Chapter 7

Last night’s empty street was full of activity when Bailey emerged midmorning from the inn. No coyotes on the sidewalks, he noted. He had to laugh at himself. The sun broke through the clouds, making his evening adventures more unreal.

“What the hell happened last night, and why the hell can’t I remember?”

He unclipped his sunglasses from the placket of his gray silk, camp shirt and put them on. The shirt was the last clean piece of clothing in his suitcase. The khakis he wore were looking downright scruffy. He’d been on the road too long and needed some new clothes.

It was a blue jeans kind of town, he thought as he ambled down the sidewalk. Flags from the recent July Fourth holiday hung from lampposts, and baskets of petunias bloomed everywhere.

Most of the people seemed to be tourists, intent on New Mourne’s cluster of shops. There was a florist, an antique store, and a line of people outside Bitta’s Bakery. The scent of bacon from Mary’s Diner made Bailey’s stomach rumble. He had slept through the inn’s complimentary breakfast, so he headed there.

The morning rush was clearly over, and the “Seat Yourself” sign was up. Bailey headed toward a booth. The skinny waitress who had sent him to meet Fiona yesterday morning came bustling up.

“It’s Misty, isn’t it?” he recalled and grinned. It never hurt to have an ally.

Misty smiled flirtatiously before she said, “Miss Willow would like you to join her.”

“Willow?”

Misty pointed in the other direction to an old woman seated at a table by the window. She was slowly stirring her coffee and smiling at him. Her white hair was neatly styled, and she wore a soft black dress and old-fashioned pearl earrings. Though her skin was wrinkled, she radiated energy and vitality. She also gave him a knowing look that was as intriguing as it was annoying.

Just as he knew befriending a diner waitress in a small town was smart, Bailey was aware grandmothers also came in handy. He was usually a hit with the senior crowd. If the woman was a local, he might be able to learn something more about Fiona and her family.

“Sure,” he told Misty as he turned toward the woman. “I’ll have bacon and scrambled eggs, orange juice, and coffee, please.”

“Grits, gravy and biscuits?”

Though tempted, Bailey reminded himself he had not had time for a good workout in days. “Wheat toast?”

Misty’s nose wrinkled. “Suit yourself, sweetie.” She trotted off to put in the order.

He approached the older woman’s booth and held out his hand. “I’m Bailey Powers.”

“Willow Scanlan.” The old woman’s hand was soft and unexpectedly warm.

There was a buzz in Bailey’s palm, and then a tingle moved up his arm to his shoulder. It took effort not to jerk his hand away.

Willow kept a firm grip on his hand. “I believe I have some information that will help you in your efforts with Fiona Burns.”

A wave of dizziness pushed over Bailey.

“Won’t you sit down?” his elderly companion said. “You look a little pale.”

The feeling faded when she released his hand. Bailey sat down across from her and shook his head to clear it. “I guess I’m hungrier than I realized.”

“Oh, yes. Hungry.” A shaft of sunlight fell across Willow’s face, and for a moment her small, sharp teeth flashed in a smile.

Bailey blinked, and the illusion of predatory glee was gone. Willow appeared once again a nice-looking older woman. Misty placed his drinks on the table, and he took a long sip of orange juice. Obviously, he needed some sugar in his system.

He asked Willow, “Did you say you could help me with Fiona? Fiona talked to you?”

“Good gracious no,” she said with a chuckle. “But I’ve got my little spies all over town.”

Bailey could have sworn her vivid blue eyes twinkled. Okay, he needed food and needed it now. His imagination was in overdrive.

“Can I get you something to eat?” he asked.

“Just finished,” Willow replied. She was once more stirring her coffee and studying him. “You know you’re not in New Mourne by chance, don’t you?”

“I came here looking for Fiona. She has an Internet show—”

Willow cut him off with a gesture from one gnarled hand. “I know that. I know all about the Connellys.”

“Fiona’s family.” He nodded. “I’d like to know more about them myself.”

This time her laugh resembled a cackle. “Good gracious, you’re eager. It’s been a while since we had such an eager, young stranger around here asking about Connellys.”

Bailey had the uneasy feeling he had stumbled into a Tennessee Williams play or an episode from the “Twilight Zone.” He was an outsider in a small Southern town, and Willow was the matriarch who pretended to befriend him. In most of those stories, his character ended up dead or escaping in the nick of time.

“So you want to put Fiona on television, do you?” Willow asked, surprising him with her knowledge. Maybe she was right about her spies.

“What do you think about her?”

“What specifically?”

“Is she the real deal, a medium?”

“That’s a riddle you have to solve on your own,” Willow replied with another enigmatic look.

Misty arrived with his breakfast, and Bailey tucked into the food, eager to erase his unsteadiness.

“The reason you’re here has very little to do with your business,” Willow continued. “The time is right for you to meet your destiny. You have a role to play in Fiona’s life.”

Bailey set down his fork. This was one strange woman. “Why do you say that?”

“It’s already set in motion,” she said.

“I didn’t even know Fiona until yesterday.” Bailey gave Willow his full attention. “What’s in motion?”

Willow smiled as she tapped the lid of one of the small jars on the table. “You should try the blackberry jam,” she offered. “One of Fiona’s relatives makes it for the diner. Most people find it irresistible, although I don’t care much for sweets myself. Her people are so talented in so many ways. I’ve heard you met her sister, her parents, and her cousin, Eva Grace. They’re all lovely girls, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” Bailey replied, though he refused to let her divert him. “Can we go back to what you said about me meeting my destiny?”

“I’m just telling you what to expect.” She stirred her coffee again, and Bailey realized she had yet to take a sip. “Have you heard about the Connelly family curse?”

So the woman was nuts, he decided as he picked up his fork to finish his meal. She probably suffered from a little arterial flow problem or maybe dementia. He sat back, ready to indulge her. “There’s a curse?”

“You met Fiona’s grandmother, too. Sarah Connelly.”

Bailey’s head started to buzz. “No, I didn’t—”

Willow’s laughter whipped out again. “Oh, that’s right. You don’t remember Sarah, do you?”

“I’ve read about her,” Bailey said, puzzled. “She’s an artist who works in stone and metal.”

“An artist? Yes, she’s that, too.” Willow’s expression was gleeful now. “Her family has protected this town for centuries.”

“Protected New Mourne? From what?”

“More coffee?” Misty interrupted, stopping beside their table.

“Thank you.” Willow held up a cup that was suddenly empty. Bailey frowned. When did she drink the coffee? He was off his game in a big way this morning.

Misty refilled both cups. “Y’all look like you’re having a nice visit,” the waitress remarked, smiling at him. “Is Willow giving you all the details about our town?”

“She’s telling me about Fiona Burns’ family.”

Misty clucked at Willow. “You should watch out, Miss Willow.”

Expression hardening, Willow made a dismissive gesture. “Go on, Misty. This one’s not for you.”

“No he’s not,” Misty agreed with another smile at Bailey. “Such a shame.”

The older woman rolled her eyes as the waitress walked away. “Silly girl to be warning me about what I say.”

Bailey watched Misty stumble and almost lose her grip on the coffee pot. She glanced back at Willow and hurried toward the kitchen. He got the distinct impression the waitress was frightened.

Willow stirred her coffee again.

Bailey tore his gaze from the spinning dark liquid and back to hers. “What were you saying about Fiona’s family?”

“The Connellys protect us.”

Bailey glanced around the diner and outside at the people on the sunny street. There was no hint of anything that indicated an unusual morning or a need for guardians or protectors. He had to remind himself he was listening to the ramblings of someone who was at least eighty, maybe older.

“Why does an idyllic little town like this need protection?”

“Because there’s evil here. It’s come back.”

Congratulating himself on showing no reaction to her words, Bailey cleared his throat. “What kind of evil?”

“The worst you can imagine,” she said.

“But the Connellys can stop it?”

“You don’t believe me,” she observed with a huff. “But you will. The troubles are coming again, and what happens to Fiona will affect you.”

“What could happen to her?”

“It’s a pity, really, the sacrifice made for our town by all those lovely young Connelly witches.”

“So they’re witches?” he repeated. “I thought the Connellys were friends of yours. Sounds like you don’t really like them.”

“My kind knows what’s necessary.”

“Your kind?”

“Though I have good reason to dislike the Connellys, I’ve always been supportive. It’s more difficult when it’s time for their sacrifice, but I try to help them.”

Bailey knew he should just pay for his meal and leave the town’s resident loon to ramble on by herself, but he was fascinated. “Tell me about the sacrifice.”

“The Connellys are magic-born, with gifts from the gods and goddesses. That’s why the evil craves them and takes one as a sacrifice. The Connellys face it every generation, and this time it will be Fiona, her sister, or one of her cousins.”

“Like a virgin-and-the-volcano sacrifice?”

“You’re making fun of me.” Her hand stilled on her coffee, and her blue eyes went cold and flat.

Bailey swallowed hard, once again thinking of every movie about the stranger in town who disappears. He was genuinely disturbed by this little old granny, her odd manner and shifting moods.

“What are you saying about Connellys, Willow?”

Bailey turned to find Fiona standing behind him.

He got to his feet, relieved. He’d had just about enough of Willow’s crazy talk.

“He has a right to know,” Willow said to Fiona.

Fiona frowned. “He’s not part of this.”

Expression disapproving, Willow got to her feet and reached for her square, old-lady leather purse. “I see you’re as determined as most Connellys to ignore my guidance. I was hoping you might be different.”

“What guidance are you offering?”

Willow’s gaze slipped from Bailey to Fiona, a thin eyebrow arching as she smiled. “You’ll see.”

She turned to Bailey with her hand outstretched. He really didn’t want to touch her again, but he also wasn’t rude by nature. This time her skin was cool, more what he expected from an elderly woman.

“It was so nice to meet you, Mr. Powers. I’m sure we’ll talk again.”

He hoped not, but he kept that observation to himself as Willow glided out the door. Outside, a large, dark sedan stopped at the curb, and a gaunt old man got out of the driver’s side and came around to open the door for Willow.

“Does she live in a mildewing old mansion on the outskirts of town?” Bailey murmured to Fiona as they watched the car leave.

“Actually, she lives in a very nice house surrounded by lush gardens.”

“But I bet she has chains in her basement.”

There was a moment of silence, then a grin tugged at the corner of Fiona’s mouth. The mouth he had kissed last night, Bailey recalled. The pleasant memory dispelled the last bit of anxiety caused by the strange conversation with Willow.

“I guess she’s what’s known as a colorful, local character,” Bailey observed.

“You have no idea.”

“We could feature her on your show.”

“The world is not ready for Willow in primetime,” Fiona replied in a dry tone. “What was she telling you?”

“I’m sure it’s the usual tale she has for the tourists. How your family members are witches, and you sacrifice yourself to some resident evil for the good of the town.”

The color drained out of Fiona’s face.

He laughed. “The thing is, I think she really believes all of it.”

Her laughter was weak, but she touched his arm. “Let’s get out of here. We need to talk.”

Bailey paid his check and followed Fiona out to the still-bustling sidewalk.