Page 22 of De-Witched

“I’d say apple and tree.”

They chatted for another ten minutes before hanging up, leaving Leah in a pensive mood. She tossed down her phone, making Delilah grumble, and tipped her head back to study the ceiling. The shelter was a growing worry, the flare of an ache that worsened with every grimace or frown Sonny wore.

If they only had more hands, she could concentrate on their website, maybe bring in more donations, facilitate more adoptions. It wouldn’t solve everything, but it might erase the pinched look from Sonny’s face.

He’d joked about retirement yesterday. She couldn’t blame him for finding the idea tempting, but also couldn’t bear to think what would happen to the animals if expenses kept climbing and idea turned into action.

She and the dogs passed the next hour watching a documentary on cold cases to get her mind off it. She was so absorbed by the detailing of one killer’s victims that the thump at her door had her jolting upright, a squeal trapped in her throat.

Delilah scrambled up with one yip, parking her butt at the front door alongside Rosie, always eager for a visitor. Louie had to be dislodged from Leah’s feet since nothing short of a nuclear blast would get him to move once he was situated.

Commanding the dogs to sit, then stay, Leah looked out her peephole and saw nobody. Cautious thanks to the documentary, she cracked the door. Her eyes dropped immediately to the package with her name printed neatly on it.

“Uh-oh, is this when we find out we have a stalker?” she said to the dogs, using her foot to usher Delilah back in when she tried to charge out. Leah scooped up the package and closed the door with her hip, the dogs trailing her as she walked back to the couch.

“Someone here?” Peggy called from upstairs. At the sound of her voice, Rosie bounded up the steps, her tail thumping the walls.

“Just a package. I think it might be an ear.”

“What?”

Peggy charged downstairs, closely followed by Rosie. She skidded to a stop, wrapped only in a terry cloth robe, cheeks flushed from the shower. She had a hot date and was determined to spend the afternoon getting ready.

“An ear?” She spotted the bulky package; it was the size of a cushion. “Oh, yeah. That has ‘dismembered body part’ all over it.”

Leah laughed. “It was outside with only my name on it, so someone dropped it off.” She considered the padded envelope. “Not alarming, right?”

“Maybe you have a very cheap admirer.”

“Who knows my address.”

“Okay, you’re creeping me out. Open the thing.” Peggy ruffled Rosie’s ears, staying well back.

Leah threw caution to the wind, slipping her finger under the lining and tearing it open. She tipped the contents onto the nearby coffee table. A sheet of notepaper fluttered out, followed by a familiar sweatshirt and, to her astonishment, several bills.

“What on earth...?”

“Thank God.” Peggy breathed out, pressing a hand to her chest. “No body parts. Unless the ear is wrapped up in the sweater. What’s the note say?”

“Ever hear of privacy?”

“I’ve heard of it.”

Leah lifted the paper, scanned the lines. Her mouth parted.

“Well?”

“‘I trust this settles the debt between us,’” she read aloud with a faint tinge of disbelief. “‘You’re welcome. Gabriel.’”

“Gabriel. That’s the new brooding bartender you’re spending nights with?”

“I’m not spending nights with him. At least, not like that.” Leah calculated the bills. “Although this would be close to my going rate.”

“Uh-huh. But you’d like it to be like that, right?” Peggy snorted a laugh at Leah’s bland stare. “We’ve lived together too long. I know your lusty eyes. You had them for Anthony Bridgerton and you’ve got them now.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Peggy grinned, then studied the envelope’s contents. “So, why’s he paying you?”

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