More Than Magic (24 page)

“Put it in the kitchen. And get some of that blueberry jam I made up from them berries she brung over last time.”

“Oh Annie, you shouldn’t! As hard as it is for you to get around.”

“Ne’er you mind Miss Grace. I’ll cook till the day they bury me up next to my Will. And you’ll like this jam. I put some of my berry wine in it.”

“Sounds scrumptious.”

Grace walked toward Nick with her hands out and for a brief pleasant moment, he wasn’t quite sure exactly what she had in mind. She made motions with her fingers and Nick realized she was asking for the backpack.

“So, who’s this gentleman caller you’ve brung to see Old Annie?” she asked, her quavering voice returning.

Grace, who was pulling her medical equipment out of her backpack, gave him a “you’re on” look.

Nick walked over to the chair and motioned to an ottoman. “May I?”

“Make yerself at home.”

“Thank you.” He sat. Now that he was at eye level, he could see that Annie Taggart might have white hair, but she wasn’t as feeble as she put on. Her back was stooped over from arthritis and her skin was mottled with age, but she was bright-eyed and alert—watching him as if he were a predator and she were some mother bird worried about her chicks. Or perhaps—

“Well, state your piece.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Annie made a show of shivering all over and then cackling at her own joke. “Oooh, I really do like his voice, Miss Grace.”
 

“Yes, so do I,” Grace responded.

Nick looked back at her to see if she was being sarcastic and saw her blush.

“As Grace told you, I’m writing a book.”

“You written anything I might know of? I read a lot.”

“He probably thinks we
can’t
read,” Boyd said, walking back in with a jar of jam.

“Now, Boyd. Get
another
jar of that. Miss Grace give us the berries fer it. She deserves at least two.”

Boyd grimaced and spun on his heel, stalking back to the kitchen.

“Go on,” Annie said sweetly.

“About people like you, and your grandsons, and how you’ve managed to make a good life up here in these mountains—”

Annie snorted. “The only people think the way we live is good is them as come up here for a coupla weeks then skedaddle back to the city real quick.”

“Well, that’s exactly what I’d like to speak to you about. You appear to have done a great job with your grandsons—I assume you’ve raised them alone?”

“Their mother was no count. And my son—bless ’im—was ne’er the same after that nasty war. The VA wouldn’t help and he just shriveled up like over-ripe fruit. So I was left with ’em.” Annie nodded. “Did my best.”

“I can see that,” he said. “Well, I’d like to talk to you about your son and what happened to him. How you coped and managed financially to raise three boys. And how they contribute now that they’re grown.”

“So, this book. You gonna pay us for talking at ya?”

Grace mouthed “sharp as a tack” over Annie’s shoulder while she pulled on those purple gloves.
 

“Can we keep talking while you do that?” he asked.

“I’ll let Annie know if she needs to stop talking so we can get a good reading. Go ahead,” Grace said.

“Well, this is a fiction book,” Nick admitted. “So all the people who help me would end up in the acknowledgements.”
 

“So, you make money, and we get thanked.”

“Yeah, well, when you put it that way,” Nick conceded.

Annie cackled again. “And he’s funny too.”

Grace gave that wonderful laugh of hers. “Not intentionally.” She smirked at him over Annie’s head. And damn if his heart didn’t speed up.

“So, what’s the point of this book? Our lives ain’t very excitin’.”

“Well, actually, I’m trying to show how some families cope with hard times by doing hard work and some resist hard work and end up doing hard time.”

Grace nodded. “That was quite good. You should use that on the dust jacket,” she said.

But Annie was frowning.

“Are you talking about prison? ’Cause none of my boys ever gone to prison fer nothin’.” She emphasized the words with her hands, carrying Grace’s hands with her as she tried to adjust the blood pressure cuff. “They been in the lock-up for little stupid things. Things boys do. But no prison.”

“Well, yes. And that is my point. How have you kept your boys from ending up there like so many do?” Nick noticed that Grace was frowning now. She was probably worried about where he was going with this. “Abusing alcohol, or smoking pot, or maybe abusing prescriptions like hydrocodone—”

“My boys know better’n to use that evil dope. I’ve seen what it does to people on my programs,” Annie said loudly. “Rots yer teeth right in yer head, eats your skin right off. Kills ya eventual.”
 

Nick frowned. Hydrocodone didn’t do that, but meth did.
 

“Okay, we need to keep it calm for a minute,” Grace said, pressing the button on her blood pressure meter.

Nick rubbed at his temple. Damn headache was back. From the expression on Grace’s face, the reading wasn’t going to be good. She looked worried.

Annie, on the other hand, just looked mad. She glared at him, then glared over his shoulder. When he looked, Boyd was slouched in the doorway, looking sullen, with Mitch right behind him, still white around the gills.

It was a strange tableau, everyone waiting for the little meter to finish—and pretty much everyone frowning at him, including Grace.

The meter clicked off.

“That’s…good.” Grace looked a bit surprised.

“Am I gonna live then?” Annie asked.

Grace’s eyes met his over Annie’s shoulder, but he couldn’t read anything in them—probably because his radar was overwhelmed by the enmity coming from all directions. “Lean forward for me, Annie,” Grace said.

With an effort that involved some groaning, Annie leaned forward in the chair.

“And I’ll tell you another thing. Them as take them evil drugs deserve what they get. It’s like a plague on the earth sent by the Almighty to strike down those who ain’t righteous. That’s what it is.” Annie shook her finger at Nick, but he had a feeling it was also aimed at the two man-boys lurking in the doorway behind him.

“Now take a deep breath for me,” Grace said, frowning.

And Nick realized everyone in the room was obediently breathing in at the same time, including him.

Chapter Ten

Grace sank back into the seat of the SUV as Nick drove out of the hollow.

“You okay?” Nick didn’t take his eyes off his rearview mirror.

Grace thought about what she had felt while she was in the house and realized she couldn’t put words to it—not yet anyway. And even then, she couldn’t really share it with anyone, especially not Nick.

“It was strange. I mean—I’ve never seen those two act quite like that. Boyd’s always a jerk and Mitch just follows along, but—” She rolled her shoulders and pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to ease the headache. “I felt like I was walking out through a gauntlet or something. Or was that just some kind of male territory-marking ritual?”

Nick made a non-committal sound. He was still focused on the view out the back of the SUV. She twisted in her seat to look behind them. Boyd and Mitch were standing on the edge of the porch watching them leave, looking as if they wished they had their shotguns.

“Very odd,” she sighed, rubbing her neck.

He finally seemed to relax when they rounded a bend and left the hollow behind, but his foot was a bit heavy on the gas for her comfort.

“Nick?”

“Hmmmm?”

“Did you get what you wanted?” she asked.

“Yeah. I did.”

“Well, that’s good. Because I don’t think you’d be welcome back even if you hiked over the ridge carrying flowers and candy.”

“Yeah, I kind of figured that.” Nick looked over at her. “And I don’t like the thought of you going over there either.”

Neither do I. But not for the reasons you think.
She shrugged. “Pops was usually with me. Maybe that made the difference.” She shrugged. “But I tend to have my shotgun when I hike over.”

“Boyd gets too close to you for a shotgun to be of much use,” Nick said.

Something about the way he said it, almost growling, made her insides quiver.

“He’s never really tried anything—”

“Yet.”

Well, you knew this would happen. It happened to Tink. He’s feeling possessive and over-protective. It will wear off. Just deal with it.

“I’ve taken care of myself for a long time. And I know the Taggarts. Boyd’s all talk. He blusters and prances around like a rooster—”

“He hates you.”

“Wha— Why do you say that?” It had come out of nowhere, but maybe it made sense. Boyd felt different somehow. More bitter. More angry.

“Body language. The way he looks at you, calling you ‘Princess Grace’. Maybe this has been going on for a while, but he resents and wants you at the same time. Not a good mix. I have a feeling that if Old Annie were gone—” Nick shook his head. “I don’t like it.”

Grace had to think about that for a moment. It was hard to think of Boyd as a real threat because she had grown up with him. To her he was just that little Taggart boy who pulled her hair and called her “Carrots”. Perhaps, as Nick said, it had gradually turned, much uglier. That much hatred, hidden for so long—

“Tell me something,” Nick said.

“Hmmm?”

“Did you notice anything out of the ordinary? Anything that didn’t look or feel right?”

Grace shivered.
Yes. But I can’t tell you why or how or even what. I need to think.

“Sorry. You cold?” Nick reached for the controls, cranking up the heat.

“Thanks.”

“So, did you notice?”

“Like what?”

“Like the flat screen TV, the fancy kitchen appliances, all those DVDs?”

Grace blinked. “No. I-I guess I didn’t. I don’t know when she got those.”

“But— You
did
notice the new garage.”

“Yes. They must’ve bought that recently.”

“Did you notice the new
truck
in the garage?”

She opened her mouth to reply, then stared at him. “No. Their old beat-up pickup wasn’t around, but— What are you trying to say?”

“You said neither of the boys work for a living, right?”

“Well, no, not that I know of. They’ve been living off Annie for years, and whatever money Gabe sent. Like I told you, Boyd tried to make it in Atlanta not long ago, but that didn’t work out. And Mitch. Well, Mitch is—Mitch has difficulty with sticking to anything for long.”

“That would be a ‘no’ then.”

“No, but—”

“But what?”

“I think they make a living poaching.”

“Poaching. Going into public land and stealing plants like Jamie was talking about? Can they make a living off of that?”

“Oh yes. Steal enough ginseng or goldenseal or galax or log moss— Yes, you can make good money if you find dealers who’ll take it. But—”

“But what?”

“But I meant the other kind of poaching. I think Boyd was bragging about it right in my face today.”

Nick looked surprised. “When?”

“When he talked about Evan being out bear hunting. A lot of poachers kill black bears just for their gallbladders and claws. I once lectured him on the subject, telling him if you hunt, it should be for your dinner, not just for animal body parts to sell to someone overseas,” she said. “I think when he talked about the bear hunting he was making a point.”

“This Evan, is he an older guy? Kind of rough looking? Wears Army fatigues?”

“Yes, Evan Veatch. A Vietnam vet. Looks like an old survivalist type. Why?”

“Just a hunch,” Nick said. “So you’re telling me you think they could make enough on poaching plants and bear body parts to buy all that stuff?”

“I don’t know. I never thought about it, but I suppose they could. I haven’t been over there for a while.”

“Hmmm.”

“Why? How do you think—You don’t still think they’re dealing in drugs, do you? I mean, look at them.” Grace shook her head. “Don’t most dealers
use
? Isn’t that why they deal in the first place? To afford their habit?”

“Yes.
Most
do.”

“My point.”

Nick didn’t respond. A muscle twitched in his jaw.

“Maybe you’re just determined to find drug dealers up in our mountains. You see it everywhere, even when it isn’t there,” she said.

“And maybe you don’t see it at all. You see everyone, everything around you in the best possible light—”

“Oh yes! Because seeing them as poachers making a living doing the very thing I abhor is the best possible light!”

“Well, not seeing that Boyd guy has something pretty damn abhorrent in mind for you makes me question your perspective. So yeah, I’d say so.”