Happy Witchgiving: A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Short Page 6

  “She’s never happy,” Thistle said. “And, oh, I am totally the boss.”

  The conversation was going nowhere, so I decided to help things along. I flipped the switch on the wall, flooding the room with light. Bay and Thistle froze, a wooden crate perched between them, and Clove’s eyes widened to the size of saucers.

  “Uh-oh!”

  “I’m pretty sure I’m the boss,” I said. “Does someone want to tell me what’s going on here?”

  “We didn’t do it,” Thistle said automatically.

  “I see you doing it right now.” I pointed toward the crate. “Is that Tillie’s wine?”

  Thistle tried again. “I want a lawyer.”

  I blew out a weary sigh. “Why can’t you girls just behave for one night? Is that too much to ask?”

  “We can’t answer that question on the grounds that we may incriminate ourselves,” Clove said. “Of course, if you were to let this go … .” She batted her brown eyes for emphasis.

  “I can’t let this go,” I said, my gaze locking with Bay’s. She seemed resigned. “You girls are going to get in big trouble for this one. You know that, right?”

  Thistle shrugged. “It will hardly be the first time.”

  And I had no doubt it would be the last.

  “WELL, everyone looks … chipper … this fine and lovely day.”

  I accepted the mug of coffee Winnie handed me as I walked into the family kitchen the next morning. Waking Winnie to tell her what I found on the main floor wasn’t high on my favorite memories list. Still, I figured it had to be done. I felt like a rat whenever Bay, Thistle and Clove looked at me, though.

  “Yes, we’re very chipper,” Marnie grumbled, rubbing her cheek as she stared at the girls. “We’re all so chipper we can’t stand it.”

  “That’s a stupid word,” Thistle said. “What does it even mean? Shouldn’t chipper refer to doing something to wood?”

  “I heard you did that when you visited the boys’ locker room last week,” Clove said, taking me by surprise with her venomous attitude. Even on bad days she fakes being the sweet one.

  “Knock it off, Clove,” Marnie warned. “You’re already in trouble. Do you want to make things worse?”

  Clove shrugged. “I haven’t decided yet,” she said. “Can you give me a moment to think about it before responding? I would prefer to do my thinking in silence, too. Great. Thanks.”

  Sarcasm is my weapon of choice when dealing with stupid people. Clove apparently planned to turn it into an art form today. “Listen, I’m sorry I had to tell on you … .”

  “Narc you mean,” Thistle interrupted. “You narced on us.”

  “That’s so not cool,” Clove said, shaking her head. “I thought you were our friend.”

  Bay remained silent in her seat, staring at nothing. That was somehow worse. At least if she joined her cousins’ petulance I knew she’d eventually get over it. Her refusal to even look at me was annoying … and hurtful. Yeah, I said it. A seventeen-year-old girl hurt my feelings. Oh, geez, what has happened to me?

  “I’m not your friend,” I said finally, choosing my words carefully. “A friend is a peer. I’m not your peer any more than your mothers and aunts are. I am, however, someone who cares about you dearly. I had to tell what I found you doing. You could’ve gotten yourselves in trouble.”

  Bay finally shifted her eyes in my direction, her expression thoughtful. She didn’t look angry as much as hurt. That was definitely worse. “Bay … .”

  “Don’t apologize to her,” Tillie said, sashaying into the room. She was dressed in combat boots and pants that were … something I didn’t know how to identify. They were almost track pants but they looked somehow bigger. They were also hot pink. “She did wrong and needs to suck it up.”

  “He shouldn’t have told on us,” Thistle snapped. “You don’t tell on us when you catch us doing stuff.”

  “No, I blackmail you,” Tillie said. “I teach lessons my way. Chief Terry teaches them his way. Stop giving him a hard time.”

  I was surprised. Just yesterday Tillie told me not to get involved if it was a small matter. Because I had a feeling the three youngest Winchesters pilfered her wine regularly, I didn’t think she’d consider that a big matter. She’s an enigma, that woman.

  “He narced on us,” Thistle complained.

  “Oh, please,” Tillie scoffed. “You guys were making enough noise to wake the dead. I knew exactly what you were doing. You’re just lucky he stopped you before you drank it, because I knew you were coming and cursed it.”

  I frowned. I know they’re witches. I know they believe they’re witches. Heck, I know Bay can do some out-there things. I don’t want to be part of a conversation in which they talk about being witches, though. I draw the line there. Yeah, it doesn’t make sense to me either. I can’t explain it.

  “What do you mean it was cursed?” Clove asked, widening her eyes. “What would’ve happened to us?”

  “I’m not telling,” Tillie replied. “I figure I’ll keep that little secret for next time you tick me off. Suffice to say, though, Chief Terry saved you from a very unhappy day. Do you remember the Great Gas Extravaganza from last spring, Thistle?”

  Thistle scorched her elderly great-aunt with a dark look.

  “That was child’s play,” Tillie said. “This one would’ve embarrassed you until Christmas.”

  “You’re mean,” Clove said. “We only took it because you stole our stash in the garden shed.”

  “What stash?” Winnie asked.

  “You have such a big mouth, Clove,” Thistle complained, reaching for her juice. “Now, because of you, we have to weed the gardens today. It’s the day before Thanksgiving. Who weeds gardens in Michigan in November? It’s supposed to snow in two days. The weeds are going to die.”

  “It will keep you guys out of trouble,” Winnie said. “That’s all we care about. We have more baking to do.”

  “We didn’t even get Christmas tree cookies yesterday,” Bay said, her voice low and pitiful. “Thistle got us in trouble at dinner and then Chief Terry got us in trouble last night. We’ll never get cookies now.”

  I knew she was trying to manipulate me but I didn’t care. I … crap. I care. She knows exactly how to grab my heart and squeeze until I fall to my knees. Stupid teenagers. I swear.

  “You’ll get cookies when you act like proper young ladies and not wild witches out to torture your family,” Winnie said. “Now finish your breakfast and get to weeding.”

  “Woo-hoo.” Bay’s inflection was lifeless. “What are you doing today, Chief Terry?”

  Well, at least she was still talking to me. Kind of. “I’m spending a few hours at the station, Bay. Tonight is usually bad because this is one of the biggest party nights of the year and there are a lot of drunks on the road. I’ll be on call in case anything happens on that front. Other than that I should be done early. Why?”

  Bay shrugged. “Are you going to learn more about the con man?”

  Were we back to this? “I … .” I couldn’t take her sad face. I’m a sap. The moods of a seventeen-year-old affect me way more than they should. “I am, Bay. I’ll keep you updated if I find any information.”

  She looked markedly happier, although nowhere near her normal self. I hoped that would be remedied by the time I returned tonight. “I’ll bring you girls doughnuts when I come since you missed out on your cookies,” I added.

  Tillie made an exaggerated face that would’ve caused other men to feel shame. I wasn’t other men. I was at the mercy of three teenaged terrors. I can admit it.

  “You’re a total wuss when it comes to these girls,” Tillie said. “You know that, right?”

  I shrugged. “I like being loved. Sue me.”

  “They’re going to love you no matter what,” Tillie said. “Although, I certainly love you more thanks to the doughnuts.”

  I couldn’t hide my grin. “I guess my work here is done.”

  Seven

  I
was barely in the front door of the station when I got a call from Margaret Little. She was beside herself, ranting and raving to the point I couldn’t understand what she was saying. By the time I got to her kitschy knick-knack store (seriously, it’s full of porcelain unicorns and Precious Moments statues) she was standing on the sidewalk talking to Officer Parker. She did not look to be in a good mood, although that’s not exactly newsworthy.

  “What’s going on?”

  Parker glanced up from his notebook as I approached. “There’s been a robbery, sir.”

  A robbery? That’s practically unheard of in Walkerville. “What do you mean? Did someone shoplift something?” I had no idea who would want to steal a statue of a unicorn driving a lawnmower, but stranger things have happened.

  “Not that kind of robbery,” Parker replied.

  “They had a gun,” Margaret shrieked. “They pointed it at me and told me to empty my cash register.”

  This had to be some sort of mistake. “A gun? Like a water pistol?”

  Margaret narrowed her eyes to dangerous slits. “No, the kind that fires bullets and that I want to shoot you with,” she snapped. “A water pistol? Why can’t we have a decent police presence in this town? It’s undignified.”

  She’s a pill on a regular day. Clearly she was about to go nuclear, which means everyone should assume crash positions because she’s likely to bring a cement wall down with her tone alone.

  “Okay, slow down,” I instructed. “Tell me what happened from the beginning.”

  “I told you over the phone,” Margaret shrieked.

  “Yes, and I couldn’t understand you any better then,” I said. Patience truly is a virtue when you’re in law enforcement. Even I can’t muster patience when Margaret Little is on a tear. She sounds like she’s inhaled the helium from eight balloons and then smoked a carton of cigarettes all so she can make the most annoying sound known to man. “Just take a deep breath and tell me what happened.”

  Margaret sucked in a steadying breath, all the while glaring at me, and then launched into her tale. “I was sitting in the rocking chair by the fireplace,” she said. “I didn’t expect to be busy today – in fact I was considering closing down early, but I thought someone might stop in needing a last-minute hostess gift so I held off – and I heard the bell over the door jangle.

  “A couple came in and they were very friendly,” she continued. “They said they were staying at one of the inns and just wanted to look around. They seemed delighted with the town and how it was set up and couldn’t stop talking about how cute it was. The woman loved my stuff. They fooled me because I thought anyone who liked quality stuff like I have must be good people.

  “Anyway, the man talked to me a little when I got up to stand behind the counter,” she said. “He seemed friendly – kind of gregarious almost – and he asked about the town and what kind of business it did. I explained how everything was seasonal, and he seemed interested. He said he was a businessman and loved hearing about small businesses thriving.”

  “Okay,” I said. “When did they pull the gun?”

  “I was just standing there talking and he was fidgeting with something in his pocket,” Margaret said. “The next thing I know there’s a gun in my face and he’s telling me to empty the cash register.”

  “Was it a real gun?”

  “No, it was one of those blaster things from Star Wars,” Margaret deadpanned. “It shot lasers and they made ‘pew’ sounds as they ran around the store explaining how they were going to save the galaxy with the money. How the heck should I know? It looked like a real gun to me.”

  She was even testier than normal today, not that I could blame her. “What did the woman do while he was holding a gun on you?”

  “She watched through the front door to make sure no one headed in this direction,” Margaret replied. “She kept chatting the entire time. She was really friendly.”

  “Did you hear names?”

  Margaret shook her head. “They just referred to each other as ‘honey’ and ‘dear.’ It was as if they were trying to be cutesy and annoying.”

  That was interesting. “Did they threaten you?”

  “He said he would shoot me if I didn’t give him the money in the register,” Margaret said. “There was only fifty bucks in there, and he was miffed. He asked if I had a safe, but I told him this was Walkerville and safes aren’t really necessary in this area.”

  “Hmm.” I glanced at Parker. “Do you think this has anything to do with the case you’re fixated on?”

  “It could very well, sir,” he replied. “We obviously can’t know until we find them, though.”

  He had a point. “Can you describe them?”

  “Well, the woman was tall and had black hair, and the man was short and bald,” Margaret answered. “The thing is … I don’t think the man was really bald.”

  I stilled. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because up close I could see, like, this line right here.” Margaret gestured to a spot close to her hairline. “I think he was wearing a bald cap. He had a full beard and everything, so I just don’t think he was really hairless. He wanted me to think that was the case, you know, give me something memorable to focus on.”

  “What about the woman?” I prodded. “If you think the man was wearing a disguise, it only makes sense that she do the same.”

  “I couldn’t see her clothes or anything because she wore a trench coat, but I don’t think her hair was real either,” Margaret said. “Real hair has a certain way of flowing and this just seemed too … heavy … or something. I don’t know how to explain it.”

  Generally I wouldn’t pay much heed to Margaret’s instincts, but what she said this go around actually made sense. I know. It boggles my mind, too. “What color was the man’s beard?”

  “Brown with some gray.”

  “How old do you think they were?”

  Margaret shrugged. “I would guess they’re in their forties or so. Maybe fifty, but they didn’t seem quite that old.”

  “Okay,” I said, licking my lips. “Officer Parker is going to take your statement and give you a copy of the report for your insurance company. I’m going to go back to the station to see if I can get more concrete information on that BOLO. Is there anything else that you can think to tell me, Margaret?”

  Margaret held her hands palms up. “Just that for some reason when I looked at them they reminded me of Fred and Wilma Flintstone. They had cartoon proportions. She was tall and thin and he was shorter and fat. I have no idea why I can’t get that out of my head, but I can’t.”

  Something about that observation wormed its way into the back of my brain, but I couldn’t decide why. “Okay. I’ll be in touch.”

  I WAS focused on my computer screen an hour later, waiting for an in-depth report and sketch to come across from the state police, when a light knock at my open office door drew my attention.

  Bay, bundled in her winter coat, with a knit hat pulled low to cover her ears, shifted from one foot to the other in the doorway.

  “What’s up?”

  “I … .” Bay looked conflicted. “I came to apologize.”

  Part of me was surprised by the statement. The other part wasn’t at all. She was sensitive, and when she felt as if she hurt someone’s feelings she couldn’t let it go until she got it off her chest. I gestured toward one of the chairs across from my desk. “Sit.”

  Bay did as instructed, resting her elbows on top of her knees as she regarded me. I briefly wondered what was going through her mind. Did she think I would yell? Was she afraid I was angry? Was she still upset because she thought I betrayed her? I decided to tackle the problem head-on. “Bay, why do you think I woke your mother up to tell her what you were doing?”

  Bay blinked rapidly three times. “Um … because we broke the law.” She was searching for the answer she thought I wanted to hear.

  “Be honest, Bay,” I prodded. “Why do you really think I did it?”

 
; “Because we were bad and deserved to be punished.”

  “You’re not bad, Bay,” I said, annoyed she would think anything of the sort. I cannot fathom the mind of a teenaged girl. It is a swampy and dangerous place. “You’re just … spirited.”

  It was weird to use that word, mostly because she could actually see spirits. My mother used that word to describe me a time or two when I was a teenager. It annoyed me at the time – as it probably did Bay – but now I thought it was funny.

  “Here’s the thing, Bay. You come from an extremely loud and energetic family,” I said. “You have seven women in your house and everyone is competing to be the top dog. Family likes to needle each other. They know exactly what to do to irritate everyone else and push their buttons.

  “I don’t think you guys were stealing Tillie’s wine because you couldn’t stand to be without it or wanted to hurt someone,” I continued. “I think you stole it because you think it’s funny and you want to do what all teenagers do and enjoy something taboo.

  “Your biggest problem is that Tillie is a terrible role model,” I said. “She’s the oldest one in the family, but she often acts as if she’s the youngest. She gets off on wreaking havoc. Thistle is that way, too. You’re kind of in the middle. You like having fun and making trouble, but you’re also happy with a book and being quiet. Can you guess which one I prefer?”

  Bay’s smile was rueful. “The book?”

  I leaned back in my desk chair and rubbed the back of my neck. “You’d think that, wouldn’t you? I like it when you get in trouble, though. You have fun when Thistle thinks up devious ways to mess with Tillie.”

  Bay was surprised by my answer. “You want me to get in trouble?”

  “I don’t want you to get in big trouble,” I clarified. “I always want you to have fun, though. What you girls did last night was not big trouble. That doesn’t mean it couldn’t have led to big trouble, though. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “That we’re bad and it’s okay.”

  I shook my head. “Stop saying you’re bad,” I ordered. “You’re a good girl. Clove is a good girl, too. Thistle … well … she’s a piece of work, but when it comes down to it she’s always going to be loyal and she has a good heart. She’s just like your great-aunt.”