Page 56 of Bewicched

“We will.”

She put down her cup, looking out at the setting sun. “I should probably go. Let you get back to what you were doing.”

I waved that idea away. “Stay and have dinner with me. Then if I hear back from the demon, you’ll be with me and we can break him into the hospital room together.”

Still emotional, she nodded and then looked over at my kitchen. “Do you have anything that resembles dinner over there?”

Hmm, good question.

There was a knock on the back door and we both turned. Declan opened it and stepped in. “I’m going to call it a day out here. If you’d like, I can run and pick up dinner.” He pointed at me. “This one only had a muffin early this morning.”

“Thank you,” I said hurriedly, not wanting Mom to be rude again. “In fact, you should stay and eat with us.”

Declan raised his eyebrows and waited a beat. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

Mom, seeming to be back in control again, exhaled and then stood, turning to Declan. “I’d like to apologize for my behavior earlier.”

He shook his head. “Don’t. I’m not made of glass. You didn’t break anything.”

Some of the stiffness left Mom’s shoulders.

“How about if I get food and give you guys time to decide if you want company or would prefer to be on your own?” At my nod, Declan said, “Good,” and closed the door behind him.

Mom waited a few moments and then said, “I still don’t like him.”

Laughing, I filled our cups with the tea still steaming in the pot.

“Why is that easel pointed at the wall?” she asked.

“It was freaking out Detective Hernández.” I walked over and turned it back around.

Nodding, she said, “Oh, I see. This is Pearl’s death?”

“Her murder, yes. Assuming we’re right about it being Pearl.” I sat down in my chair, slipped out of my flip-flops, curled my legs under me, and sipped the tea.

“Who else could it be?” She sighed and took a sip. “Poor child.” She turned to me, her judgy look back in place. “And since when do you have a tattoo?”

“Who, me? Why would you think that?” I hid a smile behind my cup and then took another sip.

“Don’t play with me. I saw it on the bottom of your right foot.”

I put my cup down on the side table and straightened my legs, pointing the soles of my feet at her. “You know, I read somewhere that showing someone the soles of your feet—or maybe just shoes—is considered a horrible insult.”

“I don’t care,” she countered. “Where did the tattoo go?”

“Tattoos don’t just move around your body, Mom,” I said, twisting my legs under me again. “And as you’ve seen, there’s nothing on the bottom of my feet. Maybe it was a shadow or I stepped on a wet leaf or something. I’d just come out of the ocean, for goodness’ sake.”

Mom stared with squinty-eyed suspicion and I pretended not to notice.

“How’s Gran feeling today?”

Mom gave me one last look and then let it go. For now. “She spent the day with Sylvia and John. I brought them lunches, though none of us ate. We tried to work together to push the thing squatting in her out, but we couldn’t reach it. Or her, for that matter.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s torturous, this waiting. Your grandmother and I are used to fixing the problems, casting the spells, banishing the evil. This time, we can’t even reach the problem. We have to wait for someone else. Someone we neither know nor trust.” She stood and began to pace, stopping now and then to study one of my pieces.

“What you should have that wolf make you,” she finally said, “is a dining table. Where are we supposed to eat this dinner he’s supposedly fetching?”

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