A Witch of a Time Read online

  “It would’ve been better if she was naked,” Thistle said.

  “And crying,” Clove added.

  “Next time.”

  Eight

  “Where are we?” Thistle asked, peering out the car window. She was in the back seat with Clove. Bernard’s magical trail took us farther away from Ashton Lake than I would have liked.

  “Traverse City,” I replied, my eyes scanning the frozen Grand Traverse Bay. “We’re in Traverse City.”

  “Why would he come here?” Bay asked from the passenger seat. “You can’t even swim now.”

  That was a very good question. “I don’t know,” I said, following the trail as it led me around the bay and toward Traverse City’s hospital district. The moment I saw Munson Medical Center pop into view, my heart sank.

  “Is he in the hospital?” Clove asked, recognizing the building. “Maybe he is dead after all.”

  “I told you,” Thistle said.

  “You told us he would be in a ditch,” I shot back. “He’s clearly not in a ditch.”

  “He’s probably dead in the hospital,” Thistle argued. “I was half right.”

  When I realized the magical line extended past the hospital, I stuck my tongue out so Thistle could see it in the rearview mirror. “Ha, ha, little missy, you were wrong,” I said. “He’s not even at the hospital.”

  I didn’t miss the relieved sigh when it escaped Bay’s mouth.

  “Where is he?” Clove asked.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “Wherever it is, I think it’s right here.” I followed the trail and pulled into the small parking lot belonging to a brick building about four lots from the hospital, frowning when I read the sign over the door.

  “What does it say?” Thistle asked.

  “I … .”

  “Bay Breeze Wellness,” Bay replied, reading the sign. “Is this a mental hospital?”

  Thistle may be the diabolical one, but Bay’s reasoning skills are second to none. “That’s what it kind of looks like, doesn’t it?”

  “Holy crap! Are you saying Santa is crazy?” Clove can turn nothing into something in the blink of an eye. In this case, I hoped she was being overly dramatic, as was her nature. If Bernard really had gone round the bend … well … we would be one Santa short at the town party while he was probably eight eggs short of a dozen in his mind.

  “We don’t know why he’s here yet,” I cautioned. “For all we know, he could be visiting someone.”

  “Yeah, maybe his sister went crazy or something,” Thistle suggested.

  That was a heart-warming thought.

  “What happens now?” Bay asked.

  “Now we go inside and find out what’s going on.”

  “Are they even going to let us wander around a mental hospital?” Thistle asked.

  “I … have no idea,” I admitted. “We won’t know until we ask.” I killed the engine and shoved the keys into my purse. “When we get in there, you guys let me do all the talking.”

  “That’s a horrible idea,” Thistle said.

  “Why?”

  “Because if you do all the talking they’ll try to keep you, and then what happens to us? We’ll be stuck here and miss Christmas. I don’t like this idea one bit.”

  I narrowed my eyes. Thistle’s attitude is funny only when she directs it at other people. “They’re not going to try to keep me.” I’m almost positive that’s true. “Stop worrying about things that can’t possibly happen.”

  “Just so I know, if they do try to keep you, will I get to make a phone call so Mom can come and get us?” Bay asked. “It’s like jail, right? We get one phone call so we won’t be trapped here.”

  “They’re not going to keep me.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Clove said, her expression serious. “I would miss you … even if you are mean to me sometimes.”

  “Shut up and get out of the car,” I ordered. “Make sure you don’t talk unless I tell you to. Oh, and Clove, be ready to cry if things go bad. You know what I mean, right?”

  Clove smiled. “I won’t let them take you without a fight.”

  THE woman sitting behind the front desk looked as though she wanted to be anywhere but where she was. I didn’t blame her. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. She probably watched the clock, counting down to when she could start her holiday break. Hopefully that would work to my advantage.

  The receptionist shifted her head in my direction when she heard the door shut, wrinkling her nose as she looked me up and down. She was obviously thrown by the appearance of children.

  “Are you lost?”

  I bit my tongue in an effort to hold in the nasty retort I wanted to lob in her direction. “I don’t think so,” I replied, forcing a pleasant smile. “We’re … looking for a friend.”

  “I see,” the woman said. The nameplate on her desk read “Evelyn,” although her platinum blond hair made her look more like a Tiffany. I probably shouldn’t judge her before I talk to her more. Oh, fudge on a stick, who cares about that? I’ll bet she’s as dumb as she looks. “And who are you looking for?”

  “I’m looking for my son,” I said, the lie easily rolling off of my tongue. “His name is Bernard Hill. I was told he was here. That’s a relief, because I’ve been looking for him for days. I have a weak heart, so it could give out at any time. Knowing where my son is before Christmas will help calm me.”

  Bay cast me a sidelong look. I couldn’t tell whether she was impressed with the lie, but she wisely kept her mouth shut.

  “You’re Bernard Hill’s mother?” Evelyn wrinkled her nose again as she checked her intake records. “He looks too old to be your son.”

  “It’s the crazy,” I said. “It makes him appear older.”

  “The crazy?”

  What? I’m sure that’s a real thing. “Can I see my son?”

  Evelyn glanced at the girls, her expression unreadable. “You want to take them into the back to see Mr. Hill? May I ask why?”

  I wanted to tell her it was none of her business, but I wisely kept that sentence to myself. “He’s their … uncle.” Wait … did the math add up for that?

  “He’s our godfather,” Bay corrected, catching me off guard. “The only thing we want for Christmas is to see him, and our grandmother agreed to bring us because she doesn’t want our Christmas to be ruined.”

  I wanted to smack her, but because hers was a better lie than the one I came up with, I let it slide. “Yeah, what she said.”

  “Bernard is your godfather?” Evelyn brightened. “That’s so nice. Are you guys close?”

  “We’re closer than close,” Bay replied. “That’s why our Christmas will be ruined if we don’t get to see him.”

  “We’ve been crying for days,” Clove interjected. “We had no idea where he was. He wanted all of this to be a secret.”

  “We want him to know that it’s okay that he’s … sick,” Thistle added. “We don’t want him to be sad or afraid to tell us.”

  “That is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard,” Evelyn said, her hand landing in the spot above her heart. “This is the time of year for all things good to happen. You girls are angels.”

  “That’s what everyone keeps telling us,” Bay said, shooting me a look. “Can we see him?”

  “I don’t know,” Evelyn hedged. “He’s … kind of in a rough spot right now.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “We’re used to crazy. We like it.”

  “We don’t really use that word here,” Evelyn chided.

  “Oh, I’m hip,” I said. “I’m cool calling him insane.”

  Evelyn frowned.

  Bay, as if sensing the situation about to slip away, stepped in front of me. “You should understand that our grandmother doesn’t always think before she speaks,” she said. “She doesn’t mean anything by it. We’ve all been really worried about … Bernard.”

  Evelyn’s smile was sympathetic. “We’re really not supposed to let anyone back in the treatment rooms, but you
guys came a long way and … well … it is Christmas.”

  “It is,” I agreed.

  “Come with me,” Evelyn said, gesturing for us to follow her down the hallway. “Don’t ever tell anyone I did this for you.”

  “Your secret is safe with me,” I said. I let Thistle and Clove follow Evelyn, but snagged Bay by the back of her coat and pulled her back so we were out of earshot. “I thought I told you to let me do the talking.”

  “I thought I told you I didn’t want you locked up in this place for Christmas,” Bay countered.

  “I … good job.”

  “I know,” Bay said. “Come on. Let’s find out if Santa is crazy and then get out of here. This place gives me the creeps.”

  She wasn’t the only one.

  Evelyn led us to the end of the hallway before hanging a right. There, at the second door down, she stopped. “Do you want me to go in with you?”

  “That won’t be necessary,” I replied hurriedly. “I want the reunion to be conducted in private in case Bernard cries at the sight of his favorite girls. He wouldn’t like anyone else seeing him cry.”

  “That’s very sensitive of you.”

  Evelyn left us, her mind probably back on whatever magazine she was leafing through when we entered the building. She’d already moved on from our sad plight.

  “Now that was a better lie,” Bay said.

  “I’m self-taught,” I quipped. When I realized Bay didn’t get the joke, I wiped the smile off my face. “Okay, you definitely need to let me do the talking this time.”

  “Because you understand crazy?” Bay teased.

  “I … well … yes.” I pushed open the door to Bernard’s room, surprised to find it looked more like a regular bedroom than anything out of a horror movie asylum. There were no padded walls and there were enough sharp edges for Bernard to kill himself twenty times over should the desire arise. This didn’t seem right.

  “Tillie?” Bernard sat at the small table at the edge of the room, a deck of cards spread before him in a game of solitaire. He was dressed in jogging pants and a T-shirt, and despite what I expected, he looked healthier and relaxed.

  “What the heck is going on here?” I asked. “I expected to find you strapped to the bed.”

  Bernard furrowed his brow, his white eyebrows knitting together as confusion washed over his face. “What are you doing here?”

  “We came to rescue Santa,” Clove announced.

  I flicked her ear. “I said I would do all the talking.”

  Clove scowled and crossed her arms over her chest, miffed.

  “You came to rescue Santa, huh?” Bernard’s face was conflicted. “I … you guys know I’m not the real Santa, right?”

  “We know,” Bay replied. “It’s just … you’re our Santa. We need you to come home for the Christmas party.”

  “Well, Bay, I don’t really think that’s going to be possible.” Bernard looked genuinely upset. “I … can’t leave here.”

  “Because you’re crazy?” Thistle asked.

  “Why do you think I’m crazy?”

  “I … .” Thistle bit her lip and then pointed at me.

  “I didn’t say you were crazy,” I protested. Well, I kind of did. He didn’t need to know that, though. “It’s just … well … you’re in a mental hospital. We weren’t even sure you were alive.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “I … .” Crud. How could I answer him?

  “We’re private investigators on the side,” Thistle answered smoothly.

  That kid really needs to stop watching so much television.

  “It’s not important how we found you,” I said. “We were worried. The girls wanted to see you. I … I’m really sorry you’re … struggling.”

  “I am struggling,” Bernard agreed. “I’m not crazy, though.”

  “I didn’t say you were crazy.”

  “Yes, you did,” Clove said.

  “Shut up, Clove.”

  Bernard chuckled, the sound taking me by surprise. “You’ve always been a pip, Tillie,” he said. “You’re one of my favorite people. Do you know that?”

  “It doesn’t surprise me,” I said. “Most people who know me love me.”

  Thistle rolled her eyes. “We’re sorry you’re … not crazy … but can you come home long enough to be Santa for us? It won’t be the same without you.”

  “I can’t do that, Thistle,” Bernard said. “This isn’t a mental hospital, no matter what your Aunt Tillie told you.”

  “It’s not?” That was a relief.

  “It’s a rehabilitation center,” Bernard said. “I’m trying to kick a few bad habits.”

  “Oh,” I said, realization dawning as I glanced around the room again. Things were starting to make sense. “That’s really good, Bernard. I … now I feel like an idiot.”

  “It’s okay,” he said, waving off my embarrassment. “I’m glad someone cared enough to come looking for me. That’s the reason I’m here. I realized my life was going to stay bad as long as I let the demons keep ahold of me. I’m trying to get rid of the demons.”

  “Not real demons, right?” Clove prodded.

  “Not real demons,” Bernard conceded. “They’re personal demons. They’re strong, though, and that’s why I need to be here. Do you understand that?”

  Thistle and Clove nodded in unison, but Bay remained rooted to her spot.

  “Can’t you just come home for a few hours?” Bay asked.

  “I’m really sorry, Bay,” Bernard said, his face kind as he studied the tiny blonde. “I should have realized what my disappearance would mean for the school pageant and the town Christmas party. I honestly didn’t think that far ahead. That’s on me, and I apologize for making such a mess of things.

  “I can’t come home, though,” he continued. “Not yet. I’m not ready.”

  “What you’re doing here is more important, Bernard,” I said, meaning every word. “We shouldn’t have tracked you down like this. You have a right to privacy. Don’t worry about us telling anyone what you’re doing here.”

  “You can tell people,” Bernard replied. “It will probably be better for me if you do. That way … well … hopefully people won’t try to tempt me when I get home.”

  “Do you know you left dirty underwear on your bedroom floor?” Clove asked.

  “How do you know that?”

  “She has a wild imagination,” I answered for her, clapping my hand over Clove’s mouth before she could say anything else. “Well, I wish you well, Bernard. When you get back to town, we’ll all be waiting and ready to help you.”

  “Thank you, Tillie.” Bernard turned back to Bay. “You know the real Santa will still visit you, right?”

  “There is no real Santa,” Bay replied, her tone positively pitiable. “It’s okay. You need to get better.”

  “I really am sorry, Bay.”

  “It’s fine.” Bay kept her head high as she turned and walked out of the room.

  I offered Bernard a few more apologies and then dragged Clove and Thistle into the hallway. Bay was waiting and she was clearly upset, even though she was too stoic for tears. I still hurt for her. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Bay replied, her face drawn. “You can’t fix everything.”

  When did that become the rule? “I’m still sorry. At least we know Bernard’s okay, though.”

  “We do,” Bay said, nodding. “We also know Christmas is officially ruined. I want to go home now.”

  Nine

  The ride home was completed in silence. Clove and Thistle tried to keep some form of conversation going initially, but Bay was having none of it so they all shut their mouths and focused on the scenery as it blurred by.

  On most occasions I’d welcome the silence. This was different.

  I led the girls into the house shortly before dinner, Thistle and Clove scampering off to wash their hands while Bay dejectedly threw herself into the corner chair in the kitchen, where she proceeded to po
ut.

  Winnie eyed her only child for a few moments, her hands busy chopping vegetables, before turning to me. “Do I even want to know?”

  “Probably not.” On the way home I considered how much to tell my nieces, and while I knew I could probably convince the girls to lie for me, I didn’t think that was the proper message to send right before Christmas. “How much do you want to know?”

  “How much do we need to know?”

  That was a tricky question. “Well, I put together a tracking spell for Bernard,” I explained. “We followed it through town, where I had a showdown with Poppy Stevens. I have to remember to give her another cold sore before I go to bed, by the way, so don’t let me forget.

  “We followed the trail out of town and it led us to a facility in Traverse City,” I continued. “At first we thought it was a mental hospital and the girls were really worried Santa was crazy.

  “Good news, though, Santa is not crazy,” I said. “Bernard is fine. He’s in a rehab facility and he’s trying to dry out. He apologized for missing the Christmas festivities, but he can’t leave.”

  Whew. I felt better after unloading all of that.

  Winnie was murderous. “You what?”

  Well, crap on a cracker, that’s what I get for going with the truth. My first instinct had been to lie. It’s always better to stick with your first instinct. “I’m not repeating all of that.” I grabbed a cherry tomato from the counter and popped it into my mouth. “It’s been a really long day and I don’t have a lot of energy, so if you’re going to yell and scream … I’m telling you now, I’ll probably only half listen.”

  “I don’t even know what to say,” Marnie grumbled, turning back to the kitchen counter.

  “I do,” Winnie snapped. “What were you thinking taking them to a rehab facility?”

  “It was like a nice apartment complex with nurses,” I argued. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch. There weren’t crazy people walking around drooling and collecting hair for homemade bird nests. The girls didn’t see any loonies. Personally, I was a little disappointed.”

  “You’re unbelievable,” Winnie said. “I can’t understand how you thought that was a good idea.”