Four-Leaf Clover: A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Short Read online

  “We’re in photographs?” Thistle arched an eyebrow. “Those must be new. I don’t remember seeing them last time we were there.”

  “That’s because we’re terrible at visiting,” Bay said. “Think about the guests, Nancy. When you look at any of them, do you think they could be the robber?”

  Nancy shook her head. “It’s almost all women staying out there right now. Your fathers are very popular.”

  “I’ll bet,” Thistle snickered. “What about the help? I know our fathers do most of the work on their own, but I believe they have regular cooks and maids.”

  “I’ve seen the cooks, and I don’t think it’s them,” Nancy replied. “They’re caught up in their own little world.”

  “Where have you been?” I asked.

  “Well, I’ve visited the bakery, the stables, most of the stores along Main Street. And I’ve eaten in the diner at least three times.”

  “We know it’s not Marcus,” Bay mused, tapping her bottom lip. “I doubt very much it’s Mrs. Gunderson from the bakery. I wouldn’t put it past Mrs. Little because she’s evil, but she has her hands full with the unicorn shop being rebuilt after the fire and that whole gaslighting Aunt Tillie thing that she seems obsessed about.”

  “What about people you’ve seen around town?” Thistle pressed. “This place is thick with tourists right now. Maybe you saw a tourist who happened to come into the store?”

  “I’ve seen mostly women since I arrived,” Nancy said. “That big group arrived after I did, but they’re all middle-aged women.”

  “And they’re all obsessed with Aunt Tillie and don’t care about robbing people,” Bay said. “Who else?”

  “There’s a family I saw at the stable,” Nancy offered. “It’s a father and two teenaged sons, along with a wife and a daughter. I guess it could be one of them.”

  “I’ll ask Marcus and see what he thinks,” Thistle said. “Anyone else?”

  “Other than the robbery, the most notable thing that happened to me was a woman dressed like a fortune teller in the diner. She told me things would get better relatively soon. She was nice, but obviously a fraud.”

  “Madam Rosa,” I muttered, shaking my head. I wasn’t convinced she was a fraud, but that was an argument for another time. “We must be missing something.”

  “I think we need to focus less on who and more on how to trap them,” Thistle suggested. “I have an idea about that, if anyone is interested.”

  Bay narrowed her eyes as my stomach clenched. Thistle having an idea was akin to throwing gas on a pile of leaves and then acting surprised when they ignited into a conflagration when a match was added to the mix.

  “What’s your idea?” Bay asked after a beat.

  “We need to direct The Hooded Marauder to a place we can control, right?”

  “We need to stop calling him that because it bugs me,” Bay replied.

  Thistle ignored her. “Why don’t we have a few loud conversations on the street about the money Aunt Tillie will be coming into when her harvest is cleared?”

  Wait … what? “You can’t be serious.” I realized where Thistle was going with the suggestion before she expounded on it. “You want to use Aunt Tillie’s pot field for bait?”

  “Why not?” Thistle asked, shrugging. “We can control the location and it’s isolated, so no innocent people will stumble across it. Aunt Tillie wants to get away from her fan club, so I’m guessing she’ll agree. She hates ‘The Man,’ but she loves catching and punishing evildoers. What could possibly go wrong?”

  That was a loaded question if ever I heard one. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

  Thistle ignored me and focused on Bay. “You know it’s a good idea.”

  Bay’s expression told me she agreed, which meant I was the lone voice of reason. “It’s a terrible idea,” I barked. “This will blow up in our faces.”

  Bay and Thistle locked gazes, both pretending I wasn’t in the room.

  “If we do this, we’ll need Aunt Tillie’s help,” Bay warned. “We can’t do it without her.”

  “I’m aware of that,” Thistle said. “I still think it’s our best option.”

  Bay capitulated almost immediately. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

  “‘Okay? Let’s do it?’” I sounded shrill, but I was beyond caring. “This is going to be a nightmare. You realize that, right?”

  Bay and Thistle ignored me as they started planning. I shouldn’t have been surprised. They always ignore me when they don’t want to admit I’m smarter than they are.

  “When this goes wrong – and we all know it will – I want you to do a little dance when you tell everyone I was right and you were wrong,” I declared. “I’ll want presents, too.”

  Thistle reached for her phone. “I’ll call Aunt Tillie and get her down here. She’s bound to have some good ideas.”

  And there’s a sentence I never thought I would hear slip past Thistle’s pouty lips. Where did my luck go?

  Nine

  “I just want to repeat that this is a terrible idea.”

  Fall in Michigan means the daylight grows shorter, so it’s practically dark by six most nights. Tonight was no exception, so the second dinner ended I slipped outside with Bay, Thistle and Aunt Tillie.

  Landon and Chief Terry missed the meal because they were at the police station questioning the loggers. They remained convinced they were on the right path. I disagreed. We waited until our mothers were distracted with dessert – an absolutely divine-looking carrot cake – and then slipped out the back door. We had no idea where Aunt Tillie disappeared to until she popped up on the back patio, decked out in camouflage and wearing a black combat helmet.

  “Of course you think it’s a bad idea,” Aunt Tillie said. She crouched behind a bush as she stared at the field. Because it was magically cloaked, only we could see it. That didn’t mean an outsider couldn’t catch a glimpse of Aunt Tillie if she was working in the field … and wanted to draw them in. It simply meant Aunt Tillie could control who saw what and when. She liked having that power.

  “Do you want to know your biggest problem?” Aunt Tillie asked, turning to me.

  I shook my head. “Not even remotely.”

  “I’m going to tell you.” Aunt Tillie blew past my shake of the head with a pointed stare. “Your problem is that you’re too scared of life. You need to learn to enjoy things a little more, go on an adventure from time to time.”

  “Is that what this is?” I challenged. “Is this an adventure?”

  “Of course it’s an adventure. We’re hiding in the bushes to catch The Hooded Marauder. How is that not an adventure?”

  She had a point, but still … . “I don’t think putting ourselves at risk is the same thing as an adventure,” I pointed out. “An adventure is looking for buried treasure … or a pirate ship on a rainy day.”

  “Okay, that’s the plot of The Goonies,” Bay said. “They also got chased by robbers and almost fell into a pit because they played the wrong notes on a bone piano. They almost died. And they believed that was an awesome adventure.”

  “I didn’t consider that,” I hedged, annoyed. “I … this is still a bad idea. What if he shows and is armed? We made a big show of making sure everyone knew there was going to be someone with money out here tonight. What if this guy decides he can’t make another mistake and really brings a gun?”

  “I’ve got that covered,” Aunt Tillie replied, digging in the large bag she insisted on bringing from the inn and pulling out an ancient shotgun. I widened my eyes, dumbfounded. “If The Hooded Marauder shows his ugly face, I’ll blow it off.”

  Bay slapped Aunt Tillie’s hand and grabbed the shotgun, shaking her head as she stared at the weapon. “What were you thinking?”

  “We’re trying to catch a bad person,” Aunt Tillie replied. “I thought we needed a way to protect ourselves.”

  “You said we weren’t in danger,” I reminded her. “If we’re not in danger, why do we need a gun?”


  Aunt Tillie shrugged. “Sometimes it’s simply fun to shoot at people.”

  “Hide that gun,” Thistle ordered Bay, shaking her head. “What is wrong with you? We can’t shoot someone.”

  “If they come out here trespassing with the intent to steal, we most certainly can shoot them,” Aunt Tillie argued. “That’s my right, according to the Constitution.”

  “You have the right to bear arms, not shoot some hapless person wandering around in the woods at night,” Bay countered. “There’s a big difference … you ninny.”

  Aunt Tillie extended a craggy finger. “You’re on my list, Bay.”

  “Give her the gun.” Thistle took the shotgun from Bay and handed it back to Aunt Tillie. “Make sure we’re not in your path if you shoot that thing,” she instructed.

  “Wait a second,” I protested. “You can’t purposely arm her and tell her to do whatever she wants.”

  “I can do whatever I want,” Thistle said. “And as long as she doesn’t kill someone, I don’t care what she does. That worn out old gun probably can’t fire more than 20 yards, and the shells are filled with birdshot. Unless she’s standing next to someone, the best she can do is make them feel like they’re in a hail storm.”

  “What a completely responsible attitude,” I deadpanned, shaking my head as I stared at the field. “Run me through this again. How are we going to draw a robber if he can’t see anything?”

  “That’s where Aunt Tillie comes in,” Thistle replied. “She’s going to go out and pretend to be working in the field.”

  “I brought baggies and everything.” Aunt Tillie held up a box of Glad sandwich bags for emphasis. “I figure I can do two things at once. I’ll really harvest my haul and I’ll catch an evildoer at the same time. That sounds like a productive night.”

  This entire thing was so surreal I was having trouble wrapping my mind around it. “Who in their right mind would go after Aunt Tillie? If it is someone we know – and I think we’re all agreed that it has to be – they’re going to know better than to attack her in the middle of the night on our property.”

  “In theory, yes,” Bay agreed. “The thing is, whoever is doing this is clearly desperate. Why would you break into the newspaper office? I mean … it’s not as if we keep cash on the premises. That leads me to believe The Hoodie Bandit … .”

  “The Hooded Marauder,” Aunt Tillie corrected.

  Bay rolled her eyes. “The Hooded Marauder. Fine. That leads me to believe The Hooded Marauder is willing to steal items he thinks he can fence.”

  “Fence?” I couldn’t stifle my laughter. “You’ve been spending too much time with Landon. Who uses that word?”

  “She didn’t get that from Landon,” Aunt Tillie said. “She got it from Orange is the New Black. We’ve been binge-watching it while Landon is out of town. I’m considering becoming a lesbian. It looks fun.”

  I pressed my eyes shut and pretended I didn’t hear the last part of that statement.

  “Oh, you really do miss him when he’s gone,” Thistle teased, pinching Bay’s cheek. “It’s a little sad that you have to spend time with your great-aunt or you’d have nothing else to do.”

  Bay scowled. “That’s not why. Have you ever considered I simply like her company?”

  “Yeah,” Aunt Tillie snapped. “I’m good company. I should have my own talk show, in fact. I could be the next Oprah.”

  “Yes, you could do it professionally,” Thistle deadpanned.

  “You bet your bottom I could,” Aunt Tillie said, gripping the gun. “Are we ready to put this plan into motion? I think if we wait too long we’ll scare off The Hooded Marauder and all of this will be for naught.”

  I rolled my eyes, resigned and irritated at the same time. “Naught? Oh, geez. I can’t believe how dramatic this entire thing is getting.”

  “That’s how we know it’s going to be a good night. Let’s move, girls. It’s time.”

  TWENTY MINUTES of watching Aunt Tillie work in her field by the light of the moon was enough to give me a headache. I rested on the ground, the cold seeping into my bones, and cast the occasional look in Thistle and Bay’s directions. They seemed much more at ease.

  “I think … .”

  Bay slapped her hand over my mouth, causing me to widen my eyes and consider biting her fingers before she inclined her chin to the east. I let my eyes slide in that direction, my heart pounding when I caught sight of a shadowy figure picking its way through the underbrush.

  The leaves had started falling about a week before, so the figure made crunching sounds as it moved in Aunt Tillie’s direction. For her part – and I had to give her credit for appearing oblivious to what was happening behind her – Aunt Tillie went on about her task. She’d hidden the shotgun in the plants to her right so she could get to it easily, but if I didn’t know her better I’d have thought she was unaware of the approaching danger.

  “What do we do?” I asked, my whisper barely audible as I pushed back Bay’s hand. “Do we attack?”

  “Not yet,” Bay replied. “We need him to get closer.”

  “What if he gets his hands on her?”

  “Then he’ll be sorry he ever met us,” Thistle replied. “If he touches her, she’ll rip his nuts off and feed them to her pet skunks.”

  Bay made a face. “What pet skunks?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  I had no idea what she meant. “What are you even talking about?”

  Bay shook her head and turned back to the field. The second the shadow crossed the line, she stood and moved to her left. She gave the figure a wide berth, clinging to the tree line so she could get behind the visitor.

  Thistle followed suit, moving in silent strides as she kept her gaze trained on the field. I had a choice: I could either remain hiding behind the bushes like a coward or go with my cousins and engage in what was sure to be an outrageous fight. They would tell stories about it for weeks. I knew it. In the end, that’s what tipped me over the edge. I didn’t want to be omitted from the stories.

  I moved forward on unsteady feet, my hands shaking as I shoved them into my pockets. It was only then that I remembered the coin, my thumb brushing against the uneven ridge of the metal. I had luck on my side, I reminded myself. We could do this.

  My courage bolstered, I increased my pace and scampered closer to Thistle. We were almost at a point where we would be able to cut off the hooded figure – and he was clearly wearing a hoodie; it was distinct in the moonlight. That’s when Bay made an error and accidentally stepped away from the tree line, her foot landing on a branch and causing the weathered wood to snap.

  The sound echoed throughout the night, causing the stranger to lift his head and stare in our direction. I met the gaze first. He clearly looked right at me, making my blood run cold. Then he moved to race back in the direction from which he came.

  “Get down!” Aunt Tillie roared, gripping the shotgun and swinging it in a big arc as she leveled it in the stranger’s direction. “Cover your heads!”

  I realized what she was going to do when it was too late to react and too late to stop her. I covered my head and dropped to the ground, making sure to press my shoulders as close to the cold earth as possible. Thistle and Bay did the same moments before Aunt Tillie pulled the trigger and a deafening roar filled the air.

  Aunt Tillie didn’t just fire once. She racked and fired three times, each echo seemingly lasting longer than the previous. Then the night descended into silence for a few seconds until absolute chaos erupted.

  “Oh, my gawd! I’ve been shot!”

  “WHERE IS he?” I lifted my head and scanned the field, looking for hints of movement even as I kept one eye on Aunt Tillie and her gun.

  “Did he drop?” Thistle asked, rolling to her feet and struggling to a standing position. She distractedly brushed debris from her clothes as she narrowed her eyes. “Did he keep running into the woods?”

  “We’ll never catch him if he did,” Bay said, her expr
ession rueful. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see that branch until it was too late. If we’d held off for even another thirty seconds we would’ve had him.”

  “Who says we don’t have him?” Aunt Tillie challenged, resting the butt of the gun against her hip and extending her hand. “He went down right there.”

  “Where?” I couldn’t see anyone besides us in the field.

  “There,” Aunt Tillie repeated. “He’s right there. He fell on the ground.”

  “That’s because you shot me, you bitch!”

  I heard the screech. I exchanged a quick look with Thistle before following her in the direction of the voice. We moved slowly, being careful that we didn’t accidentally give the fallen robber a chance to recover and grab one of us to use as a shield.

  By the time we found the man, I was a nervous wreck. All of my fear fled the moment I realized the person on the ground was rolling around and holding his knee, groaning as if he was giving birth instead of dealing with a few birdshot pellets.

  “And who do we have here?” Thistle asked, dropping to her knees and reaching for the hoodie strings. “Don’t even consider biting or hitting me. Aunt Tillie has a gun and she’s not afraid to use it.”

  “I figured that out myself,” the man gritted out.

  Thistle jerked down the hood and frowned as she leaned away from the figure. There was something markedly familiar about the features, but I didn’t recognize the man sitting on the ground nursing his knee. He had brown hair, buzzed close to the scalp. The dark eyes – more gray than brown – were contorted in pain as he made small whining noises. He sounded truly pathetic.

  “Huh.” Bay rubbed the back of her neck. “Does anyone recognize him?”

  “I don’t,” Aunt Tillie said, moving closer. “I was kind of hoping it was Margaret Little. Is that wrong of me?”

  “Yes,” I answered, not missing a beat. I rubbed the coin in my pocket and something occurred to me. It was a ludicrous idea, of course, but … there it was. “Guys, I don’t think you’re going to believe me, but … that’s Madam Rosa.”