Charmed Offensive Page 6

  “Nancy, we have a visitor,” he said.

  “I can see that,” she said. “I didn’t hear the door.” She narrowed her eyes at her husband. “Your hearing is no better than mine. How did you hear it?”

  “I was at the bottom of the steps,” he said. “Remember, I went upstairs to put the laundry away. Nancy, this is Emma Hart.”

  Her brow creased. “You’re that sorceress.”

  “Yes, I’m that sorceress.”

  Mrs. Freemont seemed to notice my stomach for the first time and she perked up considerably. “Oh, my. Are you having a baby?”

  “No, she swallowed a tire,” her husband said. “Of course she’s having a baby.”

  Mrs. Freemont crossed the living room with her hands splayed. “May I?”

  I wasn’t a huge fan of strangers touching my belly, but something in the old woman’s eyes made me acquiesce. She placed her palms flat on my rounded stomach and sighed.

  “This could’ve been us, Eddie.”

  “Fat?” he replied. “We can still make it happen. I’ve got plenty of pastries in the pantry.”

  Mrs. Freemont shot him a dark look. “You know what I mean, you stubborn old fool.” She removed her hands and addressed me. “I wanted children, but Eddie wasn’t keen. And now here we are.” She gestured to the two of them. “Still alone.”

  “And look at everything we’ve been able to do,” Eddie said.

  “Like what?” Mrs. Freemont asked. “It isn’t as though we could travel, not until the curse was broken and now we’re too old.”

  “You’re only as old as you feel,” Mr. Freemont said.

  “And I feel old,” she replied firmly.

  The baby shifted and an uncomfortable moan escaped me. “Sorry,” I said weakly.

  “No need to apologize, dear,” Mrs. Freemont said. “Can I make you a cup of tea? I have ginger and lemon.”

  “I’m fine, thank you,” I said.

  “She wants to talk to us about Al,” Mr. Freemont said.

  Mrs. Freemont looked at me. “What about him? Is he in some kind of trouble? Eddie and I haven’t seen him for a few days. I thought maybe he took a trip somewhere.”

  “I told her he wouldn’t do that before the gardening competition,” Mr. Freemont said. “It’s too important. He plans to finally win this year.”

  “So you know him pretty well?” I asked.

  “He spends a lot of time outside,” Mrs. Freemont said. “And we’re home more than I’d like, so we usually get a chance to chat a few times a week.”

  “You don’t need to make passive aggressive comments,” Mr. Freemont said. “She’s asking about Eddie, not your marital satisfaction.”

  “Dinner at a restaurant a couple times a week wouldn’t kill you,” she said heatedly. “It isn’t like we don’t have the money since we didn’t have kids.”

  He rolled his round eyes. “Oh, here we go again. You’ll never let me live it down, will you?”

  “One baby is all we needed,” she said. “And, by now, we’d have grandbabies to look after.”

  I stood between them, feeling self-conscious. “Do you remember the last time you saw Mr. Geary?” Maybe I could steer the conversation back to their neighbor.

  “Is he missing?” Mrs. Freemont asked.

  “Not exactly,” I said.

  Mrs. Freemont took my arm and escorted me to the recliner adjacent to the rocking chair. “You should be sitting down. All that standing can’t be good for the baby.”

  “Thank you.” I settled into the recliner and pushed it back so that my feet were elevated. Boyd, the druid healer, assured me that elevating my feet as much as possible would help keep swelling at a minimum. So far, I hadn’t noticed a difference. Then again, I wasn’t off my feet as much as I probably should be.

  “What’s wrong with Al?” Mr. Freemont asked.

  “He’s been turned to stone,” I said. “Someone turned him into a statue and left him in his garden like an ornament.”

  They gasped in unison.

  “Did you hear that Eddie?”

  “I’m standing here same as you,” Mr. Freemont shot back. “Do you know what happened?”

  “Not yet,” I said. “I was hoping you might know something.”

  “If I knew something, I would’ve called the sheriff,” Mr. Freemont said. “I’m a good citizen.”

  “I’m sure you are, Mr. Freemont.”

  “You could be a better husband,” Mrs. Freemont said. “You pay more attention to what’s happening outside your house than in it.”

  Her husband ignored her. “I only see Al out there, toiling away in his garden. And the kids, of course. They’re always around.”

  “I don’t think any of the kids are responsible,” Mrs. Freemont said. “They’re all from decent families.”

  “I don’t think a child would be capable of magic like this,” I said.

  “Stone, did you say?” Mr. Freemont scratched his head. “We do have Gorgons in town. Anybody think of that?”

  “Oh, Eddie,” his wife said. “We’ve had Gorgons in this town from the beginning and they’ve never turned anyone to stone. Why start now?”

  I omitted the fact that Althea was currently in a cell. I didn’t want to fuel any gossip that put a spotlight on Gorgons.

  “I wish we could help,” Mr. Freemont said. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll keep an eye on Al’s house. Make sure nobody tramples his garden or tries to break in his house.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Ms. Baker said she’d water the garden.”

  Mrs. Freemont turned up her nose slightly at the mention of the wererat. “Oh, you’ve been to see Emmeline?”

  “Yes,” I replied. “She seems very nice. Good taste in books, too.” It was then that I noticed a copy of Dragonfly in Amber on the table next to Mrs. Freemont’s chair. “She’s picking up a book from the library today called Outlander.”

  Mrs. Freemont’s eyebrows shot up. “Did you say Outlander?”

  “Oh no,” Mr. Freemont complained. “Don’t get her started on Jamie Fraser. She wants me to call her Sassenach. I don’t even know what that is.”

  I suppressed a smile. “Maybe you and Emmeline could discuss Jamie Fraser once she’s read the book?”

  “Please, I beg you,” Mr. Freemont said. “I look horrible in a kilt. My thighs are the size of Mt. Etna.”

  “I don’t mean to stick my nose in where it doesn’t belong”—who was I kidding? It was second nature to me—“but I can recommend an excellent therapist if you’re interested. It would at least be an activity that gets you both out of the house together.”

  “I don’t want a therapist,” Mr. Freemont said. “They’re just emotional voyeurs.”

  “It’s not about what you want,” I said. “It’s about what you need. If you talk to a professional about your disagreements and maybe get suggestions on how to better handle them, it could benefit both of you.” And hopefully improve their quality of life.

  “What’s the name?” Mrs. Freemont asked.

  “Dr. Catherine Hall,” I said. “She’s right here in town. I think her approach will resonate with both of you.” These two didn’t need Thalia’s soft touch. They’d be better served by my vampire therapist’s acidic tongue.

  “We’ll discuss it later,” Mr. Freemont told his wife. “We don’t need a sorceress or this therapist to know our personal business.”

  “Why not?” his wife asked. “We know everyone else’s.”

  “Except the most important business of all,” Mr. Freemont said, his tone filled with regret.

  Mrs. Freemont looked at her husband. “The fact that Emmeline and I like the same books?”

  “No.” He turned his head slowly in the direction of his neighbor’s house. “The fact that we don’t know what happened to Al.”

  Chapter Seven

  I sat on the sofa in the living room with my feet in Daniel’s lap. He kneaded the arch of each foot and I squirmed every time he touched the place where i
t tickled.

  “I can stop,” Daniel said.

  “No, no. It feels good. It just tickles sometimes.”

  “They’re pretty swollen,” he said. “Are you sure it’s water weight?”

  “What? You think my feet ate too much meatloaf and potatoes?” I asked.

  “I don’t mean it like that,” he replied. “I want to be sure it’s not a symptom of a bigger problem.”

  “Speaking of bigger problems, I keep hitting brick walls in Mr. Geary’s case.”

  “I guess it’s technically Althea’s case now,” Daniel said.

  I adjusted the pillow behind me. “That’s true. Mr. Geary’s case involved tossing a dwarf.”

  Daniel chuckled. “I’m sorry, what? An elf tossed a dwarf?”

  “Across the garden center, apparently,” I said. I squeezed my eyes closed, mortified to have missed the connection.

  “What’s wrong?” Daniel asked.

  “I’ve been so tired, my brain isn’t working right.” Ugh. I hated to blame my pregnancy for this. “I need to read the file again.”

  “I’ll drive you to the office,” Daniel offered.

  I shifted my feet from his lap to the floor. “No need. The file is here.” I’d stuffed it into my handbag the day I discovered Mr. Geary in his rock solid state and never bothered to take it out again. Some lawyer I was.

  I went into the kitchen where I’d left my handbag on the counter and retrieved the file.

  “We really should be practicing for the parenting class,” Gareth said. He hovered by the window, where Magpie was sprawled across the windowsill.

  “You don’t need to practice for a class that hasn’t started yet,” I replied.

  “How else can we expect to trounce the competition?”

  I rolled my eyes. “These are first-time parents like us, trying to prepare for the arrival of a newborn. It’s not a competition.”

  “Says you,” he grumbled.

  “Tell you what, if Lucy ever decides to have a baby, you can attend her parenting class.” I could guarantee that Mayor Lucy would treat parenting as a competitive sport.

  “But she can’t hear me,” Gareth said.

  I smiled. “All the better.” I tucked the file under my arm and returned to my place on the sofa.

  “Have you given any more thought to our babymoon?” Daniel asked. “If we want to go somewhere, I should start researching accommodations.”

  I opened the file on my lap. “Look at you, Mr. Organized.”

  “I want to pamper you,” Daniel said. “I don’t want to whisk you away to a place you have no desire to be.”

  I patted his thigh. “And I appreciate that. I’ll let you know when I think of a place.” I turned my attention to the file. “The dwarf’s name is Adam Clayton.”

  “So what happened exactly?” Daniel asked. “Why did Adam get tossed?”

  I scanned the contents of the file. “According to the police report, there was a fistfight at the garden center over a tree.”

  Daniel blew a raspberry. “They went to blows over a tree?”

  “I know, right? Was it the last tree in Brooklyn or something?” I laughed at my own joke but Daniel remained placid.

  “I don’t get it,” the angel said.

  I waved a hand. “Human world reference.” I finished reading and closed the file. “There aren’t a lot of details here. I need to speak to Adam Clayton in person.” Something I should have done right from the outset.

  Daniel stroked my arm. “I’ll drive you.”

  “Daniel, I’ll be fine. You don’t need to be my chauffeur, my chef, and my bodyguard.”

  “I’m your husband,” he said. “I want to help you in whatever way I can.”

  I pushed myself off the cushion. “It’s a friendly conversation with a dwarf. I don’t need an escort.”

  “Wait. You’re going now?” Daniel asked. “It’s getting late.”

  I laughed. “It’s six-thirty. Hardly the witching hour. If I’m lucky, I’ll catch him after he comes home from work.” A weary dwarf would be less likely to have his defenses up. If he knew something about Mr. Geary’s condition, now was the best time to question him.

  “Where does he live?” Daniel asked. “If you’re not home in an hour, I’m coming to find you.”

  I ruffled his blond hair. “No, you’re not. I’m a sorceress, remember? I can handle myself.”

  Daniel leaned forward and kissed my belly. “But this little baby is…just a baby. We don’t want to put him in harm’s way.”

  I rubbed the nape of his neck. “It’s only a conversation, but I’ll bring my wand. There’s no need to take the guardian angel thing to a whole new level.”

  “Don’t forget your therapy appointment at eight-thirty,” Gareth reminded me.

  I smacked my forehead. In fact, I’d completely forgotten. “Gareth just reminded me that I have an appointment with Dr. Hall tonight.”

  “Then come home in between and I’ll drive you there,” Daniel said. “You’ll be too exhausted.”

  “Okay,” I relented. At least I could put my feet up during my therapy session. Small mercies.

  I took the file and grabbed my handbag before heading out the door. I drove Sigmund to Bountiful Acres, a neighborhood to the north. Each house was set on a lot of at least one acre and the landscaping was impeccable. I didn’t need to look to know which house belonged to Adam Clayton. The yard looked straight out of a home and garden magazine. The color scheme was limited to yellows and oranges with a base of green, which gave the impression of a sunburst.

  I parked in the driveway and walked slowly to the front door, admiring the details as I went. Like Albert Geary, Adam Clayton had a few lawn ornaments, including an orange frog and a gnome with a yellow hat.

  I knocked on the door. It didn’t take long for Adam Clayton to answer. He wore a suit and tie and I immediately spotted a briefcase at the bottom of the staircase behind him.

  “Yes?” he said.

  “Are you Adam Clayton?”

  He eyed me suspiciously. “Who wants to know?”

  “My name is Emma Hart,” I said. “I’d like to discuss a delicate matter with you. May I come in?”

  He zeroed in on my expanded stomach. “Listen, Ms. Hart. I don’t know anything about it, okay? I might get a little drunk every so often, but I always remember the company I keep.”

  My brow creased as I puzzled out his meaning. “Oh!” I said, the realization setting in. “No, no. I’m not here about me, Mr. Clayton. I’m all set with the father’s identity, thank you.”

  He looked visibly relieved. “Sorry about that. I tend to stick to women closer to my size, so I thought maybe there was a night I didn’t remember.”

  I waved him off. “I don’t need to know the details.”

  He motioned for me to come in. “It’s one of those things you worry about in the back of your mind. I’m not always as careful as I should be.”

  I stepped into the foyer. “Well, I am.” No need to share that I was a virgin until I married Daniel, although it was common knowledge since the town needed a virgin to get the unicorn horn that helped break the curse. Long story.

  Mr. Clayton loosened his tie. “Can I offer you a drink?” He glanced at my stomach. “Something non-alcoholic?”

  “No, thank you.” I gestured behind me. “Your garden is gorgeous. Do you pay for a landscaper?”

  The dwarf turned beet red. “A landscaper? That garden is my pride and joy. Do you really think I would turn it over to someone else?”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. Now I understood the garden center brawl a bit better. “You seem too busy to keep up with a garden that size.” I gestured to his corporate attire.

  “It’s what keeps me out of trouble,” he said. “Most of the time.”

  I followed him to the back of the house where a bar was nestled against the wall. He went straight for a bottle of bourbon and poured a small glass.

  “What is it that you do for a liv
ing, Mr. Clayton?” I asked.

  “Please, call me Adam. Now that I’ve falsely accused you of sleeping with my drunk alter ego, we’re old friends, right?”

  Hardly. “Adam, what is it that you do?” His suit made it plain that he didn’t toil away in the mines like some of his brethren.

  “Financial services,” he said. “It’s boring but pays the bills. Allows me to spend as much coin as I want on things I enjoy.”

  “Like your garden.”

  “And quality booze,” he said, inclining his head toward the bottle. He settled atop one of the stools. “So what’s this delicate matter you’d like to discuss?”

  “I represent Mr. Albert Geary…”

  His expression darkened. “Say no more, Ms. Hart. That pointy-eared brute deserves whatever he gets.”

  My radar pinged. “Is that so?”

  Adam downed the rest of his drink and poured another. “He tossed me. Do you know how humiliating that is? Bad enough to be tossed at all, but by an elf?”

  “This happened at the garden center?”

  Adam nodded. “Of all places. I’m a regular customer there. Now I’ll have to go in disguise.”

  “Do you know Mr. Geary or was that a random encounter?”

  He snorted. “Oh, we know each other. We’re in the same gardening club, but I guess he told you that if you’re his lawyer. Everything he says is confidential, right?”

  “It would be, if I’d had the chance to speak with him.”

  Adam cocked his head. “You haven’t talked to him yet? I guess he’s too embarrassed by his own behavior.”

  Hmm. Either the dwarf didn’t know what happened to my client or he was an excellent actor. I decided to keep his condition to myself for the moment.

  “I’m interested in your version of events, Adam.”

  He took another sip of bourbon and set down the glass. “I spotted the golden wreath wattle before he did. Unfortunately, his strides are longer.” He shook his short legs for emphasis. “The little thief got there first and tried to take my tree. Obviously, I wasn’t going to let that happen. I never let my stature interfere with getting what I want.”