4 Witching On A Star Read online

  “Because it’s important to Bay,” Thistle replied simply.

  “So how do we do it?” Clove asked. “How do we find out how they know each other?”

  “We ask your dad,” Thistle said grimly.

  “No,” Clove shook her head vehemently. “No way.”

  “We have to,” I said quietly.

  “What am I supposed to ask? Hey, dad, is there any reason why your girlfriend would be talking to the guy we’re not supposed to like even though he’s done nothing to prove to us that he’s untrustworthy?”

  “No need to get snippy,” Thistle said. “We’ll just go out to the inn on the pretense of looking around to see how it’s coming along and ask some questions about Karen. It will be no big deal. I promise.”

  “Really? Because whenever our family does something, it always turns into a big deal,” Clove countered.

  She had a point.

  “It won’t this time,” I said. “I promise.”

  “See, I know you actually mean that,” Clove replied. “The problem is, I also know that, even with the best intentions, our family always manages to screw things up. And sometimes in a big way.”

  She had another point.

  “It won’t be like that this time,” Thistle said. “Trust me.”

  “Why should I trust you?”

  “We’re family.”

  “Pick another reason.”

  “Because you need to know now just as much as we need to know,” I suggested.

  Clove sighed. “Fine,” she ceded. “If either one of you embarrass me, though . . .”

  “We won’t.”

  “If either one of you makes things worse between my dad and me,” Clove continued, fixing us both with a hard glare. “I’ll never forgive you.”

  “It’s going to be fine.”

  I mostly meant that, too.

  Twenty-Seven

  Ten minutes later, we were all piled into Thistle’s car – which was pointed towards the Dragonfly – while Clove continued to lament her bad luck.

  “You know what I’ve realized?” Clove was in the backseat and, while her gaze was pointed at us, I had no idea who she was actually talking to. It was a toss-up at this point.

  “What have you realized?” I asked idly.

  “Every bad decision I’ve ever made in my life has been made because of the two of you,” Clove replied. “Every single one.”

  “That’s crap,” Thistle argued. “How do you figure?”

  “I’m co-dependent,” Clove mused. “You two are always saying it. Usually, I brush it off because I think you’re just teasing me to tease me. But, you’re right. I am co-dependent. Whatever you two say goes. I knew this was a bad idea the minute you mentioned it and, yet, here I am. I’m going with you to ask my dad if his fiancée is up to something because Bay saw her talking to a guy she doesn’t trust on the street. This is just . . . stupid.”

  “What are you rambling about?” Thistle glanced in the rearview mirror irritably.

  “Nothing,” Clove sighed dramatically. “You obviously don’t care about my feelings.”

  “Obviously,” I said dryly. “When we get out to the Dragonfly, why don’t you just stay in the car and we’ll go ask your dad ourselves?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Clove scoffed. “How is that going to go? Hey, Uncle Warren, what’s that woman doing with the guy I think sees ghosts but don’t know if he sees ghosts?”

  “You’re just a little ray of sunshine today, aren’t you?” Thistle grunted.

  “If you don’t like my attitude, then don’t talk to me,” Clove shot back.

  “Why do you always have to make things more difficult?” Thistle asked. “Why can’t you, just once, agree to the plan and not sit there and gripe about it?”

  “Me gripe? You’re the queen of gripe.”

  “I’m the queen of the world,” Thistle countered. “Get that straight.”

  “Let’s not argue,” I interjected quickly. “It’s just going to make the next hour go by that much slower.”

  “Fine,” Clove sniffed. “I’ll stop if she stops.”

  Thistle rolled her eyes and fixed me with a hard stare. “When she falls off the deep end, you’re going to look back on this day and realize you saw all the catastrophic signs at this exact moment.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “That doesn’t sound like she’s stopping,” Clove said petulantly from the backseat.

  “You guys make me feel tired,” I muttered.

  When we parked outside the Dragonfly, Thistle turned in her seat so she could meet Clove’s hostile gaze head on. “I know you’re pissed,” she said carefully. “I promise we’ll be smooth about this. He won’t even know what we’re doing.”

  “You can’t promise that,” Clove replied bitterly.

  “I can promise to try,” Thistle said through gritted teeth.

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.”

  I glanced between the two of them warily. “Fine,” I agreed. This had the potential to be a huge cluster of crap if it went sideways.

  Once we were on the front porch, Thistle turned to me expectantly. “Do we knock?”

  “I don’t know,” I shrugged. “It’s a business.”

  “It’s not open yet, though,” Clove said. “It might be rude not to knock.”

  “So, knock,” I said.

  “You knock,” Clove said nervously. “I don’t want to knock.”

  “This is a stupid discussion,” Thistle said.

  “Like all the rest of our discussions are classy and smart,” I replied.

  “She has a point,” Clove said.

  “Oh, I’ll knock,” Thistle said finally, pushing in front of us impatiently. Just as she raised her hand to rap on the door it opened, and Uncle Warren was standing in the entryway curiously.

  “What are you guys doing?”

  “Arguing about who was going to knock,” I replied honestly.

  “Or if we even should knock,” Thistle said sheepishly.

  Uncle Warren cocked an eyebrow as he regarded Thistle. “And you drew the short end of the straw?”

  “No,” Thistle shook her head. “I just got tired of arguing about it.”

  Uncle Warren bobbed his head in understanding, like Thistle’s explanation had been something other than nonsense. “Do you guys want to come in?”

  “Sure,” I said quickly, before Clove could say something that would make us look even stranger than we already did. “Wow,” I said when we were in the lobby. “This place just keeps getting better and better. I see you got furniture.”

  “Yeah, you like it?”

  I ran my hand over the oak front desk appreciatively. “It’s really nice.”

  “I like the colors you picked,” Clove said, glancing around the room. “The blue is nice and welcoming, but it’s not too dark to be oppressive and it’s not so light that it will be hard to keep clean.”

  “It took us forever to agree on colors,” Uncle Warren said, his voice easy, his eyes wary. “I like what we finally settled on, though.”

  “Yeah, it’s great,” Thistle said. “I like paint better than wallpaper. Wallpaper annoys me.”

  “Isn’t the Overlook filled with wallpaper?” Uncle Warren asked, confusion crossing his face.

  “Yeah,” Thistle said. “I like the hardwood floors and stuff, but I’ve never really been a fan of wallpaper.”

  “Well, you could ask your aunts to take it down,” Warren suggested.

  “Yeah, that won’t go ever well,” Thistle said. “They fight change.”

  This conversation couldn’t get much more boring or forced.

  “So, what are you going to do for decorations?” Clove asked nervously. “Paintings?”

  I was wrong.

  “As fascinated as I am about the decorations that we’re considering, I don’t really think that you’re here to talk about watercolors versus oil prints.”

  We really are horrible at this. If we were spi
es, we’d be the first ones tortured for information. Heck, they wouldn’t even have to torture us. We’d roll over for a big pile of chocolate.

  “We just wanted to see the inn,” Clove said hurriedly.

  “Really?” Uncle Warren arched his eyebrows speculatively. “Because it seems like you have an agenda – one that none of you seem too eager to pass on to me. So, in the interests of saving time, why don’t you just say what you came here to say?”

  “No, we really wanted to see the inn.” Clove looked like she was about ready to jump out of her own skin.

  Uncle Warren turned to me expectantly. “Maybe you should tell me what you want?”

  “Oh, um . . . well, it’s really nothing.” Nervousness was making my hands sweat and I could feel a red flush creeping up my cheeks.

  “We want to know what you know about Karen,” Thistle finally blurted out.

  “Subtle,” I mumbled.

  “Oh, man,” Clove whined. “You said you weren’t going to do it this way.”

  “It’s not like I had much of a choice,” Thistle argued. “We’re horrible liars.”

  “Isn’t that the truth,” I mumbled.

  “Why are you asking questions about Karen?” Uncle Warren asked warily.

  “We’re just curious,” I said quickly. The words sounded hollow to my own ears, so I figured they sounded empty to Warren’s.

  “Bay saw her talking to this guy downtown, this Sam Cornell,” Thistle said. “She doesn’t trust him and we just wanted to make sure that nothing weird is going on.”

  “What the hell?” Clove looked exasperated.

  “We’re caught,” Thistle shrugged. “Continuing to lie is going to get us nowhere.”

  “Okay,” Uncle Warren blew out a sigh. “Let me get this straight, Karen was downtown talking to a guy you don’t like and now you want to know about Karen? Even though she hasn’t done anything wrong?”

  “Pretty much,” I agreed.

  “Have you considered that Karen was just making small talk with someone in town? This is Hemlock Cove, after all,” Uncle Warren was smiling, but the expression didn’t make it all the way to his eyes. “Some people just chat on the street.”

  “They seemed friendly,” I replied uncomfortably.

  “Friendly how?” Warren asked tersely. “Like they were dating or something?”

  “No,” I said hurriedly. “Just like they knew each other.”

  “Maybe she ran into someone she knows,” Warren said. “I don’t see why you guys are all worked up about this.”

  “We’re not worked up about this,” Thistle said blithely. “Bay is worked up about this and we just came with her because, well, apparently we’re all joined at the hip.”

  “I see,” Warren said, a true smile warming his face. “I think you guys watch a little too much television. Not everything is some conspiracy.”

  “That’s what I told them,” Clove said primly.

  “Oh, well, thanks,” Thistle grunted angrily.

  “Well, I did tell you that.”

  “Bay, why don’t you like this man?” Uncle Warren turned to me.

  “I don’t trust him,” I said evasively. “He’s up to something.”

  “What?”

  Clove jumped in, explaining about Sam’s connection to The Whistler and about how he had been questioning us about our family. She left out the part – thankfully – where I was certain Sam had seen Edith. No one wanted to explain that.

  When she was done, Uncle Warren didn’t look any more enlightened than he had when she began. “So he’s curious about your family? He’s staying at the inn, right? If I met your family for the first time, I would be curious. Especially about Aunt Tillie.”

  “There’s just something about the way that he’s doing it,” I offered lamely.

  “Well, when I see Karen for dinner tonight I’ll ask her about it,” Warren said earnestly. “I think you guys are barking up the wrong tree, though.”

  “I agree,” Clove said.

  Thistle rolled her eyes. “You’re really starting to irritate me.”

  We said our goodbyes – including a lame apology to Uncle Warren for being so suspicious – and once we were outside, Clove let loose with a string of curses that would have made Aunt Tillie magically tie her tongue for a week.

  “I told you that this was going to make us look stupid,” she snapped. “Did you believe me? Of course not.”

  “Oh, it was fine,” Thistle brushed off her diatribe. “He just thinks we’re being juvenile. If that’s the worst of our problems then it’s a good day for us.”

  “You embarrassed me,” Clove countered. “You embarrassed me in front of my dad.”

  “It’s not a big deal,” Thistle argued. “We embarrass you every day. You’ll get over it.”

  “I don’t want to get over it.”

  “Oh, just shut up.”

  I tried to silence Thistle and Clove’s argument in my busy mind – but I wasn’t entirely successful. So, instead of squelching the noise, I decided to focus on the external setting of the Dragonfly as a coping mechanism.

  While our mothers were kitchen witches, Clove, Thistle and I were earth witches – meaning we find comfort in nature. I was hoping to use that element to drown the never-ending argument that Thistle and Clove were currently engaged in.

  The ploy was working – well, kind of – when Erika suddenly popped into view in the middle of the driveway. “There you are,” she said brightly. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

  “Erika,” I said in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

  Erika’s attention had been diverted to Clove and Thistle – who hadn’t heard her arrival. “Why are they fighting?”

  “They like it.”

  “That’s silly.”

  “What can I say? We’re a silly family.”

  “Huh,” Erika shrugged. “Do they ever stop?”

  “Only when they’re sleeping. So, why are you here again?”

  “Oh, I was looking for you,” Erika said. “I needed to tell you something.”

  “What? Did you find the boat again? The boat with the other children?”

  “No,” Erika shook her head. “I found another girl, though. One like me.”

  “One like you,” I faltered. “Do you mean . . . “

  “A ghost. She’s a ghost like me. She wants her mommy. I can’t make her stop crying. Finally, I decided to bring her to you.”

  “Where is she?” I glanced around nervously.

  “She followed me, but she’s scared,” Erika said. “She doesn’t know what to do and she thinks you might be mean.”

  “Why does she think I might be mean?”

  Erika shrugged. “Because the people on the boat were mean to her.”

  “The boat? She was on the boat with you?”

  “No, the other boat,” Erika said.

  I swallowed hard. “The other boat? She died on the other boat?”

  “Yeah,” Erika said. “She really wants to see her mommy. Can you get her mommy?”

  “I need to see her, Erika,” I said calmly. “Can you get her to come out?”

  “I’ll try.” Erika didn’t looked convinced at the probability of the task, but she floated over to a clump of trees and bent down. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but after a few minutes, I saw another girl move out into the light with her.

  I plastered a smile on my face, all the while my heart dropped. This little girl clearly wasn’t on the boat with Erika. She had long blonde hair, tied into pigtails on each side of her head, and she was wearing modern denim overalls. Whenever she had died, it had been recently.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” I greeted her cautiously. “Can you come over here and talk to me?”

  I noticed that the argument behind me had ceased. Clove and Thistle were fixed on me, but they weren’t moving. “Another ghost?” Thistle asked dubiously.

  “Yeah.”

  “From Erika’s boat?”

 
“No,” I shook my head grimly. “Definitely not.”

  “Erika says you can help me,” the little girl said piteously. “Can you help me?”

  “I’m going to try,” I said honestly. “What’s your name?”

  “Gracie. Gracie Campbell,” she said quietly. “I just want my mommy.”

  I didn’t blame her. Quite frankly, right now, I wanted my mommy, too.

  Twenty-Eight

  “I need your help.”

  I barged into Chief Terry’s office dramatically. I had left Gracie and Erika – who didn’t like the idea of driving in a car in the slightest – at Hypnotic with Clove and Thistle. It had taken awhile, but I had finally gotten enough information out of Gracie to give Landon and Chief Terry a place to start their search.

  “Do you knock?” Landon looked surprised by my sudden appearance.

  “The door was open.”

  “We were in the middle of a conversation,” Landon pointed out.

  I glanced over at Chief Terry, who seemed a little too amused buy our verbal interplay. “What are you smiling at?”

  “I just like that you’re driving someone else crazy for a change,” Chief Terry said. “It takes the onus off me.”

  “Well, not for long,” I said.

  Chief Terry’s eyes shifted from bemusement to alarm quickly. “What’s wrong? Is it your mom? One of your aunts?”

  “Aunt Tillie?” Landon asked grimly.

  “No, they’re fine,” I said. “Well, at least I think they’re fine. This is about something else.”

  “What?” Landon asked suspiciously.

  “So we were out at the Dragonfly,” I started.

  “When?” Landon jumped up angrily. “You said you were stopping by the paper and then spending the afternoon with Thistle and Clove until I was done here.”

  “I did,” I replied irritably. “I just saw . . . that doesn’t matter right now. It turned out to be a big nothing. Anyway, when we were leaving the Dragonfly, Erika found us.”

  “Who is Erika?” Chief Terry asked curiously.

  “She’s a ghost,” I replied carefully.

  “A little girl ghost,” Landon supplied.

  “The one you had me searching the lake for?” Chief Terry looked nonplussed. “The one that died running away from slavers? What does she want now?”

  “She’s not the problem.”