Chapter 49
Ingrid knew she would have to be a lot smarter about how she orchestrated Rill’s fall from grace than she’d been with Scoot—but the solution continued to elude her. In the meantime, she kept her head down and tried to be helpful to Sailor.
The answer would present itself in time. She truly believed that.
One sweltering afternoon, after a day spent giving readings, Ingrid changed into shorts and a tank top and walked up to the river.
Despite the searing heat and thick humidity, the sidewalks were clogged with tourists.
They carried water bottles or colorful drinks in plastic cups, or ice cream cones from Leopold’s that melted as fast as they could lick them.
As she neared the river, the breeze picked up, washing scents of salt, motor oil, and candy over her.
She inhaled contentedly. She loved the riverfront.
Ingrid climbed the stairs to Boney’s apartment.
The door was unlocked and she walked in, surveying the filthy kitchen, the counter and sink stacked with dishes.
She crept down the narrow hall and found Boney asleep on the sad mattress in his room.
She shut the door behind her, latched it with the hook and eye latch, and took off her clothes.
She dropped them on the bare wood floor along with the other items of clothing strewn around, eased herself under the sheet, and curled around Boney’s sleeping form.
He started, jerked awake, then rolled over to face her.
“Hi,” he murmured. “I thought you were done with me.”
She didn’t answer, just settled into his arms and let the nerve endings register the cool smoothness of skin over muscle. He kissed her deeply. As she opened her mouth to him, her brain went pleasantly blank, and her body took over.
Afterward, they lay side by side in companionable silence. The noise of River Street floated up to them. Day-drinking tourists. Music from the restaurants. The horn of a container ship.
“Wanna smoke?” Boney asked.
“No.” What she wanted was for him not to talk, but when she cracked open one eye, he was up on his side, propped on his elbow, watching her.
“You’re back in the Loeffler fold, I hear,” he said.
“Mm.”
“How’s Miles taking it?”
“He’s taking it fine. He’s happy for me.”
Boney traced a finger along her collarbone. “He’s not jealous?”
“He has nothing to be jealous of.”
“What about Casimir?” He drew out the name in a singsongy way.
She gave him a sharp look. “What about him?”
“Nothing. Just that I think he’s got a crush on you.”
She closed her eyes again. “Even if he did, Miles wouldn’t care. You know that.”
“I’m just worried about you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ve done all this magic you believe has actually had an effect on this family, and I think you’re being completely delusional.”
She sat up, glaring at him. “Excuse me?”
He gave her a sexy smile. “I said I think you’re cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, drinking your own Kool-Aid, and I’m worried what you’re going to do next.”
For a moment she searched his face, then turned away and scoffed. “You don’t know anything.”
“I’m sorry to break it to you, Ingrid, but Miles tells me—”
“What?”
“Enough to make me suspect he’s given some of your spells a little extra … you know, zhush.”
“A what?” She sat up.
“He’s supplemented your spells with some extra help.”
She felt cold all over. “You’re crazy. He hasn’t done that.” She paused. “What did he say?”
“Nothing. Not in so many words. I’m just connecting the dots.”
“What dots?” She stood up and stretched, feeling Boney’s eyes on her naked back. She willed herself to stay calm as she sauntered across the room and picked up her underwear. What did Boney know that she didn’t? What had Miles done?
Boney sat up and leaned against the dingy wall. “Come on, Ingrid. He definitely set fire to those boats down at Whitemarsh Island. And I’m pretty sure he got Scoot drunk at Peregrin and into her car.”
“Scoot didn’t need anybody to get her drunk.” She pulled on her shorts. She picked up her top, but didn’t put it on, enjoying the way she so easily held his attention without it. “She did that all on her own.”
“Yeah, but some people said there was another person with her in the car when they ran off the road. A guy.”
Right. The “young beefcake” Judge Norwood had mentioned who’d supposedly been drinking with her at Peregrin. It could’ve been Miles. If you considered him a beefcake.
“Scoot’s not saying that.”
“Well, she wouldn’t, you know? Tell people that she was drinking with some guy and then got in a car with him. She’s no idiot.”
Ingrid gave him a scornful look. “Scoot Loeffler would never drink at some random hotel bar with Miles Drummond. She’s met him. She knows he’s my roommate and my friend.”
Boney lifted his eyebrows. “She’s never met me.”
She went quiet. Stared at him, dumbfounded. “Boney. What are you saying?”
He gave her a sheepish look. “Scoot likes to sneak out and drink at Peregrin with the tourists. No locals to snitch on her. Everybody who works at the Perry Lane knows about it. Mari has seen her there plenty of times.”
“I’ve never heard that.”
“You’re friends with Sailor.”
“Boney, what did you do?” Her voice trembled. Unbelievable that a few minutes ago she’d been pulling him deeper into her because now she would’ve liked very much to kill him.
He shrugged. “Miles asked me to buy her drinks for a couple of hours. Keep her occupied. So I did.”
“Boney! Why the hell would you do something like that?”
“Miles is my brother, man. He’s done a lotta shit for me. But all I did was buy her drinks and flirt with her. And then escorted her out a back door to her car, which I guess Miles had figured out how to get out of the garage where she keeps it—”
“What?” she shrieked.
“I didn’t ask how he did it and I did not get in the car with her. I swear. Ingrid. I had no idea what he was planning.”
She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes and let out a growl of frustration.
“Also, Mari told me that a couple of weeks ago she let Miles into an empty room at the Doubletree where she works to use the shower. She said he was all sweaty and covered in grease, which I am now guessing was because he had been down in the engine room of a boat, fucking around with the wiring.”
She pulled her top back on and scowled at him. “That doesn’t mean shit. He could’ve been doing anything.”
“At three o’clock in the morning?”
She felt weak all of a sudden, like her legs no longer wanted to hold her up.
She dropped into the lone piece of furniture in the room, a lawn chair and looked out the window.
A small prop plane buzzed the bridge. On the windowsill there was a picture of young Boney, maybe twelve or thirteen, his arm draped over a blond girl’s shoulders.
A sister maybe. She had the same sly, troublemaker smile.
“Why would he do that, though?” It was as if she was asking herself. “Help me? He’s been so against them this whole time. So jealous of them.”
Boney shifted uncomfortably. “You know I love the guy to death, but he’s a tough nut. He’s got, you know, this thing about the big-money people.”
“All you guys do—”
“Right.” He got very still. “And he worries about you, too, I guess.”
“Yeah.”
“I just thought you should know.”
Even if Miles had set the fire or had gotten a blitzed Scoot behind the wheel, it didn’t matter. She hadn’t asked him to do any of those things so she couldn’t be blamed, not by the police. And she had still nailed all that other stuff. The dress, the harpist, the flowers. That was all her.
She wasn’t exactly happy about it—and yes, maybe it bugged the fuck out of her—but if Miles wanted to support her with a little boots-on-the-ground support, she didn’t see why anyone had to know.
If she had to, she would make it clear to him that he needed to stop.
He would do whatever she asked. She was sure of it.
She glanced over at Boney. He was watching her.
“You know, I care about you, but I wouldn’t commit a bunch of crimes to make you think you were more powerful than you really are. I respect you too much for that.”
Ingrid looked away, staring at the picture of little Boney with his smirky-looking sister. Lucky them. They had each other.
“I guess the question here is, what spell you’re going to cast next, and are you okay with Miles helping to make it come true?”
“Fuck off, you jerk.” She gathered her long hair up in a topknot and stood. “I don’t need to do any more magic, not for the Loefflers. And Sailor’s forgiven me. I’m helping her plan her wedding. We’re very close.”
He sent her a resigned smile. “Great. That’s great.
I just think you better watch your back whenever Scoot gets cut loose from that rehab.
If she happens to remember that Miles really was the guy who got her behind the wheel of her car that night, I guarantee she’ll assume you were in on it—or at least know about it. And she’ll be out for blood.”
Ingrid swallowed nervously. “Sailor said she’s allowed to come to the wedding before she goes back to a sober living house.”
“If Miles is your plus-one, you could definitely give Scoot a heart attack at her own daughter’s wedding. Which might be fun. Or, who knows … maybe she blacked out and has no memory of it.”
She grabbed her fanny pack, and he waggled his fingers at her in a sarcastic goodbye.
She considered one last parting shot … something full of snark and sarcasm, but when she turned back, he’d already buried his face back in his pillow.
She sucked in her cheeks and headed to the kitchen, where she opened the fridge and took one of his beers. She left by the back door.
Miles wouldn’t have dared to intervene in her spell work and not told her, would he? Letting her think she’d worked powerful spells when he’d gone behind her back and made it all happen? She didn’t need her ego boosted like that. She could take the truth.
She cracked open the beer and gulped it as she strode up the cobbled alley toward the steep stairs. Edie had always said that magic was mostly dependent on your state of mind. Setting your intentions with care, believing in the things you want, giving yourself fully to the workings of the craft.
Ingrid had worked her whole life to fine-tune her practice. She didn’t need Miles butting in. Her magic had done what it was supposed to do. When it was time to take care of Rill, she would be very careful. Her magic was powerful.
She was powerful.
But now, if Miles really had interfered and planned to again, she could find herself in a dangerous situation. If he was caught—she could be blamed for his actions—and everything she’d worked so hard for would be ruined. She couldn’t allow that to happen. There was too much at stake.