Wicked Witches of the Midwest Mystery Box Set

by Amanda M. Lee

“No. I like that you aren’t completely perfect. That’s a normal human response. It’s also good that you recognize it’s a bit ridiculous to worry about. That’s also a normal response.”

  “So ... we’re not arguing, right?”

  “Not even a little.”

  “Can we still make up when we get back to the guesthouse?”

  Landon’s grin was so wide it almost swallowed his face. “I like the way your mind works.”

  We increased our pace and were practically breathless by the time we arrived. Landon’s hands were on my waist as he spun me, offering up a smoldering kiss as he grabbed the keys from my hand and tried to open the front door. We were so lost in each other I didn’t notice someone moving toward us until the figure was practically on top of us.

  “Landon ... !”

  He must have sensed the interloper at the last moment because Landon abandoned his attempt to get the key in the lock and thrust me behind him as he turned to face our guest. Given the limited light, it took me a moment to make out the individual’s features.

  It was a woman. I knew that right away. The shadow was too short to belong to a man. When she finally moved to a spot where I could see the angles of her face, I almost gasped in shock.

  “Mrs. Little?”

  “Oh, this is not how I wanted to spend the rest of our night,” Landon complained, his eyes narrowing. “What are you doing here, Mrs. Little? If you’ve come to lodge another complaint about what happened in your shop today, I’m not in the mood to take it. Bother Chief Terry.”

  “I’ve tried bothering Chief Terry,” Mrs. Little sniffed, crossing her arms over her chest. She looked petulant ... and on edge. “I was hoping I could come inside so we could talk.”

  She had to be joking. “What?”

  “Inside.” She made an exaggerated face and pointed toward the door. “We need to talk, and it’s too cold to do it out here.”

  “We were pretty warm before you showed up,” Landon complained.

  “So it’s probably best that you invite me in,” Mrs. Little noted. “The sooner we hash this out, the sooner you can go back to your fornication.”

  Landon slid me a sidelong look. “I know she meant that as an insult, but it sounds good to me.”

  I was right there with him.

  MRS. LITTLE HAD NEVER VISITED the guesthouse — at least to my recollection — so it felt weird for her to inconvenience us tonight of all nights. She sat in the chair at the edge of the room, the one Landon preferred when he was watching a game, and rested her hands on her knees.

  “I would offer you something to drink, but I don’t want you to stay longer than necessary,” I supplied.

  “That’s fine.” She waved off the comment with a dismissive gesture. “We both know I wouldn’t drink anything in this house anyway. I’m afraid of being poisoned. It’s a reoccurring nightmare.”

  That was somehow fitting. “So, what is it that you want?” I was stiff as I sank on the couch next to Landon. For his part, he didn’t look nearly as worried as I felt. He was hardly at ease, though.

  “I want to talk to you about Mike Hopper,” she started.

  “Oh, wow!” My mind started buzzing at a fantastic rate. “Did you kill him? Did he try to have sex with you, too? As much as I’m not a fan of murder, I can see wanting to kill him. He’s something of a pig.”

  Mrs. Little’s mouth dropped open. “Of course I didn’t kill him. I’m not a murderer!”

  “You were seeing him,” Landon pressed, his eyes sharp as they lasered into Mrs. Little. “I’m kind of curious how that happened given the fact that he usually sees couples.”

  “Oh, well ... .” Mrs. Little, visibly uncomfortable, shifted on the chair. “Is that really important?”

  “I think it is.”

  “And I think it isn’t.” Mrs. Little was firm. “It has come to my attention that you’ve discovered certain files — documents that should’ve remained private thanks to Dr. Hopper’s status as a licensed therapist — and I want my file back.”

  I wasn’t expecting her to come right out and say it. She had to be desperate to appeal to us in this manner.

  “We cannot release any files that we’ve confiscated during our investigation of Dr. Hopper’s murder,” Landon said.

  “My file has nothing to do with your case,” Mrs. Little argued. “I’m not a suspect, so that means my personal information should be off limits.”

  Landon snorted. “What makes you think you’re not a suspect?”

  “Because I’m not.”

  Her answer was so simple that at first I thought she was delusional. When she rested her hands on her knees and straightened her shoulders, though, I knew she believed it. “Why don’t you think you’re a suspect?”

  “Because I didn’t kill him.”

  “That doesn’t mean you’re not a suspect,” I pressed. “Everyone is a suspect until we can rule them out.”

  “We?” Mrs. Little’s thin eyebrows hopped. “Since when are you a part of the Hemlock Cove Police Department, Bay?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Then why are you ruling anyone out?”

  “Well ... .” As much as I hated it, she had a point. I wished I would’ve worded that another way. “Um ... .”

  “Bay has been instrumental in this case from the start,” Landon offered, taking up my cause without a second’s hesitation. “She has good instincts, and while not privy to files or evidence, she’s still come up with some solid leads due to her own investigation. An investigation that she’s allowed to run thanks to her standing as the owner of The Whistler,” he added hurriedly. “She’s well within her rights.”

  Mrs. Little’s expression was dubious. “Do you two really think I’m going to believe that?”

  “It’s the truth,” Landon replied.

  “You might fool the majority of the residents in this town, but they’re sheep, and I know better. Bay is knee-deep in this case. She always is. I’m not sure why you feel the need to include her — although I have my suspicions — but she’s just as involved in this one as she has been in the others.”

  Landon refused to back down. “I’m sorry, but you’re mistaken.”

  “Mistaken my aching butt,” Mrs. Little fired back. “Ultimately it doesn’t matter. I don’t care what Bay is doing … or why she’s helping you. That’s your business.”

  “Then what do you want?” I asked, tugging on my limited patience. If I exploded now it would only make things worse.

  “I want you to give back my file.”

  “Our warrant for the files hasn’t come through,” Landon said smoothly. “We don’t even know who is mentioned in the files, which remain at Dr. Hopper’s house. In fact, I really need to remember to get on that judge tomorrow. I don’t know why he’s dragging his feet.”

  “I do.” Mrs. Little’s eyes sparkled. “Would you like me to tell you?”

  Landon was caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

  “I know why the judge hasn’t issued a warrant yet. I’ll tell you in exchange for my file.”

  “Wait ... are you trying to bribe me?” Landon’s eyes widened. “You know that’s a felony, right? You can’t bribe a federal agent.”

  “I’m not trying to bribe you.” She shook her head with disdain. “Law enforcement officials make deals all the time. I can tell you exactly why your warrant hasn’t been signed in exchange for my private information, which is of no use to you. And before you deny having those files again you should remember that I saw you entering Dr. Hopper’s house after dark the day his body was found. I know darned well you have those files.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Landon wasn’t ready to concede defeat. “Prove it.”

  “If you want me to call your boss, I will.” Mrs. Little wasn’t above a good threat and she whipped out her favorite — I’m going to tell on you — without batting an eyelash.

  “Go ahead.” Landon leaned forward and pinned her with a dark look. “My boss has met you. He was here
this summer, in case you’ve forgotten. He knows all about you. He has a file on you, too, if you’re interested.”

  “Why would he have a file on me?”

  “Because you like to insert yourself in investigations and tattle on your neighbors,” Landon replied. “You’re a busybody.”

  “I am no such thing!”

  Landon ignored her building fury. “You’re a busybody,” he repeated. “You fancy yourself the center of the world, privy to everyone’s business, and yet you demand your own privacy. That’s a dangerous combination. So, yeah, we have a file on you.”

  “Well, I want that file.”

  “You’re destined for disappointment.” As flirty and romantic as Landon was twenty minutes before, he was furious and irritated now. “We don’t have Dr. Hopper’s files.” The lie rolled off his tongue. “You’re not accomplishing what you thought you were tonight. In fact, all you’ve accomplished is to make sure that your file is the first I look at.”

  Mrs. Little huffed out an indignant grunt as she got to her feet, clutching her purse to her chest as she glared. “You’ll regret coming up against me.”

  “I regret most things about you.”

  “Well, you’re going to especially regret this,” Mrs. Little stressed. “You’re not the be all and end all of law enforcement in this town. You may be a federal agent, but Chief Terry is in charge. And, from what I can tell, he’s no longer smitten with the Winchesters. He’s moved on.”

  Oh, now I was in it. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  “Bay.” Landon grabbed my arm before I could launch myself across the coffee table and reenact whatever sports movie revolved around football and brutal tackles. “Don’t let her get to you. That’s what she wants.”

  “What I want is for you people to mind your own business,” Mrs. Little fired back. “If you won’t listen to reason, I’ll have to go to your superiors.”

  Landon wasn’t about to be threatened. “Knock yourself out.”

  “I will.”

  “Great.” Landon purposely strode toward the door and threw it open. “I believe your business is done here.”

  Mrs. Little wouldn’t stop grousing under her breath as she stormed to the door. “You think this is over, but it’s just beginning.”

  “Awesome.” Landon stood to the side, refusing to look at her. “You can begin outside. We’ll begin in here.”

  “You just want to fornicate.” Disgust washed over her pinched features. “You’re animals, that’s what you are.”

  “And proud of it.” Landon slammed the door in her face, leaving her complaining on the other side of the threshold as he flicked the lock to make sure she would stay out. His chest heaved as he snagged my gaze. “Are you ready for bed?”

  It wasn’t a funny situation and yet I couldn’t stop myself from giggling. “Are you about to use all that excess energy on me?”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Bring it.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  Twenty-Five

  I solved several problems in my sleep, the biggest of which was the judge conundrum. I was excited when I rolled over and shook Landon awake.

  “You can’t possibly want to do it again,” he murmured, his eyes closed. “I need nourishment before I can, Bay. You wore me out.”

  “I think we wore each other out,” I said dryly, my lips curling. “But that’s not why I was waking you.”

  “Unless you have bacon I’m not interested.”

  “I don’t have bacon ... but I’m considering putting a small refrigerator in here so I can bribe you with the scent when I want something.”

  “Now you’re thinking.” He cocked an eyebrow and fixed me with a quizzical look. “Why are you up so early? And why are you so excited? We have thirty minutes more to sleep. Let’s enjoy them.”

  “I had a dream.”

  Landon’s smile was sly. “A naughty dream?”

  “Ugh. You really are a pervert.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “Focus!” I snapped my fingers in front of his face to make sure I had his attention. “I know what Mrs. Little was talking about last night.”

  “So do I.” Landon sobered. “She’s well aware that we have her file and she’s embarrassed by what she believes is in it. She should be. I’ve seen that file. Hopper clearly didn’t like her.”

  “Which begs the question of why he was treating her,” I mused. “She still hasn’t answered that question.”

  “No, she hasn’t,” he agreed. “She evaded it. We need to find some answers on that front. Nothing I come up with makes sense.”

  “I’ll call Hopper later and force him to answer,” I offered. “I have some ideas on the necromancer front.”

  “I can do it with you if you’re nervous.”

  “I’m not nervous.” That was mostly true. “I have to do this on my own eventually. I’m a grown-up.”

  “That’s what it says on your Witches ’R Us membership card,” he teased, poking a finger into my stomach and causing me to squirm.

  “Will you focus? I’m serious.”

  He heaved out a sigh and dragged a hand through his morning-mussed hair. “Fine. You’re serious.”

  “I had a dream,” I started again. “In it, Mrs. Little managed to get me arrested and I went on trial. It went the way of the Incredible Hulk’s trial — if you remember that — and I managed to escape, but that’s not the interesting part.”

  “Oh, no?” Landon deadpanned. “I was about to call a news conference on the Hulk dream. Continue.”

  I twisted my lips. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

  His expression softened. “Tell me.”

  “The judge in the dream was the visiting judge. You know, Judge Morton. He’s retired but he still fills in when the current judge is on vacation.”

  “I know how visiting judges work,” he said dryly.

  “Judge Morton is Janet Hall’s father. She was at Mrs. Little’s store yesterday. She’s also in Hopper’s files.”

  Realization dawned on Landon’s face. “Oh.”

  “There you go.”

  “The judge has been dragging his feet because his kid is in the files. He thinks if he holds out long enough we’ll solve it without having to drag her into things.”

  “Not only is Janet in the files, she’s one of the women Hopper convinced to have sex with him,” I supplied. “She has more to lose than most.”

  “Well, that makes sense.” Landon rolled to his back and stared at the ceiling. “I guess I know what I’m doing today.”

  “Confronting the judge?”

  “Nope. Going to a federal judge higher in the food chain. I’m going to cut Judge Morton out of the decision.”

  “That sounds like a plan.”

  “Yeah. What are you planning to do?”

  “I’m going to deal with Hopper’s ghost and get the answers we need.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me close when you do that?”

  “He can’t hurt me.”

  “I know, but ... you might need me.”

  I smiled, love washing over me. “I always need you. But on this one, I want to do it myself. It’s important. I’ve got to start dealing with this.”

  “Okay, but if you need backup I’m only a call away.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. I’ll be fine.”

  DESPITE MY BRAVADO, I was nervous when Landon departed for the day and I was left with nothing to do but the one thing I’d been dreading. In truth, the idea of being able to control ghosts sounded intriguing on paper. In reality, it was daunting.

  I never fancied myself the sort of person who would try to control another soul. Sure, my family was all about controlling each other, but in a wholesome way. We wanted to manipulate and cajole like normal people. Doing it magically eliminated the fun.

  I had a new reality, though, and it was time to embrace it. The ability wasn’t going to simply dis
appear. I had to come to grips with the power and begin exerting some control.

  With that in mind, I headed to the bluff on the far side of the property. As a Winchester, my magic was tied to our bloodlines. Because we were all earth witches to some degree, that meant I found my greatest strength on the property. I was hopeful that would benefit me today.

  The weather was a balmy forty-eight degrees when I’d set out from the guesthouse. Winter was holding on with bloody fingertips, but it would soon be a memory. Once spring officially hit, the trees would finish filling out — our earlier burst of decent weather came and went far too quickly when winter decided it wasn’t quite finished with us — and then we would be back to picnics and naked dancing under the full moon.

  For now, though, I had a ghost to deal with.

  I picked a spot in the bright sunshine and spread out the blanket I’d thought ahead to bring. The ground was still cold, so I didn’t want to risk a frozen behind. I sat cross-legged on the blanket, rested my elbows on my knees, and turned my palms to the sky. Meditation wasn’t necessary when dealing with ghosts, but Hopper served as a constant form of agitation and I wanted to maintain my cool.

  I sucked in a calming breath, focused and called his name. This time there was no doubt I’d managed to engage the magic on the first try. Hopper materialized five feet in front of me, his eyes wide when he realized his proximity to the sharp cliff drop-off, and he started complaining the second he could open his mouth.

  “Well, it’s about time! I thought you’d forgotten about me.”

  “I could never forget about you,” I said dryly. “You’re all I think about.”

  “Oh, don’t placate me. I know very well you’ve been dealing with personal issues rather than focusing on me. I’m not an idiot.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I just ... do.”

  Meaning he guessed. And, because he was feeling petulant, he turned himself into a victim. I recognized the effort from when I was a teenager. Hopper was far too old to give in to those urges, though.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “Well, great.” Hopper mimicked my position as he lowered himself to the ground and faced me. “I need to talk to you.”