Читать книгу Demon Hunting in Dixie - Lexi George - Страница 8

Chapter Four

The shrill ring of the telephone greeted Addy as she stepped into the house. She grabbed the receiver off the cradle. Balancing it between her shoulder and ear, she rummaged through the refrigerator looking for dog cheese. Dooley watched her open the drawer and remove the block of cheddar, ears perked and eyes bright with interest.

“Hello?” Addy grabbed a knife and sliced off a piece of cheese to give to the salivating dog.

“Addy.” Her mother’s voice on the other end of the line sounded tense. “You need to open the shop early this morning in case there are any last-minute orders for the Farris funeral. It’s a morning service, you know.”

“Yes, Mom, I know.” Addy resealed the cheese and shoved it back in the drawer. “I always open early when there’s a funeral. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“And wear something appropriate. Don’t think about wearing jeans, or, God forbid, spaghetti straps. A funeral is not the place for cleavage.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Mama. A little T and A might be a surefire way to make certain Old Man Farris is dead before we stick him in the ground. From what I hear, he was quite the womanizer.”

“I’ll have you know, Adara Jean Corwin, that your brother is a professional. His customers come in here dead, and they stay that way! And don’t speak ill of the dearly departed. It’s disrespectful.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Addy put her hand over the mouthpiece. “But the man was still a dog, if you’ll pardon the expression,” she told Dooley. “I’ve heard her say it more than once. I don’t see what’s wrong with saying so just ’cause he’s dead.”

“What’s that? I can’t hear you,” Mama said. “Addy, are you talking to that dog again? People are going to think you’re as crazy as Aunt Etheline if you’re not careful. I swear you need a husband, someone you can carry on a real conversation with.”

Addy glanced at the clock. Fifty-five seconds before her mother dropped the “h” bomb. Predictable, but nowhere near her world-record time. Mama was off her game today.

All her life she’d tried to please her mother, to stay inside the lines when she was a color-outside-the-lines kind of girl. But her stubborn nature balked at Mama’s attempts to get her hitched. She would not marry someone to please her mother. But that didn’t mean she didn’t feel guilty about it.

“You’d be surprised what a good conversationalist Dooley is, Mama,” she said. “Listen, I gotta go.”

She hung up the phone with a sigh, snagged her favorite mug out of the cabinet, and fixed a cup of hot tea. After a moment’s hesitation, she went to the liquor cabinet and added a liberal splash of Grand Marnier. She took a small swig, enjoying the spicy orange flavor the liqueur added to her Irish Breakfast tea. Normally she wasn’t much of a drinker, especially in the morning, but between her Close Encounter of the Absurd Kind with Darryl and Bambi from Land of the Giants, and her conversation with Dooley the Loquacious Labrador, she thought she was entitled to a little tonic for her nerves. Sipping her drink, she padded into her bedroom and made the bed, then laid out a black skirt and blue silk blouse to wear. No spaghetti straps, no jeans. As if she didn’t have more couth than to show up at a funeral with her girls hanging out. She finished her cup of tea and felt a little calmer. She could do this. The trick was to handle one thing at a time. Sure, a talking dog was a little unusual, but that didn’t necessarily mean she was losing her mind. And if it did, she didn’t have time to worry about it. She had too much to do.

She stripped off her clothes and tossed them into the hamper in the closet. As she stepped into the bathroom she spied her contact case on the counter by the sink. The case was still closed. She did a quick recap of the morning. Nope, she hadn’t put in her contacts before she left the house.

Moving like a sleep walker, she went over to the sink and plucked her glasses out of the case. She’d been blind as a bat since third grade. Without contacts or glasses, things should be hopelessly blurred, but she could see great. Better than great, in fact. She had perfect vision. Stunned, she looked up and saw herself in the mirror.

“Holy cow,” she squawked, stumbling back. She caught her foot on the rug and fell into the shower, banging her arm on the way down. Nursing her bruised wrist, she scrambled to her feet and rushed back to the mirror. Her hair was a pure white blond, the same color it had been when she was a child. A color only nature—and no hairdresser—could produce. In addition to the startling color change, her hair had grown four inches overnight. It floated around her shoulders in soft, wild curls that gave her a tousled just-been-bedded look. She remembered Brand with a blush. And she nearly had been, hadn’t she? Who would have guessed her inner whore lurked so close to the surface.

She glanced down and gave a little shriek. The hair there had turned blond, too. She dragged her gaze upward to study the woman in the mirror. She looked different and yet the same. Same nose, same chin, same mouth, but better. Addy to the twelfth power. Super Addy with flawless skin, glowing cheeks, and a sultry, pouting pink mouth. She leaned closer. Her brows and lashes were golden brown, not blond like the hair on her head, thank God. Blond eyelashes and she’d look like a roach in a flour barrel.

She touched the jagged, black mark above her left breast, the single blemish on her otherwise flawless skin. Even the little white scar below her right eye, the one she got falling off her grandmother’s porch when she was eight, had vanished. As she watched, the angry, purple and red lump on her arm faded and disappeared, too. What was happening to her? This was way past Aunt Etheline crazy. This was Twilight Zone stuff. Hannah was a very small town. People were bound to notice and comment on her new makeover. Mama would notice that was for darn sure.

Oh, God, her mother.

Addy jumped in the shower to get ready for work.

Thirty minutes later, she deactivated the alarm system and entered the flower shop through the back door. Stepping inside the stockroom, she took a quick mental inventory of the floral supplies that lined the shelves on the wall, a ritual that seldom failed to soothe and ground her. The shop was her home away from home, had been since the eighth grade when she fled the horrors of Dead Central to work after school in her great-aunt’s flower shop. It was a betrayal her mother had yet to forgive or forget. Two years ago, Aunt Muddy had sold her the business and sailed off to see the world, leaving Addy, at twenty-five, the proud new owner of the only floral business in town. She remodeled the shop, which hadn’t been changed since the late sixties, adding two open display coolers banked along one wall that invited customers to browse a wide selection of flowers. Several large worktables and sinks in the middle of the space allowed patrons to observe floral arrangements being made, and a separate workstation in one corner contained balloons, a helium tank, rolls of ribbon, and balloon weights. In addition to the cosmetic changes Addy had made, the shop’s inventory now included a small number of tasteful gift items and monogrammed stationery. Last, but not least, there was a line of exquisite handmade candles, soaps, and lotions made by her best friend, Evie Douglass.

Addy entered the front room of the shop. She flipped on the lights, unlocked the front door and booted up the computer. Within fifteen minutes, she received three more orders for the Farris funeral. She was putting the final touches on a sympathy vase of Stargazer lilies, snapdragons, Fuji mums, and alstromeria when the bell on the door chimed and a woman came in wearing a shapeless ankle-length dress, a wide brimmed gardening hat, and Birkenstock knock-off sandals. She staggered inside, her face obscured by the large cardboard box she carried.

Addy smiled. “Morning, Evie.”

“Green tea and banana bread for breakfast and brownies for later.” Evie set the carton down on the counter and gasped in surprise. “Addy, your hair! Oh, my God, why didn’t you tell me you were thinking of going blonde?”

Oh, Lord, here we go, Addy thought with an inward groan. What on Earth was she going to tell people? What on Earth was she going to tell Evie? They’d been friends since elementary school. She’d never be able to buffalo Evie Douglass. Evie had a sixth sense about such things. She’d know in a second if Addy lied to her.

For that matter, so would anybody else, Addy reflected glumly. She was a terrible liar.

“Uh, I didn’t exactly plan it.” Addy avoided Evie’s gaze. “It—uh—just kind of happened.”

“What do you mean, it just kind of happened? Did you trip and fall into a vat of peroxide on the way to work?”

Addy snorted. Evie could always make her laugh. It was one of the things she loved about her. Not that Evie shared her sense of humor with many people. She was way too shy.

“No, smart ass, I didn’t.”

Evie came around the worktable. “No way you got this done at the Kut ’N’ Kurl. You went to one of those she-she salons in Mobile, didn’t you?”

The hint of accusation in Evie’s voice made Addy smile. A trip to the big city was a rare treat. “Calm down. I didn’t go to Mobile without you.”

“I should hope not.” Frowning, Evie examined one of Addy’s curls. “I have to admit, it’s a great dye job. It looks so natural. But the upkeep is going to be a bitch, and all those chemicals are going to ruin your hair.”

“Relax, Granola Girl, I didn’t dye my hair.”

“You didn’t? So, what happened then? Somebody scare the crap out of you and make your hair turn white?” Evie gave her a squinty-eyed glare. “Your hair is straight as a stick, not curly. And it’s grown to your shoulders overnight. Explain that.” Her expression eased. “Oh, it’s a wig, isn’t it? Gosh, girl, you had me going. Can you imagine what your mother would say if you dyed your hair? She’d have a cow.” She waved her hands in the air. “She’d have a whole herd of cows.”

“I didn’t dye my hair, and it’s not a wig.”

“But, Addy—”

Addy shoved aside the bouquet she was working on. “Look, Eves, I have to tell somebody or I’m going to explode. Something happened last night, and I—”

The front door chimed, and a petite, fashionable blonde sailed into the shop on designer sling-back heels.

“Later.” Evie sounded panic stricken. “Death Starr at two o’clock.”

“Great,” Addy said. “Just what I needed.”

Summoning a smile, she turned to greet her customer. “Good morning, Meredith. What can I do for you today?”

“Good heavens, what have you done to yourself, Addy? You look wonderful.” Meredith Starr Peterson ignored Evie and set her Fendi leather baguette on the counter. She placed her left hand on top so that the huge diamond ring she wore sparkled in the light. “You went to Mobile for a makeover, didn’t you, you sly thing, and didn’t tell me!”

“Evie and I went together.” Addy winced as she received a sharp kick in the ankle from Evie. “It was a lark, you know. One of those glam shot things at the mall.”

“You and The Whale went?” Out of the corner of her eye Addy saw Evie cringe as Meredith’s attention shifted to her. Meredith’s upper lip curled as she looked Evie up and down. “Looks like the same old Whaley Douglass to me. I’d say you wasted your time and your money.”

Meredith had been a thorn in Addy’s side since seventh grade, but that was nothing to how she’d mistreated poor Evie over the years. For some unknown reason, Meredith hated Evie. To make matters worse, Evie was now the bookkeeper in the Peterson Land Office, the business owned and operated by Meredith’s husband, Trey. This seemed to make Meredith hate Evie worse and gave the Death Starr more torture time.

“Grow up, Meredith, and stop picking on people,” Addy said. “This is not high school.”

Meredith raised her arched brows. “This is a small town, Addy. It will always be high school. Only we’re in the twenty-first grade instead of the twelfth.” She drummed her long, red nails on the counter. “And in case you’ve forgotten—though how you could when it was ‘the’ social event of the season three years ago is beyond me—I’m Mrs. Trey Peterson now. What I say goes, same as in high school.”

“You mean, because Trey has money.”

“Exactly. Something you’d do well to remember as a businesswoman.”

Addy swallowed her retort as Brand and Ansgar strode into the shop. Brand looked bigger and more intimidating and—God help all females—more handsome in broad daylight, even in that ridiculous getup. Nobody in their right mind wore leather in Alabama in the summertime, unless they were into something kinky or on the back of a motorcycle. Or maybe both. Ansgar looked around him with interest, but Brand seemed indifferent to his surroundings, bored even. And then he looked at her. His expression might be impassive, but his green eyes blazed with fury. Whew, she had one seriously pissed-off medieval dude in her shop. She edged away from the counter. Maybe she could make a run for the back door. But, that would leave poor Evie with Macho Man and Testosterone Pal and the Death Starr to deal with. That would be a rotten thing to do, especially to a friend. Besides, she was pretty sure Brand would catch her before she got out the door.

“Well, well, w-e-l-l, and who is this?” Meredith propped her manicured hands on her size two hips and eyed the men with appreciation. “It’s a little early for Halloween, but I like it. Shiver me timbers, me buck-os.”

“They’re not pirates, Meredith. They’re warriors,” Addy said. “The big sword and the bow and arrows ought to be your first clue.”

“The only sword I see is the one Tall, Dark, and Sinful is carrying in his pants. Impressive,” Meredith purred. She turned her attention to Ansgar, her gaze lingering on his crotch. “Ooh, his friend is packing heat, too.” She gave a fake shiver. “Delicious.”

What was up? Couldn’t Meredith see the great big sword Brand carried or Ansgar’s longbow and arrows? Evie didn’t seem to see them, either. How strange.

“So, what brings you boys to town?” Meredith said, oozing femininity with all the poisonous charm of a cobra.

Back in high school, Meredith was Miss Everything. Prom queen, homecoming queen, head cheerleader, emphasis on the head. After high school, she got her hooks into Trey. Marrying into a socially prominent family landed her front and center in the Hannah social scene. Meredith thrived on attention. She demanded attention, particularly from males. But Brand and Ansgar, bless them all to pieces, ignored her. The Death Starr! Nobody ignored the Death Starr. The expression of disbelief and outrage on Meredith’s face was priceless. It made Addy feel warm inside.

Until Brand glared at her, that is, and the warm fuzzies turned into the cold willies.

“Adara, I must speak with you,” he said.

Well, actually, he growled.

Meredith grew visibly more peevish by the second. “Who are these men, Addy?”

Addy thought quickly. “Actors, from the medieval dinner theater in Orlando.”

“What are they doing in Hannah?”

“They’re—uh—here for the Farris funeral.”

“Hmm.” Meredith tapped one dainty little foot. “Long-lost relatives?”

“That’s right.” Addy smiled with relief. The Death Starr seemed to buy her story, thank God. Maybe she wasn’t such a bad liar, after all.

Meredith cocked her head like an inquisitive sparrow. “Just blew into town?”

“Uh huh.”

“If they just got here and they’re so long lost, how come you know so much about them?” the Death Starr asked sweetly, going in for the kill.

Addy gaped at Meredith. “Uh . . . well, um, you see . . .”

And that was it. Her brain shut down and went on vacation. For the life of her, she could not think of a single intelligent thing to say. Or a not so intelligent thing to say. She was screwed, glued, and tattooed. She was the planet Alderaan, and she was toast. Score one for the Death Starr.

Evie stepped forward, bravely drawing the Death Starr’s fire. “Her mother told her. She called Addy this morning and told her to expect them. They have to rush back to the theater right after the funeral, which is why they’re dressed so funny. They’ve each ordered a spray for the funeral, which I think is awfully sweet. The large sprays, too, not the dinky ones like—” Evie faltered, but Addy knew what she’d been about to say. Like the dinky ones you ordered for your father’s funeral, Meredith. From the expression on Meredith’s face, she knew it, too. Addy saw Evie dart a nervous glance at Ansgar, and away again before continuing. “N-nothing but roses and white lilies. There won’t be a single white rose left in the shop today after Addy fills their order.”

The Death Starr turned her super lasers on Evie and opened fire. “I don’t recall speaking to you, Whaley, but since you’re such a know-it-all let me tell you this. I’m here to place an order for the very exclusive luncheon I’m having in the Gilded Room at the club today. Six centerpieces, all white roses and baby’s breath. Since you’re Addy’s little gofer, I suggest you shag your lumpy ass over to Paulsberg and get me some white roses pronto. But, make sure you have the florist wrap them in cellophane first. Don’t you dare touch them, you hear? I don’t want fat girl cooties on my flowers.”

Evie wilted under Meredith’s barrage of venom. Something inside of Addy snapped.

“Evie is not fat.” Addy jabbed the floral scissors in her hand at Meredith for emphasis. “She never was. That’s something you made up out of spite in the seventh grade, because Evie got boobs first and you were jealous. You, on the other hand, have always been a rude bitch. I put up with it in school, but I’m tired of it. Apologize to Evie at once.”

“Me, apologize to that stupid cow? I don’t think so. And you’d better watch your mouth, Addy Corwin, if you hope to keep my business. I’m a very important person in this town.”

The blood sang through Addy’s veins. She was strong. She was invincible. She was tired of Meredith’s crap.

“Here’s the thing, Meredith,” she said. “I don’t want your business. In fact, I don’t want you in my shop. Ever again. You’re a nasty, mean person, and I hope you get pimples all over your tiny little butt so bad you have to eat off the mantel for a month.”

Addy knew she’d scored a direct hit when the Death Starr’s skin went all blotchy and her eyes bugged out.

“You’ll regret this, Addy,” she said. “By the time I’m through with you and Tub O’ Lard you’ll—”

Meredith gave an unladylike grunt and whirled around. “Something stuck me. Somebody jabbed a pin in my—” She tucked in her pelvis, jerking like a marionette. “Stop it! Ouch, oh, my God, that hurts. Help! Somebody help! Ow, ow, ow!”

Clutching her bottom in both hands, she ran out the door.