Love Spell (6 page)

He held up a hand. “Let me guess. Business is still slow, and you’d like to help around here again. Take a case or two.”

Lindsay bit her lower lip. She
had
asked him for a case a couple of times before. Just last week. And a few times the week before that. She stopped counting backwards, and timidly murmured, “Yeah. I was kind of hoping…”

It was his turn to let the frustration show. But he was so good about doing it in the nicest possible way. “Look, Lindsay,” he began in that same way he’d done since she was four, and he had to tell her she’d gone overboard on candy consumption again, “I know I said I’m busy around here, and you really are pretty sharp, but…”

“But you’re not going to even let me do ride-alongs.”

The Chief of Police buried his face in a hand and groaned. His chair creaked as he leaned back in it, though only a few moments passed before his scowl morphed into that patrimonial smile she knew so well. “You and me, girl. Even your Aunt Ruth can’t push my buttons quite as quickly as you can. Okay. I’ll make you a deal. I’ll give you a ride-along with Jones the next time he’s out with one of our inspectors, and you agree to dinner with him.”

Lindsay made sure her “dear uncle” wouldn’t miss the daggers in her eyes. “What kind of a deal is that?”

He smirked. “I call it a win-win deal.”

“Yeah. Uncle Tom: two. Lindsay: zero. Real win-win, there. How about this? You leave me alone about my love life, and I only bug you for cases once a month.”

He laughed heartily at that. “Don’t ever stop coming around here, Lindsay. You keep me young. Still, I’m sorry. I can’t give you anything. We’re dealing with real lives and real laws, here. You’re smart, but you really could use a bit more experience in these things.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” she replied.

“Never said you did.” He rose from his chair, and Lindsay heard the furniture sigh in relief. She rose too.

“C’mere,” he said, and they embraced again. “Wish I could do more for you, but sorry, Lindsay. Even as chief, I can’t play favorites. Still, you’ve always had moxie. Keep hold of that. You’re a tougher kid than I know you think you are.

“I’d love to chat all afternoon, but the mayor is expecting me in an hour—it’s the monthly update. I’m supposed to have some fancy Power Point presentation all ready, but I get lost in that stuff faster than an airplane in the Bermuda Triangle. I have no idea why we can’t do the old blackboard and flipchart presentation, but I’m just an old man. You take care of yourself, you hear?”

She smiled. “You know I will.”

With a hug and goodbye for her uncle, Lindsay made her way back out to her car, fighting to ignore the sound in her head of a large, steel door labeled “worthwhile cases for Lindsay” being slammed shut.

It was officially Monday.

Certain clichés were perfectly acceptable to Lindsay. Ice cream in a time of need was one of those. So was curling up on her old couch in her flannel pajamas after sunset in the warm silence of her small apartment. And, of course phone time with Jen. Jen was the favorite sister Lindsay never had but would have given her right arm for. Even Jen’s decision to accept a post-college job in Cincinnati, three years ago, hadn’t kept them truly apart. Lindsay shifted the phone to rest better against her jaw, and spooned another helping of “moose tracks” ice cream into her mouth.

“Your uncle shot you down again, huh? He might as well have told you you weren’t his niece anymore,” Jen said.

Lindsay blushed despite herself. She hated when people thought bad about someone they’d never met. Still, she relished the catharsis that came from spitting out the hurt from her visit to the precinct. Jen had coaxed the full “down and dirty” out of her in five minutes.

“Jen.” Lindsay sighed. “Don’t you think that’s being a
tad
overdramatic?” Lindsay asked, before inhaling another oversized spoonful of dessert. She actively ignored the sheer volume of calories in a single bite. “He’s my uncle. All he did was tell me he didn’t have any work for me. You make it sound as though he thought I were incompetent.”

“What else
would
he mean, Lindsay? This is like, the fiftieth time in a month he’s told you you’re not good enough! He’s your uncle—he’s blood! He shouldn’t be a jerk! Next time he’s probably going to say you don’t even deserve your degree.”

Lindsay’s lips twisted into a “What did I get myself into?” pout. “That doesn’t even make sense, Jen. And he’s not
that
bad. Uncle Tom has to consider the needs of the force as a whole—you know. ‘Big picture’ stuff.”

Lindsay took another bite of her treat, hoping to lighten her mood; the miniature peanut butter cups were ridiculously tasty. She scrunched her toes deeper into the duvet, and took a deep breath of the scent of her favorite dryer sheets that clung warmly to the fabric. It helped a little.

“Well, he could have at least tried this time,” Jen said.

Lindsay frowned. “Stop it, Jen. Be nice. Oh and anyway, guess what I found, today?”

“What,” Jen asked, her ire replaced by curiosity.

Lindsay smiled, and lifted the yearbook from the floor and began flipping through pages at random. “Sophomore year yearbook. I look perfectly hideous in it. But not as bad as freshman year.”

“Give it up, girl. You’ve been beautiful as long as I’ve ever known you, and your baby pictures are the
cutest
ever. You’re so lucky! You’re going to have the most adorable kids the world has ever seen!”

Lindsay groaned inside. “That would require me to get pregnant, Jen. I’m not big on the artificial insemination thing, so that would require me to… interact… with a man.”

Jen snickered. “You’re still squeamish about saying ‘sex,’ huh? That’s cute, too.”

Lindsay stuck out her tongue.

“Yes, and I know you’re sticking out your tongue. I can see it in my mind,” Jen chirped.

Lindsay smiled. “You know me too well. And you know how I am with guys.” She turned to the “activities” section of the yearbook, and found the picture of the clubs and non-sports organizations. When the concert choir came into view, she began scanning the page for her freckled face.

“Totally,” Jen said, sourly. “Especially after that one butthead. What was his name?”

A man’s scream cut through the night. Lindsay barely raised an eyebrow. She’d grown accustomed to the… oddities… of living in her particular neighborhood. Mom and Dad had made sure she hadn’t ended up in some seedy ghetto in Oakland, thankfully, but Lindsay’s… modest… income meant that she had to accept a dwelling in an area with its fair share of weirdoes, even if most of them were relatively non-threatening.

“Yeah, him,” Lindsay said, and felt an odd skip in her heart. Without thinking, she reached to leaf back to the “seniors” section, and then caught herself. Back to scanning the choir.

“Can you believe what that guy
did
?” Jen said. “Leading you on like that even after he left for
college
? You know, if he’d have come back for you, you may have been able to stick him for statutory rape.”

The remark was groan-worthy. “Again, my lovely Jennifer, rape involves certain sorts of interactions with a guy. Cli…
He
never even held my hand, let alone tried anything else.”

And that was the problem. Clint had never once even tried to reach out to her. Oh, he had with his eyes, with his words, and for most of the year, that had been enough. But how many times had she looked at his smile—the one she was sure was for her alone—and wished that those lips would even just lightly brush hers? How many times had she watched his hands move a pencil across the page of his sketchpad, and dreamed he was tracing curly-ques of affection on her cheek?

Lindsay shook her head clear, and swallowed a double-spoonful of moose tracks without chewing. She gagged on a peanut butter cup.

“Lindz? Are you alright?” Jen’s concerned tone was heartwarming.

“Y-yeah,” Lindsay choked out, coughing. “I… sw-swallowed,” she gulped, “something too… quick. Give me a… second.”

“Oh my gosh, Lindsay. Are you going to be okay?”

“Ye-yeah. One… one… sec…” She coughed hard into her shoulder, and felt the offending morsel of chocolate and peanut butter dislodge and slide into the pit of her stomach where it belonged. She knew it would take its revenge on her waistline.

“Okay,” she breathed, eyes watering slightly. “I’m fine now.”

“Okay. Good. You had me worried there.”

“Naw, I’m fine. What was I saying before?”

Jen’s voice soured again. “You were telling me that jerky boy was going to come back from college and have his way with you.”

Lindsay blushed hotly. She didn’t even want to think about doing that with men in general, let alone with Clint Christopherson.

Actually, she very
much
wanted to think about it. But never consciously.

“I most certainly did
not
say any such thing,” Lindsay sputtered.

Jen sighed on her end of the line.

More screaming sounded outside the tiny window next to Lindsay’s artificial fireplace. The yowl of a cat preceded a heavy
thump
against the glass. She jumped, and shot a glance across the room. For the briefest of instants, a shadow pasted itself on her Venetian blinds, and then it was gone again.

Lindsay gently placed her ice cream on the glass coffee table, eased herself out of her blanket, and tiptoed into the kitchenette. She’d never had neighbor problems before, but…

“One sec, Jen,” she whispered into the phone.

“Lindsay?” Jen’s voice mingled confusion and anxiety. “What’s going on?”

Lindsay said nothing as she reached into a drawer, and pulled out a steak knife. She set the phone down, and listened intently to the night sounds that surrounded her apartment. Dogs. Cats. Party music played way too loud. Distant sirens. And… rhythmic chanting.

Lindsay exhaled in relief, and set the knife down, and returned to the couch. It was only the witches next door. Lovita had probably gotten a little too much of one of her homebrews again. The other ladies would likely be by in the morning to clean off the smudges on the window, she imagined.

“Sorry, Jen,” she said in a normal voice, as she hefted the yearbook again and opened it to the spot she had bookmarked right after coming home that evening—the men’s track team. “I thought something weird was going on. We’re fine here. Anyway, I should go to bed. Work tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Jen responded. “How’s that going?”

Lindsay forced herself to beam, even as she stared down on the picture in the middle of the page, just to make sure her friend heard it over the phone. “Great! Big day tomorrow! I’ve followed up on tons of leads, and I have a feeling I’m going to get a big-time client tomorrow. I want to be in top form when they walk through my door.”

Jen congratulated her.

“And old dorkface won’t be here to see it,” Lindsay mused. “He’ll never know what a good thing he missed.”

“You deserve
so
much better than that,” Jen crowed. “I’m so glad you never got hung up on that idiot.”

“Yeah,” Lindsay absently responded. “Him or any other guy.” She shuddered to think she’d needed
three
heartbreaks before she figured out that her time was best spent on something other than men. But as she stared at the tiny picture of the track star with smoky blue eyes, and floppy, blond hair, she couldn’t help but wonder who it was who had really been missing out.

She clapped the book shut, and squeezed her eyes closed to shake out the afterimage of the other picture of him that she’d… accidentally… found while perusing the yearbook earlier, and bid Jen a goodnight. With the merest thought, she once more banished Clint Christopherson—a.k.a. “that guy”—from her thoughts forever.

At least until she slipped into unconsciousness that night.

SIX

Being mugged by a vagrant didn’t top Clint’s list of “Must-do’s in San Leandro.” Holding on to a sticky payphone, he decided he wouldn’t mention it to Molly when she answered his call. He didn’t need her reaming him on top of everything else he’d been through in the past twenty-four hours. Spending the night on a bench in a nameless park had been bad enough without the nightmares that haunted him long after he finally managed to ditch the trio of lunatic witches. Waking up early to confront someone digging in his pocket wasn’t the best way to start the day. He’d fought the mugger off without loss, only to find the battery on his phone was dead when he tried to report the incident. By the time he found a public phone in a Safeway, he decided there was no purpose in calling the cops; he was short on change, and would rather phone Molly anyway.

The sun wasn’t high enough for any time past maybe seven o’clock. Cue the usual morning birdsong. Traffic was light enough that he could pick out the scent of a local bakery over the exhaust fumes. The fragrance set his stomach rumbling; he hadn’t eaten since that quick snack from Sancho right before… He cut off the memory again.

He reached up to massage the kink in his neck as he punched in Molly’s number. She picked up on the first ring.

“Weatherpound. Who’s calling?”

Clint felt his heart skip a beat at the sound of her voice.

“Name, please,” she said.

Clint shook his head clear. “Oh, hey, Molly. Bug you for a lift?”

He swore he almost heard relief in her voice when she answered. “Clint. I’ve been trying to reach you since last night. You never answered your hotel phone.”

Clint shrugged. “Should have tried the cell. Anyway, about that ride, I—”

“You didn’t have your cell when we checked in, Clint.”

Busted
, he thought.

“It wasn’t in your apartment when I went there either,” she continued. “I told you it wasn’t safe to return. You can’t afford stupid risks.
I
can’t afford you taking stupid risks, either.”

That
was interesting. Was Molly actually
concerned
for his well-being? He could see a number of ways to use that to his advantage. He remembered her saying something about her “ideal date,” and smiled at the idea forming in his head.