Free Magic by Tami Hoag Page B

toast. Hennessy, to the kitchen.”
    With that she turned on the heel of her green rubber garden boot and marched from the room, obviously expecting Bryan to follow her. Bryan cleared his throat and smiled pleasantly at the deputy. “I believe there’s been a small misunderstanding here.”
    The deputy pulled out a pocket notebook and a pencil, prepared to take Bryan’s statement. “You were here last night?”
    “Yes. I slept on the billiard table. I wouldn’t recommend it.”
    Skreawupp halted his scribbling and pointed at Bryan with his eraser. “Don’t get cute with me, bub. I’ll clip you like a wet poodle.”
    Bryan looked shocked. “Please, sir, there’s a lady present!”
    “Look,” the deputy growled, his droopy shoulders slumping further. He gave up on Bryan, directing his questions to Rachel. “I am damned sick of being called out here on all kinds of wild goose chases. Are you Batty Addie’s daughter, or what?”
    “I am Rachel Lindquist,” Rachel said tightly, her chin rising defiantly, her eyes burning with fury at the deputy’s attitude. “Would you care to see proof of identification?”
    “Skip it.” He tucked his notebook back into his breast pocket. “I should have known this would be another waste of my valuable time. Last month she had me out here because she thought a commie sub had washed up on her beach. Before that she was being abducted by a religious cult. I don’t need it.”
    “Well,” Bryan said in a tone that belied the anger in his own eyes, “we’ll all kick in a little extra on our taxes next time around to compensate.” He followed the deputy into the hall and pointed the way to the front door. “I’d show you out, but I have to go make the toast.”
    “Hippie,” Skreawupp muttered, swaggering away. He turned and pointed a finger at Bryan. “I’ve got my eye on you, Jack.”
    Rachel pushed past them both and strode stiffly down the hall, trying to find her way through the maze of rooms to the kitchen. She found rooms packed full of dusty old furniture, one room that was crammed full of old wooden church pews stacked one on top of another like cordword. Finally she pushed open the correct door.
    The kitchen had once been sunny yellow, but the color of the walls had dulled over the years to a dingy ivory shade. It was a huge room with black and white tiles on the floor and an array of oversize appliances, one of which was an outdated wood-burning cookstove that had been left ostensibly for decorative purposes. Near the window was an oak table that had been haphazardly set with mismatched china. Addie sat at her place, her back straight, her hands folded in the lap of her flowered cotton housedress. She refused to look when Rachel entered the room.
    “Mother, we have to talk,” Rachel said through clenched teeth.
    “I don’t want to talk to you. Where is Hennessy? I want my toast.”
    Rachel pulled out the chair beside Addie’s and sat down. She composed herself as best she could. She had read about the kind of behavior her mother was exhibiting, but comprehending a textbook and living the reality were proving to be two very different things. Logically, she knew Addie’s behavior stemmed from her illness. Realistically, she knew her mother was probably incapable of manipulation because manipulation required a great deal of careful thought and planning, and those were abilities Addie was losing.
    Emotionally, she couldn’t help but feel hurt and humiliated and angry. She resented the way she’d been treated since coming to her mother’s house. She felt manipulated, because Addie had been a master at it in her day. It had been Addie’s machinations that had ultimately driven them apart. That was a difficult thing to forget now, when Deputy Skreawupp’s squad car was rolling down the driveway.
    “Mother,” Rachel said, trying to speak calmly so she wouldn’t precipitate another catastrophic reaction like the one she had been greeted with the night