Hunter let out a breath. “Oh, I’m so glad. That’s great news,” he said, all smiles and manufactured relief. “Thank you, mate.”
“However, she is showing signs of a mild concussion, so it is best she is watched. No hard alcohol, no recreational drugs for forty-eight hours. And she probably won’t want anything to do with it, but loud or bass-filled music will most likely make her sick.”
“The Yule party’s tomorrow…” Hunter said.
“The extra set of eyes will be a bonus.” Bishop scribbled down a note. “It’s best to fill Maggie’s mother in when she arrives.”
It took everything inside of me not to plow Hunter into the motherfucking wall, gut him, and string him in the middle of the harbor so the gulls could play tug-of-war with his entrails. He pushed her. I knew it. Maggie was clumsy, but she wasn’t clumsy like that. I just had no way of proving it—and that fucking killed me.
chapter 15
SILENT NIGHT, MY ASS
Maggie
The holidays were supposedto be a time of love, happiness, friendship, family, laughter… but we all know that’s an absolute crock of shit. I didn’t know why I hadn’t said no to Mom when she demanded spending the holidays here in Port Grey—let alone when she invited the entire goddamn family. She’d been here eight hours and besides having a complete meltdown at my inability to “do stairs,” she’d nitpicked everysinglething about the house and my choice of decorations.
“I don’t understand why you’re dressed like a hooker on today of all days. You’re half-naked…” Her voice trailed off as she entered the pantry.
Hunter kissed me on the forehead and gently placed his hand on my bare back—my spine went rigid for just a second before I let it go.
I had opted for my red and black sweater dress. Open in the back, yet sleeveless turtleneck up front. I paired it with some black leggings and knee-high black boots—thought it was cute. Apparently, cute meanthookerto Mom.
“Half-naked is when someone’s tits are out, Mom!” I yelled.
“Ugh! Magdalene, must you be so vulgar?”
“Maybe you should change,” he whispered, then kissed my forehead before following Mom into the pantry.
“I will not.” I huffed and crossed my arms, disgusted that he’d agreed with her. “I could dress in petticoats and a bonnet—she’dstillbe offended.”
“You should always listen to a man with an accent, Maggie. Especially when they agree with me.”
Ugh! My mother was insufferable. And what was worse was that she and Hunter got along like two peas in afuckingpod.
Escaping into the foyer for a breath, I caught Graham’s pickup pulling in behind Annie and her rental in the driveway, his face still frozen in that pissed-off“Hunter must die!”expression he’d apparently made his default setting. But when he approached Annie, his expression softened, and he actually smiled. She’d probably said something that caught him off guard and made him question the woman I spoke so highly of, but I wassoglad to see it.
Watching him be of service to someone I cared so deeply about made the little butterflies in my stomach act up.
But seeing Annie again was exactly what I needed right now. She was the only white person I’d ever seen in real life with vitiligo that intense, but she was one of the most striking women I’d ever seen. I always told her that her “spots” reminded me of when the sun shone through the leaves and left dappled shadows on the forest floor.
She didn’t care for it, squinting her icy eyes at me and saying something along the lines of, “That’s nice, Sugs—but don’t you dare call me a heifer.”
One time I responded by mimicking her heavy Deep South accent. “Well, if you was a heifer, you’d win first place at the county fair.” We’d have a good laugh and go about our day. Today wasn’t any different.
“There she is!” Annie yelled as she rushed past Graham with her arms out wide. “Lord, I missed you, Sugs!”
She pulled me into a big hug and I instantly broke down—the pressure of it all made my head throb. I’d missed her too, and with the stress of the murders, the spell, and my constant need for Graham, I didn’t knowhow much longer I’d be able to keep my head up without crashing into oblivion.
“Oh, stop yer cryin’. I’m here now, but I ain’t showin’ up just to watch ya blubber. Introduce me to yer friends and take me to that ham you been wantin’ me to fix.”
As we entered the foyer, Annie leaned in and thumbed over her shoulder. “That him? The cop?” she whispered. “Ooo—child, he got one mighty fine backside. Take a look at this!” She pulled out her phone and showed me a picture she had snapped of him slightly bent over, gathering her luggage from the back seat.
I snickered. “Annie!”
“I can hear you, ma’am,” he said, playfully leaning in. “And see you.”
“Mind yer business, Mr. Locke—and don’t you ma’am me. Name’s Annie, if ya gotta call me sumtin’.” She waved him off.
