Page 8 of Wicked Witch of the Wolf

“Does it stay forever?”

“Nah.” I shrugged. “Couple months or so. Maybe longer. Depends how guilty she feels about what she did. The spell doesn’t work that well on people with no guilt, but Felicia proved she possesses the emotion when she apologized to Carmen. It was genuine.”

“How do you know for sure?”

I got up to top off my cup and Ida’s and plugged in one of Mom’s old, crackly transistor radios. I could replace it, but a new one wouldn’t have that same nostalgic magic.

Bill Withers’s “Lovely Day” accompanied my return to my seat. “I don’t. However, from what I know about the ex-mayor, she’s quick to anger and just as quick to regret. So it tracks.”

Ida harrumphed. “You didn’t vote for her.”

“Well, no. We’re at odds on most of the issues. But that doesn’t mean she can’t be sorry for acting like an ass.” I wrapped my hands around my new clay jarrito mug. I’d commissioned a local artisan to craft one identical to the one I’d lost.

“I still think it was pretty rich of her to call the wolf alpha Machiavellian and shameless.”

“She wasn’t wrong.” I brought my cup to my lips and closed my eyes as the coffee warmed me.

“Well, no. Alpha Pallás is as shady as a back porch in a thunderstorm. I’m saying Felicia Juarez isn’t exactly a paragon herself.”

“She was misled by the alpha.”

“You can’t be misled into doing something you weren’t already prepared to do.”

I set down my mug and picked up my cell phone to check my money app. Mayor Carmen had already paid in full. Nice. I’d be able to cover the annual insurance payment on the property.

My mom’s cottage—my current residence—sat smack in the center of the Siete Saguaros mobile home park. I’d ended up owning and running the place after Mom passed away three years ago, and it was a never-ending drain on my finances. The minuscule space rent didn’t scratch the surface of our expenses, and I only had five of the seven available spaces rented anyway.

So, I took the occasional side job, and that, along with a few other business opportunities I’d developed in town, covered the rest.

“You’re right, of course. I guess I feel a little sorry for the ex-mayor. She lost that election badly. It had to have been humiliating.”

“She tried to sell out our little town to further her own corporate interests, Betty. She ain’t the good guy here.” Ida’s gaze settled on my phone. “You gave away some valuable leverage against Alpha Pallás.”

“Yep.”

“Why’d you do it?”

“To gain something more valuable—insight from someone who’s worked closely with Alpha Floyd and a possible ‘enemy of my enemy’ ally.”

Ida shook her head. “I hope your gamble pays off.”

“Me, too.”

She left then, and I turned up the radio and spent the next hour giving the house a quick clean to the sounds of the seventies.

In my Airstream, it would’ve taken about twenty minutes on a deep clean day. Mom’s house, though only 1300 square feet, took three times longer. Still, it was nice to have closet space again. The mosaic fireplace in the living room was cozy on cold desert nights. The kitchen was big enough for more than one person to comfortably move around in.

And if I saw the echoes of my mom’s dead body every time I looked at the door, well, maybe that was the price I was supposed to pay for being too late to save her.

My cell buzzed. Bertrand Sexton, the cemetery demon. It was his second today, tenth this week. I’d have to face him eventually.

I declined the call.

Finished with my housework, I switched off the radio and headed to the garden room with cat treats for Fennel and some fresh raspberries for Cecil. On the way over, I ran into Gladys Jimenéz. She was dressed in a cute black tennis dress and twirling a racket. She and Ida played tennis at the park a couple days a week.

“Betty, you still coming tonight?”

I avoided a patch of wildflowers that had recently begun growing around the stepping stones in front of Mom’s house. “Gladys, not only am I coming, I’m bringing the chips and salsa.”

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