4 Witching On A Star Page 7

“Our Aunt Tillie doesn’t have dementia,” I said, finally speaking for the first time since Sam entered Hypnotic. “She’s not crazy.”

  Thistle raised her eyebrows. “Well, she doesn’t have dementia,” I corrected myself quickly. “She’s just set in her ways.”

  “Then why does Brian think she has dementia?” Sam looked embarrassed. I didn’t blame him.

  “Because she terrorizes him,” I admitted. “She thinks it’s fun.”

  Sam broke into a wide grin. “Well, I can’t wait to meet her then.”

  “Yeah, it will be fun,” Thistle agreed. “I’d open with that whole bit about her having dementia and see how it goes from there. She’s going to love spending time with you.”

  Sam frowned at Thistle. “Have I done something to offend you?”

  “No,” Clove said hurriedly. “She’s just grumpy by nature.”

  “I am not.”

  “You are, too,” Clove argued.

  Thistle turned to me angrily. “Bay, am I grumpy by nature?”

  I shrugged. Really, what did she want me to say to that? Thankfully, I didn’t have to vocally answer Thistle’s query because the wind chimes over the door were clanging to announce the arrival of someone new. I glanced at the door and saw Landon standing in the entryway watching everyone curiously. “Hey,” I said in surprise. “I didn’t know you were in town today.”

  “I don’t have anything going on,” Landon said, his eyes never leaving Sam Cornell’s face as he made his way over to me. “I thought I would join the three of you for lunch.”

  “How did you know I would be here?”

  Landon finally turned his full attention to me and smiled as he tipped my chin up and gave me a quick kiss of greeting. “Where else would you be?”

  “I guess I’m predictable,” I said.

  “That’s not the word I would use,” Landon said, slinging an arm over my shoulders and then turning back to Sam. “And who is this?”

  “This is Sam Cornell,” Clove said, a hint of wistful whimsy in her tone. “He’s in town to see about expanding The Whistler to three days of publication a week. Brian Kelly hired him.”

  Landon’s lips tightened. He wasn’t exactly a fan of Brian. “Really? That seems like a waste of time.”

  Sam met Landon’s gaze curiously. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because Bay has trouble filling one paper a week,” Landon replied smoothly. “How is she going to fill three?”

  “That’s one of the things we’re here to discus,” Sam said, refusing to rise to Landon’s bait. “I won’t know exactly what is feasible until I spend some time in Hemlock Cove and get a feel for the area.”

  “Well, this is pretty much it,” Landon said snidely. “If you’ve walked down Main Street, you have a feel for the town.”

  “For someone that obviously spends a lot of time here, you have a low opinion of the area,” Sam challenged him.

  “I don’t have a low opinion of the area,” Landon replied easily. “I happen to love the area. I like the people. I like the peace. I’m rather fond of the newspaper,” Landon winked at me. “I don’t think it needs to be changed.”

  “What? The paper or the town?” Sam asked curiously.

  “Either,” Landon said.

  I glanced over at Thistle. She was watching the verbal exchange between the two men with as much interest as I was. Clove only appeared interested in looking Sam up and down, paying particular interest to his rear. I had a feeling that she wasn’t even aware of the fact that Landon and Sam were trying to slap each other down with words.

  “Anyone hungry?” I broke in suddenly. I didn’t want this exchange to devolve anymore that it already had.

  “I am,” Thistle said, catching on to my intentions immediately. “You want Thai?”

  “Sounds good,” I agreed, tugging on Landon’s arm to draw him over to the counter and away from Sam. “What do you want?”

  Landon glanced down at the menu Thistle was spreading out and pointed to the Pad Thai. I ordered the same, while Thistle tried to cajole Clove over to the counter to place her order. Clove wasn’t about to be deterred, though. “You want to have lunch with us, Sam?” Clove offered.

  Sam shifted his gaze between the four of us at the counter and then smiled widely. “That sounds delicious. I’ll have whatever . . . I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?” He turned to Landon expectantly.

  “Landon Michaels.”

  “I’ll have whatever he’s having.”

  “You don’t even know what he pointed to,” Thistle grumbled.

  “I’m not picky.”

  Sam sauntered over to a chair and sat down, linking his fingers together and placing them on his stomach as he watched the rest of us uncomfortably order lunch and then join him in the little den area.

  “So, how long are you going to be in town?” Clove asked, slipping into the chair next to Sam.

  “It depends,” Sam replied. “Probably a few weeks. I have to earn my money, after all.”

  Landon sat on end of the couch farthest away from Sam. I thought it was an unconscious attempt to put distance between the two of them, but then I realized it was actually so Landon would have a better view of Sam in all of his smug glory. I joined Landon on the couch, making room for Thistle to sit on the other side of me. Once everyone was situated, the room lapsed into uncomfortable silence.

  Sam was the first to break. “So, tell me about your family?”

  “Why?” Thistle asked derisively.

  “I don’t know, I’m just fascinated, that’s all,” Sam said. “Especially now that I know your Aunt Tillie really isn’t mentally ill.”

  Landon barked out a laugh. “Who told you that?”

  “Brian told him she had dementia,” I explained.

  “Oh, I can’t wait until she hears that,” Landon smirked. “That’s going to send her on a tear.”

  “You know her?” Sam looked surprised.

  “I’ve spent some time with her,” Landon said cagily. “She’s Bay’s aunt, after all, and there are a lot of family dinners.”

  “So, you’re Bay’s boyfriend?” The question was pointed.

  I watched Landon curiously to see how he would answer. We’d never really defined our relationship. We were just suddenly together.

  “I am,” Landon replied easily.

  “For how long?”

  “What?”

  “How long have you been together?” Sam kept pushing.

  “A few months,” Landon said. “Is there a reason why you care?”

  “Just curious,” Sam replied. “I wasn’t aware Bay had a boyfriend. Brian never mentioned it.”

  “Well, Brian is a douche,” Landon wrinkled his nose distastefully.

  “You don’t like him?”

  “Let’s just say we’re not going to set a golf date anytime soon,” Landon said.

  “And what do you do for a living?”

  “I’m with the FBI,” Landon said pointedly.

  “Really?” Sam looked genuinely surprised.

  “Really,” Landon nodded his head.

  “And how did you and Bay meet?”

  “Oh, that’s a fun story,” Clove clapped. I figured she was trying to draw Sam’s attention back to her.

  “Why don’t you tell it, Clove,” Thistle interjected dryly.

  Clove didn’t need another opening. She launched into the story with gusto. By the time she got to the end, I was relieved she had left any magical bits out – because she had went into great detail on just about everything else. At least she hadn’t completely lost her mind in the shade of Sam Cornell’s brown eyes. When she was done, she turned to Sam expectantly. “It’s that romantic?”

  Landon snorted. “I don’t remember thinking it was that romantic when I had a bullet in me.”

  “Well, it all worked out,” Clove sniffed.

  Landon cast a sidelong glance at me. “Yeah, it definitely worked out.”

  “I’m just fascinated with your f
amily,” Sam said suddenly. “You have roots to this area that stretch back centuries, right?”

  “We do,” Clove agreed. “We’ve been here for years.”

  “How did you know that?” Thistle was on edge again.

  “I’ve just done some light reading on the area,” Sam said smoothly – although I sensed an evasive quality to his words. “I’m a history buff.”

  “Me, too,” Clove smiled.

  “Since when?” Thistle challenged her. “Your idea of history is watching Downton Abbey.”

  “That is history,” Clove grumbled.

  “Not really,” Thistle shot back.

  “What do you know about the history in this area?” Sam broke in quickly.

  “It was mostly uninhabited until the early 1930s,” I replied. “There were small homesteads and families, but no real town so to speak.”

  “That’s interesting,” Sam mused. “From some of the stuff I read, even though there wasn’t an actual town here, there was a real sense of community.”

  “In what way?”

  “Well, the homesteaders in this immediate area were believed to be performing witchcraft,” Sam said, suggestively waggling his eyebrows in Clove’s direction. “Real black magic and stuff. That’s why they thrived when others were failing. Or that’s how the legend goes, anyway.”

  I felt Landon stiffen next to me. “You don’t believe in that stuff, do you?”

  “Of course not,” Sam shook his head. “It’s still fascinating to think about. The people in this area did so well that the people in the outlying area thought they were using magic to grow their crops and thrive. That just makes a great story, doesn’t it?”

  “I guess it depends on who you’re asking,” Landon replied carefully.

  “Well, I think it makes a great story,” Sam said, his attention turning to the front door as the delivery boy arrived with our food. “I’d like to buy everyone lunch as a thank you for the warm welcome.” He got to his feet and moved towards the delivery boy – Clove right on his heels.

  “That is so nice,” she cooed as she followed him.

  Once he was out of earshot, Landon turned to me. “Well, he’s up to something.”

  “See,” I shot my tongue out at Thistle. “I told you.”

  “I’ll never doubt you again,” Thistle mumbled. “What do we do?”

  “Let me run a background check on him,” Landon said. “I’ll know more tonight. Just be careful around him.”

  The sound of Clove giggling filled the air. Landon scowled. “And pull Clove away from him somehow.”

  “Any suggestions on that?” I asked.

  Landon looked dubious. “Can’t you put a spell on her or something?”

  “What? A He Stinks spell?” Thistle looked agitated.

  “I don’t know,” Landon shrugged. “Like maybe make her think she’s smelling garbage whenever he’s near her or something. Or maybe make her want to throw up when he looks at her. Or, can’t you give her like a month-long period so she’s crabby and wants to stay in bed with a heating pad all day until he leaves?”

  Thistle and I exchanged surprised glances.

  “You’re more devious than I initially gave you credit for,” Thistle said finally. “I like it. We’ll talk to Aunt Tillie and see what she can do.”

  “We’re going to go to Aunt Tillie and ask her to curse Clove?” I bit my lower lip. I didn’t like that idea.

  “Do we have a lot of other options?”

  “No,” I shook my head. “Fine. We’ll go to Aunt Tillie.”

  “She’s going to hold this over our heads forever,” Thistle complained.

  “There are worse things,” Landon interjected, never moving his eyes from Sam as he and Clove moved back towards us with the bags of food. “Trust me, there are worse things.”

  Ten

  After lunch, I made an excuse so I wouldn’t have to go back to The Whistler with Sam. Instead, I returned to the guesthouse and worked from home for the rest of the afternoon. Landon said he was going to check on a few things and then meet me up at the inn for family dinner. Once he’d decided that Sam was up to something, that idea was all he could focus on.

  I had been working at home for a few hours when I heard Thistle and Clove return. It’s not like I could have missed them, they were squabbling like a couple of cats in a bathtub.

  “You don’t even know him,” Clove complained bitterly. “You just don’t like him on general principle.”

  “That’s not true,” Thistle shot back. “I don’t like him because I’ve met him and he’s shady.”

  “How is he shady?”

  “Were you even listening to the conversation? He practically asked us if we were witches.”

  “He did not,” Clove looked horrified. “He’s a history lover. That’s not a bad thing. You’re just looking for a reason to dislike him.”

  “He sees ghosts and he’s a history lover?” Thistle challenged her.

  “We don’t know that he sees ghosts, Bay just suspects that,” Clove whined. “Bay, back me up here.”

  I glanced between the two of them. “We don’t know that he sees ghosts,” I said finally. “Maybe I’m just projecting.”

  Thistle opened her mouth to argue, but I silenced her with a wave of my hand. “We also don’t know that he’s not up to something. We’re just asking you to think about it and stay away – at least until we know more.”

  Clove didn’t look happy with the suggestion. “Fine,” she said. “I just think you guys are suspicious of everyone, though.”

  “With good reason,” Thistle grumbled.

  “We’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?” Clove countered angrily. “And, when I’m right, I’m going to make you both do a little song and dance number telling me I’m right.”

  “We’ll be happy to,” Thistle said boldly. I could tell she didn’t believe, even for a second, that she would ever have to make good on that promise.

  TWO HOURS later, the three of us let ourselves into the back door of the inn – the one that led into the family living quarters – and we were still fighting. For a change, none of us were fighting aloud, though. Instead, we were fighting with our silence. That was something that wasn’t lost on Aunt Tillie – who was parked in front of the television watching Jeopardy.

  “What are you three fighting about?”

  “Who says we’re fighting?” Thistle asked in surprise.

  “Usually you’re all gossiping like a bunch of clucking hens when you come in here,” Aunt Tillie replied, her eyes never moving from the television. “I usually have to tell you to quiet down so I can watch my show. Not today, though.”

  “That doesn’t mean we’re fighting,” I said wearily. “Maybe we’re just tired.”

  “That never stopped you before,” Aunt Tillie pointed out. “Sometimes you even fight in your sleep.”

  She had a point. Not about the fighting in our sleep thing – that was a gross exaggeration – but about the other stuff.

  “I met a new man today and Bay and Thistle don’t like him,” Clove announced boldly, shooting daggers in our direction as she did.

  “We didn’t say we don’t like him,” I protested weakly.

  “We just said we’re suspicious of him,” Thistle added.

  “Why don’t you like him?” Aunt Tillie was suddenly interested.

  “He’s just a little off,” I replied.

  “I am not going to sit here and listen to the two of you malign his character,” Clove sniffed angrily. “You don’t need me for that.” With those words, she flounced through the door that led to the kitchen, leaving Thistle and me to tell Aunt Tillie our problems.

  Not surprisingly, Thistle was the one to launch the verbal offensive. When she was done, Aunt Tillie was flabbergasted. “Brian told him I have dementia?”

  “That’s what you’re worried about?” Thistle asked dubiously. “Not that this guy just might see ghosts and that he’s questioning us about the witchy history
of this area? The real witchy history?”

  “I don’t have dementia,” Aunt Tillie replied angrily. “That Brian Kelly is going to wish I did have dementia by the time I’m done with him.”

  I thought about trying to talk her out of whatever revenge was boiling in her brain at the moment, but I couldn’t muster the energy. Besides, I wasn’t thrilled with Brian myself, at this point. Maybe cursing him would make him see reason – and send Sam Cornell out of town. Hey, a girl can hope.

  We left Aunt Tillie to plot her revenge. I realized we hadn’t asked her for a curse to thwart Clove’s romantic aspirations towards Sam. I was hoping it wouldn’t ultimately be necessary, I guess. Plus, teaming up with Aunt Tillie against Clove seemed like a step backwards. We had always been a three-pronged united front against her. Breaking up into a smaller faction and working with her just seemed wrong.

  Once I stepped in the kitchen, I heard Clove complaining to her mother that Thistle and I were being mean to her.

  “They treat me like I’m a child. I’m not even the youngest one. Thistle is the youngest one. She should be the one treated like a child.”

  Marnie didn’t look impressed with Clove’s complaints. “Can’t you three just get along? You don’t see your aunts and I squabbling like this.”

  Thistle rolled her eyes. “Not today. Give it time, though.”

  “Thanks for your input, fresh mouth,” my mom smacked Thistle on the back of the head lightly as she moved behind her. “You guys just seem to enjoy fighting with one another.”

  “I wonder where we learned that from,” I teased my mother.

  “We don’t fight,” my mother disagreed.

  “Really? Maybe I should invite Chief Terry for dinner so you guys can play musical chairs to see who gets to sit next to him?”

  “That’s not a fight,” Twila chimed in from her place by the sink.

  “Of course it’s not,” my mom agreed. “I’ve already won.”

  “You have not, Winnie,” Marnie said snidely. “As long as I have these,” she grabbed her heaving – and yes, impressive – bosom with both hands. “You’re not even in the running.”

  My mom glanced down at her much smaller chest ruefully. “Terry is a man of substance,” she said finally. “He’s not mesmerized by your boobs like everyone else in town.”