A Potion to Die For: A Magic Potion Mystery by Heather Blake

Jackson said, “I heard there’s an underwear drawer in need of searching. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
    “No.”
    His green eyes flashed and his voice dropped to a sensuous level. “It’s not like I haven’t seen your panties before.”
    A
whoosh
of betraying desire suddenly swept over me. I tried my best to ignore it. Casually, I said, “I burned those when our relationship went up in flames.”
    Literally went up in flames. Though the fire had been accidental, I swear.
    Still wearing his dark jeans and faded tee, he looked damn good standing there. I hated that I noticed.
    “You have a thing for setting things aflame, don’t you?”
    Once. It had only been once.
    Okay, twice. But the first time was when I was a teenager and didn’t count. Much. Deciding to ignore his barb, I said, “What’re you doing here?”
    He shifted his weight and the playfulness in his eyes disappeared, replaced with a sharp intelligence. “I told you earlier I’d have a few questions for you. So either you let me in or you can come down to the jail and do this formally.”
    Since he put it that way, I stepped back so he could pass. I wasn’t all that fond of jails, even the teeny-tiny one owned by Darling County. “By all means, come on in.”
    He stepped inside and took a look around. “I love what you’ve done with the place.”
    It had been more than a year since he’d last been in my living room. It had been a work in progress back then, too, but now it was just a plain ol’ war zone.
    “Home sweet home,” I said, nudging aside a hammer with my foot.
    Roly, the little trollop, came running in from the kitchen. Dylan bent down and rubbed her tummy as she flopped on her back and rolled about in ecstasy. “I think she remembers me,” he said.
    “Some men are hard to forget.”
    “That doesn’t sound much like a compliment.”
    I sat on the arm of the sofa. “Because it wasn’t.”
    Dylan said nothing. Just kept rubbing Roly’s tummy. I could hear the cat’s loud purrs from several feet away.
    I looked over my shoulder, toward the kitchen, wondering where Poly had gone off to, since he usually never left Roly’s side unless food was involved. No doubt he was probably still trying to figure out how to get the lid off the treat jar. I couldn’t blame him. I could use a cookie about now, too.
    Dylan glanced around the living room, peered into the dining room, and beyond that into the kitchen. “Is the whole house like this?”
    “Every nook and cranny.”
    He leveled his gaze on me.
    “What?” I asked in response to the question in his eyes. “Just say it.”
    Slowly, he stood up. Roly still lay on the floor, her little gray nose twitching with happiness.
    When he remained silent, I said, “You’re either wondering why I don’t just hire someone to finish the place or you’re wondering why I don’t just pack up and move back to the apartment above my mama’s chapel until this place is livable. Either way, you already know the answers, so you can keep your opinions to yourself.”
    The corner of his mouth twitched with the hint of a smile. “I didn’t say a word.”
    Oh, that smile. It did things to me. Warm, delicious things. “What did you need to ask me?”
    The sooner he left, the better.
    He pushed aside a do-it-yourself renovation guide and sat on the edge of my coffee table. He was all business now. “How well did you know Nelson Winston?”
    “Not very. Just in passing.”
    “When was the last time you saw him?”
    “You mean alive?”
    The humor was back in his eyes as he drawled, “Yes, alive.”
    I tapped my chin. “Technically, I saw his backside as it ran down the street the day Marjie shot at him. Before that, I can’t rightly recall.”
    He let my words settle for a moment before he said, “What day was that, when Marjie shot him?”
    “Shot
at
him.”
    “At,” he conceded with a roll of his eyes.
    I squinted, trying to think back. “Last Friday. No, it was Saturday,