This argument would go to a bad place quickly if I didn’t intervene. I hustled to the pantry and pulled out the emergency spray bottle.
“Chewing only bothers you because you like to swallow your prey whole,” Grandma said.
My mother shot to her feet, ready to respond. I leaped between them and spritzed each of them in the face with herb-infused water designed to calm them down. Aunt Thora had come up with the idea and prepared the tonic after the last battle between the two witches.
They both sputtered. “What are you doing?” my mother demanded. She wiped the water from her eyes.
“Um, Eden,” Aunt Thora said. “That’s the water I use to spray the plants in the house.”
I stared at the spray bottle in my hand and swallowed hard. “Oops.”
Fortunately for me, my mother and Grandma were still intent on each other. They moved from the kitchen into the living room, circling each other.
“Code Red,” Aunt Thora said.
“More like Code Dead if this keeps up,” I said.
Aunt Thora drummed her nails on the table. “I can’t decide whether to fetch popcorn or intervene.”
“Don’t intervene,” I warned. “It won’t end well for you.”
“You wouldn’t kill your elder,” I heard Grandma said. I moved to the threshold of the living room, debating my options.
“As if that ever stopped me before,” my mother shot back.
“Nobody needs to kill anybody,” I interjected. Although I wasn’t about to stand between them, I was willing to object from a safe distance.
“You’re already sick and old,” my mother continued, a dangerous glint in her eye. “Nobody would bat an eyelid if you keeled over now.”
Grandma gasped. “Are you threatening to kill me and not revive me? And to think I let you drink from my very own breast when you were a baby.”
“That’s because you were too cheap to hire a wet nurse,” my mother said.
“Was I breastfed?” Not a crucial question at this particular moment, but I realized I had no idea.
“Of course, sweetheart,” my mother said. “Because I actually love you.” She glared at Grandma.
“You only wanted an excuse to show off your boobs to anyone within range,” Grandma said.
My mother glanced down at her cleavage. “Well, they are perfect specimens. They’d be in a museum if they weren’t attached to my body.”
Grandma waved her hand in a threatening manner. “Museum quality can be arranged.”
My mother nodded toward the crystal lamp in the shape of a pineapple on the end table beside her. “Now be careful. You shoot a bolt at me now and you’ll take out your favorite lamp, too.”
Grandma seemed to mull it over and I thought we were in the clear until I heard the fateful words—
“Worth it.”
Lightning streaked from Grandma’s fingertips and zapped my mother and every object within arm’s reach of her. As predicted, the lamp shattered into pieces. My mother’s body reverberated from the force before a hissing noise erupted and she fell to the floor.
I moaned loudly. “You two are the worst.”
“Watch it or you’ll be next,” Grandma said. “I don’t care if you’re immortal. I can still take you down for five minutes. At the very least, it’ll ruin your hair.” She motioned with her hand. “Not that there’s far to go.”
I smoothed my hair. “What are you going to do with Mom?”
Grandma contemplated the body on the rug. “I think I’ll bury her and let her dig her way out. That’ll teach her a lesson.”
I exhaled loudly. “At least bury her with a spade so she doesn’t have to ruin her nails. She just got that manicure last week.”
“Yeah, but I don’t like the color,” Grandma said. “So it’ll be like killing two birds with one lightning bolt.”
“I’m not helping you,” I said. “If you want to bury her, you’ll have to do it without me.”
“And me,” Aunt Thora called. She’d wisely remained in the kitchen during the showdown.
“I’m an old woman. I’ll pull a muscle,” Grandma complained. “Not to mention my hernia.”
“You don’t have a hernia.”
“I will if I have to bury her by myself.”
“Then ask Anton.”
“He’s always working late.” Grandma smiled. “I know. I’ll ask your father. He’ll beat a path to our door if he knows it involves burying his ex-wife.”
“Don’t encourage the bad blood between them,” I said.
“Why not? It’s fun. Besides, I guarantee you that neat-freak Sally doesn’t let him play in the dirt. I’m basically doing him a favor.”
I couldn’t let her involve my father in this or the payback from my mother would be unrelenting.
“Fine, I’ll help you, but just this once.”
Grandma cackled. “I’ve heard that one before.”
“You really shouldn’t take pride in manipulating your granddaughter.”
“And you really shouldn’t take pride in being good all the time, yet here we are.”
“That’s what this is about,” I said. “You want me to participate in this so that I’m an accomplice in your evil deed.”
“No, I want you to participate so that I don’t hurt myself and ruin my chance to beat Shirley at Mahjong at the senior center.”
“Since when do you two play Mahjong? I thought cheating at cards was your bread and butter.”
Grandma headed toward the back door. “Don’t disrespect your elders, especially those with the power to bury you in the backyard.”
“We all have that power.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Fine, then the ones with the willingness to bury you in the backyard.”
Point taken.
I trailed behind her to the gardening shed where she retrieved two shovels and a spade.
“We’re going to dig first?” I asked.
“Have to,” Grandma said. “If we drag your mother out here too soon, it’ll attract flies.”
I grimaced at the thought of flies circling my mother’s body. “Do we have to bury her?”
“No, I guess we can hang her upside down in the barn and pretend she’s a bat.” She chose a spot not far from Aunt Thora’s suffering lemon trees and started to dig.
“Why not use magic to do this?” I asked. “Can’t you enchant the shovels?”
Grandma pinned her gaze on me. “You’re encouraging me to use magic?”
“It’s not black magic,” I said. “Besides, I’m not going to do it with you.”
“Oh, I see how this works,” Grandma said, leaning on the end of the shovel’s handle. “You’re perfectly willing to let me use my powers when it suits you, like at Bannon’s house.”
“It was just a suggestion. If you’d rather dig, then we’ll dig.”
Grandma hesitated. “Actually, it was a good idea. I just didn’t think of it.”
“You didn’t think of it?”
She gave me a hard look. “I’m old and I forget things. What’s your excuse?”
“I’m not evil?”
Grandma blew a raspberry. “That’s always your excuse.” She motioned for me to set down the shovel and she dropped her own.
“Do you need Aunt Thora?”
“I just killed your mother with a lightning strike, but you think I need my sister to raise a shovel?” She began an incantation and waved her hands, guiding the shovels to dig. It reminded me of the scene in Fantasia with the dancing buckets and broom.
Once the grave was deep enough, we returned to the house for my mother. She was exactly where we left her, except that Grandma’s black cat, Candy, had fallen asleep on her scorched chest.
Grandma gazed adoringly at her familiar. “Aw, I hate to disturb her when she’s curled up like that.”
“We can always bury her with Mom,” I said.
Grandma pointed a finger at me. “That’s blasphemy.” She gave a shrill whistle and the black ca
t stirred, barely registering our presence.
“She’s not very obedient,” I said.
“She’s independent like me,” Grandma said. “She doesn’t like to be told what to do.” She leaned over and tapped the cat’s bottom affectionately. “Go on now before this horrid fury does something stupid.”
Candy yawned and stretched before removing herself from the corpse.
I lifted my mother by the shoulders. “Grab her feet.”
“Why should I grab her feet?” Grandma asked. “They smell.”
“They don’t smell,” I said. “Take them so we can get this over with.”
“Fine, if they don’t smell, then you take her feet and I’ll get her shoulders.”
“You’re ridiculous.” I dropped my mother’s shoulders and the back of her head hit the floor.
“That’s going to leave a mark,” Grandma said.
I immediately felt guilty. “Her hair will cover it.”
“Not on her head, on the floor,” Grandma said.
I should’ve known.
We carried my mother outside and heaved her into the ground. I tossed the spade on her stomach and then the enchanted shovels set to work filling in the hole. I had flashbacks to childhood, remembering similar moments. They delighted in their evil misdeeds, whereas I had always been extremely uncomfortable with them. Not much had changed.
I stood beside my mother’s temporary grave and observed my grandmother’s Cheshire cat grin. “You realize the payback will be ten times worse than this, don’t you?”
“Not while she’s sick it won’t,” Grandma said. “And by the time she’s better, she’ll have forgotten. Witches have short memories for this sort of thing.”
“Probably because it happens so often,” I muttered.
“What’s that?” Grandma asked.
“If you find yourself killing each other on a regular basis, maybe you should reevaluate the type of relationship you have.”
“I can’t reevaluate it,” Grandma said. “She’s my daughter. It is what it is.”
I smacked my forehead. “Why don’t you sign some kind of peace treaty? Wave a white flag?”
Grandma looked at me like I was ready to be committed. “You’ve been away too long, Eden. You forget how this family operates.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” I said. “I was just hoping that something might have changed.” A rustling sound by the gate caught my attention. “Do you hear that?” I scanned the backyard for signs of an intruder. Maybe it was the pest that had attacked the lemon trees and Mrs. Paulson’s cabbages.
“I don’t hear anything.” I could tell from her posture that she wasn’t making an effort either. She was too busy gloating over my mother’s grave.
I walked around the side of the house to investigate. No sign of rabbits or anything else. “Must’ve been the breeze.”
“Put away those shovels and I’ll go inside and make us a pot of tea,” Grandma said.
“Yes, because that’s what serial killers do after a fresh kill. A nice cup of tea and a biscuit.”
“The civilized ones, anyway,” Grandma said, completely missing the point.
Reluctantly, I tidied away the shovels and followed her inside.
Chapter Thirteen
I’d barely made it out of the shower and up to the attic to get dressed when Alice swooped in front of me.
“Eden, put on lipstick,” Alice said. “Hurry!”
I glanced down at my towel. “I think lipstick is pretty low on the list right now.” My first priority was more vapor rub for my chest. My sleep was interrupted throughout the night by coughing fits, not to mention nightmares of my zombie mother seeking revenge.
The sound of the doorbell reverberated throughout the house. “Who is it?”
“Get dressed,” Alice urged. When I reached for an orange top, her ghostly hand tried to smack my arm away. “Not that one. It isn’t feminine enough.”
“Listen, Alice. I already have a mother with old-fashioned ideas about fashion…” Despite my objection, I found myself putting on a cobalt blue top with an alluring V-neck and jeans. My hair would have to air dry.
Grandma intercepted me as I came down from the attic. “It’s your boyfriend again. He must be really hard up for a date. Don’t take him to make out in the barn unless you want to explain the fresh grave out back.”
I gulped. Chief Fox was here and my mother was buried in the backyard. Great.
Princess Buttercup accompanied me to the front door, zigzagging down the hallway with exuberance.
“Hi,” I said, forcing a bright smile as I opened the door. My smile faded when I noticed Mrs. Paulson on the porch behind him. “Is everything okay? Mrs. Paulson, are you having more computer problems?”
Mrs. Paulson ignored me. “Go on,” she urged.
Chief Fox pinned me with a solemn gaze. “Sorry to bother you, Agent Fury, but your neighbor is concerned about recent activity in your garden and asked me to check things out.”
“Oh, the invasive species?” I asked. “Aunt Thora has been struggling with her lemon trees…”
“Not the insects,” he interjected.
“They buried a body,” Mrs. Paulson blurted. “I saw it with my own four eyes.” She tapped her glasses.
Chief Fox offered a rueful smile. “I’ve explained to Mrs. Paulson that she was mistaken, that a federal agent would not be covering up a murder by hiding a dead body in her own backyard, but Mrs. Paulson seems convinced.”
“I don’t need him mansplaining what I think I saw.” Mrs. Paulson nudged him out of the way to confront me. “I came over here to thank you for helping me with my computer. I even brought muffins.”
“You baked muffins for me?”
“No, I bought them at the grocery store, but still.” She gestured toward the back of the house. “I heard voices, so I went around back and saw you and your grandmother with a shovel.”
“Well, of course you did, Mrs. Paulson,” I said sweetly. “We were gardening.”
“You were digging and burying,” she argued.
Although I maintained a calm exterior, my insides were churning. How would I explain this to Chief Fox? I had to think of a way to get rid of both of them.
“That’s how you plant things, Mrs. Paulson. You dig and bury the roots.”
“Don’t lecture me on gardening, young lady,” Mrs. Paulson said. If she had a cane, she would’ve hit me with it.
“How rude of me to leave you standing on the porch,” I said. “Why don’t you come in and we can discuss whatever you think you saw?”
Mrs. Paulson fixated on Princess Buttercup. “Not until you call off your Rottweiler.”
“She’s a Great Dane,” I said. Sort of.
“Princess Buttercup wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Chief Fox said. He reached forward and rubbed the hound’s head. “See?”
Grandma appeared behind me. “I thought I heard voices. Where are your manners, Eden? Invite them in. Who would like tea?”
Uh oh. I didn’t trust that offer for a second. She might as well have offered them a nap in bed with the horse’s head already on the pillow next to the mint.
“Nobody wants tea, Esther,” Mrs. Paulson said. “The chief is here to investigate a murder.”
Grandma wore an innocent expression. “Who died?”
“Well, not the two of you, clearly,” Mrs. Paulson said.
Grandma didn’t miss a beat. “Please come on in so we can figure this out in a civilized manner.”
“You’re taking this very well for someone being accused of burying a dead body in your yard,” the chief said.
Grandma waved a hand. “Please. If I had a nickel for every time I’ve been accused of a criminal act, I’d be retired by now.”
“Um, you are retired, Grandma,” I said. Not the best analogy.
Grandma laughed awkwardly. “So I am.” She crooked a finger for them to follow her. “The water’s already boiled.”
Mrs. Paulson took a hesitant s
tep into the house. I could see her mentally assessing the interior as she walked.
“Your house is much bigger than mine,” Mrs. Paulson said.
“I suppose we’re responsible for that, too,” Grandma said, a trace of bitterness seeping out.
“It’s because this is the original farmhouse,” I interjected. “All the land on the cul-de-sac originally belonged to the Wentworth family.”
Mrs. Paulson peeked in every doorway on our way to the kitchen. “And then your parents divorced and your father built that monstrosity on your property.”
“They split the property in half as part of the divorce settlement,” I said. Not that it was any of her business.
Chief Fox leaned down and murmured in my ear, “Sorry about this. She was adamant.”
“It’s okay,” I said. At least I hoped it was. I had no idea how Grandma intended to handle this. I prayed to the gods that it didn’t involve another dead body.
Aunt Thora stood at the counter, assembling teacups. “What a nice surprise to have unexpected visitors.”
Mrs. Paulson’s gaze darted around the house. “Where’s Mrs. Fury?”
“Running errands,” I said quickly.
“I didn’t see her leave,” Mrs. Paulson said.
Grandma frowned. “I didn’t realize we had our own personal security system installed next door. How convenient.”
I shot her a warning glance. We had to play nice or we risked agitating Mrs. Paulson even further.
“Tea?” Aunt Thora offered.
“Not yet,” Mrs. Paulson said. “First, I want to show Chief Fox the backyard where I saw the grave.”
He looked at me. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“This way,” I said. Princess Buttercup ran as soon as I opened the back door. Unfortunately, she made a beeline for the fresh mound of dirt and began to sniff around.
“See!” Mrs. Paulson pointed.
“I buried her bone,” I said. “It’s one of her favorite games. She likes to be the one to dig it up.”
“She’s lying,” Mrs. Paulson said
Chief Fox seemed torn between wanting to allay the old woman’s fears and wanting to throttle her.
“I wouldn’t suggest trying to take her bone away,” I said. “She’s sweet, but she’s also very territorial.”
Grace Under Fury Page 12
