Page 21 of Boss Witch

Here goes nothing.

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After parting from Clem, Gavin figured he ought to stop by the coffee klatch she’d mentioned and start making contacts.

The pensioners who attended such gatherings would be starved to share their stories with a new and willing listener, so he should learn a lot about St. Claire in a short time. It wasn’t like he could come right out and ask,So who do you peg for witches, right? Doing that at the bakery had been a wildly incompetent move, fueled by exhaustion, rage, and too much 5-­hour Energy. Normally he didn’t ride into town and make a complete arse of himself.

Probably ought to swing by that bakery and apologize.

Otherwise Gavin could get in trouble with the law, and he couldn’t afford to rely on his father’s connections to get him out of trouble.After the mess in Austria—­

Well, best not to test paternal love, at any rate.

Sometimes he wondered whether there was any love at all. It did seem that the old man saw him as a means of settling an old score and proving Rhys hunters were true to the bone. No divided loyalties. For Gavin, it would be nice to feel that, for once, he had done enough, no need to belabor a point he’d already devoted his whole life to.

Before he could tumble headlong into grim thoughts, he got back on the Duc and pulled up directions to the fire station. He had just under an hour to make some new friends, and he planned to make the most of those forty-­seven minutes. On impulse, he brought the berries with him. Back home, the pensioners loved it when people brought gifts. Fruit or cheese were big favorites, wine if they were still allowed to drink. Fresh berries seemed far more appropriate for a breakfast gathering, though if he got them bosky, they’d likely open up even faster.

Must invite a few of them to some rounds on me over at O’Reilly’s.

Gavin had never been in a firehouse before. Most of it was devoted to a garage that connected to a wide communal space. He could see what looked like lockers and a gear area, and there was a sign pointing the way to the conference room that had big, clear windows, a long table with sixteen black, padded office chairs, most of which were occupied by a diverse group of elderly people. Against the wall, there was also an entertainment center, but the TV was off since everyone was chatting.

“Hello, hello,” a little old lady with brown skin and a froth of white curls said, flashing him a wink.

The old fellow sitting next to her scowled. “You lost, son?”

Normally, he’d get irked at being called that by a stranger, but his mission was to charm these folks, not antagonize anyone. “Not in the slightest! I’m precisely where I’m meant to be this morning.”

“That right?” the man grunted.

“Don’t be grouchy,” his lady friend said. “Ignore Leonard. He’s always like this until he’s had a full cup of coffee. Speaking of which, it’s twenty-­five cents. Help yourself and pull up a chair.”

Gavin didn’t have any coins in his pocket, so he dropped a wrinkled dollar bill in the ceramic pot labeled COFFEE KLATCH, poured himself a cup of plain black coffee—­honestly, he didn’t enjoy the stuff no matter what was stirred into it. To him, it tasted the way ashtrays smelled. Then he settled across the table from Leonard.

“Gavin Rhys,” he said, extending a friendly hand.

The older man shook it, and he even managed a smile. “Lenny Franklin. Only Gladys calls me Leonard. Well, and my mother, God rest her soul.”

Gavin offered what he hoped was a sufficiently pious expression, echoing the sentiment. “A pleasure to meet you.”

The woman Leonard had indicated as Gladys gave him a bright smile that made him homesick for the mum he barely remembered.How many years has been it now?His father had been brimming with bitterness over her supposed betrayal, and he’d repeatedly told Gavin how little she cared, otherwise she wouldn’t have abandoned them both.

Is that true, I wonder? Did you never try to reach me at all, Mum? Or did Da stop you?

Unable to help himself, he smiled back at Gladys. Though he’d just met the woman, he thought she radiated an incredible air of sweetness, like she was the type to bake pies and bring tea and lemon drizzle cake when neighbors were sick. Or whatever the American equivalent was.

“What brings you here?” Leonard asked.

Gavin couldn’t bring himself to use an informal nickname for an older gentleman, even in his own head. So Leonard he would remain.

“To the firehouse or St. Claire?”

Leonard shrugged, sipping at his coffee. He looked like a strong man, even at his age, though his shoulders were a bit rounded, as was his belly. But he had fine, fierce eyebrows that were still more black and gray and steady brown eyes that said he’d tolerate no nonsense.

“Either,” he finally said.

“I’m on sabbatical. History professor,” he added, forestalling the question. “I’m writing about American history for a change.”

“Book or article?” Gladys asked, as another woman said, “Oh my, how fascinating.”

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