Page 15 of Secrets in Salem: Part One

Chuckling, I wait until Avril disappears inside the shop, her pretty pumps clacking on the ground as she stomps away and leaves me to my discovery. Before I can inspect the photographs some more, my cell rings. I check the caller ID before answering, clicking accept the moment I see Afro Man calling me. Speak of the devil and he shall appear, and all that.

"You havegotto get me the hell out of here, Low. I'm going insane. If the man keeps talking to me about carp or trout, I will jump in the damn river," Adam blurts as a greeting the moment I put the phone to my ear.

I smother my laughter with the sleeve of my cardigan, sliding down in my seat, and hold the phone closer to my ear. Putting on a deeper voice, I say, "Hey, Willow. How are you? Did you just have an unpleasant face to face with Avril Perry? Did you kill her?Why, hello, Adam. I'm well. And yes, I was forced to interact with Avril. Though murderous thoughts entered my brain, they were not acted upon since I enjoy my freedom. I did, however, declare her to be a closet lesbian shadowing as a gnarly homophobe after defending your honor. You’re welcome, by the way."

There's a stunned silence from the other end of the phone until I hear Adam breathe out a long gust of air. "Well, I think your version of Hell is burning hotter than mine, though I am incredibly impressed at the size of your balls. Give me the fish over the bitch any day."

Snorting, I tell him, "I’m sure Avril would have preferred the fish over what I dished her, too. She didn't have anything nice to say, as per usual, so I sent her on her way with a few parting words she can mull over for the rest of the day."

"Yeah? What was her angle today?" he asks before yelling, "Dad! Give me five minutes away from your incessant blathering about the fucking fish!"

My laughter finally breaks out of my chest, but I answer as soon as he's done berating his father. "She was her usual charming self, spitting disrespect like it was chewing tobacco. Said something about the Bible and Adam and Eve and not Adam and Steve, referring to your love of the same sex. I told her you'd fuck Steve regardless and that she could keep Eve. There was more, but I’ll fill you in later."

Through his bellowing laughter, he says, "That's my girl. Can't stand that bitch. Didn't she move away from Salem a few months ago?"

Huh. Did she?

"I have no idea. I haven't cared enough to keep track. She just so happened to stop at Tracey's and I'm still here. Speaking of which, when do you think you'll be done with the father and son bonding time?" I ask, smiling at the aggravated grumble he gives me.

I hear his dad talking through the phone but can't make out what he says. Adam comes back and says, "Honestly? It looks like I'm going to be here a while longer, but if he makes me sleep on the fucking dock just to catch fish tonight, I'm pushinghimin the river. Can I cash in a rain check for coffee? I'm sorry, Low. I know you've been waiting for a while."

"Hey, it's fine! Family first. I'm chilling with Cassie and the kids tomorrow, Saturday, I need to go out of town, and Sunday, I'm babysitting, so I’ll cash in that rain check on Monday," I explain, not bothering to elaborate on my reasoning for leaving Salem on Saturday. I'll explain when I'm home and I don't hear Mr. Frasier yelling at Adam to put his damn cell away.

Sighing deeply, my best friend tells me, "Alright. I can do Monday. I'll call you when I'm finally home so you know I didn't commit murder and aren’t rotting in a jail cell downtown. Talk to you later, glitter dick."

"Sounds like a plan. Please refrain from homicide. Later, bitch tits." I hear him laugh before the line goes dead. Guess I'm spending the remainder of my day alone. That works for me. At least I don’t have to do research for the documentary.

Deciding my day will be better spent at the library, I pack up my things, stuffing my laptop back in my bag and hearing the clank of metal. Shit. I still have the knife in there. I go about putting my things away a little gentler with that reminder, gather the plates and empty coffee mug before slinging the strap of my bag over my shoulder, and make my way inside.

"Leaving so soon, sweetie? It's only been an hour and a half. You normally stay for at least three hours," Tracey points out with a rasped chuckle. She has a point; I really am normally here for that long on the worst of days, but since Adam won't be joining me and I have photos burning holes in my bag, I have other places to be. I’m not going to blab all of that to the sweet old lady, though.

Giving her a grin, I lie through my teeth. "I have research to do, so I thought I'd hit up the library. But definitely not before I get another of your coffees to go."

"Coming right up," she says, going about filling my order.

My coffee comes quickly, and I thank Tracey before heading out of the café. Just before I cross the road, I hear my phone chime with a new text message, so I shimmy it out of my pocket and swipe the screen. My gaze scans the message, and I suddenly start laughing, gaining a few put out looks from the locals who wouldn’t know amusement if it spanked them on the ass with a kinky paddle.

Afro Hipster: If he puts one more fish next to my head just to compare sizes, I will not be held responsible for my actions. I will slap him with the next one I catch.

Attached to the message is a selfie of Adam with his unruly curls, fashionable glasses, and a pretty large fish dangling from a hook next to his head. I can't say I envy him right now, but his torture does come with comedic value.

Basic Witch: You just made me cackle in front of all the patrons of Tracey's, and I'm not even embarrassed. That photo is gold. I'm saving it and setting it as my screensaver.

Afro Hipster: The regret is strong.Sostrong.

Laughing again, I put my phone back away and step off the sidewalk.

Just as I take my first step, a blaring of a horn startles me to the point that I almost drop my coffee. I turn my head just in time to see a small car skidding toward me. Tires screech on the asphalt while pedestrians’ shouts ring out like nothing more than distant echoes. It doesn’t all register at once as I freeze, helplessly watching the car close the distance between us.

Almost like everything turns into slow motion, my hand darts out with my palm facing the oncoming vehicle in a reflexive move. The car squeals to a halt just before it actually touches me, the bumper only a mere inch away from connecting with my knee. My hand sinks onto the hood of the car with my heart thundering loudly under my ribcage.Holy shit, I almost just got run over. What the hell is up with this morning?!

The driver clambers out of the car, eyes wide and panicked, and she practically screams, "Oh my god, are you okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Dazed and still leaning against the car, I answer, "No. I'm fine. I'm so sorry. I didn't even see you coming. I don't think I even properly checked!"

There's an irritating ringing in my ears, and everything begins to blur as panic starts to fade from my brain, leaving my body a trembling mess. The hand leaning against the car burns a little, so, feeling a little more confident that I won't fall when I stand without help, I push away and stand straight.

Looking down to check the distance the car managed to stop before hitting me, my body freezes again. My handprint is in the damn metal of the car! The hood looks like it's been melted, leaving traces of where my fingers had been pressed just seconds before. I’m sure if I looked close, I could see every swirl of my fingerprints in there too. What the hell?

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