Something to Witch About (Wicked Witches of the Midwest Book 5) Page 10

  “At least we didn’t all have dinner together last night,” I offered. “That’s something.”

  “Yeah, that was fun,” Landon agreed. “My family sat at one table. Your family sat at another. Aunt Tillie kept whispering threats between the two. I want to relive that night for the rest of my life.”

  My shoulders shook with silent laughter. “She’s got a lot on her mind right now.”

  “She’s awesome in police interrogations, by the way.”

  “She’s … something.”

  Landon laced his fingers through mine. “Let’s go eat some brunch.”

  “You’re looking forward to brunch with both our families?”

  “No,” Landon said, shaking his head. “However, my family wants to spend the rest of the day in Traverse City.”

  That sounded like a horrible trip. “I can’t go.”

  Landon smirked. “I wasn’t planning on taking you.”

  I couldn’t hide my frown – or the small, disappointed tug at my heart.

  “Not that I don’t want you with me,” Landon said, reading my expression. “I just think it will be good to get to spend some time with my mother while you handle your family.”

  He had a point.

  “Handling my family might take more than an afternoon.”

  “I thought you guys were going to spell Aunt Tillie?”

  “We are,” I replied.

  “Well, this afternoon seems like a good time. The inn will be empty. Get some truth out of her and maybe we can salvage this week.”

  I hated it when he was pragmatic.

  “Fine.”

  Landon gave me a short, sweet kiss. “It’s going to be a good afternoon.”

  I sent him a thumbs-up. “It’s going to be great.”

  No one was in the kitchen, so we continued through, following the noise into the dining room.

  “Tell me what’s wrong, baby doll.” Kenneth stood next to Aunt Tillie’s chair, his face wrought with confusion.

  Great.

  Thistle glanced up when we entered. “Welcome to hell.”

  “I’m very excited to be here,” I deadpanned.

  “No you’re not,” Clove said, sliding into the chair next to Thistle. “This has been going on for ten minutes.”

  I glanced at Kenneth. “Good morning, Kenneth.”

  “Tillie is mad at me – and she won’t tell me why.”

  “It’s because you danced with me,” Blanche supplied. She was sitting at the far end of the table, dressed as though she were headed to Sunday Mass or the Kentucky Derby, and smiling as if she’d just won the lottery. “She’s upset because you like me more.”

  Kenneth looked confused. “I don’t understand.”

  “Women live longer than men,” Landon replied, patting Kenneth on the shoulder. “You’re a big prize, my man.”

  “My heart belongs to one woman,” Kenneth said. “One beautiful and amazing woman.”

  “Me,” Blanche said, her smile wide.

  Aunt Tillie scowled. “Not that I care where Kenneth’s heart belongs, but you’re no match for me.”

  “You’re not even an opponent,” Blanche said. “You’re mean and bitter. Men don’t like mean and bitter.”

  “It takes one to know one,” Aunt Tillie shot back.

  “I’m so confused,” Kenneth said.

  “Sit down,” Mom ordered, pushing Kenneth into the seat next to Aunt Tillie. “Eat your breakfast.”

  “My love is upset.”

  “She’s always upset,” Thistle said. “Get used to that.”

  “I’ll show you upset,” Aunt Tillie warned.

  “How can he like her more than me?” Blanche looked scandalized.

  “Kill me now,” Landon muttered.

  I squeezed his hand. “You and me both, honey.”

  Landon pinched my rear. “I like it when you call me honey.”

  “Having sex in front of people is frowned upon,” Aunt Tillie announced. “It’s immoral.”

  “Who’s having sex?” Landon asked, pulling me behind him to the other side of the table.

  “You two will be in a few minutes,” Aunt Tillie replied.

  “I wish,” Landon said, settling into his chair. “Bay is too much of a prude, though.”

  Thistle snorted. Connie frowned. Earl smiled. Mom swatted Landon with a dishtowel.

  The sound of a throat clearing at the door drew everyone’s attention. Chief Terry stood there, hat in hand, looking uncertain.

  “Hey,” I greeted him. “Have a seat.”

  Chief Terry looked in the direction of my mother and aunts. They met his look with a triple dose of consternation.

  “There’s a seat open down by Blanche,” Mom said.

  I was stunned. For as long as I could remember, my mother and aunts had been fighting for Chief Terry’s affections. For them to join together – united by anger over him pulling Aunt Tillie in for questioning – well, it was a big deal.

  Landon shot Chief Terry a sympathetic look. “There’s a chair right here,” he said, patting the empty spot beside him.

  Chief Terry slid into the chair. He was lost. “I’m sorry about yesterday.”

  “What happened yesterday?” Connie asked.

  “He accused me of murder,” Aunt Tillie replied.

  “Why didn’t you lock her up?” Blanche asked.

  “Because I didn’t do it,” Aunt Tillie replied, snidely.

  “Of course she didn’t,” Kenneth interjected. “My love would never hurt anyone.”

  I was starting to wonder if cataracts were rendering him blind where Aunt Tillie was concerned.

  “I bet there are hundreds of bodies buried on the property,” Blanche said. “She’s got a mean streak.”

  Look who’s talking?

  “Eat your breakfast, Aunt Blanche,” Landon ordered.

  “I’m done.”

  “Then shut your mouth.”

  “Landon!” Connie’s face was pinched. “Don’t talk to your aunt that way.”

  “She’s being obnoxious,” he replied. “On purpose.”

  “She’s always obnoxious,” Daryl said. “It’s part of her charm.”

  “That’s how we feel about Aunt Tillie,” Clove said, shooting Daryl a flirtatious smile.

  Crap on toast.

  “They’re a lot alike,” Daryl agreed, fixing her with an equally flirty smile.

  “I may cry soon,” I admitted to Landon.

  “Will you think less of me, as a man I mean, if I join you?”

  He’s too cute for words sometimes.

  “Are you two in heat or something?” Aunt Tillie flicked my ear.

  “Eat your breakfast,” Mom ordered. “You’re in enough trouble.”

  “Yeah,” Thistle teased.

  “Don’t press me, girl.”

  Thistle visibly blanched. She’d stayed out of Aunt Tillie’s line of fire for a whole week now. She wasn’t keen on stepping back into danger.

  “I think everyone is being unfair,” Chief Terry announced.

  “How so?” Mom asked, her frame stiff.

  “I had to question Tillie,” he replied. “You know I had to.”

  “She’s innocent,” Twila said. “She would never hurt anyone.”

  “She’s awful,” Blanche said. “She’s a terrible person.”

  “Don’t you talk about her that way,” Kenneth warned. “You’re being mean.”

  Had he even met Aunt Tillie?

  “Don’t listen to her, Kenneth,” Aunt Tillie admonished. “She’s going to get what’s coming to her.”

  Landon glanced at me. I couldn’t answer his silent question, so I merely shrugged in response.

  “You eat your breakfast,” Mom warned. “I’m not telling you again.”

  “You’re not the boss of me,” Aunt Tillie grumbled.

  “I think I’m being persecuted,” Chief Terry admitted.

  “I always think that,” Clove said.

  “There are answers
to be found in prayer,” Denny offered.

  Aunt Tillie snorted. “I pray that this breakfast is over. Are we done yet?”

  “I’m going to lock you in your room all day,” Marnie warned.

  That sounded like a great idea. Clove had slipped the truth potion in Aunt Tillie’s wine stash this morning while Thistle distracted her and we were ready to put our Truth Plan into action.

  “Don’t threaten her,” Kenneth said, pointing at Marnie angrily. “She’s had a rough couple of days.”

  “How?” Thistle asked.

  “The cops are harassing her,” Kenneth replied. “The fuzz is trying to force her into a confession for a crime she didn’t commit.”

  “The fuzz?” Landon asked.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I’m not sure I do.”

  I wasn’t joking about the crying.

  “I think we should go shopping,” Connie announced. “I’m ready to leave.”

  “I’m always ready to leave,” Thistle said.

  “I want to stay here,” Blanche said.

  “You’re not staying here,” Landon said. “We’re going to Traverse City as a family. One big, happy family.”

  “You’re not the boss of me.”

  “Listen to your nephew,” Aunt Tillie warned. “There’s nothing but heartache for you here. In fact, if you want to stay in Traverse, I’m not going to argue.”

  “Eat your breakfast,” I said.

  “Don’t push me.”

  “I’m not pushing you.”

  “Why is everyone ignoring me?” Chief Terry asked, his face drained of color. “This is all wrong.”

  “They’ll get over it,” Clove said. “Trust me.”

  Landon exhaled so deeply his bangs fluttered on his forehead. “I think I’ve died and gone to hell.”

  I was right there with him.

  Fifteen

  “So, we’re just going to wait for her to drink the wine?” Thistle asked. “That’s the plan?”

  We were standing in front of The Overlook, waving as Landon pulled away, his entire family crowded inside his Explorer. The minute they left the parking lot we all exhaled deeply.

  “Thank the Goddess.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Thistle said.

  “We can’t make her drink it,” I said. “If we try to force the situation, that’s just going to make her realize something is up.”

  “Which we definitely don’t want,” Clove said.

  “Exactly.”

  “What if she doesn’t drink it?”

  “She’ll drink it.”

  “What if she doesn’t?”

  “Then we’ll have to think of something else,” I admitted. “Let’s hope for the best. We’re due to beat her at something.”

  “History seems to tell us exactly the opposite,” Thistle replied.

  She had a point.

  “Look at it this way,” I said. “Landon’s family is gone all day. That means Mom will relax the rules on Aunt Tillie for a couple of hours. Aunt Tillie had a rough day yesterday – and that breakfast was straight out of the seventh circle of hell – she’s going to need a drink.”

  “So, what then? We’re just going to hang around here all day asking her questions until she finally answers one truthfully?” Thistle looked nonplussed. “That sounds like a terrific way to spend the day.”

  “Isn’t the store open today?” I asked.

  Thistle shook her head. “No. The festival is going on and that will soak up all the business. We don’t have to open today.”

  “Well, that means you guys are on Aunt Tillie duty today,” I said.

  “What are you doing?” Thistle asked.

  “I’m going into town,” I replied. “I’m going to have a talk with Mrs. Little.”

  “Are you going to ask her if she was sleeping with Floyd Gunderson?” Thistle asked.

  “Do you have a better idea?”

  “No.”

  “I can’t stay at the inn today,” Clove announced.

  Thistle cocked her head to the side. “Why?”

  “I have a few errands to run,” Clove said, dropping her eyes evasively.

  “What errands?” Thistle asked.

  I was suspicious, too. “Yeah, what errands?”

  “I’m going out to the Dragonfly, if you must know,” Clove replied. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

  The Dragonfly was a new inn on the other side of town. It was nearing completion, and the grand opening was quickly approaching. It also happened to be jointly owned by all three of our fathers. They’d spent years away from town, returning only a few months ago to open their own competing business.

  Aunt Tillie was still ticked off, although recent upheavals had disrupted her revenge plans.

  “Why are you going out there?” I asked.

  “Um, to see my dad,” Clove said. “That’s allowed, right?”

  “How is he doing?” Thistle asked. “You know, after the whole Karen thing and all.”

  Uncle Warren was still recovering from his own emotional turmoil since his engagement abruptly ended when it was revealed his intended was actually trafficking children along Lake Michigan.

  He was understandably upset.

  “He’s doing okay,” Clove said. “I just thought I would take him some baked goods and spend a few hours with him.”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” I said. “Thistle can follow Aunt Tillie alone. By the time you get back tonight, hopefully she’ll be in a chatty mood.”

  “Yeah, Thistle can follow Aunt Tillie all day,” Thistle grumbled. “Thistle can do it.”

  “Stop pouting,” I said, flicking her wrist. “You’ll be fine.”

  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t be fine,” Thistle countered. “Of course I’ll be fine.”

  “She’s afraid of her,” Clove said. “I don’t blame her.”

  “I am not afraid of her.”

  I furrowed my brow as I regarded her. I was afraid of Aunt Tillie and I wasn’t even the one following her. I pushed the thought out of my mind, though. I had my own scary quest for the day.

  PEWTER POWER is one of Hemlock Cove’s most popular stores. Since Main Street is full of all things kitschy, that’s saying something.

  It creeps me out.

  Don’t get me wrong; I’m not averse to pewter. It’s just the abundance of unicorns that freaks me out. I’m still not sure what unicorns have to do with the Hemlock Cove rebranding, but I stopped asking the question out loud years ago.

  Mrs. Little was sitting in her favorite rocking chair and flipping through last week’s edition of The Whistler. She glanced up when I entered, her face flashing surprise before shifting to uneven blankness.

  “Bay, this is a surprise.”

  Mrs. Little is, well, little. She’s about five feet of fire and judgment wrapped in some really tacky floral patterns. Her auburn hair, which refuses to tip over into gray, is always pulled back in a severe bun, and her flat, gray eyes are often wary.

  She makes me nervous.

  “Mrs. Little, how are you?”

  “Well, I’m not dead yet,” she replied. “I’m counting that as a win.”

  I could see that. “That’s good then.”

  Mrs. Little continued to rock, watching me edge around the store nervously but refusing to ease the tension by engaging in further mindless chitchat.

  “Bay, you’re showing three of the four signs of being a shoplifter,” she said. I guess she couldn’t take the silence either.

  “Which ones?” I asked.

  “You won’t make eye contact. You’re touching everything but buying nothing. Oh, and you keep looking at the door, like you’re making sure you’ll be able to make it through it quickly when the time comes.”

  “I’m not shoplifting.”

  “I know,” Mrs. Little replied. “You’re not the type. Now, if it was Thistle, I would be worried.”

  “Thistle wouldn’t shoplift either,” I said.
“She’s not a big unicorn fan.”

  “I guess. Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

  “I … uh … I’m not really sure how to broach this with you,” I admitted.

  “Well, why don’t you just ask me what you want to ask me. We’ll take it from there.”

  Okay. That sounded reasonable. “Did you know that the construction crew out at The Overlook discovered the remains of a body the other day?”

  “The town is small, Bay,” Mrs. Little replied, never taking her eyes off me. “Everyone knows.”

  “Did you know the body was identified as Floyd Gunderson?”

  Mrs. Little’s face remained passive. “I heard that also.”

  She wasn’t going to volunteer anything. Crap.

  “I heard that … perhaps … you might have some inside information about Mr. Gunderson,” I hedged.

  “Let me guess. You heard I was having an affair with Floyd and you came to find out if it was true,” Mrs. Little said, her tone clipped. “You’re hoping that I killed him, which would exonerate Tillie, and make your life a whole lot easier right now.”

  She was good. “Actually, that’s only half true,” I said. “I was hoping that you would be able to tell me that Floyd actually died in some terrible accident and you guys all buried him in some misguided attempt to protect one another.”

  Mrs. Little raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “I did have an affair with Floyd.”

  I waited.

  “I did not, however, kill him,” Mrs. Little continued. “I was under the assumption, like everyone else in town, that Floyd left of his own volition.”

  “Aunt Tillie says he was a drunk,” I said. “If you forgive my … skepticism, I can’t see you with a drunk.”

  “I was having troubles of my own at the time,” Mrs. Little conceded. “My husband and I were always fighting. We were having money trouble, you see. You probably don’t remember, because this Hemlock Cove is very different from what the town was before, but when the industrial base fell there were a lot of people in this town struggling.”

  I sat down in the open chair across from her. “Was Floyd having trouble?”

  “Floyd was always having trouble,” Mrs. Little said. “You should know, Floyd and I went to high school together and we had a past – even then.”

  “You dated in high school?”

  “We did.”

  “But you didn’t get married after graduation?”