Baba sat up, grimacing a little, and turned to face him. She leaned in closer, until he could feel the heat coming off her body, and locked eyes with him.
“Sheriff,” she said, her tone level and matter-of-fact. “If you did the same for me, I assure you, all my information would look perfect too. But almost all of it is a lie. Some people have ways of getting around the truth, ways you can’t possibly understand. But you can take my word for it: Maya is not at all what she seems.”
Liam believed her, although that in itself was almost as disturbing as the fact that she’d just admitted to lying to him. “What, so are you saying that you and Maya are both in the CIA, or the Mafia or something?”
Baba leaned back again, that teasing half smile flitting across her lips. “Oh, no, Sheriff, something much worse than that.” For a moment, it almost seemed as though she was going to add something, until the sound of ringing broke the moment and chased the words away.
NINE
BABA HAD TO swallow a laugh at the look of stunned amazement on Liam’s face. He pulled out his phone and gazed at it as though it had been transmuted into a kaleidoscope, or some other completely unexpected object.
“I don’t believe it,” he said, still staring at the ringing object in his palm. “I never get service out here.”
“Must be magic,” Baba said lightly. “Aren’t you going to answer that?”
He shook himself and flipped the phone open. She tried without success to follow his half of the conversation, which mostly consisted of variations on, “Yup, uh-huh, that’s great.” Chudo-Yudo roused himself with a dragonish snort and meandered over to find out what was going on, bringing Baba another beer. This one had a sizable chunk missing from the neck, but she nudged it back into place with a finger flick before Liam could notice.
“It’s Bob,” Liam said, pulling the phone away from his ear for a moment. “From the auto shop. I had him go out and pick up your bike.”
Baba bit back a sharp reply. Nobody touched her motorcycle but her. Chudo-Yudo growled softly and she gave him an imperceptible shake of the head. The sheriff meant well, and she could reclaim it in the morning when she was back up to full strength. Or in the middle of the night, if she was really feeling twitchy about it.
Liam continued, blissfully unaware of how close he’d come to getting his ass handed to him on a platter. “Bob says the damage isn’t as bad as it looks. The frame isn’t twisted, and he can mend the front fender, bend the handlebars back into shape, and replace the tire. A decent paint job will take longer, but you should be back on the road in a week or so.” He gave her a broad, white smile, clearly proud of himself.
Baba vacillated between irritation that he’d dealt with the issue without her permission and gratitude that the motorcycle wasn’t as badly mangled as it had first appeared.
Eventually, gratitude won out and she managed to say, more or less graciously, “Thanks. You can tell Bob to fix the metal bits; I can take care of the paint job myself. I’d rather not be without the bike any longer than I have to.” She could feel the space where it was supposed to sit outside the Airstream like an empty socket from a missing tooth. “Tell him I’ll pay double if he can put a rush on it.”
Liam raised an eyebrow at that but relayed the message. A startled look flitted across his face at Bob’s reply, and he gazed at the phone thoughtfully for a moment after he hung up.
“He said you don’t have to pay him double, but he’d really appreciate it if you could make him an herbal remedy for his father’s gout. They share the garage, and when the gout is acting up, the old man is as grumpy as a hibernating bear.” Liam shook his head. “He said someone told him about you when he was in Bertie’s this morning and he was going to contact you anyway.”
Baba was pleased. It was probably irrational, but she felt better being able to barter for part of the work. When she was growing up, that was the way it was done. The previous Baba was paid in chickens far more often than in coin.
“Excellent,” she said, already thinking of which herbs she might use from her current stock and which ones she would need to forage for. “I’ll make him up something right away.”
Liam patted her leg, carefully avoiding the bruised bits that were already turning vibrant purples and blues, like a garden of pansies sprung up overnight. “Don’t worry about the bike,” he said, sympathy softening his tone. “Bob is a wizard with anything that has wheels and a motor.”
“I don’t need a wizard,” Baba said, rolling her eyes. Wizards tended to be annoying and smell like sulfur. Too many alchemical formulas and not enough bathing. “I just need a mechanic.”