Happy Witchgiving: A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Short

by Amanda M. Lee

  Two

  “You are a terrible person.”

  “No, you are a terrible person.”

  “You’re the queen of terrible people!”

  “You’re the … .”

  “Knock it off, girls.” Winnie Winchester lightly tapped the back of her niece Thistle’s head and directed the girl to move from behind the front desk as I walked into the bed and breakfast with my overnight bag.

  Thistle clearly wasn’t happy with the reprimand. Her argument associate – her cousin Clove – looked smug thanks to her ability to avoid her aunt’s busy hands. Winnie beamed when she saw me, and I couldn’t help but feel a warm giddiness wash over me. What? She’s quite the looker … and she cooks like a Zagat chef. If I didn’t think it was a one-way ticket to living in this madhouse full-time I would ask her out. Er, well, maybe.

  “Hello, Terry,” Winnie said. “What’s going on?”

  “We didn’t do it,” Thistle said automatically, her dark blond hair glinting under the overhead light. She’s been making noise about dying her hair funky colors – something her aunts and mother are fighting – but she’s such a terror I know she’ll get her own way eventually.

  “What didn’t you do?” Winnie asked, confused.

  “Whatever he’s here to arrest us for,” Thistle replied. “I’m innocent and I demand a lawyer.”

  That kid … I swear, she’s going to make some man miserable one day. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I think she’ll eventually make him happy, too. She is work, though. She’s like sixty-five inches of acid reflux rolled into a compact one-hundred-pound package. Oh, and if you poke the package it’s like pouring soda on an Alka-Seltzer tab. It grows exponentially fast and if you try to put it in something too small to contain it everything explodes.

  “I’m not here to arrest you,” I said dryly.

  “Oh, don’t be hasty.” Clove flashed me an impish smile. She’s unbelievably cute … and she knows it. She shares a smile full of dimples whenever she wants something, and if that doesn’t work she can turn on the waterworks in less than five seconds. “I happen to know Thistle has done at least ten illegal things this week. I can give you information on all of them if you agree that my testimony cannot be used against me.”

  Winnie smirked at their antics, causing me to shake my head. I love the girls – and the chaos that often surrounds them – but I have no idea how anyone could live with the noise – and mischief – they bring to one house.

  “I want to testify against Clove,” Thistle announced. “She’s the one who should go to jail.”

  “You liar!” Clove wrinkled her ski-slope nose and tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “I’m an angel.”

  “A dark angel,” Thistle shot back. “I’ll have you know that just this week she stole flowers from the cemetery. She took a big bouquet of roses.”

  Clove’s face drained of color as she darted a furtive glance in my direction.

  “Is that true?” I asked.

  “It had better not be true,” Winnie warned. “Why would you do that?”

  “Thistle was there, too,” Clove said, chewing on her bottom lip. “She acted as lookout, so she’s just as guilty as I am.”

  Oh, geez. What is it with female teenagers? Why do they always have to make things so difficult? “Why would you steal flowers from the cemetery?” I asked, although I was pretty sure I already knew the answer. “That’s against the law … and rude.”

  “Well … .” Clove looked caught as Thistle arched a challenging eyebrow, practically daring her cousin to own up to everything.

  “They did it because Aunt Tillie wanted the roses and she made us go to the cemetery with her.” Bay Winchester, the oldest of the teenaged tempests, trudged into the room. She brightened when she saw me and hurried over, giving me a quick hug. “What are you doing here? Are you going to arrest Thistle?”

  Thistle scowled. “He’s here to arrest you,” she shot back. “You and your big mouth are going to be locked up for narcing.”

  “Yeah,” Clove intoned. She’s rarely the instigator, but because there are three of them – and Bay and Thistle are often at odds – she’s the deciding vote. She enjoys having so much power at her tiny fingertips. She will make some man very happy one day, but that’s mostly because he probably won’t realize he’s being manipulated. When you’re less than five feet tall and have those dimples you can get away with murder and no one notices.

  “It’s not narcing when a police officer asks,” Bay argued. “Isn’t that right, Chief Terry?”

  She’s my favorite. I know you’re not supposed to admit things like that, but she is. She’s so blond she looks like an angel some days, and her smile lights up a room. Her eyes are bright blue, and sometimes clouded with a hint of sadness. She’s a good kid who gets terrorized by other kids for being different. That’s the witch thing I don’t want to talk about and prefer to pretend doesn’t exist, despite all evidence to the contrary.

  “That’s why you’re my good girl,” I said, resting my hand on her head. “You always follow the rules.”

  Thistle snorted. “She was there for the theft, too.”

  That was disappointing, although not altogether unsuspected. I glanced at Bay, purposely keeping my face neutral. “Did you help steal flowers from the cemetery?”

  Bay’s expression was benign. She knew I would never do something mean and lock her up, although I had yelled a few times – and each incident caused her to cry. Yes, some people might think she’s manipulating me. I think she’s just sensitive, though. What? I’m not a sap.

  “Aunt Tillie made me do it,” Bay said.

  “I didn’t make them do anything,” Tillie said, appearing in the doorway between the lobby and main hallway. “They had a choice whether they wanted to do it or not, and each one of them opted to do as I asked.”

  Tillie Winchester is … there are no words. She’s terrifying. She’s as short as Clove, and even boasts the same coloring as her mini-me, although Tillie’s hair is shot through with gray. She’s blustery, full of herself, and unbelievably loyal. Most people avoid her once they learn about her – and that’s exactly how she prefers things – but I kind of like her. I couldn’t help but wonder if that would change once I was living under the same roof with her for a few days. Perhaps I only liked her from a safe distance.

  “What kind of choice did they have?” Winnie asked, legitimately curious. “That sounds … odd … to me.”

  That made two of us.

  “They had a chance to help me or not help me,” Tillie replied. “They chose to help.”

  “Yeah, we chose,” Thistle muttered, shaking her head and causing me to narrow my eyes. I wasn’t particularly worried about cemetery flower theft. It’s not a good thing, mind you, but there are bigger things to worry about. Besides, everyone in town knows Tillie takes a weekly shopping trip to the cemetery. If people didn’t want their stuff stolen, they wouldn’t leave it out to be pilfered.

  “See, it doesn’t sound as if you chose anything,” Winnie argued. “It sounds like you’re insinuating that Aunt Tillie made you do something. Is that the case?”

  Tillie snorted. “How could I possibly make them do anything? I’m an old lady.”

  Here’s a tip: Tillie is only old when she’s trying to distract people. If anyone calls her old on a normal day when she’s not up to something – okay, she’s up to something every day, so that argument doesn’t really hold up, but you know what I mean – the curses start flying. And I mean that literally.

  “You are an old lady,” Thistle agreed. “You’re a mean, nasty … .”

  “Thistle!” Winnie smacked the back of Thistle’s head again. Clove may be the one who will end up looking like Tillie, but Thistle has her attitude. There’s a frightening future in this household, let me tell you.

  “Bay, why did you girls help Aunt Tillie steal flowers?” Winnie focused on her daughter. “You said that the last time would be the last because she convinced you
that zombies were coming out of a crypt and then left you stranded there and you had to walk home. Why did you go again?”

  “They volunteered,” Tillie interjected, her eyes thoughtful as they locked with Bay’s. “Isn’t that right, Bay?”

  Bay’s gaze bounced between faces, briefly latching onto mine, before she shrugged. She looked helpless. “Sure. We volunteered.”

  “You didn’t volunteer, but I don’t have time to mess with you right now,” Winnie said. “I’ll figure out what you were doing later. Terry, what can I do for you?”

  I hadn’t explained my presence yet. I’d almost forgotten. I related my day so far, telling everyone about the termites – earning disgusted “ews” and “yucks” from the teenaged crowd – and then asked if they had a room.

  “You’re extremely lucky,” Winnie said. “We had one cancellation. It’s all yours.”

  “Thank you.” That was a relief.

  “You’re really staying here for three nights?” Bay looked excited at the prospect. “Will you tell us stories about dead bodies and stuff?”

  I frowned. “Why would you want to hear about that?”

  “She wants to be a reporter,” Thistle said dryly. “She likes hearing about crime stuff. Personally, I think it’s weird. But I want to hear about the dead bodies, too.”

  She’s a strange kid. You can’t help but like her, though. Of course, that’s easy to say when you’re not on her bad side. When that happens she’s almost impossible to like.

  “I’ll consider it,” I said, accepting the key from Winnie and smiling. “I’m going to go upstairs and get my things settled and then I have to make some calls for work. I’ll be around if anyone needs me.”

  “And if anyone needs to be arrested,” Clove added, grinning as she poked Thistle’s side.

  “You’re an instigator,” I said, tapping the end of her nose. “You know that, right?”

  Clove shrugged, unbothered. “I am many things, and I can’t be pigeonholed.”

  “Truer words were never spoken,” I said. “You girls be good until I come down for dinner. I don’t want to miss any arrest-worthy crimes.”

  “No promises,” Thistle called to my back. “We’ll see what we can do, though.”

  “You do that.”

  BY THE TIME I hit the main lobby for a second time I was exhausted. I thought working from my room would be easy and painless. I was wrong, mostly because Parker called every hour to update me on his lack of progress finding the con man. I should’ve thought that assignment through before doling it out, but honestly, who could see this coming? It was almost dinner time when I finally finished all of my paperwork.

  The lobby was empty, but I found Clove, Thistle and Bay hiding close to the wall that led to the dining room. They were partially obscured by a large potted plant, and they whispered to one another as I approached.

  “I think he’s weird,” Clove said. “He’s probably a pervert. Aunt Tillie always says that perverts come in all shapes and sizes. She probably meant that guy when she said it.”

  She wasn’t talking about me, was she? I glanced over my shoulder but no one was there. The girls all stared at the same spot in the dining room, so I was reasonably assured they were talking about someone else.

  “I don’t think he’s a pervert,” Thistle said. “I’ll bet he’s a criminal, though. He looks like a thief.”

  “You’ve got stealing on the brain because of earlier,” Bay said. “Let it go.”

  “You’re the one who almost told,” Thistle shot back. “You need to let it go.”

  “Chief Terry could’ve helped us,” Bay said. “I know he would’ve helped us. Now we’re stuck with Aunt Tillie blackmailing us. Who knows what she’s going to make us do next.”

  That was interesting. Why was Tillie blackmailing them? I filed that topic away to revisit later.

  “As long as it doesn’t involve nudity and dancing, I don’t care,” Clove said. “I don’t mind stealing flowers.”

  “Oh, that’s such crap,” Thistle said. “You swore you saw a zombie.”

  “That turned out to be a raccoon,” Bay added.

  “Hey! It could’ve been a short zombie,” Clove argued. “You don’t know. It’s never been proven that the zombie virus won’t jump from species to species.”

  “There’s no such thing as a zombie virus,” Bay snapped. “It’s not real.”

  “It could be real,” Clove grumbled.

  “Well, it’s not,” Bay said, crossing her arms and returning her gaze to whatever held their interest in the dining room. They were interesting to watch. A few hours earlier they were scrapping. Now they were together working against a common enemy – although I had no idea who – and they were still scrapping. I will never understand the female group dynamic. “I don’t think he’s a pervert or a thief.”

  “Do you think he’s a criminal?” Clove asked.

  “Oh, he’s definitely a criminal.”

  I cleared my throat to get their attention, delighting at the way they all jumped and turned to face me. Thistle was the first to speak.

  “We didn’t do it.”

  I scowled. “Why is that always your opening greeting?”

  Thistle shrugged. “Because most people in this house usually accuse first and ask questions later.”

  “She’s not wrong,” Bay said, smiling. “I’m glad you’re still here. I was worried when we didn’t see you all day.”

  “We’re stuck here because it’s a holiday week and we had to help,” Clove grumbled. “It sucked.”

  I chuckled as I patted her shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll live. Just out of curiosity, what are you guys looking at?”

  “The couple in the corner,” Bay said, pointing. I moved so I could look over her shoulder and stared at the portly man who bore more than a striking resemblance to Dom DeLuise. He was rounder than he was tall and he had a huge, fluffy beard. His wife was a string bean of a woman, no curves to speak of, and her dishwater blond hair hung lifelessly around her shoulders. “We’re pretty sure they’re criminals.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Because they look like criminals,” Thistle answered. “I think they look like Boris and Natasha from Bullwinkle.”

  “I think they look like Bert and Ernie,” Bay said. “We all agree they’re evil, though.”

  I couldn’t love these three girls more if they were my own, but the things they come up with sometimes are just … out there. “Ladies, did you ever think that maybe they’re just regular people?”

  “No,” Clove answered. “They’re not regular people. They keep watching everyone else and acting normal, but that means they’re not normal.”

  That made absolutely no sense. “Well, how about I keep an eye on them over dinner just to be on the safe side? How does that sound?”

  “Like we’ll be trying to solve your murder next episode,” Thistle answered, not missing a beat. “That’s how these things work. The law enforcement official coddles the little kids and doesn’t believe them and he ends up dead. It’s karmic retribution.”

  “Yeah,” Clove said.

  “Well, I’ll take my chances,” I said. “It’s dinner time. Sit down.”

  “Fine, but we’re not sitting next to the criminals,” Clove said, flouncing into the dining room with Thistle at her side. Bay remained with me, her face unreadable.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing is wrong,” Bay replied. “It’s just nice having you here.” She impulsively reached over and hugged me. “We usually only have female family members here. Now you’ll be the only male.”

  The fact that she considered me family made me a little misty, although I would never admit that in front of an audience. “I’m glad I’m here, too,” I said, patting her shoulder. “We need to sit down if we don’t want to miss dinner, though. Your mother is a stickler for the rules, and it’s almost seven.”

  “She’d let you slide,” Bay said. “Can I sit next to you?”<
br />
  I nodded.

  “Good,” Bay said. “I want to help you watch the criminals. Maybe we can nab them together.”

  I opened my mouth to admonish her and then snapped it shut. Really, what harm could come of her watching the guests? They would never know. “That sounds like a great idea,” I said. “I’m going to need your eyes when I’m focused on the chocolate cake.”

  “Deal.” Bay extended her hand and I shook it. “Now we’re like partners.”

  I couldn’t help but grin. “I think that’s the best offer I’ve had all day.”

  Three

  “Good morning, ladies.”

  For some reason, entering the family kitchen instead of the guest dining room for breakfast the next morning held special meaning for me. The guests would eat breakfast in the other room in an hour. Because I had to get to the office early I planned to forego breakfast until I got to town. Winnie wouldn’t hear it – and then her sisters Marnie and Twila wouldn’t hear it when they caught wind that Winnie was trying to curry favor with me – so I was invited to a private family breakfast before retiring the previous evening. The Winchesters always go all out, so I was more than happy to oblige.

  “There’s nothing good about a morning,” Thistle murmured, rubbing her forehead as she rested her elbows on the table. “They suck.”

  “Get your elbows off the table,” Winnie scolded, tapping Thistle’s arm for emphasis. “I have no idea why you’re so tired. You girls went upstairs at ten.”

  “Yeah, what were you doing?” Marnie asked, narrowing her eyes as she scanned the three teenaged faces in the room. “You’d better not have left this house.”

  “We didn’t leave the house,” Clove said. “Why do you always assume we did something wrong?”

  “Because history is not in your favor,” Marnie replied. “Seriously, what is up with the three of you?”

  They looked tired. They were young girls, yet they all had dark circles under their eyes. I sat between Bay and Winnie – earning a scowl from Twila, who was saving me a seat on the other side of the table – and fixated on Bay. “Are you sick?”