Table of Contents
© 2021 Tegan Maher
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Thank You!
The Deadly Daiquiri Sneak Peek | Chapter One
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© 2021 Tegan Maher
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This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or institutions is entirely coincidental.
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Chapter 1
“Stop, stop, stop! I’m gonna drop it.” I scrambled to regain my grip on the credenza my best friend, Eli, and I were carrying. That was about the fifth time I’d had to ask him to wait, but to my credit, I was the one walking backwards.
“Don’t you dare!” He scowled at me over his end, his face so red I was afraid he was heading toward heat stroke. “Your dad will kill us if there’s so much as a scratch, and I have no problem throwing you under the bus. Tread marks right across your forehead, Sage, and I won’t even feel bad.”
He wasn’t usually so cranky, but this was the last of seven pieces of furniture we’d carried from the massive manor house, and we were about to die. Despite it being ninety degrees in the shade, the pinch-penny owner had shut off the AC halfway through the auction because we were all apparently born in barns.
Eli was right about my dad, but the credenza weighed a ton. Sweat rolled down my nose and dripped onto the marble top. I swiped my face on the shoulder of my tee-shirt and scowled back. “It’s not like I’d do it on purpose. My hands are slick, and there’s nothing to hang onto.”
“That’s it. This is ridiculous.” He glanced over his shoulder, then muttered a few words. When half the weight disappeared without warning, I almost flipped the credenza over his head.
“A heads up would have been nice,” I hissed, though I was grateful he’d cast the spell. There was no way I’d have managed to carry the thing through the mausoleum of a house and out to the box truck without dropping it.
“You’re welcome,” he said, raising a brow at me. “I just had to wait until they were out of earshot. Plus, it had to look like it was heavy, and you’re not good at faking it.” He raised his dark brows and motioned toward the door behind me with his head. “Keep moving. The hard part’s over, then we can go get something to eat and cool down.”
We’d started working early that morning and hadn’t stopped. My family owned a high-end antique gallery called Parker’s, and my father hadn’t trusted delivery guys with this particular pick-up.
Unbeknownst to the stuffy old bat selling it, this credenza and two of the other pieces we’d bought had been commissioned by a famous sixteenth-century witch named Hesta Copernicus. She’d spent a lifetime shuttling people being persecuted for witchcraft through a witchy version of the Underground Railroad and had saved hundreds, if not thousands, of lives, both human and witch. Dad already had three potential buyers lined up, and the first was due at the gallery in three hours.
“Agreed,” I said, grunting and holding my breath a little to make it look like I was still carrying something heavy. “Let’s just get it loaded and get out of here.”
Eli laughed at me as we moved through the double doors leading from the dining room into the grand foyer. “You look like you’re gonna poop your pants. Stop that. It’s even worse than if you just act like it’s not heavy.”
“Fine,” I said, giving up the act as we moved out the front door. Two minutes later, we had it in the truck and safely padded so that the other pieces we’d bought wouldn’t scar it.
“Phew,” I said as I climbed into the driver’s seat and started the truck. “That was a lot like work. The next time Dad needs heavy lifting done, I’ll tell him to send Connell and Jake.”
“Speak for yourself,” he said, puffing his chest out and grinning at me. “I wasn’t the problem here.” He flexed his bicep and put on his macho face.
I rolled my eyes and paused to down half a bottle of water before I started the truck. “No, but you hated every minute of it just as much as I did.”
“Not nearly as bad as I hated that magenta rose-cabbage carpet.” He shook his head. “That was a crime against fashion even when it was fashionable but paired with the striped wallpaper and the polka dots on the living room suite, it’s a good thing we didn’t eat before we came. I had motion sickness the whole time we were there.”
He wasn’t wrong. Hopefully, the new owners had better taste because the bones of the house were magnificent.
I kicked the air conditioning up on high and pointed my half of the vents directly at my face before pulling out of the driveway. “Why on earth would people paint angels on the ceiling and use that color scheme? It was Vegas brothel meets Gone with the Wind with a healthy dose of the Sistine Chapel thrown in.”
He laughed. “Look at you, being all Miss Fashion-Forward, but there’s no explaining those tastes. All we can focus on is our own, and mine are screaming for a shrimp
