Page 22 of The Magic We Made

“So I guess the burning question,” Francesca goes on, her nose wrinkling quizzically—and adorably—“is what someone with thousand-dollar sneakers is doing stealing groceries out of an old lady’s vacation rental?”

I shake my head. I can’t tell her. I already tried, and she didn’t believe it (and the cat was no help whatsoever, either).

But if she doesn’t believe ghosts are real (which should come as a surprise to all the many restless spirits I’ve encountered over the years), what’s she going to say about my psychic ability, and the fact that I’m currently using it to track down a wannabe witch?

It’s right then that I hear it: thunder rumbling off in the distance. There’d been no warning of rain today on my weather app, and the sky had been a bright arc of cloudless blue when I was driving up from the city. But now a storm is coming?

I’m pretty used to things not going my way—that’s part of the fun of being alive, right? Sometimes things don’t go your way, and you have to scramble to make them right. It’s tough, but it keeps things interesting.

But thingsreallyhaven’t been going my way lately, and it’s getting kind of hard not to wonder if there might be a more nefarious reason behind it all than the simple fact that sometimes things suck.

Suddenly I realize I can’t stand being under the deck anymore. The shade is nice and cool, and it smells good—like dirt and the woods and the lake. Clean, earthy smells.

But this is exactly where Emma Bridle stood to break into my house. If I’d been here in West Harbor instead of wasting so much time searching for her in the city, I’d have found her a week ago.

This is not good. Not good at all. I don’t know how Frankie’s not feeling as claustrophobic as I am—the top of her head is in just as much danger of scraping the bottom of the deck as mine.

All I know is that I have to get out.

So I duck back out into the sunshine and immediately feel much better. The house doesn’t have a backyard—the woodedcliff plunging down toward the lake and the deck overlooking itisthe backyard—so I stand close to the side of the house, near one of the outer pylons. Fortunately there’s a pretty nice breeze coming off the lake. It seems to be coming from a line of dark clouds building in the north, just over the treetops of Center Island.

A storm is coming. A big one, from the looks of it, and I’m not the only one who’s noticed. Frankie follows me out from beneath the deck and squints at the clouds.

“I have to go,” she announces. She looks cool and collected. Being under a dank, dark deck by the footprints of a missing girl doesn’t bother her at all, probably because she doesn’t have to explain to her boss how she missed her, or even that those footprintsbelongto a missing girl. “This has been very informative, but I think it’s going to rain, and—”

“Hang on a minute.”

Invite her inside. Invite her inside for a drink.

Then I remember there’s nothing to drink inside. A little thief in thousand-dollar sneakers stole it all. I had meant to stop by the grocery store on my way up from the city, but I forgot. As usual.

And is it appropriate to ask your neighbor in for drinks after realizing the person who stole all your renters’ groceries is the very same person you’re supposed to be finding? I don’t think so.

But I can’t help it. This might be my only opportunity to make a good impression on Francesca Giovanni. She’s already looking at me questioningly, wondering why I asked her to wait. I need to come up with something....

“I guess I owe Mrs. Baumgarten an apology.” I’m floundering. “And a refund.”

I don’t know why Francesca’s approval is so important to me.All I know is that when I see the smile that spreads across her face is a genuine one, without snark, my heart gives a kick. And it’s not only because she approves of what I said. It’s because when she’s smiling, Francesca “Frankie” Giovanni isn’t only attractive.

She’s beautiful.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” she says. Her teeth are even and white, all except for her incisors, which are just the tiniest bit crooked. No braces as a teen for Dr. Giovanni. I can’t imagine what kind of orthodontist would have had the guts to tell her she needed them. “Mrs. Baumgarten will be so happy.”

“Yeah.” I don’t relish telling Guy any of this. But I relish the sudden warmth in Francesca’s eyes. “I hope you’ll forgive me, too. I truly am sorry.”

“Don’t mention it. That’s what neighbors are for, right?”

She gives me another beautiful smile, then turns to go.

I can’t let this happen. “Wait!”

She turns back toward me, curious. “Yes?”

“What... what do you think I should do aboutthat?” I nod toward the basement window.

I’m only asking to keep her from leaving so soon. I know what to do about it: find Emma before she breaks into the wrong house and gets herself arrested... or worse.

But Francesca appears to seriously consider the question as the stormclouds over the lake give another growl. Those towering clouds are rolling closer and closer to the bright sun, threatening to cover it at any moment.