ‘no’ very firmly. It was Basil Taylor talking with Sophie. He nearly knocked me over as he was leaving.”
“Did he run because he saw you?”
“No. He’d already turned and seemed as surprised to see me as I was to see him. He was angry, though. Red-faced and unhappy. Sophie was crying. After the robbery and with him being a possible suspect, I worried he’d hurt her. But she said she was upset about the pearls. She’d asked him if he knew anything, which made him angry.”
Peter paused while he wrote and then focused on her again, his green eyes sparking fires inside her. “Did he seem guilty to you?”
She sighed. “Not that I could tell, but I couldn’t say for sure. I told Sophie to mention the incident to you and her mom, but it sounds like she didn’t.”
He rolled his eyes in exasperation. “No. She bawled through most of my interview with her. I think the shock of what had happened finally hit her. Sometimes it takes a while before people realize the extent of emotional damage that happens when their supposedly-safe space is invaded.”
Poor girl. “I can only imagine. I hope she’s doing better tonight.”
“Dotty’s son is home, so I think that’s helped the ladies feel safer. He has a gun, though I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”
Something in his tone caught her attention. “You don’t trust Scott with a gun?”
Peter blew out a breath and rubbed the scruff on his chin. “Let’s just say the boy wasn’t always the best bun in the basket, and I think he’s the type who’d shoot first and ask questions later, regardless of who walked through the door.”
She snorted. “Best bun in the basket? Where do you come up with these sayings?”
He shrugged and leaned back from the desk. “Everyone says it.”
“No,” she said and chuckled. “Not everyone. Maybe people in Stonebridge, but I’ve never heard that before in my life.”
“Then apparently you need to get out more.”
She turned her lips into a coy smile. “Or maybe you do.”
John popped his head in the door. “Food’s here. Get it while it’s hot.”
“Let’s eat,” he said to Hazel and stood. She did the same and followed John into a conference room where the three of them sat down together.
Hazel had to admit she had a pleasant time. She hadn’t had a chance to get to know John or his wife, Susan, but
she discovered he was also a transplant to Stonebridge and was interested in the history of the town. He promised to share some of the more fascinating things he’d learned with her later.
After dinner and questioning, Peter announced he wouldn’t let Hazel walk home alone in the dark. A sly smirk crossed John’s lips, and she knew he’d heard the gossip as well.
She argued she’d be fine.
Peter insisted.
So, they bundled up and left.
Hazel worked to keep the conversation light as they walked side-by-side down a deserted side street. Most people had gone home for the day, leaving their world still and silent except for the sound of their shoes hitting the ground.
She made Peter wait outside while she hurried into the grocery store for cat food, but he took the bag from her the second she exited the building. He both pleased and irritated her at the same time.
When they were halfway to her house, she sensed a shift in the energy sparking between them, and she lifted her gaze to find him watching her.
“Are you going to let me hold your hand again?” he asked, taking their companionable conversation straight to heart-pounding craziness.
“No.” She followed her rejection with a teasing grin.
“One of these days, Hazel, you’re going to be asking me instead.”
She couldn’t deny that she might, so she changed the subject. “I hope you noticed the look on your officer’s face when you said you were walking me home. The knowing smirk,” she added when he pretended innocence.
“Didn’t see it.”
She knew very well he had. “Who’s the bad liar now?”
“Is that your cat?”
His question caught her off guard, and she turned her gaze toward her house down the block. Sure enough, a ball of orange fur waited on the porch next to the front door.
“How in the world did he get out?” She knew for a fact he’d been inside when she’d left that morning because she’d caught him sneaking pieces of chicken from the plate she’d placed on the floor for him.
“You must have let him out.”
As skittish as the cat was when she’d first encountered him, she was sure he’d run when she and Peter neared.
But, no.
Instead, Mr. Kitty watched her with a perturbed look and let Peter pet him as she unlocked the door and opened it. As soon as there was room, the cat pushed his way inside, squawking as he did.
Peter chuckled at his antics. “Sounds like you’re in trouble.”
She held up her hands and shot a confused look at Peter. “I know, right? I’m certain the cat hates me, but he won’t leave. I can’t figure him out.”
“Maybe he doesn’t want people to know he likes you.” He leaned in and surprised her with a kiss on the cheek. “Goodnight, Miss Hardy. Sleep well.”
He wore a grin as he turned and strode away.
She stepped inside, exhaled a breath of frustration, and shut the door. It seemed she now had two men in her life that enjoyed torturing her.
The spot on her cheek where Peter had placed his lips still sizzled. She closed her eyes for a moment and touched her skin. Having him hold her hand had been nice, but this was much, much nicer. She wondered what it would feel like to kiss him on the lips.
She opened her eyes and found the cat watching her with a knowing look. “What? He’s the one who kissed me.”
Mr. Kitty yowled, and she realized he was waiting for her to open the bag of cat food and serve him dinner.
She shook her head in defeat. “All right. All right,” she grumbled as she made her way into the kitchen to find a bowl for his food.
One day, she’d pack up and leave Stonebridge, and then Peter and Mr. Kitty would both feel bad because they’d mistreated her.
Eight
Hazel stayed as far away from the police station as she could for the next couple of days, even took the long way around on a spontaneous bicycle ride before heading to town for breakfast.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see Peter. Problem was, she did. A lot. And that left her vulnerable and in danger.
She’d prayed to the Blessed Mother morning and night that her attraction might ease, but then she’d think of Peter all day or dream of him each night.
Distance was her only chance for survival.
If she thought for a minute Peter might understand or be open to her heritage, things might be different. But he’d made it clear from the very beginning what he thought of witches. His point of view had been predetermined by his ancestors long ago and passed down through the ages like a legacy.
Just like hers had.
Blood that ran that deep didn’t change.
Today, she’d decided to try a different tactic and fill her mind with as many other things as possible. She’d start the warm, sunny day by celebrating Clarabelle’s three hundred and forty-eighth birthday. Her morning began with a special gratitude ritual that she dedicated to her ancestral grandmother and her bravery for continuing her spiritual practice despite what others believed and despite the ultimate personal cost of doing so.
If not for Clarabelle’s life, then Hazel would not be alive to enjoy the beautiful town her family had once lived in. She could also be grateful that they no longer hunted down and drowned witches like they once had.
Or did they? Peter had mentioned that anyone outwardly claiming to be a witch might disappear.
She reminded herself that she wasn’t thinking about that or Peter today.
The scent of coffee and bacon reached out to her as she approached Cora’s.
Food.
She would think about eating instead, and she could be guaranteed that many of her neighbors would keep her company on this fine Saturday morning.
She pulled the café doors open and a cacophony of noise and a sea of faces greeted her. Perhaps too many of her neighbors.
Her stomach growled and urged her forward. Cora passed, her arms laden with six plates of food. “Find a seat wherever. One of us will get with you when we can.”
If she knew anything at all about food service, Hazel would have strapped on an apron and helped. But customers didn’t want mixed up orders, and the other waitresses wouldn’t want her underfoot.
She waved at many friends and searched for a table as she wound her way toward the counter where several old timers sat in flannel shirts shooting the breeze over coffee. Just beyond them, she spotted a vacant table for two. Sweet, old Mr. Fletcher grinned at her as she passed, but she was afraid if she stopped to talk, she wouldn’t be able to snag the table before someone else did.
She sat and nodded to John who stood at the counter, who was likely getting food for the guys at the police station, hopefully including Peter.
One of Cora’s waitresses, Belinda, set a coffee mug on her table and filled it. “What can I get you?” Her brilliant blue eyes, accentuated by black, cat-eye liner, held traces of impatience.
Belinda always seemed to be full of herself, constantly checking her appearance in the mirror behind the counter, as though that was all that mattered in the world. One day, when her looks were gone, maybe she’d discover there was more to life.
“The special is fine.” Hazel feared if she asked for anything else, she’d wait forever.
“Great.” Belinda hurried off again, and Hazel shifted her gaze to the steaming cup of coffee that she hadn’t requested. Good thing she didn’t want tea this morning.
She pulled out her phone, figuring she could send a quick email to her mother while she waited for her food, and thereby, kill two proverbial birds with one stone. If she didn’t do her weekly check-in, her mother would likely send the witch version of the cavalry after her.
When her orange-flavored French toast and bacon finally arrived, she decided they were worth waiting for.
She’d nearly finished her breakfast when a tall man with olive skin and dark curly hair shot with a few strands of silver approached her table.
“Excuse me?” His cultured,
foreign accent was something she hadn’t heard since leaving the big city. “Would you mind terribly for some company? There’s not so many seats available.”
She smiled at his almost-perfect English. “Of course. Please sit down. It seems everyone wants breakfast at Cora’s today.”
He sat and waved a hand, encompassing the many people in the restaurant. “We’re all so happy to be out of confinement and have the sun shining.”
“Oh? You were here during the storm?”
His eyes widened. “Yes. Quite a frightful thing with the terrible howling winds and the motel room sounding like it blow.”
“It was my first time experiencing it, too. Luckily, my house didn’t sustain any damage, just some downed tree limbs, but several in town did.”
He nodded to Belinda when she brought coffee and asked if he knew what he wanted. “I’ll have what she’s having.” He pointed at Hazel’s plate, and the waitress was off again.
“Excellent choice,” she assured him. “Though everything here is very good.”
“That has been my experience also.” He poured a good amount of sugar into his coffee and caught her raising her brows. “Not like Italian coffee, but this makes it tolerable.”
“Of course. No judgment here.”
“This wind, it happens every year, yes?” he asked.
“That’s what I hear. Supposedly, the persecuted witches who lived here three hundred years ago placed a curse on the town. The storm is a penance they and their offspring will pay forever. According to lore, anyway. Back then, I would guess these kinds of winds and snow would wreak some serious damage. Today, buildings are sturdier.”
He blew out a relieved breath. “Dio e la storia ricorderanno il vostro giudizio.”
She smiled at the charming man. “I’m sorry. What does that mean?’
“God and history will remember your judgment.”
Hazel thought on his words for a moment. “Do you think God will judge those who persecuted the witches or the witches for fighting back?”
He lifted his hand, palm up and shrugged. “I think he takes everything to consideration before he passes judgment. He sees more than we do.”
