‘Em, there’s someone at the front door for you.’
‘Wyn?’ I looked up at Ashley from the kitchen table, heart in my mouth. I’d barely seen him since the difficult conversation we had in the garden three days before. But Ashley glowered at me from the doorway. Whoever it was appeared to be an unwelcome guest.
‘The Weres?’ I guessed.
‘Worse.’
What could be worse?
‘The police?’ I barely managed to sound out the second word.
‘I saidworse.’
Cocking her head for me to follow, I decided she was right. Waiting on our front doorstep, shielding herself from the sun underneath the portico, was Ileen Stovell.
‘Ms Stovell.’ I forced myself to sound cheerful, as though she wasn’t one of the last people I’d hoped to find waiting for me. ‘How nice to see you.’
She waited, anticipating an invitation inside but there was no way I was having this woman in my house. Ashley hoveredat my shoulder until she was certain I wouldn’t cave then melted away into the parlour, hissing like a cat as she went.
‘Can I help you with something?’ I asked, all innocence. ‘I’m afraid my grandmother is still out of town.’
‘Still?’
‘Still.’
‘Then perhaps I might speak to your aunt if she is the person responsible for you,’ she said, as tightly wound as ever.
She was only a small woman but she more than made up for her short stature with an enormous attitude. Combined with the persistent itch that scratched at my magic whenever she was around, I couldn’t get her away from the house fast enough.
‘No one is responsible for me, I’m seventeen.’
‘And still a minor.’
‘And more than capable of looking after myself,’ I said. ‘What can I do for you?’
Any smart woman knew which battles to fight and which to yield, whether it was negotiating my TV time when I was eleven or trying to get Ashley to do literally anything she didn’t want to, you had to know when to expend your energy and when it wasn’t worth it. Ms Stovell decided to move on.
‘I understand you recently visited my home on Hilton Head, according to Virginia Powell, that is.’
‘That’s right,’ I replied, only slightly wounded by her precise blow. My dad would’ve had me sitting at the desk, writing out a thank you card before we’d left the house but in all the drama, it hadn’t crossed my mind. ‘It was so kind of Lydia to invite me along as her guest and so kind of you to host us. It’s a beautiful home.’
‘It is,’ she agreed. ‘And I wish you and the Powells had left it as you found it. I believe this belongs to you.’
She slid her hand into a large leather purse that hung fromher shoulder, the handle decorated with a twisted silk scarf, and pulled out my Braves jersey. Immediately I held out a hand to grab it back, stunned that I hadn’t noticed it was missing. Truly I’d been more than preoccupied but I was never, ever without it, one of the few things I owned that used to belong to my dad. Before I could reach it, Ms Stovell withdrew the jersey.
‘Or is it possible this belongs to the young man who accompanied you and the twins to the island?’
‘It’s mine,’ I said tactfully. No need to confirm or deny her gossip, no comment, plead the fifth, nothing to see here.
‘It’s no business of mine what happens under Catherine’s roof,’ she replied, still holding on to the shirt. ‘But in my house, as a guest of my friends, I’m afraid it’s unacceptable behaviour and I’m afraid I have no choice but to inform your grandmother. I’m mightily disappointed in Alexandra and Virginia. What they were doing letting you children run riot is beyond me.’
With that, my tact ran out.
‘I’m sorry if you’re offended,’ I told her, all the strength of Bell House shooting iron through my spine. ‘The twins didn’t tell me or our friend, also an invited guest of the Powells, that the house came with a set of rules. And like I said, Catherine isn’t here. Feel free to let her know when she gets back.’
Her narrow, hawk-like eyes widened and her face turned pale, clashing horribly against her butter yellow blazer and baby blue sundress. It was rude, so rude of me, but I didn’t have the time or energy for etiquette.
‘If that’s it, can I have my jersey back? It belonged to my dad.’
