A Witch's Tale by Maralee Lowder Page A

her face. She cupped water into her hands to rinse her mouth.
    “Hey! How long are you two going to be in there? We got a line waiting out here, ” a voice called through the door.
    “Ready?” Mac asked.
    Cassie pulled herself to her full height, all five feet two inches, and nodded.
    “Then let’s get out of here. I think we could both use a little fresh air.”
    “Damn!” Mac cursed under his breath as they stepped outside into the bright afternoon sun. “Doesn’t that creep have his own church somewhere o r does he always do his preaching in public places?” Mac comme nted, referring to Samuel Hicks who once again had managed to gather a small but vociferous group of followers on the sidewalk before the Sheriff’s office. “God almighty, that guy has the best nose for smelling out trouble that I’ve ever seen. A person might think he had a friend in uniform,” Mac commented dryly.
    Though the man’s very presence irritated Mac no end, his main concern was Cassie. Could she handle another confrontation with the little weasel after what she’d just been through?
    But one glance in her direction eased his fears. With a toss of her fiery locks, she squared her shoulders and straightened her back. With jaw set, she gave Hicks a look that obviously sent panic through the little man. Her g olden eyes glittered ominously as she defied the preacher’s epithets.
    Mac hid a proud grin when he saw the preacher hesitate for a moment and begin taking halting steps backwards as Cassie held him capti ve by nothing more than the shee r power of her gaze. Empowered by his retreat, Cassie took one deliberate step after another, her eyes never leaving his. She’d had just about all she could take from this man and his ignorance. If it was an evil witch he wanted, she was in the mood to give him one.
    Without uttering a word, Mac stepped up behind her and took hold of her hand. Still not speaking, he le d her away. He’d never been more proud of her than he was at that moment.
     
    “That was real smart. Nothing like giving the evil eye to someone who already believes you’re in league with the devil,” Cassie chastised herself. “If I ever had a chance of convincing Samuel Hicks that he’s wrong about us, I just blew it big time.”
    “Forget it. Hicks isn’t the kind of guy who admits when he’s wrong, no matter how strong the evidence. So maybe scaring the pa nts off him wasn’t a great idea, but watching him squirm sure made me feel better. How about you?”
    “Yeah,” Cassie grinned sheepishly, “that was the most f un I’ve had in a very long time. Well, the second most … ” she corrected herself, smiling fondly at Mac.
    They were back at their favorite bench far out on the fishing pier. Cassie had spent the past five minutes gu lping huge breaths of fresh air as if she could not get enough of it. Even the exhilaration of facing one of her enemies down hadn’t been enough to erase the ugly memories of what she had just been through.
    “Wh at did Whit tell you in there?” Cassie asked. It nearly broke his heart to see her brave look slip away as her thoughts returned to their recent experience.
    “They were asking the questions, not answering them. All I know for certain is that there was a another murder last night, b ut who it was, I haven’t a clue.”
    “They wouldn’t tell me either, but when they left me in that little room, they forgot to close the door for a few minutes and I heard ... I heard ...” She grasped her lower lip between her teeth, trying des perately to hold back the tears, b ut in spite of her efforts, tears welled up, spilling down her cheeks. “It was the worst, the absolute worst thing I have ever heard.”
    Mac’s first reaction as a man was to wrap Cas sie in his arms and comfort her, b ut that was not how you operated when you were working a story. He had learned long ago to be patient, to let his subject tell the story in his own way, in his own time. Some people