bending down to retrieve a ball of merino. “I just think you should be proud of your gifts and not hide them.”
She looked like she wanted to hit me with a pair of US 15s. “I’m not psychic,” she said through gritted teeth. “I can’t read minds. I can barely read a menu without my contacts in. Will you just drop it?”
She’s a foot taller than I am so I dropped it.
But I didn’t believe her for a minute.
CHLOE
I wasn’t lying when I told the ex that I’m not psychic. I’m really not. Or at least I don’t think I am. My powers still aren’t totally realized, but so far I haven’t seen any clues that mind reading was going to be one of my specialties. Mostly I’m lucky if I can figure out what I’m going to do next, much less what anybody else will be up to.
Bad enough she was Luke’s ex-wife; now she was turning out to be one of those humans who think they are somehow connected to “the other side.”
Trust me. They aren’t. They don’t have a clue what the other side is all about, and if they did, they would probably run like hell to get away from it.
Of course, there was one problem with my thesis: I had heard her speak even though the ex claimed she hadn’t said anything, which pretty much put us at an impasse. And if you think I’m bad at confrontations, you should see how awful I am at impasses.
I wiped up the tea. She saved the yarn from a wicked puddle. The cats abandoned the kitchen for the relative safety of the front room. We stared at each other for a few awkward minutes at the end of which she pretended to yawn and I pretended she wasn’t pretending. The sleeping draught I dropped into her tea wouldn’t take hold for another half hour.
Finally I showed her to the guest room.
Now all I had to do for the next eight hours was make sure the cutlery didn’t stage a performance of “Be My Guest” at the foot of her bed.
I started a huge pot of coffee. My plan was to stay up all night, standing vigil over the dishes and other household objects that just might decide to join the chorus. I could explain away a repaired sweater but dancing spoons might be problematic.
And don’t get me started on what I’d do if Isadora managed to breach her banishment and make another appearance. I had enough to worry about.
Like wondering when Luke was going to come back.
I grabbed my cell and pressed number one.
“Luke MacKenzie here. Leave a message.”
“What’s taking so long? Call me.”
Better yet, come home. His ex-wife hadn’t driven up to Sugar Maple to talk knitting. Whatever was going on, he needed to deal with it himself and send her back to Boston, where cutlery knew its place.
Another five minutes passed, then ten. Still no sign of Luke. I pressed the redial.
“Luke MacKenzie here. Leave a message.”
My hands started to shake and I disconnected.
I was now officially worried.
Luke was a cop. More than that, he was the only cop in town. It didn’t matter that this was the Town Without Crime. His cell was on all day, every day, even when we were making love. There was no way he would head out in the middle of the night with his phone turned off.
Come to think of it, he didn’t head out much at all after dark. There was the occasional lost tourist or dustup with some of the town’s teenagers, but once the sun went down, he stayed pretty close to home.
And to me.
My stomach knotted. Not that Sugar Maple posed a danger to him. Or at least it hadn’t before Isadora went totally nuts tonight and trashed our town hall meeting at the same time Luke was rescuing his ex from a ditch near the outskirts of town.
The coincidental timing bothered me, but I wasn’t sure why. Most of life was a series of coincidences. Some good, some not so. It was what you did after that mattered.
For all I knew, Karen’s arrival might have saved his life. As the only full-blooded human in town, he would have been the most vulnerable to serious injury when the
She looked like she wanted to hit me with a pair of US 15s. “I’m not psychic,” she said through gritted teeth. “I can’t read minds. I can barely read a menu without my contacts in. Will you just drop it?”
She’s a foot taller than I am so I dropped it.
But I didn’t believe her for a minute.
CHLOE
I wasn’t lying when I told the ex that I’m not psychic. I’m really not. Or at least I don’t think I am. My powers still aren’t totally realized, but so far I haven’t seen any clues that mind reading was going to be one of my specialties. Mostly I’m lucky if I can figure out what I’m going to do next, much less what anybody else will be up to.
Bad enough she was Luke’s ex-wife; now she was turning out to be one of those humans who think they are somehow connected to “the other side.”
Trust me. They aren’t. They don’t have a clue what the other side is all about, and if they did, they would probably run like hell to get away from it.
Of course, there was one problem with my thesis: I had heard her speak even though the ex claimed she hadn’t said anything, which pretty much put us at an impasse. And if you think I’m bad at confrontations, you should see how awful I am at impasses.
I wiped up the tea. She saved the yarn from a wicked puddle. The cats abandoned the kitchen for the relative safety of the front room. We stared at each other for a few awkward minutes at the end of which she pretended to yawn and I pretended she wasn’t pretending. The sleeping draught I dropped into her tea wouldn’t take hold for another half hour.
Finally I showed her to the guest room.
Now all I had to do for the next eight hours was make sure the cutlery didn’t stage a performance of “Be My Guest” at the foot of her bed.
I started a huge pot of coffee. My plan was to stay up all night, standing vigil over the dishes and other household objects that just might decide to join the chorus. I could explain away a repaired sweater but dancing spoons might be problematic.
And don’t get me started on what I’d do if Isadora managed to breach her banishment and make another appearance. I had enough to worry about.
Like wondering when Luke was going to come back.
I grabbed my cell and pressed number one.
“Luke MacKenzie here. Leave a message.”
“What’s taking so long? Call me.”
Better yet, come home. His ex-wife hadn’t driven up to Sugar Maple to talk knitting. Whatever was going on, he needed to deal with it himself and send her back to Boston, where cutlery knew its place.
Another five minutes passed, then ten. Still no sign of Luke. I pressed the redial.
“Luke MacKenzie here. Leave a message.”
My hands started to shake and I disconnected.
I was now officially worried.
Luke was a cop. More than that, he was the only cop in town. It didn’t matter that this was the Town Without Crime. His cell was on all day, every day, even when we were making love. There was no way he would head out in the middle of the night with his phone turned off.
Come to think of it, he didn’t head out much at all after dark. There was the occasional lost tourist or dustup with some of the town’s teenagers, but once the sun went down, he stayed pretty close to home.
And to me.
My stomach knotted. Not that Sugar Maple posed a danger to him. Or at least it hadn’t before Isadora went totally nuts tonight and trashed our town hall meeting at the same time Luke was rescuing his ex from a ditch near the outskirts of town.
The coincidental timing bothered me, but I wasn’t sure why. Most of life was a series of coincidences. Some good, some not so. It was what you did after that mattered.
For all I knew, Karen’s arrival might have saved his life. As the only full-blooded human in town, he would have been the most vulnerable to serious injury when the
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