I was also getting worryingly good at talking to myself. Out loud, no less. A surly faced pair wearing black leather—which had to be really uncomfortable in this weather—took the long way around me, trying not to meet my eyes. I shrugged an apology and unstuck myself from the bench, heading back to Petite. I had two days off. I might as well see if I could prove myself right.

CHAPTER 21

“Hey, legs!”

I recognized Billy’s voice behind me, but it didn’t occur to me to turn around. He sprinted—for some value of “sprint;” the extra ten pounds made his solid footfalls sound heavy enough to shake the sidewalk—the few yards to catch up with me and dropped a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, legs. What, you’re not talking to me anymore?” He let out a puff of air and fell into step beside me as I wrinkled my forehead at him.

“You were talking to me?”

“You see anybody else with Julia-Roberts-inseam legs walking around here?” he demanded. I glanced down at my pale knees and my pair of really comfortable men’s sandals. Then I looked around at the passersby. Plenty of them were in shorts. Most of them weren’t women a smidgen under six feet tall.

“I guess not. You never said anything about my legs before.”

“Two reasons.” Billy steered me into the Missing O, where I hadn’t been planning to go. “One.” He lifted a finger. “Melinda’d kill me. Two.” Another finger. “It’s sexual harassment. Three.”

“You said two.” I got in line for a drink, Billy still directing me. It was blessedly cooler in the O, and the place was packed, everybody taking advantage of the functional air-conditioning.

“Shush your mouth. Three. I never saw your legs before.”

“Now that,” I said, offended, “is not true. I wore a dress at one of the Policeman’s Balls.” I was almost certain I had. Practically positive. At least once.

“You wore your uniform,” Billy corrected. “The midcalf dark blue skirt. Six inches of shin doesn’t count.”

“You have an amazing eye for detail, Billy.” I’d worn the same skirt to the funeral.

“That’s why they pay me the big bucks,” he said with a cheerful snort. “Frappucino and a bottle of water,” he said as we stepped up to the counter. “What’s your poison, Joanie?”

Joanie. The name made me smile a little. It was so much friendlier than Judy’s rigid Joanne or Morrison’s terminally exasperated Walker. A thump of loneliness chilled my blood. I hadn’t seen much of my friends the past few days, and it was making me feel isolated. Especially in face of Faye’s adamant comments about me being one of the coven now. It was like she was trying to surgically remove me from the life I already had, although I was pretty sure that was giving her golden retriever self way too much credit.

“Italian soda,” I said to the barrista, suddenly more cheery. “Orange, vanilla, cream, no whip.” That was my summertime drink, just like hot chocolate with mint was my winter drink. It was normal, it was me, and it wasn’t complicated by anybody’s magical ritual or their expectations of me. “Billy, I’m not supposed to be working.” I dug change from my pocket, counting out nickels and dimes to pay for my soda. Billy eyed me.

“Going broke?”

“Getting lopsided from carrying too many pennies in my pocket. Did you need something?” My vision was still playing havoc, and the edges of the coins kept fading into shadow, making them hard to pick up.

“Backup,” he said. I took a step back. He eyed me again, more maliciously this time.

“Oh,” I said, and stepped forward. “Sorry. I thought you were…never mind.”

“I’m meeting Mel for coffee,” he explained.

“Mel. Mel, Melinda, your wife?”

Billy nodded furtively.

“And you need police protection for this?”

“See, I accidentally let slip that you figured out she was, you know.” Billy rolled his eyes expressively and I grinned.

“Crazy for marrying you?”

Billy laughed. “Yeah, something like that. So she’s on the warpath, figuring I shot off my mouth to the whole department.”

“What, you? The picture of discretion? Your nail polish is chipped, by the way.”

Billy lowered his head and stared at me. I fought off another grin and picked up my soda, swirling ice with the straw. “So I need you to go the whole feminine intuition route,” he growled. “To get me off the hook.”

“You know I don’t believe in that stuff, Billy.” Grinning again, I staked out a table while Billy stopped to shake some cocoa over the frappucino. I was looking forward to seeing Melinda on the warpath. In the almost four years I’d known her and Billy, I’d never seen her so much as annoyed, not even while herding their ever-increasing tribe of children.

She made her entrance as I sat. Melinda always managed to make an entrance, whether she was wearing an apple-yellow sundress—which is what she wore now—or sweats and a T-shirt. The door breezed open, chiming ding-a-ling, and she paused, surveying the coffee shop. In response, the coffee shop paused and surveyed her in turn: patrons glanced her way, smiling, and she wiggled her fingers at a couple of the cops she knew.

The door chimed shut behind her, and the shop’s usual hubbub reasserted itself Melinda skirted her way around the tables, smiling, and caught up with Billy a step or two from the table I’d scored, standing on her toes—as if the gesture made a difference in the heels she wore—to steal a kiss.

“If this is the warpath, Billy, what’s she like in a good mood?” I stood up to give Melinda a hug.

“A monster,” Billy moaned. “Impossible to live with. A bear.” He held Melinda’s chair for her, then settled the frappucino in front of her. I sat back down, smiling broadly.

“Ah-huh. It’s rough to be you, isn’t it? It’s good to see you, Mel. You look great.”

“I look like a cow,” Melinda pronounced gleefully.

“You do not.” It was the only appropriate response to give a pregnant woman, and besides, it was true. “But Billy’s starting to look like a prize bull.”

Billy sat back. “I think I’m offended.”

“Well, let us know when you’re sure.” I beamed at him. He snorted. “See? Now you’re sounding like one, too.”

“Hey,” he said, injured, and lifted his water bottle. “See, I’m being good. No calories.”

“So how’s it work?” I asked Melinda. “If he goes on a diet, does that mean you start gaining the weight?”

“I don’t know,” Melinda said. “He’s never been able to stay on a diet for more than two days.”

I grinned. “Congratulations to you both.”

“For being unable to stick to a diet?” Billy asked. I kicked at him under the table and he grinned back at me.

“Thank you,” Mel said serenely. “You should come over for dinner.”

“Any excuse to not eat my own cooking,” I agreed without hesitation. “When?”

“We’re having a barbecue on the solstice,” she offered. “My darling William is supposed to have invited everyone.”

“Really? The whole city?”

Mel gave me a look I’d seen her give her children. It made me giggle, which probably wasn’t the desired effect. “Just our little neck of it, Joanne. Don’t be difficult.”

“Yes’m. I’d love to. I’ll be there—” Oh yeah. Major big juju going down on the solstice. “—if I can be.”

Melinda’s eyebrows rose an expressive fraction of an inch. “Hot date?” she inquired, somewhere between disbelieving and hopeful, with a good dose of curiosity thrown in.

“Not exactly.” I wrinkled my nose. “I’d tell you more—”

“But then you’d have to kill me, yes, of course. Well, I’m going to tell the kids you’re coming, and you won’t dare disappoint them, so you’ll come.”

“That’s not fair.” I liked Billy and Melinda’s kids. They ran roughshod over me, but I liked them anyway.

“Were you masquerading under the impression that I should be playing fair?” Melinda smiled. “You should come, Joanne.”