Hung Out to Dry: The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag, #4 by Jennifer L Hart

Author:Jennifer L Hart [Hart, Jennifer L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Jennifer L Hart

Mac left about fifteen minutes before Sylvia arrived with Sarah. I’d been sitting out on the front porch, Atlas snoring at my feet and waved when the Prius rolled to a stop.

“How are you feeling?” I called to Sarah.

“Better.” Her smile lacked its typical brightness but at least she didn’t have the sickly hospital pallor anymore.

“Let me know if you need anything,” I shouted as Sylvia helped her up the staircase that led to the garage apartment.

“Should I admire your restraint in not rushing over there or worry that you’re hatching a plot?” Neil asked from the front door.

I waved a hand in dismissal. “Sylvia’s got it covered. She’ll sing out if she needs anything. It’s good for the two of them to get more comfortable with each other. If nothing else, the incident forced Sylvia to see beyond her prejudice of psychics.”

Neil moved closer, handing me a glass of wine. “Do you really think she’s psychic?”

“Did I ever tell you about my mom? She visited a psychic regularly.”

“Really?” Neil lifted a brow and sat on the bench beside me.

“Mistress Zenobia,” I said with a smile. “It was a lark since my mom was such a pillar of our church and all, but yet every Wednesday after she finished her shift at the school cafeteria, my mother would go to this creepy little bungalow at the edge of town and get a reading. Mistress Z did it all, palm reading, tarot cards, tea leaves, you name it. My father thought it was hogwash of course, but he’d indulge her in just about everything as long as it made her happy.”

“Sounds familiar,” Neil murmured and brought my hand to his lips. “You don’t talk about your parents much. At least not to me.”

I shrugged. “If I’m not talking to you about them, you can bet I’m not talking to anyone else about them either.”

Neil didn’t let go of my hand, instead laced his fingers through mine. “You can, you know. Talk about them if you need to.”

“I know that. I guess I just got out of the habit. Marty couldn’t talk about them for years after they died. Maybe because if we referred to them in the past tense it was a way to acknowledge that they were never coming back.” Curling my feet up under me, I leaned against his shoulder. “Madame Zenobia left town about six months before the fire. I’ve always wondered what would have happened if she had stayed. If she would have been able to warn them somehow, about what was coming.”

Neil didn’t say anything for a minute. I watched as a light came on across the street and Old Mr. Glossner slipped outside to dump his trash in the Rutherfords bin so he wouldn’t have to wheel his own down his own steep driveway to the curb on Tuesday night. Sneaky old devil.

“I’m sorry, Uncle Scrooge.”

I scowled and turned to face him. “About what?”

“Not asking about your folks. Pressuring you about the future when you’ve never really gotten a chance to deal with the past.

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