Bad to the Crone Read online

  Once we were finished, we left the house and disappeared through the woods. It was good timing, because I heard a vehicle on the road just as Gunner dragged me into the woods. We stood perfectly still, shoulder to shoulder, and watched as Cecily pulled into her driveway. She seemed lost, in her own little world, and didn’t as much as glance in our direction as she climbed the porch steps and disappeared from our view.

  “Oh, crap,” Gunner muttered, shaking his head. “I forgot to grab my credit card. We’re going to be caught. Good luck explaining that to my father.”

  I could’ve left him twisting a few minutes longer, but it seemed unnecessary. Instead, I produced his credit card from my pocket and handed it to him. “You’re kind of a bad criminal,” I noted as he snatched the plastic and shoved it in his wallet. “You need to think about things like this going forward.”

  “We can’t all be masterminds when it comes to breaking the law,” he drawled, shaking his head. “That does beg a question, though. Why are you so good at this?”

  I smirked. “Are you asking if I’m a criminal?”

  “I’m asking ... why you’re so good at this.” He seemed uncomfortable and yet determined to ask the question.

  “Breaking into buildings to hunt monsters is a regular occurrence in Detroit,” I explained. “When you have that many abandoned buildings, it leaves a lot of places for creatures of the night to take refuge. We don’t often have time to figure out who owns a building and how to legally gain entrance.”

  “Oh.” He almost looked relieved as he exhaled heavily. “I didn’t think about that. It makes sense.”

  I was amused. “I’m not nearly as bad a person as you think. Just because I didn’t grow up in a ‘traditional’ home doesn’t mean I’m evil.” I used the appropriate air quotes even though my annoyance was threatening to come out and play. He had a prurient streak that grated.

  “I wasn’t trying to insult you,” he protested. “Don’t think that.”

  “Yeah, well ... I’m used to people judging me for my childhood. You don’t have to worry about being the first … or the last, for that matter. I no longer take it personally.” Well, mostly, I silently added. In truth, I tried not to take it personally. There were times I simply couldn’t let it go. I blew out a weighted sigh and turned toward where our bikes were hidden. “Where next?”

  “Wait a second.” Gunner grabbed my arm and stopped me from stalking away. “I’m getting sick and tired of saying things that offend you,” he groused.

  “I’m sorry I’m so easily offended,” I deadpanned. “From now on, I’ll try to take it like a man.”

  He scowled. “You’re not making things easy for me.”

  “I didn’t realize that was my job.”

  “I didn’t say it was your job.” Frustrated, he released me and dragged a hand through his hair. “I’m trying here. I know I was less than hospitable when you first showed up — and that’s on me because I should’ve been nicer — but I’m trying to make amends. You won’t let me.”

  He had a point, which I was loath to admit. “I ... you ... .”

  “Oh, you’re speechless. I’ll have to make a note of this in my calendar so we can celebrate.” He cracked a genuine smile. “It’s surely a Hawthorne Hollow miracle.”

  I regrouped quickly. “I’ll try to refrain from jumping all over you.”

  His smile was quick and sly. “Well, let’s not be hasty. What kind of jumping did you have in mind?”

  I glared at him. “You’re kind of a pig.”

  “I have a reputation to maintain.”

  “How awesome for you. What sort of hit will your reputation take if we’re caught spying on the town kook?”

  He sobered. “Good point. Let’s get out of here. I want to take a better look at the photos and make a plan.”

  “Fine. Where do you suggest we go to do that?”

  “How do you feel about chili?”

  Was that a trick question? “I ... what?”

  He chuckled. “Come on. You’re right about us needing to get away from here. I still need to think, and I know just the place to do it.”

  MABLE’S COUNTRY TABLE WAS exactly what you’d expect; quaint, cutesy and full of locals. All conversation stopped when Gunner and I walked through the door. Then the squealing began and it took everything I had not to cover my ears and roll my eyes.

  “Gunner, I can’t believe you’re here!” A blonde with a narrow waist, shorts that showed off legs that seemed to go on for miles and a rather impressive rack threw her arms around his neck. She wore an apron with bulging pockets, which made me think she was a worker.

  “Let me guess,” I drawled, annoyance creeping over me. “You must be Mable?”

  The young woman — who barely looked old enough to drink — sent me a derisive look as she clasped Gunner tighter. “Mindy,” she corrected. “Mable is my mother.”

  “And Mable thinks you should get back to work,” a harsh voice barked from behind the counter.

  When I turned, I found a woman in her fifties watching the scene with unveiled interest. She looked like the blonde, only older ... and harder. She’d clearly lived well over the years, but she didn’t look happy about it right now.

  “Hello, Mable.” Gunner extricated himself from Mindy and crossed the room, pulling the cantankerous older woman into a hug even though she clearly didn’t want it. “It’s been far too long.”

  “You were in here last week,” Mable argued, making a face as she pulled away from Gunner’s exuberant embrace. “You were just as goofy then as you are now.”

  “Maybe you bring it out in me.” He winked at her before gesturing toward me. “This is Scout. She’s new in town.”

  “Hello.” I offered her a lame wave. I felt a horde of eyes on me from every corner of the restaurant, but I remained calm. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “It’s nice to meet me?” Mable didn’t look convinced. “Well, you’ll change your mind on that soon enough. Until then, have a seat over there.” She inclined her chin toward a corner booth. “I’ll send someone over to take your order in a few minutes.”

  “I’ll be taking your order,” Mindy supplied, moving closer to Gunner. The looks she shot him could’ve cooked pancakes on a hot sidewalk. He didn’t return the covetous gazes, though, which I found interesting.

  “I’ll send someone over,” Mable repeated. “It might be me. You never know.” She pinned her daughter with a dark look. “I believe you have other tables to take care of, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Mindy turned sulky. “I was just talking to him.”

  “And now you’re not.”

  Gunner took advantage of the distraction and prodded me toward the corner booth. He seemed amused by the turn of events, which only confused me more.

  “Is Mindy your girlfriend?” I asked as I sat across from him.

  “Absolutely not.” He grabbed a menu from the display at the end of the table and handed it to me. “I’m extremely fond of Mable. Mindy is ... another story.”

  That was interesting. “She has a thing for you,” I pointed out.

  “I’ve noticed. That doesn’t mean I reciprocate those feelings.”

  I glanced around the restaurant and found at least five sets of eyes focused on us. All of them were female. “I’m starting to think a lot of people in this town have a thing for you.”

  Gunner looked up from the menu and followed my gaze, his lips curving when he realized what I was talking about. “Yes, well, I’m Hawthorne Hollow’s favorite son.”

  He seemed to bask in the position. “Why are you so fond of Mable?”

  “She’s always listened to my crap,” he replied without hesitation. “When I was a kid, right after my mother was taken away, I came in here for something to eat. I was upset. Mable had a reputation for only caring about herself, but she sat with me for hours and listened to what I had to say.

  “I didn’t have a mother of my own any longer,” he continued. “She was a grea
t surrogate. Heck, she was better than the mother I grew up with. She listened for a long time, explained that I would always remember and never really get over it, and then insisted I move on.”

  I was impressed. “Most adults lie to you about things like that,” I mused. “I can’t tell you how many times I got moved from a foster home, told that I would find a better foster home and there was nothing to worry about. It was never true ... although, honestly, some foster homes were better than others.”

  “And yet you were never adopted,” he mused, leaning back in his seat. “Why do you think that is?”

  “Maybe I have a personality that’s impossible to love.” I’d considered that more than once and I wasn’t feeling sorry for myself when I suggested it. I figured it was a very real probability. “You’ll have to ask them why they didn’t want to keep me.”

  Gunner narrowed his expressive eyes. “That’s not what I meant ... and I very much doubt that’s why you weren’t adopted. Your personality isn’t exactly a bowl of ice cream most days, but I’d wager that’s because you spent so many years protecting yourself,” he countered. “You were young when you were abandoned, right?”

  “I don’t know exactly how old,” I replied. “Four or five.”

  “That’s young enough for people to want to take you on. I find it interesting that people kept sending you back.”

  “Yes, it was totally interesting,” I deadpanned. “Not painful at all.”

  “You’re missing the point.” He was somber as he held my gaze. “You were a small child. Infants are coveted, but so are kids under a certain age. You should’ve been adopted … and fast. You weren’t. I don’t think that’s a coincidence.”

  “Oh, really? What do you think it was?”

  “Magic.” His answer was short, perfunctory, and it threw me for a loop.

  “Excuse me?” My eyebrows flew up my forehead. “You think someone cast a spell so I wouldn’t be adopted?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe that wasn’t the ultimate goal of the spell. Maybe whoever cast it wanted something else, like to hide you or something, and the end result was that you couldn’t be adopted. I can’t say for certain. I simply find it weird that you weren’t adopted.”

  I rested my palms on the tabletop, unsure how to respond. Part of me was intrigued by the supposition. The other part was annoyed that he insisted on sticking his nose into my business. Finally, I merely shook my head.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said, calm. “It’s in the past. I can’t change it, so it is what it is. I understand why you’re attached to Mable. Finding an adult who tells you the truth as a kid is like winning the lottery.

  “That doesn’t change the fact that her daughter wants to grease you up with butter and rub herself over you like a piece of popcorn,” I continued, smirking when he barked out a laugh. “I was simply curious about how that worked.”

  “Mindy has had a crush on me for a very long time,” Gunner replied, wisely opting to drop the discussion of my adoption woes. “It was cute when she was seven ... and even thirteen. The older she gets, the more uncomfortable I get.”

  “You could tell her to knock it off.”

  “I did that when she was seventeen. It resulted in tears.”

  “Well ... that’s difficult, but she’s an adult now. She needs to suck it up and find a guy who’s age-appropriate.”

  Gunner’s eyes filled with mirth as he regarded me. “How can you be certain I’m not age-appropriate? Women mature faster than men. We might be on the same level, for all you know.”

  That was certainly a possibility. “I ... .” I had no idea where to go next with the conversation, so I was relieved when the bell over the door jangled to signify someone was entering the restaurant. I was surprised — and thankful — when I recognized Brandon. He took a moment to survey the diner and then headed in our direction.

  “Your buddy is here,” I noted, moving over when Brandon positioned himself at my side of the booth. “Maybe he’ll be able to explain why you’re not age-appropriate for Mindy.”

  “Who isn’t age-appropriate for whom?” Brandon asked, a charming smile flitting across his face as he winked at me. “Thank you for allowing me to sit next to you. I’ll be the center of town gossip for days once this gets out. You can kiss me right here if you really want to see things run off the rails.”

  I made a face as he tapped his cheek. “What?”

  “Ignore him,” Gunner instructed. “He’s just trying to get a rise out of you. That’s what he does.”

  “On the contrary,” Brandon countered. “I find Scout intriguing and delightful ... and only half of that is because of her name. I love To Kill a Mockingbird.”

  Once I found out my name originated from a book, I decided to read it when I was still in elementary school. I didn’t understand it then, but I kept reading it once a year after that. By the time I hit adulthood, the book had grown to be important to me ... even if I didn’t always understand why the name was so fitting.

  “It’s a good book,” I agreed. “That’s not my real name, though. I don’t know my real name.”

  “It’s your real name,” Gunner countered. “It doesn’t matter what name you were born with. This is your name now. Even if you suddenly found out your birth name, do you think you would go back to using it?”

  That was a fair question. “No,” I replied after a moment’s contemplation. “I guess you’re right.”

  “I’m always right,” he agreed before turning his attention to Brandon. “What’s up with you?”

  “I’m here for lunch,” Brandon supplied. “I want some of Mable’s world-famous chili. What about you guys? Where have you been?”

  “Tracking down answers on Hal Crosby and Herbert Jones. I don’t suppose you know if they had any connections, do you?”

  “All Souls Church.”

  “We’re aware of that connection.” Gunner wrinkled his nose. “I was hoping you knew of another connection.”

  “Not that I can think of off the bat. Herbert spent all his time with the church members. I mean ... he was devoted. Hal was equally devoted at the start but lost interest over time. I think he had other things on his mind, if you know what I mean.”

  Brandon winked, clearly enjoying himself. Gunner, however, was obviously confused, because he wrinkled his forehead and leaned forward. “What other things?” he asked, confused.

  “You know ... things.”

  “I don’t know.”

  Brandon let loose an exaggerated sigh. “And here I thought you were up on all the town gossip,” he muttered. “You disappoint me.”

  “Just spill.”

  “Mama Moon,” Brandon offered. “Rumor is that Hal was seeing Mama Moon up until a few weeks ago. I wasn’t sure the rumors were true until I saw them together one day. They were obviously sneaking around, because it was before seven and Hal was leaving her house.”

  “You’re kidding.” Gunner was flabbergasted. “I can’t believe Mama Moon was seeing Hal. That’s just so ... ridiculous. They have nothing in common.”

  I was behind, and I hated being behind. “Who is Mama Moon?”

  Brandon sent me a pitying look. “She’s the town loon.”

  “I thought Cecily was the town loon.”

  “Cecily Duncan?” Brandon snorted. “She’s more of a little loon. Mama Moon is the big loon.”

  I turned to Gunner for further explanation.

  “It’s a long story,” he hedged.

  “We appear to have plenty of time.”

  “I guess.” He fanned his menu in front of his face. “No matter how I tell the story, she’s going to come off looking like a loon. You should prepare yourself for that.”

  I was confused. “Why should I care?”

  “Because she’s the original Spells Angel in this area ... and she’s basically thirty pounds of crazy in a five-pound bag. I mean ... she’s nuts, and I don’t throw that term around lightly.”

  Ah, well, now t
hings were getting interesting. “Tell me about her.”

  “Just remember ... you asked. You can’t put this particular genie back in the bottle.”

  Thirteen

  The story of Mama Moon was fantastical ... and unbelievable.

  “Get out!” I shook my head as I wiped the corners of my mouth with a napkin. “There’s no way that’s true.”

  It took Gunner and Brandon the better part of an hour to tell the tale, so we were finishing lunch by the time they wrapped up.

  “It’s totally true,” Brandon enthused, sliding his arm along the back of the booth. “Mama Moon is a legend around these parts.”

  “He’s full of crap, right?” I focused on Gunner, who seemed to be staring at a specific spot over my shoulder. When I turned to look I couldn’t find anything that warranted his interest. “What are you looking at?”

  “What?” Gunner shook his head to dislodge whatever thoughts he was mired in. “It’s nothing. I ... it’s nothing.”

  I waited for him to answer my question. When he didn’t, I pressed him harder. “Mama Moon,” I supplied. “Brandon is exaggerating about her, right?”

  “Brandon never exaggerates about anything,” Brandon countered, referring to himself in the third person. Generally I would’ve found that annoying, but there was something lovable about the guy ... in an out-of-control-teenage-boy-under-the-thrall-of-rampant-hormones way.

  “I don’t believe that.” I smiled at him to take the sting out of my words before focusing on Gunner. “Seriously, he has to be exaggerating.”

  Gunner, his eyes narrowed, shook his head. “He’s not exaggerating, but ... he does have a penchant for stretching the truth. You should know, he brags about things he’s never even done … especially when it comes to fishing.”

  “Oh, here we go,” Brandon groused. “He’s just trying to make me look bad in front of you.” He waggled a finger for emphasis. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”