“Then what? A ghost in the attic? A murderer on the rampage? Don’t tell me Cathy Sutton’s decided to film my wedding for KLIK-TV?” As far fetched as they sounded, those possibilities were all too real for my comfort.
Mur grimaced. “Worse. Okay, here’s the deal—” But before she could tell me, a voice interrupted our conversation and I knew she was right. This was worse than almost anything I could dream up.
“Aren’t you going to say hello or are you playing the little snob today?”
Tone on edge, slightly patronizing. Oh yes, I knew that voice only too well. It was one I despised and dreaded every time it winged its way into my ears. I held my breath, hoping that I was wrong, but in my heart I knew I wasn’t. I glanced at Mur, swallowing. She gave me a sympathetic smile, and I knew that there was no help for it. I had to face my nightmare come to life.
“So, you’re getting married again. My feelings are hurt; you didn’t invite me to your little shindig. I had to find out through our son. But then again, you always did specialize in playing the martyr, Emerald.”
I slowly turned around, gritting my teeth. Please, oh please let me be wrong. But luck was a fickle mistress. There, in the doorway behind Murray, uninvited and unwanted, stood my ex-husband. Roy. And the smirk on his face told me we were in for a bumpy ride.
WHO AM I ? Well, I’m Emerald O’Brien, I’m thirty-seven years old, and I own the Chintz ’n China Tea Room, where we sell china, tea, cookies, jams, and gift baskets, and where the local matrons meet for a quiet cup and scone amidst their busy afternoons.
I’m also the mother of two incredible children—Kipling, my ten-year-old computer whiz, magic-loving, tumbling-his-way-onto-the-gymnastics-team son, and Miranda, who’s fourteen going on thirty, and who can out-stargaze any astronomer she meets. She’s going to land on the moon someday. Or Mars. I’m counting on it, and I have all the confidence in the world that she won’t stop there. No, if there’s a warp engine to discover or a new comet heading our way, Randa will be the first in line for accolades. To round out our family, we share our house with four cats—Samantha, a gorgeous calico, and her now-grown kittens, Nebula, Nigel, and Noël. We almost lost Samantha last year, so now they are all indoor-onlys, safe from predators and interdimensional rifts in time.
And then there’s Joe. Joseph Ethan Files, to be precise. My fiancé, who happens to be ten years younger than I am. We fell in love a little over a year ago, and on Halloween—my birthday—he knelt down on a dark stormy night when I was in tears from a tragic and ghostly reunion I’d just witnessed, and he asked me to marry him. I said yes. We’re getting married in a couple of weeks on the summer solstice, under the fading light of the evening sky in the gazebo flower garden that used to be the haunted, bramble-infested lot next to my house.
Oh, one more note. A little one, really, all things considered. I’m the village witch here in Chiqetaw, Washington, a small town off Highway 9 in Whatcom County. I no longer try to deny the claim, because I’ve finally accepted my place in the town. When the universe decided to slap a cosmic badge on me and call me the new sheriff, I resisted at first, but as the Borg say in the Star Trek realm, “Resistance is futile.”
I’ve accepted my destiny. On the astral realm I fend off—and sometimes help—otherworldly visitors. And on the mundane, I’ve been the downfall of a few murderers and thieves.
If there’s one thing the past couple years have taught me, it’s that when fate comes knocking, you either open the door or the karma police bash it in. So, when the universe delivers me a new mission, I accept it, even if it seems impossible. As my Nanna taught me, there’s usually a solution for every problem. You just have to ask the right question.
HOLY HELL. I closed my eyes, repressing a groan. Roy was out to ruin my evening. I knew it as sure as I knew my own name, and I planned on nipping that little prospect in the bud. “What the hell are you doing here?”
He blinked, his expression as guileless as usual. The man had a way of looking naïve and fresh off the turnip truck. Brilliant, he had appeared the epitome of the all-American boy when I first met him, and the look had stood the test of time. Pity his actions didn’t follow suit. It wasn’t until later that I’d learned the truth hiding behind those wide, innocent eyes.
“Kip invited me, so I thought I’d show up and see who on earth decided to put a ring on your finger.”
Damn it. I knew Kip didn’t expect—or even want—me to get back together with Roy, but sometimes that little goober did a good job of mucking things up. Kipling wanted his father’s approval, a dream seldom realized. I had to hand it to him, though. He persevered. And chances were, Kip didn’t think he’d done anything wrong. That was part of the problem with my son. He ran headlong into situations, acting first and only thinking it through later. As a result, Kip had managed to pull off some pretty big blunders for his age.
“Kip made a mistake and you should have known better. You’re an adult, so give us all a break and act like one.” I leaned in so I wouldn’t be overheard. “I know you, Roy. The only reason you’re here is to see what havoc you can cause. You’re so miserable in your own life that you want everybody else to be miserable with theirs. I’m sorry Tyra left you, but it’s your own fault.”
Roy’s second wife—the woman I caught him cheating with when we were married—had dumped him a few months ago. She’d mysteriously fallen and had a miscarriage. Having been on the wrong end of Roy’s fists a couple of times, I suspected Roy had something to do with her fall, but she wasn’t pressing charges. Unlike me, she’d just quietly demanded a sizable alimony. I’d asked for child support, and forced him to pay it, but I’d only asked for a settlement of our property and money on hand when we divorced. I didn’t want anything from Roy that might chain him to me any tighter than the bonds forged because of our children.
He blinked. I’d managed a direct hit. “Fine, I’ll be on my best behavior,” he said. “Congratulations.” He pushed past us and into the room before I had a chance to stop him.
I locked eyes with Murray. “This can’t end on a good note, not with him here. He drinks, Mur. A lot.”
She nodded. “I’ll warn Jimmy and a couple of the boys to watch out for him.” As she headed off to find Jimbo, I yanked Harlow’s sleeve and grimaced.
“Let’s go. I’ve got to reach Grandma McGrady before she sees Roy.”
Harl’s lip twitched. “What’s she going to do? Talk him to death?”
I shook my head. “You don’t understand. When I told her that I caught Roy screwing his mistress in Miranda’s bedroom, and that Randa walked in on them, Grandma M. swore she’d rip out his heart. And Grandma M. has never threatened to do anything that she wasn’t willing to carry through. Nanna was a ripsnorter, but Grandma McGrady’s a bull chasing a red cape. And Roy is on her hit list.”
Even as I spoke, I could hear Grandma’s voice echoing over the crowd. Kip was pleading with her about something. Great, the fireworks had begun. Stifling a snicker, Harl slipped her arm through mine. “I just hope we don’t get kicked out of here. Sounds like we’re needed. Let’s go.”
My heart sank as we hurried across the dance floor. The last thing I wanted was for the party to turn into a brawl, especially in front of my children and customers. I’d managed to keep my prior life with Roy out of the spotlight, and I wanted it to stay that way.
Steeling myself, I waded into the mix only to be greeted by the sight of Grandma McGrady shaking her finger in Roy’s face, while Kip tugged on her arm. Grandma M., dressed in a peach polyester pantsuit with her gray hair coiffed into a modern bob slicked to the sides of her head, had backed Roy against the wall next to the buffet.
“Roy William Patrick O’Brien, what in the world are you thinking of, showing up here? I told you before—come near my granddaughter again and I’ll throw you out on your butt.” Grandma M. didn’t mince words, that was for sure, and her opinion of Roy was about as low as it could get.
Roy glared at her. “Grandma McGrady—”
Oops, goof number two. Number one was showing up at all.