Magical Midlife Madness (Leveling Up #1)(12)

“What?” I’d said, looking around. “I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t possibly—”

“There is no use arguing. The tour is over. You’re on your own. Good luck. I’ll get your things.”

I’d stood in his wake, dumbfounded. It was not easy to out-weird me, but this guy was the grand master of batshit crazy. I still didn’t have a clue who he’d been talking to. The beasties in his head, perhaps? That didn’t bode well for me. Unmarked grave, here I came.

Not to mention my “tour” had consisted of a staircase, and six of the twelve vacant bedrooms. I didn’t even know where the kitchen was.

Which, okay yes, was kind of awesome. I got to go exploring by myself. Looking in the nooks and crannies. Peering in cupboards. Hunting based on dusty memories made thirty years ago. If he wasn’t around, he couldn’t tell me no or warn me away. I was free to investigate my new surroundings without hindrance.

So here I was, in what was clearly Auntie Peggy’s bedroom, too afraid to argue with that nutcase Mr. Tom, and secretly delighted he didn’t expect me to.

The clock on my phone hit 7:53. I pushed away the dinner tray Mr. Tom had delivered to me earlier, every morsel eaten. The meal had been homemade and delicious, even more so because I hadn’t lifted a finger. Matt had always refused to learn to cook, leaving the task solely in my hands. Given that I hated cooking, and really hadn’t wanted to do it this evening, I couldn’t gush enough over Mr. Tom’s thoughtfulness. His oddity had been forgiven for the time being. The unmarked grave forgotten about. Mostly.

“What to do, what to do,” I said into the lofty surroundings.

Excitement swirled through my stomach. I felt like royalty. Or a rich person. This was easily the largest room I’d ever slept in.

I ran my thumb across my phone. I’d already FaceTimed with Jimmy so he could see the new digs, and vice versa. Although I’d helped him move into his dorm just a few weeks ago, it already looked like it had been through a tornado. He sounded excited, though—both for himself and for me—which took a weight off.

So now…I could find a home for my stuff, wander around the house, read, or…

I eyed my phone again. It was late to go out. I was usually heading home by eight o’clock. Matt had always liked to be in bed watching Sports Center by nine. Out of habit, I’d kept to our old schedule.

Why had I, though? I didn’t go to sleep until after ten if the book I was reading was halfway decent, and sometimes I’d stay up much later if I couldn’t put it down. Besides, Niamh was twice my age. If she could head out at eight, why couldn’t I? It’s not like I was tired…

Okay, yes, I was tired.

But it would probably take me a long time to fall asleep in this creaky old house…

Except I felt comfortable here, more comfortable than I ever had in the house I’d lived in with Matt. I felt…calm. Content. The divorce was final, Jimmy was doing well, the house payments were gone…

I felt liberated! It finally occurred to me that I could do whatever I wanted—even have ice cream for dinner if I wanted.

Screw it, I wanted to go out.

I would go have a drink with the rock-throwing granny across the street. There were worse ways to spend my time. Like hang out with Mr. Tom and probably get told a new name to call him.

When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I looked around for my purse. The antique wood furniture, well-made with exquisite carvings, held all manner of interesting figurines and trinkets, but no purse. The coat rack was empty. The little table by the door had a plate holding the enormous key, but no handbag to put it in.

“Are you going out, ma’am?”

I jumped, spun, and held out a hand like a karate chop. I didn’t know karate, but sometimes a good bluff was the ticket.

“Yes,” I answered, dropping the hand within his unimpressed stare. “Where’s my handbag—oh.” I took it from his white gloved hand. For some inexplicable reason, he’d changed from his moth-eaten, tattered suit to a moth-eaten tux. He wasn’t much of a sweats guy, it seemed. His cape still hung down his back.

“You’re really into super heroes, huh?” I asked, pointing at the cape.

“Super heroes were created by miserable Dicks who can live greatness only through the page. I live it through my life.”

Oh super. He was delusional. I’d definitely be buried in the yard before all this was over.

“Okay, well…” I held up my purse for a moment. “Thanks for grabbing my—”

“You’ll want a light jacket, ma’am.” He left the room.

I waited for a moment, wondering if he planned to grab one. He’d grabbed my purse, after all. But since all my clothes were up in my room, and he wasn’t climbing either of the curved stairwells to the landing over the massive archway, it wasn’t likely. Besides, we were inland near the Sierras—the temperature didn’t drop that much or fast. I’d be fine. The alcohol would keep me warm.

I tucked the key into my purse, frowned at the weight, and let myself out. Was changing the locks out of the question? I’d have to wear that key in a holster when I went jogging.

“Good evening.” A man stood off the side of the porch with clippers in hand. His long face and loose jowls looked familiar.

“You’re the gardener, right?” I asked with a smile.