Tales of the Witch (4 page)

Black Dan waved away the witch’s thanks for the wine, and hurried to the indoor section of his restaurant.

A moment later, the witch spotted the girl, Lizette, coming outside through the same door by which her boss had left, where she paused. The witch noticed that, unlike her earlier shine of confidence, she looked harried and even possibly frightened. Rick the bartender, a tall blonde young man with a teasing grin, reached over the bottles and gave one of Lizette’s dangling curls a tweak as if he were a small boy in school.

Lizette started, then after flashing him a distracted smile, immediately turned her back on him. His grin deflated at once. With a disappointed look on his face, he turned to wait on customers at the other end of the bar. As soon as he moved on, Lizette’s expression of fright returned. She appeared to the witch to be casting side glances at the undercover policeman.

To the witch’s great interest, the girl ultimately fastened her gaze on one of the patrons of the bar—a short man in a suit that looked a few sizes too small for his rotund shape. After their eyes locked for a brief moment, the two of them walked towards the west parking lot, one behind the other, and vanished out of the witch’s sight.

The witch mused on Lizette’s apparent odd taste in male friends, but then as no more events occurred in which either the patron or the girl figured, she ordered Chef Vinnie’s famous warm duck salad for a light dinner to go with her wine, which she and Jezebel enjoyed greatly. Then, after easing Jezebel comfortably into her carrying basket, she strolled leisurely down the slim strip of beach for the two mile walk to their home.

The next late afternoon developed much the same as the one before and once again enticed the witch and her cat to pass some time at Harrington’s waterfront tables. Upon arrival, Jezebel hopped out of her basket and began sniffing the breezes.

The witch again settled contentedly in her chair, and indulged herself not only in Wyndham’s wealth of weather, scenery, music, food and drink, but also in her fascinated observance of her fellow man. That the policeman from the neighboring village was seated again at his table from yesterday was one of the interesting items she noted.

She’d just finished her wine—a rich zinfandel this time—and shared some mussels in a savory broth with Jezebel, when rumbles coming from the direction of the kitchen disturbed the benevolent fabric of the evening.

The witch watched with interest as Black Dan conferred with his partner, Barton Peacock, in hushed rapid tones. Peacock owned and managed the hotel to which Harrington’s restaurant was attached. Chef Vinnie stormed out and joined them. Vinnie muttered some statements punctuated with curses, then charged back to his inner kingdom, leaving behind dismayed expressions on Peacock’s and Dan’s faces. Black Dan raised his palms to the skies, let them fall to slap his thighs, then he strode inside to join his chef.

Barton Peacock sighed, then returned to his post in his hotel at the front of the building. Chris, Pete, and Frank picked up their faltered beat and the mellow jazz worked its magic on the few alarmed or curious souls.

A few moments later, out bustled Lisa, Harrington’s hostess, with a blackboard proclaiming ‘Duck Festival’, and listing a vast selection of items featuring, in addition to Chef Vinnie’s trademark warm duck salad—duck ravioli, duck tacos, duck tidbits with hot sauce, duck soup, duck medallions, and on and on, plus free duck paté with every dinner order.

Black Dan strolled disconsolately from the kitchen just as the witch finished perusing the blackboard. On spotting the witch, he walked over and sat down at her table. Jezebel leaped lightly into his lap.

“Everything satisfactory for you two tonight?” he asked, absently stroking Jezebel’s glossy black fur.

“Delicious as always. I regret I had mussels tonight. If I’d known, I would’ve ordered duck.”

Black Dan’s hands made a massive fist as he clasped them before him on the table. He shook his head. “I dared to ignore the curse, and look at the results,” he said mournfully.

“I beg your pardon?”

“After we spoke yesterday, I brought my dear wife to Harrington’s—her first visit. Such a beautiful evening it was.”

He took in a great gulp of extra air, then let it out in a long sigh. “Well, it’s not a total loss, so I suppose it was a mere warning. But I’ll not make that mistake again.”

“What exactly are you referring to, a ‘mere warning’?”

“The wires in the main deep freeze—they must’ve been chewed in the night by some arctic rodent or other, for they parted company with the motor. In this heat, the defrosting took no time at all. We discovered the problem right on the brink of spoilage. Fortunately I have a second, smaller freezer, but some foods you can’t refreeze. It has too devastating an effect on the taste of the product.”

“Like duck?”

His big head wagged up and down. “Like duck. We’d just received an enormous order yesterday. Well, you know Chef Vinnie has a remarkable hand with duck.”

“Yes, indeed.” She patted his clasped hands. “Don’t worry. I’m positive your rebellious desire for your wife’s company brought you only credit, not evil, Dan.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I told you how we’re right on a financial knife edge. One nudge either way…”

“Have some of this remarkable zinfandel. Tomorrow will bring new crowds, new profits.”

Curiosity—a character trait overly maligned in proverbs, in the witch’s opinion, for she set much store by it—impelled her to once again coax Jezebel into her basket to visit Harrington’s for lunch. Extra high temperatures drove them inside today. During the next twenty minutes, she witnessed the heat slowly overwhelming, and then driving away the bustling lunchtime crowd that had gathered. The air conditioner had somehow malfunctioned.

Soon a small man carrying a tool box was hustled in through the back door and escorted between Black Dan’s brawny shoulders and the thinner, more wiry ones of Barton Peacock, into the nether regions of the building.

Black Dan reappeared alone, mopping his fair brow with a dinner napkin. He gave the clumps of idle, murmuring waiters and waitresses permission to leave the premises until four o’clock. Then, spotting the witch, he sauntered exhaustedly over to her. She could see he hadn’t shaved yet today.

“They pulled you from your bed, my poor man?”

He shrugged away the importance of his bed, dropped into a chair next to her and signaled the bartender for service, ordering icy champagne for her, a dish of melting ice cream for Jezebel, and a frosty beer for himself. “Only thing to drink when the needle passes 99°, don’t you agree, my dear?” he said with a crooked grin. “Especially when it’s indoors.”

“What now, Dan?”

“Rodents? Leprechauns? Faeries I’ve somehow offended? There will go the remaining defrosted duck meat from yesterday. That’ll spoil soon, with such heat in the kitchen. It’s not just the air conditioner, it’s the electricity, which refrigerators require for some perverse reason,” he said with morose humor. “Oh.” He turned to Lisa the hostess. “Send a jug of ice water down to the electrician, would you, my dear? And keep him well supplied.” Lisa nodded and got busy.

“Hot as a lava tube down there,” he said.

“You’re a good, thoughtful man, Dan Harrington. More disconnected wires?”

“Smashed, more like. They must be replaced, says the electricity guru. A two hour job, at minimum, even with his helper arriving soon. We’ve lost all of our lunch business. God only knows how the dinner crowd will react. Will they hear the news and stay away? Will they hear about the curse on me and stay away because of
that
?”

“Oh, surely not.”

“You’re so comforting, my lovely, but can you really say that with any confidence? No. I am well and truly cursed.”

The witch could only reach over and squeeze her friend’s hand. She stayed to lend moral support, because there was not much else anyone could do, and Black Dan’s morale was in severe need of support. His normally beaming face seemed shrunken with worry. Occasionally she saw Lizette flitting about the premises, with a face fully as haunted as Dan’s.

By three o’clock, the few remaining in the restaurant had subsided into solitary islands of misery. The witch had taken to munching crackers to keep from succumbing to the soporific effects of heat combined with champagne. Jezebel dozed sprawled on her back next to a lifeless air-conditioning duct. An occasional afternoon drinker braved the heat and requested one of the liquids being kept on ice at the outside bar, but not often enough to revive Black Dan’s depleted profits.

Finally, the air conditioner began sputtering into occasional life. The repair man had just popped out of his dungeon to promise that rejuvenation was mere minutes away, when suddenly from the outdoor bar came shouts of “Poison! I’ve been poisoned! What kind of place is this, a funeral parlor, and you supply your own bodies? Where’s a doctor? I’ve been poisoned, don’t just stand there, get your manager!”

Jezebel stalked outside on the heels of Black Dan. Barton Peacock came running up just behind, a little smudged from his basement inquiries. At the moment the witch passed through the door after Peacock, she heard the blessed sounds of mechanical humming.

“The air conditioner’s running again, Dan,” she exclaimed. But Black Dan didn’t hear. He’d enfolded a small fat man who was sputtering in Dan’s massive embrace. Dan was expertly executing the Heimlich maneuver.

“Wha—let go of me, you big ape! I said I was poisoned, not choking!” He jerked himself free and Black Dan retreated a step, a dazed expression on his face.

“I’m sorry. I’m not myself just now—I mean, how have you been poisoned? Can you vomit anything up?”

“Don’t be gross. Wait’ll I call my lawyer. You’ll see who’s choking. You the owner?” The witch was highly intrigued to identify the man as the one Lizette had walked out with two days ago.

“Yes—,” began Black Dan.

“We’re partners. He runs the restaurant, I run the hotel.” Barton Peacock elbowed himself forward. He straightened his jacket as if about to face a firing squad.

“Well.” The man straightened his over-snug suit jacket also, and eyed Barton Peacock up and down. “You have any idea of the slop this fella tried to get me to eat?” He jabbed a thumb in the direction of Rick, the bartender.

Rick, behind the man’s back, pointed to a wilted duck salad resting on the bar beside a sweating glass of beer. Black Dan tilted his head and said, “I regret if our salads are not up to our usual standards, we’ve been dealing with difficulties lately, perhaps we can fix you something—”

“Not good enough!”

“A gift certificate for a free dinner for you and a comp—”

“Are you kidding? This’s gonna cost you!”

Barton Peacock spread his hands wide. “What, then? We’d like to make you satisfied.”

Black Dan, standing next to his partner, jammed his clasped hands beneath his generous chin as if he were praying. “The curse,” he could be heard muttering under his breath. “I’m cursed.”

The man scratched at a tooth with a fingernail, a speculative gleam in his eye. “I feel sick,” he said, not looking it. “You don’t know duck from dead cat. Your meat’s tainted.”

“It’s good duck,” protested Rick.

“On a hot day like today,” murmured the witch suggestively, “perhaps a warm salad doesn’t
taste
as appealing as something cold.”

“Yeah,” the man agreed, nodding, when he heard her. “You should’ve served something else.”

“A fine suggestion. Remember that, boy,” said Black Dan to Rick, who looked confused.

“Tell you what, while I’m deciding on just how big a bundle it’ll take to make me drop my lawsuit, I’d like to give a little party. Can you accommodate me and about fifty of my pals?”

“Definitely,” said Black Dan, dropping his fist away from his chin. “We’d be delighted. When?”

“Oh, how about tomorrow, two-thirty. Lobster would be good, and your best booze, and lots of desserts. And get me a piano player.”

“No problem. How about our upstairs room? It’s right next to the bandstand, with a great view of the water. That’s where we have dancing, so there’s lots of space. A bar’s already set up. We could arrange the tables and chairs upstairs any way you’d like—”

“Okay, okay. But no charge, right?”

“Uh, well, no. We’d be pleased to offer you a special price,” began Black Dan.

Barton Peacock interrupted. “I’ll leave you in Dan’s capable hands. You can tell him what you want. You’ll be happy you came, Mr. ah—”

“Tully. Leon Tully. I’m staying in your hotel, upstairs here.”

“Wonderful. Hope you enjoy your stay as our guest. Let the front desk know if you require anything, you’ll find our staff most helpful. Bye, Dan.”

And with this, Barton Peacock walked away, going suddenly limp-shouldered as he stepped indoors.

He poked his head back out. “It’s cool again in here, Dan.” Then he disappeared from sight.

The witch wandered off, first checking out the west parking lot, which was nearly empty, then strolling back into the rapidly cooling interior of the restaurant. The hotel registration desk and lobby could be reached through a wide doorway on the far side of the restaurant. The witch stepped into the lobby, pausing to appreciate the rustic seafarers’ appearance of its decor and the polished oak stairs that led to the upstairs rooms.

She stood at the bottom of the stairs and peered at the few rooms she could see on the upper floor. She turned then, and strode away, her footsteps loud on the plank floor. Turning again, she tiptoed back to stand just out of sight of the final curve of the stairs. Moments later, she snaked out a hand and grabbed a handful of dark curly hair as Lizette darted down the last few steps of the staircase.

“OW!” Lizette squealed with pain and dropped an empty cardboard box she was carrying.

“I feel the need for a nice long conversation, Lizette. And I would like you to join me. Do you know of a private place where we can talk?”

In spite of the strain of her head being wrenched backwards, Lizette nodded, eyes huge with fright. Only then did the witch release her hair.

Lizette rubbed her skull and proceeded quietly down a side passage, with the witch following.