Southern Haunts by Stuart Jaffe Page A

He had made a promise to help them. He had made that same promise to his wife. In his book, those superseded anything he said to an old witch.
    Besides, how would she know what he did unless she had him followed? He checked his rearview mirror. Clear. Over the next minute, he checked it ten more times.

 
    Chapter 13
     
    Route 40 drifted by, a constant blur of trees, cars, and construction. The last day had become a blur, too. Too many decisions hung above him, waiting for him to place his neck in their noose.
    He had to make that promise; otherwise, Mother Hope would have refused to help. It was that simple. But he knew nobody would accept his logic — especially Drummond. Considering how little sleep he’d had, perhaps Drummond was right.
    Max’s cell phone chirped. He answered it before bothering to look at the caller ID. “Hello?”
    “Max? I’m so glad I caught you.” His mother. Great — from one mother to the next. “How are you doing?”
    “I’m fine, Mom.”
    “Uh-oh. You don’t sound so fine. What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing to be worried about. Just the day to day stuff.”
    “Come on, now. You’re talking with your mother. I’ve been learning to hear your tones since you were born and could only cry when you needed your diaper changed. Now, what’s the matter?”
    Usually, Max could deflect her with ease. Of course, this would be the time his mother decides to dig in. But what could he say? He didn’t want to lie to her, but she would never believe that he had troubles brewing with a witch, a ghost, an unknown spell, and a haunted house. In fact, if Max said any of that, his mother would probably take the first flight to North Carolina and have him committed.
    His mouth solved the problem by blurting out the first thing he thought of that she could understand and accept. “Well, I found a pregnancy test and —”
    “You’re having a baby?” Max could practically hear the fireworks bursting out of her.
    “No, Mom. The test was negative. But Sandra’s been acting a bit odd lately.”
    With a knowing laugh, Max’s mother said, “This is what you’re confused about? Men. You all are so thick sometimes. Your father was one of the worst. I could write him a note that I wanted to travel for my birthday, and he’d buy me a diamond, saying he had no idea what to get me.”
    “At least, we know where I get it from. You want to clue me in to why she’s upset?”
    “It’s obvious, dear. She wants a baby.”
    Max shook his head. “I know you want her to want to have a baby, but I’m not so sure. Last time we talked about it, she seemed scared of being pregnant.”
    “Of course, she’s scared. It’s frightening enough the first time around but think about her age. She’s no young, little thing. That can cause complications. I’m sure it’s got to be quite conflicting in her head. She wants to have a baby but fears losing it because her womb is getting old, yet she’s running out of time to have children.”
    “Maybe, but —”
    “Listen to me. I know these things. She may have spent many years crowing about how she never wanted kids, but all women have the desire for children. It’s in our blood. Just takes some a bit longer to recognize it.”
Max tried to ignore this last jibe and focused on the overall idea. Sandra had been so vehement about the Darian case — particularly about protecting Shawnee Darian’s unborn child. Maybe his mother was right. Maybe Sandra felt her biological clock winding down and this case had brought it all crashing to the forefront. It would explain most of her behavior lately.
    “Oh, this is going to be wonderful,” his mother said. “You let me know when the timing’s right, and I’ll make sure to help you outfit this baby proper. You’ll need a crib and a changing table. And diapers! You’ll need lots of those.”
    “Mom, calm down. Sandra’s not even pregnant yet.”
    “But she will be. And that’ll make me a Grandma. What do you think I