Waking Up Wicked Page 3

  I could hear the fight halfway down the block when I made my way back after finally finding a parking spot three blocks away and around the corner. Loud thumps and smashing glass came from my aunt’s converted garage. I tried peeking through the window to see what was going on.

  “Hussy! Did you think I wouldn’t find out? I’m taking you down! I’m taking you all down!”

  Even though I couldn’t see much, I had a pretty good idea who was yelling. There was only one person in my life right now who used the word “hussy.”

  The door was ajar, and I looked inside. I was right. Earl was standing over pieces of broken lamp scattered across the rug by his feet. There were two other people I recognized too, a very attractive brunette in her 40s wearing expensive jeans and a nice sweater, and a muscular blonde man in a tight button-down. The success story.

  “How can you do this to me,” Earl yelled again as he swung a baseball bat wildly around.

  Even with her hair fluffed and her heels on, my aunt barely reached 5’ 3. She was no match for the lanky man with the baseball bat. Still, she reached for it. He pulled it through her grasp. “Earl, they’re happy. Get over it and get out.” She yelled.

  Earl’s eyes bugged out larger. “Evil witch, leave me alone. This is between me and my wife!” In one swift motion, he swung the bat, smacking the wall and the hottie’s hand in the process.

  My aunt picked up her phone. “Ex-wife, Earl. She’s your ex. And I’m calling the police. This just became assault!”

  “Do it and you’re next, witch.”

  “Not if I conjure up a death spell first,” my aunt yelled. “That’s right, Earl. I am a witch, which means I am someone you do not want to mess with. I have power.”

  George gasped.

  Earl stopped for a second like he was thinking that one over. He raised the bat over my aunt’s head just as George rushed across the room to try to stop him. But Earl fumbled the bat and dropped it. He tried to grab it, but it rolled over by Dirk’s feet.

  “All I want is to talk to Judith,” Earl said.

  “No chance,” Judith’s hottie replied, picking up the bat.

  Judith took the bat from him. “That’s enough, Dirk.” She held the bat out for Earl to take. “We can talk outside. But only if you calm down. Everyone needs to calm down.”

  Taking Earl by the hand, they headed my way. Quickly, I ducked around the corner, snagging my dress on a Bougainvillea thorn as I practically dove into the bushes. They were talking in whispers, but I could still make out a little bit of what was being said.

  Earl gestured wildly at a small piece of paper in his hands, pointing to spots on it, shoving it in Judith’s face. Judith’s eyes scanned the paper. “Okay, I see the signature, but I’m not sure I get it,” she said. “What about the account they found… in your name? Can you explain that?”

  He waved his arms, his veins bulging again.

  Judith touched Earl’s cheek, and he seemed to calm down. The color in his pale face returned. Stuffing the paper in his pocket, he left and Judith went back inside.

  What was that all about?

  Now that the danger was gone, I went into the garage. I am not known for my bravery, and I almost see no shame in admitting it. If the going gets tough, I’ll be hiding in the Bougainvillea, thank you very much.

  I felt sorry for Earl’s ex, despite her good looks and designer stuff, which was a rare feeling for me. I never felt sorry for rich people.

  I introduced myself as soon as I came in the door.

  Tears welled in Judith’s eyes, just enough to ruin the mascara that coated her false eyelashes. She eased herself onto the couch. “I don’t know what I was thinking, coming here. I’m sorry.”

  My aunt sat down beside her. “It’s not your fault.” She took one of the woman’s shaking hands. “Earl is the only one who controls Earl. Are you okay? What did he want to talk to you about?”

  “Oh, just the same old, same old. He still loves me and misses me,” she said. “He didn’t take our divorce well, and oddly, he’s been trying to convince me he had nothing to do with the embezzlement, as if that’ll help. I was already leaving him long before that came out. Anyway, this time, he even brought proof, or so he said. An invoice. He’s a sad, troubled man.”

  Dirk sat on the other side of Judith, wrapping a thick, muscular arm around her shoulders. “I think we’d better go.”

  “Well, thanks for coming by and letting me take more photos for my Instagram and website,” my aunt said. “My October success story.”

  After they left, I helped my aunt and George pick up the pieces of the broken lamp.

  “That man is insane,” I said. “You should call the police.”

  “I know,” she replied. “Love will make you do crazy things in life, money will too. But something tells me the craziest thing I could do right now is lose my head and call the police. I don’t need them snooping around my business until I straighten my business out with the homeowners association.”

  “Business? You mean clubhouse,” George called out, correcting her.

  A jagged piece of lamp scraped my finger as I tossed it into the wastebasket. “So you’re just going to let your crazy neighbor continue to drop in whenever he wants with a baseball bat and scare your clients away? I mean the members of your club away?” I asked.

  My aunt looked down at her rug as she searched for more lamp pieces. “Oh no. That man just messed with the wrong person. He has no idea what connections I have, the people I know, the spells I can do. Don’t you worry about Earl. I’ll handle him.”

  “She’s joking,” George said to me. “We are part of a peaceful coven, built on love and honoring Mother Earth.”

  “You’re a witch too?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Since 1983. That’s when we joined our coven. We’ve only recently come out about everything, though.”

  How had I seriously not known? Had my mother been a witch too. I decided not to ask.

  “So I can tell you, death potions and spells are dark magic that no self-respecting witch would dabble in,” he said. “Isn’t that right, Mabel? It goes against everything we stand for.”

  My aunt did not say anything.

  Chapter 4

  Hot Flashes

  Mark had the kids for the weekend so that meant I was free to go shopping with my aunt and George all night, which would have been great if I wasn’t already exhausted and looking forward to a date with my comforter and a library book.

  The store smelled like expensive perfume and new credit cards. Bald, bright white mannequins with fused fingers waved at me from various spots around the clothes racks.

  George handed me about six shirts and a two-foot stack of jeans in every color and style.

  I stared at him like he was crazy.

  “You can’t just take a couple pairs into the dressing room and think you’re gonna know what looks good. Isn’t that right, Mabel,” he said. “Uh… Mabel?”

  My aunt sat on an eggplant colored lounge chair just outside the dressing room. Her long blonde ponytail had fallen along the sides of her face as she buried herself in her cell phone, probably googling the best death spells to put on an obnoxious neighbor.

  George hardly noticed. He scanned the store for more clothes to hand me. “We should’ve done this ages ago. And once we figure out what size and style you look good in, we’ll move onto shirts and nice work outfits. Isn’t this fun?” George said, hurrying off through the sea of organized clothes racks and bright red sales signs.

  In my tiny dressing-room stall, I picked up a pair of stiff dark blue jeans from off the pile, finally catching a glimpse of myself in the trifold mirror. No wonder my aunt’s face had twisted in horror. I looked hideous. I knew I’d gained a little weight since my mom’s death and my divorce, but seeing it under fluorescent lights in full-length glory was a little hard to stomach.

  And this dress showed every ounce of it. Lumps, bumps, and rolls I never knew existed, mostly because I did
n’t look anymore.

  I pulled the dress over my belly, trying to figure out how to get it off without hurting myself. My dimpled legs smiled back at me in the full-length mirror. What in the world was I doing? I plopped down half naked on the little velvet stool in the corner with my dress still hiked along my midsection. Closing my eyes, I leaned against the mirror, not even caring that they probably never sanitized anything in this place.

  A menopausal tear rolled down my cheek, and I found myself rummaging through my purse, finally finding a tissue and my cell phone. There had to be a message I’d missed from the girls telling me how awful their dad’s girlfriend was… or ugly or mean. (Any of those would have been happily accepted.) There had to be a message saying they needed me to drop everything and come get them right away. But there wasn’t anything.

  “How’s it going?” I texted Lilly.

  George texted back. “Great! Finding lots of good stuff!”

  Wonderful. I couldn’t even text right.

  I stared at the jeans I was still holding. I could already tell they were going to be awful. And I still had a too-tight dress I needed to somehow peel out of. I stood up again. Realizing there was no way out of this, I yanked the dress up over my back flab, hoisting and inching it over my shoulders. It scraped along my shoulder blade, but I almost had it…

  Riiiiiippppp!

  I suddenly realized I wasn’t alone in the dressing room. There was a knock on the door. “Ma’am, are you okay?”

  Great. Just what my menopause needed. A bright, shiny salesgirl.

  “It’s okay… I’m okay. The…uh… ripping sound you just heard came from my own clothes, so…” I laughed, trying not to sound like I needed medical attention. “So, yeah, no worries. Totally fine. Thanks.” I held the door closed with my knee because the lock hadn’t worked right and my arms were still stuck in an upright position, poking out from the top of the dress that was hiked over my head. I grunted and sighed as the salesgirl barged in.

  “Oh. My. God,” she said slowly, like she’d never seen humiliation before.

  I realized with horror that the way my arms were angled there was no way to cover my dingy beige bra and granny underwear.

  “Do you need help?” She didn’t wait for me to answer. She propped her foot on the little velvet stool and began tugging at the dress. It ripped a little more, but didn’t really budge. This seemed to make her more determined than ever.

  “I don’t need help,” I said, a hot flash coming on, which was less like a “hot flash” and more like an instant heat wave. My underarms went clammy, my face red hot.

  The woman didn’t hear me or care. She grabbed the bottom of the dress with both hands and yanked as hard as she could, but it caught on my ear. Pain shot across my face and down my neck.

  “I said I’ve got this,” I yelled in a voice that sounded vaguely satanic and not at all like my own. The woman was still half-propped against the stool, but as soon as I said that, she flew out of the stall and into the back wall as all ten doors in the dressing room slammed shut at once, and locked.

  “Looks like you’ve got it,” she said. I saw her feet under the door as she took off out of the room like I was Carrie from the 1970s horror novel.

  “Ohmygod, What in the hell just happened?” I asked myself. “Maybe I am Carrie.” I sat down on the velvet stool again, my fingers tingly and numb. I looked down at them. “I really don’t want to be Carrie.”

  The dress was hanging from my head like a dress hat. I took it off the rest of the way. “Take a deep breath, Marcie. You’re not Carrie. Nobody’s covered in pig’s blood. These doors are just magnetic. And sometimes magnetic doors slam shut and lock all at the same time…”

  Damn it, Carrie, that makes no sense.

  I tried not to think about it as George handed me more stuff under the door.

  “How’s it going so far?” he asked.

  I grunted out a “nothing’s worked yet” like I’d been busy with more than just getting my dress off and shooting salesladies across the dressing room.

  I decided not to think about it as I tried on a flouncy top and a pair of dark-washed skinny jeans that looked three-sizes too tight but were stretchy enough to maybe work. And, to my surprise, I looked good. I turned and spun in front of the mirror. For once in my life, I looked like the “cool mom.” Okay, so I was actually nowhere near cool-mom status, unless cool moms had salt-and-pepper frizzy hair and bags under their eyes.

  “I am getting one of these in every color,” I said to myself just before I looked at the price tag. $75! For just the pants. Are they crazy? “Never fall in love with pants before you check the price tag,” I told myself. Maybe the moral here is just never fall in love, with anything, ever. Love sucks.

  “And, honey, don’t you worry about that price tag,” George called from behind the door, making me wonder how long I’d been muttering to myself about price. “That’s just sticker shock. They’re always on sale, and we’ll sport you the money until you get caught up.”

  Get caught up? I was so far behind I wasn’t even sure what that meant anymore. Get-caught-up was like a distant planet I’d read about in the papers. I knew it existed somewhere.

  I stepped out of the dressing room. George looked at me like a proud dad. “We should’ve done this a million years ago,” he said again, this time fanning fake tears.

  Strangely, my aunt was nowhere to be found for my proud moment.

  “Where’s Aunt Mabel?”

  “I don’t know what’s gotten into that woman. She’s been acting weird and texting people all night,” George said, pointing toward the lobby. I poked my head out. She was still sitting on a lounge chair, face in her phone. She looked up long enough to smile and give me the thumbs-up.

  By the time we were done, I had a couple new pairs of skinny jeans, three dress slacks, a pencil skirt, a couple cardigans, and a whole lot of tops. Three hours and $400 later.

  “Who’s hungry?” George asked, like this was just stop number one on his to-do list tonight.

  My aunt looked at her phone, again, for the thousandth time. “I’m… I’m sorry, y’all. I’m gonna turn in early. I’ve got a bunch of work to do.”

  “Everyone mark your calendars!” George said, checking his watch. “Mabel Pierce is going home before 9:00 on a Friday night. That’s a first.”

  “You okay?” I asked my aunt.

  She bit her lip. “Yeah, just great.”

  She only bit her lip when she was lying.

  The next day, I woke up to a feeling I’d never had before. I actually couldn’t wait to get dressed. And I didn’t even complain about waking up early on a Saturday morning for work.

  I put on one of my new fabulous outfits and hopped into my crappy car, parking it far from my aunt’s house.

  “One thing at a time,” I said to myself as I walked away from my junk pile, a new swing in my step. “Next splurge, a new car.”

  I knew something was wrong as soon as I reached my aunt’s street. Police cars with flashing lights and yellow “crime scene” tape surrounded Earl’s house.

  A chubby blonde woman with stretchy shorts and flip flops stood on the sidewalk, dramatically shaking her head from side to side in front of a news camera. She pointed over to Earl’s. “I just can’t believe it. He was such a good, good man. Always kept his lawn green. I still can’t believe it.”

  “What is going on here?” I mumbled to myself as I passed the commotion, secretly thanking my lucky stars I looked half-decent for possible TV coverage.

  The blonde woman stopped talking to the cameras as soon as I passed, practically dancing over to talk to someone new, someone who didn’t know yet. I could already tell, whoever she was, she was probably the neighborhood gossip. “Let me guess. You’re Mabel’s niece, huh? You work at her matchmaking club, huh?” she asked.

  “How in the world do you know that?”

  She shrugged. “I ask around. I notice stuff. I’m Tracey. I live down the street, pale
yellow house. Anyway, as you can probably guess, somebody murdered poor Earl last night,” she said, a little too happily. “Can you believe it? His friend found him this morning.”

  “What?” I said. “I don’t believe it. And not just the part about Earl having a friend.”

  Her mouth curled into a smile as she pulled me down the street a ways. “Yep. I heard it was awful. Killed with one of his own specialty weapons. He was one of those preppers. You know, someone who thinks the world’s going to end so they prep for it. Who could have killed someone so hyperaware of death?”

  She didn’t wait for me to answer. “They think it was someone he knew, like a friend or a… neighbor.” She looked around.

  “Why do they think that?” I asked.

  “I guess nothing was taken, so not a robbery. And it looked like Earl let the person in. Seriously, I just don’t know who would want to kill the man,” she said, with a straight face, making me wonder if she really did know the guy.

  “Yeah,” I said, quick to agree in the loudest voice possible because the police were around, even though I could think of about five people off the top of my head who’d want to kill Earl (myself included), and I had only just met the guy yesterday.

  Tracey leaned into me, like she was going to tell me a secret. “Of course, everyone knows Mabel and Earl didn’t get along. And we all heard the fight they got into yesterday afternoon, right before he was murdered. I’m sure I’m not the only one who mentioned it to the news.”

  “You mentioned it to the news?” I said, looking over at my aunt’s. “Exactly what are you implying here?”

  “Nothing.” She shrugged. “But if I were, I wouldn’t be the first one implying it. The whole neighborhood is talking. Everyone knows your aunt is a witch. She’s got a sign out in front of her house broadcasting it, and she did not get along with Earl.”

  “Whatever. We have nothing to hide.” I said as confidently as I could as I headed down the street. My aunt’s reply yesterday when I told her to call the police on Earl still echoed through my head, though, and I couldn’t shake it.