To Love a Witch Read online

  He reached back and linked his fingers with mine. “We will,” he agreed.

  It was only then that I realized he was providing the pep talk for his own benefit and not mine.

  CHIEF TERRY PARKED AT THE DINER so we could compare notes and discuss the case over lunch. Landon and I shared one side of a booth while he got comfortable across from us. His eyes darkened when Landon slid his arm around my shoulders and snuggled me close to his side.

  “Do you have to do that?” he complained, making a face. “We’re in public. Nobody wants to see you two all over each other like that.”

  “That’s not true,” Landon countered, grinning at the waitress, Sarah Butler, as she halted at the edge of the table and handed us a specials menu. “You want to see us all over each other, don’t you, Sarah?”

  I’d known Sarah for as long as I could remember. The diner was her baby. She was often persnickety like Aunt Tillie, but without the magic to back it up. She never failed to make me laugh, and today would be no exception.

  “I happen to love watching you two fawn all over each other,” she drawled. “Do you want to know why? I’ll tell you why. It’s because it drives certain members of this community insane.” She pointedly inclined her head toward a corner booth, where Mrs. Little sat with a few of her gossipy cohorts. “As long as they’re unhappy, I’m happy. That means I want you two to basically go at it on the table.”

  “Oh, my ... .” Chief Terry slapped a hand over his face and shook his head as he made a disgusted sound deep in his throat. “Don’t encourage them. They’ll do it just to irritate me.”

  Sarah chuckled and shook her head. “We have fish and chips, steak quesadillas, mushroom BLTs with tomato bisque, and stuffed cabbage rolls on special,” she started. “Do you all want your usual iced tea?”

  “I do,” Landon replied. “But a question: Why would you ruin a BLT with mushrooms?”

  Sarah shook her head. “It’s a house favorite. If you don’t like the mushrooms, you can have a regular BLT.”

  “You had bacon for breakfast,” I reminded him. “Maybe you should get something healthier. All that bacon is going to start catching up with you.”

  Landon looked horrified at the prospect. “Is this because I teased you about being jealous of Heather? I take it back. You would never be jealous. Now, leave my bacon alone.”

  My lips curved as I stared at the menu. “I’ll have iced tea ... and the stuffed cabbage rolls. They sound really good.”

  “Fish and chips for me,” Chief Terry said, leaning back in his chair. “Just out of curiosity, have you met the new woman living by the old campground out at the lake? The one who bought the Lakin house?”

  Sarah wrinkled her nose. If she was bothered by the conversational shift, she didn’t show it. “I’ve met her a few times. She’s been hanging around town, trying to get to know people. She mentioned opening a store a few days ago because she’s in love with Margaret’s shop.”

  I pinned Landon with a triumphant look. “I told you she was nuts.”

  He held up his hands in a placating manner. “I stand corrected.”

  Sarah smirked. “She claims to have a bunch of money from her divorce. She’s not ashamed to brag about it. I heard her trying to entice Margaret into a conversation, but she wasn’t having much luck. I think that’s because Margaret tried to buy the house before Heather. Financing slowed things down and by the time Margaret worked things out Heather was already two days from closing.”

  “Thank you so much for spreading my private business all over town,” Mrs. Little drawled from the other side of the diner, her expression dark. I was surprised she could hear from so far away, but, like Aunt Tillie, her hearing was only an issue when someone was spouting something she didn’t want to hear. “You have no idea how much I appreciate that, Sarah.”

  For her part, Sarah was unbothered by Mrs. Little’s admonishment. “It was my pleasure.” She winked at us and gathered the menus. “What about you, handsome? You’re the only one who hasn’t ordered.”

  Landon blew out a sigh. “I can’t have mushrooms on a BLT. That completely ruins the sandwich. And you don’t pair tomato soup with a BLT. It goes with a grilled cheese.”

  “You’re being awfully picky about your food,” Sarah pointed out. “Are you having sympathy cravings with Clove now that she’s pregnant? That’s the only reason I can see whining the way you are.”

  Landon scowled. “I’ll have a cheeseburger with everything and an order of fries.”

  “Hold the onions on that cheeseburger,” I ordered, poking his side. “He doesn’t need the onions.”

  My attempt at flirty banter had the desired effect on him, because Landon’s smile was back as he squeezed me close. “Hold the onions,” he agreed, his eyes drifting to Mrs. Little, who watched us with unveiled annoyance. “Why were you interested in that house?” he asked. “I get that it’s pretty, but that’s a haul for you. It doesn’t seem practical given the fact that you’re in town eight times a day.”

  “Why do you care?” Mrs. Little shot back. “You have your property on the lake. Mind your own business.”

  Something occurred to me. “That’s why she wants it,” I offered. “We bought the property she wanted and now she’s determined to get out there through other means.”

  “That doesn’t make much sense,” Landon argued. “She said she wanted the old campground because she wanted to lease the property to the town for satellite festivals. You can’t do that with the property Heather bought.”

  He had a point. I pursed my lips as I regarded Mrs. Little, who suddenly found something fascinating on her plate to steal her attention. “I guess I don’t know.”

  “I know.” Chief Terry looked smug as he glanced between Landon and Mrs. Little. “How much will you give me if I tell you?”

  Landon frowned. “Are you trying to blackmail me? What do you want?”

  “I want you to stop feeling up my sweetheart over lunch because it’s giving me indigestion.”

  Landon snorted. “No deal. There’s nothing you have to offer that will stop me from enjoying my time with Bay. Besides, you’re going to tell us regardless.”

  Chief Terry looked offended. “How do you know that?”

  “Because you’re just as chatty as the women you spend all your time with,” Landon replied without hesitation. “Just tell us what you know.”

  “Fine.” Chief Terry shot one more dark look at the hand Landon was using to rub the back of my neck. “You two are officially gross. I want you to know that.”

  “We’re willing to accept our lot in life,” Landon replied. “Why did Mrs. Little want the Lakin house? I mean, other than the obvious. It’s gorgeous, but I’m pretty sure she doesn’t have the money to buy it.”

  “That wouldn’t be a problem if she found the treasure,” Chief Terry said, his eyes sparkling.

  “Treasure?” Landon shifted his gaze to me. “Do I even want to know what he’s talking about?”

  I hesitated. “I’m not sure,” I admitted. “What treasure are you referring to?”

  “The treasure of Arlen Topper.”

  The name sparked something deep in the recesses of my mind. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about,” I said. “I feel like I should know that name, but I can’t remember the story.”

  “I’m disappointed in you,” Chief Terry chided, wagging his finger. “You should remember better than anyone given the fact that Tillie took you out hunting for the treasure every single day for three months straight when you were a kid.”

  “She did?”

  “Who is Arlen Topper?” Landon asked.

  “He was a local folk hero in these parts about a hundred and twenty years ago, but his story didn’t make it to other parts of the state.”

  “Yeah, I need more than that,” Landon prodded.

  “He was a pirate.” Chief Terry smirked as confusion caused Landon’s eyebrows to knit. I, on the other hand, finally remembered where I knew
the name from.

  “Oh.” I bobbed my head, grinning. “I remember now. But the story is a bit fuzzy. Arlen was a pirate and he supposedly stashed his booty somewhere around Walkerville. People thought it was out by the lake because he had a house somewhere out there.”

  “Nobody knows exactly where the house was,” Chief Terry said. “It supposedly burned down, and because Arlen was the ornery sort, he was the only one on the lake at the time.”

  I nodded. “I want to research that story when I get back to the office. I completely forgot about it.”

  “I’m still confused,” Landon countered. “How can you have a pirate in an inland state? Pirates sail the oceans.”

  “He was a Great Lakes pirate,” Chief Terry explained. “Believe it or not, there were pirates on the Great Lakes. He got rich attacking ships and stealing their freight.”

  “And he ended up in Walkerville?” Landon didn’t look convinced. “Why?”

  “The secret port,” I volunteered, grinning as the memories flooded back. “That inlet by the lighthouse has a storied history. Boats can’t be seen by patrol ships and the cove was a secret for a long time. Only locals knew about it. That made it an enticing place to hide from the authorities.”

  “Huh.” Landon rubbed his chin. “And what does Arlen Topper have to do with Valerie Lennox’s death?”

  “Nothing,” I reassured him. “It just explains why Mrs. Little wanted the property. There’s a rumor that Arlen buried his money out there. If that’s true and someone manages to find it, they’ll be set for life.”

  “Wait ... does that mean if the money is on our property we can use it to build our house?” Landon’s eyes lit up. “That might be fun.”

  I chuckled. “It might, but I’m pretty sure Aunt Tillie went over every inch of our property years ago. If she couldn’t find it, I guarantee it’s not there.”

  “I guess.” Landon’s lips curved down. “It’s still fun to dream about.”

  He wasn’t wrong. “Keep dreaming then.” I patted his knee under the table.

  “I already have everything I want,” he reassured me, briefly resting his forehead against mine. “The money would be a bonus.”

  “Don’t make me come over there,” Chief Terry barked. “I will throw water on you if I have to.”

  That made me laugh.

  “You have to get over it,” Landon admonished, shooting an annoyed glare in Chief Terry’s direction. “We’re not going to change.”

  “We’ll just see about that.”

  Eight

  Research on the Walkerville Wanderer — that was Arlen Topper’s pirate name, which was a bit of a disappointment — was slow going. I would’ve preferred tapping The Whistler’s resident ghost Viola for information, but she was nowhere to be found. The one time I actually needed her, I couldn’t find her.

  After two hours of poring over old copies of the newspaper and painstakingly flipping through old records, I was frustrated. I decided to take a break and picked up coffee from the local shop to take to Hypnotic, the magic store Clove and Thistle owned. I expected to find them arguing about Clove’s redecorating attempt when I walked through the door.

  Instead, they were arguing about something else.

  “I’m not babysitting that kid,” Thistle supplied, the obstinate tilt of her chin telling me this argument had been going on for some time. “It’s simply not going to happen.”

  “Of course you’re going to babysit.” Clove sat on the couch, her feet propped on the coffee table, and paged through a catalog. She looked relaxed, happy even, and she beamed at me. “Hey, Bay. You’re going to babysit for me, right?”

  “Probably not.” I placed the drink carrier on the center of the table. “I’ve got your caffeine fixes. You can thank me with information.”

  Thistle arched an eyebrow. “Maybe I don’t want to share information. Have you ever considered that?”

  “You like to gossip with the rest of us.” I flopped into the open chair at the center of the furniture configuration. “So, does anybody want to hear about my day?”

  “We’re talking about me right now,” Clove replied. “I’m feeling sad because no one wants to take care of my baby to give me a break. It’s horrible feeling unloved.” She rubbed her rounded stomach, making me think she was talking to the baby rather than us. “It’s enough to make me depressed.”

  “Oh, geez.” Thistle rolled her eyes. “This is going to be the longest three months of our lives. You realize that, don’t you?”

  It took me a moment to realize she was talking to me. “It’s going to be an adventure,” I said with a smirk. “Seriously, though, don’t you want to hear about my day?”

  “I want to talk about the baby,” Clove countered, waving the catalog for emphasis. “Sam says we can start picking out stuff for a nursery. I need help.”

  “And nobody but you cares,” Thistle shot back. “I want to hear about Bay’s day.”

  “Since when do you care about other people’s feelings?” Clove asked suspiciously.

  “Since it has to be better than listening to you wax poetic about salmon pink versus baby pink,” Thistle said, pinning me with a desperate look. “Please tell me there’s an evil witch out to kill us. I’ll take any distraction to get away from Clove right now.”

  Amusement rolled through me as I glanced between them. I’d missed this while Clove was on her honeymoon. Thistle and I enjoyed arguing as much as anybody else in the family — which was saying something, because the Winchesters could all medal if arguing was an Olympic sport — but if we didn’t have a third person to create uneven teams it wasn’t nearly as much fun. “Well, they identified the body we found at the camp.”

  “I heard.” Thistle grabbed her coffee and sat in the chair across from me. “Valerie Lennox. I didn’t know much about her. She always seemed nice.”

  “I think she might’ve been a bit of a nut.” I told them about what I’d learned, leaving nothing out. When I got to the part about Heather, Clove was appropriately annoyed on my behalf.

  “I can’t believe Landon flirted with her,” she said, her expression dark. “That is just ... the worst. He did that right in front of you?”

  “He wasn’t really flirting with her,” I hedged, feeling foolish now for sharing that part of the story. I’d probably exaggerated a bit ... or a lot. My dislike of the woman was on full display and I was starting to project emotions that might not have been based in fact. “She was flirting with him, but it wasn’t exactly sexual. It was more ‘I’m too cute to be a murderer’ than anything else.”

  “She sounds like an idiot,” Thistle noted. “Is it possible she’s not smart enough to have carried out a murder? I mean, she doesn’t sound as if this is in her wheelhouse to plan.”

  “Unless it was all an act.”

  “Do you think it was an act?”

  “I don’t know.” It was hard for me to differentiate fact from fiction given how much I disliked the woman. “I mean, considering where we found Valerie’s body, I’m not sure we’re dealing with a smart individual.”

  “She would have to be an absolute moron to think she could get away with killing Valerie with what was going on with Eric,” Thistle argued, leaning back in her chair. “What do we know about him?”

  I shrugged. “He was a few years ahead of me in high school. We never hung out or anything.”

  “I remember him being hot,” Clove offered. “Is he still hot?”

  “His hair is starting to go gray,” I replied.

  “That means he could turn into a silver fox. I happen to like a silver fox.”

  “Oh, geez.” Thistle looked disgusted. “Are the pregnancy hormones kicking in or something? I think this is about the tenth time today you’ve talked about hot dudes and silver foxes.”

  “I’m pretty sure I haven’t mentioned any other silver foxes,” Clove fired back, indignant.

  Thistle was defiant. “George Peterson.”

  Clove cringed. “I did
n’t say he was a silver fox. I said I bet he was ... like twenty years ago. He’s eighty now.”

  I was curious. “Why were you talking about George Peterson?”

  “We were trying to find a date for Aunt Tillie now that she seems to have given Kenneth the boot for good,” Thistle replied. “There aren’t a lot of options, so we thought a deaf guy who was also half blind might be our best bet.”

  I could see that. “Let’s go back to talking about me,” I said. “I think there’s a very real chance Valerie is turning into a poltergeist.”

  I expected exclamations of worry — at least from Clove — but they both merely stared.

  “A poltergeist,” I repeated. “That’s a really bad ghost.”

  Thistle snorted. “We’re not idiots. We’ve seen poltergeists before.”

  “We’ve also seen you and Aunt Tillie beat the crap out of them,” Clove offered. “I’m the first to worry — we all know it’s true — but I can’t get worked up over this. If she’s a poltergeist, we’ll just send her over and call it a day.”

  I was flabbergasted. “Since when aren’t you afraid of ghosts?”

  “Since you’re now the ghost whisperer,” Thistle replied simply. “Not only can you talk to ghosts, you can control them. I’m assuming it’s the same for poltergeists. If she’s bothering you, just order her to knock it off. Easy-peasy.”

  That hadn’t occurred to me. “You know I don’t like controlling them,” I said. “It feels somehow ... wrong.”

  “Yes, but we’re not talking about some random ghost minding its own business,” Thistle pointed out. “We’re talking about a potential poltergeist that could turn violent. You don’t have to do anything until you figure out exactly what’s going on with Valerie. Nobody is saying you have to banish her to another world right this second or anything. We’re simply saying it’s an option should things get out of hand.”

  And another point for my cousins. I was starting to regret my visit. “Do you guys remember the story of Arlen Topper?” I decided to change the subject.

  “Is he the guy who is talking about rebuilding the blacksmith shop?” Clove asked.