A Witch of a Time Read online

  “They aren’t clean,” Clove said, wrinkling her nose. “There are things on them.”

  “Gross,” Thistle and Bay said in unison.

  “I’ll buy some of those clean wipes when we get out of here,” I said. “It will kill all of the germs.”

  “I want candy, too,” Clove said.

  I narrowed my eyes. I was being shaken down by a child. It was insulting. “Maybe I’ll just leave you in there and let you explain to the cops why you’re breaking into someone else’s house.”

  Clove’s eyes widened. “I knew we were breaking the law!”

  “Go open the back door,” I ordered. “We’re coming around. Be quick about it.”

  By the time Clove let us into Bernard’s house she was practically beside herself. I pushed Thistle and Bay inside, shutting the door behind me to lock out prying eyes, and focused on Clove. “What’s your problem now?”

  “There are bugs flying around in the kitchen,” Clove replied, horrified. “Big ones.”

  That didn’t sound good. “They’re not the type of bugs that go with dead bodies, are they?”

  “What kind of bugs are those?”

  “What kind of bugs are you seeing?”

  “The kind that pop up on food when you don’t finish eating it and leave it on the counter for days at a time,” Clove replied. “It’s gross. I can never eat again. I hope you’re happy. I’m going to starve to death and die.”

  “If you don’t stop complaining I’m going to make you eat that food and then you’ll really have something to complain about,” I threatened.

  Clove snapped her mouth shut, disgusted.

  “You’re a horrible babysitter,” Thistle said.

  “Maybe that’s because you three are horrible babies.”

  “Whatever.” Thistle rolled her eyes. “Where should we start looking for clues?”

  That was a good question. “I don’t know,” I said, glancing around. Clove wasn’t exaggerating about the house being filthy. “Let’s start in the bedroom.”

  “There’s not going to be creepy stuff in there, is there?” Bay asked.

  I had no idea. “What do you consider creepy?”

  “Dirty underwear.”

  “Well, I think we all know there will be dirty underwear in there,” I said. “Clove announced it to the entire street.”

  “I did not.” Clove realized she talked when it was too late to drag the words back into her mouth. Instead of acknowledging her mistake, she clapped both hands over her lips, determined to make sure I didn’t try to make her eat rotten food.

  “I’m not going to make you eat that food,” I said, giving into my sympathetic urges. What? They’re rare, but they do happen. “I was joking.”

  Clove didn’t look convinced.

  “If I punish you it’ll be with something a lot worse than rotten food,” I tried again.

  “She’s right,” Thistle said. “She’s not going to make you eat gross stuff. She’ll just make it so your pants don’t fit if you eat good stuff. You know that.”

  Clove marginally relaxed, although she didn’t drop her hands. I decided to let her be. “Let’s search the bedroom.”

  “I don’t want to see dirty underwear,” Bay said.

  “Do you want to find Mr. Hill?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want to save the Christmas party?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then shut up and follow me,” I ordered, striding in the direction of the dark hallway. “Just don’t … touch anything. I don’t want to have to explain how you guys inadvertently got crabs … or tetanus … or fleas from this place. No one wants that.”

  “What are we going to tell our mothers when we get back home?” Thistle asked. “They’re not going to be happy that your idea of babysitting was teaching us how to break into a house.”

  “We didn’t break into a house,” I said.

  “You just pushed Clove through a window and onto dirty underwear,” Thistle challenged.

  “That’s not what happened.”

  “We all saw it,” Thistle protested.

  “No. We were walking down the road and saw the door open and decided to check on Bernard because we wanted to make sure he was safe. We’re good Samaritans.”

  “That’s a lie,” Clove said. “We’re not supposed to lie.”

  “Well, I’m telling you to lie and you’re also supposed to listen to your elders.” Let’s see them get out of that one.

  “Mom said we’re only supposed to listen to our elders when it’s the right thing to do,” Bay said. “I’m not sure this is the right thing to do.”

  She was back to being a kvetch again. “If you don’t shut up, you’re all going on my list.”

  “Whatever,” Thistle said, peering into the bedroom. “This place really is gross. Now I know why Mom makes me clean up my room every day. Don’t tell her I said that, though.”

  Given the state of the room, it was hard to argue with her. The bed was unmade – and I had a feeling it had been that way for months. If those sheets had ever been l laundered they showed no sign of it. Clothes were strewn about the floor – and Clove wasn’t lying about the dirty underwear. The top drawer of the dresser was open and clothing hung over the edges.

  “Don’t touch anything,” I reminded them. “Look around and if you see something … out of place … call me over.”

  “Are you going to touch it?” Bay asked.

  “I’m going to make you touch it under my watchful eye,” I shot back.

  After searching the bedroom and coming up empty, I led the girls back into the living room. Unlike the family room at our house, this one was devoid of everything but a couch and television – and about three layers of filth.

  “There’s nothing here,” Thistle said, kicking a magazine and glancing underneath it. “If Mr. Hill is still living here, he hasn’t been here in a long time.”

  “If he moved, though, he left everything behind,” I said. “Most people take their belongings with them when they move.”

  “Would you take any of this stuff with you?”

  “Probably not,” I conceded. “I’m not Bernard, though. Maybe something came up at the last minute. Maybe he had a family emergency.”

  “Maybe he’s dead in a ditch somewhere and Christmas is officially ruined,” Bay interjected.

  “Stop being such a defeatist, young lady,” I ordered. “I didn’t raise you to give up before we even get to the hard part.”

  “It’s going to get harder than this?” Bay was incredulous. “Clove landed on dirty underwear and there are bugs flying around and getting in our hair. It can’t possibly get worse than this.”

  “Guess again.”

  I froze when I heard the voice, swiveling quickly to find Terry standing in the doorframe that separated the kitchen and living room. When did he get here?

  “We’re being framed, officer,” Thistle announced. I had to admire her chutzpah.

  “We were walking by and the door was open and we had to check and make sure Mr. Hill was okay,” Bay offered. She had the best memory and thrived under pressure. She would be the one to remember the lie.

  Clove mournfully held out her hands. “Take us to jail. We broke the law. Now we’re never going to get that puppy.” I don’t even know what to say about her.

  Terry’s gaze bounced between the three worried faces and then settled on me. “Do you want to tell me what you’re doing here?”

  “I’m saving Christmas. What does it look like I’m doing here?”

  What? There’s no reason to lie. The man isn’t stupid – no matter how his face looks sometimes.

  Five

  “You’re saving Christmas?”

  I couldn’t tell whether Terry wanted to laugh or strangle me, but this was no time to change my story. “That’s what I said.”

  “I see.” Terry licked his lips and glanced at my three partners in crime. “How did you guys get in here?”

  I opened my m
outh to answer for them, but Terry waved a finger in my face to silence me.

  “I’m talking to the girls,” he said, giving me a dark look. “The girls are the ones I want to hear from.”

  Well, this is going to bite the big one.

  Terry focused on Bay first. “How did you get in here?”

  Bay glanced at me, indecision flitting over her features. Lying to Terry isn’t something she wanted to do, but neither did she relish betraying me. “I … we were walking and we saw the door was open,” she said, opting to continue with the lie. “We wanted to make sure Mr. Hill was okay. We weren’t doing anything wrong.”

  “Aunt Tillie is completely innocent,” Thistle chimed in. “We were doing our … civil duty. That’s all.”

  “Civic duty,” Bay corrected, causing Thistle to scowl. Bay’s vocabulary was large for a child her age and Thistle always scrambled to keep up. It drove her nuts that Bay appeared smarter than her when speaking with adults.

  “I see,” Terry said. He turned his attention to Clove and leaned over so he could look her in the eye. “Do you want to tell me how you got in here?”

  Clove was the weakest link. We all knew it. We were going down. My great-nieces were going to be arrested before they hit puberty. That had to be some sort of record.

  “I have no idea how we got inside,” Clove said. “I forget things. I’m little. I can’t help it.”

  I stilled, surprised by Clove’s manipulation. She used that “I’m little” bit whenever she wants to get out of trouble. Because she was so petite, people fell for it. If you put a halo on her head she could double as an angel every day of the week – well, until the angel started whining, and then the gig would be up.

  “Are you telling me you forgot how you got into this house?” Terry pressed. “I find that hard to believe.”

  Clove jutted out her lower lip into the cutest pout known to man. She knows what that lip is capable of, and Terry was about to be putty in her tiny hands. “I’m sorry I don’t remember. I … please don’t hate me. I couldn’t take it if you hated me.” Clove dissolved into tears.

  Clove’s performance was enough to make Terry distraught. “Oh, sweetie, I could never hate you,” he said. He pulled her in for a quick hug. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Don’t cry, Clove. I don’t like it when you cry.”

  “I can’t help myself,” Clove wailed. “I’m so sad!”

  Terry hugged her again, casting a hateful look my way over her shoulder as he tried to soothe her. I had to give it to the kid; when she wanted to lay it on thick she was downright amazing.

  After Clove’s sobs subsided, Terry released her and fixed his attention on me. “I know they’re lying,” he said, his voice low. “The problem is, I can’t upset them because then I’ll be upset.

  “I want you to know, though, that the neighbors called in a tip and they say you hoisted one of the girls through the side window,” he continued. “I know darned well you broke into this house, and you should be ashamed of yourself for forcing these girls to lie.”

  I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I would never force these sweet angels to lie. That’s a horrible thing to say to an old lady.”

  “Horrible,” Thistle echoed. “Now Aunt Tillie wants to cry.”

  I scorched Thistle with an angry look. “I’m not going to cry.”

  “Oh, you want to,” Thistle said. “I can see it in the way your face is all pinched up.”

  “Yeah,” Bay said, grinning evilly. “I think Officer Terry would like it if you cried. Then he’d believe you.”

  Five minutes ago those two were my favorites. Now I want to lock them in the closet with the dirty underwear and never let them out. “I’m crying on the inside,” I said.

  Terry made a face. “You really should be ashamed of yourself.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not,” I said, clapping my hands to get everyone’s attention. “Girls, Terry is here to handle Mr. Hill’s house and take care of all of that for us. We don’t have to worry.”

  “He’s still missing,” Bay pointed out. “Christmas is still ruined.”

  I was about to go off on a Christmas rant when Terry stepped in front of me, cutting me off from a doozy of a meltdown, and knelt in front of Bay.

  “Christmas won’t be ruined,” Terry said. “Even if Mr. Hill can’t play Santa Claus, I promise that Christmas won’t be ruined for you. It’s going to be okay. You don’t have to worry so much. You’ll give yourself an ulcer.”

  “Like Mrs. Stevens has on her lip?” Clove asked.

  Terry furrowed his brow. “I thought that was a cold sore.”

  “Aunt Tillie says it’s herpes and an ulcer of the lip,” Thistle supplied. “She says we never want one and the mailman gives them to you.”

  Terry scowled. “Nice.”

  “They asked,” I said. “Come on, girls. I’ll take you down to the bakery for some hot chocolate and doughnuts to brighten your day.”

  “I want chocolate and sprinkles,” Thistle said.

  “I don’t care what you get on it,” I shot back. “Go get in the car.”

  “I want chocolate and sprinkles, too,” Clove said, falling into line behind Thistle. “It will make me feel better after my terrible day.”

  “I’m going to give you something to cry about if you don’t get in that car now,” I hissed in her ear.

  Terry remained crouched in front of Bay, reaching up to brush her flyaway hair from her face. “I promise you’re going to have the best Christmas ever,” he said. “Try not to worry about this.”

  “Will you make Aunt Tillie get us a puppy?” Bay asked.

  “You’re not getting a puppy,” I snapped.

  Terry ignored me. “I’ll do you one better,” he said. “I’ll talk to your mom and aunts about the puppy. They’re probably going to be more open than your Aunt Tillie.”

  “Do you think they’ll get us one?”

  “I … .” Terry isn’t the type of man to make empty promises to a child. I like that about him. “I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. “I do know that no matter what, you’re going to have a great Christmas.”

  “I hope so,” Bay said, dropping a quick kiss on Terry’s cheek. “The rest of this year has sucked.”

  I watched her walk out of the house in search of her cousins, cringing as Terry moved up behind me.

  “Don’t bring them with you when you break and enter again,” he warned. “If this place belonged to someone other than the town drunk you’d be in a world of hurt. This is the type of stuff that makes the newspaper.”

  I snorted. “The Whistler is a weekly newspaper and you know darned well William wouldn’t dare print a story about this.”

  “That’s neither here nor there,” Terry said. “I know you’re trying to help in your own way. I know you’re just as desperate to give them a good Christmas as everyone else. This is not the way to do it, though.”

  “Oh, they’re getting the Christmas of their dreams – except for the puppy,” I replied.

  “And how are you going to do that? Bernard is missing. I don’t think we’ll find him before the town party. How are you going to fix Christmas?”

  I patted Terry’s cheek, and then pinched it for good measure just because I could. “I’m Tillie Winchester. I can do whatever I want.”

  “WHAT do you guys want to eat and drink?” I asked, scanning the menu at Gunderson’s Bakery twenty minutes later. “Hot chocolate and chocolate doughnuts?”

  “With sprinkles,” Thistle said.

  “I didn’t forget the sprinkles, Thistle,” I snapped. “Do I look like the type of person who forgets the sprinkles?”

  “Hey, we just lied to a cop for you so be nice to us,” Clove said.

  “Your performance was wonderful,” I said, grinning. “That lip thing you do isn’t going to last forever, but it’s a great weapon right now.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Clove said primly, pl
acing her hands on top of the round dinette table the girls perched around. “I forgot what happened. I’m little. I can’t remember everything.”

  “Well, at least you’ve learned a few of the lessons I’ve tried to teach you,” I said. “I thought for sure you’d be the one to crumble.”

  “Since I didn’t, can I have two doughnuts?”

  “If she gets two doughnuts, I want two doughnuts,” Thistle said.

  “You’re both getting one doughnut,” I countered. “You’ll be up all night from the sugar high if I get you two.”

  “You really are the worst babysitter ever,” Thistle groused.

  Bay was silent in her chair, her expression distant. I snapped my fingers close to her ear to get her attention.

  “What?”

  “Do you want a chocolate doughnut with sprinkles, too?”

  “I don’t need a doughnut,” Bay replied, sighing dramatically and lowering her chin to her forearms on top of the table. “Who can think about doughnuts when Christmas is going to be ruined?”

  Sometimes I think these kids are missing their calling. They should all be actors … or circus folk.

  “Have you decided?” Ginny Gunderson stepped out of the back of the bakery, fixing me with a tight smile. We have a long history. It wasn’t always a happy history, but we put on a good show in front of others so they won’t be suspicious.

  “Yeah,” I said, matching her uncomfortable smile with one of my own. “I need four hot chocolates and four cake doughnuts with chocolate frosting and sprinkles.”

  Ginny smiled, her gaze moving beyond me and landing on the girls. She’d never had children of her own. Unlike me, I think she was saddened by that outcome. Even though Winnie, Marnie and Twila aren’t my daughters, they feel like it. And even though Bay, Clove and Thistle aren’t my granddaughters, they are close enough. I didn’t always feel lucky in that respect, but there are times I thank the stars above because I have them to focus on – and torment.

  “I’ll bring the hot chocolate and doughnuts over in just a minute,” Ginny said. “I’ll warm the doughnuts up in the microwave for a few seconds so they’re extra-special gooey and good.”

  “Yay!” Clove clapped her hands.