Night Shift(51)

“Shit. Okay, I’ll come over in a while,” he said. “If anything else happens, just run over here, okay?” And he hung up, as Fiji saw a huddled figure dash up the steps to the door and enter Midnight Pawn.

The cat, she thought, as she turned away from the window. She looked under the counter to see that Mr. Snuggly was curled up in his cat bed. He blinked at her to prove he was alive, and she nodded and went into the kitchen.

Fiji gradually became calmer as she put her groceries away. “Mr. Snuggly!” she called. “Let’s talk.”

In a moment, the cat flowed in from the shop. “Is it dinnertime?” Mr. Snuggly inquired, in his bitter little voice. “The rain makes me hungry.”

“Everything makes you hungry,” Fiji said. “Where did the man go when he was in the house?”

“He left his shoes in the kitchen,” the cat replied. “And he went through our house with his socks on. But he didn’t find me! I hid very carefully.”

Fiji sat down at the table abruptly. She had hoped to hear that Teacher had done exactly what he’d told her. After a moment, she roused herself to say, “You think he was going to steal you?”

“Why else would he come?” the cat asked, bored. “What else is there here worth having?”

Fiji thought seriously about this question. She discounted the possibility that Teacher was actually looking for Mr. Snuggly, since Teacher did not know the cat could talk; also, he’d said in Fiji’s hearing that he didn’t care for cats. She remembered such things.

What could Teacher have wanted? Fiji didn’t have much cash in the house, and after she’d opened the till, she knew he hadn’t touched it. Mildred Loeffler’s diaries were important to Fiji, but she couldn’t imagine them being interesting to anyone else, especially since Aunt Mildred’s writing was extremely challenging to decipher.

What else?

Fiji looked around her as she went from room to room. There were only five, so it didn’t take long. She had very little jewelry of value, and her good earrings were still in her jewelry box. She had no correspondence that would be interesting, but it did seem to her that her files of business papers had been slightly disarranged. If she hadn’t known someone had been in the house, though, she doubted she would have noticed. Since Fiji considered business papers boring, she couldn’t imagine what anyone might want with them. Insurance, utility bills, bank statements, supply orders, receipts. Things she saved for the tax season, when she carted them all to a CPA in Davy.

None of the goods she sold in the shop were very valuable, either, and they were all present and accounted for. Athames (she checked those first), books, statuettes, wind chimes, incense, Ouija boards, oils, tarot decks, Wiccan calendars, candles, mortars and pestles, tote bags . . . even one little cauldron, which she’d had on the shelves for two years. Her shop was pretty “Witch Light.” Nothing really powerful to take, in and of itself.

So why would Teacher Reed search it?

After an hour of checking, Fiji was almost certain Teacher had not taken a thing.

But she felt his presence in her house now, like a horsefly buzzing around her head. This impression was almost impossible to dispel. It disturbed her greatly.

Can I kill someone for you, witch? asked the deep voice.

She didn’t answer. She knew it wasn’t wise to turn this weird conversation into a dialogue. She forced herself to get back in the thinking groove.

Fiji was fond of little Grady, and she’d always respected Madonna, if she didn’t exactly like her. Her feelings were even more wounded by Teacher’s invasion because she’d thought of Teacher himself as one of the most useful people she knew, and warm and affable, to boot.

Horns of a dilemma, Fiji thought. As she checked to make sure the front door sign was turned to Closed and gave Mr. Snuggly a treat for his accurate reporting, she wondered what the hell she was supposed to do about this.

Fiji couldn’t let Teacher get away with it. Not that I’m vindictive, she told herself, hoping that was true. But I have to have respect. And respect could only be maintained if she protected her territory and her property.

Fiji asked herself the question that had gotten her through a lot of crises. What would Aunt Mildred do? Though Fiji was not the same person as her great-aunt had been—she was essentially more social and her heart was tenderer—she was determined to stand her ground and defend her home.

It was time to assume her aunt’s mantle.





16





Fiji unlocked the drawer below her work area, a broad shelf below the high counter where she took payments. The shelf was the right height for her rolling chair, and on it she did the gift wrapping, worked on the books, and studied Aunt Mildred’s journals. These were not Mildred’s anecdotes about her own life, but an accounting of what spell she’d performed for what person, what service she’d provided, what favor she’d granted. Some of these were dubious, some outright gruesome.