magic.
Birdie gave the crowd a long-suffering look. “I’m afraid you are mistaken, Mrs. Honeycut. It wasn’t a knife or a dagger in my hand at all. It was a garden trowel. I was simply clearing out a bed to prepare for the spring thaw. Tomorrow will be an unseasonably warm day and the lavender could use the sunlight.”
I shot Birdie a hard look. Now I was confused. It wasn’t yet Ostara, the Spring Equinox, which is when she cleared her beds. Plus, the lavender was on the opposite side of the property. I had planted it myself.
What was going on? I felt my brow crinkle and immediately smoothed it out. When I looked away, Leo was staring at me.
Mrs. Honeycut wasn’t convinced, so Leo said, “Why don’t I take a look just to be sure. With your permission, of course.”
She nodded and Leo tapped on the door to their quarters. It creaked, hesitated, then yawned open.
A pear-shaped man with a hooked nose stood in the sitting room. He had a towel in his hand and what appeared to be blood all over his yellow plaid shirt, topped off by one of those prop knifes that appeared to go straight through his neck. “Don’t tell me the game is over already,” he said. “I was just practicing.” He eyed Mrs. Honeycut. “You really know how to scream, little lady. I almost thought that was real. You might just win the grand prize if you keep that up.”
Mrs. Honeycut grasped her husband’s elbow and slunk back.
Fiona stepped forward. “Mr. Sayer, what on Earth are you doing in the Honeycut’s suite?”
“Honeycut Suite? I thought this was my room,” he said and looked at Lolly. “She gave me the key.”
Lolly adjusted her necklace and said, “Oh my, I’m so sorry.” She looked at Birdie, worried. Apparently Lolly hadn’t had enough booze in her at check-in time.
Birdie put a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “These things happen, dear.”
The sound that escaped from Leo was something between a sigh and whimper. John cackled.
“C’mon, Chief, I’ll buy you a beer,” John said.
“Hey can I come?” asked Mr. Sayer.
I didn’t hear their response because I was halfway down the stairs, off to retrieve my brethren.
The wind had picked up. It was the kind of cold that slaps your skin and seeps into your bones just to remind you to appreciate the spring. I jogged all the way to Down and Dirty, trying to outrun it.
The high-pitched screech of Madonna’s “ Like a Virgin” wailed through the speakers as I opened the door.
The club was dark so I stood for a moment, eyes adjusting. A cocktail waitress holding a tray filled with test tubes approached me, clearly on a mission.
“Hey, you want a shot?” Her liquid soldiers clinked together, then came to a standstill when she did. She was going for the big-haired, MTV look.
I shook my head.
“Oh, I think you do,” she said.
Looking past her, I strained to search for Ivy.
“No, I’m good, thanks,” I stepped to the side of her tray.
“Can’t come in unless you do a shot.” She put an arm across the entryway, blocking me from going forward.
For a moment, I considered cracking her over the head with her own tray, but that was more my cousin’s style.
“Why the hell not?” I asked.
She rolled her eyes and glanced over her shoulder.
“Look, it’s not my call. It’s my first night and the boss says no one gets in without an 80s costume unless they buy a shot.”
Of course. And I had no money.
I said, “Cindy.” It was on her name tag. “I am in costume. Can’t you guess?”
She stood back and looked me up and down for a minute. I sure hoped she’d come up with something, because I hadn’t a clue what this black ensemble could qualify as in the costume department.
Slowly, I saw the wheels turning as she tried to form a picture in her mind. Her brown eyes lit up. “Oh yeah.” She smiled. “But where’s your mask?”
“My mask?”
“Don’t the teenage mutant ninja turtles wear masks?”
I mentally slapped her and
Birdie gave the crowd a long-suffering look. “I’m afraid you are mistaken, Mrs. Honeycut. It wasn’t a knife or a dagger in my hand at all. It was a garden trowel. I was simply clearing out a bed to prepare for the spring thaw. Tomorrow will be an unseasonably warm day and the lavender could use the sunlight.”
I shot Birdie a hard look. Now I was confused. It wasn’t yet Ostara, the Spring Equinox, which is when she cleared her beds. Plus, the lavender was on the opposite side of the property. I had planted it myself.
What was going on? I felt my brow crinkle and immediately smoothed it out. When I looked away, Leo was staring at me.
Mrs. Honeycut wasn’t convinced, so Leo said, “Why don’t I take a look just to be sure. With your permission, of course.”
She nodded and Leo tapped on the door to their quarters. It creaked, hesitated, then yawned open.
A pear-shaped man with a hooked nose stood in the sitting room. He had a towel in his hand and what appeared to be blood all over his yellow plaid shirt, topped off by one of those prop knifes that appeared to go straight through his neck. “Don’t tell me the game is over already,” he said. “I was just practicing.” He eyed Mrs. Honeycut. “You really know how to scream, little lady. I almost thought that was real. You might just win the grand prize if you keep that up.”
Mrs. Honeycut grasped her husband’s elbow and slunk back.
Fiona stepped forward. “Mr. Sayer, what on Earth are you doing in the Honeycut’s suite?”
“Honeycut Suite? I thought this was my room,” he said and looked at Lolly. “She gave me the key.”
Lolly adjusted her necklace and said, “Oh my, I’m so sorry.” She looked at Birdie, worried. Apparently Lolly hadn’t had enough booze in her at check-in time.
Birdie put a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “These things happen, dear.”
The sound that escaped from Leo was something between a sigh and whimper. John cackled.
“C’mon, Chief, I’ll buy you a beer,” John said.
“Hey can I come?” asked Mr. Sayer.
I didn’t hear their response because I was halfway down the stairs, off to retrieve my brethren.
The wind had picked up. It was the kind of cold that slaps your skin and seeps into your bones just to remind you to appreciate the spring. I jogged all the way to Down and Dirty, trying to outrun it.
The high-pitched screech of Madonna’s “ Like a Virgin” wailed through the speakers as I opened the door.
The club was dark so I stood for a moment, eyes adjusting. A cocktail waitress holding a tray filled with test tubes approached me, clearly on a mission.
“Hey, you want a shot?” Her liquid soldiers clinked together, then came to a standstill when she did. She was going for the big-haired, MTV look.
I shook my head.
“Oh, I think you do,” she said.
Looking past her, I strained to search for Ivy.
“No, I’m good, thanks,” I stepped to the side of her tray.
“Can’t come in unless you do a shot.” She put an arm across the entryway, blocking me from going forward.
For a moment, I considered cracking her over the head with her own tray, but that was more my cousin’s style.
“Why the hell not?” I asked.
She rolled her eyes and glanced over her shoulder.
“Look, it’s not my call. It’s my first night and the boss says no one gets in without an 80s costume unless they buy a shot.”
Of course. And I had no money.
I said, “Cindy.” It was on her name tag. “I am in costume. Can’t you guess?”
She stood back and looked me up and down for a minute. I sure hoped she’d come up with something, because I hadn’t a clue what this black ensemble could qualify as in the costume department.
Slowly, I saw the wheels turning as she tried to form a picture in her mind. Her brown eyes lit up. “Oh yeah.” She smiled. “But where’s your mask?”
“My mask?”
“Don’t the teenage mutant ninja turtles wear masks?”
I mentally slapped her and
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