I shot him a dirty look. “I’m not being selfish. I just ... Phoebe drives me crazy.”
“She drives everybody crazy. I’m pretty sure she derives her power from hatred. Do you know who else derives power from hate?”
“Senator Palpatine?”
“Is he that dippy senator from the Upper Peninsula?”
I stared at him a moment and then shook my head. “He’s a fictional character you definitely don’t want to talk about.”
“Definitely not,” Grandpa agreed. “I want to talk about the Devil. He derives power from hate, too.”
“How do you know the Devil is real?” Recent events — they were of the witchy variety, and I was terrified to address them head on — had me rethinking my place in the world.
“How else do you explain those crabby biddies talking politics every morning even though they don’t understand anything about life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness?”
It took me a moment to parse what he said. “You’re talking about The View?”
“It’s not right that they’re allowed to yell at each other on national television like that. It’s sickening.”
“Uh-huh.” It was time to get the conversation back on track. “So, Martha. Did she have any enemies?”
He shook his head to dislodge whatever dark thoughts he was playing host to regarding The View and careened back to reality. “This is a small town, Stormy. Everybody has at least one enemy. It’s not like those big cities you prefer where nobody knows anybody.
“Here, everybody knows something about someone else ... and everybody hates something about a different someone else,” he continued. “It might’ve seemed as if Martha flew under the radar, but I guarantee she had secrets.”
“I don’t suppose you know what those secrets were.”
“No. I don’t give two figs about yarn, so I didn’t pay attention to her. The one time I tried to talk to her she tried to explain what a girdle was — they sound inhumane, if you ask me — and then asked if I had a preferred brand of denture adhesive. Nobody has time for conversations like that.”
I couldn’t disagree. “Can you think of anyone else who might have information on her? If she was hated, surely somebody would know who was doing the hating.”
“All I can think is to tap your buddy.”
There were so many ways I could go with that statement it took me a moment to sort it out. “Hunter has to focus on work,” I countered. “We don’t even know if Martha was poisoned.”
“Not that buddy.” Grandpa made a face. “I’m talking about your other buddy, the one at the funeral home.”
“Oh.” A cold wave of dread flooded my chest. “Sebastian.”
“Yeah, him. He knows everything.”
He did indeed know everything, including the big secret I’d been trying to keep. I wasn’t certain I was ready for an emotional discussion, and there was no way he’d let me escape without owning up to my new reality.
Still, he had gossip about everyone in town.
“I guess it couldn’t hurt,” I said. “As for you, next time Phoebe comes calling, you deal with her. I’m done being your buffer.”
He snorted and strolled toward the door, his work in my apartment apparently finished. “We’ll see.”
“We will,” I agreed. “She’s your problem from now on.”
“If you say so.”
I SHOWERED AND GRABBED COFFEE AT THE shop next to Sebastian’s funeral home. I liked to think I was honest — especially with myself — so I knew why I was delaying at the foot of the sidewalk. I was afraid to look him in the eye and admit what he’d witnessed was true. If I kept hiding, he might eventually forget — which was complete and total hogwash. He would never forget and I couldn’t go on avoiding him. Shadow Hills was only so big. I needed someone to talk to, and he was my best bet.
The funeral home was quiet when I opened the front door. Instead of an annoying bell or even chimes to alert him that someone had crossed the threshold, I knew Sebastian had an alert set on his digital watch. That way there was no obnoxious noise to jar the bereaved.
He briskly walked into the foyer ... and then pulled up short.
“Well, well, well.” He folded his arms across his chest and looked me up and down. “I thought maybe you’d died. Of course, if that happened, your mother would’ve visited to pick out a casket for you.”
I found my mouth had gone completely dry and I didn’t know what to say.
Sebastian didn’t let my silence slow him. He barreled forward as if this wasn’t our most awkward conversation ever. “I think pink. Not a baby pink, but an obnoxious fuchsia pink. That’s for the casket and pillow.”
That was enough to have me find my voice. “Well, who doesn’t love a pink cushion?” I said. “That sounds like a fabulous touch. You’ve got the eye when it comes to these things.”
He slanted a suspicious look in my direction. “Both the exterior and interior of the casket would be pink. I plan to dye your hair to match.”
“That’s just mean.”
He cracked a smile. “Is your heart broken? I certainly hope so after I’ve spent the last week with one of my own because of you.”
The accusatory tone was enough to break me. “I wasn’t avoiding you.” Even as the words escaped, I recognized how lame they sounded. “I was just ... there was a lot going on.”
“Hunter?”
I swallowed hard. Of course he would jump to the heart of matters. That was his way. “We can’t date for another week. He says we need to give his relationship with Monica a proper mourning period. The way Phoebe attacked us outside the restaurant today, I think he’s right. Maybe two weeks isn’t enough time to wait.”
Sebastian rolled his eyes and offered up a haphazard wave. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he chided, shaking his head. “The two-week rule is for amateurs and celebutantes. You’re neither.”
“I haven’t really dated since the first time Hunter and I were together,” I pointed out. “I might be an amateur.”
“That would explain why you’re such an idiot.” Sebastian pursed his lips and then inclined his head toward the parlor. “Take a seat. I just brewed a fresh pitcher of iced tea.”
Just like that? I couldn’t believe he was going to let me off the hook. “You make a mean iced tea,” I said.
“I have fresh lemon and everything.”
“I love lemon.” I flashed a genuine smile.
“Good. Once we’re settled, we’ll talk about you being magical. I’m still cleaning up the mess from the last time you were here, so you’ll have to excuse my disorganization.”
My heart dropped. “Oh, I ... .”
“Sit,” he growled, adding a bit of wiggle to his hips before he turned on his heel and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen. I acquiesced, giving the room a long once-over as I sat on the couch. It didn’t look any different from the other times I’d visited, which raised a few questions.
“What still needs to be fixed?” I asked when he returned with my iced tea. “I’ll help you with whatever it is. I feel guilty that I left you to pick up the mess by yourself.”