Maudlin's Mayhem (Bewitching Bedlam #2)(42)

“Trust me, I’ve thought about that.” As I drove off, watching her in my rearview mirror, it occurred to me that Delia had to walk a very tricky tightrope as the sheriff. I could never pull it off.





I WAS HUNGRY, so pulled into the drive-thru window at Piper’s Chicken. While I was in line waiting for my order, I called Sandy for Garret’s information and she texted me his address.

“Thanks. Say, how are things going with the arrangements for Bart’s funeral?” With the focus mainly on my problems, she hadn’t had much of a chance to talk through her pain.

Sandy let out a soft sigh. “It’s going. It’s hard because his ex—the waiter—is sticking his nose in. He’s all out of joint because he thinks Bart should have left him a big wad of money. But they weren’t married, and Bart broke up with him some time ago. I helped build the diners to the success they are today, and that little bitch can keep his fingers out of the pie.”

She paused. Then, “Oh, Maddy. I didn’t think this would hit me so hard. I was so angry when Bart first told me he was leaving—and it somehow made it worse that it was for a man. I never forgave him for not telling me when he first realized he was gay. He broke our vows, he broke my trust. But over the years, he’s done what he could to rebuild it. I know he was sorry. I never stopped loving him, though that love changed over the years. When he stopped trying to be a good husband, he actually became a good friend.”

The pain in her voice was palpable. I wasn’t sure what to say. If I had been over at her house, I could have rubbed her back, or hugged her, or just held her hand while she talked, but the phone felt so freaking impersonal.

“Bart knew that you cared about him, and he cared about you. You two had the best post-breakup relationship I’ve ever seen. We’ll do a Cord Cutting ceremony that would make him proud, but only when you’re ready. And I’ll be there for the service. I promise, I’ll walk you through it.”

She cried for a little longer, then hiccupped and sniffed away the tears. “Thanks. That means so much to me.”

My chicken was ready. “I have to hang up now, but I’ll call you in a while. Love you.”

She let out a soft, “Love you too.”

The driver behind me honked and I thought about flipping him off, but decided there was too much anger in the world already without creating more ill will. I pulled forward, paid for my order, and then eased back onto the street. Garret’s house was on the other side of the island, so I headed toward Rosewood Road—the main road that encircled the island. I flipped on some classical music to calm my mood and tried to push away my worries.





GARRET LIVED IN the shady section of Bedlam. It wasn’t exactly the wrong side of the tracks, but it didn’t pay to walk through the streets in his neighborhood unless you either had a big, nasty dog, or a big, nasty stick. Or if you were recognized as having a big, nasty reputation.

I pulled up in front of his house and turned off the engine, staring up at the dilapidated shack that passed for a one-story cottage. Once, it may have been beautiful and cozy, but now it just looked like a weathered box that was falling apart. The color was an unappealing mustard, like baby shit, and the paint was peeling off in long flakes. I could sense the ghosts hanging around the house. There were numerous spirits hanging out. Next door gave an explanation for at least some of the spiritual activity. Garret’s neighbor happened to be a graveyard, old enough to have lost its luster and even its somber dignity. It just looked like one of the sets from Plan 9 From Outer Space.

The house was built on a high slope, so there were two sets of steps leading up to the door—the first led to a wide yard, then another led to a smaller yard surrounding the house. I forced myself to get out of the car and cautiously navigate the broken concrete steps leading to the first sub-yard. The steps were so much rubble, and weeds were thick, growing through the cracks.

But as I approached the walkway directly in front of the porch, something felt off. I frowned, squinting, as wavy lines shimmered in the air.

Damn it—I knew it. There was a glamour over the property. Pausing, I breathed out slowly, opening my third eye as I whispered a charm for clear sight.

When I opened my eyes, the grunge and grime were gone. In place of the shack stood a charming cottage, with a line of daffodils and tulips surrounding the foundation. I glanced back at the steps—they weren’t broken, nor did the yard look overgrown. Instead, the grass was tended, the paint on the cottage was a warm golden color, and the roof didn’t look like it was about to collapse.

So that was the way Garret kept people from thinking he might be good pickings. Realizing he probably wouldn’t realize I had seen through his illusion, I ascended the porch steps and looked for the doorbell. There didn’t seem to be one, so I knocked on the screen door. Another moment and I knocked again. Finally, I heard a shuffling noise and the door opened.

A man stood there. He was dark skinned with silver hair, and he was wearing a turtleneck and a pair of jeans. His hair was long, in thin dreads, and he had clear, hazel eyes. There was something about the way he moved that made him seem incredibly graceful and sinuous. Yep, he was a snakeshifter, all right.

“Garret James?” I eyed him carefully, trying to keep in mind there might be a chance he was mixed up with Essie.

“Who wants to know?”