That Touch of Magic (17 page)

Addie leaned forward.

“Eleanor doesn’t know anything about the magic, and I swear when she told me this, I acted like it was weird and told her it must have been her imagination, but…” Addie glanced from side to side, then leaned in even closer and kept her voice super low. “She said that when she went out into the parking lot after buying her melons, she saw Clementine just sitting in the front seat of her car, looking stunned. Eleanor went over to check on her, and Clementine waved her away, and when she did, that’s when Eleanor noticed it.”

Even as Addie paused to heighten the drama, I knew what was coming.

“Eleanor said Clementine had bright pink light flickering around her hands, like tiny streaks of lightning.”

And with that, Addie sat back, looking proud and validated. She took Grace’s hand, and the two of them looked at me.

“I don’t think Eleanor would make something like that up,” Grace said coolly.

“I
know
she wouldn’t,” Addie said. “Why would she? If you’re going to make something up, you throw in a secret pregnancy, or a drug addiction, or a raunchy affair. Something at least a little interesting.” Addie’s eyes widened and she put one hand innocently to her chest. “Not that
I
would ever make anything like that up, but … if you’re going to lie, you make it a lie that’s worth the effort. Light around the girl’s hands? There’s no reason to make something like that up.”

“No, right,” I said absently, my mind in a whirl, trying to separate facts from assumptions. People were becoming magical; that was fact. I had assumed, because the first few instances happened around me, that it had been my potions, my fault somehow. But I had never made a love potion, and even if I had, I certainly wouldn’t have given it to Clementine.

Something else was going on here, something that went beyond me and my potions.

I barely had time to start putting pieces together when Desmond Lamb walked through the front door to CCB’s and took a seat at the counter. I watched his back as he picked up a menu and chatted with the eponymous Betty, who was in her seventies and—up until Liv and Tobias—had been the only magical in town.

Now we had at least seven.

Something is very, very wrong.

“… has to be something magical, and if you need us to help…” Addie prattled on in the background, but my eyes were on Desmond.

Desmond, who was supposed to have left town yesterday.

“… have my phone number, and you know I’m an insomniac, so even if it’s the middle of the night…”

Desmond, who had been there when Clementine had asked me for help.

“… come over and have tea and we can talk about anything, and I won’t say a word to anyone, Grace will tell you how good I’ve been about…”

Desmond, who had been so careful to make sure the potion he made for me was in a purple vial.

“That son of a bitch,” I grumbled, and slid out of the booth.

Addie stopped talking, although I’m sure she turned to watch as I approached Desmond. Based on the look on my face when I left the booth, she was probably expecting something juicy. But by the time I sat myself down next to Des, I was all smiles.

“Hey, stranger. Fancy meeting you here.” I gave a small wave to Betty. “Hey, Betty. How’s it going?”

“I’m old, and it’s pissing me off,” she said, “but other than that, I’m still alive, so knock wood, right?” She winked at me, then looked at Desmond. “One sunrise special to go. You want coffee, too?”

“Black, please,” Desmond said, then turned to smile at me. “Well, Stacy Easter, this is quite the welcome surprise.”

“What are you still doing here?” I asked, not wanting to tip my hand, but not being overly pleasant, either. Even if I didn’t suspect him of screwing with my town, which was a castratable offense in itself, I wouldn’t be too pleased to discover a lover I’d sent back to Canada had returned to my doorstep.
Act natural,
I thought, and narrowed my eyes at him a bit.

He gave me an appraising look, and for the first time, the expression in his eyes—which I’d always read as standard British aloofness—now appeared as something else: wariness.

The game was, apparently, afoot.

“I have a little vacation time coming,” he said, “and I’ve decided to stay here for a while.”

“Wow,” I said. “How long?”

“Well, that’s the beauty of being self-employed, now isn’t it?”

His elusiveness was annoying me, but I kept my face impassive. “Huh. Where are you staying?”

“Oh, a charming little bed-and-breakfast owned by the woman who made the cake for the wedding,” he said.

I took a moment to decide how to play that, and I went with the path of least bullshit.

“You’re staying at Grace and Addie’s? What a coincidence. I was just having breakfast with them.”

Something lit in his eyes, respect maybe, and he gave a nod as though I’d just moved a chess piece to a smarter position than he’d expected me to. “I know. I saw you when I came in. I didn’t want to interrupt your conversation, though.”

“That was thoughtful.” I stared at him in silence, waiting to see if he’d fill in the dead air, the way that 99 percent of people do. He said nothing, just stared back down at me. I wasn’t ready to confront him directly, not until I knew more about what was going on, so for the moment, I was just going to throw a rock in the water and see what rippled up.

I leaned forward, speaking in low tones. “I know I’m really good in bed, okay? And sometimes that makes men think they’re in love with me, but they’re not. It was just good sex, and you’ll have it again someday with someone else. Really. But I’m just not that kind of girl. So if you’re in town to try to win me, you’re wasting your time.”

At that moment, Betty delivered his food. Desmond chuckled lightly, pulled out some bills and handed them to her, then took his coffee and to-go bag in hand and stood up.

“You have found me out, Stacy,” he said, “although in one particular, you’ve misjudged the situation. While I enjoyed myself a great deal the other night, and while you are being modest when you state that you are merely ‘good’ in bed—I hope it doesn’t embarrass you if I say that I have rarely had the pleasure of enjoying such enthusiasm and flexibility—let me assure you that I have no unwelcome designs on you.” He raised his head as Betty gave him his change. “Thank you, Betty. I look forward to what I’m told is the best breakfast in town.”

Betty gave me a quick look; she pretended to be old and doddering, but she’d just heard every word we’d said, and the only reason she wasn’t repeating it to everyone else even as I sat there was because I mattered to Liv, and she loved Liv with a maternal fierceness that made you ache to watch it. Or at least, it made me ache; no one had ever loved me like that.

“This town has a lot of good things to offer,” Betty said casually, then moved on down the counter, but I noted that she stayed within listening distance.

Desmond sorted out the bills, leaving most of his change for the tip. “Where was I? Oh, yes.” He turned his focus to me, his smile simple and almost sweet, which made it even creepier. “Where you are correct is that I have fallen in love, but I am sorry to say, not with you. Nodaway Falls has charmed me, in a most unexpected way, and I couldn’t bring myself to leave it. Not just yet, anyway.”

He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek, then turned and walked out. I took a few minutes to indulge a feral growl, and then returned to my booth where Addie and Grace waited.

“So, you and Desmond…?” Addie prompted. “You two made a very cute couple at the wedding.”

“We’re not a couple,” I said, glaring out the window in the direction he’d gone, even though he was long gone. “He’s just something I tracked into town on my shoes.”

“Is everything okay, honey?” Grace asked. When Grace looks concerned, it’s bad.

I forced a smile. “Everything’s fine. I need you guys to do me a favor, though. Keep an eye on him. Tell me where he goes, who he sees, and what he does. Anything weird, call me. And try not to tip him off that we’re watching. Okay?”

Addie’s face lit up, and she clapped her hands in excitement. I honestly don’t know if I’d ever seen anyone that happy, ever.

Grace gave a brief nod. “You got it, Stacy.”

“Thanks.” I got up and put money down on the table to pay for their coffees, then started to walk away before heading back to look at Addie.

“Addie?” I said, and she looked up at me, still smiling brightly.

“Yes, honey?”

“Put tons of flaxseed in his food, okay?”

She grinned, and I patted her on the shoulder on my way out. She was a good woman, that Addie.

*   *   *

Clementine Klosterman wasn’t at Treacher’s IGA that afternoon; Bill said she had the day off, and blew me off when I asked when she’d be back in. I was just about to leave when I saw a tall, lanky, freckled, and conspicuously banged-up stock boy working the soup aisle. His left eye was purple, and he had a cut over his right cheek that looked like it had been made with a ring of some kind—possibly a high school football state championship ring, NFHS had shocked everyone last year by actually winning—but his body was relaxed and he moved fluidly as he transferred the soup cans from the box to the shelf. His hands were strong and deft but still a little awkward, and I smiled, instantly liking him; he reminded me of Leo.

I figured I’d get more out of a casual encounter than an in-your-face interrogation, so I moved down the aisle casually, finally stopping next to him.

“Wow,” I said, inspecting a can of alphabet soup. “What truck hit you?”

For a moment, he acted like I hadn’t spoken, and then suddenly he looked up from where he was crouched by the lowest shelf. “Huh? Oh, Ms. Easter. I’m sorry. Did you have a question?”

I hesitated, a little surprised. I shopped in there whenever driving thirty minutes to the Wegmans in Erie was too much of a hassle, but that wasn’t often. If Wegmans were a man, I’d have married him years ago. “You know me?”

The kid blushed a bit. “Yeah. I helped you find the salad dressing once.” He jerked his head backward. “Aisle Three, next to the big crouton display. That display is gone now, but it was here when you came in. Remember?”

No.

“Of course.” I put the soup back on the shelf and pointed to his face. “I was just wondering what happened to you…” I glanced down at his name tag. “… Henry.”

“Oh.” He started to smile, then said, “Ow,” and touched his cheek. “I kinda got into a fight.”

“Huh.” I paused a moment, and then asked, “Over what?”

He hesitated, then said, “Nothing.” He crouched back down next to his box and started filling the shelves again.

“A girl?” I prompted.

He stopped stocking and lowered his head. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

I glanced around; no one else was there. It was still pretty early in the morning. I sat down on the floor, leaned back against the shelves facing him, and said, “It’s okay. I do.”

His eyes widened and he said, “No. I mean, it wasn’t like that. It was just…” His face went taut. He shoved one of the cans in too hard and it knocked over some other cans. He shook his head, obviously frustrated. “Karl’s such a jerk, you know? Always has been. In kindergarten, he stuffed another kid’s head into the john on the first day.”

“That’s advanced,” I said. “Most bullies don’t get to toilet facials until the third or fourth grade.”

“I don’t understand what she sees in him,” he said. “Clementine’s smart and pretty. She can be really funny, when she relaxes around people.” His face flushed a bit. He was obviously one of the people Clementine relaxed around, and I could see it meant a lot to him. “He’s never even looked at her before. He’s usually a jerk to the cheerleader type, you know? Then all of a sudden, he’s at the checkout, calling Clementine Four-Eyes and Metal Mouth and just being stupid.”

“Really?” I said, trying to put the pieces together. Was it possible Karl was advanced in bullying, but still in that pull-the-pigtails-of-the-girl-you-liked stage of flirtation? I thought back to the guys I knew when I was in high school and thought,
Yes
.

“He sounds like a jerk,” I said.

“He is. Four-Eyes? Metal Mouth? Who says stuff like that anymore? Plus, she got her braces out last month. He didn’t even notice. Idiot.” Henry sighed and stopped with the soup, then turned to look at me. “Anyway, I got between him and Clem, and ended up with my head wedged in a watermelon.”

I laughed. “Hey, at least you can joke about it.”

He gave me a dull look. “I’m not joking. He threw it on the floor and it broke in half and he stuffed the bigger half on my head. Mr. Treacher’s taking it out of my pay.”

“Oh, man.” I pulled my lips in between my teeth and bit down, trying like hell not to laugh, but I couldn’t. As I’ve said, I’m a horrible person. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry. That’s awful, really.”

He laughed, too, and I felt a little less like a terrible human being. Poor kid.

“You think it’s awful now,” he said, “try getting watermelon pits out of your sinuses.”

We laughed together for a bit, and then I patted him on the shoulder. “You’re a good egg, Henry. Don’t let the thing with Clementine get you down. Girls can be kinda blind at this age. They get all hot and bothered over the Karls of the world now, but when they get older and smarter, you’ll be the one they go for.”

Henry looked away. “I don’t care about that.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I can tell.”

He went back to stocking the soup cans, then stopped and stared down at the ground for a minute, his forearms resting on his knees and his hands hanging low. God, he had it bad for this girl. I wondered if she had any idea.

“She doesn’t have to like me,” he said, his voice low. “I just wish she liked someone better than Karl.”

“That’s setting a pretty low bar,” I said. “If you really like her, I’d think you’d want someone for her who was more than just ‘better than Karl.’”

He nodded. “Yeah. It doesn’t matter, anyway. She likes Karl.”

He looked so sad and dejected, stocking the soup as though each can had
CLEMENTINE LOVES KARL
written in a little love heart on the label.