Page 38 of Hungry As Her Python

My eyes flicked to the clock.

Tick tock, tick tock.

“Um, sure. Why not?”

“Well, Mr. Dorian is at it again, accusing someone’s pet of eating his zinnias and prize marigolds. Can you believe the nerve? Downright insulted us, he did—accused us of being bad pet owners!”

“Oh my,” I said, already picturing Donny’s face when I showed up late and covered in powdered sugar.

Because clearly, the Goddess was testing me tonight.

Tick tock. Tick tock.

“So, we are starting a neighborhood watch and we are gonna find whose little furry bundle is up to no good,” Mrs. Gennaro said, nodding with the gravitas of someone announcing the capture of an international jewel thief.

“I see. Well, that is fascinating. Sounds like hungry work. How about I put together a variety box just for you gals?” I offered, pasting on my biggest please-take-the-hint-and-go smile.

“Oh, I don’t know. I might take my time and look around,” she hedged, tapping her long fingernails on the counter in an almost slow-motion taunt.

I knew that look.

She was stalling.

Typically, when one of the older customers wanted to linger and chat, I obliged.

I mean, I liked being the friendly neighborhood baker-slash-listener-slash-keeper-of-town-gossip.

But tonight? Nope.

Not an option.

I had things to do.

Magic to cast.

Cousins to meet.

Wards to strengthen.

And possibly a small emotional crisis to continue having over a certain infuriatingly sexy deputy, but that was my business.

“I’ll do it for half price,” I blurted, instantly regretting it.

My voice came out like I was announcing a Black Friday sale, not desperately trying to make my customer choose a cookie and move along.

Her eyes lit up. “Deal!”

Well, I’d just been played. Again.

I hurried around the counter to grab one of my multicolored pastry boxes while Mrs. Gennaro watched with a predatory gleam in her eyes.

The woman was a sly old fox—not literally.

Literally, she was half Witch, half Ostrich Shifter.

That explained her knobby knees, ridiculously long neck, and tendency to stare at people like she was assessing whether they were worth pecking.

Her great-great-grandfather had immigrated to Castor’s Corner from Australia after WWI, bringing his unique Shifter genes with him.