Authors: Lexi George

Demon Hunting In Dixie (23 page)

BOOK: Demon Hunting In Dixie

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“Uh, thanks,” Addy said. Okay, maybe he was a
medium-
size hemorrhoid.

“Addy,” Muddy called, “Tweedy's here. You might as well ask him to stay for lunch.”

The doorbell rang. Addy jumped off the couch. “I'll get it.”

Brand beat her to the door.

“Dude, that is so annoying,” she said.

Tweedy Gibbs stood on the front porch, his hands filled with Tompkin's shopping bags. The tribble of red hair at the top of his forehead stood on end. He looked thoroughly confused.

“I brought you the clothes you ordered. Even though it's a Sunday, and the store is closed and I don't work on Sunday, and though, to save my soul, I don't remember you ordering them or where they came from.” He eyed Brand up and down, a glimmer of hostility in his befuddled gaze. “Like I said yesterday, we don't have anything that will fit a man of your size, but there was nothing doing but for me to bring 'em. Couldn't relax until I did. Couldn't seem to help myself.”

Ansgar stepped to the door. “Thank you, Master Gibbs. Your services are sorely needed. If you will but observe, my brother still wears the raiment he purchased yesterday at your establishment.”

“The same clothes he wore yesterday?” Tweedy's mouth sagged open in shock. “I'm just in time. This here is what you call your fashion emergency.”

Chapter Twenty-four

S
unday afternoon the City tried to move Jebediah Hannah by borrowing a forklift from Fred Schneider at the Hannah Feed and Seed, and a flatbed truck from farmer Boyd Sigafoose. A crowd gathered in the street to watch Jeb lifted onto the truck under the supervision of the fire and police departments. The mayor and several members of the town council stood nervously nearby. Muddy, claiming jet lag, stayed inside to nap. Addy and Brand surveyed the proceedings from the relative cool of the front porch swing.

Addy peeked sideways at Brand. He wore some of the new duds Tweedy had brought, a pair of blue jeans and a T-shirt. She sighed. He looked as fine in jeans as she'd thought he would. All lean, hard muscle, he radiated an aura of barely suppressed animal power. The guy was a total babe.

Dan Curtis, still slightly damp around the edges from his impromptu swim, eased around the edge of the porch. He gave her a moony-eyed look. “Hey, Addy.”

Good grief, Dan Curtis had a crush on her.

She gave him a little finger wave. “Afternoon, Dan.”

Brand rumbled deep in his chest.

“Easy, boy,” she muttered.

Brand glared at Dan until the younger man got the message and slunk away. “I do not like the way he looks at you. It is pitifully easy to read his thoughts. I think it is time the Curtis human paid another trip to the river.”

“Don't you dare! Poor Dan had a hard enough time explaining it the first time.”

“He did not explain. He lied. He said he had a suspect under surveillance and fell in the river when the other human fled.”

“Well, what did you expect him to say?
âI fell in the river, Chief, but I have no idea how I got there'
?” She pointed to the people gathered across the road. “There's a whole gaggle of females over there ogling you like you're the last drink of water between here and the Mojave Desert. I can practically hear them salivating from fifty yards away. You don't see me throwing
them
in the river.”

“That is different.”

“It most certainly is not. I'd like to scratch their eyes out.”

Brand grinned.
Thwack!
The grin left the porch, floated across the yard, and hit Brand's admirers right between the eyes. There was an audible sigh of ecstasy. Addy was pretty sure several of them peed themselves.

“You are jealous?” he asked.

“Green as goose poop.”

“I am glad,” he said, and kissed her in full view of the crowd of gawkers.

It was, Addy realized once she'd recovered from that mindblowing kiss, Brand's way of staking his claim. Primitive and medieval, perhaps, but thrilling all the same. And dangerous. She already had a crazed demon after her, and now Brand's groupies were glaring at her like they'd like to snatch her bald headed. Myrtle Glenn Hollingsworth looked like she wanted to take her shoe off and beat Addy to death with it. And Myrtle Glenn was
married.
Too bad, she thought, resisting the urge to stick her tongue out at the older woman. Myrtle Glenn and the rest of those women would have to get their own “inter dimensional demon hunter smack your lips he was so gorgeous” dude. This one was hers, at least for now.

The forklift rattled across Muddy's lawn and stopped in front of the statue. Wilton Miller, the city attorney, pulled up and rolled down his window.

“Mayor Tunstall, Mayor Tunstall,” Wilton hollered, waving at the mayor through the open window. Slamming the car in park, he jumped out. Miller was on the shady side of forty, with a balding pate and very hairy legs that hung out of a pair of cargo shorts like two skinny, hirsute caterpillars. He hurried to the mayor's side. “I'm glad I got here in time. I've been out of pocket and just heard what happened.” He took a swipe at his glistening head and brow with a handkerchief. “As city attorney, I advise you not to allow anyone but the State or the County to move this statue. If someone was to get hurt, the city might be held liable.”

“Lawyers,” Chief Davis said in disgust. “You can't turn around without one of the blood suckers trying to sue you.”

“I'm trying to
prevent
a lawsuit, Chief Davis,” Wilton protested. “Did anybody check the weight limit capacity on that forklift? Suppose you manage to get that statue on the truck and have an accident on the way downtown, and Jeb ends up in somebody's lap? The City gets sued, that's what.”

Mayor Tunstall blanched. “Wilton has a point. We'd better leave Jebediah here until we get this thing sorted out.”

“In the meantime, I would advise you to post an officer to watch the statue,” Wilton added. “You don't want a bunch of kids to get hurt trying to steal Jeb's head.”

“Oh, for the love ofâ” Chief Davis took off his hat, ran his hand through his hair, and then slammed the hat back on his head. “You're right, Wilt, that's the kind of thing a bunch of stupid kids would do. I'll make sure the damn thing's guarded.”

The flatbed and the forklift were removed, and an officer posted across the street to keep an eye on Jeb. Bitsy went home but came back later that evening to visit with Muddy.

“Addy, your mama's coming up the sidewalk,” Muddy said from the back bedroom.

“For crying in the beer.” Addy ran to put Dooley and Mr. Fluffy in her bedroom. She
did not
want to try to explain a talking dog or a flying cat to her mama.

“Not a word,” she warned Dooley. She shook her finger at the cat. “And you stay put. I mean it.”

She hurried back into the living room.

Bitsy buzzed through the front door like a bluebottle fly in her turquoise linen walking shorts and matching top. “Oh, Mr. Dalvahni, I didn't realize you were here,” she said. Addy could have sworn the barometric pressure dropped. Mama was a force of nature that caused atmospheric disturbances wherever she went. “What a pleasant surprise to see you again. How long did you say you plan on being in town?”

Mama had that “I'm looking for a husband for my poor old maid daughter, and tag you're it” look in her eyes. Poor Brand might be a ten-thousand-year-old demon hunter, but Mama was a matchmaking succubus from hell.

“Never mind about that, Bitsy,” Muddy said, charging to the rescue. She'd showered and changed clothes after her nap and wore a pair of casual slacks and a top. Addy flashed her great-aunt a grateful smile. If there was one person who could take the wind out of Mama's sails, it was Muddy. “I want to know what's going on between you and Carl E. Davis. I saw you two canoodling under the tree at lunch.”

Bitsy flushed. “I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, Aunt Muddy. Carl and I are friends.”

“Too bad for you then. That Chief strikes me as a man with lead in his pencil.”

“Lord, Muddy, the things you say!” Bitsy looked ready to die from embarrassment. “What will Mr. Dalvahni think of us? He's not used to your sense of humor.”

Muddy gave Addy a sly glance. “Oh, if I were a betting woman, I'd bet Mr. Dalvahni has canoodled a time or two. What about you, Addy? You think Mr. Dalvahni has done any canoodling recently?”

Whoosh,
Addy felt her face grow hot. If Bitsy was a force of nature, Muddy was that times ten. Unpredictable as lightning and as dangerous. Muddy had saved her from Bitsy, but who would save her from Muddy?

“Muddy, why don't you tell Mama your big news?” Addy said, grasping for a lifeline. Life was like that with Bitsy and Muddy. Great White shark or combine, take your pick.

Bitsy perked up like a hound dog on the scent. “What news?”

Twenty minutes later, Bitsy rose to take her leave, her attention diverted for the moment from her favorite game of Find A Man For Addy, and firmly focused on Muddy's upcoming nuptials. Addy had expected Mama to be horrified that Muddy was marrying the town drunk and, according to popular opinion (and Mama's), a bona fide nutter. But the groom came from old money, and that cured all ills. “Addy, of course, will take care of the flowers,” Bitsy said, “and I will host a bridal luncheon in your honor at the club. I must remember to call tomorrow and book a room, and then see about invitations . . . oh, and have you thought about registering?”

“Amasa's all the gift I need,” Muddy said firmly.

To Addy's surprise, her mother's expression softened. “Are you sure you know what you're doing, Muddy? I know Mr. Collier has money and is from a fine family and all, but sometimes that isn't enough. He's . . . well, he is a bit
eccentric,
and then there's his drinking.”

Mama
putting Muddy's happiness before social position? What was the world coming to? And, what did she mean “sometimes that isn't enough”? Had Mama been unhappy with Daddy? Her parents' marriage was something Addy had taken for granted. She'd been barely twelve when her father died. She remembered him as a kind but remote man, his attention focused on his business, no hobbies, and no outside interests except Corwin's. Didn't hunt, didn't fish, and didn't play golf. Death had been his life, so to speak, and his obsession with work had, undoubtedly, shortened his life. But had it also killed his marriage? Viewing her parents' union through adult eyes, Addy realized that Mama must have been lonely at times. Maybe that's why she threw herself into the social whirl, to fill the void. The realization that she might not know her mother at all was an uncomfortable one.

“Go ahead and say what you're thinking,” Muddy said. “You think Amasa's a fruitcake and drinks too much. Truth be told, we're all a little crazy. Some of us just hide it better.” She gave Bitsy a swift hug. “As for the drinking, Amasa says he's quit, and that's good enough for me.”

Bitsy wiped her eyes. “I'm real glad to hear it.” She picked up her purse and noticed Brand leaning against a wall on the other side of the room. “You didn't answer my question, Mr. Dalvahni. How long you plan on being in town?”

“I do not know.”

“Hmm,” Bitsy said. “The strong, silent type, aren't you?” Addy could almost hear the wheels turning. “Where are you staying?”

“I stay near Adara.”

“Hmm,” Bitsy said again. “Got you a room at the Hannah Inn, have you?”

“That's right, Mama,” Addy said quickly before Brand could answer.

“Well, Mr. Dalvahni, have Addy bring you by the house one night and we'll have supper.”

Brand bowed. “I am honored to be invited to your domicile.”

“My goodness!” Bitsy said. “Well, you've got good manners, even if you are a Yankee.”

“Brand's not a Yankee, Mama.”

“Of course he's a Yankee, Adara Jean. It's plain from his accent he's not from the South.”

Addy opened her mouth to argue and shut it again. People fell into two categories in Mama's reality. They were either from the South or they were not. If you weren't from the South, you were a Yankee. Or maybe European. That was as exotic as Mama got. Her world vision ended there. Neat, tidy, and easy to manage.

“Brand's European, Mama,” Addy heard herself say.

She saw Brand's eyebrows shoot up and shook her head in warning.

“That right?” Bitsy said. “Well, I knew he wasn't from around here.”

And with that, she sailed back out of the house taking most of the air and half the electricity with her. Addy could have sworn every lightbulb in the house dimmed when Mama left.

The bedroom door flew open.

“Addy, Addy, Addy!”
Dooley bounded up to Addy like Argos greeting Odysseus after a twenty-year absence.

“Hey, Dooley. Who let you and Mr. Fluffy out of the bedroom?”

“Stupid cat open door, Addy.”

Muddy came back from seeing Bitsy to the door. “Addy, why'd you let your mama think Mr. Dalvahni is staying at the Hannah Inn?” She swatted half-heartedly at the kitten flying around the room.

“What else could I say? It's the only place in town.”

“That place is a flea bag. There are pubic patterns on the sheets.”

“How would you know?”

“That's where they caught Francine Deason with that new dentist from Namath Springs. He was filling a different sort of cavity, if you know what I mean.”

“Please,” Addy said. “Francine Deason taught me third grade. You'll give me nightmares.”

“Where
are
you staying tonight, Mr. Dalvahni?” Muddy asked.

“I stay with Adara to protect her from the djegrali.”

“That's real nice of you, Mr. Dalvahni.”

“I do not stay to be nice. I stay because it is my dutyâ”

“But, Mama can't find out, Muddy,” Addy cautioned, interrupting him. “She'd have a heart attack.”

BOOK: Demon Hunting In Dixie

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