”“Guilt?” Harold asked. “She wasn’t part of the mob.”“No,” Shelly said softly, “But she was the witch in the family, not me. The crowd knew someone had been celebrating the Witches’ Sabbath in the river bottoms on Halloween for the past couple of years. So when that poor, confused, Justice of the Peace said I bewitched him, they thought they had found their witch.”“They’d have burned us anyway,” Harold said with a huff. “That’s the way it was back then.”“She also enchanted this place,” Shelly said, looking around, “so that as long as someone leaves food for us, we can return for one more day.”“And,” Harold said as he stroked her arm, “for one more night.”“Yes,” she said with a light laugh, “there is that, too. But let’s eat first.”When they had finished the chicken, greens, and cornbread and washed it down with cool, clear, water, Harold opened the wine. “They’ve gone back to including a corkscrew,” he said as he pushed it into the top of the bottle. “But the corks are some strange. Not Italian, I thought to myself.“Oh, work?” I asked. “Interesting work. I saw what you were watching.”“What-” she glanced sideways, then up. “Yes, my spreadsheet of our project? If you could see from there... it was not interesting.” She was nervous. Not Russian, but perhaps Greek or Eastern European?“Seriously, not judging, and I understand... I saw in the reflection, in the picture behind you.” She clicked the lid of her computer closed all the way and craned her neck up and back. Busted.“May I join you?” I didn't wait for her to answer, but took the seat at the table next to her, sitting on the bench not too far away. “Like I said, I understand you watching that. I promise, I was, um...” I patted the computer case I was still carrying, “...doing the same thing.”“What is it with you?” She was a little annoyed. “Sneaking up on people in the dark and saying such things?”I thought of something about “spread” and “sheet”, trying to hold back a laugh. “No, I wasn't sneaking.” I tried.
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