Charms & Witchdemeanors (Wicked Witches of the Midwest Book 8) Page 6

  I flicked her ear. “We can’t leave an open fire burning. It could jump to the trees and burn the inn down.”

  Thistle snorted. “Now you sound like Clove,” she said. “Worry, worry, worry. Whine, whine, whine.”

  “Hey!” an affronted Clove shouted. “I hope you know that now I can’t wait to move away from you.”

  I knew Clove well enough to realize she would regret those words. It happened sooner than I expected, though.

  “That’s not true, though,” Clove said. “I’m going to miss you guys. Now who will I watch Saturday morning cartoons with?”

  “You don’t watch those with us,” Thistle said.

  “No, but Landon and Marcus liked them. Sam is more of a Meet the Press guy.”

  My heart went out to my cousin. “Clove, it’s really going to be okay,” I said. “You’re going to have a great time. Just think, now you can decorate the Dandridge.”

  “I know that,” Clove said. “I just … who is going to watch Lifetime movies with me and make fun of all the pathetic women?”

  “We can still do that,” I pointed out. “We can set up regular girls’ nights. We’re still cousins. Heck, we’re still sisters. And, you know, if things don’t work out and you want to come back you’ll always have a room with us.”

  Clove was bolstered by the offer. “Thank you.”

  “You can’t have your room back, though,” Thistle said. “I’m turning your room into a crafts room. If you come back, you’ll have to sleep on the couch.”

  Clove’s mouth dropped open. “What?”

  “That’s not what’s going to happen,” I snapped, batting some of the smoke away from my face.

  “Thank you,” Clove said, exhaling heavily. “I was worried there for a second.”

  “We’re turning your room into an office,” I said. “I need somewhere to keep my computer, and I thought we could put a couch in there and turn it into a little library or den.”

  “But … .” Clove’s eyes were glassy. “You are the worst people I know.”

  “It’s going to be a crafts room,” Thistle argued. “I already measured it for a pottery wheel.”

  “No way,” I shot back. “You can put a pottery wheel in the basement of the inn now that Aunt Tillie’s wine business is in the greenhouse. By the way, I stowed all that wine in the back of my car to be on the safe side. Remind me to tell Aunt Tillie so she doesn’t go on the warpath when looking for it.”

  “Yeah, that would suck,” Thistle said, staring blankly into the fire for a moment before shaking her head. “What was I saying?”

  “You were saying you were going to put the pottery wheel in the inn’s basement and let me turn Clove’s room into an office,” I said.

  “I’m pretty sure I said nothing of the sort,” Thistle challenged. “You don’t need an office. You have an actual office at the newspaper.”

  “Yes, but I want one at home, too.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “No!”

  “Yes!”

  “I think you’re both being really insensitive,” Clove sniffed. “That’s been my room for … like … forever. You can’t turn it into something else. It’s not fair.”

  “Do you want us to turn it into a shrine to you?” Thistle asked. “That’s not happening. Space is at a premium in that guesthouse with Landon and Marcus practically living there.”

  “That’s why I need an office to get away from it all,” I added.

  “That’s why I need a crafts room!”

  “Office!”

  “Crafts room!”

  “You two deserve each other,” Clove said, rubbing her stomach and frowning as it gurgled. “Is anyone else hungry?”

  “I’m starving,” I said, studying the fire. “It’s almost completely burned. Five more minutes should do it.”

  “Good,” Clove said. “I want that strawberry-rhubarb pie. I’m going to eat five slices.”

  “That’s going to make fitting into your cute jeans tomorrow difficult,” Thistle pointed out. “And that’s before Aunt Tillie curses the dickens out of us for burning her pot. I … did you hear that?”

  I tilted my head to the side. “What?”

  “I heard someone,” Thistle said, scanning the bushes by her feet. “I … what was I saying?”

  She was acting weird. Well, actually, she was acting weirder than usual. “Stop being paranoid,” I ordered. “There’s nothing in those bushes.”

  “There could be something in those bushes,” Thistle shot back. “You don’t know. You can’t see in these bushes. For all you know there could be a … you know … thing in there. What was I saying again?”

  “Hey, here you guys are. I’ve been looking for you.”

  I jerked my head in Landon’s direction as he joined us by the fire. “Where did you come from?”

  “You weren’t in the bushes, were you?” Thistle asked. “I told you something was in the bushes. It was him. He was spying on us.”

  “Stop being paranoid,” I instructed. “He’s too big to hide in those tiny bushes. He’s big … and strong … and pretty to look at.” I rubbed my hand over Landon’s washboard abs. “What were we talking about?”

  “I don’t think you guys should turn my room into an office or a crafts room,” Clove said. “I think you should leave it as it is.”

  “And I think you’re dreaming,” Thistle said. “Wait … did you hear that?”

  “What’s going on?” Landon asked, grabbing my hand when I refused to stop petting him and forcing my gaze to him. “Why are you guys acting so weird? Did Aunt Tillie curse you because you went through her greenhouse?”

  “You’re so pretty,” I said, smiling.

  “You’re pretty, too,” Landon said, refusing to return the smile. “You’re acting strange, though.”

  “Aunt Tillie didn’t catch us,” Clove said. “Bay put the wine in the trunk of her car, and we ripped out all the pot and burned it.”

  Landon stilled. “You burned it?”

  “Not in a fun way like I wanted,” Thistle said. “Bay threw it in the fire … like a … what was I saying?”

  “Oh, good grief,” Landon muttered, grabbing my chin and staring into my eyes. “You’re stoned.”

  “No, we’re not,” I argued. “We destroyed the pot. Thistle wanted to smoke it, but I said no. I’m a good girl.”

  “Yes, you’re a very good girl,” Landon said, his frustration evident. “You’re still stoned, sweetie. You stood too close to the fire when you burned the pot.”

  “But … no.”

  “Oh, well, this is just … .” Landon released my face and tugged a restless hand through his hair. “How will I explain this at dinner?”

  “Maybe no one will notice,” Clove said. “You probably only noticed because you’re trained to see these things.”

  “And so is Agent Goober,” Thistle said. “He’s going to arrest us. We can share a cell with Aunt Tillie. That might be fun.”

  “Not if you go down to the guesthouse,” Landon said. “I’ll tell everyone you had something to do, and you can order pizza. That way no one will notice.”

  “Uh-uh,” Thistle said, shaking her head. “It’s strawberry-rhubarb pie night. I’m not missing that.”

  “I’m not either,” Clove said. “I don’t care if I fit in my pants or not tomorrow. I’m eating pie.”

  “I’ll bring the pie down to you guys,” Landon suggested. “That’s just as good, isn’t it?”

  “They made kebabs and fattoush for dinner,” I said. “I need my fattoush.”

  “Bay … .” Landon’s temper bubbled toward the surface.

  “Fattoush.” I sounded the word out and then gave Landon’s rear end a gentle squeeze. “It sounds like tush.”

  “Oh, why couldn’t you have done this when I didn’t have a nitwit looking over my shoulder?” Landon complained. “This would’ve been fun if he wasn’t around.”

  “Fattoush,” I repeated.
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  “What were we talking about?” Thistle asked.

  “This dinner is going to bite the big one,” Landon muttered. “I just … ugh.”

  Six

  “This looks delicious,” Noah said, rubbing his hands together as he surveyed the dinner feast. “Do you guys always cook like this?”

  “We like keeping our guests happy,” Mom said, beaming at the only two guests staying at the inn, a younger couple seated at the far end of the table. More were due to arrive Friday for the weekend, which would only make things more uncomfortable. “You’re not a guest, though, so I don’t care whether you’re happy.”

  I snorted, Mom’s anger somehow striking my funny bone. “No one cares whether he’s happy.”

  “Bay, eat your kebab,” Landon ordered, slapping a steak skewer on my plate.

  “Yum.” I reached for the kebab, frowning as I tried to use my fork to force the meat to dislodge. “It’s stuck.”

  “Here.” Landon grabbed the skewer and easily manipulated the steak and vegetables onto my plate. “Do you want me to cut your steak for you?”

  “I’m good.”

  Mom shot me an odd look. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing is going on,” I said. “I’m … good.”

  “We’re all good,” Thistle agreed, reaching for a chicken kebab and handing it to her boyfriend Marcus. “Get my chicken off please.”

  “Okay.” Marcus’ handsome face twisted as he studied his girlfriend. “I … .”

  “Let it go,” Landon ordered, sending Marcus a firm headshake. “I just … let it go.”

  “Okay.” Marcus is easygoing, but he was obviously confused. Landon’s demeanor told him pressing the issue was a rotten idea, though. “So, how was everyone’s day?”

  “I got hauled in and questioned about a murder,” Aunt Tillie replied, causing the young couple to widen their eyes. “If anyone’s interested, I didn’t do it.”

  “Of course you didn’t,” Mom said, patting Aunt Tillie’s hand. “Only one person in this room is dumb enough to think you did it.”

  “I’m actually on the fence,” Thistle said, earning an elbow in the ribs from Clove. “Oomph. That hurt.”

  “It was supposed to,” Clove said, staring at her plate. “Where is the pie? I want pie.”

  “Dessert comes at the end of the meal,” Marnie chided, knitting her eyebrows as she studied her daughter. “You look … different.”

  “It’s probably the heat,” Landon offered. “It got up to ninety today and it’s supposed to be just as bad tomorrow. She needs to drink more water.”

  “Yes, I’m really thirsty,” Clove said, reaching for her glass of water. “Really thirsty.” She didn’t drink the water, though. Instead she stared at it for a moment before returning the glass to the table.

  I chewed on a piece of steak that was much too large for my mouth as I watched Clove’s antics. “She’s so obvious.”

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Mom snapped. “Seriously, what is going on?”

  “I told you, the heat got to them,” Landon said. “Can’t you let it go?”

  “I just … they’re acting odd,” Mom said.

  “I like them this way,” Aunt Tillie said, sipping her wine. “They’re fun.”

  “Yes, they’re lovely,” Landon deadpanned. “I tried to get them to stay at the guesthouse and rehydrate, but they refused because of the strawberry-rhubarb pie. This had better be the best pie I’ve ever tasted.”

  An absolutely filthy thought wafted through my mind. “Um … .”

  “Let it go, Bay,” Landon said.

  “Okay.” I went back to chewing my steak.

  “So, tell me about Hemlock Cove,” Noah said. “I heard it used to be called Walkerville. Is that true?”

  “No, that’s just a lie we tell the tourists because we like to have fun at their expense,” Thistle said. “Where is my kebab?”

  “It’s on your plate,” Marcus said.

  “Oh, right,” Thistle said, smiling happily. I honestly didn’t know she had that many teeth. She usually doesn’t smile that broadly. Her grins are more evil than ecstatic. “What was I saying again?”

  “Nothing,” Landon said. “Hemlock Cove did use to be referred to as Walkerville. They rebranded the town a few years ago to appeal to tourists.”

  “And they picked a paranormal theme, right?” Noah asked, seemingly oblivious to the mental mayhem occurring around him. “Does that mean you guys are witches?”

  “Some of us more than others,” Aunt Tillie replied.

  “I’m not a witch,” Clove said. “I’m a good girl. In fact … I’m thirsty.” She grabbed her water and downed half the glass, gasping as she finished.

  “You were saying,” Noah prodded.

  “I said I was thirsty,” Clove said, making a face. “Did you forget that already?”

  Landon groaned as he stabbed his fork into his steak. “I’m going to kill all three of you when I get you back to the guesthouse,” he muttered under his breath.

  “You’re still pretty,” I whispered.

  He didn’t want to smile. He fought the temptation with everything he had. He couldn’t stop the corners of his lips from turning up, though. “Thank you, Bay. Eat your dinner.”

  “I want to go back to the murder thing,” Marcus said. “Why would someone suspect you of murdering Patty Grimes? That’s who we’re talking about, right? People were gossiping about it down at the stables. I thought for sure she died in her sleep or something. She was old.”

  “She wasn’t that old,” Aunt Tillie shot back, annoyed. “She was only two years older than me. Am I old?”

  Marcus swallowed hard. “Of course not.” He was used to being Aunt Tillie’s favorite since he helped with her gardening needs. Yes, including the pot garden. “You’re young and … spry.”

  “Good word,” Thistle said. “You should be a professional … you know … word guy.”

  “Uh-huh.” The way Marcus slanted his gaze in Thistle’s direction made me realize he was on to our current predicament. “I need you to eat your dinner, Thistle. Then we’re going to go for a walk in the cooler night air to clear your head of this … heat stroke thing.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Landon said. “Everyone needs a walk.”

  “Oh, I would love to walk around the property,” Noah enthused. “I’ll go with you.”

  “I’m sorry, who are you?” Marcus asked.

  “No, I’m sorry,” Landon said. “I forgot everyone didn’t know him. Marcus, this is Noah Glenn. He’s in town investigating Patty Grimes’ death.”

  “Oh, I see.” Marcus looked as if exactly the opposite were true. “Why is he staying here if Aunt Tillie is the prime suspect?”

  “Because Bay whined and her mother capitulated,” Aunt Tillie said. “If I had my way we’d kick him out and let the wolves eat him.”

  “Wolves?” Noah’s eyes widened. “Are there really wolves in this area?”

  “Yes, and they have big teeth,” Thistle said, mock growling.

  “Eat your chicken, Thistle,” Marcus said, locking eyes with Landon. “Maybe we should take them home now.”

  “I tried that,” Landon said. “They want their pie.”

  “I don’t,” I said. “I don’t like rhubarb. I only wanted my fattoush. Fattoush. Fattoush.” I had no idea why the word fascinated me so.

  “Oh, sweetie, I may have to gag you,” Landon said, shaking his head.

  “Fattoush.”

  “Can we get back to Patty Grimes?” Marcus asked.

  “I really wish we wouldn’t,” Mom said. “It’s distasteful dinner conversation.”

  “I have news,” Clove announced, snapping her head up. “I’m officially moving out tomorrow. We’re going to finish packing my things tonight. Bay says we can drink chocolate martinis and everything.”

  “That sounds like a fabulous idea,” Landon said. “Let’s add huge buckets of alcohol to this equation. That can’t possibly
go wrong.”

  “Don’t be like that,” I chided. “This is Clove’s last night home. It’s … sad.”

  “It’s not sad, Bay,” Landon argued. “It’s a good thing. Clove will be happy and we won’t be tripping over people in the guesthouse.”

  “I’m going to turn her room into an office,” I said.

  “It’s going to be a crafts room,” Thistle snapped. “Stop fighting me on that. I will beat you if you don’t give me what I want.”

  “Oh, this is lovely,” Marnie said, shaking her head. “My daughter is leaving, and these two are going to fight to the death over her room. It’s like they’re teenagers again.”

  “In more ways than one,” Mom said, her expression dark. I had a feeling she knew what was going on, too.

  “I like the idea of an office better than a crafts room,” Landon said. “That will allow me to work in private when I’m here.”

  “Well, I don’t really care what you like,” Thistle said. “I want a pottery wheel.”

  “I told you to put a pottery wheel in the basement here,” I argued. “It’s too big for that room. It’s going to be an office.”

  “Crafts room.”

  “Office.”

  “It’s not going to be either,” Aunt Tillie said, shaking her head. “It’s going to be my room.”

  “No way. It’s … wait … what?” I felt unnaturally slow. She didn’t just say what I think she said, did she?

  “Yeah, what?” Landon challenged. “You have a room. It’s here.”

  “Not as long as Agent Get-a-load-of-me is under this roof,” Aunt Tillie shot back. “He’s trying to lock me up for something I didn’t do. I don’t feel safe staying here.”

  “Well, you can’t stay with us,” Thistle said. “That house isn’t big enough for five of us.”

  “Technically Clove is still there and it’s big enough for five of you now,” Aunt Tillie pointed out. “I’m smaller than Clove. It will be fine. It will be great, in fact. I’m a fun girl.”

  “Your body is smaller than Clove’s,” I said. “Your mind is bigger than everyone else’s put together, though.”