Bedroom Eyes by Hailey North Read Free Book Online Page A

Hinson always appeared impeccably put together and she’d rather send out for pizza than let him see her looking this bedraggled.
    Hands full, she deposited the ingredients for pasta from scratch on the counter. “Which lessons?”
    Mrs. Merlin held out the fingers of her right hand. She began ticking off, “Fear of adventure, avoidance of facts found squarely in front of your nose, and . . .” She paused and glanced around. “I’d have to add, after looking about this house, that you’re avoiding emotional attachments. It just doesn’t feel like a home.”
    Penelope dumped durum flour into the bowl of her pasta machine, along with the eggs and water. “And just how do you make that last deduction?”
    Mrs. Merlin pointed to the refrigerator. Penelope collected handcrafted magnets and liked to display them on the refrigerator.
    “What’s wrong with my refrigerator?”
    “Oh, nothing,” Mrs. Merlin said, waving a hand as if it were a magic wand. “It’s what I don’t see that tips me off to what’s missing in your life. My fridge, for instance, is cluttered with drawings made by my grandchildren.”
    Penelope dumped in the water without bothering to measure. Mrs. Merlin’s words were passing beyond amusing now, perhaps because they hit their target too accurately.
    “Oh, never mind,” Mrs. Merlin said. “I’m far too hungry to try to help anyone else. Besides, look what a pickle my last good deed landed me in.”
    “As soon as I’ve mixed the pasta I’ll whip up some appetizers. By ‘good deed,’ I suppose you’re referring to trying to help your neighbor with her tax problem.”
    “Exactly.”
    “Hmmm.” Penelope didn’t like to be impolite, yet she couldn’t help but wonder at the woman’s delusions. The thought made her laugh out loud. Wasn’t she the one suffering delusions? “I’ve got to quit imagining things that don’t exist,” she said under her breath. To Mrs. Merlin she said, “It’s much more sensible for someone with a tax problem to consult an attorney such as myself rather than trying to dream up a make-believe solution.” There, and let that be a lesson to you and your fantasizing, she told herself. Rather than hiding from life with your imaginary lover Raoul, let yourself go. Let David kiss you the next time he tries.
    “You’re a tax attorney!” Mrs. Merlin clapped her hands to her forehead.
    “I told you I was a lawyer,” Penelope said, forcing her mind back to Mrs. Merlin’s line of discussion, wondering at the woman’s dramatic reaction.
    “But a tax lawyer! That explains everything!” Mrs. Merlin sat down on a cookbook, chin in hand, and began drawing on her caftan-covered lap with a minute forefinger.
    This time Penelope simply waited for an explanation.
    “I used verdant and chromium and elixir of violet, but what I must have done wrong was add in the pink. Oh, yes, oh, yes, whatever was I thinking?” She began wringing her hands.
    “Whatever are you talking about?” Penelope didn’t like the way the tiny hairs on the back of her neck were rising to attention.
    “Candle magick.” Mrs. Merlin looked up at her as if Penelope were a sweet but not too bright child. “An ancient and positive way of calling on the forces of the universe to aid our journey through space and time.”
    “Uh-huh.” Penelope crossed her arms over her chest, spattering flour on her already soiled blouse. “And I suppose before you burned your last candle you were really a sweet grandmother from Gentilly about, oh . . . five feet four.”
    “Five feet four and a half. And I am a grandmother.” Mrs. Merlin lifted her hands toward the ceiling. “I admit to dabbling in candle magick, but I do have a few things yet to learn.”
    “You’re normally five feet four and a half?” Penelope concentrated on the question of height, trying to ignore the reference to magick.
    “And I will be again soon. Quite soon.” Mrs. Merlin leaped up. “But I’m afraid that will require