Read Online A Cast-Off Coven by juliet blackwell - Free Book Online

voice drifted easily over to me.
    “What?” His eyes flickered over to me. “Are you sure? Yeah. Twenty minutes.”
    When he joined me a moment later, his expression was troubled.
    “Why didn’t you tell me you saw Carlos Romero last night?”
    “It didn’t occur to me. Why would it?”
    A muscle worked in his jaw. “Tell me now. Please.”
    I shrugged and remained mute, annoyed at this turn of events.
    “Were you planning to mention anything about knowing Jerry Becker?” Max shook his head in exasperation. “It’s been what, a whole week since you were involved in a homicide?”
    “I should get back to the store.” I turned and started up the damp concrete steps toward the street.
    “The store can wait,” he said. “I want some answers.” I paused. I felt my blood rise.
    There haven’t been a lot of men in my life. My father had walked out on my mother and me when I was a toddler, leaving no forwarding address. My second grade teacher, Mr. Sweeney, made me sit in the corner every recess for a week after I corrected his many spelling and grammar errors. My high school principal kicked me out of school when the star quarterback, who had been harassing me, developed a mysterious ailment that caused him to fumble the football whenever the team was first and goal.
    And those were some of my better experiences with men.
    So I wasn’t good at deferring to male authority, especially when—as was so often the case—it arose from a sense of entitlement, rather than from earned respect.
    A gust of wind snarled my tresses until they snaked around my head like Medusa’s locks. I felt the cold prickle of angry power gathering along my spine and coursing down to my extremities. I closed my eyes and concentrated on reining in my anger before I hurt someone. Finally, more in control, I turned to face Max.
    “I don’t guess you’re the one to make that decision, Max.”
    Our eyes held, and his expression softened. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I was out of line. That phone call caught me off guard. May I ask you a question?”
    “Yes. But I may not answer it.”
    “Fair enough. What were you doing at the School of Fine Arts in the middle of the night?”
    I was torn. Should I tell him I was there looking for ghosts? Not half an hour ago I had resolved that Max would have to accept this part of me. But now I hesitated.
    I liked Max—a lot. I wanted him to return the sentiment. And I didn’t want to feel like a freak.
    “I was having coffee with Maya and a friend of hers.” I wimped out with a half-truth. “And we took a little tour of the school.”
    “And did you find the ghost?”
    “Excuse me?”
    “You heard me.”
    “What makes you think—”
    “Give me a little credit, Lily. With your talents, it’s easy to guess that your friends wanted you to look around for the things that go bump in the night.”
    “Hey, I know what we should talk about: Why doesn’t Inspector Romero like you?”
    “It’s a long story.”
    “I’ve got time.”
    “I thought you had to get back to the store.”
    “I can be flexible. Depending on the conversation.” Max looked out over the ocean. The greenish gray of the water segued seamlessly into the ashen gray of the sky. The air was filled with the staccato caws of the gulls, the hoarse barks of the sea lions, and the rhythmic pounding of the surf. Finally, Max took a deep breath.
    “My wife—my late wife, Deborah—was Carlos Romero’s cousin.” He spoke with difficulty, as though the words came at a huge cost. “Law enforcement is a tradition in Deborah’s family. When I did a piece on corruption in the police department, it put us at odds. Carlos thought I was using the family’s connections to investigate the story.”
    “Were you?”
    “Maybe. I don’t know, Lily. I’m an investigative journalist. It’s not something I can switch on and off like a lamp.”
    “You said something about your wife’s death. . . .”
    He started up the steps.