An unexpected thought hit me. Was I allowed to be in a new relationship, or did my magical inheritance put an end to romance? Cosmo had said why menopause mattered for a witch, but he hadn’t elaborated on the subject.
Aunt Violet had never replaced my uncle. She’d had male friends, like Jimmy, but only in a platonic way. And did I want another man in my life?
Louisa seemed to take the discussion seriously. “If you ever consider getting hitched again, I can set up a prenup for you, so you don’t get burned again. I always recommend that.”
Roger gave her a thumbs-up. “Especially when you have your inheritance to think about. Your aunt would have wanted to protect her assets.”
My blush deepened. I fanned myself.
Reina winked at me. “See, we’re all looking out for you.”
My temperature went back to normal. “Willowmere for life.”
“Hear, hear,” Darla said. “When are you re-opening?”
“Tomorrow afternoon, if that’s okay with Louisa.”
“We’re all set, so go ahead.” She took a deep swig of her beer.
“Do you know when the crime scene tape at Jake’s disappears? I don’t want the kids and the parents to get scared.” That shouldhopefully switch the topic from my personal life to more important matters.
Did I sense a shift in the mood? The man holding Marion’s hand scowled. “That good-for-nothing busybody. The place’ll be a lot better without him.”
I scanned him under my lashes. Heavy-set, with a square jaw, and brown hair flecked with grey. I took him to be around sixty. The other man resembled him strong enough to be his brother, minus twenty pounds and the scowl.
“Wayne’s a keen hunter, and he and his brother run a landscaping company,” Ange whispered to me. “Do you think –” She interrupted herself.
“Later,” I murmured.
“He was a kind man,” Mimi said. “It was quite refreshing to see someone stand up for law and order these days.” She and Roger shared a smile.
Darla shot me a begging look and signaled zipping my lips, before she pointed to her companions.
I gave her a reassuring look.
Up to this point, I’d barely noticed the background music from the Wurlitzer. Now, it stopped abruptly, and a loud gong sounded. Right on cue, a young bartender with an open-necked shirt and a dragon tattoo on his hand hurried from the back to his station.
Harper jumped up. “Ten minutes before the open mic session starts, folks. Anyone still needing a drink or a snack, head to the bar now.”
I went, more to listen than because we needed anything. I caught a few whispered words. They sounded like “…only way to get rid of …” and “…lose the license…”, but who’d said them? I concentrated on the sensations they caused. Nothing; no hot flash, no shiver down my spine, not a single thing indicating my witch radar had caught a sinister vibration.
If I had a witch radar. I crossed my fingers and promised myself to stop complaining if Cosmo kicked me out of the bed in the middle of the night. I needed all the lessons I could get, fast.
I returned to the table with a bowl of nachos and dips. Eating during a performance was strictly forbidden, but during the intervals we could munch to our heart’s content.
First up was one of the ladies in evening wear. Her velvet dress clung to her curves. It ended at mid-thigh, but she made up for that with over-knee boots. Her blonde hair was styled in old Hollywood waves, and a few rhinestones glittered on her cheekbones. She could have come straight from a Las Vegas stage. I wondered what brought her here, until I glanced around.
TheBlue Moonhad filled up while I queued at the bar, and the average age of the audience had dropped enough to make Ange and me the oldies. Some wore cowboy boots and jeans, but more than a few had dressed up in pricey suits.
“Hi, my name is Leila and I’m gonna sing a good ol’ country song for you.”
A few of the younger men whistled on their fingers. Leila waved at them. “Hiya guys.” She signaled to Harper who hit play on her laptop.
Leila had a decent voice, I had to admit. While she couldn’t compete with Dolly Parton, she managed to stay on the classy side. She added a second song that had her admirers clapping like crazy. Two broad-shouldered football players lifted her off the stage after she put the microphone down.
We tucked into the nachos before her friend took the stage, with another Dolly Parton rendition. What she lacked in voice, she made up for in sass. Swinging hips, pouting lips, and a slit in the dress thatwent up all the way to her hip reminded me again of Las Vegas instead of a small town in Oregon.
Ange giggled. “I think we’re the trial run for the singers.”
