Wicked Witches of the Midwest 9 Read online

  THE TROUBLE WITH WITCHES

  A WICKED WITCHES OF THE MIDWEST MYSTERY BOOK NINE

  AMANDA M. LEE

  WINCHESTERSHAW PUBLICATIONS

  Contents

  Copyright

  Prologue

  1. One

  2. Two

  3. Three

  4. Four

  5. Five

  6. Six

  7. Seven

  8. Eight

  9. Nine

  10. Ten

  11. Eleven

  12. Twelve

  13. Thirteen

  14. Fourteen

  15. Fifteen

  16. Sixteen

  17. Seventeen

  18. Eighteen

  19. Nineteen

  20. Twenty

  21. Twenty-One

  22. Twenty-Two

  23. Twenty-Three

  24. Twenty-Four

  25. Twenty-Five

  26. Twenty-Six

  27. Twenty-Seven

  28. Twenty-Eight

  29. Twenty-Nine

  30. Thirty

  31. Thirty-One

  32. Thirty-Two

  33. Thirty-Three

  34. Thirty-Four

  Mailing List

  About the Author

  Books by Amanda M. Lee

  Copyright © 2016 by Amanda M. Lee All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  PROLOGUE

  “So … I guess that’s it, huh?”

  Edith’s expression was hard to read as she stared at me, her ethereal form flickering as she mimed gripping her hands together. She was a ghost, so the hand-wringing bit had to be a holdover from when she was alive.

  “That’s it,” I confirmed, bobbing my head. I’d just told her who killed her decades ago. I’d also shared why she died, and discussed the nature of her horrible actions and how a lot of it was karma, even though no one deserved to die in the manner Edith did so many years earlier. “It’s over and done.”

  “I see.” Edith made a clucking sound as she shifted her eyes to the window. We stood – she hovered – in my office at The Whistler, Hemlock Cove’s only newspaper, and even though we were alone, I knew my boyfriend, Landon Michaels, waited for me in the parking lot. He had offered to accompany me when I talked to Edith, but I knew it was something I had to do on my own.

  “He’s dead, Edith,” I added, referring to the man who killed her. “He’s gone. There’s nothing left for you here.”

  The simple statement seemed to jolt Edith and she jerked her eyes back to me. “Nothing left for me?”

  I squared my shoulders, reminding myself that I came here with a purpose and I intended to follow through no matter what. It was time for Edith to leave. “You stayed behind because you wanted to know who killed you,” I reminded her. “You know that now. You know who killed you and why. You can be free and move on now.”

  Instead of being grateful for the words, Edith was furious. “Move on to where?” she sputtered. “This is the only life I’ve ever known. Where do you expect me to go?”

  “Onward,” I replied matter-of-factly. “I don’t know what’s on the other side, but it has to be better than how you’ve been since your death. This isn’t a life. This isn’t even a half-life. It’s no life. There’s more for you on the other side.”

  “How do you know that?”

  That was a good question. “I have faith.”

  “You just said that I got a bad case of karma when I died … and that’s why I died … but now you’re saying there’s something better out there for me? Which is it? You can’t have it both ways.”

  “What you did when you were a teenager was reprehensible,” I said, referring to her verbal torture of a girl she grew up with. “You did terrible things and you were paid back for them by dying. You’ve paid your dues, albeit in an extremely harsh and final way. You’ll go to a better place.”

  “I don’t think I can afford to believe that,” Edith said.

  She looked pitiable, but I couldn’t muster much sympathy for her. I’d put up with a lot from her over the years – being one of the only people in a small town who can see and communicate with ghosts has certain drawbacks – but I was done feeling sorry for her.

  “I don’t want to play this game any longer, Edith,” I said, looking away from her eyes. “I don’t understand why you did what you did, and I think it would be better for everyone if you move on.”

  “And what if I don’t?” Edith wasn’t one to go quietly into the afterlife. I’d been expecting this.

  “Then I’m going to have Aunt Tillie cast a spell so you’re banned from the newspaper office,” I replied. “We can put up wards so spirits aren’t allowed inside. You’ll essentially be free to wander wherever you want … but not here.”

  I knew that came off as particularly harsh, but I also knew Edith had no interest in hanging out anywhere but The Whistler. I wanted her to move on because seeing her made me angry … and disappointed … and tired. I didn’t want to be any of those things.

  “But … this is my home,” Edith protested.

  “A home is for the living,” I argued. “You died a long time ago. It’s time to let go of the past and move on to the future.”

  “I’m dead!” Edith barked. “I have no future.”

  “You have no future among the living, that’s true,” I said. “You do have a future on the other side, though.”

  “How can you possibly know that?”

  “Because everyone is meant to move on,” I said, adopting a pragmatic tone. “The people who remain behind do so by accident. They’re anchored to this realm by horror, indecision and confusion. You’re not afflicted with any of those things. It’s time to embrace your fate.”

  For a moment I thought she would argue further with me, but her anger was too fierce. “Fine,” Edith snapped. “I’m ready to move on. Are you happy? I’ll leave you to your happy life and never darken your doorstep again!”

  Edith was always dramatic, so I should’ve known that she would make this parting as painful as possible.

  “Have a good afterlife,” I said, refusing to give in and coddle her. “I hope you find what you’re looking for on the other side.”

  It took another five minutes of ranting and raving from Edith, but eventually she dissipated and disappeared. I searched my heart for regret once she was gone, but found only relief.

  I found Landon leaning against his Explorer in the parking lot, his arms crossed over his chest.

  “All done?” Landon asked, brushing my blond hair from my face.

  I nodded. “She’s gone.”

  “How did she take it?”

  “Pretty much as I expected she would.”

  “That bad, huh?” Landon looked exhausted. We’d had a long day. I’d almost been killed – for the second time in less than a week – and we both needed some rest and relaxation. I sank into him as he slipped his arms around me and pressed a kiss to my cheek. “I bet I know what will make you feel better.”

  I couldn’t hide my smile. “Oh yeah? What?”

  “I think we should get BLTs from the diner and eat them in a hot bath.”

  I giggled at his serious expression. “I thought you wanted dinner at the inn. They’re going to have cake … and cookies … and all kinds of good food. I know you love bacon, but a BLT isn’t going to bolster us for very long.”

  Landon tilted his head to the side, considering. “You have a point,” he
conceded. “Okay, new plan. We’re going to eat dinner at the inn and then pretend we have terrible headaches the second we’re done shoveling food into our mouths. Then we’ll take a bath.”

  “I can live with that.”

  Landon kept me in his arms as he rocked back and forth, his lips pressed to the side of my face. “You did the right thing telling her to go, Bay. She couldn’t stay. It was time for her to move on.”

  “I know.” I took a moment to gather my thoughts and then pulled back my head and smiled. “Just think, though. This will be the first time I’ve been without a ghost hanging around in … years.”

  “Fun times,” Landon enthused, poking my ribs. “We should throw a party.”

  “With bacon?”

  “You know it.” Landon smacked a hot kiss against my mouth before releasing me. “Let’s go home, sweetie. I think we could both use a good night’s sleep and a full day shut away from the rest of the world.”

  He didn’t have to tell me twice. Unfortunately for us, rest and relaxation looked to be out of the question when a familiar face popped into view. The figure was short and compact, bright eyes glancing around as I hopped back to avoid inadvertently stepping through the new ghost.

  “What is it?” Landon asked, instantly alert.

  “There you are,” Viola said, shaking her head. “I knew if anyone could see me it would be you.”

  My mouth dropped open as I stared at the woman – rather what was left of the woman. Only a few days earlier I’d been present at her death – which was bloody and enough to cause me to briefly go into shock – and now here she was in ghost form.

  “I know who killed you,” I blurted out.

  “I know who killed me, too,” Viola replied, unruffled. “I don’t care about that.”

  “But … you need to pass on,” I pressed. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  Viola didn’t seem bothered by my tone – or my eagerness to get rid of her, for that matter. She merely glanced around with new ghost eyes and grinned. “I always wanted to haunt people. This is going to be neat,” she said. “I think we should start with Margaret Little.”

  I felt helpless as I shifted my eyes to Landon, my shoulders sagging. “It’s starting again.”

  Landon didn’t look surprised or disturbed. “You’re a special woman, sweetie. I think it’s always going to happen.”

  Was that supposed to make me feel better? “But … .”

  “He’s quite the hottie, isn’t he?” Viola asked, looking Landon up and down. “How does he look naked?”

  “I’m not answering that,” I snapped, my cheeks coloring.

  “That good, huh? I figured as much.” Viola was all smiles as she scanned Hemlock Cove. “I’m betting there are a lot of people who look good naked in this town. I think I’m going to like haunting this place. Let the games begin.”

  ONE

  SEVERAL WEEKS LATER

  Summer is almost gone.

  That’s all I could think about as I walked the dirt pathway between the Dandridge’s parking lot and the remodeled façade of the old lighthouse that stretched majestically into the sky. The sun and humidity were still high, but I could almost feel autumn knocking on the door … and then summer will be gone and winter in northwestern Lower Michigan would be right around the corner.

  I love spring, summer and fall. Michigan winters can be brutal, though. The days become shorter and the temperatures fall to inhumane levels. It’s a punishing four months when all you want to do is cuddle in front of a fire and read a good book.

  “What are you thinking about?” My cousin Thistle, her short-cropped hair a vibrant shade of aquamarine today, fixed me with a curious look as I walked beside her. I was so lost in thought I forgot I wasn’t alone.

  “It’s almost fall,” I replied, seeing no reason to lie. “It’s almost time to pick pumpkins and bob for apples.”

  Thistle shot me an incredulous look, her eyes flashing. “When have you ever bobbed for apples?”

  “I … .” Huh, that was a really good question. Our Great-Aunt Tillie told us that bobbing for apples was the germ equivalent of having unprotected sex with a ship full of sailors on shore leave. She made the declaration when we were young – I think I was eight – so I had no idea what that meant. Suffice it to say that we didn’t bob for apples, though. Even though we didn’t fully grasp her words, no one wanted to risk whatever depressing outcome she threatened.

  “You know what I mean,” I said finally, shoving a strand of my blond hair behind an ear as I focused on the lighthouse.

  Sam Cornell, my cousin Clove’s boyfriend, did a masterful job when he renovated it. Now they lived in the building together and were preparing for Hemlock Cove’s busiest tourist season. They planned to turn the building and a new tanker ship Sam purchased into haunted destinations, and it was the latter we were here to get a gander at today.

  You see, Hemlock Cove is all about tourism. From September to the end of November, our small town is so busy with tourists and fall color tour enthusiasts that we barely get any time off. Hemlock Cove rebranded itself as a tourism mecca several years ago when the small manufacturing base the town did have evaporated. It worked out well, and the town thrives as a fake paranormal destination.

  Hemlock Cove was supposed to be full of witches and ghosts. The thing is, we’re really witches. Yeah, you read that correctly. We’re real witches pretending to be regular humans pretending to be fake witches. Did you keep up with that? I barely did either. Don’t feel bad about it.

  My name is Bay Winchester and I’m a witch. I’m also a reporter, daughter, cousin, niece and girlfriend. My life is full of work and family, and that’s the way I like it. Er, well, I don’t always like the family part. I love them – don’t get me wrong – but they’re a lot of work. Actually, they’re not just work. They’re what happens when you have a deadline looming for months and you leave three months of tasks to be completed in one day. No, that’s not an exaggeration.

  “I actually don’t know what you mean,” Thistle said, reminding me again that I wasn’t alone.

  My mind kept wandering. I couldn’t explain it. I felt … anxious. I had no idea why. Life was going well for me these days. My cousin Clove moved out of the guesthouse I shared with Thistle on our mothers’ property – my mother and her two sisters, Marnie and Twila, run an inn on the site of the old family homestead – and she was happy and in love. That meant Thistle and I were at war for supremacy in the guesthouse, but that was hardly cause for concern. We were at war at least once a week, and Thistle was contemplating moving in with her boyfriend Marcus, so I might have the guesthouse to myself at some point. And, as for me, my FBI agent boyfriend Landon had spent the morning sending me flirty texts. I expected him to arrive later in the afternoon to spend the weekend. He technically lives in Traverse City, but finds as many excuses as possible to be with me in Hemlock Cove during the week. I looked forward to seeing him after two nights apart and yet … something felt off.

  “I can’t even remember what we were talking about,” I admitted, scratching my cheek as I locked gazes with Thistle. “Sorry. I guess I’m excited to see Sam’s tanker.”

  Thistle was dubious as she looked me up and down. “You’re excited to see Sam’s tanker? Why?”

  That was an excellent question. I had no idea why I was excited to see the tanker. I didn’t dislike the idea of the tanker, mind you. Clove was so excited to decorate it – Thistle, too, for that matter – that I couldn’t help but join in their enthusiasm. Seeing the tanker for the first time wasn’t what had me so edgy, though.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong,” I said, staring at the huge bay window at the front of the Dandridge. “I feel uneasy.”

  Thistle and I fight like warring pop stars who think we’ll be relevant forever, but when something serious throws off our equilibrium we always join forces. She looked concerned now.

  “What’s wrong?” Thistle asked. “Do you feel sick? Do you see a ghost? You�
�re not pregnant, are you?”

  I made a face apparently so comical Thistle couldn’t stop herself from cracking a smile. “I’m not pregnant,” I said. “I’m not sick either. I don’t know how to explain what I’m feeling. It’s … difficult … to put a name to.”

  “Try,” Thistle suggested. “Although, I think it would be funny if you ended up pregnant. You would have to hear that whole ‘giving away the milk for free’ speech that Aunt Tillie whips out whenever she wants to distract the family from watching whatever she is doing. She makes everyone stare at us while she gets away with murder.”

  Thistle’s eyes darkened at the thought and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. Thistle and Aunt Tillie fight on a normal day. The past two weeks had been anything but normal. They’d been going at each other like crazy. They’d been fighting … and threatening curses … and pretty much annoying each other every chance they got. It was distracting, to say the least.