Chapter 31
The Worms Crawl Out
Maryanne
Maryanne watched wide-eyed as Brooke flipped a middle finger at the retreating Chevy as it spun down Alder.
“What jerks,” Maryanne mumbled.
“Totally!” Brooke agreed.
The carload of boys had rolled down the windows to whistle at them initially. But seeing Brooke was part of the duo when they’d gotten closer, the whistles had turned into insults.
Whore. Slut. Tramp.
The usual.
“Same everywhere,” Brooke scoffed. “Always about that, you know? Trip an old lady or drown a sack of puppies... worst name they can think of revolves around your sex. God, I could be the freakin’ holy virgin and they’d still come out with that garbage.”
“Friends of Seth’s?” Maryanne guessed.
Brooke laughed as if the hurled insults hadn’t bothered her. “Yeah. And maybe even friends of mine last year.”
Maryanne shook her head. “Brooke, sorry that this kind of—”
Brooke waved her off. “Oh, please. Doesn’t bother me a bit.”
It did bother Brooke. More than a bit. Maryanne knew it, saw it in that New York grin she held just a little too long. But Brooke wouldn’t admit that it hurt; that would be a weakness, and she refused to show any. Maryanne sighed, but she knew not to push it.
“Shall we head over to the mall for a latte after?” Brooke asked.
It was the perfect afternoon for it, Maryanne had to admit. A strong, cold wind had met them when they’d left school this afternoon. And she and Brooke had left together. In fact, after what had happened with McKenzie, Maryanne never left school alone. Every day, either Brooke or Alex was waiting there, a safe escort home. Alex’s orders. Not that Maryanne would ever accept another instruction to stay late from McKenzie. And not that he’d left her any more notes. On the other hand, he wasn’t exactly ignoring her. Every day, he scowled pure hatred her way. And though he couldn’t mark her tests wrong—math wasn’t that subjective—every check mark he put on the page was a grudging, angry red slash.
“A latte sounds good. Hey, maybe Alex will join us?”
Brooke raised an eyebrow. “Kidding, right?”
“Right,” Maryanne said, although she hadn’t been. But Brooke was right. They were all casting out tonight, but Alex wouldn’t wait to talk to Connie then. She would go alone, on foot, copper offerings in her pocket, and she would give Connie the news that they’d found where her body was buried.
Alex actually seemed to look forward to her solo treks through the woods. Though she was never alone for long, she’d assured the girls. Connie would hear her coming. Hear the dry, dead branches Alex purposely snapped beneath her feet as she made her way to Connie’s nest. And Connie, concealing herself the best she could in the branches on these grey days, would come out to meet her.
What was it that pulled Alex so strongly to Connie? Sure, they all felt for this poor, lonely caster. Even tough Brooke had cried the night they’d found her bones. But with Alex, it was... different. Of course, everything was different about Alex Robbins, or so everyone said. She still looked tough, and she had the reputation from last year as a kick-ass hell raiser and party animal, but what Maryanne mostly saw was this fragile, somehow haunted person. Somehow even when she cast out.
“She’s an enigma, all right.”
“Talking to yourself again?” Brooke asked. She swung the door to the hardware store open.
“Well... yeah,” Maryanne said, stepping into the little store. “Lots of people do that.”
“Um... not really.”
“Bad habit.” Maryanne shrugged.
Both girls removed their gloves and blew into their hands to warm them as they looked around the store.
They needed gardening gloves. Heavy-duty ones, preferably. Where to start?
Last time Maryanne had been in here was during her frantic mission to get duplicate attic keys made in record time so she could race back and stash the original in its place before its absence was discovered. She’d gotten the barest general impression of the store that day. But now that she looked around for a specific item rather than making a beeline to the bold yellow KEYS sign hanging at the back, she had time to appreciate the organized clutter of the homey store. There wasn’t a lot of stock, but a little bit of everything. Maryanne liked the place. She’d like it even better if they found what they were looking for.
A slow-walking, friendly-looking clerk peered up over his reading glasses as he walked over to Maryanne and Brooke. His nametag read Eustace.
He looked like a Eustace.
“Anything I can help you with, ladies?”
“We’re looking for gloves,” Brooke said. “Three pair.”
“Winter gloves? We got some on aisle three, but they’re men’s thermal work gloves. Don’t know as they’d be what you’d want. Got some indoor work gloves, too, but they’d be too big for you young ladies.”
“Gardening,” Maryanne said. “We’re looking for ladies’ gardening gloves.”
Eustace smiled at her. “We don’t get much call for gardening gloves this time of year. Why would you be looking for those in November?”
Maryanne felt her face flush. She hadn’t anticipated an inquisition. What could she say? Certainly not the truth! Well, you see, Eustace, we’re going to dig up a body from the basement at Harvell House this weekend when everyone’s out of town so the Mansbridge Heller can reunite with it, and we don’t want to blister our hands.
“Christmas gifts,” Brooke said brightly, not missing a beat. “I have three dear old aunts in Florida. Got to send those parcels early.”
“What part of Florida?”
“Bonita Springs.”
“Nice place.” Eustace nodded as if he’d been there. “But still, I’m afraid, all the gardening things have been packed up and—”
Undeterred, Brooke continued her story. “My aunts—bless their hearts—moved down there in June. And poor Aunt Judy, she’s the youngest, can’t fly home because of a heart problem she developed down there. So none of them are coming home. This’ll be their first Christmas away from New Brunswick. They’re missing the Christmas concert at our little church. Family dinner at Gam Gam and Papa’s and Gam Gam’s not well, herself.”
Maryanne watched in amazement as Brooke’s eyes misted with tears.
“I... I haven’t got much money to spend. But I still wanted to get them a gift... something so they’d know how much I missed them all. They just love their little garden and I thought that gloves would be—”
Eustace raised a weathered hand, silencing Brooke. “Say no more. I’ll see if I can’t dig some gardening gloves out for you. I know we put at least a half dozen pairs away at the end of last season.”
Brooke sniffled as though those threatening tears were about to fall. “Oh, I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”
“No trouble at all, miss.”
“Oh, thank you!” She linked her arm into his as they headed toward the back of the store in search of the packed-up gloves. Half turning, Brooke winked at Maryanne.
Okay, well, maybe Alex wasn’t the only enigma in Harvell House. The things Brooke could get away with... Maryanne was still smiling as she turned, and the bright-yellow bargain bins caught her eye. Oh wow, she loved this stuff! Even in a hardware store, if you looked deep enough past the packets of tacks and nails and the really cheap measuring tapes, there were often little treasures to be found in the one-, two- or three-dollar bins. Case in point: “Sticky notes!” And they were shaped like little hammers. Treasures indeed. She picked up three packs. The bottom bins looked tempting too. Maryanne squatted for a closer look. Mechanical pencils and gel pens. “I’ve been meaning to get some—”
“Sorry—were you talking to me?”
She looked up. Waaaaay up at the guy who’d just rounded the corner. By the time her gaze finally reached his face, she realized that she’d lingered a bit longer than neces
sary on the upward trip.
Blushing, Maryanne stood quickly. “Oh, no. Sorry, I was just... well, talking to myself,” she said, half in apology. Oh, man, she could feel the heat in her face now. “I’m told it’s a bad habit.”
“Not so bad.” The young man smiled. “Lots of people do it.”
He was good looking. Not in a pretty or polished way, but in a rugged way. He needed a shave, and she found that terribly sexy, and he looked as if he belonged in those jeans, that lined leather jacket opened just enough at the collar. And tall—well over six feet, and with a casual mess of dark brown hair and the most chocolate-brown eyes Maryanne had ever seen. She was sure she’d never met him before—no way would a guy like this slip her mind—but somehow, he looked vaguely familiar.
And the best part was... he wasn’t moving along.
“So,” he said, “you come here often?” Then he cringed.
And, yeah, it was that bad of a line.
“Twice,” Maryanne said. “I’ve been here twice. Nice little store. Nothing like it back home.” There. She’d set that out on purpose. If he asked, then it meant he was...
“Where’s back home?”
... potentially interested. Yes!
“Burlington, Ontario. Near Toronto.”
“You must go to Streep.”
“That’s right,” she said. “I’m a senior, but this is my first year here.”
“Oh, I definitely knew it was your first year here. I would remember seeing you otherwise.”
Maryanne smiled. Didn’t even try to help it. Okay, she was no expert at flirting, and her experience with boys was almost non-existent. She’d been on dates with guys—movies and that kind of thing—but never anything even approaching serious. No one had really interested her. She wasn’t sweet seventeen and never been kissed, but pretty close.
“I’m Maryanne,” she said. “Maryanne Hemlock.”
The guy switched his grip on his purchase from his left hand to his right to extend his hand for a shake. Maryanne reached to grasp it.
“And I’m Bryce,” he said. “Bryce—”
“Walker!”
Maryanne startled, whirling to see Brooke standing there with the gloves in her hand and looking none too happy. Oh crap! Walker. This was Seth’s brother. The one who Melissa had raced out to the barn to find the other night.
The one with the iron handcuffs!
That’s why he looked so familiar. She had seen him before—but only fleetingly, while she’d fled him in caster form. Maryanne crossed her arms in front of her.
The tension in the little store was immediate as Brooke and Bryce stared at each other.
Brooke smiled, wickedly. “Not enough that Seth sends his buddies around to yell at me on the street, huh, Bryce? He has to send you in here to spy on me too.” She laughed. “When will that guy ever get over me?”
“Done deal, Brooke,” Bryce grated. “Seth’s moved on, as you damn well know. And I didn’t come in here to spy on anyone.”
“Then why are you hassling my friend?”
Maryanne gulped. “Brooke, he’s not—”
“I’m not hassling anyone!” Bryce raked a hand through his dark brown hair. Those warm chocolate eyes now held anger. “Look, I just came in here to shop.” He jostled the box in his hands. “Nothing to do with you, Brooke. Believe it or not, the whole town doesn’t revolve around you.”
She huffed.
Bryce turned to Maryanne. “Nice to... almost meet you. I’ll see you around.”
Shaking, Maryanne stared after him as he walked away. That was Bryce Walker! The one who’d tried to capture Brooke, maybe even kill her. That was Ira Walker’s grandson, the one who’d read his grandfather’s Heller hunting journals.
And he was the most gorgeous guy she’d ever met.
“Come on.” Brooke grabbed Maryanne’s arm. That’s when Maryanne realized Brooke was shaking too. Maryanne soon knew why as they paid for their purchases and left the small store.
Brooke drew a breath as they walked along the sidewalk together. “Did you see what Bryce was buying?” she whispered.
“No.”
“A welding torch. You know... for metal.”
“Like iron!” Maryanne nearly choked on the words.
Neither of them could stomach the thought of a latte now. Bracing themselves against the wind, they walked back to Harvell House.