Free Chicory Up: The Pixie Chronicles by Irene Radford Page B

headlights.
    “Don’t bolt on me, Dusty.” He covered her hand with one of his own to reassure her. And just to hold her hand, a privilege he hadn’t gotten used to yet.
    “Chase, I read Mabel’s papers,” she said quietly.
    “And?”
    “Let me show you.” She dashed across the room and retrieved the manila envelope from the folding table beside his recliner.
    He guessed he’d have to get some better furniture when she moved in after the wedding. God, he wanted that to happen soon, not two months from now. With All Hallows approaching and an insane Pixie on the loose, he didn’t know when or if they’d get the time to elope.
    Dusty made a point of spreading the papers out on the table in neat piles. “Read them, starting with this while I clean up.” She tapped a single sheet with the Historical Preservation District letterhead.
    The homely sounds of Dusty moving around the kitchen,water running, and the refrigerator door opening and closing settled his mind. He could get used to hearing her hum in the background.
    Dum dee dee do dum dum
.
    Thistle’s music.
    With a brighter frame of mind he turned to the second packet, and the third, and finally the will.
    He sat staring at it for a long time with his mouth hanging open. Finally, Dusty removed the papers from his hands and replaced them with a steaming mug of coffee.
    “Drink, then speak,” she directed.
    “She’s giving us the use of her house for ten years or until our family outgrows the place, whichever comes first.”
    “I gaped so long I caught three flies before I could think straight enough to call you. But you were busy with the accident on the freeway.”
    Chase followed directions, sipping the scalding coffee. He relished the first jolt of caffeine, then sipped again and again, feeling more alive with each mouthful. “The accident was caused by a Pixie. I’ve got three eyewitnesses, but they’ll probably claim it was post-traumatic stress that made them say it,” he choked out around a burning hot mouthful. After three long gulps of air, he sipped again. His brain churned and settled into almost recognizable patterns. “The trust agreement making the house and land into a city park and museum after we vacate is as convoluted as the city charter.”
    “More so. I’ve read every incarnation of the town charter up through incorporation of the city. I’ve kept up on all the changes the City Council has made over the last one hundred sixty-five years. Especially the parts the citizens didn’t get to vote on,” she mused, shuffling the papers around until the will sat in front of Chase.
    “Mabel is one savvy lady,” Chase admitted as he began plowing through the document again. After he’d made sense of the first paragraph, Dusty impatiently flipped over two pages and pointed to the bequests.
    “The nephew gets all the furniture and bric-a-brac, a lot of them antiques that have been in the family for generations, and quite valuable. He can’t contest the will on thegrounds that he was left out,” she said to clarify the next paragraph.
    “And if he does contest it, he gets nothing,” Chase added, amazed at how quickly she absorbed the complex language.
    “But look at the house and gardens.”
    He did. That took another half mug of coffee to fully comprehend. “Am I just tired or does the language duplicate itself?”
    “You are tired, but yes, the language repeats in several permutations so there is little if any way to misinterpret it. No loopholes.”
    “At least we don’t have to worry about this just yet. Have you heard anything about how Mabel is faring?” Chase pushed aside the papers and grabbed Dusty’s hands.
    “I’m not next of kin, the nephew is, so the hospital won’t tell me anything other than that she’s in guarded condition. Whatever that means.”
    “It means she won’t be coming home anytime soon. Can Dick weasel more information out of them?”
    “I haven’t asked. As long as Thistle resides in the