A Witch of a Time Page 17

  “I don’t know that you’re going to be able to solve it,” Newton said. “We have to give it due diligence. If you don’t get anywhere, you don’t get anywhere.”

  That didn’t sound so bad. “Fine,” I said, taking the file. “I’m still giving Bay most of my attention this weekend.”

  “Isn’t that how you spend every weekend? In fact, don’t you sneak off there to spend the night every chance you get during the week, too?” Newton’s eyes shined as he regarded me, and his voice was teasing, but I couldn’t help but wonder whether my boss was hinting at something specific.

  “I’m never late for work,” I replied. “I still have my place here in Traverse City. I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

  “I’m not getting at anything,” Newton said, clapping his hand on my shoulder. “I only want to know if I’m going to win the pool.”

  “What pool?”

  “There’s a pool on when you’re going to propose.”

  A year ago, a suggestion like that would have been preposterous. Now? I wasn’t looking for rings and I have no intention of proposing anytime soon, but the idea wasn’t as terrifying as it once was. It doesn’t make me feel sick to my stomach, and I’m not looking for an exit door. In fact, when I finally uttered the L-word a few weeks ago, it felt natural and right. That’s progress, right?

  “I think you guys are going to be waiting for a little while yet,” I said, shoving the file into my bag and getting to my feet. “I’m perfectly happy the way things are.” Actually, I was more than happy. I was … content.

  “Is she happy?”

  I grinned. “She’s always happy where I’m concerned.”

  Newton rolled his eyes. “Does she like that ego of yours?”

  “I haven’t heard any complaints.”

  “Don’t forget the cold case,” Newton said. “And, while we’re at it, what does her mother look like? You said she’s available, right?”

  I brushed past him, internally laughing. “You’re not in her league, Newton. You wouldn’t have a shot with any of them.”

  “You don’t know that,” Newton protested. “I can be charming, too.”

  “They don’t do charming,” I said. “In fact, if you’re not comfortable screaming through dinner, you’re not even going to be a blip on their radar.”

  “Do you scream through dinner?”

  “At least once a week,” I replied. “Speaking of that, I need to get going. If I’m late for dinner they won’t feed me, and I’ve been looking forward to homemade pot roast for three days. See you Monday.”

  “YOU’RE dead to me!”

  I barely registered the raised voices as I let myself into the guesthouse an hour later. I scanned the living room briefly, noting that Thistle, hands on hips, stood in the middle of the kitchen while Bay was closer to her bedroom. That was good for what I had planned later in the evening, but the argument would have to be wrapped up first.

  “Hey,” I said, kissing Bay’s cheek by way of greeting and then slipping behind her so I could drop my bag on her bedroom floor.

  “This is not my fault,” Bay said. “I can’t believe you’re blaming me for this.”

  “Who else should I blame?” Thistle asked, her pink head bopping up and down as she gathered steam. “You’re the one who gave Aunt Tillie the computer. She’s had, like, eight things delivered during the past week alone. What do you think is in those boxes?”

  “I’m just hoping it’s not alive,” Bay said. “We still haven’t found that scorpion she ordered. What was his name again?”

  “Fred.”

  “Yeah. What do you think happened to Fred?”

  “I think he made a run for it,” Thistle said, rolling her eyes. “Even a scorpion is afraid of Aunt Tillie.”

  “What are you arguing about?” I asked, returning to the living room. I tossed my workbag on the small sofa table and shuffled into the kitchen to grab a cola from the refrigerator.

  “We’re in trouble,” Thistle said.

  “You’re going to have to be more specific,” I said. “Where you guys are concerned, that could mean anything. You didn’t do anything illegal, did you?”

  Bay shot me a look, and I couldn’t help but smile at the way her eyes flashed. She’s cute when she’s annoyed, and where the Winchester witches are concerned, she’s always annoyed.

  “When was the last time we did anything illegal?” Thistle challenged.

  “Doesn’t Aunt Tillie still make her own wine and sell it without a permit?”

  “That’s her, not us.”

  “Doesn’t she have a pot field?” I asked, internally cringing that I not only knew about its existence, but because I could do nothing about it. She’d magically cloaked the field. I’d been looking every chance I got. I had no idea how she did it, but it was starting to get frustrating. I would never turn her in, but I would burn it without a hint of regret.

  “Again, that’s her. We have nothing to do with that field.” Thistle was irritated. Since that was her perpetual state, I wasn’t fazed by the dark look on her face.

  “Let’s start over,” I said. “What seems to be the problem?”

  “Bay got us in trouble,” Thistle said, crossing her arms over her chest.

  I rolled my eyes until they landed on Bay, losing myself in the snug fit of her jeans for a moment before I realized we were in the middle of another crisis. “What did you do?”

  “Aunt Tillie has been ordering things online with the computer I gave her,” Bay said, choosing her words carefully. “She’s been getting a lot of packages. When we try to see what they are, she hides them.”

  That couldn’t be good. “Can’t you just go online and see what she’s been ordering?”

  “She hid it.”

  I fought the mad urge to laugh. Aunt Tillie was more work than any ten kids could ever be and, while the woman drives me crazy, she’s always entertaining. “She probably ordered more obnoxious clothing and another combat helmet or something. Why is this bothering you so much?

  “Seriously, I’m the biggest worrier in the world where she’s concerned,” I continued. “It’s probably harmless, though.”

  Now it was Thistle’s turn to roll her eyes. “When has Aunt Tillie ever done anything harmless?”

  That was a pretty good question. “She’s been quiet for weeks,” I pointed out. I realized, after I said it, that wasn’t a proper argument. When Aunt Tillie is quiet, that’s when things get out of hand. That meant she was mustering her energy for something big. “She could be buying something completely harmless.”

  Bay cocked an eyebrow.

  “Fine,” I said, rubbing the spot between my eyebrows wearily. “I’ll ask her what she’s been buying when we get up to the inn.”

  “She’s not going to tell you,” Thistle scoffed.

  “You don’t know that,” I said. “She’s told me things before.”

  “When?”

  I made a face. “She’ll tell me.”

  “Whatever,” Thistle said. “We have to figure out what she’s buying. If we don’t, our mothers are going to be all over us until we do.”

  “I have trouble believing you can’t handle your mothers,” I said. “Sure, they’re … insistent sometimes. They live in the same house with Aunt Tillie, though. Shouldn’t she be their responsibility?”

  “It’s a good thing you’re handsome,” Thistle said. “I don’t think you’d make it through life if you weren’t.”

  I glanced at Bay for support. “She’s going to tell me what she’s doing.”

  Doubt flooded Bay’s eyes. “Do you want to rest up before we go to The Overlook?”

  The question confused me. “What do you mean?”

  Bay tilted her head to the side, gesturing toward her bedroom. “Do you want to rest up?”

  I couldn’t help but smile when I realized what she was really suggesting. “That’s exactly what I had in mind.”

  “WE have to get dressed,” Bay said, poking
my side to make sure I was awake an hour later. “We have fifteen minutes to get up there.”

  “Give me a minute,” I murmured, trying to wring a few more precious moments of quiet from my day before chaos descended.

  “We can’t be late,” Bay said. “We’re already on their list.”

  “Blame me,” I said. “Your mother can’t stay angry when I’m here. She’s putty in my hands.”

  “Oh, please,” Bay said. “The bloom is off where you’re concerned. You’ve started bossing her around and taking charge in areas she thinks she has domain over.”

  “For example?”

  “You wouldn’t let her hover when I was … hurt … by Nick a few weeks ago.”

  I shifted my gaze, finding Bay propped on her elbow with her teeth embedded in her lower lip. That incident was still a sore subject between us, even though I was trying to let it go. “You weren’t hurt,” I said. “You were shot.”

  “I remember. I was there.”

  “I wasn’t going to spend the night away from you after you were shot,” I said, my mind roaming back to the day in question. “Your mother must understand that.”

  “She’s used to people doing what she wants.”

  “Well, where you’re concerned, I’m going to do what I want,” I said, tugging her lip away from her teeth. “Stop doing that. You don’t have to be afraid that I’m going to fly off the handle. Nick is locked up. You’re safe. Let’s … just drop it.”

  “That sounds good,” said Bay, rolling out of bed and searching the carpet for her clothes. “Come on. I’m starving.”

  My stomach chimed in with a loud rumble, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. “Fine,” I said, giving in. “They’re still making pot roast tonight, right?”

  “If that’s what my mother promised you, then that’s what you’re getting,” Bay said, tugging a brush through her hair and studying her reflection in the mirror. “She’s going to know what we were doing.”

  “Do you really care?”

  “Of course not.” The look on her face told me otherwise.

  I pulled my jeans and shirt on and took the brush from her, running it through my own dark hair before handing it back. “Better?”

  Bay smiled, causing me to lean forward and kiss her lightly. “Come on,” I said. “Now that you’ve mentioned food, I can’t think of anything else.”

  “If you find out what Aunt Tillie has going on, I’ll reward you later,” Bay offered.

  “I think you should have tried to negotiate that outcome before … this,” I replied, gesturing toward the rumpled bed.

  “Who says I was going to reward you with that?”

  I frowned. What else was there?

  Two

  “You don’t have to drag me,” Bay complained, tugging on the hand snugly engulfed by mine. “We still have two minutes. Are you really that hungry?”

  I slowed my pace enough to let Bay’s shorter legs catch up. “I’m sorry,” I said, “but I’ve been dreaming about pot roast for three nights.”

  “And here I thought you spent your nights dreaming about me while we were apart.”

  “I do,” I replied, unruffled, “and in my dreams you’re covered in pot roast … and sometimes bacon.”

  I followed Bay through the back door of the inn, glancing around the cozy living quarters Winnie, Marnie, Twila and Aunt Tillie shared. It was always immaculate. While Bay, Thistle and Clove weren’t pigs, the guesthouse was rarely orderly. I didn’t really mind the clutter. There was something comfortable about Thistle’s crafts corner, even if wax and clay were spread all over the place. I liked seeing Bay’s laptop on the coffee table, mostly because that meant whatever work she had to do for The Whistler she would be doing at home – where I had easy access to her. Still, a little cleanliness wouldn’t hurt the younger set of Winchester witches.

  “Do you smell that?”

  Bay turned to me, her eyes quizzical. “What is it? Please don’t tell me you smell pot. We’re definitely going to be late if you search Aunt Tillie’s room.”

  I grinned. “I was talking about the pot roast, goof,” I said, flicking the end of her nose. “Still, searching Aunt Tillie’s bedroom isn’t a bad idea. If you really want to know what she’s up to, that would be the place to start.”

  “Are you saying you want to see Aunt Tillie’s bedroom?”

  “I … .” Hmm, how should I answer that?

  “I didn’t think so,” Bay said. “If you see Aunt Tillie’s room, you’re going to have nightmares for weeks.”

  “Why? What’s in there?”

  “Oh, there’s nothing in there that’s overtly suspicious, at least as far as I know,” Bay said. “I only said you’ll have nightmares because she cursed her room to give people nightmares if they enter without permission.”

  Witches! I swear! I was still getting used to their peculiar ways. “I can’t decide whether you’re messing with me or not.”

  “I’m not messing with you,” Bay said. “I went in there to get knitting needles for Twila two weeks ago and then I had a dream that I was a big slice of bacon for two nights in a row.”

  The image made me smile – for more than one reason. “That sounds like heaven to me.”

  “Not when you’re frying on a giant griddle.”

  Great! Now I’m going to have nightmares. “Okay, we’re done talking about that,” I said. “Let’s get out there. I’m ready for my pot roast.”

  “I have one question to ask first.”

  I fixed my eyes on Bay, impatient. “Make it fast.”

  “Say there’s a fire,” she said. “Are you going to save me or are you going to save the pot roast?”

  “That’s not really fair, baby,” I teased. “The pot roast doesn’t have legs. It can’t save itself.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  The kitchen was empty when we entered, tonight’s preparation pots and pans soaking in the sink. I scanned the counter for signs of carrots, potatoes and gravy, practically crowing when I found all three. I moved faster, pulling Bay excitedly.

  Numerous expectant faces swiveled our way when we emerged from the kitchen. Besides Bay’s family, it looked as if Chief Terry, Sam and Marcus were joining us for the meal, as well as five guests I didn’t recognize. Before getting involved with Bay, the idea of eating dinner with strangers every night was an odd one. I was used to it now.

  “Good evening, everyone.”

  “You’re late,” Winnie said, tilting her head to the side. She had Bay’s coloring and eyes, but she didn’t smile when saw me … at least not tonight.

  “It was my fault,” I said, congenially. “I … forgot something back at the guesthouse.”

  “What?” Winnie was clearly in a mood.

  “I’m guessing it was his pants,” Thistle said, sipping from her glass of wine and shooting me a salty look.

  “Thank you, Thistle,” Twila said, glaring in her daughter’s direction. “No one needs you to add to the discussion.”

  “I was just trying to help.”

  “You can help a lot more if you’re quiet,” Twila said.

  I moved to the far side of the table and settled into what had become my regular seat between Bay and Aunt Tillie. While everyone else turned their attention to the heaping platefuls of food and idle conversation, I focused mine on the elderly Winchester matriarch. “Hello, Aunt Tillie. How are you today?”

  “Well, I’m not wearing a girdle and I’m still alive.”

  I wasn’t sure how to take that. “So … no complaints?”

  “Did you just meet me? Of course I have complaints.” Aunt Tillie turned so she could scorch Winnie with a narrow-eyed glare. “I have a whole heck of a lot to complain about.”

  Uh-oh. It looked as if whatever she was up to was about to come to a head. “Who ticked you off now?” I gestured toward my empty glass when Bay started pouring wine. If Aunt Tillie was about to launch into a tirade, being hammered couldn’t possibly hurt.

/>   “I have a list,” Aunt Tillie sniffed, viciously stabbing her fork into a piece of meat.

  She always had a list. Thistle was generally at the top of it, but Bay and Clove shared top billing at least once a week. “Oh, yeah? Who is on top of it today?”

  “Don’t worry,” Aunt Tillie said. “Your girlfriend is safe. Her pants will fit tomorrow morning, and she won’t smell like anything she’s not supposed to smell like.”

  That was a little disheartening. I was still holding out hope the bacon smell – and taste – would return. Those were the best two days of my life, I swear. Some people need big cars, a lot of money and inground swimming pools. I needed my girlfriend to smell like bacon. I guess I’m easy. “If you wanted to … .”

  “Don’t finish that sentence,” Bay warned, her eyes flashing. She’d obviously read my mind.

  “I wasn’t going to say anything,” I said.

  “Eat your pot roast. You’ve been talking about it for an hour.”

  Finally, something I wanted to do. I attacked my plate enthusiastically, keeping one ear on the conversation as I dunked a freshly baked slice of bread into the best gravy I’d ever eaten. I could never tell my mother that, but it was the truth. While the Winchesters were loud – and generally pains in my ass – they were also the best cooks I’d ever met. I would put up with ten screaming matches a night for this gravy.

  “So, did you do anything exciting at work this week?” Marnie asked me, smiling pleasantly even though she was clearly watching Sam and Clove out of the corner of her eye. Since Sam had been officially cleared as a murderer and bank robber – and saved Bay’s life – he was now welcomed at the dinner table with more than suspicion. I don’t think Marnie liked wondering where Sam’s hands were wandering under the table, though.

  “Just a routine week,” I said. “It was mostly paperwork. My boss did give me a cold case to work on while I was here, though.”

  “You have to work this weekend?” Bay asked, disappointed.

  “I have to ask a few questions,” I clarified. “The case is twenty years old.”