How Aunt Tillie Stole Christmas

by Amanda M. Lee

  “Sure.” Bay moved to join me, her eyes traveling to her mother when Winnie strode to the drawer and attempted to open it. “What are you doing, Mom?”

  “I’m trying to figure out what you girls were up to when you disappeared for the better part of the afternoon,” Winnie gritted out as she fruitlessly tugged on the drawer. “We’re going to talk about that, by the way.”

  “Go ahead,” I said, snapping my fingers and pointing toward the drawer that held the ice cream scoop so Clove would know to get it.

  “I’m not a dog,” Clove complained, although she did as I wanted and retrieved the scoop.

  “I think Winnie wants to know where you took the girls and why no one bothered to leave a note or inform their mothers where they were going,” Terry interjected.

  “We forgot,” Clove said.

  “You forgot?” Terry cocked an eyebrow. “I’m not sure how you could forget to tell your mother you were leaving the house, especially after you’ve been warned about it so many times. We were about to call for a search with the state police until someone downtown mentioned that they might’ve seen Tillie’s pickup in front of Margaret Little’s house – and there was some distinctive yellow snow left behind.”

  Oh, well … it had to be Beatrice Monroe. She spends way too much time worrying about what other people are doing. She’s such a tattletale. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I lied.

  “Yellow snow?” David looked amused. “You were out putting yellow snow in someone’s yard?”

  “Only for part of the time,” Bay replied, moving around the counter so she could stare closer at the airplane. “This is cool. You guys have done a lot of work.”

  “Officer Terry has done most of the work,” Andrew said sheepishly.

  “No, you’ve done most of the work,” Terry corrected, absently patting Bay’s back. “I only supervised.”

  “He’s good at supervising,” Bay offered.

  “No, he’s not,” Thistle countered. “I hate it when he supervises. I always end up grounded when he supervises.”

  “Maybe that says a little something about you,” Terry suggested, scorching her with a look.

  “I think it says something about you,” Thistle countered.

  “And what’s that?”

  “Well … I think you like torturing little kids.”

  Michael snickered. “Man, you guys are funny. Are you always like this?”

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Terry said dryly, his eyes drifting to me. “So, where did you girls go after your trip to Margaret Little’s house?”

  “We can’t answer that question without our lawyer present,” Thistle replied, grabbing a cookie from the counter. “We demand representation.”

  “Oh, geez.” Terry pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do I even want to know what you were doing?”

  “Probably not,” I replied. “Besides, it’s a surprise.” I tilted my head in the boys’ direction, the movement deliberate and meant to convey a hidden message. Terry clearly didn’t get it.

  “What kind of surprise?”

  “I’ve got it.” Bay leaned closer and whispered something to Terry – although I had no idea what – and when he turned his eyes to me I considered running. Bay is one of those liars who is gifted one day and challenged the next. Of course, knowing Bay, she might have told him the truth, which meant Terry would arrest me for allowing her to steal a government file.

  “I see.” Terry’s expression was unreadable.

  Bay smiled as she walked away from him, stopping close to me so she could pry the lid off the ice cream. “I think he’s proud of you.”

  “And what did you say to him?”

  “That we were buying presents and needed to keep it a secret.” Bay kept her voice low. “Don’t worry. I’m not an idiot. I didn’t mention the other stuff.”

  Oh, well, I’d had faith in her the entire time. I knew she wouldn’t screw this up. “Good girl.” I patted her shoulder. “That was very smart. It explains why we snuck off and why we’re being cagey. You’re smarter than you look.”

  “I look smart,” Bay argued. “I’m smarter than you look.”

  “Hey, don’t start talking like your gutter-mouthed cousin.” I extended a warning finger. “I happen to like you right now. That could change before you even realize what’s happening.”

  Bay stared at me for a long beat, as if debating whether I was telling the truth or messing with her. Finally she heaved a sigh and nodded. “I’ll scoop the ice cream.”

  “You do that.”

  I moved away from her, momentarily making eye contact with Terry before grabbing a soda from the refrigerator and pondering how far I should push things before dinner. Ultimately I decided to focus on the fire rather than the boys’ unsettled home life.

  “Anything new on the fire?”

  “Actually, yes.” Terry’s lips curved into a smile. “It seems that what initial investigators thought was accelerant at the Michaelson house was actually leftover from a lawnmower Ben was trying to fix. He’d been working in the garage and had carried an extra gas can from the back of the house to the front. He used it for the generator in the summer and didn’t want to have to run to the gas station in the cold. He’s the one who left traces of accelerants around the house.”

  David lifted his head, his eyes curious. “What does that mean?”

  “Well, it means that the fire most likely wasn’t intentionally set,” Terry explained. “In fact, when the fire inspector went through the house he believed the initial spark happened at the fuse box.”

  “That would indicate an electrical fire, right?” Winnie asked. She’d apparently forgotten she was attempting to open the drawer, which was good for me.

  “We don’t have a final report,” Terry cautioned, “but it’s starting to look that way.”

  “That’s good, right?” Bay carried three bowls of ice cream to the table and slipped them in front of Michael, Andrew and David without prodding. She seemed to inherently know that she should serve them first. “Now people won’t believe that the boys in the home caused the fire.”

  Terry’s studied gaze lingered on Bay for a long moment. I could practically see the gears in his mind working. Bay more than any of them picked up on things adults tried to gloss over and hide. This was no exception. “I didn’t say that people in town believed the boys set the fire.”

  “You didn’t have to say it,” Bay countered. “It was obvious.”

  “I don’t think it was obvious.”

  “No, she’s right,” David said. “It was obvious. Thank you for trying to protect our feelings, but it’s not as if we didn’t know what people were saying.”

  “This is why I can only work with kids one or two days a week,” Terry muttered, rolling his neck. “You guys are all trying to kill me. I can feel it.”

  “If we were trying to kill you we wouldn’t ask questions first,” Thistle said, maniacally running her hand over the knife block as she grinned at Terry.

  “You’ll be on my list, too, if you’re not careful,” he warned. “As for people in town, I don’t think most of them believed the boys were guilty. There might have been a person or two who did, but not the majority of the townsfolk.”

  “Mrs. Little?” Bay asked sagely.

  “Mrs. Little is crazy, so it doesn’t matter what she says,” Terry said. “We’ve talked about that.”

  “Is that what you told her when she called to complain about the yellow snow?”

  “I somehow managed to avoid that call.” Terry was being evasive. He was so loveable, though, I had to give him a pass. I mean, how many men would spend their entire day working on a model with three young boys who were nothing more than strangers and would be gone in a few days? Terry was definitely a keeper. In fact, there were times I wanted to trade him for every female in my house.

  “Well, we were merely running errands,” I offered, smiling at David even though the look he cast me was one of extreme doubt.
“I also took the girls to lunch while we were out.”

  “Yeah, that’s not suspicious at all,” Winnie grumbled.

  “What’s suspicious about it?” I challenged.

  “You never purposely take them out. I know you were up to something.”

  “That’s a terrible thing to say about your nieces and aunt,” Clove said, her eyes misting. The kid is a natural when it comes to drumming up fake tears. “I think my feelings are hurt.”

  “Your butt is going to be hurt if you’re not careful,” Winnie snapped.

  “Oh, my feelings are definitely hurt.” Clove’s expression was mournful as she knuckled her eyes. “I think I’m going to go upstairs and cry myself to sleep.”

  “Oh, no one is falling for that.” Winnie’s expression twisted. “You’ll have to do better than that to get anyone to feel sorry for you.”

  “I feel sorry for her,” Andrew said earnestly. “I think she’s going to cry.”

  “She always cries,” Winnie said. “It’s an act.”

  “I feel a little sorry for her, too,” Terry admitted. “I know it’s an act, but she gets me every time all the same.”

  “That’s because you’re a sap.” Winnie lightly cuffed the back of his head, her expression fond. “She’ll be fine. I’m sure whatever covert operation Aunt Tillie took the girls on this afternoon will bolster her spirits while she naps.”

  I knew Winnie was trying to get me to admit to what we were doing, so I ignored the dig and instead focused on David. He was the oldest and he had a keen ability to read a room. I knew it was dangerous to come right out and ask him the question at the forefront of my brain, but I didn’t seem to have much of a choice.

  “David, what can you tell me about Carl Lewis?”

  “Who is Carl Lewis?” Terry asked, knitting his eyebrows.

  “He’s our uncle,” David replied, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly caught off guard by the question. “What does he have to do with anything?”

  “I’m just curious.” I was going for a breezy tone, although I had no idea if I achieved it. “He’s your father’s brother, right?”

  David nodded. “We got to see him some when we were younger. He always came by and spent time with us, even after our dad went away.”

  “Why didn’t you go to live with him after your mother died? I mean … was there a specific reason?”

  “He tried to get us.”

  “I know.”

  David tilted his head to the side. “How do you know?”

  I could hardly own up to possession of the stolen file so I merely shrugged. “I hear things. I’m curious about why he couldn’t take you boys. From what I read … er, I mean heard from random people on the street … he really wanted to.”

  “He did want to,” David confirmed. “In fact, he told us we were going to live with him. Then it didn’t happen. The state didn’t want to give us to him because he didn’t have a regular job at the time. And there was something else about my father refusing to sign away custody. We had to go to court and everything because Uncle Carl wouldn’t give up, but … the judge said no.”

  “Does he still see you?”

  “When he can, but they keep moving us and don’t always tell him,” David explained. “He does his best to see us, but he can’t always make it. I guess it doesn’t matter, because the judge won’t let us stay with him.”

  I had my doubts that would remain true much longer. “Okay. I was just curious. Go back to making your model.”

  I smiled at Winnie as I grabbed the back of Bay’s neck and dragged her to the corner. She ate ice cream as she looked me up and down.

  “What?”

  “Grab your cohorts in crime. We’re going on another trip.”

  “We’ll get in trouble.”

  “Do you really care?”

  “Will you take the blame?”

  “You’re getting more and more manipulative the older you get,” I complained. “I’ll take the blame. Just … grab the others. I have a feeling I might need cute faces where we’re going.”

  “You only want Clove because she makes people uncomfortable when she cries.”

  “I can admit that.”

  “Fine. I’ll get them.” Bay licked her spoon. “We’re still going to save Christmas, right?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Seven

  “I’m confused.” Clove held her hands in front of the heating vent as we drove toward Cheboygan. “If the judge won’t let the boys live with their uncle, how are you going to change his mind?”

  “Because I’m me,” I replied. “Bay, you read the file on the way back to Walkerville. What was the judge’s name listed on the decision?”

  “How is she supposed to remember that?” Thistle complained.

  “Judge West,” Bay supplied. “I remember because it reminded me of the Wicked Witch of the West … and you say we’re the Wicked Witches of the Midwest … and sometimes I remember weird things I have no business remembering.”

  “Great.” I smiled as I passed a slow-moving driver and offered up a one-finger salute for her sloth-like speed choice. “Get off the road, you blind old bat!”

  The woman honked back and matched my salute.

  “I happen to know Gerald West,” I added.

  “Did he lock you up?” Thistle asked.

  “No.”

  “Did he want to lock you up?”

  “No. Well, maybe.”

  “Is he going to be happy to see you?” Bay shifted on her seat. “I’m going to guess that he won’t and that’s where we’re going, right?”

  I shook my head. “Actually, we’re going to see Carl Lewis first. We’ll worry about Gerald West later. Trust me. He’ll be happy to hear from me.”

  “I’ve got twenty bucks that says he won’t be happy to hear from you,” Thistle muttered.

  “Where did you get twenty bucks?”

  “I have money.”

  “Good to know. If I need to borrow some, I’ll come to you next time.”

  “You’re my least favorite relative,” Thistle grumbled. “That’s not just for today. That’s every day.”

  “I’m sure you’ll change your mind when I catch you sneaking around outside after dark and don’t tell your mother.”

  Thistle pursed her lips. Much like me, she hates when the person she’s arguing with has a point. “I’m not taking back what I said. I don’t care how long you sit there waiting for me to do it.”

  “I don’t want you to take it back. You wouldn’t be you if you took it back.”

  “You’ve got that right.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. The kid has pizzazz. I can’t explain it. Bay, on the other hand, was somber as she stared out the window. She clearly had a lot on her mind.

  “What are you going to do when you find this uncle?” Bay asked. “Are you just going to ask him to take David, Michael and Andrew, and then send them off to have a happily ever after?”

  I shrugged, noncommittal. “I don’t know yet. It depends on what he has to say.”

  “What do you think he’s going to say?”

  “Why are you asking so many serious questions?”

  “Because I’m worried,” Bay admitted without hesitation. “I want to make things better, but I’m really worried that we won’t be able to.”

  “I don’t think you should worry about that.”

  “Well, it’s too late. I am worried.”

  I should’ve thought about that before allowing them to tag along. They’re teenagers, which means they’re all about themselves most of the time. They’re always dramatic. The drama wins out over the selfishness on most occasions.

  “Bay, I need you to have faith that I’m going to fix things. I know I don’t always do the right thing, but everything will work out this time.”

  Bay wasn’t about to be placated. “How do you know that?”

  “It’s called faith. You have it, too, even if you don’t believe it.”r />
  “I do have faith,” Bay agreed. “I’ve also seen you in action when it comes to strangers. People don’t like you when they first meet you. This Carl guy isn’t going to do what you want just because you act like a friendly little old lady and try to charm him.”

  Thistle snorted. “She’s got you there.”

  I ignored Thistle’s cackle. “Who are you calling old, Bay?”

  “I’m sorry. He’s not going to see you as a friendly middle-aged woman,” Bay corrected. “He’s going to think you’re crazy.”

  “That’s why I brought you girls,” I acknowledged. “He’ll melt when he sees you.”

  “Because Clove’s going to cry?”

  “Only if he thinks we’re crazy,” I cautioned. “We’re saving that one for when he calls the police.”

  “I love a good threat of jail right around Christmas,” Bay smirked.

  “You know … you’re getting quite the smart mouth.”

  Bay snickered. “Mom says I get that from you.”

  “Your mother is nuts.”

  “I’m going to tell her you said that.”

  “I’m not afraid of her.” I meant it. Kind of. Okay, only sometimes. “Don’t tell her I said that.”

  “Your secret is safe with me,” Bay said. “Especially if this works.”

  “It’s going to work.”

  “It has to.”

  CARL LEWIS LOOKED SURPRISED when he opened the door to his tidy ranch house and found the four of us standing on his porch. He arched an eyebrow, smiled, and then moved to shut the door.

  “No solicitors.” He tapped the sign on the door for emphasis.

  I shot my foot between the door and jamb so he couldn’t close us out, pasting what I hoped was a friendly expression on my face to put him at ease. “I hate solicitors, too. They’re a special kind of vermin.”

  “Okay.” Carl opened the door. “If you’re not solicitors that means you’re probably with a local church. I’m already a member of a church.”

  “Good for you, sparky.” My smile slipped. I couldn’t help being a bit insulted. “Do we look like we’re recruiting for a church?”

  “They do.” Carl inclined his head toward the girls. “Although they’re not really dressed for recruiting.”