Wicked Witches of the Midwest Mystery Box Set Page 7

  Sadly, he was probably right. “It can’t hurt to ask nicely,” I hedged.

  “No. But when that doesn’t work we’ll put our heads together and bribe her.”

  “That sounds like a plan.”

  IT WAS EARLY IN the week, which meant The Overlook was mostly devoid of guests. Still, the dining room buzzed with energy when we finally found everyone grouped together. The family living quarters and kitchen were empty — making me wonder if the apocalypse had finally begun — but the voices on the other side of the swinging door told me something else was going on.

  “I was thinking we could get married in the garden here,” Clove supplied, a magazine open on the table in front of her. Mom, Marnie and Twila grouped around and stared over her shoulder as she tapped a page in the periodical. “Wouldn’t something like this be perfect?”

  “That is lovely,” Marnie agreed, her hand on Clove’s shoulder. She looked thrilled about her only daughter’s upcoming nuptials. “You can even put flowers in your hair. It will be beautiful.”

  Aunt Tillie snorted from her spot at the head of the table. “If she wears flowers in her hair she’ll end up with bees up her nose.”

  “She will not,” Marnie fired back, her eyes flashing. “Stop being a pain.”

  Hmm. That was interesting. “Why are you being a pain?” I asked as I crossed behind Aunt Tillie and took my usual spot at the table, allowing Landon to sit at my left and Aunt Tillie’s right. “Why aren’t you looking at the magazine with everybody else?”

  “Why aren’t you?” Aunt Tillie shot back.

  “We just got here,” Landon reminded her. “I’m more interested in breakfast ... where is the food?” He looked lost when he realized there was no bacon to munch on.

  “Once Clove got here food preparations ceased,” Aunt Tillie replied. “It’s been an hour of ‘look at those flowers’ and ‘I think you should wear a tiara and go sleeveless.’” Aunt Tillie’s wrinkled nose told me exactly what she thought of those suggestions. “No one cares that I’m old and starving to death.”

  Aunt Tillie only referred to herself as “old” when she was feeling whiny.

  “So, your nose is out of joint because everyone has forgotten about you this morning.” I surmised.

  “Of course not.”

  “That’s exactly what’s wrong with her,” Mom snapped. “That’s why we’re ignoring her.”

  “I get ignoring her,” Landon interjected. “Why are you ignoring me? Where is the bacon?”

  Mom let loose a long-suffering sigh, one she’d perfected to the point it caused a shiver to run down my spine. “I will get your bacon, Landon. I would hate for you to have to wait.”

  Landon smiled. “I’m willing to get my own bacon. Tell me where it is.”

  Mom studied him for a moment. “It’s warming in the oven. Don’t eat the entire pan.”

  “I’m on it.” Landon happily hopped to his feet. He pressed a hand to my shoulder when I moved to follow. “Stay here and talk to Aunt Tillie. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  I knew exactly what he wanted me to talk to Aunt Tillie about, and suddenly I was nervous. “Okay.” I forced a smile for his benefit and waited until he was out of the room to focus on my great-aunt. “So ... how’s life?”

  “It sucks,” Aunt Tillie replied. “I want to buy a pet pig, but your mother and her sisters have vetoed it. Can you believe that?”

  There was very little about life at The Overlook that I couldn’t believe. “Why do you want a pig?”

  “They make fabulous sidekicks and they’re cleaner than dogs.”

  “And why won’t you let her have a pig?” I asked Mom.

  “Because she won’t take care of it and they need room to move around. We have the room, but no one to watch it.”

  “Yeah, but ... with a pig you might eliminate the inn’s food waste,” I pointed out. “They’re garbage disposals. They’re also supposed to be smart. I don’t necessarily think a pig is that big a deal.”

  “Are you going to help her take care of it?” Mom challenged.

  Ugh. I should’ve expected that question. “Maybe,” I hedged, sliding my eyes to Aunt Tillie. “Let me think about it.”

  “Well, then think about it.” Mom promptly turned back to Clove’s wedding plans and forgot I was in the room.

  “You seem agitated,” Aunt Tillie said after a beat, tilting her head to the side. “You don’t have to be worked up about the pig. I’m getting that pig whether they say I can or not. I’m an adult. I have rights.”

  I wasn’t worried about the pig in the least. “I need your help,” I admitted, tamping down my worry and forcing myself to do the unthinkable and ask for a favor. “I’m having trouble with the necromancer stuff. It’s not as easy as I thought it would be.”

  Aunt Tillie snorted. “You never thought it would be easy,” she countered. “You simply wanted to pretend it wasn’t happening for a bit. You were overwhelmed, and like you always do when things get too hard, you took a step back and pretended nothing had changed. That’s your normal way of dealing with things.”

  I wasn’t a fan of her tone ... or words ... or the fact that she had a point. “I used ghosts to kill a guy. Actually, he was more of a kid than a man. I needed time to settle.”

  “He was a murderer who couldn’t be helped,” Aunt Tillie corrected. “But I get what you’re saying. The truth is, this isn’t a big change. It’s not a shift in powers. It’s an addition.”

  “Does that make it better?”

  Aunt Tillie shrugged. “I think it’s better. In fact, I think it’s kind of cool. Do you think you can raise the ghost of a really annoying person — think those big booty girls on television who are only famous for being in sex videos and having bad taste in men — and send her over to haunt Margaret Little? I think that would be a great way to test your powers.”

  When Aunt Tillie found a topic she enjoyed, she rarely let it go.

  “I think I’ll pass on that right now. I’m dealing with another ghost.” I told her about Mike Hopper, and what had happened in the hours surrounding his death. “So, apparently I’m calling to ghosts without realizing it,” I finished. “That can’t be normal, right?”

  Aunt Tillie pursed her lips. “I don’t know about it being normal. It is cool. Do you think you can do that haunted voice thing to scare Margaret?”

  “No! Forget about Mrs. Little!”

  “Don’t take that tone with me.” Aunt Tillie extended a warning finger. “I’m trying to help.”

  “You’re trying to drive me crazy.”

  “Actually, that’s only a side benefit.” She cocked her head as she absently scratched at her cheek. “The truth is, I don’t know how to help you.” Her tone was low, serious. “To my knowledge, we’ve never had a necromancer in the family. Do you know how rare necromancers are?”

  “No.” I shifted on my chair, uncomfortable. “If we’ve never had a necromancer in the family before, why is this happening to me?”

  “You’re special.”

  “That’s just a lame way of saying that you have no idea why this happened.”

  “I believe I already said that ... and I’m never lame.” Aunt Tillie fixed me with a pointed look. “We’ll figure it out. You can’t turn into a spaz if you expect us to solve your little problem. That’s not how this works. We need to be calm and regal. That’s how Winchesters roll.”

  I gestured toward her shirt, which sported huge alien heads where her boobs would be if they hadn’t sagged over the years. “That’s regal?”

  “I want the aliens to know I’m open to suggestions when they land,” she said. “I know you think the government really did crash a drone in that field a few weeks ago, but I know otherwise. It was aliens.”

  Oh, geez. “I can’t talk about the aliens. It gives me a headache.”

  “Fine. We’ll talk about something else. You’re clearly worked up this morning, and it’s not entirely about the necromancy thing. Something else is going
on. Why are you so out of sorts?”

  The question caught me off guard. “Isn’t controlling the dead enough to worry about for one day?”

  “You would think, but I’m a great multi-tasker,” she drawled. “Your nose is out of joint. I don’t like it.”

  Landon picked that moment to swing back into the room, his arms laden with platters of food. “I’ve got bacon ... hash browns ... eggs ... and sausage links.”

  Mom spared him a glance. “You forgot the toast.”

  “I only have two arms.”

  “Fine. I’ll get the toast.” Mom winked at him before disappearing into the kitchen. “I would hate for you to do without for five minutes. You might die of starvation or something.”

  “How did your talk go?” Landon asked as he returned to his chair. He’d conveniently placed the bacon platter directly in front of us, so I knew his mind would be otherwise engaged in exactly thirty seconds. “Is Aunt Tillie going to help you?”

  “She doesn’t think there’s anything to worry about,” I replied. “She thinks I should send annoying ghosts to haunt Mrs. Little.”

  “That could be fun.” He patted my knee under the table. “I’ve been telling you for weeks that there’s nothing to get worked up about.”

  That was easy for him to say. He hadn’t killed a man by wielding the souls of tormented dead girls as a heavy sword. “Yeah, well ... .”

  “She’s upset about more than her growing powers,” Aunt Tillie noted, refusing to let it go. “She’s all ... flustered. There’s something else on her mind.”

  “Oh, that.” Landon scooped eggs onto his plate, seemingly oblivious to the silent warning I was trying to send his way with my eyes. “She’s angry because Chief Terry has a new girlfriend and it’s not Winnie. Bay had big plans to control his dating life around Christmas, but it didn’t work out in her favor.”

  My eyes flew to the swinging door, where my mother stood with a platter of toast in her hand. The look on her face told me she’d heard what Landon said ... and she wasn’t any happier about the development than me.

  “What?” The single-word question came out as a strangled cry.

  “Oh, man.” Landon realized far too late that he’d stuck his foot in his mouth. It wasn’t unheard of for him to stay something stupid. In this family, those with Winchester genes usually jumped to the front of the line when it came to saying insensitive things. “I’m sorry. I ... .” He looked to me for help and found me scowling. “I’ll be the one paying for having a big mouth tonight, won’t I?”

  I nodded without hesitation. “You have no idea.”

  “Wait ... Terry is dating?” Marnie abandoned interest in her daughter’s wedding and straightened her shoulders. “Is this a joke?”

  I felt sick to my stomach. My mother and aunts had been vying for Chief Terry’s affection for so long I couldn’t remember another way of life. For them to find out this way seemed cruel. “He’s dating the woman who owns that yoga studio out on the highway.”

  “Melanie Adams?” Clove leaned forward, curious. “She’s come into the store a few times. She seems nice. I didn’t know Chief Terry was dating her.”

  “I just found out yesterday,” I muttered, staring at my empty plate.

  Landon, uncomfortable with the heavy silence that slid over the room, cleared his throat. “She seems pleasant, engaging. I’m sure everybody will like her.”

  Aunt Tillie made a derisive sound in the back of her throat. “You’re not very smart, are you, Sparky?”

  Landon glared at her. “You’re not helping.”

  “I don’t want to help you. You’re the one who stuck your big foot in your big mouth. I think you should have to clean up your mess for a change.”

  “I didn’t mean to do this,” Landon groused. “You brought up Bay being pouty. I was merely explaining why she was in a bad mood.”

  “I’m not in a bad mood!” I snapped.

  Aunt Tillie ignored my outburst. “Honestly? I didn’t know about the Terry situation, but that’s clearly part of the reason she’s moping. I simply thought she was upset about Clove getting married.”

  “Why would she be upset about Clove getting married?” Landon challenged. “Clove has been engaged for months. This is hardly news.”

  “No, but when they were engaged without a wedding date there was still a chance for Bay to be first.”

  “First to do what?” Landon queried, grabbing a slice of bacon.

  “First to get married,” Aunt Tillie replied matter-of-factly, causing my stomach to twist. “She’s the oldest. She should marry first. Clove is going to make sure that doesn’t happen. It’s no wonder Bay is embarrassed. She’s turning into a spinster.”

  I slapped my hand to my forehead and sank lower in my chair, refusing to look at Landon because I knew what expression I would find waiting for me on his chiseled face. “I can’t believe you just said that,” I muttered. “I am not jealous.”

  “Of course not.” Aunt Tillie pretended I wasn’t close to melting down and grabbed a handful of bacon, refusing to use the provided tongs. “You want Clove to be happy. You’re simply sad that you’re being left behind.”

  “I’m not being left behind.”

  “Of course you’re not. But you feel that way. Between Clove setting a date, Terry moving on with someone you don’t approve of and you being able to control the dead, you’re having quite the month.”

  I wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Or at least run back to the guesthouse so I could go to bed and pretend this morning had never happened. “I’ve had better months,” I admitted finally. “But I’m not jealous of Clove.” Finally, I summoned the courage to look at Landon and found him watching me with narrow-eyed speculation. “She’s making that up. Chief Terry dating the pretzel chick and controlling the dead are more than enough for me to worry about right now.”

  “Sure.” Landon didn’t look convinced. “Have some breakfast.” He tipped half the bacon pile from his plate to mine. “We have a lot to do today. You’ll need some energy.”

  He sounded odd, as if lost in thought. “Okay. Energy sounds good.”

  “Energy sounds great,” Aunt Tillie agreed, smiling. “So ... given the fact that everyone is stunned into silence and no longer wants to talk, I think now is the time to make plans for my pig. I’m going to name it Peg. Peg the pig. Get it? Plus, Peg is short for Margaret. It’s an insult wrapped in a cute package. Oh, and I’m going to buy it a hat.”

  Seven

  I’d left my car at The Whistler the previous night, so Landon dropped me at the office before heading to the police station. He said he would be working with Chief Terry all day and to call if Hopper showed up with any insight about his murder. He conveniently ignored Aunt Tillie’s statement about my jealousy regarding Clove’s wedding. I was thankful for that.

  I wasn’t jealous Clove was marrying before me. That was ludicrous. When she’d first announced her engagement, I figured they would wait to get married. Apparently I was wrong. Sam and Clove had been on an accelerated timetable since they started dating. I shouldn’t have been surprised that she was in a hurry to marry. Still, her announcement the previous evening had been unexpected. I wasn’t sure why.

  I spent two hours working in the office, waiting until Stella showed up to take over the spring festival edition ads for the first time without supervision. I told her to use her best judgment, and if anything was over-sexualized or seemed stalkerish to hold off booking until she checked with me. Stella was happy for extra money, however she earned it, so she merely nodded and waved as I left the building. Even though the ads were a moneymaking endeavor, I had other things to focus on ... like Mike Hopper and his murder. That clearly took priority.

  I headed toward Hopper’s house. I walked because the sun was out and it felt like a nice day. It wasn’t exactly warm, but it wasn’t frigid. It felt as if spring was just around the corner, and I couldn’t wait. As much as I loved three of Michigan’s seasons, winter was always
a bummer, thanks to longer nights and endless snow.

  It took me ten minutes to walk to the house. The front door was closed off with police tape, although there were no official vehicles on the premises. That was a relief because I was in no mood to run into Chief Terry — I just knew he would want to talk about his date — and giving Landon an opening to ask if Aunt Tillie was right about my jealousy issues seemed a poor way to start the day.

  Instead, I marched straight to Esther’s house and knocked on the door. She was retired, which meant she spent an inordinate amount of time at home. Given the way she watched the action the previous day, I knew she was interested in the investigation and I was hopeful that meant she could provide gossip for me to move on.

  It took Esther almost two minutes to open the door. She wore a housecoat and plaid slippers, and her short gray hair was wrapped around plastic curlers that had to date to the eighties. “What do you want?”

  I plastered a fake smile on my face. “Good morning, Esther. I don’t know if you remember me, but ... .”

  “You’re Tillie Winchester’s great-niece,” Esther supplied. “You’re the one who owns the newspaper. Not the ones who own the magic shop. That means I like you better than the devil worshippers.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “I hardly think Clove and Thistle are devil worshippers.”

  “That one with the purple hair looks like a devil worshipper. I watch television. I know what they look like.”

  “Her hair is more of a deep red than purple.”

  “Red is the color of the devil.”

  I pursed my lips as I changed tactics. “You’re right. She could totally be a devil worshipper. I’ll have a serious discussion about her allegiance to the Dark One the very next time I see her. That’s not really why I’m here, though.”

  “I know why you’re here.” To my utter surprise, Esther pushed open the door and turned on her heel. I remained rooted to my spot, confused about whether she wanted me to follow. “Come on, girl. You’re letting all the warm air out. I can’t afford to heat the neighborhood.”