Barely Bewitched (5 page)

Chapter 6

When Bryn dropped me off at my car, he told me to be careful. He seemed as sincere as a diamond eternity band. Hard to see him betraying me, Edie’s prophecy aside. Come to think of it, she’d gotten me into trouble plenty of times by not seeing things as the rest of the world would, like the time she encouraged me to run a credit card to the limit when I couldn’t pay it off. Boy, had Zach and Chase Manhattan Bank been mad at me.

I needed gasoline, so I rolled into the Shell station. I was just through filling my tank when I spotted Jenna Reitgarten’s silver Lexus pulling into the parking lot at De Marco’s Italian restaurant across the street.

Boyd, Jenna’s husband, reminds me of Wile E. Coyote’s cleverer older brother. His sharp chin is covered with a pointed beard, his thin mustache is always perfectly trimmed, and his peppery hair, which used to be pleasantly scruffy, has been overcome for years now with some sort of oily gel that he took to using when he got promoted to bank president.

Boyd opened the door for Jenna, who wore a formal dress that was cut lopsided with one puffy sleeve that tapered tight to the wrist. It looked like a homemade dress gone really wrong, but, in her case, it meant some salesperson at an expensive boutique had convinced her to go with it by showing her pictures in a fancy fashion magazine. In cities where the emperor’s new clothes would’ve sold for more than a new car, Jenna’s dress might have gotten compliments, even though the shade of pink made her skin look all pale and pasty, like freshly floured dough. In Duvall, though, people recognized silliness when they saw it and would be shaking their heads and laughing their lipstick off at Johnny’s hair salon come Saturday afternoon.

I saw her body jerk a couple times and knew she still had the hiccups I’d semi-accidentally hexed her with on the day she’d been mean-spirited enough to buy the jewelry I’d pawned in a moment of desperation.

I wondered if the prolonged bout of hiccups might have tired her out. Maybe she’d be more susceptible to my asking to buy my jewelry back. If so, that would save me from robbing her house, which was something that I really didn’t want to do.

I crossed Main Street, but by the time I got to De Marco’s, they’d gone inside. I followed and was surrounded by warm air that smelled of bubbling tomato sauce and fresh-baked focaccia.

I’m hungrier than Zach after college football practice.

I frowned, knowing I didn’t have time to eat. I watched the waiter go by with a tray of linguine with clams and felt like following them.

Shelby the hostess waved at me. She knew me partly because I liked to come in and eat the food there and partly because De Marco’s had catered some receptions that I’d made wedding cakes for.

“Are you meeting someone?” she asked.

“Nope. I really wish I could have dinner, but I’m in a rush. I need to talk to Jenna Reitgarten for a minute.”

“I just seated them,” Shelby said, pointing to the right.

I zigzagged through the intimately arranged tables, admiring the golden glow of the candlelight and licking my lips involuntarily at the grilled shrimp and angel hair pasta.

I found Boyd and Jenna in a cozy corner table.

“Hey there,” I said, cheerful as a sunflower.

Jenna looked me over and wrinkled her nose, which I thought was pretty high and mighty for someone with mismatched sleeves. Her dignified disdain for me was somewhat undermined by her increasingly violent spasm of hiccups.

I bit the inside of my mouth hard to keep from smirking. “I heard you had a bad case of hiccups. You know, I’ve got a home remedy for them.”

“They’ll go away on their own,” she said, her voice icy.

“Oh, sure,” I said with a nod. “So, that dress is really something. Must be from a famous designer.”

She flounced in her seat, maybe from pride, maybe from hiccups. But there was no mistaking her smile.

“Bialciano,” she said and hiccupped. “You couldn’t afford him.”

“I’m sure you’re right about that. But speaking of affording things, I would like to buy my jewelry back. I’ll pay double what you paid Earl for it, and since you don’t really wear much red or green, you’ll never miss it.”

Her smiled widened. “Would you really like them back?” she asked.

I nodded.

“And you’d actually pay double . . . even though you’re out of work?”

“Even though,” I said and nodded again.

“Well, you’re right about the fact that I wouldn’t miss them.” She glanced around like she was thinking things over, but I could tell she wasn’t. Still, my heart pounded with hope. She couldn’t be all bad. She was human, not demon, after all. Well, so far as I knew. And maybe, just maybe, she might show some compassion to a fellow small-town girl.

“But I don’t think so. I said I was going to teach you a lesson and I will.”

My blood started to boil, and I had to stop myself from trying to hex her with a nasty rash. My mouth was tight as I asked, “What lesson?”

“That you’re not a good fit for this town. I don’t want you here. If you don’t move away, things will only get worse.” She leaned forward. “I’ll make them get worse,” she hissed. Her eyes didn’t turn red, but I swear I may have seen a little smoke flare out of her nostrils.

I blinked and took a step back, then I glanced at Boyd, who hadn’t even bothered to look up from his menu. Slimy coward.

“Well, enjoy your hiccups—I mean, supper,” I said. I hurried back out of the restaurant and across the street, wishing Merc had been there to hear what she’d said, because I was sure he’d have agreed that law-breaking was our only option. And not just an option, an imperative. If Jenna got away with stomping on me and driving me out of my home, who knew what she’d get it in her head to do next? After all, every tyrant had to start somewhere. Thinking back to Mrs. Neilson’s high school world history class, I clenched my fists. What if my jewelry was Poland, and this was my chance to thwart a mini-Hitler in the making? I slapped my fist in my palm and nodded. No question. The hiccups weren’t enough. Jenna had to be stopped. As soon as Edie got back, we were going to rob Jenna’s house.

I drove back to Old Town and parked in the alley next to the Whiskey Barrel. It was dark, and while Duvall’s not known for being crime-ridden, it’d been trying for an edgier reputation lately. I hurried to the cobbled walk.

The Whiskey Barrel’s door is solid wood and hard to open. It sticks because the building’s shifted in the years since it was built. I’d been inside the Barrel only a couple of times with Zach and his brothers because usually they didn’t bother with Old Town. They liked Jammers better since it was a sports bar where every way you turned there was a big TV showing some game.

I gripped the brass bar on the door and pulled until it finally creaked open. Willie Nelson crooned from the corner jukebox, and I stepped into the hazy room, blinking as cigarette smoke stung my eyes. There were about a dozen guys inside.

Incendio leaned over the pool table, and the cue slid through his fingers. The balls collided with a snap that sent the eight ball into the corner pocket. Incendio stood with a slow movement and reached for a stack of bills that sat on the table under a chalk cube.

He pocketed the money, took a drag on his cigarette, and eyed me. His faded black T-shirt with the Harley logo didn’t taper in from shoulders to belly, so he wasn’t made of perfect muscles like Zach or Bryn, but he wasn’t flabby either. His torso was a lot like a barrel actually, big and solid.

He stubbed his spent cigarette out in a chipped ashtray. His thick left forearm had a tattoo of a skull with flames shooting from the eyes and mouth. I shivered.

He picked up the ashtray and walked to a small corner table. Jordan was sitting there with his arms folded, looking like his clothes were resisting the temptation to get wrinkled.

“Well, well. Out on your own again at night,” someone said.

I turned to find my ex-friend Earl Stanton. Earl and I had recently had a difference of opinion. When I’d gone to Earl’s to pawn my jewelry, he’d decided that I should stay at his house even though I wanted to go. So he’d tried to convince me not to leave by pinning me down on his couch. A few minutes later, I’d decided that the best way to change his mind was to hit him over the head with a heavy brass lamp.

“Hey, Earl,” I said, wishing I’d thought to put a baseball bat in my pocketbook.

“Whyn’t you come have a drink with me? There’s some things I want to talk about with you,” he said with well-whiskeyed breath. He grabbed my arm and pulled me to the bar. I didn’t resist because there were several beer bottles on the bar that looked like they might serve my purpose in the case of another disagreement.

Jordan strolled over. “Miss Trask, so good of you to come. Who’s your friend?”

I wanted to take exception to the term
friend
, but that wouldn’t have been polite, and even if I did have to hit Earl over the head with a beer bottle later, I’d try to mind my manners at first.

“Earl Stanton. He owns the town pawnshop. Earl, this is Jordan Perth. He’s visiting.”

Earl let my arm go, and they shook hands.

“Mr. Stanton, a pleasure. Miss Trask, shall we?” Jordan asked, nodding toward his table.

“Sure,” I said. Earl didn’t object when I walked away with Jordan, which kind of surprised me.

At the table, there was a three-quarters-full bottle of tequila and three glasses. Two had golden liquor left in the bottom. One sat empty.

Incendio blew a perfect smoke ring as I sat down. “Red,” he said with a nod of greeting.

“It’s Tammy Jo, Mr. Maldaron.”

“Where’s my cat?”

“Since you’re acquainted, you know Merc’s his own kitty. He doesn’t feel the need to consult me on his comings and goings.”

Incendio shoved the three shot glasses together and tipped the open bottle over them. Tequila splashed down into all three and over their sides onto the table. He set the bottle down and reached into an inside pocket of his jacket and retrieved a little bottle of Tabasco sauce.

I said, “I don’t drink.”
With wizards. Especially if they have tattoos of fire-breathing skeletons.

Incendio shook the Tabasco and eyed me through the smoke haze.

Trying to play peacekeeper, Jordan said, “Surely, you can manage one drink. Perhaps we’ll have a toast.”

Incendio tapped two drops of the hot sauce into each shot glass, and it shimmied into the gold liquid. He slid a glass in front of me.

“
A la verdad
. You give the toast, English.”

Jordan leaned back, pursing his lips. “I think a simple toast is always best. As you said, to the truth.”

Incendio shook his head. “You can do better, amigo. Give us some of that Anglo poetry.” Incendio pulled a match free from a matchbook on the table. He whispered a couple words. There was a hiss, and flames danced on the tops of our tequila shots. He dropped the match in the ashtray, and I was startled to see that it hadn’t been struck. The red flint was still perfect.

I guessed he’d pulled it out so that anyone nearby would assume he’d used a match, rather than a spell, to light those drinks. Momma and Aunt Mel had been good at that kind of thing, too. They said that people’s minds would fill in what they expected to see, and all that a witch had to do to conceal her minor public spell-casting was to learn a little sleight of hand.

The flames on the liquor flickered and disappeared. Jordan licked his fingertip and touched the drops of tequila that had spilled on the table. He drew a small symbol in front of each of us. It was like a
Y
with an extra prong between the upper branches. Mine’s tail was extra long and curly.

Jordan and Incendio lifted their glasses and waited. I fidgeted, knowing, sure as I’m twenty-three, that they were up to something.

“What’s the point of having red hair, if you’re as yellow as a stick of butter on the inside?” Incendio sneered.

“Pardon me?”

“You’re from Texas, and you’re too chicken to drink one tequila shot?” he challenged. “Maybe we need to get you a kiddie drink with a little pink umbrella.”

I stuck my chin out. I knew he was goading me, and my pride made me want to pick up my drink, but I knew better. I forced a smile. “I’d like two pink umbrellas in my kiddie drink, thanks.”