Don't Hex with Texas
Page 71

“I don’t have any grandparents,” he said, “but my foster mother is about your age.”
“That explains it. You had to listen to your elders. Is there any coffee?” Without waiting for an answer, she spun and headed toward the kitchen fast enough that I wondered if she used magic to speed her pace.
“I’ll make some,” I said, hurrying to follow her. It was a good thing I’d had my meltdown earlier and got it out of my system. Otherwise, I’m not sure how I’d have reacted to finding out that my grandmother was magical and had known about all this stuff all along.
I got to the coffeemaker before Granny did and made a pot of half decaf, since I knew she wasn’t supposed to have too much caffeine and she’d have already had at least four cups of coffee that day.
We certainly didn’t need her over caffeinated; she was bad enough as it was. For once, she didn’t fight me over who should make the coffee. Instead, she seemed content to sit at the kitchen table and let us serve her.
That was probably because she wasn’t through with Dean yet. She rapped him again across the knees, and he wisely took a step back so he’d be out of cane range. “Now that you’ve had your little fun and you’ve shown what you can do, you are going to give all those things back, aren’t you?” she said. She phrased it as a question, but her tone of voice made it more of a command. “I’d hate to have to tell your mother what a disappointment you are.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Dean stammered. “I mean, I’d like to, but I’m not sure I can, not without getting caught. They’ve got better patrols now, and it was almost a fluke that I was able to do it in the first place.”
“Well, if you did it, then maybe it’s right for you to get caught. Better to be caught bringing things back, even if you have to go in during business hours with a box full of stolen goods, than to be caught with the loot in your house or on your wife’s wrist. You’ll not be able to prosper until this wrong is set right.”
Dean groaned. “Oh no; Sherri. I’ll never get those things away from her. And for once I was able to make her happy.” Apparently, he hadn’t heard a thing I’d said earlier. I suspected he was the one who was reluctant to return the goods, and Sherri was a convenient excuse.
A shriek from the back door proved me right. “Dean Chandler, are you in here?” Sherri then stomped into the kitchen, her hair wild and her eyes blazing. “Just what, exactly, do you think you’ve been up to?”
He took a step away from her, only to realize he’d returned himself to Granny’s cane range, so he took another step sideways. “Up to what, honey?” he asked, so cool and innocent that butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.
“‘Up to what?’” she mocked, her voice going up nearly an octave. “What have you got yourself mixed up in, huh? And don’t play innocent with me. I know you’re up to something.”
Dean’s innocent expression faltered for a split second, but then he was back to his usual cocky grin.
“Mind letting me in on what you know, darlin’?”
She raised her arm, showing a bare wrist. “I went to the jewelry store to get my new bracelet appraised, and guess what? They said it was stolen property. I told them someone had given it to me as a gift and turned it over to them.”
“Wow, it really was stolen?” he asked, still maintaining the illusion of innocence. Granny leaned forward so she could reach him with her cane and gave him a good whack with it. “Ow!” he protested. “Okay, I got the stuff from a guy I know. I didn’t know it was stolen, but I’ll give it all back, I promise.”
Normally, that was the point when Sherri melted, apologized for ever doubting him, and started calling him disgusting pet names like “snoogie woogums” while the rest of us tried not to throw up.
This time, though, she tossed her hair back and said, “You’d better. I’m going to stay at Mom’s for a few days, and when I come back, all that stuff better be out of my house, or I’ll be packing up my things and leaving for good.” With that, she turned and marched out of the kitchen, letting the back door slam behind her and leaving an uncomfortable silence in her wake.
“I don’t think Sherri will mind if you give the stuff back,” I said, breaking the silence before it got creepy.
“I guess not,” Dean agreed, looking sheepish.
The coffeemaker stopped, and Owen, who was wisely staying out of the family discussion, found a mug and poured a cup for Granny. “I might be able to help return the goods,” he said. “The magic is easy enough for me, and with Sam’s help, we can hide the activity from the patrols for long enough to get in and out.”