gingerbread cake last week and…there.” She pulled out a glass bowl filled with whipped cream. “Voilà. Whipped cream. And not that chemically-induced nondairy stuff either. This is the real deal.” She added a generous dollop to each cup.
She took a sip of her drink and coughed as the fiery liquid burned a path down her throat and tears sprang to her eyes. “Whew! Now that’s a cup of cocoa.”
Nic spun a chair around and straddled it. “Mind if I ask you some questions?”
“Not if you don’t mind if I don’t answer some.” She stirred her spoon through the chocolate, making patterns in the cream.
“Fair enough. Do you know who your stalker is?”
“All I have is the name he uses in his e-mails.” The patterns started to form letters.
“The Brotherhood of Ahmit?”
“Yes.” An “N” followed by an “i” and a “c” formed in the beverage. She stirred harder, obscuring the pattern, then took a drink, downing the offending cream.
“Who are they?”
Cass shrugged. She knew bits and pieces, but nothing of substance. “I really haven’t done a lot of searching. I figured someone was playing a prank, so I mostly ignored it.”
“So why you? What is in your past that someone would want to take vengeance on you? Especially in such gruesome detail.”
“I don’t know. I’ve been trying to figure that out myself.”
“Tell me about yourself.”
“There’s not much to tell. I grew up here. My parents died in a car accident when I was three and Aunt Minerva raised me. She’s not really my aunt, more of a distant cousin I guess, but she stepped in when my folks died and took me on. She had her teashop and a couple of years ago, we expanded to include more retail. She’s been letting me take over more and more. Claims she’s getting too old for running a shop.”
“She lives nearby?”
“A couple of blocks over. She has her own place.”
“Alone?”
Cass laughed. “Yes, alone. Minerva would kick the first person to suggest she slow down. She not only has her own place, but along with me, she owns the building our store is in and two more places as well.”
“What do you call your store?”
“Madam Minerva’s Mystical Manor.”
“You’re joking.”
“Not at all.”
“I’m assuming the madam part isn’t, um…”
Cass burst out laughing. Nic’s glance back the hall reminded her about Dori and Greg, but the more she tried to quiet her laughter, the harder it became. “She is not a madam. But she’ll love that you thought so. No, Aunt Minerva is a seer. She reads tarot, palms, tells fortunes, stuff like that, but all for entertainment purposes only. I’m the one who sells magical paraphernalia and jewelry.”
Nic’s smile warmed her more than the cocoa. In fact, she felt downright hot.
“Are you serious?”
“Completely.”
“And people pay you for this?”
“Enough to make a good living. I sense a skeptic.”
“As I said before, I keep an open mind, but I do have my limits.”
“Do you want your cocoa warmed up?” Cass asked, tempted to show him something that might test those limits, but she held back. No sense alienating the one person trying to help her.
“No, I’m good. So why don’t you and your aunt live together? It would cut down on expenses and you could be around to help her out.”
“Aunt Minerva claims I cramp her style. Actually, I believe she thinks if I live with her, I’ll never get out.”
His hand lay next to hers on the table. He had long, tapered fingers and strong wrists. The thin white lines of scars ran over the left one. She’d always been fascinated by people’s hands, believing they showed more of a person than the face. Faces could be changed through makeup or plastic surgery, but rarely hands.
“So do you?”
She forced her thoughts back to the conversation. “What? Get out? When I have time. The store keeps me pretty busy.”
“That sounds like an excuse. What about that poster-boy cop I saw
Learning to Kill: Stories