The Kitchen Witch (24 page)
All right, they'd had a close call. Half a second more and—
She
groaned. "No protection, no brains, but lots and lots of sex drive." Another couple of minutes, and she might have needed The Keep Me Foundation for heaven's sake. "Jeez," as Logan would say.
Melody made herself a bracing cup of
Chai
, with extra whipped cream, to take the edge off her frustration, and she took the hot drink to the computer in her bedroom. She hit the power button and turned on her monitor. She would check her E-mail for fan letters. Adoration calmed her.
Logan had adored her… with his lips and with his body. He had—"Screw Logan," she said. "Think of something else."
But what?
The fact that he'd spent the night with Tiffany instead of coming home to her?
"Brian," she said, prodding herself out of her pity-fest. Brian was a great guy, she thought as she waited for her PC to boot up. If she'd met him first, instead of Logan, who knew?
Maybe she would say yes the next time he came to town. When he'd kissed her good-bye at seven, he'd said he would come back, and soon, and he promised to call her. Brian was safe, and judging by his stories, he didn't seem to be a workaholic. True, he had ambition, but he was nowhere near as uptight as Logan, though Logan had been anything but in that cloak room last night. Hard is what he'd been.
Big, thick, and hard.
Ready. "Wow."
Staying away from a man who made her crazy-stupid made sense, but staying away from her producer, and neighbor, would take a bit more than the usual amount of creative avoidance. To make matters worse, she'd promised to go trick-or-treating with him and Shane tomorrow night. The poor kid would be devastated if she didn't go, so she guessed she didn't have a choice. Shane had had enough disappointment in his short life. He didn't need her providing any more.
However, her life, and Logan's, diverged, and they must, she would make a point of staying in touch with Shane.
For now, at least until tomorrow night, she needed to keep a safe distance. Since silence
reigned
upstairs, a good indication that Logan and Shane had not returned, she'd walk over to Vickie's shop on
Melody donned a vintage seventies red crepe bell-bottom pantsuit and a pair of red suede ankle boots, the sturdiest walkers she had, in preparation for the only way to get anywhere in Salem during its busiest weekend. She tucked her long black wool cape tight around her and stepped outside to brave the brisk October wind whipping off the harbor. She loved the smell of pine from the crushed needles beneath her feet and the red, yellow, and orange leaves that crackled and shushed as she walked.
At The Gables, on the street parallel to hers, the line waiting to take the famous house tour whip-tailed into the yard. At The Pig's Tail, the pub where she,
Kira
, and Vickie liked to meet for dinner, a similar line had formed.
amazed,
and fascinated children and adults alike, as they handed out spook show brochures. A clown on stilts making balloon animals, and a dark and broody vampire both waved as she walked by.
"Hey,
Miz
Mel, what's
brewin
'?" the vampire asked.
"Magic menus, haven't you heard?"
"Everybody has. Good on you, kid."
Witches sat in herb gardens and sold brooms, gave psychic readings, and taught children of all ages to make colorful, star-streaming magic wands. Melody knew a great many of the vibrant characters, vampire and witch alike, some of them actors, many the real thing. She loved them all. She loved Salem… especially at this time of year.
Melody shouldered her way into The Immortal Classic, glad to warm her cold nose, and when Vickie saw
her,
she squealed and gave her a welcoming hug. "Now, what's a famous witch doing daring the chaos of a Salem Halloween? I saw you on the news this morning, by the way. You looked awesome. Too bad you didn't get that ball gown here, though. You could have given the place a plug." Vickie raised a mock-chiding brow.
Melody laughed, hugging her back. "I thought you might need a hand today."
"Holy Hannah, do I… come on." Vickie tugged Melody through the throng. "Excuse me, '
scuse
, please," she repeated, "famous witch coming through. Make way for Salem's Kitchen Witch."
Melody laughed when they reached the safety behind the registers. Vickie stood on a chair to get the crowd's attention. "Ladies and gentlemen, I know you've been trying to be patient, but help has arrived! Melody
Seabright
, our own TV Kitchen Witch, is here to save the day. Just get in line at her register, and she'll be glad to ring up your purchases."
Melody's line was out the door before she realized what an awesome businesswoman her once-shy friend had become. "You're going to owe me big time for this one, Cartwright," Melody said when Vickie passed her to go into the back room.
"Don't I know it," Vickie said with a giggling wink. Before long, Vic had put a sign in her window, notifying passersby of the star within, and the shop filled to capacity. Vickie continued to help customers make their selections, all the while assuring newcomers that the Kitchen Witch was indeed there. "Just purchase something, and she'll ring it up for you."
Melody could only imagine what the sign said. She helped out from ten that morning until they shut the doors at eight that night, two hours later than normal. "Good thing I've had experience, or I'd never have survived," Melody said, dropping into a sturdy old Windsor chair.
"Want to do it again tomorrow?" Vickie asked.
"You're paying double what you paid me last year, right?"
"I could pay you triple, and I'd still make a profit. Thanks, Mel.
Really."
Melody pulled the sign from the window, read it, and laughed. "Come in and get your Immortal Classic receipt autographed by Melody
Seabright
, Salem TV's own Kitchen Witch. No wonder I have writer's cramp."
"You always said I had a good head for business. Will you let me buy you supper?"
The knock at the door startled them both, especially since the "Closed" sign had been hung up for the night. At first Melody didn't recognize Shane, because it was so dark outside, and he was in costume, but when she did, she was pretty sure the shadow behind him must be Logan. She opened the door and let them both in, though she did consider closing it on Logan. Judging by his tentative step inside, she thought he must feel as uncomfortable as she did.
"Hey, Mel, we been
lookin
' for you all day," Shane said, lifting his face for a kiss.
Melody's heart melted. "I never moved from this spot." She added a hug to the kiss. "Where did you look?" she asked, still kneeling in front of him, not meeting Logan's brooding gaze.
"We looked on the Hair-Raising Hayride, and on the Spooky Trolley, and at that place where they tell scary sea stories, and um, oh yeah, where we ate a chop
suey
sandwich. We want you to come on the Phantom Ghost Ship with us tonight. Will
ya
, huh?"
"For him," Logan said.
Melody stood, since Logan had finally spoken, though what he had not said rang louder. Shane wanted her, but he did not. "How did you finally find me?" she asked.
"We followed the star-struck crowd."
"Cute," Melody said.
"Yeah, people been
talkin
' 'bout
ya
, and Dad asked '
em
where you were, and how you looked, and if you were alone or with a man, and did you—"
Logan put his hand on his son's shoulder. "It's okay, sport, Mel gets the picture."
Maybe I do and maybe I don't
, Melody thought.
"Come with us," Logan said. "Please. He really wants you to."
Melody wished she could ask if he wanted her to, glad he appeared at least half as uncomfortable as she felt. Spending the night, for heaven's sakes, with that bitch Tiffany, after what happened between them, well… he should feel uncomfortable, damn it.
Melody ruffled Shane's hair. "Okay, buddy. Let me get my cape and bag."
Logan and Vickie shared small talk while Melody gathered her newest purchases, including a vintage ivory satin blouse with leg-o'-mutton sleeves, a lapis sequined bolero, and a pale pink angora sweater,
merchandise
she'd rescued from Vickie's arms before it got to the customers.
Melody kissed Vickie before she left. "What time tomorrow?"
"I love you! Eight?"
"See you then."
WHILE they waited on the Phantom Ghost Ship for the cruise around the harbor to begin, they sat on deck chairs, while Shane recounted his day for Melody, minute by minute. She was grateful, as it filled the dead space between her and Logan.
"You're in a mood," she said to Logan when Shane took a breather to pet a puppy someone brought on a leash.
"Didn't you get enough sleep last night?" She was prodding more than she should, she supposed, annoyed she was letting her jealousy show.
Logan's brow furrowed. "You should talk."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means—" He looked at Shane, slipped his hands into his pockets, slid broodingly low in his chair, and crossed his ankles. "I had a hard time getting my car into the garage this morning with Westmoreland's sitting in the middle of the driveway."
Melody covered her mouth with a hand, guessing she had dozed off toward morning, after all. What
should she
do, she wondered. Confess? Or let him believe the worst? Why not let him picture her and Westmoreland the way she had been picturing him and Tiffany all day? Damn it, he deserved a good dose of imagination, the rat, for going with Tiffany last night, instead of coining home with her. "What's a witch to do?" she said, "When you're primed, you're primed."
Logan growled—actually growled—and if looks were fire, she'd be cooked.
When the ghost giving the tour began his scare tactics over the loudspeaker, Shane scrambled into her lap.
As part of the cruise, the shipboard buffet gave Melody some great ideas for next year's Halloween show fare, until her mind took a truly creative turn. "You know what might be fun?" she told a brooding Logan as she ate a meringue ghost with chocolate chip eyes. "We could have a contest on the show early next fall for the spookiest and tastiest Halloween suppers, and the winners could get an all-expense-paid trip to Salem for Halloween, maybe tickets to the ball—" She stopped, and her face flamed.
Logan turned to stare out to sea, while need, and something stronger, tightened Melody's chest. If she didn't know better, she'd think there might be a touch of regret in the set of his shoulders as well. She swallowed and cleared her throat. "The winners could appear as guests on the show and help me prepare their winning recipes."
"Actually," Logan said, turning back to her with a grudging half smile, "that's a
helluva
promotional hook. I like it. I like it a lot. You wouldn't believe some of the lame ideas Tiff… came up with. Sorry."
LOGAN watched Melody turn in silence to examine the black, black sea surrounding them. If she hadn't ended up with Westmoreland last night, he might find the winking harbor lights pretty damned romantic with her beside him.
He should be glad their coat closet encounter had been forcefully halted. Ashamed of what had transpired, what might again have begun, if he'd gone home last night, Logan had stayed at his mother's, to protect Melody, while Mel had sought solace in someone else's arms.
Which she had a right to do.
And while nothing had changed between them as a result of last night, the very air surrounding them felt different.
He wished now that Shane hadn't been so sincere about missing her this afternoon. For the better part of the day, Logan had managed to put Shane off, until it came to the cruise. His son had been right, everything they did without Mel was boring. Her presence alone would have made it more fun, as Shane kept reminding him.
When it came to the cruise, Shane had insisted, vehemently, that Mel come with them, to the point that Logan was forced to either punish him for his surly behavior and pigheaded determination, or heed his tear-filled entreaty. Besides, by then, Logan wanted to see Mel more than his son did.
He watched them together now, their reactions to the macabre journey sometimes trembling and sometimes amused, but always shared. The gruesome ghost guide—in gory dress and echoing speech—had finally "appeared" to the spectators. Now the pirate was telling shiver-laced tales of piracy, witchcraft, shipwrecks, all manner of supernatural events, real and imagined, Logan guessed, that might once have plagued Boston's shore.
"IS it true, Dad?" Shane asked on the walk back to the house. "Do you think it's true what the dead pirate said about a floating head dripping blood on the deck?"
Logan chuckled. "You do realize that he was a live man only pretending to be a dead pirate, right?"
" 'A
course, I do." Shane snorted. "Pirates don't have cell phones."
Melody laughed. "I didn't see him use a cell phone."
"I heard it
ringin
' in his pocket. Teacher said people didn't have cell phones in the old days, did you, Dad?"
Shared laughter helped ease the tension.
"What time are we going trick-or-treating tomorrow night?" Shane asked. "Do we
gotta
wait till it gets dark
? 'Specially
if we have to have naps first?" Shane tugged Melody's hand as they stepped on the porch. "Dad says we
gotta
nap tomorrow. Today was a long day. He was tired and grouchy 'cause the guest bed was lumpy last night."