“Wow, what a nice surprise,” Twila enthused.
“We can hardly believe it ourselves,” Thistle deadpanned.
Twila paused what she was doing and took in her daughter’s appearance for a second. She shook her head slightly but didn’t say anything.
“What?” Thistle already sounded exasperated, and her mother hadn’t even insulted her yet.
“Nothing, dear, it’s just that ... it’s nothing.”
“You might as well say it.”
“It’s just that, well, makeup is meant to enhance, not cake on. You shouldn’t look like a human coloring book.”
“This is the style,” Thistle argued.
“You look like a rainbow raccoon.”
“Yeah, well you look like …”
“You’re working hard,” I cut Thistle off. I didn’t need things to evolve into World War III before I had some answers. After I had my answers, they could verbally smack the shit out of each other to their hearts content.
“Yes, vegetable soup and sandwiches,” Twila said obliviously.
They did make good soup. I guess we could stay for dinner.
I shuffled over to the small desk in the corner of the kitchen, trying to hide my hobble as much as possible. I saw my mom eyeing me suspiciously. Nothing got past her.
“What happened to you?”
“She was trying to make me eat dirt and I tripped her and she sprained her ankle,” Clove lied smoothly. I saw the lie was now growing.
“Really? I thought maybe you tripped when you were out in the corn maze last night.”
“How could you possibly know that?” I protested.
“Chief Terry was out here for lunch.” My mom was keeping her hands busy. I had a sneaking suspicion it was so she wouldn’t reach over and smack me.
“How could he possibly know that?” Thistle asked dryly.
That was a good question.
“He didn’t say.” I could tell by my mom’s tone of voice that a righteous rant was heading my way. “He just thought that maybe we should give you a good talking to about walking around crime scenes in the dead of night. I told him that was common sense, and we shouldn’t have to tell you things like that, but he seemed to think you might be lacking common sense.”
And here we go.
“What were you thinking?” My mom practically exploded.
Best just to lie and get it over with at this point. “I wasn’t.”
“And it will never happen again,” Thistle supplied for me.
“She’ll never be that stupid ever again in her life,” Clove chimed in.
I shot a pained smile at my cousins. What a great help they were being.
“You may have a general disdain for life, young lady, but this is just ridiculous.” She was apparently still wound up – and since she was wrapped pretty tight on a normal day – this was going to last for a while. I sighed as I sat back to listen to what I was sure was going to be a ridiculously long diatribe.
After about twenty minutes of being told how lucky I was that I wasn’t raped, murdered, and robbed blind – and what if someone had seen me in my pajamas – she finally began to taper off. Throughout her lengthy speech, she never once paused from cutting up vegetables and shifting them over to Twila. They were like a well-oiled kitchen machine. It was fairly impressive.
Marnie had come in halfway through. When my mom was done yelling, she turned to Thistle. “And you need to stop lying,” she added.
“She lied?” Twila asked in disbelief.
“She said Bay got hurt wrestling with Clove.”
“They tried that on us when they first came in,” Twila clucked.
“They lie to us all the time,” my mom said. “I don’t see why you guys act like this is such a big surprise.”
Cripes.
“We actually came out here for a reason,” Thistle prodded me.
Oh, right. “Yeah, we …”
“Just seeing your poor mothers isn’t enough?”
“Well, as much of a bonus as that is, we do have something we want to ask you,” I said sweetly.
“Fine, what is it?”
I pulled the file of newspaper clippings out of my purse and handed them to Thistle. She pushed them across the counter toward my mom and Twila.
“What’s this?” My mom opened the envelope. We watched her read for a few minutes, but she didn’t belie what she was feeling as she did so. Finally, she looked up at us expectantly.
“So?”
“So? Don’t you think that’s a little, I don’t know, coincidental?”
Twila and Marnie were looking at the clippings now, too.
“Oh, I remember this,” Marnie said. “This was a big deal when it happened.”
‘I don’t really remember it,” Twila said.
I was dumbfounded. “Two teenagers, a boy and girl, who had their hearts ripped out and were left in area barns? You don’t think that bears mentioning given what has happened here?”
My mom shrugged. “I didn’t really think about it. You could have a point, though.”
“About what?”
Great, Aunt Tillie was here.
Marnie showed her the articles. Aunt Tillie wasn’t impressed either. “That’s from like thirty years ago.”
“Yes, but it’s the same thing that’s happening now.”
“But it happened like forty miles away,” she countered.
“That’s really not that far.”
Thistle and Clove seemed surprised by their reactions, too. “You don’t think those murders have a lot in common with the murders of Shane and Sophie?”
“I guess,” Marnie hedged. “Isn’t it unheard of for a serial killer to have such a long cooling off period, though?”
“How do you know about cooling off periods,” Clove asked incredulously.
“She watches all those Dateline shows whenever they’re on,” my mom answered for her. “She’s quite knowledgeable about serial killers.”
What a great expertise to have.
“They never caught the killer, right?” Clove asked.
“No, I don’t think so. I just think people forgot about it after a little while,” Marnie said.
“You don’t find that weird? That would have been one of the biggest things to ever happen around here.”
“Eh, it wasn’t happening here so people really didn’t care,” Aunt Tillie said, absently waving her hand.
“You didn’t care that teenagers were getting their hearts ripped out?”
Aunt Tillie turned toward me. “Don’t you use that tone of voice with me, young lady! I’ve had just about enough of you lately.”
“Enough of me? What did I do?”
“All three of you are so full of yourselves,” she said. “You act like you’re so much smarter than us. Where do you think you got those brains you’re so proud of, missy?”
“Um, college.”
Aunt Tillie made a move to smack me, but even with an injured ankle I managed to get out of her way. “Hey!”
“You need to learn to respect your elders.”
“I do respect my elders. I just don’t understand how they don’t see how this is relevant!”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t relevant,” she seethed. “I said that it wasn’t that big of a deal at the time. “
I turned to Marnie for help. She seemed to be the only one who understood the importance of the previous case. She obviously wasn’t willing to take a stand against Aunt Tillie, though.
She handed the envelope with the articles in it back to me and smiled brightly. “I hope they find the killer.”
This was really unbelievable.
Twenty-Three
I woke up the next morning with what felt like an alcohol hangover – which was impossible, since I hadn’t had anything to drink the night before, besides about a quart of mom-and- aunt-instilled guilt, that is.
I rolled out of bed and found Thistle and Clove both standing at the kitchen counter. They were both
already dressed and showered. Had I slept in?
“We have a tour group coming in at 8 a.m.,” Thistle answered the question before I even uttered it.
“How many people?”
“Like a hundred,” Clove said. “They’re coming from the Bay City and Saginaw area. They’re all staying at area inns for the entire weekend. We expect to be busy for the next four days.”
“Well, that’s good for you guys,” I said.
They both watched me walk to the counter. “What?”
“You can drive yourself today, right?” Clove asked.
“Yeah.”
“Good, because neither of us wanted to drive you,” Thistle said.
“I love you, too.”
Clove was peering a little too closely at my face from across the counter. I was starting to get a little uncomfortable. “What? Do I have dried drool on me or something?” I made a motion to wipe the corner of my mouth.
Thistle was suddenly staring, too.
“Seriously, what are you guys looking at?”
“That is just one monster of a zit,” Thistle laughed, pointing at my lip.
My hand flew up and felt around the area they were staring. I groaned inwardly when I felt what could have been a small village popping up on my upper lip. “But I washed my face,” I protested.
“Seriously, that thing looks like it could be an extra in a monster movie,” Clove said disgustedly.
I stood up and made my way over to the ornate mirror hanging on the wall. They were right. It was really big.
Thistle and Clove had followed me. They seem entranced with my new zit. It was big enough to need its own room, after all.
“It’s one of those really hard underground ones,” Thistle finally said. “You can’t even pop it.”
“You should never pop them,” Clove supplied. “That just makes things worse. It could leave you with a scar.”
“It actually kind of hurts,” I muttered.
“Don’t touch it,” Thistle slapped my hand away.
Clove tilted her head. “You could tell people it’s a cold sore.”
“Yeah, because having lip herpes is better than having a zit.”
It isn’t, right?
I was still studying it when something occurred to me. “Aunt Tillie.”
“It’s not as big as her,” Thistle countered.
“Not that! I mean Aunt Tillie did this to me.”
“It’s just a zit.”
I glared at Clove. I noticed she had her own situation popping up dead center on her chin. “Oh, really? Then why are you getting one, too?”
“I am not!” Clove looked panicked as she pushed me from the front of the mirror. “That was not there when I got up!”
We both turned to Thistle. I couldn’t stifle my snicker when I saw the protuberance growing from the center of her forehead.
“No,” Thistle whined. She turned and stared at herself in the mirror for a second and then swore under her breath. “I’m going to make that old lady pay.”
“That’s not a good idea,” Clove argued. “Whatever you do to someone comes back on you threefold. Don’t forget.”
“Then how come nothing ever comes back on her?” I grumbled.
“Maybe she’s too old.”
“Or maybe even karma is scared of her,” Thistle suggested.
After Thistle and Clove left, I showered and got ready for work. The more I tried to hide the zit, the more I looked like I had had some sort of seizure while applying my makeup. Finally, I just gave up.
I stopped by the office to check and see how the layout was progressing. It actually looked pretty good. I signed off on it, so they could send it to the printers, and then I set out for Hypnotic.
I saw a large tour bus parked downtown. I figured that must be the group that Thistle and Clove had been talking about. Hemlock Cove got a lot of buses from all over the state – especially this time of year. We had actually started getting groups from as far away as Canada. It was kind of fun to see how people reacted to the town.
When I walked into Hypnotic, I was surprised to see how packed it was. Thistle was busily handling the register while Clove had a line of customers waiting for Tarot readings.
“Do you need help?”
Thistle looked relieved when she saw me. “Yeah, can you just circulate and make sure everyone is finding what they need?”
I spent the next two hours busily shuffling from person to person. All of them were over the age of sixty – and all of them were extremely thrilled to be here. When they found out I worked for the paper, everyone started grilling me about the gruesome murders.
I told them the bare basics, which wasn’t easy after Shane and Sophie showed up. “What’s with all the old people?” Sophie wrinkled her nose.
“I think they’re cool,” Shane said. “It’s like an entire room full of Aunt Tillies.”
“Don’t mention her name,” I barked.
The elderly woman I was helping as she looked through the pewter jewelry jumped. “I didn’t say anything, dear,” she said.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” I apologized. “Thistle asked me something.” What? She’s old. She doesn’t know the difference.
When the store had finally emptied out, Thistle, Clove and I all exchanged exhausted glances. “Well, that was …”
“Lucrative,” Thistle supplied, snapping the cash register door shut.
She came over and joined Clove and I on the couch. “A lot of them said they’re coming back tomorrow,” Clove said. “I couldn’t give everyone readings today and there were a lot more who wanted them.”
“Well, it’s good that people are still coming – despite the murders,” I said.
Sophie was looking at my lip intensely. “Is that a zit?”
‘Yes,” I said shortly.
“It’s gross.”
“Yes.”
“Have you remembered anything else?” Thistle asked Sophie. I think she was hoping that the teenager wouldn’t notice she had her own growth to contend with. It didn’t work.
“No. And gross, you have one, too.”
“Damn, Aunt Tillie,” I swore.
“I’m going to make the potion,” Clove said finally.
“What potion?” Shane seemed excited.
“The pimple potion,” Clove answered simply.
“You have a pimple potion?” Sophie seemed intrigued.
“Yeah,” Thistle sighed. “It works like a gem, but it’s a bitch to make.”
Clove had pulled her compact out of her purse and was studying her chin. “It’s worth the effort.”
I wasn’t particularly adept at making potions, so I remained on the couch while Clove and Thistle started to grind ingredients at the corner table.
“Aren’t you going to help?” Sophie asked.
“I’m not good at potions.”
“If I were them I wouldn’t share with you.” I hate teenagers.
“I just helped them calm the mob of the century,” I argued.
“If we’re going to make it, she can have some,” Clove said. “Besides, we’re in this together, at this point.” She was grim and resolute.
“A united front,” Thistle grumbled. “I still say that we should pay her back. We can’t just let her keep getting away with stuff.”
“She’ll probably curse us again just for thinking about that,” Clove said.
“How would she know you’re thinking about it?” Shane asked.
“She’s magic,” Sophie said with reverent awe.
“She’s evil,” Thistle, Clove and I said in unison.
It took Thistle and Clove about an hour to make the potion. They left it sitting on the table and joined me on the couch.
“Aren’t you going to use it?” Sophie clearly wanted to see if the magic pimple potion actually worked.
“It has to sit for twenty minutes,” Clove explained.
The conversation turned back to Aunt Tillie – which was causing Thistle to grow
redder and redder. After a few moments, though, I realized that she had also gone rigid.
“She’s having a vision,” Clove exploded.
We both moved to Thistle’s side to make sure she didn’t tumble forward. Then we just waited.
“More death,” she mumbled.
“New victims? I thought they only needed two?” Clove shot a glance at me.
“These aren’t new, they’re old,” Thistle said.
“The murders from thirty years ago?”
“Just because it’s old, that doesn’t mean it’s over.”
“See, we were right. I can’t wait to tell that old witch that we were right,” I practically crowed.
“Is now really the time for that?” Clove chastised me.
“Two are here, two were there. One male. One female.”
“One of the killers is female?”
“I already told you that,” Sophie protested.
“We don’t have long,” Thistle intoned. “Hours, not days.”
“Can you see them?”
Thistle exhaled sharply as she relaxed in the chair. “I hate it when that happens,” she grumbled.
“Could you see faces?” I asked. Clove had gotten up and poured a cup of tea for Thistle and brought it back to her.
“No,” Thistle said. “It’s like ... it’s like they’re blurry or something.”
“Blurry?”
“Like when I get up in the morning, before I put my contacts in. There are no sharp edges to grab on to.”
“You said we have hours instead of days,” I prodded. “Do you have anything more to go on?”
Thistle shook her head ruefully. “No. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” I waved her off. “It’s not like these ‘gifts’ come with a road map.”
“They should,” she said.
I smiled at her, the expression small and fruitless. Then I turned to Sophie and Shane with a certain amount of trepidation. “You’re all we have, guys. Have you remembered anything else? Even something little might be able to help us.”
Sophie shook her head helplessly. “There’s nothing.”
“Isn’t there a way to jog our memories?”
“Not that I know of,” I admitted.
Witchy Dreams Page 18
