Witch & Curse by Nancy Holder, Debbie Viguié Page B

Holly’s aunt asked her, gesturing to the trio of vending machines against the back wall of the waiting room. “Don’t try the coffee. It’ll kill you . . . it’s horrible.”
    Holly remembered Michael’s little box filled with tea. Had they retrieved it from the limo?
    The last thing she did was examine that stuff
.
    â€œHoney? Some tea?” Aunt Marie-Claire prodded.
    â€œSure. Thanks,” Holly replied, more to give Aunt Marie-Claire something to do than anything else.
    Her aunt got some change from Michael, then bustled over to the machines. Holly sat down on a leather chair at a right angle to the sofa. Michael folded the newspaper, stretching out his legs. His clothes and his loafers were wet from the storm, which still raged outside.
    He was about to say something when a woman in a navy blue suit bustled into the room. She smiled too brightly and announced, “Hi, I’m Eve Oxford. I’m one of the social workers here.” She perched on the very edge of a chair identical to Holly’s on the other side of the coffee table. “Let’s talk about Holly’s living arrangements.”

    At first, Holly refused to leave San Francisco. She insisted that she didn’t want to abandon Barbara, who was still in the hospital, and then she couldn’t bear to pack her clothes. But as the days slogged by, she realized that her aunt had a life back in Seattle, and she, Holly, was making her nervous by holding her up.
    Michael Deveraux—that was his full name, and he was “a friend of the family”—had flown back to Seattle the day after the funeral.
    And now, she and her aunt were on the same flight, a little over a week later.
    Everything back in San Francisco had been handled by Holly’s aunt. A friend of Holly’s mother’s was house-sitting, and Holly had gone to say good-bye to the horses at the stables. It was then that the owner, Janet Levesque, had told her that her parents had been making arrangements to purchase a horse for Holly as a high school graduation present.
    Now, seated in first class with her aunt, Holly leaned her head against the window and thought of all the dreams denied. She had a trust fund and she was going to be “very well taken care of,” as her parents’ attorney had put it. Once she reached eighteen, she could buy herself five horses if she wanted.
    â€œHolly, do you want some champagne?” her auntasked. In the time they’d been together, Holly had noticed that her aunt had a tendency to drink a little too much. Holly hoped it was because of the stress, and that she wouldn’t keep drinking in Seattle.
    Holly wanted to tell her she didn’t drink, and that fussing over her was making her edgy. But when the flute of sparkling wine arrived, she accepted it with good grace, sipped it . . .
    . . . and woke up as they were landing.
    Startled, Holly jerked up her head. Over the roar of the descent, her aunt smiled and said, “Hey, sleepyhead. I was just wondering if I was going to have to carry you off the plane.”
    The plane touched down and the brakes were squealing, and her aunt had shifted her attention to her makeup. She looked perfect, as she always did, and Holly wondered if her cousins spent as much time worrying about their appearance as their mom did. Her aunt’s carry-on luggage was bulky and heavy, containing lots of new makeup she had purchased at Nordstrom on Union Square. Holly found the woman’s delight in cruising the makeup counters—and her binge buying—completely bizarre. As far as Holly could tell, she bought nothing in San Francisco that she couldn’t get in Seattle—or, for that matter, online.
    It’s a compulsion
, Holly thought.
She can’t stop herself
.
    As they deplaned and walked to baggage claim, her aunt sailed along, not giving Holly much opportunity to look around. She chatted lightly about inconsequential