The Cupcake Coven (20 page)

“I would. Thanks.” After a brief hesitation, he asked, “Was that him drivin’ the car you were in yesterday?”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t he stop when I called out to you?”

She felt her cheeks heat, but didn’t want to lie to her only living relative. “He thought you were a crazy person.”

Dru’s eyes widened. Then he laughed. “There’s a cowboy sayin’…If lawyers can be disbarred and clergy defrocked, it must follow that cowboys can become deranged.”

Shasta laughed.

Dru smiled, happy to hear her laughing again. “Well, I guess he was lookin’ out for you. He must not be all bad.”

Her back straightened. “He’s not bad at all. In fact, that’s one reason I don’t want to leave. We were getting—close.”

Dru’s eyes narrowed. “How close?”

“Don’t give me any guff. You’re in love.”

He humphed. “Yeah. I suppose so. Well, let’s go get your stuff and meet your caseworker. Then I’ll meet your young man.”

“You’ll be nice to him, right?”

He gave her a sly smile. “I’ll try.”

As soon as Dru and Shasta left, Rebecca picked up her phone and dialed Myranda. The shop was closed but she had her friend’s home phone number in her contact list.

Myranda answered with a long yawn. “Hey, Rebecca. What time is it?”

“It’s a little before eight. I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“No. I should’ve been up by now. I just had kind of a late night.”

“Did you do something
fun
?” Rebecca asked, suggestively.

“I wish. Actually I was helping a friend at the repertory theater. They’re still trying to communicate with that ghost of theirs. What’s up? Besides not me.”

“Dru found his sister.”

A whoop on the other end made Rebecca pull the phone away from her ear.

“Well, that woke me up,” Myranda said. “He must be thrilled.”

“He’s over the moon. There’s just one glitch.”

“And that is…”

“His sister has amnesia. I don’t think she remembers him at all.”

Myranda was quiet for a moment. “Wow. Is there anything we can do?”

“That’s what I was going to ask. I don’t know of a spell to restore someone’s memory, and I remember you cautioning us about doing magic to influence the mind—especially someone else’s.”

“Didn’t Dru say she was Wiccan? Do you think she remembers her religion?”

“I don’t know. Somehow I doubt it.”

The little bells over the front door sounded. Rebecca strode toward the storefront, still talking on the phone. “Can you look into it? I know Dru would appreciate—.”

Shock stopped her midsentence. Her father was hobbling toward the counter on crutches. As soon as he saw her, he grinned. “What’s cookin’, good lookin’?”

“I—uh. I’ve gotta go, Myranda. Can we talk later?”

“Sure, hon. I’ll see what I can find and let you know.”

“Thanks.” She hung up and set her phone on the counter, so she could move a chair out from a table. “Sit down, Dad.”

He hopped on his good foot until he was aligned with the chair and then sank onto it. His cheekbone looked bruised and he had a cut across his straight nose.

“You look awful. What happened?”

He smirked. “I don’t look half as bad as the other guy.”

Rebecca wanted to scream in frustration one second and carefully tend to his wounds the next. She dragged a chair over facing his and began rolling up his pant leg. “How bad is it?”

“I’ll be okay, hon. Could I get a cup of coffee?”

“Of course.” She abandoned his leg and poured him a large coffee, fixing it how he liked it. No cream. One sugar.

“So, tell me what happened.”

“You got any of those lemon squares?”

“Stop avoiding the subject…and no. Can I get you a muffin? I have lemon poppy seed…”

“That would be great.”

She glanced back at him a couple times as she grabbed his breakfast and brought it to him on a small paper plate. He winced as he bent over to roll down his pant leg.

“Okay, Dad. Now, tell me the truth, and don’t sugarcoat it.”

“I fell?”

She folded her arms. “I refuse to fall for any cockamamie stories.”

“It’s the truth. Someone punched me and I fell.”

She sighed. “Well, we’re getting closer. Keep talking.”

“You know how I told you to tell everyone I was in New Jersey? Well, I was. I thought they’d figure you were lying for me and would look anywhere but there.”

“I didn’t say anything about where you were. I said I didn’t know, because I didn’t.”

“Ah. That’s where my plan went wrong.”

She rolled her eyes. “How badly hurt are you?”

“Just a sprained ankle. Nothing’s broken.”

“I’ve heard that sprains can be worse than clean breaks. They can take a long time to heal, and even leave you with arthritis when you get older. ”

“I’m not planning on getting old.”

There was something about the finality with which he said that…His serious expression bothered Rebecca too.

“Dad, will you let me give you some magical protection? Please?”

He laughed. “You know I don’t believe in hocus pocus.”

“That doesn’t mean it isn’t real. I’d feel a lot better, and I can’t do magic for you without your permission.” Rebecca knew how to put together a spell for gambling success and he’d probably let her, but she’d never offer that to a gambling addict—not even to prove magic works. She’d wrestled with that decision but knew withholding it was the right thing.

“Yes. You’ve explained that to me before. Look, I appreciate the thought, really I do, but don’t waste your incense or candles or whatever it is you use on me.”

She sighed. “Please think it over.”

“I will.”

She knew he wouldn’t.

The only thing Wiccans were allowed to do for a specific person without his or her consent was to send healing light. She immediately pictured his ankle bathed in white.

He relaxed against the back of the chair and smiled again. “I don’t suppose you managed to scrape together the money I loaned you since the last time I asked.”

How much should I tell him about my visits from the mob?
She worried her lip. “The only thing I could do to get that much money would be to sell and hope for a healthy profit. Equity after one year isn’t much. If sold under duress, I might just break even.”

“I don’t want you to do that. What would you do for income? Where would you live?”

Well, it was nice that he was thinking of her welfare this time—not just his own. Maybe the mob collected the debt by spraining his ankle. Somehow, she doubted it.

Rebecca moved the chair across from him and positioned herself so he couldn’t avoid her eyes. “Dad. What’s going on with the loan shark?”

He shrugged. “Not much.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

He let out a long sigh. “He wasn’t happy with me, but he didn’t break my legs.”

“So he gave you another warning?”

“Yeah. He said it was my last one.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I could run again or make another attempt to round up the cash. I just can’t do either one from a hospital bed.”

“I want you to stay here. We’ve had a few visits from his guys, and I protected the place with some powerful magic.”

His lips thinned and he refused to meet her gaze.

“Dad? Did you hear me?”

After a charged silence, he muttered, “They promised to leave you alone.” He glanced at the boarded up window. “Did they do that?”

She nodded.

“Did anyone try to hurt you?”

“A gun was pressed to my temple, but other than psychological distress, no damage was done.”

He shot to his feet. “For Christ’s sakes, Rebecca. You’ve got to get out of here. Magic can’t protect you from these guys.” He hung his head. “And neither can I.”

“She leaned back in her chair and glared up at him. “Where do you suggest I go?”

“I don’t know. Anywhere,” he bellowed. “Disappear into the prairie with that cowboy of yours.”

“I can’t just up and leave. I have a mortgage. Even if I sell the place, I’d need to wait until I find a buyer. Then there’s the small matter of finding another job, then packing up my stuff, and—”

He waved away her arguments. “I know, I know. You’ve always been responsible. More responsible than either me or your mother. I guess I can thank your grandparents for that.”

“I hope you said so before they died.”

“I did. Don’t worry. I knew how indebted I was to them.”

She settled down a bit. Just thinking of her grandparents and about how they’d provided a stable atmosphere for her while her parents were off being idiots made her stop and be grateful for their help every time.

“Your grandpa would be proud of you, owning your own business and everything.”

“He taught me what it was like to love your work and put your heart and soul into it.”

Mr. Colby nodded. “Yeah. I never saw it that way. I just thought he was avoiding us, because he was never home.”

Rebecca cocked her head and stared at him. She never dreamed he felt that way about his father. At last she brought herself back to the present. “We’re not a product of our pasts unless we want to be,” she said.

“What do you mean by that?”

It was probably too little too late. “Nothing.” She looked away and sighed.

He scratched his head. “Look. I don’t know what to do about this situation without getting myself further into debt. At this point, I consider that much a step in the right direction.”

“So, you’ve stopped gambling?”

“Yes. For good this time. I swear.”

Rebecca wanted to say something, but what? She was through believing his false promises, but she didn’t want to discourage an honest attempt at recovery, if he was making one. She thought about something Dru had said. ‘Never miss a good chance to shut-up.’ Actually, he had a lot of sayings, but that one would probably fit her situation best at the moment.

Her father gathered his crutches and hobbled over to her. He bent down and gave her a kiss on the head. “I was hoping you’d know what to do, but I can see that really isn’t fair. This is my problem and I’ll figure it out.”

“I’d give you advice if I had any,” she said. “But the only thing I have to offer is magic. If you change your mind…”

“You’ll be the first to know,” he said and smiled sadly as he left.

Dru sat across from Dr. Frampton in a stark white office with bare walls and hardly any furniture. He knew the guy was based elsewhere and just stopped by the homeless shelter for consults. That must have been why this room looked barely occupied.

“So, what can you tell me about my sister, Doc?”

“I believe she’s experiencing a Fugue. Also known as dissociative amnesia. It usually occurs when something so traumatic happens that the individual finds it psychologically intolerable. In order to escape from the memory of the incident or incidents, the individual blanks out everything. Travel is often involved. They may take on a whole new identity in a new city. I had hoped she wouldn’t get too established here and become reluctant to recover. Can you tell me what happened to her?”

“Uh, yeah. She’s had a hellova year. Last fall, our mother was diagnosed with melanoma.”

Dr. Frampton groaned. “I’m so sorry. Is she still alive?”

“No. She passed in February. Shasta spent every spare moment with her and even tried to commute to school from the ranch. Her next blow was realizing she was flunking out.

“She was in her senior year, and her only chance to graduate was to either repeat a whole year or do an extra credit project. I think the teachers felt sorry for her, and two of her professors cooked up the idea. That’s what brought her to New England. She was supposed to research our roots here and write an essay about it. That would have taken care of American history and English comp.”

“That’s certainly traumatic, but she seems very grounded. Is there anything else that may have pushed her over the edge?”

“I was gettin’ to that. Her roommate told me she was raped. It was right before the trip, and she didn’t want anythin’ to mess up her chances to graduate. She swore her roommate to secrecy and promised she’d go to the police after graduation. I guess she kept the bloody panties and didn’t want her roomie to throw them away if she came across them. Of course, I told the roommate to take the evidence and any other information she had to the Austin police, then I high-tailed it up here to find her.”

“Bloody? Was she a virgin? Because there was no trauma seen when she had a physical.”

“Yes. As far as we know, anyway. She had taken a vow of chastity. Always said she wanted to save herself for marriage. So, she had a physical up here?”

“A female colleague at the hospital examined her. She was in good health physically, so I had to conclude her condition was psychological. Now it makes sense. If circumstances are so intolerable the person can’t stand remembering, the subconscious can try to help by blocking all memories, temporarily.”

“I see. When will her memory come back?”

“Most individuals recover their memories gradually. It may take hours, weeks or months. It’s very rare that a Fugue lasts for years.”

Dru sighed. “It’s already been almost four months.”

Dr. Frampton nodded. “It must have been very difficult for you to realize she didn’t know you. How are you doing with all of this?”