Delinquents Turned Fugitives - Ann Denton Page 0,103
disguise was easy enough. And if we ran into any pinheads, it wasn’t magical, so it wasn’t something they could unravel.
While I fixed myself up, Malcolm just tossed on some aviators, mussed his hair, and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt.
“You don’t even look different,” I told him.
“Are you joking? My hair is horrible,” he said.
I shook my head and pulled out a Halloween mole. It was one of those huge ones that were meant for witch’s noses. It had a little hair popping out of it and everything. I grabbed the little glue packet.
“No,” Malcolm held out a hand.
“Yes,” I insisted.
Malcolm glared at me, but I didn’t give a shit. I slapped that mole right onto his chin. “There, now no one will be able to look you in the eye.”
“I’m pissed at you right now,” he said.
“We can spank that anger out later,” I told him, climbing out of the car.
“I’m the one who’s gonna do the spanking,” he commanded, as he hurried to catch up with me.
“We’ll see,” I said with a grin.
The little red brick facade is cutesy and the store’s sign “Cuppa” is painted in a girly, curlicue font.
When we walked through the door and the bell tinkled overhead; Lysa turned and smiled at us immediately. She was already at the front of the line, her biker chick look, and bright rainbow hair contrasting with most of the suburban housewives who clearly stopped by for a quick dose of caffeine and gossip after they dropped off their hellions. One huge woman drank coffee by herself at a table by the window. She wore workout clothes like the other moms, but I could see the outline of a wand tucked into her waistband. So she was a magical. And she was likely either law enforcement, who had to carry a wand at all times—in which case we needed to hightail it now—or she was here with Lysa. Though she should have known better, her eyes flicked to me and then Lysa, telling me everything I needed to know.
I relaxed my shoulders and led Malcolm over to the biker girl who supposedly knew about ghosts.
“Hey!” Lysa spotted us and waved us over to the pastry display. “I’m trying to decide between a rosemary scone and a bran muffin soaked in butter and cinnamon sugar.” She gave Malcolm’s mole a second glance before she hid her laughter behind her hand.
He glared at me. But I was right. The women in the shop all started to eye him appreciatively until they saw the mole and then their eyes didn’t wander back.
The adorably plump older woman behind the counter walked over to Lysa, who asked which of the pastries were better. “Take both, sweetie. You could stand to put on some weight,” the baker said. She had a sweet grandmother vibe to her.
Lysa laughed but agreed.
Once Malcolm and I ordered coffee and he tossed on an egg and spinach quiche, we paid and then found a table outside on the patio, which was thankfully empty. If we weren’t there to discuss life and afterlife matters, it might have been one of the most peaceful mornings I’d had in a long time. But I wasn’t lucky enough to get peaceful mornings yet.
Soon, I promised myself.
We ate and kept to small talk for a little bit, easing into the discussion, because other than Grayson vouching for her, I didn’t know much about Lysa.
“How’s your dad?” I asked, taking a sip of my perfectly-brewed morning roast.
Lysa’s expression stiffened for a second before she smoothed it back out. “He’s fine. This vampire shit has turned everything into a bit of a disaster. Had some pinheads come bug us.”
I kept my expression neutral as I asked, “Really? About what?”
She shrugged as she unwrapped her bran muffin and took a bite. “Mmmm. So good. You should try this.”
I didn’t press, just waited.
Eventually, Lysa swallowed and responded, “Pinheads are asking around about our acquaintances. Detective named Muller wanted to know if we’d had any visitors recently.” Her tone was conversational as she reached for the cup and took a sip of her coffee, but my heart constricted at her words.
Muller was even closer than I thought. He’d been able to trace our path somehow. Either we’d missed something or someone had spilled information on us. One of Gray’s guys? One of the people at that bar?
Fuck.
We never should have gone there, I berated myself. But we hadn’t had much choice.