Gypsy Magic - J.R. Rain Page 0,54

sorry,” I started.

“And I’m aware that you have a son,” he continued. “He was with you the other night, when you were here.”

“Right,” I said with a quick nod. “So… if I were to meet you for dinner… I’d need… I’d need to see if I could get a babysitter.”

“Does that mean you will meet me for dinner?” he asked and he sounded like an eager little boy.

I laughed. “You did say you were a gentleman,” I started.

“And I am!” he responded with a big grin.

“Then, yes, I’d love to take you up on your offer.”

Wow, had I just agreed to a date? I’d decided I was going to be off the market for a while and boom, I was back. Just like that. Darla would be proud.

Roy reached into the white apron he’d somehow managed to lash around his gargantuan body. I didn’t understand how there was enough fabric to make it all the way around him. He had the sturdy strength of an oak tree and the dimensions to match. He had more muscles than the average bodybuilder and looked like he’d have a shot at wrestling a bear into submission.

Regardless, he produced a card and a pen, scrawling a number onto the back before handing it to me with a smile.

“My phone number,” he explained. “Call or text me whenever you want. I’d love to make you dinner one of these nights.” He took a big breath. “Now I’ve gotta get back to work, Poppy Potion Maker. But, I hope to hear from you very soon.”

And with that, Roy Osbourne disappeared into the back, leaving me at the bar, number in hand, and more anxious than ever.

Chapter Sixteen

Stoppered vials clinked against each other in the small messenger bag I’d slung over one shoulder as we made our way up the street toward Layla Clemmons’ home.

Someone was waiting for us when we pulled up.

“Who is that?” I asked as I pointed to the Mazda that had parallel parked between an old Cadillac and a cobalt blue Pontiac Lemans. Marty parked in the half-empty driveway, apparently finding it too much of a chore to wedge the hearse between the Dodge Charger and Volvo up the road.

“That’s Bailey, my friend from Spook Society,” Marty answered.

“You mean, the medium?”

“Yep, Bailey’s a psychic and she helps us whenever she can.”

I nodded as I looked up at the two-story Clemmons’ home. With proper care, the place would have been the textbook definition of ‘picturesque’. It was situated on a corner lot on one of the least traversed roads in town. The population here seemed to be made up of the idle wealthy, or at least, what passed for wealthy in a town as small as this one.

The home was built in the American Cottage style, with powder blue siding and a large, covered deck that looked out over a neatly trimmed lawn. A sidewalk wound the short walk from the street up to the stairs, chalked within an inch of its life by overzealous children.

Off to the side of the house was a pergola, climbing with ivy. Several raised beds sported the last blooms of the year, soon to be wiped out by the first hard frost. Gorse, Eyebright, and Primrose shivered in the breeze sweeping in from the north. Between the plants, illustrations of shamrocks on the granite slabs of the sidewalk, and the Irish flag waving in the wind, it wasn’t difficult to puzzle out that the late Mr. Clemmons had been proud of his Irish heritage.

The strain in the facade only showed around the edges. The lawn was longer than it should have been and the sides of the house needed a power wash. The holes in the yard hadn’t been filled in yet, and I had a feeling the interior would have the same, semi-neglected air. This was the look of a wealthy family that had fallen on hard times.

“Marty! Hello!” Bailey called out as she opened her door and stepped out.

She was pretty. Really pretty.

She had a waist-length sheet of pale hair, but hers was the pure, glittering white of untouched snow. Her eyes were neither blue nor green, but trapped between the two, like the perfect teal color of the ocean at sunrise. The subtle lines on her face didn’t detract from just how attractive she was.

And her body was... well, fit enough to belong to someone half her age. Judging by her face, I’d have guessed her to be around forty or a little under. But,