A Witch In Time (24 page)

I smiled. Softening, but not completely over it. Not yet.

But over it enough to help me in the bathroom. A shower was out of the question—I didn’t have the time nor the expertise with the yellow lump encasing my ankle at present to manage it—but Marcus helped me with towels as I cleaned up as well as I could. My hair I twisted up into one of my uber-handy clips, letting the mass of waves poof out from the top in a springy high pony. The only makeup in my purse was a small tube of moisturizer, an eye pencil, and a combo lip-and-cheek pencil in a pretty poppy shade, but I made do with what I had, and actually? I didn’t think I looked half bad. Spartan, sure, but fresh and clean.

After that, it was back into my wrinkly clothes from yesterday. Or was it the day before? It couldn’t be helped. Maybe I could beg Steff to run down to my apartment to pack a bag for me and bring it to the store.

“Very pretty,” Marcus said as I swing-hopped my way out of the bathroom at last.

I preened for him and blew him a kiss as he headed for the bathroom himself.

“Oh no. None of that for you now. You missed your chance for today.”

“Darn,” I said. “Well, I guess later today is out of the question then, hm?”

“Well, let’s not be too hasty . . .”

My purse was on the bed. I made my way carefully there and sat down to grab my cell phone from the riot of stuff in its depths. As usual, the silly thing hid from me, so I ended up pulling things out until I found it. One of those things was the pale blue identification card that Frannie Watkins had dropped. “I almost forgot about this. I’ll give her a call.”

“Goo’ i’ea,” Marcus said around a mouthful of toothpaste.

I pulled my cell phone out at last . . . only to find it dead as a doornail. I had completely forgotten about charging it last night. Luckily I still had my charger in my purse with me, so I pulled it out and reached over behind the nightstand to plug it in. I powered up my phone.

The voice on the message was unmistakably my mother’s. Nothing new in that. Eight out of ten voice mail messages did stem from my mother. But what was new was the tone of her voice. For the second time in three days, she sounded . . . worried.

“Maggie, this is Mom. I don’t know how to tell you this, but we are in trouble again. Greg did not go home to the girls last night. Margo Craig called me this morning to let me know and to ask me where he might be. She was not happy to have been taken advantage of so callously, but she has agreed to keep the girls with her today while we try to locate him. I have a call into the office, but he’s not there, either. I just don’t know what to do. Call me when you get this message.”

Whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa. This was big. This was weird. This was totally and completely unexpected.

What. On. Earth?

I glanced over at Marcus, who was now standing in the doorway to the bathroom with his toothbrush parked in his foamy mouth frowning at me. He’d heard every word. I bit my lip. What to do? I knew I should have talked to Mel yesterday. Something had been wrong, something she was ignoring. I just didn’t know what it was, and with Margo and Jane there, there was no way that I could have broached the subject. But I should have, somehow. I should have made her talk to me.

I couldn’t help wondering what she was going through right now, alone at the hospital with two new babies, away from her girls, and with a husband who had gone missing.

And then there was Steff and the sudden distance between her and Dr. Dan.

And Frannie Watkins and the mystery man she had been arguing with that night, and the strange haunted look in her eyes before she’d left the hospital.

And Jordan Everett. Yet another Stony Miller taken too young.

And the whole elevator intrigue . . . which still troubled me, even though it seemed unlikely that the two deaths that had actually taken place that night in the hospital were connected to what I’d overheard. But did that mean there was still danger out there for someone? Somewhere?

Was
the whole world in the process of going crazy? Was that it? Would I wake up tomorrow to find my mom and dad separating, or Grandpa G suddenly sporting hoop skirts and singing show tunes from his hoverchair?

Never mind about that last one. Grandpa G had a wacky sense of humor—I wouldn’t put it past him.

The bassinet card stared up at me from the comforter, which still had wilted and crumpled rose petals all over it. What a sad end to a beautiful thought and effort. Sigh. I picked up the card.
Harrison Michael Watkins,
it read.
Male, Weight: Eight pounds, six ounces.
Ouch.
Height: Twenty inches. Head circumference: Thirteen inches.
Double ouch. Blood Type: 0
Negative.
And there beside it all was the most adorable baby footprint in ink, with its five pearl-perfect toes.

“Marcus?”

From the now-closed bathroom door drifted, “Hm?”

“Do you have a phone book handy?”

“Bed stand. In the drawer.”

Sliding my way up the bed, I reached into the drawer and pulled out the phone book. I flipped through it toward the end of the alphabet. “Watkins, Watkins. Here we go. Abraham Watkins. Clarence. Eleanor. Fritz and Frieda.” That one made me smile. “George and Wanda. Ah. Harold and Joyce Watkins, and Harry Jr. and Frannie Watkins. Bingo.”

Harry Jr. and Frannie Watkins, 111369 Mount Holyoke Rd, Stony Mill
,
555-4242.

I dialed the number and waited while it rang. Once. Twice. Three times. Four.

Five.

Hm.

When it reached the tenth ring, I figured I’d better give it up and try back later. Obviously no one was home, or else they just weren’t answering.

Marcus hurried up his clean routine, rushing through a quickie shower and shaving off the dark beard that had made him look very dangerous and pirate-y. He emerged five minutes later, bare chested with a damp towel slung low on his hips, and quickly rummaged through his closet to come up with some fresh jeans, a clean shirt, and his favorite chunky boots. I had done a double-take the minute he walked out of the bathroom and now found myself watching his every move through the room, instantly distracted from the day’s early morning dramas.

I made myself turn away, before he caught me looking and we allowed ourselves to be ... sidetracked. No time for that.

Still, I did peek. A little.

Especially when he stood before the dresser mirror combing his hair and fastening it low at the nape. There was something about the shape of a man’s body standing in that position, the width of the shoulders, the play of muscles, the way the towel clung to his hips, and how certain movements made the biceps pop out in a way that made my mouth go dry.

All right, I’ll admit it. I watched. The whole time.

“Ready?”

We headed toward the front door. As he opened it, Marcus scratched Minnie behind her ears and shooed her off toward the bedroom since I had a feeling we were going to need to make a stop or two and it was too warm to haul her around in the carrier. I used the crutches to follow him out onto the porch. I was game to at least attempt the steps, but there was no handrail, and as soon as he saw me looking in that direction Marcus took my crutches from me and swept me up into his arms again.

I wasn’t complaining. A modern girl I might be, but there was something very primal and attractive about a man who could exhibit Tarzan-like strength but still harbor a softness and tenderness for his woman, too. Besides, it allowed me to be up close and personal with my guy and gave me the excuse to just gaze at his face in completely smitten admiration without looking like a total loon.

Sigh!

Outside, the sun was already slanting across the porch floorboards like crazy, and the heat was rising. But the sky was blue, without a hint of the usual steamy haze we “enjoy” this time of year, and the trees waved at us with the onset of a cheery breeze. It was going to be a beautiful day.

Marcus carefully placed me on his truck seat and went back inside to get my bag. I took my cell phone from my pocket and immediately plugged the car charger into the truck’s cigarette lighter, powering back up. My phone already had a light charge, but it hadn’t been plugged in long enough and needed a much longer time on the charger, so for now this would have to do.

Off in the distance, a police siren wailed, disturbing the day’s perfection. Or was that an ambulance I heard? Or a fire truck? I could never tell the difference. Still, I cast out positive energies toward whoever might be needing them in whatever situation they found themselves in on this almost painfully beautiful Saturday.

I tried my mom’s cell first, but it rang busy. So did Mel’s. Of course. They were probably on the phone with each other. Knowing them, it could be a while. With that in mind, I tried the store next.

“Hey!” I said as Liss sang her usual cheerful greeting into the phone.

“There you are, ducks. How are you feeling today? Will you be spending the day resting, I hope?”

“Well . . . I had intended to come in this morning.”

“Absolutely not. You need to rest with your foot up, Maggie, to keep the swelling down if you want it to heal properly.”

They had mentioned something about swelling, but I had kind of been distracted yesterday. Maybe that was why my foot felt a little like an overinflated inner tube.

“Well . . . I’m in the truck now, actually.” Before she could scold me for not taking proper care of myself or allowing someone else to care for me, I said, “But only for a short jaunt.”

Briefly I explained that yes, I had wanted to go into the store today, but the phone call from my mom had thrown a monkey wrench into the works. “I really need to get ahold of them and find out what is going on.”

“Good. Go back to bed and do that. I’ll be fine here. Tara and Evie had a band conflict today, but never fear, I have it all under control. In fact, I am basking in the peaceful glow.”

“Liss ... I am worried about Melanie. If it’s true, what Mom said . . . well . . . she is going to need my support.”

“That’s all we can ever give our loved ones, my dear. Loving support as they find their way through the eddying floes and mucky tide pools of life. Melanie will be fine. She’s strong, like you. Whatever happens, she will come to know herself a little better, and that is never a bad thing, now, is it?”

That was Liss for you, as thought provoking as ever. Every day I thanked my lucky stars that I could call her my friend. Life in Stony Mill wouldn’t be easy these days without her.

Marcus put my bag on the seat beside me and got in behind the wheel. “Liss won’t let me come in,” I told him. “In fact, she ordered me back to bed.”

Marcus laughed. “Surely she knows you better than that.” I wrinkled my nose at him. “Where to, then?” he asked, turning the key in the ignition.

“I’m not sure. Can we get some coffee? I still haven’t gotten through to my mom or my sister.”

“Yup.” He put the truck into gear and pulled away from the curb as I tried my mom again. Still busy. No sense in trying Mel, then. I dialed up Steff next instead.

As soon as she picked up, I blurted, “Steff! You’re never going to guess what’s happened now!” at the exact same time that Steff wailed, “Oh, Maggie! I’m so glad you called!” All thanks to the wonders of Caller ID. My nerve endings went on high alert, my news for the moment postponed. “What’s wrong, honey? You sound upset.”

“It’s Dan. We had a terrible fight last night.”

“I thought you weren’t going to see him last night,” I said. “Wasn’t he busy?”

She sniffled on the other end. “I wasn’t supposed to see him. Well, I had wanted to, but he was busy. Or something. But he called me after all and asked me out to dinner. And when I asked him a couple of nonchalant questions about the boy who died the other night in the ER, he flipped out on me!”

Oooooh,
that was probably my fault. Guilt, guilt, guilt. “That doesn’t sound like Dan.” Dan, the voice of logic and reason? Dan, whose caring and compassionate nature drove his foray into the field of medicine and whose gentle bedside manner rivaled Steffs own?

Jordan Everett . .
.

The thought came out of nowhere. Now my subconscious was getting in on the action. I frowned. What was it about Jordan Everett that was so important?

“He did, though. He told me in no uncertain terms that the boy’s death was none of my concern and to make sure I kept it that way so that I didn’t find my head on the hospital chopping block. He was so adamant about it, Maggie. It’s so unlike him. Honestly, I think I took more offense at his high-handed attitude about the whole thing than to him being concerned about me asking questions in the first place.

It didn’t feel like concern to me. It felt like . . . him laying down the law, and it got my back up, and I was stupid about it, and . . .”

She started crying, and I felt like a complete heel for asking for her help to begin with. What if my curiosity had gotten her into trouble? What if it had gotten her fired? That would be bad enough. But if it had forced a wedge between her and the love of her life? I don’t think I could live with myself.

“Listen, Steff. Don’t worry. Danny loves you. I know that. You know that. I think Danny knows that. I saw the way he was looking at you. All couples have their disagreements. Sometimes they’re silly”—I glanced over at Marcus, remembering how momentarily grumpy he had gotten over the repeated interruptions to our attempts to get up close and personal—“and sometimes there are bigger issues at hand. You either get over them or work past them . . . or the problems overwhelm the relationship.” For some reason that brought instantly to mind the hidden, behind-the-scenes vibes I’d gotten from the situation between Mel and Greg. “I don’t think that’s happening here with you and Danny, okay?”

“Okay.”