Maudlin's Mayhem (Bewitching Bedlam #2)(71)

“It was like a shower of feathers. It almost tickled.” Sandy looked as delighted as I felt. “I can tell that something sloughed off.”

“Just like dead skin,” Max said, laughing.

“Ewww,” both Sandy and I managed to say in stereo.

“I guess that takes care of that. What next?” Max asked. “You want me to help you get Aegis back into his coffin?”

“Yeah, I’d really appreciate that.” I slipped into his lair and lifted the lid, raising it back on its hinges. Then Max slid his arms under Aegis’s arms and knees and carried him into the room, laying him in the coffin with no sign of effort. Weretigers weren’t as strong as vampires, but they were no slouches in the muscle department.

“Thanks,” I said, lowering the lid after we straightened Aegis out. “I bet he’s going to be one happy vampire when he wakes up.”

“Now that that’s settled, what are you going to do?”

“Oh, relax, I guess.” I didn’t want Max worrying about Sandy, and there was no need to tell him what we were planning.

He gave me a skeptical look. “Yeah, right. That’s why Sandy asked me to go back to her place and help Alex get Mr. Peabody under control. By the way, have you had a talk with Bubba?”

“Oh yes, trust me. Bubba and I had a discussion about his behavior. I won’t promise that it will never happen again, but I do know that Bubba’s not happy about smelling like skunk, either.” I winked at Max. “So, don’t you worry. If you would do as Sandy asked, she’ll be home later on in the evening. Oh, and can you take the wok back upstairs?”

Max let out a “Hmmm” but said nothing more as we returned to the main room in the basement. Sandy was carrying Bubba’s carrier and was halfway up the stairs, Bubba following her, playing the sad-kitty-cat-eyes game. Franny was zipping around the basement, looking at the furniture.

“Maddy? Come look at what I found! I forgot this was here.” She was standing by a small chest of drawers. It was old, that much was apparent, but the wood was a rich warm cherry and as I knelt to look at it, I saw that it was hand carved, built without nails or glue. The craftsmanship was superb.

“I never noticed this piece. We’re still working our way through the labyrinth of antiques down here.” I ran my hand over it, wiping the dust off with a nearby cloth.

“This was in my bedroom,” Franny said shyly. “I always loved it. My father made it.”

I glanced at her. The look on her face was wistful, almost longing. Slowly, I opened the drawers. There were several scarves, some handkerchiefs, and a faded picture. As I picked up the oval painting—it was about the size of a greeting card—I saw that it was a painting of Franny.

“Look, this is you, isn’t it? When was this painted?” I held the painting up to the light. It depicted the golden-haired young woman Franny had been at what looked to be a happy moment. She was sitting beneath a tree, a book in one hand, her bonnet in the other, and she was smiling.

Franny pressed her fingers to her lips, studying the picture. “That was painted when I was eighteen. My father asked a local painter to sketch me. He did a remarkable job. I remember that day—I was quite taken by him, but there was no chance of anything ever happening. My mother wanted me to marry for money, and he was French…which would never do. Besides, when he was sketching me, all he could talk about was his home and how much he missed it, and how pretty the women there were compared to American women.”

The wistful look vanished. “So I wrote him out of my thoughts and focused on my books, and did my best to avoid the stuffy matches my mother tried to make for me.”

I dusted the frame off. “Would you mind if I hung this upstairs? And brought up the chest of drawers? The dresser would be a lovely addition to the parlor.”

She blinked. “You would do that?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks, Maddy,” she said. “Just…thank you.” And with that, she began to get all flustered and quickly vanished from sight.

Carrying the painting with me, I headed back up the steps. I was ready to go dust a Dirt Witch.





I HUNG THE painting in the parlor first thing so I wouldn’t forget it. If Franny had to be trapped, at least she could feel like this was still her home. Afterward, Max headed back to Sandy’s place, grumbling all the way out the door about how he knew we weren’t going to just sit around eating cookies.

Sandy laughed after he closed the door behind him. “He’s protective, I’ll say that. We’re still finding our rhythm. I’m not used to being in a real relationship and he’s still coming to grips with the fact that I’m not Gracie.”

“That must be hard.” I opened a cupboard, feeling peckish. My gaze immediately fell on the cookies, but I decided we needed a bit more sustenance. I opened a box of crackers and pulled a block of cheddar out of the fridge, setting them on the kitchen table along with two bread-and-butter plates and a knife. I added a bowl of green grapes, and motioned to Sandy to sit down. She slid in opposite, taking one of the grapes off the stem and popping it in her mouth.

“It is, sometimes, but he loved her and that’s a good thing. I think it would be harder if he hated her, or if she had deserted him or something. As it is, I encourage him to talk about her and he knows I’m not jealous of what he had with her, and that helps.” She paused for a moment to slice off a piece of cheese and put it on a cracker. “And he’s been so helpful with the memorial for Bart. That’s tomorrow, remember.”