Spells & Stitches by Barbara Bretton Read Free Book Online Page B

shock of finding out I was going to be a father again had knocked me back for a while. The memory of my daughter Steffie’s death overshadowed the joy and I had to fight hard to let go of my fears and believe that this time would be different.
    Of course, there was the Chloe problem to contend with. She was smart and funny and kind and talented and beautiful and a sorceress. A flames-shooting-from-her-fingertips, sparks-flying-from-her-eyes, turn-you-into-a-newt sorceress who lived in a town crammed with vampires, werewolves, trolls, ghosts, sprites, and a sleeping giant.
    Try explaining that to a seventy-one-year-old woman who thought an Episcopalian son-in-law was a walk on the wild side.
    And while you’re at it, try explaining why the town was populated with preternaturally gorgeous specimens who bore more than a passing resemblance to stars like Julia Roberts and Catherine Zeta-Jones. Try explaining why an outsider couldn’t book a room in the seemingly empty Sugar Maple Inn or why there were no birth or death records after 1703.
    And that was just for starters.
    My family didn’t believe in boundaries. They dropped by without calling. They snooped in medicine cabinets. They offered opinions on everything from your sex life to how much fiber you should be eating. If my mother didn’t pick up on the Sugar Maple vibe, one of my sisters would, guaranteed.
    Hell, she was probably sitting in our cottage with Fran right now, the two of them eyeballing everything from the number of litter boxes to Chloe’s naked ring finger. When it came to my mother, two plus two always equaled more than four.
    The last thing we needed was more houseguests. If they were still there, I was going to offer a night’s stay, all expenses paid, at the nearest Ramada.
    I rolled back into Sugar Maple a little after six o’clock, tired, hungry, and stinking from dead halibut and seaweed. The only thing on my mind as I turned down Osborne Street was a hot shower and some alone time with Chloe. Elspeth, our troll houseguest from hell, had beamed herself up to Salem to spend Thanksgiving with some of her friends, leaving us with privacy for the first time in almost eight months.
    Or maybe not. The old bat could disappear at the drop of a denture, only to reappear smack in the middle of what you thought was a private moment.
    Yeah, those moments.
    Chloe had planned to shutter the shop around three o’clock and head home to get some rest, and the thought of crawling into bed with her made me hit the gas pedal a little harder.
    Hell, I was the only cop in town and I wasn’t about to pull myself over for speeding.
    By the time I showered and grabbed a bite to eat, it would be seven thirty or eight. My mother was a morning person. She usually went lights-out around nine and was up before the sun. If I played it right, I might be able to avoid saying more than “hello” and “I was going to tell you next week” before I had a chance to dream up a good story.
    I was gliding to a stop at the stop sign when my eye caught a blaze of lights in the side mirror. What the hell? Unless I missed my guess, the lights were coming from Sticks & Strings.
    The shop that should have been closed almost three hours ago.
    I hung a U-turn and headed back up the empty street, then whipped into my spot in the alleyway between the police station and the yarn shop. Laughter blasted through the walls. Loud, raucous, the kind of uncensored female laughter men never get to hear.
    How the hell many people were in there anyway? I was able to pick out at least eight separate sounds. Chloe’s full-bodied laughter rang out above the chorus. I listened more closely. My mother had a distinctive laugh, kind of a cross between a cackle and a chuckle, but I didn’t hear it or Fran’s smoker’s rumble in the mix.
    The laughter got louder when I walked through the door.
    “Don’t worry,” Janice said the second she saw me. “They left two hours ago.”
    “Will you look at his