Maddy took a cigarette from his pack. She watched the paper crackle as she inhaled, the nicotine a nice salve for her pride, still stung after all these years. But the wife, well, she could hardly claim credit for that one. Whistler was stir-crazy and the woman had him by the short hairs; he’d have jumped ship for a sheep in lipstick by the time Maddy came on the scene. But all she said was, “You always did prefer brunettes.”

“As for the other thing… plugging it up… and ignoring the obvious tampon jokes, why try?” She trained her eyes on the drink he bought her. Elfleda had mentioned that town and Maddy, who had no taste for getting mired in supernatural drama anymore, just tried to keep her nose out of it.