Witches of Three_Philomena (2 page)

“You can’t have this. It doesn’t belong to you,” Sera said gently.

“I’m taking it to pay for my services,” Killie said, tossing his head like some proud matador. The movement was meant to appear regal, but came off looking cheap and melodramatic.

Phil glanced back at the man in the doorway. He was tall and well built, good-looking in an everyman kind of way, with broad shoulders, blond hair and gold fuzz over the lower half of his face. His feature were strong, his eyes were blue and hooded at the moment, his expression closed and noncommittal. Obviously, he had no wish to witness a domestic problem. To make matters worse, a cab pulled into the circular drive and began blowing its horn loudly and continuously.

Behind her, Charlie and Killie had engaged in a shouting match, while the horn kept tooting.

“Maybe I should come back,” the man on the porch said.

Phil didn’t answer, twisting her head one way to observe the altercation in the hall and the other way to take in the obnoxious cab with its blaring horn, which seemed to be stuck.

The other case Killie had been carrying bounced down the stairs and flew open. Charlie screamed with laughter. Killie cursed and ran after the case, tripping and sprawling among his loot.

“Stop it,” Phil cried, putting her hands over her ears, looking around and not knowing what to do first to end the noise. The cab, of course, with it’s obnoxious noise. She bobbed her head and the horn fell silent then she turned back to the melee in the hall.

Killie struggled to his feet.

“Ill-gotten gain,” Charlie admonished him, shaking her finger before his nose.

“My God, Phil,” Charlie remarked. “He’s taken all your silverware. You would have had nothing to serve us lunch with.”

“You bitch,” Killie shouted, his voice going thin and high.

“Don’t call me names,” Charlie ordered.

“You don’t want to take these things,” Sera said in a gentle, perfectly logical voice. “You’re a better man than this.”

“He’s a thief, is what he is,” Charlie said.

“Get away from me,” Killie growled and bent to repack the cases with the silver and gold items.

“Don’t bother doing that,” Charlie said. “I’m a policewoman and you’re under arrest.”

“You can’t arrest me, you crazy bitch,” Killie said. “You’re not a policeman yet.”

“Sorry, pal, you haven’t been paying attention,” Charlie said, taking out a pair of handcuffs from the straw carryall over her shoulder. “I’ve graduated at the top of my class and am now a full-fledged policewoman. And it’ll give me great pleasure to make you my first collar.”

“You can’t. You’re off duty,” he sneered.

“I’m always on duty. I can make an arrest any time. Right here, right now.” She advanced toward him.

“You come near me with those and I’ll clock you one.” To demonstrate his intentions, Killie doubled up his fist and shook it at her.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Charlie said just before Killie socked her in the eye.

Phil felt something brush past her and suddenly the man who’d rung the doorbell was there, grabbing Killie by the lapels of his expensive suit. A large fist flashed and Killie was on the floor, while a silver teapot and a soup tureen rattled out of his way.

“Hit him again,” Charlie cried, swinging her fist.

Phil laced her fingers through her hair and began to pull as she stared, open-mouthed at the scene before her. Why did these things always seem to happen to her? What had made her think today was a good day to oust Killie? Anger swirled through her and she threw all caution to the wind. With a single flicker of her eyelashes, she gathered up Killie and scooted him out of the house, across the porch and dumped him unceremoniously on the ground by the taxi. The driver got out of the front and walked around the car.

“You want I should get his luggage?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow at them.

“The gentleman has no luggage,” a strong masculine voice said behind Phil. The strange man walked down the steps. “I’ll help you get your fare into the cab.”

Killie saw him coming and scrambled to his feet, lunged into the backseat and locked the door behind him. The driver shrugged and got back into the cab. With a screech of tires, he drove out onto the road. The last sight Phil had of Killie was his face as he scowled at them through the rear window, shaking his fist and mouthing curses. The cab disappeared down the street.

The house seemed uncommonly quiet. Charlie and Sera walked out onto the porch and the stranger climbed the steps. No one said a word. Phil drew a deep breath.

“Wow, Phil!” Charlie was the first to speak. Phil had known she would be. “This is some luncheon. I’ve loved the entertainment.”

“Oh, Charlie, for once in your life be quiet.” Her words seemed to release everyone from the miasma that held them spellbound.

The stranger turned to Phil. “You’re Phil Spencer?” he asked, his blue eyes sparking with exasperation.

“Yes, who are you?” she asked with more courtesy than she’d shown before. After all, he’d helped her get rid of Killie.

“I’m Beck Crawford. I’m here to build your pergola.”

Chapter Two

Thankfully, calm followed chaos. Beck Crawford set to work on the pergola, and the nearly purloined items had been restored to their proper places. Phil had been able to serve lunch with the family silverware, and her sisters seemed content to lounge in the drawing room observing her shirtless handyman work. Phil drew a sigh, sipped her margarita and tried her best to relax.

“He’s really quite attractive,” Charlie said idly.

“Oh, my, yes,” Sera echoed with a little more heat than Phil would have expected from her shyer sister.

“What are you going to do about him?” Charlie asked.

“What do you mean, what am I going to do?” Phil snapped in some irritation. She was still troubled by her reaction to Beck Crawford’s hard muscular body and keen blue eyes with the hint of knowledge in them. Nothing like having all the dirty little secrets of your love life and its aftermath exposed before a stranger. What must Beck think of her now and why should it matter to her?

“You didn’t make a good first impression,” Charlie said, echoing Phil’s thoughts.

“It really doesn’t matter, does it?” Phil snapped. “Since he’s here only to build a pergola and then he’ll be gone.”

“I bet not,” Charlie said. “Wonder what he’s like in bed?”

“You’re welcome to find out,” Phil said nonchalantly, although she’d already wondered that herself. “Of course, his wife might object.”

“He doesn’t have a wife,” Charlie answered smugly. “I already checked.”

She smiled, waiting for them to ask her for more information. Phil refused to get caught up in her sister’s machinations although her curiosity was aroused.

“Oh, all right, I’ll tell you,” Charlie said as though they’d begged her to reveal her secrets. She picked up a clear glass ball with a village scene in it and shook it so the snow swirled around inside. Staring at it intently, she began to speak. “He’s widowed. His wife died two years ago.” She frowned and glanced at her sisters.

“Go on,” Sera said and Phil pinched her lips together not to add her own urgings. She was seriously thinking of doing bodily harm to Charlie for her play-acting.

“His wife was murdered and he’s a primary suspect in her death. They still haven’t found the killer.” She lowered the ball and looked at them then out the window at Beck Crawford standing on a ladder pounding nails into a support beam.

“Do you think he did it?” Sera asked sadly.

“I don’t know,” Charlie said quietly. She held the ball on her lap.

“Well, what does your crystal ball say?” Phil asked curtly. “You’re the one who started this.”

Charlie stirred and glanced at the swirling snow. “He and his wife were in the midst of a nasty divorce. He has a little girl, but she’s been taken away and is staying with his wife’s mother.”

“How awful!” Sera cried. “To lose her mother and father at the same time. That poor child.”

“Yoohoo!” Claire Spencer’s voice rang out from the front hall and Charlie slapped the ball back on the table as she and Sera hurried to greet their mother.

Slowly, Phil crossed to the open French doors and looked out at Beck Crawford. His muscles flexed in the sunlight, a slight sheen of sweat covering his chest and shoulders. He finished driving a nail and glanced up. When he caught her gaze, he paused, a nail still between his chiseled lips, the hammer in his hand. Their gazes held and she felt something deep inside her stir, not in the way it had when she’d first met Killie and all the other men, but in a more profound way. Instinctively, she knew he hadn’t murdered his wife. She felt his frustration over not having his child, his hidden anger that no one believed him or trusted him. He was a man filled with a lot of private pain, but he’d never show it and he wouldn’t welcome anyone intruding on it.

She reached for the French door and slowly drew it closed, as if shielding herself from some intense emotion beyond her experience. But with the door closed, she could still see him through the glass and he could see her watching him. Then he turned away, took a nail from his lips and began hammering it into the beam. The blows of his hammer matched the pounding of her heart.

“Oh, there you are, Phil,” Claire Spencer cried, entering the room. “How was your luncheon? I’m sorry I couldn’t be here, but the meeting for our ladies’ club was very important.”

For once, grateful for her mother’s exuberant presence, Phil turned to greet her.

“Did you get a lot resolved?” she asked, going to hug her mother. Claire Spencer was fashionably dressed in a light summer dress and sandals and a matching red hat.

“Oh, yes, dear. We set up our programs for the coming year. We’re going to do some exciting things. I wish you were old enough to join us. You’d enjoy yourself, but of course, you’re far too young.”

“Thanks for the thought, Mums. Would you like some tea?”

“Oh, no, dear, I drank way too much at the meeting. I was sitting beside Matty DeMott and she went on and on. She so loves to tell everyone about her latest ailments and there was nothing for me to do but sip my tea and listen. I will have a glass of whatever you girls were drinking, if what you’re drinking is a margarita.” She glanced around at her three daughters. “Well, what on earth is wrong? You all look subdued and I know that means you’ve been at something you ought not to have been.”

She waited expectantly and finally turned to Sera who flushed and looked away. Still, she was compelled to answer her mother’s enquiry.

“We were just talking about the carpenter Phil hired to build her pergola,” she explained and smiled at the sudden knowledge she’d sidestepped the dilemma of lying to her mother or tattling on her sisters.

“Dear, you’re having a pergola put up? How lovely,” Claire cried and went to open the French doors to peer out. “Oh, my, he’s quite good looking.” She smiled at her daughters and stepped out onto the patio.

“What a lovely job you’re doing,” she called.

Startled, Beck wavered on the ladder, grabbed a beam and looked down at this new intruder. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said politely and wiped at his brow.

“I’m Claire Spencer, Phil’s mother. And you’re…” She let the rest dangle and there was nothing for it but that he must answer.

“Beck Crawford, ma’am.”

“Oh, I’m so glad to meet you. That looks like very hot work up there. Why don’t you come down and have some tea? Phil makes sun tea and it’s really quite good.”

“That’s kind of you, ma’am, but…” he began but Claire brushed his words away before they were uttered.

“I insist. Now come down and rest.”

She waved her hand at him so he had little choice but to descend the ladder and follow her into the parlor, but not before he grabbed his shirt and put it back on. Claire smiled her approval and sent Phil off to the kitchen for the tea then bustled around making sure he was comfortably seated with a glass in hand. A silence settled over them all. He sat uneasily, fixing his gaze on the glass of ice tea then he took a deep breath and drank it down as if taking a hated medicine. When the glass was drained, he got to his feet.

“Well, thank you all,” he said, holding out the glass.

Phil stepped forward and took it and he met her gaze. Once again she felt the shock, clear down to her toes and in all the right places between. She forced a smile.

“I’m sorry we’ve rather overwhelmed you,” she said. “These are my sisters, Charlie and Sera, and this is my mother, Claire.”

“Pleased to meet you.” He nodded politely. “I’d better get back to work,” he said and stalked toward the patio doors with purpose.

“Well, what a perfectly lovely man,” Claire said when he’d climbed his ladder again.

“Oh, Mums, how would you know?” Phil said, heading to the kitchen with the glass.

“Why, dear, don’t you like him?” Claire trailed after her and of course, where one sister went the others must follow. It seemed to be a golden rule for them all. Too much togetherness.

“It has nothing to do with liking or disliking him,” Phil said. “He’s simply here to build the pergola, then he’ll be gone and we’ll never see him again.” The thought caused a hitch in her heart, but she’d certainly never let them see it.

“You’ll have to forgive Phil, Mums,” Charlie said affectionately. “She just got rid of Killie and here’s another man to take his place.”

“Charlie, I’ve had enough,” Phil snapped. “It’s time for you all to go home.”

“Well, really, are we being kicked out?” Charlie asked with a grin.

“Oh, yes, we should go,” Sera said. “This has been a hard day for Phil. She must be so saddened by what Killie did.”

“What did that man do?” her mother demanded, causing a lengthy description of the earlier events.

“Don’t you worry, dear, he wasn’t a good man to treat you like that. There’s bound to be someone better for you.” Her mother hugged her and patted her shoulder as if she were a hurt child. Phil wanted to scream.

Even family time must come to a reasonable end and everyone left but not before Charlie had a last say.