wicked witches 07.5 - christmas witch Read online

  “Nice,” Winnie said, flicking my ear as she moved past me. “We don’t know where Santa is, but we’ve definitely found the Grinch.”

  I watched as Marnie and Twila wrangled Thistle and Clove up the stairs, finally settling my gaze on Bay. She was quiet for long stretches of time and that often led to her being overlooked.

  “What are you thinking?” I asked.

  “I know that isn’t Santa Claus,” she said, her tone serious. “Don’t bother arguing. I know that’s Mr. Hill.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I’m not stupid.”

  I smirked. No one could ever accuse Bay of being stupid. “No, that’s not Santa Claus,” I said. “He’s a man pretending to be Santa Claus. The real Santa could never go to all the holiday parties around the world. You know that.”

  “I’m not getting into an argument with you about Santa,” Bay said. “I just … if Mr. Hill is really missing, what does that mean for Christmas?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The best part of Christmas is always the town party, and he’s always the Santa there, too,” Bay explained. “If he’s missing, what happens to the town party?”

  I’ve never understood Bay’s love of Walkerville’s Christmas party, but she’s infatuated with it. “Santa will be at the party, Bay,” I said.

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because I’ll make sure of it.”

  That seemed to do the trick, because Bay brightened considerably. “Do you think we’ll get our puppy?”

  “No.”

  “I think you’re going to make sure we get our puppy,” Bay said, her eyes twinkling. “You act like you don’t like us, but I know you do.”

  “That’s not an act, kid.”

  Bay rolled her eyes. “We want a big dog,” she said. “We don’t want any little runt dogs that yap and run around. We want something big so we can make it attack Lila if she shows her face out here.”

  “Is that why you want the dog?”

  “We want the dog because we want something to love,” Bay answered. “Biting Lila is just a bonus.”

  “I’ll take it under consideration,” I said, glancing around to make sure no one was watching before I slipped her a Hershey’s Kiss. “Don’t tell your mother.”

  Bay smiled as she took the candy. “I need one for Thistle and Clove, too.”

  I sighed but handed over the chocolate goodies. “Don’t worry, Bay,” I said. “I’ll make sure your Christmas party is what it should be. You can count on me.”

  “Thank you, Aunt Tillie,” Bay said, rolling up on the balls of her feet so she could give me a kiss on the cheek. “Make sure you pick out a good puppy for us when it’s time.”

  “You are not getting a puppy!”

  THE girls were in better moods the next morning. Well, mostly. There was still a little pouting and trepidation, but they seemed less likely to melt down than the previous evening.

  I’m not going to lie, when puberty hits this house I’m seriously considering hitting the road. I remember the terrible teen years with Winnie, Marnie and Twila, and the three of them had nothing on these three. I’m considering starting my own band. Anything has to be better than watching Bay, Clove and Thistle fight over boys, clothes and makeup.

  On the flip side, I get a giddy satisfaction knowing that my three nieces are going to get a great big heaping of crap when their little darlings start hitting fun ages like thirteen … and fourteen … and seventeen. They seem to forget what horrors they were at those ages. That will be a stark reminder of what they put me through – and I look forward to watching them struggle with three wild teenagers of their own.

  “We have two whole weeks without school, and I’m really happy about it,” Thistle said, grabbing a slice of bacon and shoving it into her mouth. She chews like a horse sometimes, I swear. “We won’t have to see Lila Stevens more than once, and that’s pretty much the best Christmas gift anyone could ever give me.”

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full of food,” Twila ordered, patting Thistle on the head as she sat down next to her and started in on her own plate. “That’s tacky and rude.”

  “Aunt Tillie does it,” Thistle said, causing me to narrow my eyes in her direction.

  “Aunt Tillie does a lot of things you shouldn’t do,” Winnie interjected.

  “Like what?”

  “Yeah, like what?” I asked, echoing Thistle.

  “Like making wine in the basement,” Clove teased, grinning as she poured syrup on her pancakes.

  “And dancing naked under the full moon when she thinks no one is watching,” Bay chimed in.

  “That’s gross, by the way,” Thistle said. “They make horror movies about stuff like that.”

  Winnie leaned back so she could give Thistle her best “you’ve gone too far, little lady” look. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re too old to be running around naked,” Thistle said. “It’s … scary.”

  “I didn’t know things were supposed to hang that low until I saw Aunt Tillie try to dance like Michael Jackson on Halloween,” Clove said. “I thought those were zombies of a different kind.”

  “Hey!”

  “She was bad,” Thistle said, laughing at her own joke.

  “All right, that will be enough of that,” I said, reaching over to Thistle’s plate and stealing a slice of bacon. “I’ll have you know that I’m in prime shape and people would be lucky to see me naked.”

  Someone near the kitchen door cleared a throat, drawing my attention from my great-nieces. Walkerville’s lone full-time police officer, Terry Davenport, stood in the doorway next to Marnie and he looked as if he wished he could go back in time to miss my last statement. Hmm. He should be so lucky as to get a gander at my gams when the moon is full.

  “Hi, Terry,” Winnie said, her voice unnaturally bright. “What a nice surprise. Would you like some breakfast?”

  Terry didn’t get a chance to respond, because Marnie moved in on him and cut off Winnie’s path off in the process.

  “Of course he wants breakfast,” Marnie said. “He loves it when I cook him breakfast.”

  “He loves it when I cook him breakfast,” Winnie corrected.

  I tried to tamp down my irritation as I watched the spectacle unfold. Terry was a good man, a great man even. My nieces act like dogs in heat whenever he’s around, though. It was undignified … and annoying. I have no idea what they would do if one of them ever actually caught the man.

  “Breakfast sounds great,” Terry said, shooting me a small smile as he settled next to Bay. “How is my favorite girl?”

  Bay glanced at him, her face unreadable. Ever since her father left Bay has been drawn to Terry. I have no idea why. Whatever it is, Terry is good for her. He encourages her and shows an interest in her life. I think that’s what Bay needs right now, even if she doesn’t realize it.

  “I’m worried,” Bay admitted.

  Terry lifted an eyebrow. “What are you worried about?”

  “Santa Claus is missing,” Clove supplied, her round cheeks quivering as she grimaced. “We’re all very worried he’s not going to come back in time to give us our puppy.”

  “What puppy?” Terry looked confused.

  “There is no puppy,” I said. “You’re not getting a puppy. Stop whining about the puppy. We don’t have room for a puppy.”

  “If we have room for you, we have room for a puppy,” Thistle countered.

  Terry pursed his lips to keep from laughing and turned back to Bay. “Are you worried about Santa Claus being missing?”

  “I know that Mr. Hill isn’t really Santa Claus,” Bay replied. “I don’t believe in Santa Claus.”

  “Don’t start that again,” I warned.

  Bay rolled her eyes and ignored me. “The Christmas party needs a Santa Claus. Mr. Hill always plays Santa Claus. If he’s really missing … well … Christmas will be ruined.”

  Something about Bay’s expressi
on tugged at my heart. It was an odd feeling. “I already told you that Christmas won’t be ruined,” I reminded her. “Mr. Hill was probably drunk and forgot where he was supposed to be. We’ll all make sure he doesn’t make that mistake again.”

  “Well … .” Terry forced a smile for Bay’s benefit and then turned in my direction. “I’m not sure that’s true.”

  “What do you mean?” Winnie asked.

  “After Bernard didn’t show last night … should I talk about this in front of the K-I-D-S?” Terry’s face reflected concern.

  “Probably not if you think we’re so dumb that we can’t spell kids,” Thistle replied, nonplussed.

  Terry frowned. “You’re going to be a handful, young lady.”

  “I keep hoping that’s true,” Thistle replied. “We know that Mr. Hill isn’t really Santa. There’s no reason to get all … weird and whiny about it. We can take it.”

  That girl makes me laugh sometimes.

  “Bernard hasn’t been seen in a few days,” Terry said, pointing at Thistle and mock shooting her with his finger. “When he didn’t show up last night I went on a hunt for him. As far as I can tell, he’s been gone for more than a week and no one has any idea where he is.”

  “Oh, no,” Twila said, her hand flying to her mouth. “You don’t think he’s D-E-A-D, do you?”

  Terry shrugged.

  “He probably choked on the mistletoe when he tried to wash it down with his whiskey,” Thistle said. “His body is probably rotting somewhere right now.”

  “You have a wonderful imagination, young lady,” Terry said, frowning. “Where do you even come up with stuff like that?”

  “We have HBO,” Thistle replied, not missing a beat. “I’ve seen tons of movies.”

  “And now you’re grounded from the television for a week,” Twila said.

  Thistle narrowed her eyes. “If I can’t watch television then I’m going to have nothing better to do than watch you.”

  Twila faltered. “Oh. I … um … .”

  “Yeah, you didn’t think that one through, did you?” I asked, making a face. “Are you sure Bernard is missing? Maybe he moved or something.”

  “All of his stuff is still at his house, and the mail has been piling up,” Terry replied.

  “Maybe he’s dead,” Marnie suggested. “Where else could he be?”

  That was a very good question. Thankfully, I had no interest in answering it. “Is there more bacon?”

  “I told you Christmas was going to be ruined,” Bay said, pointing an accusatory face in my direction. “You never listen to me.”

  “I promised you that I wouldn’t let Christmas be ruined,” I shot back. “Stop being such a … kvetch.”

  “I don’t know what that is, but I’m pretty sure I’m not whatever that … thing … is,” Bay argued.

  “Bay, I promised you the Christmas you want,” I reminded her. “Do I break my promises?”

  Bay nodded.

  “When have I ever broken a promise?”

  “You promised us that you would make Mrs. Stevens dance naked in the middle of town so everyone would think she was drunk,” Thistle said. “That hasn’t happened.”

  These kids remember everything. It’s annoying. “It hasn’t happened yet,” I said. “Yet being the operative word.”

  “That had better never happen,” Winnie said.

  I ignored her and kept my focus on Bay. “You have to have faith,” I said. “I’ll make sure you have a great Christmas. I won’t let you down.”

  Bay didn’t look convinced. “You’d better make sure we get that puppy, too.”

  “Yeah,” Thistle chimed in. “We don’t want a rat dog either. We want a big one. Don’t forget.”

  “You’re not getting a puppy, so stop asking for a puppy,” I said. “I will handle Santa Claus, but that doesn’t mean you’re getting a puppy.”

  “We want snow, too,” Bay added.

  Good grief. “Fine. I’ll find Santa Claus and make it snow. Is there anything else besides a puppy that you want for Christmas?”

  Bay considered the question. “World peace.”

  “I’ll get right on that.”

  There’s a reason I never had kids of my own. They suck. Yeah, I said it. How did I end up being the one who has to save Christmas?

  Four

  “I don’t think we’re supposed to be doing this,” Clove said, her tone ominous as she watched me peer into Bernard Hill’s bedroom window. “This is against the law.”

  Clove was never going to be a rule breaker. It was a bit disappointing. “I was wrong when I said Bay was the kvetch this morning,” I said. “You’re the kvetch, Clove.”

  “It’s not an insult if we don’t know what it means,” Thistle pointed out.

  “It means she’s whiny and complains about things that are unimportant,” I explained. “What I’m about to do is not important and it’s definitely not something to whine about.”

  “Are you sure?” Clove looked dubious.

  “I’m sure.”

  After watching my three great-nieces worry and pout through what should have been a perfectly nice breakfast – my three nieces throwing themselves at the same man notwithstanding – I knew I had to find Bernard to save Christmas. How I became the hero of Christmas was beyond me, but if I pulled it off I was buying a cape to wear around town.

  “This place is a dump,” Thistle said, glancing around and wrinkling her nose. “Who would live here?”

  “Maybe Mr. Hill is poor,” Clove suggested.

  “Mr. Hill has a nice pension from when he served as custodian of the school,” I said. “He could have a better house, but he prefers whiskey to home ownership.”

  “It sounds like whiskey is bad for you,” Clove said.

  “It depends on how you drink it,” I shot back. “Okay, we need to get inside. Who wants me to boost them through this window?”

  “Why can’t you just use your magic and open the back door?” Bay asked.

  “Because the back door is visible from the street and I don’t want anyone to see us.”

  “Because we’re doing something illegal,” Clove said. “I knew it!”

  She was starting to get on my nerves. When Winnie suggested I spend the afternoon with the girls so their mothers could get their Christmas baking out of the way without greedy fingers slipping in the frosting bowl I didn’t exactly jump for joy. When I thought better of it, though, I realized they made the perfect alibi. No one would break into someone’s home with children in tow.

  See, this is why I’m a genius.

  “I already told you we’re not doing anything illegal,” I countered. “We’re doing something good.”

  “What?”

  “We’re trying to find Santa Claus,” Thistle supplied, hitting Clove on the back of the head. “Duh!”

  “I hate you,” Clove hissed.

  I snagged the back of her coat and dragged her from Thistle before the conversation dissolved into screams and punches. That would draw too much attention. Clove and Thistle are like oil and vinegar sometimes.

  “You need to stop fighting right now,” I ordered.

  “Because you’re afraid the cops will hear us and come arrest us,” Thistle said. “Admit it.”

  “Because I’m embarrassed to be seen with you two right now,” I clarified. “I have a reputation to uphold, and you are ruining it.”

  “I’ll go in through the window,” Bay offered, sighing dramatically as she edged Thistle out of the way with her hip. “There’s no reason for everyone to fight.”

  I glanced at her a moment, taking in her solid thighs and hips, and then shook my head. She’s not a big girl, but compared to the other two she looks downright huge sometimes. “It has to be Clove.”

  “What? Why?” Clove gnawed on her fingernails as the suggestion sank in.

  “You’re the smallest,” I replied, hoping I sounded reasonable even though I wanted to throttle her. “Bay is too heavy for me to lift.”r />
  Bay scorched me with a murderous look. “Are you saying I’m fat?”

  “Of course not,” I snapped. “I’m saying you’re bigger than the other two because you’re older. Clove is easiest for me to lift. She’s the smallest. I’m not as young as I used to be and I don’t work out.”

  “I think you should use your magic,” Clove said.

  “I already told you I can’t do that.”

  “But … I don’t want to be in there alone.”

  “Yes, but you’ll be the hero when we tell this story later,” I said, changing tactics. “When we find Santa and save Christmas, you’ll get all the applause.”

  Clove preened under the suggestion. “Really? Do you think people will clap?”

  “Absolutely. You’ll probably get more gifts, too.”

  Clove moved in front of me, resigned. “Okay, but this has to be quick. If I go to jail for this, I’m going to be really mad.”

  “Duly noted,” I said, sliding the window open with a little magical help. I laced my fingers together and inclined my chin toward them. “Put your foot in there.”

  Clove did as instructed, and even though she was tiny, it took all of my strength to hoist her over my head. Bay and Thistle had to step in and help. The added muscle propelled Clove through the open window and we heard her crash into something as she landed on the other side.

  “Are you okay, Clove?”

  No answer.

  “Clove?”

  I couldn’t hear a thing inside of the house.

  “Clove, this isn’t funny,” I said. “If you’re hurt, you need to give me a sign.”

  “How is that going to work if she’s knocked out?” Bay asked.

  I shot her a quelling look. “She’s not knocked out. She’s … .” Oh, Goddess, please tell me she’s not knocked out! If I have to call an ambulance and explain this, not only am I not going to save Christmas, I’ll probably be forced to eat whatever the jail calls turkey for Christmas dinner. No one wants that.

  “She probably has a big cut in her head and she’s bleeding all over the place,” Thistle said.