Eight
Evie stuffedher week’s earnings from her mother’s Psychic Solutions Agency in her back pocket. “We’ll buy Loretta some school clothes, maybe take the trolley around and see some sights—”
“Ghosts. You want to go downtown to see if you can find ghosts.” Evie’s mother didn’t look up from her tarot spread. “Any kid stores down there will be pricey.”
Evie picked up Psy, the Siamese cat, and bumped chins with him. “Loretta is a millionaire! She can afford a few cute outfits if she likes.” But yeah, downtown was a lot more interesting than a shopping mall. “Does Aunt Ellen have a Cadillac parked in her driveway yet?”
Mavis sniffed. “The contest said she had to pay a $250 delivery fee. She’s actually debating it. She can’t evenseewell enough to drive. Honestly, I think her brains departed with her eyesight.”
The wind chimes over the door tinkled, and a stout matron wearing her Sunday best—on a weekday morning—marched in.
Psy growled what sounded likenassssty. Evie’s cousin Iddy, the vet, had been trying to teach him to communicate, but cat minds were tricky.Nastycould mean she had smelly perfume. Ornamaste, for all Evie knew.
Recognizing the president of the church ladies, she agreed with thenasty, though, and thought maybe she’d scamper out the back, until Mrs. White spoke.
“We are having a mayoral rally at six for Henry in the reception hall. We simply cannot allow our town to be represented by a freak. We need to support our local businessmen. You’ll be there, won’t you?” Mrs. White demanded.
“Hank isn’t a freak, dear,” Mavis said absent-mindedly, still studying her cards. “But I agree that he’s not much of a businessman.” Evie’s mother had a mean streak she hid behind her docile, gray-haired, caftan-draped persona. She was deliberately misinterpreting the message.
Hank Williams was Larraine’s opponent in the mayoral race. The ancient hardware store owner was decidedly not the freak to whom the bigot referred.
Mrs. White looked in danger of losing her pleasant face. “I’m not talking aboutHenry. I’m talking about that hairdresser clown who will make Afterthought a laughingstock if it becomes mayor!”
It, nice. Evie rolled her eyes and bit her tongue. She knew better than to argue with people wearing auras so narrow it was a wonder they didn’t suffocate from their own intolerance.
“Gloria is the only hairdresser I know. She’s not running for mayor, and I don’t believe she’s a clown. Even if she was, she’s a very good businessperson.” Being in the crystal-ball-reading business, Mavis specialized in turning conversations on their heads. She peered over the top of her half-frame reading glasses to close her inane argument. “And really, dear, no one on this planet cares who’s mayor here except us.”
Marta White turned a few shades of purple and swiveled to confront Evie. “No one in their right minds will vote for a freak. Make sure your mother is there tonight. We’ll put an end to this nonsense.”
She huffed out.
Biting back a grin, Evie picked up one of theLarraine Ward for Mayorposters lying on the counter and taped it to the edge, facing the door so even the oblivious could see it. Larraine’s photo showed a stylishly dressed, slender woman of mixed race, wearing a magnificent feathered aqua hat to match her aqua gown and a set of pearls bigger than any Marta White could claim.
Larraine owned the largest business in the county and had been born a Larry.
“Will you take these handouts to the meeting tonight?” Evie asked, knowing her mother’s warped mind.
“Larraine promised to send over some without the photo, just listing her objectives. I’ll leave those. The promise to bring a pharmacy to town will persuade half the congregation. Hank doesn’t even have a platform. The cards are looking propitious.” Mavis swept the deck off the counter and tapped them into a stack, then scratched behind Psy’s ears. “Don’t freak out that poor child by chasing ghosts, please. You know what happened the last time you did that.”
“I’m not three any longer, Mom. The funny-looking guy with the eye patch is being hit by cars. I’ll have a harder time controlling Loretta from complaining about the black bubbles of the people trying to con us into buying timeshares or whatever. Have fun with the church ladies.” Evie skipped out before receiving any more useless parental advice. Mavis might occasionally glimpse the future, but a parent, she was not.
Which was where Evie got her lack of parenting skills. After her three-year-old self had darted into traffic chasing the pirate ghost, the city police had wanted to charge Mavis with child neglect. So she’d brought Evie back here. They’d survived. Loretta was smart. She would, too.
As soon as Evie walked back to the house, Loretta skipped down the stairs with her hair streaming loose down her back. “Can I have my hair cut, too? I’m too old to wear pigtails.”
“We need appointments for haircuts and can do that right here in town. Why don’t I stick a clip in it? Let’s go back to the kitchen. There is bound to be something in the junk drawer.” Evie waved at Reuben emerging from the cellar. “We’re ready. Just give us a second.”
“A second isn’t ready,” he retorted, loping for the van.
“Wonder what set his grouch off?” Evie yanked open a kitchen drawer, found one of Mavis’s long hair clips, rolled Loretta’s mousy brown hair up and clipped it in place. “Okay?”
The kid touched it dubiously but nodded. “But I still have bangs. Hermione doesn’t have bangs.”
“Hermione has mousy brown hair. You want a dye job as well?” Evie didn’t bother locking the door as they ran out to the van. If anyone wanted to steal Great-Aunt Val’s Monkees’ album, she was all for it.
Loretta actually looked more like Harry Potter with her black-framed glasses, but Evie knew better than to suggest that to an eleven-year-old on the cusp of twenty.
Her ward actually seemed to be pondering the dye job.