“Patience Petunia Fowler, if you have something to say about this, I suggest you do so to my face.”
Dismissing entirely the stern tone of voice or her full government name, the critter, also known as Patches the Possum, grumbled before turning away from Pru and back to gazing longingly out the window.
And that was another thing.
Patches, who had no need for obfuscation or hiding of her scrutiny of the building next door—not that Pru needed any, absolutely not—was ensorcelled. Patches was bewitched. Patches was a total goner. All because Rhiannon Crowhart was accompanied almost everywhere by a black cat whose size really brought the animal closer to a small panther than a regular house feline. The sleek menace followed its mistress with the same level of grace. If not for Rhiannon’s striking red hair, they could be family, both possessing those haunting green eyes and the deadly presence of a predator on the prowl.
Patches snorted again, this time with something akin to ridicule, and Pru shook her head. Yeah, even her possum was laughing at her train of thought.
Haunting? Darn it, she had never exchanged a word with the woman. Pru felt awkward and silly.
Oh, but the dreams… The ones where you whisper promises as if she’s yours to call for in the night?—
Pru gritted her teeth and valiantly attempted to bring herself back to reality. A diversion was in order.
As if to answer her request, the universe provided. Though when Victoria Crowhart-Moreau shook out the morning dampness from her long, braided gray hair and settled on the little stool next to the cash register counter, Pru considered the distinct possibility that the universe had a rather perverse sense of humor.
“I am here to gossip and spy, Prudence Ophelia. And for coffee, of course.”
Pru could tell the latter was an afterthought. Not an excuse exactly—the woman in front of her needed no excuses and made no apologies for herself. Ever.
At an indecipherable age—anywhere between sixty and eighty—Victoria was anything but apologetic. In fact, she was a renowned mischief-maker and trouble-rouser on the island.
Tall, slender to the point of brittle, though deceptively so, excessively profane, and completely irreverent, Victoria Crowhart-Moreau was pure unadulterated fun, and that made her a particular favorite of Pru’s.
“Now, silly goose, how about that brew and what about your new neighbor?”
Little devils danced in Victoria’s eyes as she waved the slightly arthritic hand in the direction where the coffee carafe was being kept warm in the machine.
Pru did as bidden, hiding her smile. She also attempted to hide what she thought was a discreet glance she threw out of her front shop window to where the neighbor in question carried herown coffee into the construction site, ignoring the appreciative stares of the crew as she passed them by.
“You are about as subtle as they are, child.”
So much for thinking she had been inconspicuous. Caught, Pru dropped the dainty cup. Victoria snickered. The china fell and Pru was ready to reach for the broom, except instead of shattering into a thousand little pieces, it rattled on the stone floor of the shop and Victoria’s laughter ceased abruptly. Pru watched in wonder as the cup stopped its awkward bounce and turned handle up. Intact. Victoria gave Pru a calculating glance before nodding toward the coffee again.
“I wasn’t staring.” Pru sighed. Even to her own ears, the words were completely dishonest. Setting the somehow unbroken piece of kitchenware aside, she filled a new one for Victoria, who took it and winked.
“There’s no shame in that, Pru. She has always been gorgeous. Twenty-some years have done nothing but make her more so. All the Crowharts age beautifully. I am a living testament to that.”
“Since I have no idea how old you are, I will refrain from commenting.” Pru crossed her arms, on her toes where Victoria was concerned.
“Sassy. Always were. That’s good, because you will have to deal with her. And that’s one way to do so, child.”
Against her better judgment, Pru dared to give voice to her immediate follow-up question.
“And what are other ways?”
Victoria took a long sip, grimaced—because let’s face it, even Pru knew her brew was a work in progress, as were all her culinary talents—and then gave her a brilliant shameless smile.
“Besides sassing her? Fuck her. Either of those would work for you, Prudence Ophelia Fowler of the ancient and questionably reputable Crow’s Nest Fowlers.”
Rolling her eyes, Pru knew she had walked right into that one. The door she had left open for Victoria’s teasing was the size of a barn, she had nobody else to blame but herself. As for Victoria’s disdain for the Fowler clan, that was par for the course. The Crowharts and the Fowlers had been on the island for ages, and their feuds were legion. Nobody remembered anymore where it all began and how the clans turned enemies. Both families had resided on the island since late 1600s, but the animosity had always been there, despite its roots being forgotten.
The more recent, if you can call it that, conflict dated back to the Civil War and the Crowhart family members serving the Union and the Fowlers eschewing the fighting and remaining in Crow’s Nest, with their patriarch becoming the mayor—at the expense of the Crowhart who were lost on the battlefield. The feud ran for decades and was the veritable Hatfields and the McCoys of Dragons. It cooled down when most of the participants died off, but the town still capitalized on the warring clans, and books and tours were given, memorializing the events long past.
None of those conflicts was current, however, and so nobody presently alive cared. Victoria yanked her chain every now and then, the inside jokes getting more and more ridiculous.
On her pillow, Patches emitted what could only be categorized as a particularly pathetic sound of yearning, and both Victoria and Pru moved closer to the window to observe Rhiannon Crowhart and her feline companion exit the building and stroll along the Market Square. The disposable coffee cup was held gently by its lid, swaying along with the purposeful gait of the woman who carried it.
