Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
I don’t know.
I saved my least favorite site for last. The one that had speculated on my dress size with horrified glee. Assholes. At the top of the page are new photos of Alistair with a lingerie model at a charity luncheon at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel. He’s wearing another suit and, Lord, does he look dapper. The close-ups of his warm smile and very friendly gaze were... Yeah. It’s great that he’s having a good time. Though I could have done without the paparazzo catching the moment his hand lowered from the small of her back to the curve of his date’s ass. Not that any of this is my business. We’re just friends.
10
News of Alistair’s lunch date means the paparazzi have lost interest in me. My brush with fame is officially over. There’s no one hiding in the front garden when I return home that evening. No suspicious people lurking in the street. Though there’s still a lingering feeling of being watched. It’s probably just my imagination. I do my best to shake it off as I head up the stairs. It’s good to be back. I owe my neighbors an apology. Maybe I can talk Mom into baking a few batches of cookies with my help.
When I reach my door, however, the quiet hum of conversation comes from within. What the fuck?
I drop my shopping bag and fumble in my purse for the small can of Mace. With pepper spray in hand, I slowly turn the doorknob. The door is unlocked, with no sign of forced entry. Curiouser and curiouser. No sign of any criminals engaging in nefarious activity. Just two women drinking my wine, kicking back on my couch, and reading my notebook. My very private notebook.
“Lilah!” Lady Helena cries in her posh accent. Her long dark hair is messily piled atop her head. She’s in another long flowy pastel dress paired with a cream tweed jacket and several strands of pearls. But it’s the combat boots that pull her outfit together. She gets up to greet me. “How wonderful to see you again!”
“It’s nice to see you too. This is a surprise. I didn’t notice the Rolls-Royce outside.”
“Dougal dropped me off. He had some errands to run.”
“Thought I’d come over early and check on the press situation,” says Rebecca, who has a key to the apartment for emergencies. “Look who I found knocking on your door.”
“Wow” is all I can think to say. As good as it is to see her, I have no idea why Her Ladyship is here. Her son was out today on a date making it obvious that he and I aren’t together. Maybe she wants to be friends too.
“Her Ladyship and I have been talking, and we have some questions.” Rebecca holds up the notebook. “Such as why are you drafting your will and researching green burials?”
“I think being buried in a woven willow casket is lovely,” says Lady Helena. “It reminds me of a picnic basket. Like you’re eternally out to lunch.”
“Yeah.” I take a deep breath. “It was actually private...the contents of my notebook.”
Lady Helena smiles. “I swear we weren’t snooping, sweetheart. We just happened to see it. It was right over there on the table. Underneath those papers and some junk mail and a book or two.”
“You’ve been acting weird, and I’m worried,” says Rebecca. “What’s this sudden interest in death? I know you had a hard time last weekend with the ex and work and your car. But there’s more, I can feel it. What’s going on with you?”
Having Lady Helena here for this conversation isn’t ideal. Though she is sort of a part of things. At any rate, it was one thing to keep Rebecca in the dark to save us both some stress, but if she’s stressing anyway...
“I’m going to need you to keep an open mind,” I begin. “Please hold all questions and comments until the end.”
Rebecca nods.
“Go ahead, sweetheart,” says Lady Helena. “We’re listening.”
And I open my mouth and tell them almost everything.
“Goodness,” says Lady Helena when I’m done, her delicate brows drawn tight together. “I can certainly see why you’d be upset.”
“Yeah,” I say, taking a seat. “It’s been a lot to deal with.”
“We don’t actually know if you’ve been cursed or hexed or what, do we?”
“You think Good Witch Willow cursed her?” asks Rebecca with some serious side-eye.
Lady Helena taps a finger pensively against her chin. “It’s times like this I wish I could see auras. Because it could have been anyone, really. Or a buildup of negative energy from your own psyche. Or even bad karma spilling over from past lives. Many things can sour a life force. A spiritual cleanse would be the safest thing.”
“Guess it couldn’t hurt,” I say with much dubiousness. “It would definitely be a new experience.”