Read Day Shift (Midnight, Texas #2) for Free Online Page A

Lemuel’s relationship with Olivia. Lemuel . . . how could she put it into words to herself? Men were mysterious, especially Lemuel, who had been alive for decades and decades. However, even though Lemuel seemed to be absolutely tolerant of people who had different sexual preferences from his own, Fiji felt certain that Lemuel would not consider sharing his lover with other men.
    Could Olivia have been actually doing what she’d told Manfred she was doing? Staying in Dallas for the weekend to go shopping and take in some movies or a show?
    Fiji realized she was shaking her head a little. Maybe yes, maybe no; but she was very inclined to settle on “No.”
    By the time she’d worked her way through all these thoughts, the dishes were stacked in the drainer to dry, and the counters were clean. It was full night outside, and the locusts were singing.
    “It’s almost bedtime,” said a small, sharp voice, somewhere around the region of her ankles. She’d heard the new cat flap rattle a moment before, so he hadn’t startled her, though he enjoyed it when he did.
    Fiji looked down. “Yep,” she said to the golden tabby. “Where’ve you been, Mr. Snuggly?”
    “The Rev had a visitor who smelled interesting,” the cat said. “And though I was very close to catching a mouse, I went to investigate.”
    “Thanks for your vigilance,” Fiji said dryly. “Did you enjoy having company today?”
    “The roast beef was good. I want some more. Manfred is very leery of me. Bobo always scratches behind my ears and on my belly,” Mr. Snuggly observed. “He likes to visit me,” the cat added rather smugly.
    Fiji pondered that for a second. “So, who was the mysterious visitor?” she asked, squatting to stroke Mr. Snuggly’s marmalade fur. She could take a hint.
    “He is very tall,” said Mr. Snuggly. “And he is like the Rev.”
    “What do you mean? In what respect?”
    The cat looked up at his witch. “You know the Rev is not just an old Mexican minister, right?”
    “Yes,” she said.
    “And you know what he is?”
    “Not . . . exactly.” Though she had her suspicions.
    Mr. Snuggly sighed, as theatrically as a marmalade cat can sigh. “My goodness,” he said, and put a paw on his food bowl, giving it a tiny significant shove. “Your great-aunt was much smarter than you are.”
    “If she’d been that much smarter, she’d have drowned you in a ditch,” Fiji muttered, and stood, looking down at the cat with a frown on her face. When her great-aunt, Mildred Loeffler, had bequeathed Fiji the little house in Midnight and all of her witch accoutrements, her legacy had included Mr. Snuggly. While the cat had his uses, he also had the highest regard for his own comfort and convenience and a great disregard for anyone else’s.
    “Are you going to give me some more roast beef?” the tiny voice said. “If you’re not, I’m going to take a nap before bedtime.”
    “You can have some with your breakfast tomorrow. You’ve already had supper, remember? You know what the vet said at your last checkup.” Mr. Snuggly stuck his pink tongue out at Fiji, and when she scowled at him, the cat stalked from the room. She heard a squeak as the cat jumped up on her bed. She knew if she went in, she’d see him on her coverlet, curled into a compact circle against the bump of her pillow.
    Fiji folded her dish towel and hung it from its rack by the sink. On a whim, she walked into the front of her house. The large front room functioned as her shop and as the meeting place for the women’s group she led on Thursday nights. She crossed directly to the west window. Next door, the Reverend Emilio Sheehan’s chapel sat in pristine silence. She knew the Rev was there, even though it was later than he usually stayed, because the light inside was on.
    While she watched, a tall man came out of the chapel. He was followed by a small, thin man wearing a big hat; this was the Rev, and he was holding the hand of a child. Fiji could