To Spell With It Read online

  “He wasn’t a bad father.” I meant it. “He came to most of my school events and made sure I never wanted for anything when it came to clothes and shoes.”

  “That doesn’t make him a good father.”

  I sighed. “He was limited in some respects. He did his best. My mother dying the way she did crippled him. He’s never dug out from beneath the mountain of grief he lives under. In some ways I feel sorry for him.”

  Galen grumbled something under his breath that I couldn’t quite make out. If I had to guess, it was something akin to “I don’t feel sorry for him,” but it ultimately didn’t matter.

  “Let’s not talk about my father,” I suggested, sipping my coffee. “What are you going to do today?”

  “I have to check in with the medical examiner. I want an update on David.”

  “You still think it was a suicide?”

  “I do. I have to be sure, though. That’s why they pay me the big bucks.”

  “What about after?”

  “After I will probably be hotel hopping to make sure none of these cupids are getting out of hand. I would rather head off any potential fights.”

  “That makes sense.”

  He reached over and squeezed my hand. “What about you? What are you going to do with your day?”

  “Well, I was thinking that I would head over to Lilac’s bar and start some brainstorming about what sort of job I want. I can’t be a woman of leisure forever.”

  “I don’t know. I think you’re good at it.”

  “No matter how good at it I am, I absolutely want to work. I just don’t know what I want to do. Do you have any suggestions?”

  His eyes lit with wicked intent.

  “Not that, you pig.” I threw a piece of bacon at him, which he deftly caught and slid into his mouth. “I want to do something I can be proud of.”

  He hesitated as he swallowed. “Everything you do is something to be proud of,” he said finally. “A job isn’t status. Who you are is what’s important. I happen to like who you are a great deal.”

  The words were simple, but they sent a jolt of warmth straight to my heart. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” He turned back to his breakfast. “As for the sleepwalking, give it a day or two. If it doesn’t return I would assume it was a fluke. It’s not every day you see a guy plummet to his death. That had to be disconcerting.”

  “Yeah. You have a point.”

  LILAC’S BAR WAS PACKED. It was barely mid-morning, so I couldn’t wrap my head around why the place was so full. Then I realized that most of the people sitting at the tables and telling raucous stories were cupids. I recognized them from the boat the previous day.

  “I take it cupids like to day drink,” I noted as I slid onto one of the stools at the bar. Lilac was on the other side vigorously shaking a martini mixer. “This is probably good for you, huh?”

  “It’s good for the bar,” she replied. “But they’re terrible tippers. It’s not good for me personally.” She said the words loudly and I couldn’t help glancing over my shoulder to see if some of the assembled cupids had heard. Two of them tipped their drinks in her direction.

  “You obviously don’t care about being nice to them,” I offered. “They don’t seem offended by what you said.”

  “They don’t care.” She upended the shaker into a glass, a purple concoction I’d never seen before swirling out.

  “What is that?” I leaned closer, intrigued.

  “That is a plum martini. Shaken, not stirred.”

  I smirked. “Is it good?”

  “They’re okay. I think Judy just likes having purple drinks.” Lilac plopped the glass on the bar and whistled, catching me off guard.

  Booker, who I didn’t realize was in the bar, appeared at my elbow and snagged the drink. He made a face when he saw the color. “She’s just messing with me to mess with me now.”

  I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing at his horrified expression and watched as he delivered the drink to his mother, who was determined to be the center of attention and didn’t as much as acknowledge him. When he returned, he hopped onto the open stool next to me and buried his head in his forearms.

  “I hate my life,” he whined.

  Pity stirred as I patted his wrist. “Once, when I was in high school, my father made me wear leggings underneath a skirt because he thought it was too short and I would entice the boys to grope me if I didn’t cover up. He actually had the leggings delivered to school and I was pulled out of class to put them on.”

  Booker lifted his head and narrowed his eyes. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “I’m just saying that you don’t have the market cornered on embarrassing parents. There’s no need to get worked up.”

  “Oh, geez.” He covered his eyes again. “I just want this week to be over.”

  I was amused despite my pity for him. “I don’t know. Your mother has a lot of spirit. What’s not to like about that?”

  “You’ve met her.” Booker rested his chin on his palm and his elbow on the bar. “You didn’t spend two minutes with her before you ran to join us next to a dead body. Don’t pretend she’s normal.”

  I could never pretend that. “I’m not saying she’s normal.” I risked a glance at the woman in question and frowned when I realized several of the younger women sitting at the table — in fact, all of the women below the age of forty — were staring at Booker with wistful expressions. “She’s memorable. You have that going for you.”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s not a good thing.” Booker wasn’t the whining type, so his tone amused me. “I just want her to go home.”

  “Where does she live?”

  “Tampa. She likes warm weather but doesn’t want drug dealers living on her street. Miami Vice taught her there are drug dealers on every corner in that city so now she lives in Tampa.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “No. I wish she would move to Canada or something, though. I think that’s a much more comfortable distance.”

  “Oh, poor Booker.” I laughed at his hangdog expression. “There’s no reason to get worked up. She’ll be here only a week, right? After that she’ll be gone again and the island will be yours.”

  One of the women at the table, a lithe blonde with legs that went on for miles and sparkling blue eyes, edged her way to the bar. Booker and I were the only ones sitting at it, so she had plenty of room. She managed to arrange herself so that she was practically in Booker’s lap when she snapped her fingers to get Lilac’s attention.

  “I would like a gin and Dubonnet,” she announced.

  “We don’t have Dubonnet,” Lilac replied. “I have tonic water and can throw in a splash of grenadine if you like.”

  The woman made a face. “That’s not the same thing.”

  “Definitely not. They both taste like crap, though, so they’re kind of similar.”

  The woman’s eyes darkened. “Gin and Dubonnet is what the queen drinks.”

  “Well, the queen’s not here.”

  The woman made an exasperated sound deep in her throat. “I’ll have violet gin and tonic.”

  “We don’t have violet gin either.”

  “Oh, geez!” The woman was clearly feeling dramatic. “Do you have anything good?”

  “No.” Lilac’s temper flashed hot and fierce, and I noticed a ripple of color run through her hair — red, like the red I saw the day the cult attacked — but she covered quickly. “If you don’t like the drink selections, you could always go to one of the other thirty bars on the strip.”

  “Oh, trust me. I would rather be somewhere else.”

  “Dani, don’t be a pain,” Booker’s mother ordered, breaking off in mid-conversation and focusing on our small group at the bar. “I told you that your fancy drinks wouldn’t be available. You said it would be fine. Order a martini and be done with it.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Pitman.” Dani turned sour. “I’ll have a plum martini, too.”
/>   “Great.” Lilac offered up a sardonic eye roll and grabbed the martini shaker. “You can have a seat. I’ll have Booker deliver it when it’s ready.”

  Dani perked up and nodded as Booker glared at the smirking bartender.

  “Why did you tell her that?” he asked once she returned to the table.

  “Because she only ordered a drink to be close to you,” Lilac replied. “She’s got the fever. We both know it.”

  I was officially intrigued. “What’s the fever?”

  “It’s that thing women come down with when they can’t stop from throwing themselves at him.”

  “Oh.” I was familiar with the fever. I hadn’t seen it in action until a few weeks ago. Er, maybe I had and I simply didn’t realize it. Either way, as a cupid, Booker exuded some sort of musk that made him utterly delicious to women. I was apparently immune. I was thankful for that. “Aren’t they all cupids? Shouldn’t they be immune to you, too?”

  “It’s a different kind of fever,” Booker said dryly, pinning Lilac with a dark glare. “Don’t encourage them. You know how much I hate it when stuff like this happens.”

  I was still struggling to catch up. “I don’t understand what you guys are even talking about. Are the cupids attracted to you as much as human women?”

  “Everyone is attracted to me.” He offered up a wink but it wasn’t nearly as playful as it would’ve been on a different day. “The attraction comes in a variety of degrees.”

  “Right.” I nodded in thanks when Lilac slid an iced tea in front of me. “So, I’m actually here for a reason.”

  “I heard about David Fox,” Lilac supplied. “I didn’t know him well so I don’t have a heckuva lot of information. This wasn’t his sort of establishment. He spent all his time in the private bar at the yacht club.”

  “That wasn’t what I was talking about. Galen thinks he killed himself. He’s waiting for a report from the medical examiner, but right now it looks as if he climbed that big pole and tried to fly.”

  “Really?” Lilac wrinkled her forehead. “I wouldn’t think he would have a reason to off himself. I mean ... he was rich. He obviously didn’t have to worry about money. Why would he want to end things rather than soldier forward?”

  “Money isn’t everything,” I reminded her. “Although, that’s actually the reason I’m here. I didn’t come about David at all. As for him, depression is a real psychological malady. It’s possible he was clinically depressed.”

  “I guess. I still don’t see what he had to be depressed about.” Lilac grabbed a towel and started drying glasses. “You said you’re here about money? I’m not sure I have much to loan you. I have a few hundred bucks if that will help.”

  My cheeks flooded with color, embarrassment washing over me. “Oh, no. I wasn’t talking about that. I was talking about a job.”

  “You want to work here?”

  I considered the question for a full half-second before shaking my head. “Our friendship wouldn’t survive that.”

  “Probably not,” she agreed, laughing. “I still don’t understand what you’re getting at.”

  “I need a job.” I was matter-of-fact. “I need somewhere to go when Galen takes off in the morning. It was fine to take a bit of time off to settle and get accustomed to my new surroundings. It’s time to move forward.”

  “And you need a job to do that?” Booker lifted his head, scowling when one of the women at the bigger table next to us waved and giggled. “I hate that. Why do they have to keep doing that?”

  “I thought you liked it when women threw themselves at you,” I said.

  “Not these women. I wouldn’t date another cupid if I was marooned on an island and the only choice was her or my hand.”

  I scowled. “That was a bit of an overshare.”

  “Well, it’s how I feel.” He forced his attention back to me. “What are you qualified to do?”

  That was a good question. “I don’t know. I could work in a law office or something. That sounds boring, but I understand court information thanks to my father.”

  “I think you’ll melt down being trapped in an office all day,” Booker countered. “Have you considered opening the lighthouse and allowing people in for palm or tarot readings?”

  The suggestion was ludicrous. “I don’t know how to do either of those things.”

  “May does. She volunteered her time doing both at festivals throughout the years. Ask her to teach you.”

  “I can’t do that. It’s not a real job.”

  He snickered. “If you make money at it, it’s a real job. Besides, you could work a few hours a day doing readings and make bank. Then you can read on the beach the rest of the time. That’s the best sort of job.”

  “He’s not wrong,” Lilac agreed. “In fact, if you don’t want to open the lighthouse to people — which I totally understand, because that makes for a lack of privacy — we could set up a table in here for you. I bet it would draw in more drinkers and benefit both of us.”

  The suggestion seemed out of the realm of possibility and yet a small voice in the back of my head was already gushing that it was a good idea. “Do you really think May could teach me how to do it?”

  Lilac shrugged. “It’s worth a try. This is a paranormal island. You don’t have to hide who you are. It makes sense to play to your strengths. Magic seems to be your biggest strength these days.”

  “Yeah, but ... .” I trailed off, uncertain. “I have to give it some thought,” I said after a beat. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable opening myself up like that.”

  “Definitely give it some thought,” Lilac agreed. “If you don’t want to do that, you could always join Booker’s team and be a jack-of-all-trades.”

  Booker stuck out his tongue. “I’ll have you know not just anyone can do the things I do. It takes training and talent.”

  Lilac rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Oh, hey, another chick is coming this way for a drink. Twenty bucks says she rubs her boobs against you.”

  Booker buried his face again. “Will this torture never end?”

  I laughed along with Lilac, but my mind was already elsewhere. The idea of giving readings had never crossed my mind. Now I couldn’t seem to shake it. Was that actually an option for me? I was intrigued, but unsure.

  I needed to talk to May ... and Wesley ... and Galen. I also needed to search my heart. I said I wanted a career, not a job. Could this be my career?

  6

  Six

  I still had the idea jumping around in my head when I exited the bar. I was almost outside before a hand shot out in the vestibule and grabbed my wrist, causing me to bite back a shriek and fix the tiny woman standing next to the cigarette machine (I didn’t even know they still made those until I came to Moonstone Bay) with a dark look.

  “Mrs. Pitman, you really should announce yourself before grabbing someone.” I managed to contain my anger, but just barely. I had to remind myself that she was Booker’s mother and it would do more harm than good if I jumped all over her.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you, dear.” She talked like a kindly woman in her fifties, one caught between parenthood and living the life of a grandparent, but there was something I didn’t like in her eyes.

  “Well, you did.” I forced a smile, although it was flat and hard. “Can I help you with something?”

  “I just have a question for you.”

  “Then I’ll try to answer it.”

  “Fabulous.” Her lips spread into the approximation of a smile, but it was much more akin to a sneer. “What’s the deal with you and my son?”

  The question caught me off guard. “I’m sorry? There is no deal between us. We’re friends.”

  “Just friends?”

  This I could deal with. These weren’t the questions of an evil mother. A normal mother would dig into the business of her child. Television and Hallmark movies had taught me that. “I’m dating Galen.”

  “That doesn’t mean you’re not keeping my boy on a s
tring, too.”

  “Actually, it does.” I didn’t like what she was insinuating. “I happen to care about Galen a great deal. I care about Booker, too. He’s just a friend, though. He’s never been anything other than a friend.”

  “He seems fond of you.”

  “Really? I think he tolerates me.”

  “No, he laughs at the things you say and acts interested when you talk. That’s not normal for him.”

  “Well, no offense, but how do you know what’s normal for him? I was under the impression that you didn’t see him very often.”

  Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Who told you that? Did Booker tell you that? I may live on the mainland, but that doesn’t mean I don’t take an interest in my son.”

  I held my hands up. “I just meant that he doesn’t talk about you much.” I realized after the fact that was the wrong thing to say. “I mean ... most guys don’t sit around talking about their mothers. That’s a downer of a conversation. He doesn’t not talk about you any more than anybody else would not talk about their mother.”

  “Uh-huh.” She lifted her chin and I got the distinct impression she was trying to look down at me even though I was a good six inches taller than her. “Just be careful around my son. The last thing he needs is a broken heart. I hope that you understand.”

  Boy did I ever. The woman had made herself more than clear. “I promise not to break Booker’s heart.”

  “You should probably stay away from him,” she added. “I have big plans for him this trip. You’ll mess with those plans.”

  I thought back to the women at the bar who couldn’t stop watching Booker with moony expressions. “I bet I know exactly what plans you have for him.”

  “Good. Then we don’t have a problem.” She turned to leave. I should’ve let it go, but I never met a problem I didn’t want to make worse by opening my big, fat mouth.

  “He doesn’t want the life you seem to want for him,” I volunteered. “Why can’t you just let him be who he wants to be?”