A Solstice Celebration: A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Short Page 3

  Clove preened under the compliment. “Will Thistle be choosy? I bet she marries a bum.”

  Terry made a face. “Thistle won’t marry a bum,” he said, chuckling. “She’ll find the perfect man, but he’s going to have to catch her. That’s the only way it will work.”

  Clove giggled. “But he’ll be bald, right?”

  “Right,” Terry said.

  “I want a guy with long hair,” Bay announced. “I think guys with long hair are hot.”

  “Oh, no, missy,” Terry said, wagging a finger for emphasis. “Men with long hair are bad news. Stay away from them.”

  “Why?”

  “Men with long hair are rabble rousers,” Terry explained. “You don’t want a rabble rouser, do you?”

  Bay shrugged. “I have no idea what that means.”

  “Trust me. You don’t want one.”

  “Speaking of rabble rousers, girls, why don’t you go occupy yourselves somewhere else?” I suggested, “preferably upstairs or on the back patio. It’s nice out. You should get some fresh air.”

  “We spent half the day outside,” Clove complained.

  “She wants us out of the house so she can flirt with Chief Terry, dingbat,” Thistle said, cuffing Clove. “Pay attention.”

  “You’re so mean,” Clove hissed. “You’re just like Aunt Tillie.”

  “Take that as a compliment,” Aunt Tillie said, pushing herself up from the table. “As for me, I will take my leave, too.”

  That was far too easy. I hadn’t even figured out a way to get rid of Aunt Tillie yet. She never volunteered to leave – unless she was up to something. “Where are you going?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  “I just … .” How was I supposed to answer that without risking a curse? “I’m concerned for your welfare,” I said finally. “You should rest after a big meal.”

  “I always thought you were supposed to take a walk after a big meal,” Twila said, knitting her eyebrows. “I read somewhere that it helps with digestion.”

  She really needs a good smack. “Aunt Tillie defies modern science,” I said.

  “You’ve got that right,” Aunt Tillie said.

  AFTER shuffling the girls off to find mischief elsewhere – and I was certain that’s what they were doing, given that the last time I saw Thistle and Bay they had their heads bent together as they whispered – I relocated Terry to the living room for a mug of coffee and a talk.

  My actions weren’t purely selfish – I promise – but I had to feel him out before I dropped Bay’s ghost bomb. I just wasn’t sure how to do it.

  “What do you think happened to Constance?” I asked, going for the easy question first.

  “I think she’s off with a man having a good time,” Twila said, taking on a dreamy expression.

  “I was talking to Terry,” I snapped. “Don’t you have something to do – I don’t know – in another room or something?”

  Twila shook her head. “And leave Terry? Never.”

  Terry smiled. I could tell he was uncomfortable, but he was also amused. “How have the girls been handling the news that you plan to turn this place into a full-blown inn?” He completely blew off the Constance question, which was frustrating.

  “They seem fine with it,” I replied. “It’s still years down the road. We have a plan and we know what we want, but we have to save up the money first.”

  “Aunt Tillie wants us to join in her wine business,” Twila said. “She thinks we’ll make more than enough money in six months if we become her runners.”

  Terry scowled. “You know that her wine business is illegal, right?”

  The meaning behind the question flew right over Twila’s head, as so many things often did. “Oh, I know,” Twila said. “She doesn’t care, though.”

  “I think what Terry is saying is that he cares,” I pointed out.

  “Oh, right,” Twila said, her cheeks coloring. “I didn’t think of that.”

  “Of course you didn’t,” I muttered. “We’re going to save up the old-fashioned way. We think an inn could be a real moneymaker. We should have enough money in a few years. We can wait.”

  “It’s good that you’re patient,” Terry said. “What about the girls and school, though? Don’t they want to go to college?”

  That was a sticky question. “Bay does,” I answered. “She wants to be a writer.”

  “A journalist,” Twila corrected.

  She was obviously trying to bug me. “What’s the difference?”

  “She doesn’t want to write novels or poetry,” Twila answered. “She wants to cover news stories. I think she wants to move to the city so she can cover big crimes and court trials. I heard her talking with Winnie.”

  “What does Winnie think of that?” Terry asked, leaning forward.

  “She doesn’t want Bay to move,” Twila replied. “Bay isn’t happy here, though. She needs to see the world before she can find her place in it.”

  “Walkerville is Bay’s home,” Terry argued. “We have a newspaper here. William Kelly loves Bay. I’m sure he would give her a job.”

  “Bay needs to roam first,” I said. “People here look at her as if she’s odd and strange. She doesn’t like it. She loves Walkerville as a home, but as long as people think she’s weird she’ll never be happy. She wants to move to a place where no one knows her.”

  “But … .”

  “Don’t worry,” Twila said, patting Terry’s arm. “Bay will come home when she’s ready. Eventually she’ll realize it’s okay to be weird. I mean … look at me.”

  Frankly, I was tired of looking at her. “About Constance … .”

  Terry wasn’t about to be dissuaded from the conversation about Bay. “She shouldn’t have to leave home because of what other people think,” he said. “She’s a good girl. She belongs here.”

  “I think you’re saying that because you love her,” Twila said. “Bay loves you, too. Children are supposed to leave the nest, though. Bay will leave on her own terms, and come back on her own terms. I have faith.”

  “What about Clove and Thistle?” Terry asked. “Will they leave, too?”

  I shrugged. “Clove is a homebody at heart,” I said. “I don’t expect her to leave. In fact, I think she’ll probably focus her attention here. Everyone in town thinks we’re weird, but Clove has skirted most of the derision because she’s so cute. She’ll probably open her own store or something.”

  “And Thistle?”

  “Thistle is an artist,” Twila replied. “I expect she’ll create her own place in this town. She won’t leave either. Unlike Clove and Bay, she feeds off people thinking she’s weird. She embraces it. Heck, she revels in it.”

  “But … .” Terry didn’t get a chance to finish because Aunt Tillie picked that moment to storm into the living room. “What’s going on?” No one could miss the fire in her eyes. She was obviously on the warpath.

  “Where are the girls?” Aunt Tillie asked, her chest heaving. Whatever Bay, Clove and Thistle were up to, Aunt Tillie was up to something worse. I could feel it.

  “I think they’re upstairs,” I hedged.

  “No, they’re not,” Aunt Tillie shot back. “I looked. They’re not up there.”

  “Did you check the back patio?” Twila asked. “We told them to get some fresh air. That’s probably where they went.”

  “Do I look like an idiot?” Aunt Tillie seethed. “That was the first place I checked. They can’t hide in the house and do … what I know they’re doing.” She was angry, but she didn’t want to reveal what she was angry about. This couldn’t be good.

  “What do you think they’re doing?” Terry asked, tilting his head to the side. “Are they in trouble?”

  “You have no idea what kind of trouble I’m going to rain down on those little … great-nieces of mine,” Aunt Tillie gritted out. “It’s going to be legendary.”

  “Slow down,” I said, raising my hand. “Where have you been?”

  “In the basem
ent.”

  I exhaled heavily, annoyed. “Were you making wine?”

  Aunt Tillie risked a glance at Terry. “Of course not! That’s illegal.”

  Terry was dubious. “Okay, so you were making wine and something happened to tick you off,” he said. “What was it?”

  “I … can’t tell you,” Aunt Tillie said.

  “Why not?” Terry has infinite patience. He’s also terrified of Aunt Tillie. When he needs to press her for answers, though, he puts his fear aside. It’s one of the things I like best about him. It doesn’t hurt that Twila and Winnie both have crushes on him, too. That’s another thing I like about him. I want to win, darn it! I want to crush them and squash them and … huh, what were we talking about again?

  “Do you have a search warrant?” Aunt Tillie challenged, causing me to internally cringe.

  “No,” Terry said. “Do I need one?”

  “Just tell us what’s going on,” Twila prodded. “Terry isn’t going to arrest you … unless, well, maybe I shouldn’t say that. He might arrest you.”

  Twila is always good in a crisis. Holy crapsticks is she annoying sometimes. “Tell us what’s going on right now,” I ordered. “If the girls are in trouble … .”

  “I’m going to kill them,” Aunt Tillie said. “That’s how much trouble they’re in.”

  “Tell me what they did,” Terry instructed. “I will help you find them if you tell me.”

  “They stole my wine!” Aunt Tillie barked out, her hands on her hips. “Those little gluttons stole my wine.”

  I blew out a frustrated sigh. “How much did they take?”

  “Three bottles.”

  Aunt Tillie’s home brew is strong. One bottle is enough to knock them on their rotten behinds. Three would pretty much incapacitate them. “I’m sure I know where they are,” I said, moving toward the back door.

  “Where?” Terry asked.

  “They’re in the clearing,” I said. “They cleaned it today and probably figured a way to hide the wine. I think they stole it this afternoon. The clearing is done now until the … picnic … so they probably thought they could get away with it.”

  “The only thing they’re going to get away with is my foot in their asses,” Aunt Tillie said, roundhouse kicking for emphasis. “Here comes the thunder, girls!”

  “SHE’S not really going to kill them, right?” Terry asked, easily keeping pace with me and my shorter legs as we traipsed through the woods. It wasn’t quite dark, so it was easy to pick our way through the underbrush. Coming home would be a different story.

  “She won’t kill them,” I said. I was almost sure of it.

  “She’ll simply curse them into oblivion,” Twila interjected. “There’s not going to be a pair of pants big enough to fit them when they wake up tomorrow. Goddess have mercy on their souls.”

  “Don’t pray for them,” Aunt Tillie scolded. “They’re thieves. Thieves should have their hands cut off.”

  “You stole a bunch of supplies from the stuff I bought last week,” I reminded her. “You decided to make wine with it. Does that make you a thief?”

  “I borrowed it,” Aunt Tillie clarified. “Borrowing is allowed.”

  “You have to ask to borrow something.”

  “I did.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Don’t ever call me a liar,” Aunt Tillie warned, cresting the hill that led to the clearing. The four of us pulled up short, dumbfounded and irritated by the sight in front of us.

  There they were, the three darlings of the Winchester family. Clove had a bottle of wine in her hand as she twirled … and twirled … and twirled. She would throw up soon if she wasn’t careful. Thistle had her own bottle and was crawling along the ground, as if she was a dog or something. And Bay? Well, she was talking to a shrub. A shrub in which I had no doubt the ghostly visage of Constance Warren hid.

  “And there they are,” I said. “Our pride and joys.”

  “How should we do this?” Twila asked. “Should we yell or be sympathetic?”

  Is that not the dumbest question you’ve ever heard? “We yell,” Terry and I said in unison.

  “But we did the same thing when we were kids,” Twila said. “They’re just acting like normal teenagers.”

  “And we got yelled at for it,” I reminded her.

  “Don’t worry,” Aunt Tillie said, stomping forward. “I’ll handle this.”

  “I think that’s a terrible idea,” I said. “If you handle it there will be hurt feelings and tears.”

  “That’s what I’m aiming for,” Aunt Tillie said. “Hey, lushes, your Aunt Tillie is here, and she knows what you’ve done. You’re in so much trouble they’re going to have to think of a new word to explain the … um … trouble you’re in.”

  As far as threats go, it wasn’t Aunt Tillie’s finest.

  “I’d start running now,” Aunt Tillie added.

  Thistle, still on her hands and knees, turned. Instead of answering, she barked.

  Clove, still twirling, mimicked the bark.

  “That’s going to get old fast,” Twila intoned.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose to ward off a headache. “Okay, girls, the party is over. Everyone back to the house. Your punishment will be severe.”

  Thistle barked again.

  “I mean it,” I said, my temper flaring. “If you don’t start marching right now, Terry will arrest you.”

  “Is that true?” Clove asked, her eyes filling with tears. “I don’t want to go to jail. Aunt Tillie says I won’t survive jail if I ever go, and that’s why I have to be really careful not to get caught when she gives me chores.”

  What chores was Aunt Tillie giving them? Wait, I don’t want to know. “Well, it’s too late,” I said. “You’re going to jail. You waited too long and didn’t do as you were told. March!”

  No one moved, but Thistle did muster another bark.

  “Okay, Terry, that’s it,” I said. “Arrest them. Throw the book at them.”

  Terry was unmoved by the order. “Girls, go back to the house and drink a gallon of water each,” he said. “Then have some aspirin and go to bed.”

  To my surprise – and resentment – all three girls fell in line and trudged toward the house, none of them uttering a word … or mustering a glare, for that matter.

  “How did you do that?” I asked.

  “It’s the badge.”

  “Give me that badge,” Aunt Tillie ordered. “I’m going to throw it at their heads.”

  “You go back to the house, too,” Terry said. “This is mostly your fault.”

  “I didn’t get them drunk!”

  “You made the illegal hooch that they stole to get drunk,” Terry pointed out. “Do you want to have a discussion about that?”

  “Fine. I’ll go back to the house,” Aunt Tillie mumbled, flouncing away. “You’re all on my list, though.”

  “What else is new?” I muttered.

  Four

  “How are the girls?” Terry asked, walking into the kitchen with a serious look on his face the next morning. “Are they sick?”

  “I’m sure they are,” I replied, mixing my pancake batter without glancing up. “I’m sure they’ve got headaches the size of wine bottles … and then some … this morning.”

  “I think they deserve it,” Aunt Tillie said, strolling into the room.

  I took a moment to study her camouflage pants and matching jacket. “Where did you get the coat?” I asked. “It has your name embroidered on it.”

  “This is U.S. Army issue. Therefore, I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

  “Of course,” I muttered. I’d spent the better part of the morning trying to ward off my own headache without much luck. “Do we know if the girls are up yet?”

  “They will be soon,” Aunt Tillie said.

  I narrowed my eyes. She was awfully sure of herself. “How do you know that? I would’ve assumed they’d sleep until noon given how they’re bound to be feeling.�
�

  “Just call it a hunch,” Aunt Tillie replied, averting her gaze. She was definitely up to something. I couldn’t muster the energy to care, so I turned my attention to Terry. “What’s going on?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean … not that I’m not happy to see you or anything, because I am … but why are you here?” I asked.

  “I’m here to give the girls a lecture,” Terry replied.

  “You should’ve done it last night,” I said. “You should’ve arrested them and taught them a real lesson.”

  “I can’t arrest them without explaining where the alcohol came from,” Terry said, casting a pointed glare in Aunt Tillie’s direction. “That would’ve put Aunt Tillie in hotter water than three underage girls.”

  “Yeah, we don’t want that,” Aunt Tillie said. “I think you should let me handle the punishment and forgo a lecture. Things will work out better if we do them my way.”

  “Not on your life,” I said. “Your idea of punishment could kill them if we’re not careful.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Aunt Tillie sniffed. “Personally, I think we have one too many of them as it is. We should let natural selection take over and prune the number to two.”

  “No way!”

  “You’re only saying that because you know Bay and Thistle would be the ones to survive,” Aunt Tillie challenged. “Admit it.”

  Sadly, it was true. I would never say it out loud, though. “You’re not punishing them,” I said. “I’ll punish them.”

  Aunt Tillie arched a dubious eyebrow. “Really? What are you going to do? Are you going to spank them? Ground them? Oh, I know, send them up to their pretty little room and tell them they can’t come out until they’re eighteen and then we can kick them out.”

  “You’re in a mood this morning,” Terry interjected, putting the kibosh on the brewing argument. “I know they stole from you, but they’re teenagers. That’s what teenagers do when they’re sowing their wild oats. I’m sure you remember, because you raised Winnie, Marnie and Twila. They were worse.”