Page 8 of A Dead End Fourth of July (Tiger’s Eye Mysteries #14)

Tess

A little while earlier, just after the phone call from Jack

"That was weird." I hung up from the call with Jack, puzzled.

"What?" Uncle Mike pushed the cookie jar toward me across the big farm table.

I took two, thought about it, and then took another. I hadn’t had lunch yet.

"I don’t know. Something about a cow."

Aunt Ruby wandered into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. She looked tired, and I felt horribly guilty.

"I’m so sorry, Aunt Ruby. I should have been more careful with that brooch." I’d shoved the thing beneath the seat of my car on the way over, but I wanted to put it into my vault as soon as possible.

"It’s okay, honey. I feel better now. Still hungover."

Uncle Mike jumped up and put his arms around her, pulling her close. "Are you sure you shouldn’t stay in bed? I can bring lunch to you."

She leaned against him and wrapped her arms around his waist. Their love was as strong now as it had been when they took in four-year-old me after my mom died and my dad left. I could only hope my marriage would be as strong.

"No, honey, I’m fine. I could use a glass of that tea, though." She sat down and took a deep breath, and Uncle Mike poured her a glass of tea.

I’d already filled him in on the brooch, so he knew what was happening. I’d avoided any mention of my aunt dancing in her underwear, though.

For all our sakes.

"On a different topic, why in the world would you give Cletus McKee the contract for the fireworks, Aunt Ruby? Isn’t that going to cause all sorts of trouble?"

She tapped her carefully French-manicured nails on the table. "First off, I didn't give it to him. He won the bid. But I put it out for bid in the first place because Skeeter Hatfield doubled his price."

"Too big for his britches," Uncle Mike muttered. He drained his iced tea and got up to pull sandwich fixings out of the fridge. "Just like his father. That man had a cash register where his brain ought to be."

I didn't know Mr. Hatfield other than to say hello to him, and he'd never been in the shop that I could recall. "How is that?"

"Skeeter wanted to buy an old truck of mine once. Offered a good five thousand dollars less than it was worth and then had the nerve to be offended when I turned him down."

I jumped up to help my uncle. "And he doubled what he was going to charge to do the fireworks?"

"Yes," Aunt Ruby said, indignation rising in her voice and deepening the pink flush in her cheeks.

"Without notice or explanation. I told him there was no way we were paying that and put the thing out for bid.

The only vendors who wanted the job, though, were Skeeter, Cletus, and some firm out of Orlando who wanted twice again what Skeeter was charging. "

She snorted. "Like Dead End was going to pay that to outsiders."

We spent a few companionable minutes making sandwiches and tucking into lunch, and then I thought of what Cletus had said in the shop.

"This is a weird question, but did Bubba McKee ever give any indication that he was interested in me?"

Uncle Mike choked on his ham and cheese sandwich, and I had to reach over and pound him on the back.

"Guess not," I said, grinning.

But Aunt Ruby made that face … the one with pursed lips and downcast eyes she only made when she was trying really hard not to say something.

I narrowed my eyes and pinned her with a stare. "Spit it out."

"Well. It's just that Bubba came over to the house once to ask Mike for your hand in marriage."

This time, I was the one who choked on my sandwich.

Uncle Mike took a little too much pleasure in returning the back-pounding favor.

"I'm good! Stop pounding on me! What are you talking about? Bubba McKee never even asked me out!" I shuddered at the thought of trying to make conversation on a date with a man whose closest friendship was with his boa constrictor.

"He was drunk," Uncle Mike said disapprovingly. "He'd seen you dressed up for the prom, I think it was, and decided you were his one true love."

I stared at him, completely speechless.

"We poured coffee into him until he sobered up, and then Mike gave him an earful," Aunt Ruby said cheerfully. "It was at least a year before he could run into us on the street without looking like he was going to die of mortification."

I shook my head. "That is the weirdest thing I've heard in a while. Cletus came into the shop, and he said Bubba called me 'the one who got away.' You can imagine my reaction."

Uncle Mike laughed. "Probably the same as mine when he showed up here drunk and ready to carry you off into the sunset."

"That boy wouldn't know which direction sunset was if he had a compass," Aunt Ruby said. "Bless his heart."

Uncle Mike and I started laughing, and then we finished our lunch and cleaned up the kitchen.

"I'm going to say hi to Bonnie Jo," I said, pushing on the screen door.

When I took a step out onto the back porch, though, I paused. "Um, Uncle Mike? Since when did you have fainting goats?"

"What are you talking about? I don't have fainting goats."

"Then what, exactly, are those?" I pointed to the field, where all the goats lay on their backs with their legs sticking straight up in the air.

He walked out onto the porch and blew out a breath. "Dang it."

"What?"

"That hobgoblin is back."

"I've got the cream," Aunt Ruby said, bustling out with a pitcher in hand. "It's probably Robin again."

"Again?" I stared at them. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, we had a little hobgoblin problem while you were gone," Aunt Ruby began, but then she stopped, looking stricken. "While you were gone! Your honeymoon! We didn't even ask you how your trip was. Oh, honey, I'm sorry."

I hugged her. "It's been a busy day. We'll tell you all about it. We even brought you souvenirs. But first, let's go figure out what your hobgoblin did to the goats."

We all headed for the barn to look for Robin the hobgoblin. I spared a moment's thought to wonder what normal people in normal towns did at lunchtime, but then I dismissed it at the sight of the tiny man standing on the front wheel of my uncle's tractor.

Robin—almost certainly not his real name, since the Fae didn't share their real names with anybody—was a cranky, hairy little guy.

He stood maybe two feet tall and wore a green and brown suit made of homespun wool.

His tiny boots were worn brown leather, and he wore his red hair short but his beard long.

"Who are you?" he demanded, pointing one tiny finger at me accusingly. "Are you the reason I don't have any cream for Thistle?"

There'd been a day when I would have been intimidated by encountering an angry supernatural being.

That day was well behind me.

I'd stood up to a Fae queen, after all.

"Sir Robin," I began politely, since the Fae are big on manners, at least in other people. "I've just returned from a far voyage to Atlantis and had no knowledge of your esteemed presence. Please forgive us for our late offering."

Aunt Ruby's eyes widened at my formal words, but she bent down to offer the pitcher of cream and two tiny teacups. "Here you are. Please enjoy. I wondered if you might like some honey and fresh-baked bread for your meal?"

The thing about hobgoblins, in case you're wondering, is that they can be annoying pests. They're temperamental and mischievous, but they also often can be helpful—if they feel like it. Their moods turn on a dime, though.

I scanned the barn and realized I'd never seen it so clean and organized. Uncle Mike was an engineer and liked to keep his things tidy, but this was a step beyond. The hobgoblin at work, for sure.

"Um, the goats?"

Robin, in the process of pouring cream into the two cups, snickered. "Not my fault if they can't take a little fun."

"Goats aren't known for understanding your kind of fun," Uncle Mike said dryly. "Perhaps go easy on them next time?"

"I told you to be careful," said a tiny feminine voice from behind Robin, and I leaned over to see a female hobgoblin, as beautiful as the summer day.

She wore a lilac dress that was made of actual lilacs, and it matched her purple eyes.

Her hair was the bright yellow of a dandelion and fluttered around her face like silk.

When she ran lightly up to join us, her face lit up at the sight of the cream. "Thank you so much, Michael and Ruby of the Callahan. What a lovely gift! I'm Robin's sister, Thistle."

"It's not more than we deserve," Robin grumbled, but his eyes were soft as he gazed at her.

"You said Atlantis?" Robin said, unable to disguise his interest. "You really visited the lost continent?"

"Lost no more," Thistle said, settling gracefully down with her cup. "This is Tess, a friend of the queen, Robin."

His grass-green eyes widened. "Tess of the Callahan? We know of you. Is the tiger with you?"

"No, he's not here, but he's a friend to the Fae," I said carefully, seeing the little guy's alarm.

"Tell us about Atlantis," he demanded.

Knowing the Fae's love of Bargains (their use of the word was always capitalized), I tilted my head. "And you'll agree not to bother the goats anymore?"

He grumbled and stomped around for a few seconds but then nodded. "Done."

So then, in an entirely unexpected turn to my day, I spent the next half hour telling my aunt, uncle, and two hobgoblins about Atlantis while we ate cookies, bread, and honey.

I wondered if Jack and Shelley were having anywhere near as much fun out at the swamp with the boys.