A Solstice Celebration: A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Short Page 2

  “She looks normal,” Bay said, rolling her eyes. She is used to everyone asking questions. That doesn’t mean she likes answering the same questions repeatedly.

  “That’s too bad,” Thistle said. “It would be cooler if she was dripping with blood and missing an eye.”

  “You are a morbid little thing sometimes,” I grumbled, flicking her ear as I moved past her and joined Bay. “Will she talk to you?”

  Bay shrugged. She didn’t look thrilled with the prospect of approaching the lost soul. “She’s just staring at me right now.”

  I licked my lips as I decided how to proceed. Winnie was used to dealing with situations like this. Not only was Bay her daughter, Winnie was also the most pragmatic of all of us. She always keeps a cool head. Don’t ever tell her I said that. I’ll never hear the end of it.

  “Try talking to her,” I prodded.

  Bay nodded, resigned, and then took a step toward a woman only she could see. “Hi. Do you need help?”

  I watched Bay interact with air, my heart going out to her as she struggled to communicate with someone who had likely been snuffed out of existence far too early.

  “I can help you if you talk to me,” Bay said. “I … don’t know who you are or anything, but if you tell me we’ll probably be able to figure out why you’re hanging around.”

  “Good job, Bay,” I encouraged.

  “Is she saying anything?” Clove asked.

  Bay mutely shook her head.

  “Is that because her jaw has been ripped off her face by a monster and she can’t talk?” Clove pressed.

  I made a disgusted sound in the back of my throat and glared at Clove. “What have you been watching?”

  “Nothing,” Clove protested, holding up her hands. I can tell when she’s lying, and she’s definitely lying. “I haven’t done anything I wasn’t supposed to do.”

  I shifted my eyes to Thistle. “What have you guys been watching? And before you answer, just know I’ll let Aunt Tillie decide punishments if you lie.”

  “We may have watched the horror movie festival on AMC the other night,” Thistle hedged. “No one made her watch it, so if you’re going to freak out … .”

  “You know she can’t watch movies like that, Thistle,” I chided. “She’ll have nightmares.”

  “I know,” Thistle replied. “She’s been trying to make Bay and me sleep with her because she’s so freaked out. We told her she was a big girl and had to work things out on her own. That’s why she’s been sleeping in the closet.”

  “I’m going to make you pay later,” I threatened, extending my index finger and frowning. When did I inherit my mother’s accusatory finger? I swore I would never be one of “those” parents. Now, here I am, threatening Thistle with a finger. And not even the fun finger to boot. She probably thinks it’s as ridiculous as I did when I was her age.

  “She won’t talk,” Bay said. “She looks afraid. She’s hiding behind a tree and watching us.”

  “What do you suggest?” I asked. “We can’t leave her out here with the solstice celebration coming up. She’ll upset the balance of the ritual.”

  Bay shrugged. “How should I know what to do? I’m seventeen. Why are you asking me?”

  “Because you’re the one who can see ghosts,” Thistle answered. “Duh.”

  “That’s enough of that,” I said, tugging on Thistle’s hair to keep her in line while I decided what to do. “We’ll go back to the house and ask Aunt Tillie what to do. She’ll help us.”

  Thistle snorted, the sound causing my stomach to turn. “Did you just meet her? That old lady is crazy, and she likes making other people crazy. She’s won’t help us.”

  “Yes, she will,” I argued, although my stomach twisted at the thought of asking her for help. “She knows how important this weekend is. She’ll help.” I shifted my eyes to Bay, hoping she would agree with me.

  “She’s going to laugh at you and tell you to solve it yourself,” Bay volunteered. “We all know it. Either way, I don’t want to stay out here any longer. We have to go back and feed Pepper. It’s his dinner time.”

  Pepper, the girls’ dog, is an odd-looking mutt who protects the girls with every breath. That’s the only reason I tolerate him. I’m not fond of dogs. They slobber and get hair all over the place. What? Not everyone can be an animal person.

  “Fine,” I said. “Mark my words, though, Aunt Tillie will surprise you. She’ll be happy to help.”

  “I’M NOT helping,” Aunt Tillie declared twenty minutes later, making a face that would’ve been comical under different circumstances. “I don’t want to help, so I’m not going to help.”

  “I told you,” Bay said, grabbing a cookie from the rack.

  I considered ordering her to put it back, but it seemed pointless now. Half the batch was already gone. “Aunt Tillie, we have to figure out who the ghost is and get rid of her,” I said.

  “Don’t you mean help her move on from her tortured existence?” Thistle interjected.

  “Don’t make me slap you, Thistle,” I warned.

  “I’ll do it,” Aunt Tillie said, cuffing the back of Thistle’s head and earning a murderous look in response. “Don’t even think about saying anything, Mouth. My fingers are itching to curse someone right now and you look mighty appealing.”

  “I thought Mom said you couldn’t curse anyone while she was gone?” Bay said, her mouth full of cookie.

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” I ordered.

  “Nobody tells me what I can and can’t do,” Aunt Tillie snapped. “I can do whatever I want. I’m not afraid of Winnie.”

  That’s mostly true. Aunt Tillie isn’t afraid of anyone. That doesn’t mean Winnie won’t go after her given the right set of circumstances. Winnie isn’t here to deal with the current problem, though, and for that I silently cursed her.

  “We can’t conduct our solstice ritual with a lost soul out there,” I said. “The other witches will pitch a fit if they find out. Penelope Jansen is coming. You know how she is.”

  “You’re right,” Aunt Tillie said, nodding. “I do know how she is. That’s why I’m going to curse her, too.”

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort,” I spat. “I’m in charge! I’m the boss! You’re going to find out who that ghost is and get rid of her!”

  Aunt Tillie’s face shifted from eager to disinterested. “Make me.”

  “I just … why do you have to be like this?” I asked, my stomach churning as I considered what would happen should Aunt Tillie refuse to solve this dilemma. “We’re the strongest witches in the bunch. We’re supposed to set an example, especially during a solstice ritual. What kind of example will we be setting if we allow a ghost at the celebration?”

  Aunt Tillie shrugged. “You’re talking to me as if I care what these other witches think,” she said. “I don’t. I never have. I never will. I don’t like them any more than I like those old biddies in town. I wouldn’t help them either. Why would I help these people?”

  I tugged on my limited patience, which was waning fast, and opted for the final weapon in my arsenal – begging. “Please?”

  “No,” Aunt Tillie said, not missing a beat. “It’s not only that I don’t like the other witches and want them to have a rotten time – although that is a major concern for me. I don’t like talking to ghosts. They’re always whiny. It’s all, ‘Why me? Why?’” Aunt Tillie clutched the front of her shirt as she performed her imitation, even screeching out some of the words. “I’ll tell you why it’s them; it’s because they’re whiny. You never meet a cool ghost.”

  Bay nodded in agreement. “Word.”

  “Don’t encourage her,” I said, poking Bay’s side. She seemed to have rebounded from seeing the ghost and was now enjoying Aunt Tillie’s performance. I was torn: I didn’t want her upset, but I certainly didn’t want Aunt Tillie playing to an audience.

  “What’s going on?” Twila asked, popping her head into the kitchen. She seems to have a sixth sense fo
r the exact worst time to appear.

  “There’s a ghost in the ritual clearing and Aunt Tillie won’t help us get her out,” I explained.

  “Oh, that’s so sad,” Twila said, bopping her red head as she pressed her lips together. “We should definitely help her.”

  “Why don’t you go outside and sing to her?” Aunt Tillie suggested, her eyes flashing. “That won’t help, but it will definitely scare her away. And that’s what you’re going to have to do, because I’m not going to help!”

  The sound of someone clearing his throat near the kitchen door caught my attention, and I shifted my gaze to find Terry Davenport, Walkerville’s newest police chief, standing in the doorway. Uh-oh. How much did he hear?

  “Am I interrupting?” Terry asked, shifting uncomfortably.

  “Of course not,” I said hurriedly. “We were only eating cookies and … chatting.”

  Aunt Tillie blew a raspberry at the lie and reached for another cookie. I was almost positive Terry knew every witchy secret we tried to keep. He had selective amnesia, though. He knew Aunt Tillie could control the weather and curse whoever crossed her path, yet he didn’t mention it. He knew Bay could talk to ghosts, and he protected her with his life. He still didn’t like talking about our witchy shenanigans.

  “Is something wrong?” I asked, gesturing toward the cookies. “Help yourself.”

  “Actually, something is wrong,” Terry confirmed. “I received a report of a missing woman. I was wondering if you might have seen her during your daily travels.”

  Thistle made a derisive sound in the back of her throat. “And just in time for dinner, too. How convenient is that?”

  “Shut up,” I warned. “You know what? You and Clove need to go back to the clearing and finish cleaning it for our … picnic.” I probably didn’t want to mention a ritual in front of law enforcement. That would have his mind jumping to animal sacrifices and naked dancing. Only one of those things would really happen. “Clean everything up and stack all the tree branches for our bonfire.”

  “But … what about Bay?” Thistle’s expression was murderous. She doesn’t mind manual labor, but she hates the idea of Bay getting out of chores. The need to win is large in Thistle’s world.

  “I need Bay to stick close for a little while so we can … strategize … about this weekend’s guests,” I lied.

  “Whatever,” Thistle muttered. “Come on, Clove. We’ll go row beneath the ship for our slave master while Bay eats cookies with our oppressors.”

  “I don’t want to row,” Clove complained, hopping off her stool and following Thistle. “I don’t want to clean either. I’ll give you five bucks if you do it yourself.”

  “You don’t have five bucks,” Thistle shot back.

  “I do, too,” Clove said. “It’s in my secret hiding spot.”

  “You mean in your shoe? Yeah. I found that two days ago and spent it. You snooze, you lose.”

  “I’m going to kill you, Thistle!” Clove shrieked, chasing her cackling cousin out the rear door.

  Once it was just the five of us, I graced Terry with my best “come hither” smile. With Winnie gone, I had a clear shot at him tonight. I hoped to make it count. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

  “Oh, what are you having?” Terry asked, oblivious to my mood. He is always oblivious. I was starting to think it’s on purpose.

  “Roasted chicken, redskin potatoes, corn, cookies and fresh bread,” I answered.

  “I’m making the bread,” Twila said, leaning in closer and winking at Terry.

  “Do you have something in your eye?” I asked.

  “Just floating hearts,” Twila said, grinning.

  “Right,” Terry said, moving from one foot to the other. “About the missing woman, um, it’s Constance Warren, by the way. It seems she was seen going into her house yesterday afternoon for lunch. No one has seen her since. I stopped at the house. Everything looks ordinary, but it’s locked up tight and I have no reason to enter.”

  “If you’re looking to get around that, I could break you in,” Aunt Tillie offered. “It will only cost you fifty bucks. I’m running a special this month.”

  “Aunt Tillie!” I was mortified.

  Aunt Tillie ignored me. “I could make one of the girls do it if you’re really uncomfortable going in yourself,” she said. “That will cost more, though. Clove is out because she’s terrified of finding dead bodies, but I can make Bay and Thistle do it.”

  “I’m not doing it,” Bay protested. “That’s illegal.”

  “And that’s why you’re my good girl,” Terry said, smiling at Bay. He has a soft spot a mile wide for her. It bugs me, and not because I don’t love Bay. It bothers me because Clove is cuter … and sweeter … and far less trouble. What? I’m not jealous. It’s the truth.

  “Remind me who Constance Warren is,” Aunt Tillie said. “Isn’t she that old biddy who cheats at euchre at the senior center every Wednesday morning? She has purple hair, right?”

  “I believe her hair is gray,” Terry clarified. “She does go to the senior center several times a week. I have no idea whether she plays euchre. Her daughter Delia called. She’s out of town on a business trip and says her mother has been having problems lately, you know, getting confused and forgetting. After twelve hours of calling and no answer, Delia got concerned.”

  I exchanged a look with Bay. We had the same thought regarding the new ghost.

  “Um … do you have a photo of her?” Bay asked.

  Terry nodded and pulled a ragged print from his pocket, holding it up for Bay. “Do you recognize her?”

  “I’m not sure,” Bay said, shaking her head. She waited until Terry’s back was turned to fervently nod in my direction.

  Crapsticks! Constance Warren was floating around as a ghost behind our house. That probably meant her body was somewhere close. “Bay, why don’t you go to the clearing and supervise your cousins?” I suggested. “Twila and I will make dinner while Terry relaxes.”

  Terry balked. “That doesn’t seem right,” he said. “I can help.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Twila said, batting her eyelashes as she rested her head against Terry’s shoulder. “We wouldn’t dream of putting you to work after a hard day keeping the residents of Walkerville safe.”

  I grabbed Twila’s arm and yanked her away, ignoring her dramatic yelp. “You should definitely put your feet up and watch the news in the other room,” I said. “We’ll handle dinner. Afterward, um, maybe we’ll come up with a solution for finding Constance. I’m sure Aunt Tillie would love to help.”

  “No, I wouldn’t,” Aunt Tillie said, reaching for another cookie. “Time is money. No money, no time.”

  This time I slapped her hand hard. “You’ve had more than enough cookies.”

  “Well, I’m definitely not helping now,” Aunt Tillie sniffed.

  “You don’t have to help,” I said. “In fact, why don’t you go to the clearing with Bay and not help the girls? You can supervise while not helping to do everything else.”

  “That’s not going to be any help,” Bay said dryly.

  “Oh, now I’m definitely coming, wiseass,” Aunt Tillie said, jumping down from her stool and shuffling toward Bay. “I’m in charge now. Live in fear!”

  Sadly, we all lived in fear. We didn’t admit it because it gave Aunt Tillie power. She was frightening enough without our voiced terror backing it up.

  Three

  “Can I get you anything else, Terry? More pot roast?” I shot Terry the flirtiest smile in my arsenal. “You should make sure you’re full. You put in a hard day’s work.”

  “I have more bread here, and it’s still warm,” Twila said, shoving the breadbasket in Terry’s face. “Warm bread is better than pot roast.”

  She was trying to goad me. There’s no way I would let that happen. “There’re more potatoes, too,” I said. “I cooked those.”

  “But the bread is the best,” Twila said. “Just think of that warm butter dr
ipping over it.”

  “I’m … um … good, ladies,” Terry said, shifting in his chair. “I’m really good, in fact.”

  Thistle snorted, earning a warning look from Twila. My sister rarely disciplines her daughter, but when she does, Thistle usually – okay, sometimes – listens.

  “So, girls, tell me what you’re doing over your summer break,” Terry urged, trying to focus the conversation on anything but himself.

  “They’re in a competition to see who can catch the most boys,” Aunt Tillie supplied. “It’s gross.”

  “We are not,” Bay argued. “We’re just … hanging around.”

  Terry narrowed his eyes. Because Bay is his favorite, he looks after her above all else. “What boys?”

  “No boys,” Bay said, shaking her head. “Boys are icky.”

  “Except for you, of course,” Clove said, flashing an impish smile.

  “You’re going to be some man’s worst nightmare someday,” Terry said, shaking his head at Clove. “You act all innocent, but you’ve got manipulation down pat.”

  That sounded like an insult. Was that an insult?

  “What about me?” Thistle asked. She hated being left out.

  “You’re going to make some man lose all of his hair one day,” Terry said, not missing a beat. “You’ll probably be attracted to him because he has long hair or something, but he’ll be bald before he hits twenty-five if you have anything to say about it.”

  “I can live with that,” Thistle said. “I like bald men.”

  “You would,” Bay muttered.

  “What about Bay?” Clove asked.

  Terry pursed his lips. “Bay is going to be a good girl,” he said after a moment. “She’ll wait until she finds the perfect man. You and Thistle will run roughshod over a lot of boys. I can tell already. Bay is going to be choosy.”

  “Does that mean I’m not going to be choosy?” Clove asked, offended.

  “You’ll be choosy in the end,” Terry answered. “I think you’re going to be boy crazy first. You’ve got that look about you. The good news is that you’re smarter than all the boys combined, so they won’t be able to put one over on you.”