The Witch of Belladonna Bay by Suzanne Palmieri Read Free Book Online

“eternal optimist.” Hell, if that’s what the bourbon gives you, more power to it. But him watchin’ me was annoyin’, so I guess I might have said, “I heard ya the first time,” or somethin’ a touch rude like that.
    Next thing she did was ask me about Dolores. Dolores is my dog. She was at my side like always. And even though Dolores seemed to like her fine, I still couldn’t speak to Bronwyn of Magnolia Creek. I could list the ways she’d hurt the ones I loved most. Leavin’ like she did. Makin’ Jackson and my daddy miss her an’ worry over her. But I do have to admit it, she was damn pretty, with a soft bit underneath … so instead of just walkin’ away from her, as I’d planned, I muttered some kind of answer, I think.
    Then she did the strangest thing.
    She thanked me for watching out for her brother … in French . And I thought I’d faint. So I said, “You’re welcome” (in French, of course … I mean I’m tryin’ not to be too rude), and ran off. ’Cause I didn’t know what to say next. And nothing, not one thing was coming out right or feeling the way I’d figured it would.
    I ran off into the side yard and climbed up into Esther. She’s the biggest Southern magnolia in more than fifteen counties. And she’s the oldest on our property. I love her.
    I sat in her branches so I could watch what would happen next from way up high. Would my aunt turn around and leave again? It’s what I’d expected.… No matter how much preparation I’d done for her arrival, I didn’t think she’d actually stay . I figure it’s the same for most folks. You plan and you make things all pretty for your guests, but in the end you want them to come for a bit, ooh and aah, and then go on home thinking about how amazing you are.
    But sitting there in that tree, I changed my mind.
    Because everything wasn’t fine. And I thought maybe I needed her.
    And I never thought I’d feel that way about no one, ’cept for Jamie.
    I was relieved when Jackson finally went into the house and Aunt Bronwyn set herself right down on the front steps lookin’ off into the distance. She hadn’t come after me. Maybe she understood. Maybe she’d be the one to solve the mystery. Maybe she’d love me and stay forever.
    These kinds of thoughts I have, that go one way first and then the other so quick I can’t keep track, are the thoughts my daddy calls “the crazy fuckalls.” I’m not supposed to say it ’cause there’s a curse word in there. But it’s a good way to describe curvy thoughts.
    â€œByrd,” he’d say—laughing at me because I’d said I didn’t want ice cream because I hated it and then I did want ice cream because I like rum raisin and ain’t it the best thing ever?—“you got a case of the crazy fuckalls,” then we’d laugh and eat a whole carton of rum raisin.
    I’d almost forgot his smiling ways and eyes and hands.
    My daddy’s got the smoothest palms. Rich man hands. Not like Jackson. Jackson doesn’t live like he’s rich. He did hard work next to the farmhands when he was young and prefers the outdoors—like me. At least he did, until the drink made him escape into the universe inside his chest. That big ol’ place where he still lives all twisted up with Naomi. Beautiful Naomi who still dances across the floor of her rooms in the east wing of the Big House. Jackson keeps them locked up, and Minerva cleans them, then locks them up again. But I get in, always have. I go visit her.
    Naomi throws fine tea parties. For a dead lady, that is.

 
    5
    Bronwyn
    Â 
    BROWNWYN WHALEN.
    I saw the sign as soon as I got off the plane, but I ignored the man holding it.
    And I’ll be damned if he didn’t follow me down to baggage claim anyway. Every last person in Alabama seems to