And because they’re also her tenants. Desdemona owns all the property surrounding the Little house.
“Aha.” I hold up my finger. “She said ‘during the day.’” And because her tenant is a worthless layabout, he’s at home all day.
“Some people sleep during the day,” Mona snaps.
“You’re telling me.” I’ve got my hands on my hips and I’m facing the old bag next to me. “That because your ‘tenant’”—I use air quotes for emphasis—“chooses to sleep all day, I can’t work? If I can’t work during the day, when can I work?”
Mona’s eyes turn into tiny slits. “You can’t.”
I lean in like I’m going to say something super-duper clever, but Kitty hits the hammer. “That’s enough.”
Looking left, then right, at the other council members, she holds up her finger to us. “Give us a minute.”
I watch as they turn their backs to us and roll their chairs closer to one another. And for the first time all night, I’m worried.
In no time, they’re all back. “Mona, the last time you complained about Velma Lou’s noise, you stated that your tenant went to bed early, therefore, she needed to stop using tools at five. Now, you’re saying he sleeps all day too?”
“Well….”
Hammer time.
“We’re leaving it the way we agreed. She can work until five during the week and three on Saturday. No tools on Sunday.”
I nod and blow out a gust of air. Relief.
Kitty hits the hammer one last time, dismissing everyone. “I need to get my column in. Goodnight, everyone.”
I feel Mona close. Turning my head, she’s mere inches from me. “Just because you’ve got this whole town wrapped around your chubby little finger….”
I gasp. My fingers aren’t chubby. They’re my best feature. I look down and see the Band-Aid on my left ring finger.Correction. Ordinarily, they’re my best feature.
“Your slut of a mother thought she could sweet-talk her way too.”
I don’t know about that. But I’ve had it with her. I hold up my non-chubby-fingered hand to stop her. “That’s enough.”
“This isn’t over,” she says in her witchiest voice. I half expect her to cackle.
I sigh. “I suppose not.” It’ll never be over. At least not until the old bat is dead.
Wishful thinking.
Don’t witches live hundreds of years?
CHAPTERFOUR
LOU
God.I love what I do. I really, sincerely, love it. And I realize how lucky I am because of that. Lots of people do shit jobs to make ends meet, to feed their families, all that. I appreciate that I get to do this. Like now. It’s nine at night and I’m in the most beautiful house, or it will be when I’m done, listening to music and painting the walls in what used to be a sitting room, or as we call rooms like this, a formal living room.
Humming along to the music, I hear a knock on the door. “Come in.” I’m not expecting anyone. It could be Bella. I told her I was going to work late tonight.
“Hey, Lou.”
Turning my head, I see it’s not Bella. “Finn? Hey.” Finnegan Manning is a friend of mine. He grew up here as well and graduated two or three years before me. He’s also the sheriff here. Setting my paintbrush down, I turn to face him as I wipe some of the paint from my hands onto my jeans and ask, “What’s up?”
Finn’s standing inside the door. He’s got his hands on his hips and his head down. I’m not sure why, but for some reason I feel a little nervous about this visit.
“Is everything okay? My dad?” I mean, I’ve got my phone on me. If something were wrong….
