The max porter box set, p.8
The Max Porter Box Set, page 8
He checked his watch — he had been gone almost twenty-five minutes. No doubt, his mother had worked herself into a froth of indignation. And they had a forty minute drive home.
Bracing himself for the verbal attack, he walked toward their table. A woman sat with his mother, the two chatting like old friends.
Max’s skin turned to ice.
Mother Hope sat with his mother. The old witch had a hand on his mother’s forearm, confiding something in a whisper that sent both ladies giggling.
“Oh, Max,” his mother said with the joy of a teen going to her first prom. “I want you to meet this lovely lady. She has an unusual name, but don’t let that fool you. She’s down-to-Earth and a pure delight.”
Mother Hope turned in her chair and offered a hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Your mother is the true delight here.”
Max hesitated, considered refusing her hand, but then saw the way his mother stared at him. She would be mortified if he acted rudely, and he would be forced to explain who Mother Hope really was — which only would lead to a discussion of ghosts and witches. That was not a conversation he welcomed.
Shaking her hand, he said, “Thank you. My mother is indeed delightful.”
“I’m sure you value her greatly and only want the best things for her.” Her grip tightened — not painfully so, but enough to show her intent. Her cold glare underscored her words. “You be a good boy and work hard, and I’m sure she’ll live a long and healthy life.”
Max let go of the hand and forced a pleasant demeanor. His heart hammered as all thoughts of understanding and balance and excuses for the Magi’s behavior rushed out of his head. This woman would have made a great Mafia don.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll take good care of her.”
Mother Hope got to her feet. “Mrs. Porter, it’s been a pleasure, but I’m sure your son has important work to get done, and I have my own appointments to keep. Enjoy the rest of your visit, and I hope we can chat again sometime.”
“I’d love that,” Max’s mother said.
It took all of Max’s remaining strength not to scream.
Chapter 10
MAX TRAMPLED A CLEAR PATH across the bedroom carpeting while Sandra brushed her teeth in the adjoining bathroom. After lunch with his mother and a nerve-wracked drive home, he had spent several hours in the office with his head buried in research. When he finally got home, Sandra had to know something went wrong, but she gave him the space he needed to cool down.
Luckily, Drummond had not returned from his latest foray into the Other. Max loved that old ghost, but he couldn’t bear the thought of dealing with Drummond’s guaranteed, hot-headed reaction to Mother Hope’s actions. Plus, if Drummond had returned, it would mean moving the case forward, and Max didn’t know how he felt about that.
“Which is part of my problem with all this,” he said to Sandra as he started another circuit around the bedroom. Only after he had showered and dressed for bed, only after Sandra had started her nighttime routine, did he finally have the ability to open up about what had happened. “Maybe we’ve finally reached the point where we’re truly in this too deep. I mean it’s one thing to fight the Hulls from within — we were really just trying to free ourselves from a bad situation — but in this case, heck, we don’t even really know what the case is all about.”
“We’ve been involved in worse.”
“And where did that get us? PB is still recovering from being shot, and he’s just a kid.” Max froze. “Where’s J? Have you seen him today?”
“He’s fine. He spent most of the day playing nurse to PB, and I set him up on an air mattress in your office. I don’t think he wants to be alone in his apartment. Once PB is healthy enough to return, J will go back, too. For now, though, there’s no need for him to sleep on the couch again.”
Sandra entered the bedroom and pulled back the comforter on the bed. Max had no intention of getting into bed. He couldn’t stop moving.
“I’m glad J’s fine, but that’s part of this mess, isn’t it? I shouldn’t have to worry about the Sandwich Boys. They shouldn’t be getting so close to the danger in our line of work.”
“Hon, sit.” Sandra patted a spot next to her. He did so, and she kissed his temple and hugged his shoulder. He tried not to wince. “Our business involves risk. You know that better than any of us. Look at all the bruises on your body. PB and J both have been working with us enough to know about those risks. Besides, they’re tough. They’ve lived harder lives than you or me.”
“I know. It’s not right, though. We shouldn’t have to keep fighting this kind of thing.”
“What? Magic and witches?”
“All of it. I thought with the Hulls gone, these problems would settle down. I’m not stupid. I didn’t think they’d disappear entirely, but shouldn’t they have become — I don’t know — less?”
Sandra laced her fingers through his and leaned her head on his shoulder. “We’ll figure this out. You know that. We always do. And you know exactly how we’re going to do it, too.”
He couldn’t hold back a smile. “Push straight on through.”
“Damn right.”
Man, he loved that woman. “Okay.”
“We keep at it until we win.”
“Right on, Coach.”
“Good,” she said, and Max thought she was going to turn in for a deep kiss — one that would lead them to a more intimate evening. Instead, her brow tightened and her playful smile drifted into a serious expression. “I have an idea of where to start.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Really? I haven’t even said anything yet, and you’re going to start doubting me?”
Max raised his hands in surrender. “Sorry. I’ve been through a lot today.”
Softer, she said, “See that? You’re handling it all so well, I forgot what happened to you.” She clasped his hand again. “Okay. Here it is: I think we should take what we know, especially what I know about the writing on the bone, and we take it to a witch. Get an expert to tell us what’s going on.”
“A witch? What witch? They’re practically extinct around here. We’ve known less than a handful — and that includes your limited dabbling and a coven of dead witches.”
“But you were beaten up today by the Magi.”
“What does that have to do with it?”
Like a teacher with enormous patience, she said, “The Hulls were ousted from their power only a short time ago. That’s not enough time for any one group to fill the vacuum. Mother Hope and the Magi can’t be the only ones. You think it’s a coincidence that they suddenly have a case for us, that they strong arm you this way, or that some fool like Edward Wallace appears on the scene out of nowhere?”
“You’re saying we’re in the middle of a power struggle.”
“Absolutely. I don’t how these dead guys from the 1700s are connected, but you better believe they are. If I’ve learned anything from you and Drummond these past years, it’s that there are no coincidences.”
She was right — like usual — but that didn’t make the idea of visiting a witch any more palatable. “Even if I wanted to take what we have to a witch, we don’t know anyone other than your friend, Maria, and you’re not in the best place with her. Heck, if you were, she probably would still refuse us after everything we put her through on our last case.”
“I’ll find somebody new to talk with. The Hulls are gone, nobody is in control yet, so the witches don’t have to hide like before. They don’t have to go through Dr. Connor or anybody before casting a powerful spell. It’s open season out there.”
Max popped to his feet. “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”
“I don’t mean it like that. Do you see witchcraft shootouts going on? No. I simply mean we can have a witch on our side, casting spells if we need, and nobody’ll be looking over our shoulder. The witches are coming out, and we can use them to learn about that bone.”
“Great — first, Dr. Connor, then Mother Hope, and now mystery witch. In case you forgot, I don’t have a good history with witches.”
“You’ve done fine with me.”
“You’re not a witch.”
“Not yet.”
Max dropped by her side, on his knees, his hands locked on either side of her. He had never sounded so cold in his life. “You listen to me. It’s one thing to learn some basic spells to help us fight that world. It’s another thing to start studying it to become a witch. A real witch. I mean, we’ve called you that before, but I never meant it like I think you’re starting to.”
“I can be a good witch. I don’t have to learn the dark stuff.”
“You really think you’re the first to say that? We’ve been warned about witchcraft and we’ve both seen what can happen. Look at how it ruined Dr. Connor.”
She took Max’s face in her hands, and with a placating tone, she said, “Stop worrying. I am not an evil person, I am not working for the Hulls, and I am not Dr. Connor. If — and I’m saying if — I choose to study witchcraft further than the basics, then I promise you, I’ll do it responsibly. In the meantime, we have a case to solve, and we’re going to need a witch’s help.”
Max let out a sigh. He had said all he could. If he tried to “lay down the law” and forbid her from delving further into witchcraft, she would laugh at him — after she slapped his face and screamed bloody murder at him for an hour. She had heard his concerns, and he trusted she would do her best to keep them in mind as she pushed on.
In the end, he knew she was right about it all. They needed her to learn what she could on witchcraft. They needed to push through like they had done so in the past. They needed each other to be on the same side. And, for now, they needed a witch.
“One more thing,” she said, unable to mask the hesitancy in her voice.
“What now?”
“Your mother.”
“What about her?”
“She needs to go home.”
Max’s face dropped open. “You know I can’t ask her to do that. She just got here. Besides, I thought I’d done a good job of keeping her out of your hair.”
“This isn’t about me, and you know it. Look at the argument we just had. Look at the bruises on your body. Look at the people we’re talking about. Hulls and Magi and Mother Hope, not to mention Drummond — how are you going to explain any of that to your mother?”
“Why does she have to know about anything?”
“She doesn’t. That’s my point. Send her home, promise to visit in a few months, and you don’t have to worry about her getting involved. But the longer she stays here, the more chances she has of bumping into things. What if J accidentally says something? What if she snoops around your desk one afternoon?”
“She’s not a snooper.”
“If she finds out any of what we do, if she learns that you talk to a ghost, she’s liable to think you’ve lost your mind and have you committed.”
Max turned to the bedroom door. “I can’t believe you’re asking me to turn my own mother away.”
“Don’t be dramatic. You know I’m not like that.”
He turned back, his anger rising even while he knew she had a point. His mother would be better off back home, and their chaotic lives would be simpler to handle. But after all the times they had ignored her efforts to visit, the fact that it got to the point where she showed up unannounced, Max had to admit that he felt guilty. Guilt mixed with anger — not a good combination.
“I am not telling my mother she’s not welcome here. You two have never liked each other, and that’s fine. But don’t put me in the middle of it.”
“This has nothing to do with that.”
“Of course it does. Anything involving my mother causes you to stiffen up. You act uncomfortable in your own house, uncomfortable around me, and you find every excuse to be somewhere else.”
“It’s not like that,” she said, but she rolled her shoulders in an attempt to relax her stiffened back.
Max tried to ease back his voice. “Look, it’s okay. I’m not suggesting you have to become buddies, and I don’t mind playing interference for you. But it’s not fair for you to insist that I send her home when she just got here. It’s not right.”
Sandra jumped to her feet, turned toward the bed, and punched her pillow. “You’re not listening. I’m not saying any of that.”
“Then what?”
When she turned back, her eyes blazed. “Forget it. You do what you want.” She stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door shut.
Max slouched, stunned by the sudden end to their argument. That wasn’t how things usually went between them in a fight. Normally, they would keep at it until they worked through the problem. Then they made up with a kiss and often a trip to bed. It was a pattern of behavior that Sandra had broken, and Max’s stomach twisted at the sound of the bathroom fan whirring away — a sound, he suspected, meant to mask her anger or her tears.
That didn’t go well, he thought as he stepped into the hall — no reason to force his wife’s isolation in the bathroom. Once she realized he had left, she would at least have the bedroom to pace. He went downstairs, intending to get a glass of water — all that yelling had dried out his throat — but then he heard his mother and J talking in the office.
He stopped at the kitchen entrance. With his office adjacent, they would see him the moment he passed through the kitchen, and from their tones, he didn’t want to intrude.
“I worry about him,” J said. “He’s been through a lot.”
Max turned to go back upstairs, but he stayed still.
“Of course, you worry,” Mrs. Porter said. “We all worry for those we care about. It’s natural.”
“PB’s been my friend for a long time. I mean I know I’m young and all, but that don’t mean he isn’t close to me. You know?”
“I do.”
“When I found out that bullet hit him, I didn’t know what I’d do. And if he had died —”
“Then you’d carry on. That’s what good people do. Death happens, but there’s nothing honorable in killing yourself because your friend died.”
Max heard the shock in J’s voice. “No, no. That’s not what I meant. I’d never off myself. But if something happened to PB, I’d seriously think about offing the bastard who dared —”
“Watch your mouth,” Mrs. Porter snapped, and Max cringed as if she would reach out to slap him upside the head.
“Yes, ma’am. Sorry.”
“J, whenever someone we love is hurt, we all feel the desire to defend our loved one or to have revenge. But that never works. If you ever lose PB, don’t go that route. You have to suck up the pain and move on.” She gave a knowing chuckle. “There’s an old saying that the best revenge is to live well. That’s what you do — live well.”
“Is that what you’re doing?”
There was a lengthy pause. Max thought he could hear his mother’s soft gulp. “What do you mean?” she said.
“Hey, I thought we were being honest here. Just because Max is too busy to see what’s going on, doesn’t mean I can’t see it. Tell me what happened.”
“It’s not like that. I’m not seeking revenge. But I am trying to live well, to keeping living on.”
“You lost someone?”
“I did,” Mrs. Porter said, and Max reached for the wall to steady himself. “It’s no fun getting old. The world changes around you, and for a while, while you’re still young, you can keep up with the changes. But that next generation is nipping at your heels, and the next thing you know, nothing is done the way it was when you were growing up. Everything seems wrong, and you fear for the future because those idiot kids can’t possibly run the world successfully — not with their crazy, unrealistic ideas. Of course, the generation before mine thought the same thing.
“The worst part of getting old, though, is that all your friends get old, too. And then they start to go away. One by one, year after year, until you’re living alone in a cold, rural town in Michigan, and you have only one friend left.
“Her name was Deena Hart. She moved to Michigan after her husband died because her children lived nearby. We met one afternoon at a charity drive for the fire department. One of those chicken dinner things. Anyway, you’ll see when you’re my age — you go to a function and there’s somebody with as many wrinkles as you, and you instantly want to see if there’s a friendship to be had because nobody else shares the frame of reference you have for anything. And we clicked — same tastes in music and movies, both of us loved to read, and we both indulged each other in getting drunk and reminiscing about our dead husbands.”
Max bent over and tried to breathe slowly, but each time he imagined the scene his mother portrayed, he felt sharp pains in his lungs. How many times had she called him and he brushed her off? How many times had those calls been the desperate cry of his lonely mother?
J said, “So you two hooked up?”
“What? No. I’m not like that.” Max expected his mother to launch into a lecture that J would never forget — not because of its coherence but because of its vehemence. Instead, she made a soft, thoughtful sound. “You prove my point.”
“I did?”
“Your question about me and Deena — somebody from my generation or older would never ask such a thing. Most wouldn’t even consider the possibility. But your generation has less of a problem with gay people. See? Times change.
“Anyway, no, we were not lovers. We were just two old ladies who enjoyed each other’s company and felt lucky for it. We knew we had nobody else.”
“She’s gone now, right?”
“Two weeks ago. Heart attack. She had just been to the doctor, too — got a clean bill of health. But at our age, what can you do? We don’t live forever.”
“So you came here to be with your family. That’s nice.”
“I don’t think my son feels the same. Certainly, not his wife.” With an exhausted huff, she said, “I don’t know what I’m going to do next, though. I suppose I’ll go back home. For a little, at least. See if I can find a new friend.”
“Pick a younger one.”
