Witches of Three_Philomena (7 page)

“Five bucks or do you want me to run a tab?” she asked grouchily.

“Oh, run a tab. I plan to be here a while,” Phil said and took her first ship. Weak and watery was her first impression, but she scrunched up her face in a facsimile of pure delight. “Mmm, perfect.”

She set the drink on the bar and leaned forward a little. Other men along the bar twisted to get a better look down her top at the smooth white mounds she’d displayed.

“I was wondering,” she said, making her voice little girl small and soft. “If you’ve seen Diane lately. We used to be drinking buddies before I went away.”

“How long have you been gone?” Maris asked in surprise. “Diane died two years ago, murdered by her husband, although the police ain’t arrested him yet.”

“Diane was murdered by her husband?” Phil faked a tear. “And the police haven’t arrested him yet? Why ever not?”

“They can’t prove it,” Maris said, wiping at the bar. “The bastard covered his tracks too well.”

“Poor Diane.” Phil shook her head. “But I told her she should be more discreet.” She tilted her head. “Poor Johnny.”

“Johnny?” Maris asked sharply.

“Wasn’t that the name of her boyfriend?” Phil opened her eyes wide and looked confused. “She was crazy about him.”

“She was crazy about a lot of guys,” Maris said. “The richer, the better.”

She clamped her mouth shut as if to stop herself from saying more. Phil waited, but the woman moved down the bar and served other customers. Phil sipped her sorry excuse for a margarita, danced with the men who asked her but were more interested in just holding her tight against their arousals than in actually moving across the floor. While they imagined her naked in their beds, she asked them questions about her dead friend, Diane, and her boyfriends.

Finally, when she felt she’d gleaned all she could, she minced her way to the door, smiled over her shoulder at her new friends who had their gazes pinned on her undulating hips so they barely noticed her wave, and escaped into the fresh cool air of the parking lot. Except she wasn’t alone. A man followed her. She felt her heart lurch then resignation settled over her. Well, she’d played the flirt, a free and easy spirit who might be interested in a rumple in the back of a pick-up truck, so she must expect to deal with the consequences.

She smiled at the man as he approached.

“Hi, sugar,” she called.

When he got close enough, she pretended to weave and fell against him, ready to send him to the other side of the parking lot if she had to.

“Look, you little slut,” the man said hoarsely and grabbed her roughly. Not a would-be lover, Phil thought, wincing at the power of his grip.

“Ouch, you’re hurting me,” she said.

The man shook her. “I’ll do more than that if you keep on asking questions about Diane Crawford,” he growled. “Forget about her. She’s dead. And you could be, too, if you aren’t careful.”

Phil froze at his words, her mind moving swiftly over all the possibilities they might mean.

“Are you Diane’s friend, too?” she asked, forgetting to slur her words to feign drunkenness.

“Don’t worry about who I am,” the man said, releasing her with such force she nearly fell in her overly high platforms.

By the time, she’d righted herself, the man had disappeared into the darkness. She stood staring into the shadows, trying to catch a glimpse of him then she moved moth-like around the building, searching, but he’d disappeared. Rubbing her arms against the sudden chill and her throbbing muscles where he’d grabbed her, she got back into her car and headed home. She was on to something, she thought.

Chapter Six

“Aigh! What are you?”

The creature giggled. “I’m a girl. You’re funny.”

“Where did you come from?” Phil stared at her visitor.

“I’m with my daddy,” the little minx said saucily.

Although Phil didn’t like children, she had to admit this one was rather pretty and lively.

“Emily, I told you not to come in here,” Beck said. He filled the doorway, his eyes bluer than she remembered them, his expression guarded.

“Today’s the first day I get to have her on my own for the afternoon. I have some wood and things from the lumber company to unload and thought she might like to see where I’m working.”

“Daddy said you’re pretty and he’s right.”

“Thank you, and so are you.” Phil darted a glance at Beck and back at the girl, who smiled charmingly. She had Beck’s eyes and a daintier version of his features, but her hair was caramel colored and hung down her back.

“Are you a witch?”

“Yes,” Phil said firmly.

“You must be the good witch of the East,” the diminutive cherub said. “I think I’ll call you Glenda.”

“Call me Phil. That’s my name. How old are you anyway?”

The girl held up four chubby fingers.

“Four going on fourteen,” Beck said with indulgent pride.

“Oh, daddy,” the girl said and swiveled around to look over the kitchen. “This doesn’t look like a witch’s lair.”

“I’ve disguised it,” Phil answered and looked at Beck.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he said.

“Silly, daddy,” Emily said, walking around. “Of course, she doesn’t mind. Witches like children.”

“Where did you ever hear that?” Phil asked.

“Hansel and Gretel,” she replied serenely.

“But that witch wanted to eat them.”

“Well, you can’t eat me. Daddy won’t let you.” She wandered into the parlor.

Phil turned to Beck. “They let you take her without supervision?” she asked and at his nodded, observed. “That’s a step forward for you.”

“A big step.”

He was silent for a long moment, his gaze holding hers so intensely, all sorts of sensations flared to life. She wanted to throw off her clothes and roll on the floor with him, but of course, she couldn’t. He couldn’t, not with Emily in the very next room. A thought occurred to her that maybe that was why he’d brought her. He seemed to read her thoughts because he shuffled his feet and gazed at the floor. Color had crept up his neck from his collar.

“Look, about yesterday,” he began and shifted his weight.

“I enjoyed yesterday very much,” she said softly.

His head jerked up so their gazes collided. His eyes blazed with emotion.

“I did, too,” he answered, almost reluctantly and she wondered why.

“It had nothing to do with the accusations against you.”

“I know that. I’ve had time to think about what an ass I was.”

“Yes.” She smiled to soften her words. “I forgive you.”

His smile was quick and spontaneous then faded. “I just don’t want you to suffer from your association with me.”

“I won’t.”

“You don’t know how people can be—”

“Yes, I do. I know the things they whisper about me and my sisters in town.” Then she couldn’t resist turning the tables on him. “Maybe that was the reason for yesterday. You wondered what it would be like to get it on with a witch.”

“What does ‘get it on’ mean?” a piping voice asked and they turned to find Emily standing in the doorway, clutching an old ragdoll that had always been Phil’s favorite.

“Where did you find that?” Phil asked with a touch of asperity. “Did you go up to my bedroom?”

“Uh huh,” Emily admitted, swinging her sturdy little body back and forth as if suddenly uncertain about her actions.

“Emily, you know better than that,” Beck said reproachfully. “Apologize to Phil and give her back her doll.”

“I’m sorry,” Emily said instantly then smiled. “I like your house, and I was just looking for a toy to play with. Can I play with Trudy, if I’m very careful? Please.”

“Why did you call her Trudy?”

Emily giggled. “Because that’s her name? Didn’t you know that?”

“The question is how did you know that?” Phil asked.

“Because she told me,” the girl replied. “Can I play with her?”

“Not now, Em. We have to go. I have to get that stuff unloaded.”

“Can I stay here while you do that?” Emily wheedled.

Beck looked at Phil. “Would you mind?”

“No, of course not,” Phil said, although she really did. It wouldn’t be for long, she consoled herself and besides Emily’s radiant smile made Phil think she could endure her presence for the short time it would take Beck to unload his truck.

When he’d been reassured about leaving his daughter in Phil’s care and had left, she had a moment of panic. She had no idea what to do with a child or how to occupy one. Emily solved that problem. She took a seat at the table and said primly.

“You’re supposed to offer me cookies and milk.” She sat staring at Phil with Beck’s blue eyes.

“I don’t have any milk and cookies,” she said shortly.

“Everyone has milk and cookies,” Emily said sternly, her eyebrows pulled down in rebuke.

Phil couldn’t help feeling a mite intimidated, but that was crazy. She was a witch in control of nearly everything and this was a four-year old child.

“Are you sure you’re a kid?” she asked crossly.

“What else would I be?” Emily answered, occupying herself with straightening Trudy’s old-fashioned dress and yarn hair.

“You could be a gremlin or a munchkin or another witch.”

Emily laughed. Phil took the distraction to nod her head at a cupboard, then with great ceremony, she opened the door and pulled out a package of cookies, which she produced with a flourish. Emily looked them over. Phil crossed to the fridge to pour a glass of milk from a container that hadn’t been there thirty seconds before.

“Don’t you have homemade cookies?” Emily inquired, staring at the package dubiously.

“Who makes cookies?” Phil snapped.

“My grandma makes them all the time, and they’re much better than the ones you buy at the store,” Emily said as if reciting a much-quoted line.

“How would you know if you haven’t tried them?” Phil demanded.

“That’s what my grandma says, and she never lies.”

“Sometimes adults lie.”

“Not my grandma, she never lies.” The impossible child drew her brows down and glared at Phil.

“Well, maybe she didn’t lie, but maybe she just didn’t know herself.”

“She knows everything.”

They were at an impasse. Phil sighed. How had she ever gotten into an argument with a four year old, moreover, an argument that she was losing?

“I’ll check in the cookie jar,” Phil said and turned to a fat gargoyle jar that usually held the detritus she normally didn’t want to deal with. Reaching in, she pulled out a ginger cookie and put it on a plate. Emily was watching her sharply.

“Only one cookie?” she asked. “I like two.”

“One is all I have,” Phil snapped. “Don’t be impolite.”

“I’m sorry.” Emily’s response surprised Phil.

“That’s okay,” she said grudgingly.

Then wondered how she could make up to the diminutive version of Beck for her grouchiness. She remembered tea parties she’d once had with her sisters, in their playroom, with the door closed and moms preoccupied elsewhere.

“Would you like to go to a witch’s tea party?” she asked. Emily’s eyes widened. “It’s very secret and you must never tell a soul about it. Otherwise, witches everywhere will be angry with you and you’ll never be allowed at another.”

“I won’t say anything, I promise,” Emily whispered.

Phil snapped her finger and suddenly the table rose into the air along with Emily and her chair. Another snap brought a proper linen tablecloth and cups of tea and plates of cakes and cookies. Phil rose and took her seat.

“Close your mouth Emily. It’s impolite to gape.”

Emily snapped her mouth shut.

Phil smiled in approval. “That’s better.”

She sipped her tea. Emily followed suit. Laughter and a silly light-hearted conversation followed. Phil found herself warming to the girl even if she were a child. Her eyes narrowed as she considered Emily.

“Tell me about your mother, Emily,” she invited and the festive mood vanished.

“She’s dead,” the girl said in a trembling voice. Phil waited. “Grandma says daddy killed her, but I don’t believe that. I think a bad man did it, but daddy’s not bad.”

“I agree,” Phil said. “Do you have any idea who the bad man is?”

Emily nodded her head, her cookie momentarily forgotten.

“There were a lot of bad men,” she solemnly. “They were cranky and yelled at me if I came into the room when they were visiting, so even mommy said bad things about me when they were there.”

Phil’s heart constricted at the pain and confusion on Emily’s face.

“Mommy didn’t like me when her friends were there.”

“Oh, honey, I’m sure she did. Mommies love their little girls.”

“That’s what daddy said.”

Phil imagined Beck trying to comfort his daughter and changed the subject. “Do you remember any of the bad men who came to see your mother?”

Emily shook her head. “They only came a couple of times. The last time one of them came, he was especially mean. He hurt mommy and yelled at her. She was crying and when she saw me, she yelled at me to run away to Sally’s house. The man chased me, but I was too fast for him, so he went back into the house.”

“Is that when your mommy got hurt?” Phil asked urgently.

Slowly, the little girl nodded.

“What the hell—” came an exclamation from below.

Instantly, Phil nodded her head and the table and their chairs settled back in place on the kitchen floor.

Beck stood rubbing his eyes. “Did I just see what I think I saw?” he asked.

“Probably not,” Phil said tersely.

Emily giggled. “We had tea on the ceiling, daddy. It was so much fun.”

Beck stared at Phil questioningly.

She shrugged and smiled. “I warned you,” she said softly.

“I thought you were just kidding or…or…”

“Fantasizing?”

“Something like that.”

“Don’t tell grandma, daddy,” Emily said. “She won’t let me come again if she knows Phil’s a witch.”

“No, I won’t say a word,” he muttered. “I’d better get you home, our time is nearly up. Say goodbye to Phil.”

Dutifully, Emily repeated his words then ran to throw her arms around Phil’s legs. “I love you, Philomena,” she said and held her face up for a kiss.