Wicked by Any Other Name Read Free

doggy kisses to her chin.
    â€œI wish the Wizards’ Court would accept your testimony,” she whispered, opening her shawl then wrapping it around the small dog to keep him warm. “You know what Carrie is like. And you’d be a much better witness than Horace. I’d hate to think what he’d say about her other than his reverence for her perfect breasts. I need a plan of attack. Not something that Blair or Jazz cooked up for me. Something I can do on my own. They’ve gotten me out of jams before, but I can’t allow them to help me this time. It’s my fight.”
    Her answer was more kisses, then a soft growl as Bogie perked up and looked out past the edge of the roof. Stasi followed his gaze and saw a black and white streak of fur appear at the edge of the backyard.
    â€œBe nice to him,” she whispered. “He doesn’t have a wonderful home like you do.” She stood up and stepped closer to the edge. “If you’re hungry, sweetie, come on up,” she called out softly.
    The black and white Border collie stepped carefully past the last remaining flowers and climbed the back stairs to the second floor. Stasi met him down there and let him into the kitchen.
    Pretty soon the visitor was happily chowing down on the last of the beef stew, while Bogie watched him from a distance. The smaller dog’s soft growls didn’t deter the larger animal from his meal.
    â€œWhat’s going—oh Stasi!” A sleep-rumpled Blair appeared in the kitchen. “You’re feeding that mutt again?”
    The Border collie sat down and lifted his paw. His tongue lolled to one side in a large doggy smile.
    â€œHe doesn’t have a home.”
    â€œAnd he’s not getting one here. Look at him. He’s not some scrawny stray. He looks pretty well fed to me.” Blair dug her fingers into her scalp. “For all we know he has fleas.”
    The dog whined and offered his paw again, bobbing it up and down for effect.
    â€œFine.” Blair accepted the paw and dropped it just as quickly. “But you’re still not sleeping here.”
    â€œIt’s cold outside,” Stasi argued on his behalf.
    Before Blair could take up the argument, the dog loped over to her, stood on his hind legs, and covered her face with slurpy kisses, then twisted around and managed to nose open the kitchen door, running out and down the steps, barking a thank-you along the way.
    â€œUgh!” Blair gagged, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. “Dog germs!”
    Stasi tried unsuccessfully to hide her smile. “Maybe next time you’ll keep your mouth closed.” She set the empty dish in the sink and rinsed it out. She filled the teakettle and set it on the stove, then pulled out two earthenware mugs. After rummaging through a substantial collection of tea bags, she selected lemon and dropped them into the mugs while Blair picked up a covered plate and placed it on the table.
    â€œI probably should have brought these out for dessert, but this works even better. Mrs. Benedict dropped off a plate of lemon squares this afternoon,” she explained. “She made a point of letting me know she made them and they weren’t from ‘that place.’”
    Stasi shook her head. “Her nose has been out of joint since Fresh Baked Goods opened up last summer. How many years did people tell her she should open a bakery? We all told her she shouldn’t give away all her baked goods. But she always said she wanted to create on her own schedule and not have to worry about keeping a shop filled with cookies, pies, and cakes. I think she wishes now she had taken our advice.”
    â€œVery true. But it got really ugly when Mr. Chalmers said that their oatmeal raisin cookies were the best he’d ever eaten. He made it worse by going back for more.”
    Stasi winced at the memory of the day Mrs. Benedict had learned that her devoted beau was unfaithful to her when