Tales of the Witch Read Online Free PDF Page A

as she watched Lizette race to the kitchen door clutching her signed papers.
    “The best. Well, since we seem to be overflowing with blessings, it’s back to work for this old son.” He stood up and replaced his chair beneath her table. “Even though we look like we’re prospering like Midas’ daughter, I don’t mind admitting to you that Harrington’s can nil afford to offend even the least of these patrons. This is our third season.” He sighed. “If we don’t record some solid profits in the old ledger this summer, we’ll be finding a new, less grand home, come September.”
    He stood motionless for a moment, staring sadly at his feet, as if envisioning imminent departure, but then he looked up, energetic and merry again. “But don’t our prospects look grand, now? If you have any musical requests, just ferry them by waiter upstairs to Chris. He said, by the way, to tell you hello. Hello.” He turned to salute the piano player on the balcony with a wide grin and nod. Chris did an acknowledging riff on the keyboard and swung into a lively Thelonious Monk tune.
    Black Dan waved away the witch’s thanks for the wine, and hurried to the indoor section of his restaurant.
    A moment later, the witch spotted the girl, Lizette, coming outside through the same door by which her boss had left, where she paused. The witch noticed that, unlike her earlier shine of confidence, she looked harried and even possibly frightened. Rick the bartender, a tall blonde young man with a teasing grin, reached over the bottles and gave one of Lizette’s dangling curls a tweak as if he were a small boy in school.
    Lizette started, then after flashing him a distracted smile, immediately turned her back on him. His grin deflated at once. With a disappointed look on his face, he turned to wait on customers at the other end of the bar. As soon as he moved on, Lizette’s expression of fright returned. She appeared to the witch to be casting side glances at the undercover policeman.
    To the witch’s great interest, the girl ultimately fastened her gaze on one of the patrons of the bar—a short man in a suit that looked a few sizes too small for his rotund shape. After their eyes locked for a brief moment, the two of them walked towards the west parking lot, one behind the other, and vanished out of the witch’s sight.
    The witch mused on Lizette’s apparent odd taste in male friends, but then as no more events occurred in which either the patron or the girl figured, she ordered Chef Vinnie’s famous warm duck salad for a light dinner to go with her wine, which she and Jezebel enjoyed greatly. Then, after easing Jezebel comfortably into her carrying basket, she strolled leisurely down the slim strip of beach for the two mile walk to their home.
    The next late afternoon developed much the same as the one before and once again enticed the witch and her cat to pass some time at Harrington’s waterfront tables. Upon arrival, Jezebel hopped out of her basket and began sniffing the breezes.
    The witch again settled contentedly in her chair, and indulged herself not only in Wyndham’s wealth of weather, scenery, music, food and drink, but also in her fascinated observance of her fellow man. That the policeman from the neighboring village was seated again at his table from yesterday was one of the interesting items she noted.
    She’d just finished her wine—a rich zinfandel this time—and shared some mussels in a savory broth with Jezebel, when rumbles coming from the direction of the kitchen disturbed the benevolent fabric of the evening.
    The witch watched with interest as Black Dan conferred with his partner, Barton Peacock, in hushed rapid tones. Peacock owned and managed the hotel to which Harrington’s restaurant was attached. Chef Vinnie stormed out and joined them. Vinnie muttered some statements punctuated with curses, then charged back to his inner kingdom, leaving behind dismayed expressions on Peacock’s and Dan’s faces.