Page 4 of The Neighborhood Witch

“Tell you what,” Hugo replied. “When I see the new neighbor, I’ll mention something.”

“Thank you,” Johanna responded and peered down at Max. “You’re a good girl.” She gave Max a few more pats on the head before returning home.

Hugo and Max finally approached the front door. Hugo waved his phone over the lock. A gear moved on the other side to unlock the door.

He opened the door and shouted into the house, “Computer, I’m home.”

Lights turned on immediately as they entered. He closed the door behind them. He removed Max’s leash and hung it on a coat rack. She ran wildly throughout the house.

Collapsing piles of mail littered the dining room table. Clumps of dog fur balled together on the hardwood floor. The furniture tops were dusty.

Hugo entered the kitchen and grabbed Max’s water bowl. He filled it from the tap and placed it back on the mat next to her food bowl. An empty pizza box spread across a garbage can and the dog food container. He moved the box to the side and opened the container. Only a few pieces of food lined the bottom. He closed his eyes and gave an extended, drawn-out sigh. He shut the lid and moved over to the refrigerator.

The fridge was nearly barren. A couple of water bottles, a bottle of ketchup, a take-out container, and a couple of bottles of wine was all that Hugo found. He pulled out the container and examined the contents inside. His dinner from a week ago. It didn’t look very appetizing, so he threw the container in the trash. He grabbed his car keys from a hook next to the back door.

“Max,” Hugo shouted. “Come get your water.”

Max ran down the hallway, squeaking her favorite toy in her mouth. She dropped the stuffed green and yellow mallard duck and lapped up the water from the bowl. Water splashed all over the floor—most into the rubber mat, and some onto the hardwood.

Hugo opened the back door. “Computer,” Hugo shouted. He waited for the familiar ping to reply. “I’m leaving.”

“Setting away mode,” a female voice echoed through the house.

The front door lock buzzed, and the lights turned off.

“Be a good girl while I’m gone,” Hugo said.

Max glanced up; the bowl was almost empty. Hugo shut the door, and the buzz of a gear locked it.

Chapter 2

The Neighborhood Market

Located beyond the center of town was Raskin’s Neighborhood Market—a white building with its name written in black cursive lettering above a matching awning that stretched across its rectangular facade. A banner tied to the side of the building read,Serving the Neighborhood for over 50 Years!

A small crowd of people exited the market, pushing carts of newly acquired groceries. Another group filed in. Raskin’s Neighborhood Market was the place to be on a Saturday afternoon in this small town. Hugo pulled his car into the lot and parked in his usual spot, the furthest one away from everyone else. He exited the car and headed inside.

The overwhelming smell of flowers from the florist greeted Hugo as he entered. The place bustled with activity as shoppers searched for their goods. Three checkout lines jam-packed with waiting customers. The teenage cashiers, some working their first jobs, turned away from scanning items to greet anyone who entered.

Should have grabbed a hat. His body tightened; his shoulders arched up as he tried to bury his head in his jacket. He grabbed ashopping cart and darted down the nearest aisle. He relaxed his shoulders once he had a little more privacy from gawking eyes.

Hugo was tactical in his approach, trying to minimize the time he was visible in the public setting. First, he went down the snack aisle to grab a few bags of chips. Then he grabbed a few cans of chili and various soups.

Hugo hurried through the market.Bread, wine, then deli, then milk. Also, cheese,Hugo recited his grocery list.

He zipped around other shoppers, keeping his head down to avoid eye contact. He passed the shelves of bread and grabbed a loaf without looking, casually tossing it into his cart.Dog food,he thought.Can’t forget the dog food.

Hugo backtracked to the pet section. Being a small-town grocery, the choice of dog food wasn’t extensive, but Max didn’t mind. Food was food. Hugo bent down to grab a large, blue bag of “Cheesy Chewies,” a generic brand of dog food that specialized in mixed meats in a processed cheese flavor. He struggled to lift the bag from the bottom shelf. The heavy bag wouldn’t slide. Hugo gave it a few more tugs before it broke free. He repositioned his hands around the bag and slid it onto the bottom shelf of the grocery cart.

When he stood up, his eyes caught a box of dog treats.I can’t forget those.He placed the box in his cart.Wine, then deli. Then you have to talk to the Raskins, or else you’ll never hear the end of it.

Rows and rows of wine filled the back corner of the market. Reds, Merlots, Chardonnays, Pinot Noirs, Cabernet Sauvignon, and every other type of wine filled the shelves. Everything from the cheapest wines to very pricy ones. The Raskins kept the expensive ones behind a glass case—not because they feared someone stealing the bottles—but because the Raskins didn’t want them breaking. A small-town grocery never had the widest selection of food choices like larger chains, but the owners of Raskin’s Neighborhood Market prided themselves on having the largest selection of wine in the area. People drove to Newbury Grove from Columbus and the surrounding areas to browse their selections.

Hugo’s pace slowed as he perused the wines. He methodically scanned every label, looking for anything that caught his interest. Each label elicited a unique response to tantalize his senses. Some labels were ornate in their design to convey a sense of high status. Others added a fanciful sense of wonder as they invoked the mystical with images of moons or candles or dark lettering over gray smoke. Hugo grabbed a selection of different wines—some he tried before, and others that were new. Time slowed as he lingered on each label.

“I’ll makea wine connoisseur out of you yet, Hugo Dodds,” Elizabeth said as she placed a bottle of chardonnay into the cart.

“Wine is wine,” he retorted. “Just pick one with a fancy label. It’s all the same.”

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