Free Destiny Calling by Maureen L. Bonatch

and pleased at the same time, which made him just look constipated. “I didn’t know if it would work on you.”
    I slid into the seat, but he grabbed the door before I could close it.
    “Please, I don’t know how much I’m allowed to explain. Here let me show you something. Then you might understand.” He dropped his grocery bag and unbuckled his pants. I smacked the door into him as hard as I could, and he stumbled away from the car.
    Great. A pervert.
    “Sorry, buddy, I don’t think so. I’ve seen one of those before, and I don’t have any desire to understand it.”
    “No, it’s not what you think.”
    I sped out of the parking lot, watching him jog after my car while holding onto his pants, before stopping in defeat.
    I needed answers from Ruthie and a second go at the book.
    ****
    “Here kitty, kitty.” The calico kitten walked toe to toe on the windowsill with her tail pointed straight in the air. When the cat didn’t flee at my outstretched hand, I picked her up. Must be one of Ruthie’s, even if she wasn’t black. She flattened her ears and fixed on me with a green-eyed glare.
    The kitten’s soft fur was soothing against my sore fingers. After repeatedly trying, and failing, to open the darn book, I succeeded in nothing more than scorching my fingers, even with gloves on. Hopefully Ruthie could give me insight about how to open it. Once she pulled in the driveway, darn, no broom, I started down to her house.
    “You’re a tiny thing.” I flipped the tag over on the cat’s collar. “Tercet?”
    Her unblinking eyes didn’t display any recognition to her name—not that cats ever did. “Better take you back down to your house, girl.”
    I winced when the kitten’s claws dug into me. She struggled as I held her while descending the stairs. I didn’t want her to escape. The kitten provided an excuse for going to see Ruthie. I never was good at apologies.
    The overgrowth and shrubbery practically concealed Ruthie’s house, designed like a rustic log cabin with three masks hanging outside the door.
    Them again? The dog, horse and snake trio were a big hit in this town. I made a mental note to ask her about their significance. Otherwise, why anyone would want the ugly as sin masks hanging around baffled me.
    Pots of various herbal-looking plants and the fragrance of flowers filled the porch and overflowed into the yard. The flowers were beautiful. Anyone who could keep anything alive, let alone thriving, especially this time of year, impressed me.
    Despite the thick trees, the sunlight filtered easily through them, giving Ruthie’s home a bright, charming appeal. I’d expect dwarfs to emerge, except Ruthie didn’t quite fit in that fairy tale.
    The trees began to sway, dancing in rhythm. A light breeze tinkled the numerous wind chimes, and I tensed. Tercet escaped and bounded off the porch.
    Damn, there goes my excuse.
    I rapped on the door, jumping when a large black cat sprung from the wooden rocking chair, tearing off in a blur of fur. Fitting, I thought, and then frowned at my haste to stereotype. A foul odor overwhelmed the scent of flowers. I was perplexed at the source, but relieved the stench wasn’t cinnamon.
    When the door opened, I came face to face with a large, white handlebar mustache. There was a face attached to it, but I had trouble taking my eyes off the mustache. The rest of his features paled in comparison. It seemed as if he wanted to make the most of his facial hair. What was left on his head was thin, and the comb-over barely concealed the pale skin on his scalp, littered with brown age spots.
    I recovered my manners. “Is Mrs…ahh, Ruthie here?” I’d never gotten Ruthie’s last name and wasn’t sure if she was married or not. I’d pictured her a spinster living in a dark, spider-web infested shack with a big ole black cauldron in the middle of the kitchen.
    “You must be Hope.” Mr. Mustache enveloped me in a hug. My arms flailed uselessly at my sides, and the