Charms & Witchdemeanors (Wicked Witches of the Midwest Book 8) Read online

  That was sweet … and kind of insulting. “What times would you choose the bacon?”

  “I’ll get back to you after we spend the night in the guesthouse with Aunt Tillie.”

  Unfortunately, yeah, I could see that.

  Nine

  Landon had told me to stay out of the investigation. In reality I knew he didn’t expect me to do it. He wanted me to be careful and fly under the radar, but we both knew I couldn’t let this go without following up on my own.

  I figured Landon and Noah would spend the morning at Patty’s house, which probably meant they would hit the senior center after lunch. I opted for the reverse order and headed straight for the senior center.

  I’d been in the building, located on the opposite side of the town square from The Whistler’s office, several times. It was usually because I was writing an article about a function. That happened on really slow news weeks. No one batted an eyelash when I walked inside today.

  “Hey, Bay.”

  I smiled when I saw Kenneth sitting at a table with Arthur Hutton, a retired construction worker. They had coffee in front of them and cards in their hands, but they didn’t look as if they were focusing on a game. “Hi, Kenneth. How are you?”

  “I’ve been better.”

  I grabbed one of the empty chairs from a nearby table and used it to settle between Kenneth and Arthur. “I heard what happened,” I said, patting his shoulder. “The rumor is you were dating Patty. Is that true?”

  “He’s dating everyone,” Arthur cackled, shooting me a saucy wink. “I am, too.”

  “That’s nice … I guess,” I hedged.

  “He’s making it sound worse than it is,” Kenneth said. “I did have coffee with Patty a few times, but I’ve also been having coffee with Myrtle … and Fay … and Viola … and Margaret … and Edna … and Dorothy … and … .”

  “I get the picture, Kenneth,” I said, working overtime to hide my distaste. “I see you’re no longer a one-woman guy.”

  “I would still be a one-woman guy if your aunt hadn’t broken my heart,” Kenneth said, his expression pained. “She crushed me.”

  Arthur didn’t look impressed with Kenneth’s attitude. “You’re lucky she didn’t crush your nuts in a vise, man,” he said. “I told you from the beginning that going after Tillie Winchester was a terrible idea. She’s got the mark of the demon. No offense, Bay.”

  “None taken.” Okay, I took some offense. I didn’t let Arthur see it, though. “Just for curiosity’s sake, what is the mark of the demon?”

  Arthur rolled his eyes. “Don’t you read the Bible?”

  “I’m familiar with it,” I clarified. “We take a more holistic approach in our house. That being said, I don’t remember any passages about the mark of the demon.”

  “What passages do you remember?” Arthur challenged.

  He was just messing with me now. There could be no other explanation. “I remember the part about stealing … and murder … and something about turning water into wine. Aunt Tillie made that her life’s ambition. Oh, and I remember the part about always being prepared.”

  “That’s the Boy Scout motto,” Kenneth pointed out.

  “Oh, right,” I said. Crap. “I just know it wants you to be good. Am I wrong?”

  Arthur sighed. “It’s a good thing you’re pretty, girl. You’re not very quick on the uptake, are you?”

  “Hey!”

  “Your aunt is the Devil in human form,” Arthur said. “You know that mole she has on her lip? That’s the mark of the demon.”

  “That’s a beauty mark,” I argued.

  “Does it make your aunt beautiful?”

  I’d never given it much thought. I’d seen photographs of Aunt Tillie back in the day and even though she was short, she was quite striking. “I do think she’s beautiful. She has her own sense of style.”

  “Does she ever,” Kenneth intoned, taking on a wistful expression. “How is she? I heard she’s a suspect in the murder because of me.”

  I studied him a moment. Did that make him happy? If so, he didn’t look it. “I wouldn’t call her a suspect,” I said. “She’s more a person of interest.”

  “Isn’t that the same thing?” Arthur asked.

  “Not really,” I said. I’d never spent much time talking to Arthur after returning to Hemlock Cove after my stint as a reporter in Detroit, and now I knew why. He was kind of an ass. “That is what I’m here to talk to you about, though.”

  “I figured,” Kenneth said. “What do you want to know?”

  “Did you see Aunt Tillie here the day before yesterday?”

  “I was playing euchre with three of my ladies,” Kenneth answered. “I didn’t see her, but everyone mentioned she was here after the fact. I can’t help you on that front.”

  I couldn’t stop myself from asking the next question. “Why do you have multiple ladies?”

  “Look around,” Kenneth prodded, inclining his chin and urging me to scan the room. “What do you see?”

  “A lot of coffee and cards.”

  “Look closer.”

  “I … oh.” It escaped my notice upon entry, but now I understood what Kenneth was getting at. “You and Arthur are the only men here.”

  “Hey, maybe she’s smarter than she looks,” Arthur said, making a horrifying throat-clearing sound. He sounded as if he was about to cough up a demon.

  “Are you the only men ever here?”

  “Yup,” Kenneth said. “There are thirty women and two men on most days, and dances make it like fifty women and two men.”

  “Because women outlive men?” I was genuinely curious.

  Kenneth shrugged. “I think you’re being too clinical,” he said. “It’s more like women enjoy hanging out in groups and they don’t mind admitting they’re going to a senior center. Men generally don’t do that.”

  “Yeah. They prefer golfing,” Arthur said.

  “Why are you here?”

  “For the action,” Arthur replied, causing my stomach to twist when he made a vulgar gesture with his hands.

  “I like hanging out with women,” Kenneth explained. “Because I’m one of the only men who comes here, I’m very popular. It’s nice for the ego.”

  I always liked Kenneth. I never understood why he liked Aunt Tillie, but I found him to be pleasant and congenial. I knew he wouldn’t rock Aunt Tillie’s world … or cause her to fall in love with him … but I thought he was good for her in a roundabout way. “And Aunt Tillie was bad for your ego,” I surmised.

  “I like Tillie because she’s fiery and says whatever comes to her mind,” Kenneth said. “She doesn’t pretend to be something she’s not … like these women. She didn’t care about me, though. At a certain point I got the picture and let her go.”

  “I don’t think it’s that she didn’t care about you, Kenneth,” I countered. “I just … she’s set in her ways. She doesn’t like change.”

  “Well, I don’t have a lot of time left,” Kenneth said. “I can’t spend it trying to change her ways, no matter how funny and beautiful I find her.”

  He was sweet. I had to give him that. “What about Patty? Had she been sick? Was she acting strange? Did she have any enemies?”

  “She didn’t have any enemies that I know about,” Kenneth said. “She wasn’t acting sick or anything either. She was a nice woman who played a mean hand of bridge. She didn’t really join in with the other women here, though, and I don’t think she liked most of them. I get that, though, because I don’t like most of them either.”

  “I honestly didn’t know her well,” I admitted. “I saw her around town a few times, but I really never talked to her. Did she have family in the area?”

  “She had a nephew, but I believe he lives down state.”

  “No siblings? An ex-husband?”

  “The only things I know about Patty are what she told me, and it wasn’t much,” Kenneth said. “She didn’t gossip much. That’s all the other women here do. Look at them over the
re. That’s what they’re doing now, in fact.”

  I followed his gaze, internally cringing when I locked gazes with Mrs. Little. I had an unfortunate relationship with the woman. Up until a few months earlier she tolerated me and thought I was nothing more than Aunt Tillie’s pesky niece. When a long-held secret between the two women surfaced, though, and the truth about Mrs. Little’s infidelity and her late husband’s murderous ways came out, she turned her back on me because I lambasted her for keeping the secret at Aunt Tillie’s expense. We hadn’t spoken since.

  “This doesn’t look good,” Arthur said, shaking his head as Mrs. Little got to her feet and headed in my direction. She wasn’t alone. Three of her cohorts – Myrtle Jensen, Fay Reynolds and Viola Hendricks – were right behind her, and they looked to be champing at the bit for a showdown. “You should probably run now, girl.”

  “They don’t frighten me,” I countered, and I mostly meant it. “I grew up with Aunt Tillie. She’s a lot scarier than these women.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Arthur said, shuffling the cards and keenly watching as Mrs. Little stopped next to me.

  “Bay.”

  “Mrs. Little,” I replied, forcing a smile. “It’s good to see you. How are you today?”

  “I’m fine,” Mrs. Little replied, her tone cool. “Do you want to tell me what you’re doing here?”

  “I’m here to speak to Kenneth,” I replied. “Do you want to tell me what you’re doing here?” Something about her mannerisms turned me off. She always fancied herself above everyone else in the community, but after I learned she knew her husband was a murderer and let others suffer to protect him long after his death, I lost all respect for her.

  “This is the senior center,” Fay supplied.

  “I read the sign on the door before I came in,” I said.

  “That means only senior citizens can hang out here,” Viola said.

  “Actually, this is a public building paid for with municipal funds and anyone can come in here,” I said. “I know you ladies like to pretend you have a little fiefdom – and you think there’s power associated with the board you enacted – but you really don’t have power over anything.”

  “Perhaps we should call Chief Terry and ask him whether he thinks that’s the case.” Mrs. Little was haughty.

  “I think that’s a great idea,” I said, nodding to encourage her. “Chief Terry is aware of the laws. He’ll probably even have the patience to explain them to you.”

  Mrs. Little wrinkled her nose, her eyes flashing with annoyance. “You shouldn’t be here, Bay. After what your aunt did … .”

  “Allegedly did,” I corrected. “As far as I can tell, you’re the one who thinks she’s guilty and is going out of her way to point fingers. I think we both know that pointing fingers is a two-way street.”

  Mrs. Little stilled, her face unreadable. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m simply saying that there’s a lot of gossip in this town,” I said, realizing I was stooping to a level I wasn’t entirely comfortable with. Very few people in town knew the truth about Mrs. Little’s husband. I was more than happy to change that should it become necessary. “You seem to like to spread it about my aunt. Perhaps I should spread it about you and see who comes out on top.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Bay,” Mrs. Little said hurriedly.

  I couldn’t help being a little smug. “I didn’t think it would.”

  “What do you want to know?” Mrs. Little asked, putting on an air of irritation. I could tell she was nervous, and I enjoyed having power over her. I guess there’s a little bit of Aunt Tillie in me after all.

  “I want to know exactly what you saw the day before yesterday,” I replied. “I want the truth, too. Embellishments are unnecessary and will only cause me to open my big mouth.”

  “What is she talking about, Margaret?” Fay asked, confused.

  “It’s nothing.” Mrs. Little was resigned to her fate. “For the record, I’m the one who saw Tillie. She didn’t come into the room. She hid by the coffee machine in that alcove by the door for a few minutes – I would say it was five at most – and then she left. I didn’t think anything of it until Patty died, so if you think I’m working against your aunt, I’m not.”

  That was a lie and I knew it. “You called Chief Terry about Aunt Tillie being here before Patty’s body was found,” I pointed out. “We’re talking a good twelve hours before. He was out looking for her at dinner the night before. Part of your story doesn’t make sense.”

  Mrs. Little scowled. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  “How about the truth,” I suggested. “What possible reason would Aunt Tillie have for wanting to hurt Patty? From what I’ve witnessed over the years, the two of them barely knew one another.”

  “She did it because she was jealous of Patty’s relationship with Kenneth,” Mrs. Little said.

  “As far as I can tell every woman in this place can claim a relationship with Kenneth,” I countered, offering him a wan smile so he knew I wasn’t angry about the development. “Why would Aunt Tillie single out Patty if she was jealous and wanted to secure Kenneth’s affection for herself?”

  “Maybe because she’s crazy,” Mrs. Little said.

  “I’ll be sure to tell her you said that.” The veiled threat was out of my mouth before I could think better of it.

  Mrs. Little blanched but remained silent.

  “I don’t think it was because of Kenneth,” Myrtle said. She wore her completely white hair short. “I heard Tillie and Patty had an old grudge that went back thirty years or so. It had something to do with a piece of property adjacent to the one your family owns.”

  That was the first I’d heard about this. “I didn’t know Patty owned property out by us.”

  “She never went out there because it was useless,” Myrtle said, shaking her head. “Thirty years ago she sold it to a land developer and now it’s that empty parcel between you guys and the Mackenzie farm.”

  I racked my brain to picture the property she referred to. “Isn’t that filled with a mucky bog?”

  “Pretty much,” Myrtle said. “That was only found when they tried to develop condos out there. That’s what Tillie was upset about. She didn’t want condos and she fought them tooth and nail. She lost at the zoning board level, but when the developers went out there they found the land couldn’t be built on. They’d been out there the day before and it was fine, but when they went back to survey it after the zoning board win it was covered in water. It was all very mysterious.”

  That didn’t sound at all mysterious to me. In fact, that sounded just like Aunt Tillie. That was a far cry from murder, though. “What happened after that?”

  “The sale was negated because the buyer said Patty hid the water issues,” Myrtle replied. “Apparently they hated each other after that.”

  “That’s all well and good,” I said. “That was thirty years ago, though. Why would Aunt Tillie kill her over it now?”

  “Why does your aunt do anything?”

  That was a fair question.

  “She didn’t kill her over the land,” Fay argued, shaking her bottle-blond head. She fancied herself a fashion plate – those low-waisted teenager jeans never looked so out of place – and she was annoyed with her friend’s story. “She killed her because she needed a secret place to perform one of her rituals.”

  I could see where this one was going long before it got there. “Why would Aunt Tillie kill Patty to use her house for a ritual when we have acres of land for her to use if she wanted to conduct a ritual?”

  “Because this was a dark ritual,” Fay whispered.

  “Okay, I’ll bite,” I said. “What kind of dark ritual?”

  “Tillie is close to dying,” Fay explained. “She’s old.”

  “So are you.”

  Fay ignored me. “I hear Tillie has to sacrifice a virgin to stay alive every year. Then she bathes in the blood. That’s why she’s still so a
ctive at her age.”

  I ran my tongue over my teeth as I decided how to answer. It was a ludicrous assertion, but Fay’s head didn’t spend a lot of time in reality. “Have you heard of any virgins being sacrificed?”

  “She keeps it a secret,” Fay said.

  “Yes, but have you heard of any girls going missing?” I pressed.

  “I … she hides that,” Fay said.

  “Okay. I’m done with that story.” I turned my attention to Viola. “What about you? Do you have any reason to think Aunt Tillie killed Patty?”

  Viola shook her head, her gray hair – it was almost blue really – glinting under the harsh lighting.

  “Great,” I said, pushing myself up from the table. “It’s been a real pleasure, ladies, but I must be going.”

  “Oh, well, there might be one reason,” Viola offered, causing me to snap my head in her direction.

  “And what’s that?”

  “She probably did it for the hidden money.”

  Ten

  “What hidden money?”

  Viola’s face was blank. “You know … the hidden money.”

  “I don’t know about any hidden money,” I pressed. “What do you know about hidden money?”

  “I … hmm.” Viola lowered her eyes and stared at her feet.

  I shifted my attention to Myrtle because I knew Faye was probably a lost cause and Mrs. Little was more likely to lie than help. “Do you know about any hidden money?”

  “I completely forgot about that,” Myrtle said, rubbing the back of her neck. “Until Viola brought it up I seriously forgot all about that story.”

  I was about at my wit’s end. “What story?”

  “It’s not really a story,” Myrtle clarified. “It’s a rumor. Let me see if I remember how it goes.” She tapped her chin and closed her eyes as I tugged on my limited patience and tried to refrain from blowing up. I knew that wouldn’t get me anywhere. “Okay. I think I’ve got it.”

  “Great,” I said, anticipation coursing through me. Now we were getting somewhere.

  “Whoops. I think I lost it.” Myrtle looked flustered.