Page 29 of Want Me, Take Me, Haunt Me, Make Me

Albert didn’t answer. Hazel watched him stalk off, then turned to her rescuer when she heard the car door slam. “Thanks,” she said. “He wasn’t loud enough for this to be a noise complaint, I hope.”

“Nothing of the sort,” said the newcomer, giving her another easy smile. “I’m afraid I came to ask a favor and decided to intrude.”

“I’m glad you did. Probably kept me out of prison.”

“Happy to oblige.” They offered a hand. “Maxwell Redfern. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Hazel Lewis, she or her. Likewise.” She took Maxwell’s hand, finding his grip firm but not crushing, and his skin pleasantly warm against hers.

“She or—” Maxwell blinked, and Hazel stiffened, preparing for disappointment, but then enlightenment dawned, and they smiled again. “Oh! He or him. Sorry. Not quite up on the customs. Been a bit of a recluse in the last few years.”

“No problem.” Hazel didn’taudiblysigh in relief, and praised herself for her discipline. “You came to ask a favor, though?”

“Ah, yes. Well. I’m a bit of a bird-watcher—not the most dynamic hobby, I know, but my own—and my sister says your woods probably have the most variety around here. Not inhabited for a while, you see. She may just have been trying to get me out of the house, and I completely understand if you’d rather not have a stranger lurking about.”

Oh, I already have plenty of those, Hazel thought, and stifled another laugh.

She took another look at Maxwell, noting the specifics this time. Behind old-fashioned wire-rimmed glasses, his eyes were large and dark green, with thick golden lashes. His face was thin and his chinsharp, with a few lines that suggested he was within about five years of Hazel’s age. The brown-and-white checked shirt and tan pants he’d worn seemed too nice for tramping around the woods, and he wasn’t wearing binoculars, but maybe he hadn’t wanted to assume permission.

He didn’t set off any alarm bells. That was no guarantee of safety—nice and normalcaused many people’s last moments—but it was a start. Besides, Hazel had barely ventured into the edge of the woods. If Maxwell had sketchier intentions than bird-watching, he could have carried them out without her ever knowing.

Hazel realized she’d been examining him long enough for him to notice, though he politely wasn’t showing it if he’d realized.

“You don’t seem like much of a lurker,” she said quickly, feeling her cheeks heat up, “although I guess bird-watching probably requires at least a little. And you’re welcome in the woods. Just be careful. Go in the day too. I haven’t really been in there, and I don’t know whatis.”

Maxwell cocked his head. “That has a nicely ominous sound to it.”

“Does it?” She laughed, trying to sound casual. “My bad. Mostly there are probably just a lot of places to break your ankle, and I can’t swear that, oh, rabid foxes don’t live there or the previous tenants didn’t leave fifty-year-old bear traps. You seem too nice for tetanus.”

“The lady flatters me.” He sketched a courtly bow. Impulsive as the gesture clearly was, he had a grace with his long arms and legs that made it look like he knew every motion in advance.

“I hate to tell you, but I say that to all the boys.” Hazel glanced in the direction Albert had gone. “Well. Most of them.”

Maxwell grimaced. “He really was an absolute peach of a man, wasn’t he? Makes me wish I’d gone in for shotguns and bulldogs, except I can’t aim and it seems a bit hard on the hounds.”

“Axe Body Spray probablyisn’tgood for them. And you were plenty helpful. I didn’t really prepare for visitors, but I can offer a soda and chips on the porch—the house isn’t exactly…” Hazel trailed off. She’d never established a cover story for not invitingpeople inside. The idea of needing one would have seemed ridiculous half an hour before.

She could always fall back on being a woman alone with a stranger, of course. It was awkward, but anybody reasonable would understand, and she would have used that line with anybody else well in advance of offering them refreshments and company. Maxwell had been helpful, and she felt obligated.

And he’s not exactly hard on the eyes, said a treacherously honest internal voice.

Maxwell shook his head. “I’d best be getting along. Another time, maybe—and thank you.”

“Thankyou. It was good to meet you, Mr. Redfern.”

“Max, please, and it was my pleasure,” he said with another bright smile, sounding completely sincere. “I’ll try not to look too sinister when I’m wandering about the place.”

He headed back up the road, turning once to wave goodbye. Hazel watched him go for longer than she should have, feeling disappointed and kicking herself for it.

No crushes. You don’t need the distraction—and he doesn’t need the risk.

Chapter 15

Another day, another room full of horrible wallpaper.

The latest pattern featured roses—or maybe carnations, or possibly cabbages—in shades of yellow and green. They might have been bright and cheerful about thirty years before, but by the time Hazel picked up her paint scraper, they’d faded to an assortment of dingy, barfy hues. Removing the paper was practically an exorcism in itself.

Rain poured down beyond the window, falling hard enough to bend the weeds and turn the ground into reddish mud. The house’s builder had redeemed themselves a little bit by putting on a tin roof, and the sound of the rain soothed Hazel into a constant, slow rhythm as she continued working, letting her mind switch off after a morning of numbers and occult theory.