4 Witching On A Star Page 8

  “I guess that’s why you spent an entire year doing exercises to grow yours when we were kids,” Marnie replied snottily. “I must, I must, I must increase my bust,” she sang.

  Twila laughed heartily. “That was so absurd.”

  “You did it for two years,” Marnie reminded her.

  Since Twila had the smallest amount of cleavage to boast about, I was starting to think that chant had an adverse effect.

  “What’s for dinner?” I decided to change the subject.

  “Lasagna,” my mom said. “We wanted something simple tonight. When that travel group gets here, we’re going to have to go fancy. We wanted an easy night.”

  That was fine with me. I loved lasagna.

  Everyone grabbed dishes of food, including salad, two sides of vegetables and fresh-baked bread – hey, this was simple for our family – and headed into the kitchen. Marnie paused by my mom as she cracked the door open. “I must, I must, I must increase my bust,” she chanted again, just one further dig to infuriate my mother, before practically skipping into the dining room.

  She didn’t respond, but I had a feeling Marnie was going to have some cold, hard comeuppance coming her way once we had all cleared out tonight.

  When I made my way into the dining room, I saw Landon first. I shot him a welcoming smile, but the one he sent me back wasn’t as warm. I frowned until I got a better look at the two other people sitting at the table with him. One was Brian Kelly – and Aunt Tillie had zeroed in on him the minute she saw him. The other was Sam Cornell. No way.

  “What are you doing here?” I blurted out.

  “Eating dinner?” Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Is that not allowed? I thought meals were for the guests.”

  “You’re staying here?”

  “Isn’t that a fun coincidence?” Landon grumbled from a few chairs away.

  Not really.

  “You know Sam?” My mom asked curiously, sliding the lasagna pan onto two trivets in the center of the table.

  “He’s working with Brian and me at The Whistler,” I said carefully, moving to the other side of the table and taking the open seat next to Landon. We traded tight smiles.

  “Oh, really,” my mom didn’t catch on to the sudden tension. “Doing what?”

  “We’re hoping to expand the distribution of The Whistler and print three days a week,” Brian responded excitedly. “Sam is up from Detroit to run some numbers and see if it’s a good way to go or not.”

  “Sounds like a stupid idea to me,” Aunt Tillie huffed, climbing on to her chair at the head of the table – which was conveniently located between Landon and my mother.

  Brian frowned. “You don’t think Hemlock Cove deserves a real paper?”

  “It already has a real paper,” Aunt Tillie fixed her angry eyes on him. “Unless I’m mistaken, that’s where Bay goes to work every day. Of course, I might be mistaken, what with my dementia and all.”

  Sam, who had been watching Aunt Tillie with a mixture of awe and amusement, suddenly shifted his attention to the plate in front of him.

  “Dementia?” Marnie asked, confusion written on her face. “Who said you have dementia?”

  “I’ve been saying it for years,” Thistle offered cheerfully. Everyone ignored her, though.

  “Brian told his little friend, Sam, that I had dementia and that you guys were taking care of me out of the goodness of your hearts – yeah, right -- so you didn’t have to put me in a home,” Aunt Tillie explained snottily.

  “Oh, that’s not true,” Twila said dismissively. “Brian would never say anything like that. He loves our food. Why would he? Where do you even come up with this stuff, I swear?”

  “Bay and Thistle told me.”

  “Thanks,” Thistle chimed in from her spot in the middle of the table.

  “Well, you did,” Aunt Tillie grumbled.

  “Sam told us,” I exclaimed worriedly. “It’s not like we made it up.”

  “I didn’t tell you to tell her, though,” Sam said through gritted teeth.

  “We’re family, we don’t have any secrets,” Thistle said with faux earnestness.

  “Really?” My mom raised her eyebrows doubtfully. “Did you ever tell your Aunt Tillie that you once wore one of her dresses to a high school costume contest?”

  “What’s so bad about that?” Aunt Tillie asked suspiciously.

  “She was dressed up as a clown,” my mom replied. “The one from It, if I remember right.”

  Landon was shaking with silent laughter next to me. He couldn’t help himself.

  “A clown?” Aunt Tillie glared at Thistle. “If you were dressing as a clown, why wouldn’t you raid your mother’s closet?”

  “Hey,” Twila looked hurt. “I don’t dress like a clown.”

  I glanced at her flame red hair – more Ronald McDonald than anything else – and grimaced. That was actually a good question.

  “Mom dresses with a bohemian flair,” Thistle countered. “You wear those ugly big prints and those other dresses with the big color blocks.”

  “They’re not ugly,” Aunt Tillie argued. “They’re age appropriate.”

  “If you’re dressing age appropriate these days, maybe you should start wearing underwear,” my mom suggested blithely.

  Brian and Sam looked like they wanted to be anywhere but at this particular dinner table. There was no gracious way for them to exit, though, so they started shoveling food into their mouths instead.

  “This is delicious,” Sam finally said, trying to ease the tension.

  No one acknowledged the compliment.

  “I don’t like underwear,” Aunt Tillie said. “It’s too constricting. My parts like to breathe.”

  “I didn’t need to know that,” Landon sighed.

  “I wear a bra,” Aunt Tillie continued. “Isn’t that enough?”

  “If you didn’t wear a bra, one of those things could break free and kill someone,” Marnie said. Since Marnie had the same build as Aunt Tillie, she would know. Plus, since my mother and aunts had a propensity for naked dancing under the moon in the summer – I’d seen the horrifying truth of that statement myself from time to time.

  “I think we’re getting off point,” I started.

  “The point is, I don’t have dementia,” Aunt Tillie announced, jumping to her feet. “And anyone that says that, well, I think they’re going to wish they never had.” Her eyes landed on Brian, who gulped hard when they made eye contact.

  Aunt Tillie turned on her heel and stalked out of the room. Once she was gone, my mom blew out a frustrated sigh. “And why did you tell her?”

  I couldn’t really admit that the dementia portion of the conversation had only come up because of a larger conversation regarding Sam Cornell’s possibly nefarious intentions – especially since Sam was sitting at the other end of the table. “We were just making small talk,” I said finally.

  “And that’s your idea of small talk?” My mother looked incensed.

  “You were the one that brought up her lack of underwear,” I reminded her.

  “That was a public service endeavor,” my mom said primly.

  “Whatever.” I glanced over at Landon, who could have swallowed an entire plate if he was smiling any wider. “You still think family dinners are fun?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Eleven

  “Why are you up so early?”

  I glanced back at Landon, who I had thought was still asleep in my bed when I crawled out – an hour earlier than I had initially wanted – in an effort not to wake him.

  “I have to go down to the inn this morning,” I said. “I was trying not to wake you.”

  “Why do you have to go down to the inn?”

  “They’re breaking ground on the greenhouse today, I have to be there to look over the new plans.”

  “They’re breaking ground before the plans are complete? That sounds like a bad idea,” Landon grumbled sleepily. “Why don’t you come back over here and I’ll make y
our morning a little brighter – no construction required.”

  That sounded like a heavenly idea – one I actually considered, for about two seconds, until I realized that the one sure route to a bad morning would be for my mom to come looking for me. “I have to go down there,” I replied ruefully. “You don’t want my mom to come and interrupt us, do you?”

  Landon considered the question. “I can be quick.”

  “How romantic.”

  Landon sighed. “Do you want me to come down with you?”

  “No,” I shook my head. “Just come down to the inn after you’re ready. I’m sure my mom and aunts will ply you with food before you start your day.”

  Landon’s face brightened. “Sounds good.”

  I showered quickly, slipping into simple jeans and a T-shirt, and then headed off to the inn. When I got down to the spot where the construction crew had gathered, I wasn’t surprised to see Aunt Tillie already there.

  “Why can’t we just go with my plans?” Aunt Tillie was facing off with a man in a hard hat – she was wearing her own, I might add – and she had her hands on her hips, when she wasn’t aggressively gesturing.

  “Your plans were good,” the contractor said carefully. “I think these are just a little bit better. Just look at them.”

  “I don’t want to look at them,” Aunt Tillie said stubbornly. “This is my greenhouse. I want it done my way.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I understand that,” the contractor said. “I just don’t think turrets on a greenhouse are going to work.”

  Turrets? Good grief. I picked up my pace and was between Aunt Tillie and the contractor within seconds. “Hi, I’m Bay Winchester,” I said hurriedly. “I’m here to make the hard decisions with you.”

  The contractor looked relieved. “I’m Dirk Langstrom,” he replied. “I’m with Langstrom and Sons contracting out of Traverse City. Your family hired us for this project.”

  “There was a different guy here the other day,” I started.

  “That would be my brother,” Dirk said. “He brought your aunt’s plans back and we worked on them to polish them up. We think you’re really going to like them. Your aunt won’t even look at them, though.”

  No big surprise there. “Why don’t you let me see them?”

  Dirk spread the plans out on the hood of a nearby truck. Unfortunately, I had no idea what I was looking at. Dirk seemed to guess that, so he started pointing out specific things in the design. Once he did, the plan started to take shape in my mind. “It looks really nice,” I said.

  “We even made room for the dark room over here,” he pointed. “Although I don’t know why you need a dark room in a greenhouse. Is someone a photographer?”

  “It’s not that kind of dark room,” I admitted. “That’s where Aunt Tillie makes her wine. She needs a dry and dark place to do it.”

  “She makes wine?” Dirk looked like he wanted to laugh.

  “I make the best wine in three states,” Aunt Tillie announced as she moved over to look at the plans. “In the world really.”

  Dirk took the opportunity to launch into his spiel again and, this time, Aunt Tillie paid attention. When he was done, she met his gaze evenly. “That’s exactly what I had in my plans.”

  Dirk opened his mouth to argue with her, but I shook my head to stop him. It just wasn’t worth it. Dirk caught on quickly and smiled at Aunt Tillie. “Then we’re on the same page, then?”

  “Of course,” Aunt Tillie said. “Why would you think we weren’t?”

  I left Aunt Tillie with Dirk and moved around to watch the other workers. I wasn’t sure what they were doing, but it looked like they were driving wooden stakes into the ground and winding colorful tape around the stakes to outline the edges of the greenhouse so they would have a visual reference.

  I caught a hint of movement out of the corner of my eye and turned swiftly. The prickling sensation between my shoulder blades was warning me, but I looked anyway. There she was. The little girl from the cemetery. She was back by the group of trees again – where I had seen her the first time – and she was watching me.

  I glanced around at the construction workers, but I wasn’t even a blip on their radar. I carefully made my way over to the girl, making sure that it looked like I was just wandering around the grounds and not heading to a specific point, and then I moved right past her until I was on the other side of the trees and hidden from the view of the workers.

  “You’re back.”

  The little girl followed me until we were both out of sight. She was still silent, but she didn’t seem quite as jumpy – can ghosts seem jumpy? – as before.

  “I wondered where you had gone to,” I tried again.

  “I’m always here.”

  I jumped a little when the girl finally spoke. Her voice was small, timid, like she hadn’t had occasion to use it in a long time.

  “You’re always at the inn?”

  “I’m always here,” the girl repeated.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I live here.”

  “Here? Here in Hemlock Cove?”

  “Why can you see me? No one else can.”

  I considered how to answer the question. I didn’t want to scare her away again. I didn’t think telling her I was a witch would be the best way to earn her trust. I decided to go with a watered-down version of the truth. “I have a special ability that lets me see people, people like you, who other people can’t see.”

  “You mean ghosts?” The girl asked bluntly.

  Well, at least she knew she was dead. That was one conversation I hadn’t been looking forward to having with her. “Yes, ghosts.”

  “And you can really see me?”

  “I can really see you,” I smiled as I carefully lowered myself to the ground a few feet from her. I didn’t want to make any sudden moves that might scare her off again.

  “And you live here?”

  “I live in the smaller house,” I explained. “The one right through those trees over there. If you ever need to see me, that’s where I’ll be.”

  “But not in the big house?”

  “That’s where my family lives,” I replied. “You can go in there, too, if you want.”

  “They won’t be mad?”

  “No. In fact, my Aunt Tillie will be able to see you, too,” I said. “She’d probably love to talk to you.” Once I told her not to be mean, that is.

  “Okay,” the little girl said finally. “Maybe I will.”

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “Erika.”

  “What’s your last name?”

  The little girl furrowed her brow. “I don’t know.”

  “Okay, that’s fine,” I said hurriedly. I was hoping that she would remember the longer we talked. “How did you get here, Erika?”

  “I’ve been here for a long time.”

  “How long?”

  The girl shrugged. “It feels like forever.”

  “I bet. Did you . . . did you die around here?”

  “I don’t know,” the girl said. “I wasn’t here all the time.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I was out by the water for a long time. There was a big building by it. I got bored there, though, so I decided to come here. Only a few people ever went out to the building by the water. I didn’t like it, especially at night.”

  “Well, that was a good idea,” I said warmly.

  “I was tired of being alone.”

  My heart clenched a little in my chest. “Well, you’re not alone now.”

  “No,” Erika agreed.

  “Erika, do you know how you died?”

  Erika thought about it for a second. “No.”

  “What do you remember, from being alive, I mean?” I prodded.

  “I remember that there were a lot of other kids,” Erika said. “We were all on a boat together.”

  “A boat?”

  “A big boat,” Erika said. “I had never been on a boat before, so I
thought it was really fun at first. Then, we were on the boat so long, that I started to get tired of it.”

  I let the little girl tell her story at her own pace.

  “I remember getting sick,” Erika said, brow furrowed. “I kept crying for someone to help me, but no one came. I was so hot and I kept throwing up and then I just went to sleep.”

  “Were there only kids there? No adults?”

  “There were big people, but they didn’t stay in the basement with us.”

  “The basement?”

  “Below the top of the boat.”

  “Okay, I got you,” I said. “Where were the big people?”

  “They stayed upstairs mostly,” Erika said. “They would come down to feed us, but they never really talked to us.”

  Something about this story was really starting to bug me – and it wasn’t just because I was talking to a ghost. “How many kids were with you?”

  “I don’t know how to count,” Erika said. “There were loads of us, though.”

  I swallowed hard. “And why didn’t the big people help you when you got sick?”

  “I don’t know,” Erika shrugged. “They weren’t nice people. They told us we were going to new homes and to stop crying. All I wanted was to get off the boat. I’m not sure I ever did, though.”

  “And then what happened?”

  Erika’s face went blank. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “I just woke up dead.”

  I hadn’t had breakfast yet, but if I had, I would have lost it. A bunch of kids in the bottom of a boat couldn’t add up to anything good. “Erika, I need you to think really hard,” I said. “Did you hear any of the names of the big people?”

  “No,” Erika shook her head. “I told you. We didn’t really see them very much. They just kept coming down to tell us to be quiet and if we didn’t keep quiet, we would be hurt.”

  If I could have pulled the little girl to me and offered her any sense of solace, I would have. The only think I could offer her now, though, were words. “We’re going to figure this out,” I said. “We’re going to figure this out and get you . . . to a happier place.”

  “Home?”

  “Where is home?”

  “I don’t know,” Erika said. “It’s not here, though. Where I come from, there are different kinds of trees and it’s warmer. It’s warmer all the time. We don’t get the white stuff.”