A Witch Before Dying (Wicked Witches of the Midwest Book 11) Read online

  “You’re tired. I’m going to make sure you get a solid ten hours of sleep tonight.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” I wasn’t convinced weariness was the cause of my annoyance. When my fingers brushed over something clinging to my sock I wrinkled my nose as I pulled out a small straw figure of some sort. I had no idea where it came from. It certainly wasn’t there when I dressed in the middle of the night.

  “What is that?” Landon asked, peering closer.

  “It looks like straw,” Chief Terry said, moving up next to me. “Were you two rolling around in straw or hay?”

  “Not last time I checked,” Landon replied. “Straw makes Bay break out in itchy fits.”

  I stared long and hard at the figure. It looked like a small poppet, something witches imbued with occasional magic when they wanted to pass along an ill wish. We didn’t use them in the Winchester household as a rule because my mother and aunts didn’t like them. That didn’t prevent Aunt Tillie from sneaking in the occasional poppet when she really wanted to mess with someone. This did not look like her work.

  “Do you guys have one of those evidence bags?”

  Chief Terry gave me a considering look. “Why?”

  “I just … I need one.”

  “Okay.” Chief Terry retrieved a small bag from his glove compartment and handed it to me so I could secure the poppet inside. I placed it on the floor of Chief Terry’s vehicle, and the minute I released it I felt better, more like myself.

  Hmm.

  “What is that thing?” Landon asked, his eyes heavy on mine. “You look … freaked out.”

  “I don’t think ‘freaked out’ is the correct term,” I said. “However, I think that’s an ill wish.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Like a voodoo doll?” Chief Terry asked, confused.

  “Kind of,” I confirmed. “It’s a poppet of some sort. It was clearly made by a witch.”

  “Aunt Tillie?” Of course Landon automatically assumed that. Aunt Tillie wasn’t above a good curse. “I prefer it when she makes you smell like bacon. I’ll talk to her about it.”

  I opened my mouth to argue the point and then snapped it shut. “I’ll talk to her.”

  “Why keep it?” Chief Terry asked. “I’d think you’d want to destroy it. Is that what was making you so cranky?” He tried to make a joke of the question, but I could tell he was serious.

  “Yeah. The thing is … I have no idea how I ended up with it poking out of my shoe.”

  “Aunt Tillie is devious,” Landon noted.

  “She is,” I agreed, “but I haven’t seen her since lunch yesterday.”

  “Well … maybe she sneaked into the guesthouse and put it in your shoe,” Landon suggested.

  That seemed a remote possibility. “Or maybe another witch put it there during lunch,” I countered, remembering the way Scarlet’s foot kept brushing against mine.

  Landon’s expression was somber. “Do you really think she did that?”

  “I know you don’t want to believe it because she’s so pretty and bubbly, but I think it’s a distinct possibility.”

  “Would that doll play into the symbols next to Adele Twigg’s body?” Chief Terry asked. “Do they have anything in common?”

  “I guess, in a roundabout sort of way,” I answered. “I’m not sure, though. I want Aunt Tillie to look at it.”

  “Will she know what it is?” Landon asked.

  I nodded. “She knows everything, and for once I’m not saying that simply because she’s browbeaten me into it.”

  Landon cracked a smile. “It’s okay, right? This isn’t anything serious, is it?”

  I immediately shook my head. I didn’t want to worry him. “Poppets are usually considered kid magic. Aunt Tillie whipped one out when dealing with Mrs. Little a few times over the years, but they’re not especially dangerous.”

  “That’s good.” Landon’s eyes roamed my face. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Nothing. It’s just … poppets are generally created for one specific person,” I explained. “If someone created that one specifically for me, it means Scarlet purposely sought us out over lunch.”

  “You don’t know that she’s the one who placed it on you,” Chief Terry argued.

  “Who else?”

  “I don’t know, but … we don’t have proof,” he cautioned. “You need to be careful.”

  I cast another look at the baggie before forcing a smile. “Careful is my middle name. Come on. Let’s talk to the Twiggs. Landon is right about me being tired and cranky. I’m not especially proud of it. I’m also sorry for snapping at you.”

  Chief Terry slung an arm over my shoulder. “It’s okay. You were much worse as a teenager.”

  I was pretty sure that was an insult. “You said I was an angel when I was a teenager.”

  “Yes, well, I lied to you back then because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

  “Good to know.”

  “BAY! I DIDN’T know you were coming.”

  Dad greeted us in the lobby, gracing me with an energetic hug before tipping up my chin.

  “You look tired. Why does she look tired?” he turned a set of accusing eyes toward Landon. My father’s relationship with Landon was hardly easy, but they’d been making progress in recent weeks.

  “We woke early because of the murder,” Landon said. “I tried to make her go home and sleep, but she doesn’t always obey orders like a good girlfriend should.”

  I made a face. “Nice.”

  Landon’s lips curled. “At least you seem to be back to your old self. I guess that poppet thing was causing the PMS confusion, huh?”

  My cheeks colored as Dad glanced between us. “Can you not say ‘PMS’ in front of my father?”

  Landon was chagrined. “I’ll do my best.”

  “I never understand half of what you guys are talking about,” Dad said. “Still, while Landon and Chief Terry are questioning everybody, why don’t we have some tea and catch up?” He was so earnest I could hardly say no, yet Landon wanted me close when he questioned people so I could read them.

  “Well … .”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” Landon interjected smoothly. “You guys can sit at one end of the table and we’ll question people at the other. It will give you a chance to spend time with your father, sweetie, without being bored by the questions.”

  I realized right away what he was suggesting. He wanted me to watch but not draw attention to myself. That was no problem. “Sure.”

  It took my father only five minutes to get everyone settled, making sure that Landon and Chief Terry had a full pot of hot water as they worked through various family members before placing a cup of herbal tea in front of me and sitting to my left.

  “So, what are you really doing here?” Dad kept a smile on his face as he lowered his voice.

  I stilled, surprised by the change in his demeanor. “What do you mean? I’m here to see you.”

  “Seeing me might be an added bonus, but you’re here to help Landon and Chief Terry,” Dad countered. “I understand the scene downtown was brutal. Why are you involved in this?”

  He didn’t understand why Landon and Chief Terry brought me along for official questioning. He couldn’t wrap his head around the nature of our investigative relationship. Heck, he had a difficult enough time understanding the myriad facets of our personal relationship.

  “It’s hard to explain,” I dodged.

  “Try me.”

  “Well, for starters, someone used Mrs. Twigg’s blood to write a bunch of symbols on the pavement by where her body was dumped.” I kept my cup in front of my lips to make sure no one could read them. Thankfully, the Twigg family seemed focused on Landon and Chief Terry. They also broke into occasional wails, so they paid very little heed to me.

  “What kind of symbols?”

  “They were a hodgepodge of pagan and Wiccan symbols,” I replied. “It’s as if someone Googled ‘pagan symbols’ and then u
sed whatever popped up.”

  “Have you considered that’s an actual possibility?”

  “Of course. There were other symbols that seemed familiar, but I couldn’t quite remember where I’d seen them before. Thistle is researching them.”

  “But you think you’ve definitely seen them before?” Dad seemed intrigued by the investigative play-by-play.

  “I do,” I confirmed, bobbing my head. “It’s weird.”

  “The whole thing is weird,” Dad said. “Not to get into an argument with you and Landon or anything, but do you really think it’s a good idea for him to take you to a crime scene?”

  It was a normal, and completely reasonable, question for a father to ask. It grated a bit all the same. “Landon and I are a team.”

  “I know you are. But this was a particularly brutal scene. Why did you have to see it?”

  “He wanted me to look at the symbols.”

  “You’re not an investigator.”

  “No,” I agreed. “I’m not. Landon and I work together occasionally, though. He asked for my help, and I would never hesitate to offer it. If you want to know the truth, I like that he considers me part of his team.”

  “Bay, I get that and I think it’s nice,” Dad said. “But you didn’t have to see that body. You’ll be haunted by it.”

  Haunted was an interesting word. “I don’t think she was killed there.” I was talking more to myself than my father. “I think there would’ve been more of a mess if she was killed in the town square.”

  “It sounds like there was plenty of mess,” Dad noted. “I heard there was blood everywhere.”

  “There was,” I said. “It was used to make the symbols. It’s not as if there were puddles of blood everywhere.” I flicked my eyes to the end of the table when an older man – he looked to be in his late sixties, maybe early seventies – broke into body-wracking sobs as he talked to Landon. “Who is that?”

  “Arthur Twigg,” Dad replied. “The dead woman’s husband.”

  I shifted my eyes to a sobbing woman standing in the corner. “And her?”

  “Denise,” Dad replied. “She’s Adele’s daughter.”

  “Did you spend any time with Adele before her death?”

  “Not really.” If Dad was bothered by the purposeful shift in the conversation, he didn’t show it. “They were only here for a few hours before she left to go to the festival meeting,” Dad explained. “Margaret Little picked her up.”

  “Did she drive her back?”

  “I … hmm.” Dad broke off, tilting his head to the side. “I don’t know. I can’t say that I remember her returning, But I wasn’t really looking. Once we got everyone settled, we retired to our private library upstairs and left them to have the run of the inn.”

  “So you don’t remember her coming back?”

  Dad shook his head. “That doesn’t mean she didn’t come back. I simply didn’t see her return.”

  Hmm. I focused on Arthur as he talked to Landon.

  “I don’t know what happened,” Arthur said. “I don’t know how anyone could hurt my wife. She was the sweetest and nicest person who ever walked the planet. She was … a giver. She was a nurturer. Why did this happen?”

  “We’re trying to figure that out, Mr. Twigg,” Landon said. “We don’t have any answers for you yet. I’m sorry.”

  “Then what are you doing here?” Arthur challenged. “Why aren’t you out looking for the monster who killed my wife? It’s someone who lives in this town. You should be able to figure it out.”

  “We’re trying,” Landon said, his eyes bouncing to me before returning to the grieving husband. “I swear we’ll find answers. We won’t rest until we know who did this.”

  “That won’t bring her back,” Arthur lamented.

  “No, but it will allow you to put it behind you,” Landon said. “We’re looking for answers. As soon as we know something, we’ll share those answers with you. You have my word on that.”

  Ten

  Landon and I returned to the guesthouse once we were finished at The Dragonfly. By unsaid agreement, we both tumbled into bed for a nap before dinner, rolling against one another and falling asleep within minutes.

  I woke before him, smiling when I felt his breath on my face. I left him to sleep, carefully climbing out of bed and closing the door before joining Thistle in the living room. She was intent on her laptop and barely looked up when I entered.

  “What are you looking at?”

  “Well, for starters, I figured out what those symbols are,” Thistle replied.

  I arched an eyebrow, impressed. “That was fast. How did you figure it out?”

  “Don’t bend over backward giving me accolades,” Thistle said, placing the laptop on the coffee table before grabbing a book from the floor. “Here.” She handed the book to me and I opened it at the spot where she’d left a bookmark.

  “Oh.” Realization dawned. “It’s the Theban alphabet.”

  “We should’ve recognized it, right?” Thistle rubbed the back of her neck. She looked as tired as I had felt two hours ago. “Aunt Tillie tried to make us learn it when we were kids.”

  “Yeah, we put the effort in for about a week because we thought it would mean we could write back and forth in code.” I smiled at the memory. “Then we realized Aunt Tillie could read it so it wasn’t really a code.”

  “Yeah, then you suggested we learn Klingon and we studied that for a week,” Thistle said. “Sadly, Aunt Tillie can read Klingon, too. Who knew she was multilingual?”

  I chuckled as I leaned back on the couch. “Have you figured out what the symbols indicate?”

  “I’m working on it right now,” Thistle replied. “I got distracted by something else.”

  “What?”

  “A chatroom.”

  I pursed my lips. Thistle wasn’t exactly the chatroom type. Okay, if they had a chatroom for people who like agitating other people, she’d be the moderator. Random chatrooms certainly weren’t her thing, though. “What were you doing in a chatroom?”

  “I didn’t specifically set out to find a chatroom,” Thistle replied. “I was Googling Scarlet Darksbane.”

  Oh, well, now we were getting somewhere. “What did you find?”

  “Well, she doesn’t seem to have an online store,” Thistle started. “I found that odd. One of the first things Clove and I did when we opened Hypnotic was create a website. We sell as much online as we do in person now. I even checked Etsy because we’re broadening our horizons there in the next couple of weeks, but I couldn’t find anything.”

  “I had no idea. That’s good for you guys.”

  “Yeah, I’m going to create a page just for my artwork,” Thistle added. “I’m hoping to start selling paintings and sculptures.”

  “You’re very talented.”

  Thistle smirked. “You’re just saying that because you don’t want to instigate a fight.”

  “No, I’m saying it because it’s true.”

  Thistle waited.

  “I also don’t want to deal with a fight,” I added after a beat. “It’s been a really long day. I’ve even taken two naps. I can’t remember the last time I took two naps in one day.”

  “You needed the sleep. I wouldn’t worry about it.” Thistle returned her attention to the laptop screen. “So, when I couldn’t find a shop I started looking for Wicca boards. A lot of the younger people think being a witch is fashionable and I thought I might be able to find mention of her if I searched those boards.”

  “Did you?”

  “It took a bit,” Thistle replied. “On something called Wicca 411 I found an entire thread devoted to her.”

  The way Thistle was dragging things out – something she picked up from Aunt Tillie – told me she’d found something of interest. “You get more like Aunt Tillie every single day. You know that, right?”

  “That won’t make me tell you what I found,” Thistle warned.

  Daughter of Hecate, she was a pain in the rear e
nd! “Thistle, I’ve rested up,” I warned. “I will totally drag you outside by your hair and make you eat dirt.”

  “The ground is hard. Good luck with that.”

  “I’ll find a way.”

  Thistle snorted. “We both know I’m stronger than you. In the end, you’ll be the one eating dirt.”

  I wanted to argue, but she had a point. “Whatever. You suck.”

  “You suck more.”

  “You both suck,” Landon announced, shuffling out of the bedroom. His black hair was tousled from sleep and he wore an old T-shirt from his high school days that was a bit too small in the shoulders. I thought he looked kind of cute, but the look Thistle shot him said the exact opposite.

  “Please don’t start,” I begged. “I cannot deal with a big fight here when I know there’s going to be another big fight up at the inn for dinner tonight.”

  “What fight are we having at the inn tonight?” Landon asked, placing a blanket over both of us as he settled on my other side. “Did I miss a Winchester argument?”

  “Not yet, but the day is young,” Thistle replied.

  “So why is there going to be a fight?” Landon is often slow when he first wakes.

  “Because Aunt Tillie will be there,” I answered simply. “You could’ve slept longer.”

  “I missed you in the bed.” Landon grinned as I shot him a dubious look. “What? I did. I also heard you two talking and am curious what you’re up to.”

  “Thistle found out what those symbols I couldn’t recognize were. They’re part of the Theban alphabet – which is a pagan alphabet of sorts – although we’re still trying to figure out what the message was.”

  “Hey, that’s something.” Landon snagged my hand. “That hardly sounds like something to fight about.”

  “We weren’t fighting,” Thistle said. “We were simply discussing the finer points of dirt eating.”

  “That sounds … normal.”

  “We were also discussing Scarlet Darksbane,” I added. “Thistle found mention of her in an online chatroom.”

  “Do I even want to know what you were doing looking for Hemlock Cove’s newest witch in a chatroom?” Landon asked.