Megan Marple [Marple - Spell Maven from Spell Haven

MEGAN MARPLE

Spell Maven from Spell Haven Megan Marple 2018.

Amazon Kindle First Edition.

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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writers imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

The author has asserted his/her rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book.

H mm. Not too shabby.

I folded the newspaper in half until the only thing showing was the Union-Gazettes front page article, Cat Called for Jury Duty. Underneath the black and white picture in tiny print was Gwendolyn Brady, Head Staff Photographer. I inspected the shot from different angles, pretty pleased with how it had turned out. Jeremy, the cat in question, was a beautiful Persian. Id captured him sitting in his owners front window, staring out at the world past his comfort zone with utter disregard and boredom. So basically, he was like every other cat. The photo was almost as good as the one Id managed to snap of Mayor Bellamy chasing after some escaped pigs at the Midnight Pitch Halloween festival last year.

Tossing the Sunday edition of the Union-Gazette onto the coffee table, I reminded myself to high-five my friend and co-worker, Barry. When G, our boss, gave him the assignment, both of us nearly fell over laughing. Only in a tiny town like Midnight Pitch would something like this make the front page.

In the kitchen, Fiona-Leigh was busy fixing herself some sweet teaa staple in our house at this point. I guess its one of those things you just naturally pick up, living in the south.

I see youre up, finally. And gosh, its only... eleven oclock! I teased her.

Arent I allowed a little chill time in the summer? School only let out last week, Mom. Its not like Im Marina. Her parents let her stay up as late as she wants, and she can get up whenever she feels like it.

Ah, yes. Because of course she can. Youre right. Youre not Marina, and Im not her parents. So how about at least trying for nine-thirty tomorrow, hm?

I knew she was ignoring me the moment she started humming to herself, but it was pointless to argue. She would get up early enough tomorrow, simply because she hated it when I was the one who woke her up. Maybe that was because I used a glass of ice water. What else can I do? It was fast. I had to hurry up and head off to the paper in the morning, and she was still drooling on her pillow, passed out. Its not like I had help or anything.

To be honest, I never thought there was a stereotypical single mother. Single parents worked hard to protect their kids and provide for them. We had to be two rational-thinking adults, not just one making it on some nights with ramen noodles for dinner again, when the only thing that got us through was the thought of that bottle of [kind of wine] tucked away in our cabinets. Working hard came with the territory. And Im not complaining, no way. This is my life, and Im in a good place now, finally.

Sure, I probably could do with an eyebrow wax and maybe if you saw me walking along Union Road downtown, youd barely look me over before I guarantee your eyes would slide right past. A plain V-neck to match my flip-flops with a pair of my favorite jeans that yes, I wear even in the summertime. The kind of long brown hair Im constantly dyeing, without ever doing crap-else with. I mean, yeah, Im not exactly setting the fashion industry on fire.

Fiona-Leigh stood poised over the kitchen table, a half-eaten apple in one hand and an open copy of The Time-Travelers Wife in the other. With her gorgeous red locks that I secretly cried over when she was born, and those adorable freckles scattered across her face like millions of stars on a moonless night, it was a wonder I didnt stare at her constantly in utter amazement that she came from me. But you know, that kind of full-on adoration tended to fluctuate more once she hit fourteen and started trying to be her own person. The mood swings alone were enough to make me want to tap out and let someone else take the brunt of parenting her for me.

I guess I was similarly ready to gouge out the eyes of anyone who tried to tell me No when I was fourteen. Okay, maybe even more ready. But things were a lot different for me where I grew up, and being ready for anything was simply part of who I was.

Who I was. I wasnt exactly ready for a stroll down memory lane.

Marina was talking about me coming to stay with her part of the summer. Her parents are only going to be gone a few weeks this month, I think. And then theyll be home for the rest of it. I could stay in July, maybe! I could pack a whole suitcase and just like, do my laundry there and everything. Im sure Mrs. Peterson wouldnt mind, Fiona-Leigh said as she scratched at a bug bite on her arm. What do you think?

What I thought was that there was no way in the world Id let my daughter spend an entire month away from me, practically unsupervised. Marina has been Fiona-Leighs best friend since they had the same teacher in third grade. Out of all the hundreds of playdates, then sleepovers, ninety-five percent of the time it was Marina hanging out over here with us. There were all kinds of different parenting styles, but over the years Id figured out the Petersons way was a lot more Feral Child than mine. I guess they didnt mind letting their daughter spread her wings, or whatever, but my daughters feet were going to be firmly on the ground, thank you very much.

Jaxs hairy, little white body tore across the room, yapping and snapping at a green tennis ball that was sent flying from the opposite direction. I peeked around to see a pair of yellow eyes regarding me from the shadows of the hallway. The owner of those eyes languidly stretched out into the sunlight filtering in from outside. Oisn let out a yowling yawn, his massive black furry body elongating.

Looks like someone had another long night, I commented, watching him lift a large black paw, his claws easily sliding out as he lazily swiped at my favorite new rug. The tiniest of threads came loose, and he eyed it for a moment before looking back at me.

Dont. You. Dare.

He let out a soft mewling noise that one could easily mistake for coming from a kitten, but I knew he wasnt above going directly against my wishes. It wasnt the first time, and it probably wouldnt be the last. When Id been saddled with his monstrous and silky self, I was determined to take it in stride, but Oisn did not make a good pet.

Not that I wouldve dared to call him that to his face.

In the kitchen, Jax whined when Oisn strode up to him and struck out at his face, hissing and then batting at the tennis ball that dropped from Jaxs mouth and knocking it clear across the room. While Jax was still full of energy, bouncing around as if he were still a puppy, the cat was never in the mood to play. Looks werent everything with him, as he was much, much older than he looked.