“If you’re referring to me, I’m hardly a cat,” Tillie said.
“I think it’s your spirit animal,” Thistle countered.
“My spirit animal is a shark,” Tillie shot back. “A great white.”
“Ooh, I love sharks,” Caroline enthused. “We went on a cruise several years ago and they let us go out on boats and get up close and personal with the sharks. It was neat.”
“Obviously they didn’t eat you,” Thistle said. “Aunt Tillie is the type of shark who would eat you.”
“And spit you back out, Mouth,” Tillie muttered.
“Okay, let’s stop talking about sharks,” Winnie suggested. “I think that’s an inappropriate – and entirely weird – topic.”
“I agree,” I offered. “Let’s talk about something else. What are you girls going to do with your extended weekend?”
“I’m going shark hunting.” Thistle’s eyes never left Tillie’s face. “Do you know that scene in Jaws where the really tan guy blows up the shark? Well, smile you … .”
“Thistle!” Winnie had reached her limit in front of the guests. “If you say one more word you’re going to your room without supper.”
I had no idea what was going on between Thistle and Tillie, but somewhere between our time together outside and dinner things turned serious. It had something to do with the garden shed. I couldn’t question them about that now, though, so I picked a different topic to smooth things over.
“Bay, what are you doing this weekend?” I asked, shifting my eyes to her.
“I don’t know,” Bay replied. “I think I’ll probably just read. It’s supposed to snow this weekend.”
“We can go sledding,” Clove suggested. “We always do that during the first big snow.”
“We can do that,” Bay said, nodding.
I risked a glance at Thistle and found her staring Tillie down. The unspoken standoff wasn’t going unnoticed by anyone, although the guests appeared to think it was part of a game. In a weird way, it kind of was a game. This game had bigger stakes than I initially envisioned, though.
“If you guys come into town this weekend I’ll take you for hot chocolate and doughnuts,” I offered. “That’s our usual first snow outing, right?”
“Can we get sprinkles?” Clove asked.
“Don’t I always get you sprinkles?”
She seemed happy with the answer. “Then can we go to the office with you and see the hot new officer?” Clove asked. “He’s very cute.”
I rubbed my cheek as I glowered at her. “He is much too old for you.”
“He’s not that old,” Thistle argued, finally dragging her eyes from Tillie. “He’s only four years older than Bay. That’s nothing.”
“Five,” I corrected. “He’s five years older than Bay.”
“And I already warned him I would turn his thing green if he didn’t stop sniffing around here,” Tillie said. “And I don’t mean in a cool Incredible Hulk kind of way.”
I snorted. It was rare that Tillie and I found ourselves on the same side of an argument. “I’ll help you.”
“Oh, I don’t need help,” Tillie said. “Just motivation. He’s too old for you, Bay.”
“I don’t want to see him,” Bay said. “Clove has the crush on him.”
“He’s definitely too old for you, Clove,” I said. “Plus, he’s very intense. His job is the most important thing to him. You don’t want a guy who focuses on his job rather than you.”
“I bet I could get him to focus on me,” Clove said, her eyes taking on a far-off quality. “He has nice … dimples.”
“She’s talking about his butt,” Thistle offered. “That’s just code.”
“Thistle!” Winnie looked as if she was going to crawl over the table and take Thistle out. She didn’t care if she had an audience.
As if sensing that the tension was about to spill into uncharted territory, Bay took control of the conversation. “What did you do today, Chief Terry? Is anything exciting going on in Walkerville?”
I wanted to hug her for being so in tune to her family’s wacky ways. “Well, it seems Selma Baker is getting naked and walking past her upstairs bedroom window and Norman Peterson doesn’t like it,” I offered. “He thinks she’s doing it to lure his son away.”
Winnie made a face as she turned from Thistle. “Ryan? He’ll stare at anyone. I caught him out here peeping through the windows one day. At first I thought he was looking for the girls, but then I realized he was looking for anyone. He got Aunt Tillie’s room.”
Now that was a sobering thought.
“Oh, yeah,” Thistle said, laughing. “When you caught him he wasn’t even embarrassed. He did ask why she wore socks on her chest, though, and you had to explain those weren’t socks. I think he was terrified by the time you were finished.”
“He’s a schmuck,” Bay said.
“I think he’s cute,” Clove interjected. “He has a nice smile.”
She worries me. All of the girls are boy crazy in their own way, but Clove always has to take it to a freaky level. “If Ryan Peterson is out here peeking at your aunt, then he’s definitely not good enough for you.”
“Hey!” Tillie was offended. “He would be lucky to get a gander at my … .”
“Socks?” Thistle challenged. Of course she would manage to turn a mildly obnoxious conversation into a potential declaration of war.
“Mouth, you don’t want to push me right now,” Tillie warned. “I’ve had just about as much as I can take from you.”
“We all have,” Winnie said. “If you’re going to continue to be obnoxious, Thistle, go to your room.”
“I haven’t eaten dinner yet.”
“I don’t care.”
Thistle tilted her head to the side, considering. Finally she blew out a long-suffering sigh only a teenager who thinks she’s being mistreated can muster. “Fine. I’m sorry.”
“That’s better,” Winnie said.
“What else happened at work?” Bay asked. She appeared genuinely interested in my day. She seems starved for attention at times, which is ridiculous because this family showers attention on each member at every turn, but she never gets enough of hearing me talk. She doesn’t care how mundane the conversation.
“Well, it seems Mrs. Little has been putting a bag over the parking meter in front of her store and pretending it’s out of order so she can reserve the spot for herself,” I said. “I asked the guy who collects the coins to figure out what was wrong with the meter and it turns out nothing was wrong.”
Tillie snorted. “That sounds just like that … .”
“Aunt Tillie!” Winnie was not having a good meal. I’d forgotten how much Tillie and Margaret Little hated each other. That one was on me.
“Oh, and everyone’s favorite new police officer is convinced some con man is coming to town, so everyone should be on the lookout for him,” I said.
“Con man?” Bay was intrigued. “Like … he steals from people?”
“This guy had a fake land deed deal in the Upper Peninsula,” I replied. “He sold deeds for very little money – although I guess it added up to a goodly sum eventually – but when people went to check out the land it was in the middle of a swamp … and he didn’t own it. It was government land.”
“Wow,” Bay said. “How much money did he get?”
“The alert didn’t say,” I replied. “It would have to be a decent amount to warrant the attention he’s getting. The first alert said he could be anywhere in the state. The second seemed to indicate he was traveling in this direction.
“The first alert also said he was alone,” I continued, “but the second one said he was traveling with a woman.”
“Really?” Bay’s eyes shifted to the end of the table where Charles and Caroline sat. They seemed interested in the conversational shift, but oblivious to Bay’s pointed gaze.
“Is that a big deal?” Caroline asked. “I mean … will the cops go out of their way to find these people so close
to the holidays?”
I shrugged. “It’s big enough for the state police to get involved,” I answered. “I think the odds of someone trying to hide out in a town the size of Walkerville are small. There’s no money here and everyone knows everyone’s business.
“Just in case, I put Officer Parker on it,” I continued. “He’s very keen on catching these two, so if they do happen to come through here I have every confidence he’ll catch them.”
“What’s he doing to find them?” Bay asked.
For a moment I thought she was interested because she had a crush on Parker. Then I realized what she was really doing. I wasn’t sure which scenario bothered me more. “He’ll alert me if he does find them and then we’ll handle it. That’s the police handling it, Bay. No one else.”
She ignored the pointed statement. “Do you think they could be … I don’t know … staying at one of the local inns?”
“Surely not,” Charles said, laughing. “All of the inns booked up early.”
“That’s true,” Winnie said. “All of our reservations were taken months ago.”
Bay seemed disappointed. “But … what about the guy who cancelled?”
“He didn’t cancel, Bay,” Winnie replied. “He got a divorce, so there was no way he wanted to keep a reservation his ex-wife made. They just forgot about it.”
“I hope they do come here,” Thistle said. “It would be neat to catch a con man.”
“Oh, yeah? What are you going to do if you catch him?” Tillie asked.
“They’re not catching him,” I interrupted. “Don’t encourage them to do stuff like that. They’ll get in over their heads. They’re little girls. They’re not investigators.”
Bay was miffed. “I’m not a little girl.”
“I didn’t mean it like that, sweetheart,” I said. “It’s just … you have to be trained to do work like this.”
“Yeah, Bay,” Thistle said. “You have to be trained to die first in the horror movie. It takes more than just big boobs.”
“Okay, that’s it.” Winnie slapped her hands on the table. “You’re going to bed early, Thistle. Say good night to everyone.”
Thistle opened her mouth to argue with her aunt but the look Winnie shot her meant business. “Fine,” she said. “I want you all to know I’m not going to forget this, though. I’ll remember … and I will get my revenge.”
Marnie, Twila and Winnie looked mortified by Thistle’s announcement, but Tillie barked out a laugh, drawing everyone’s attention to her end of the table.
“Okay,” Tillie said. “Today she’s my favorite. That was just priceless.”
Like I said, never a dull moment in the Winchester house.
Six
Sleeping in a strange bed isn’t a problem for some people. I’m a creature of habit, though. As homey and welcoming as the Winchesters are, the strange noises accompanying a different house woke me in the middle of the night.
I took a moment to listen, resting flat on the bed and staring at the ceiling. It was probably one of the other guests getting up to use the bathroom, I told myself. I wasn’t the only one in the guest area of the inn. I’d almost convinced myself that I’d imagined it when I heard the noise again. This time there was definitely a bump.
I tossed the covers off and climbed out of bed, glancing down at my flannel sleep pants and T-shirt, debating whether I wanted to get dressed. The outfit was perfectly modest, but if something bad was going on and I had to make an arrest I’d prefer not doing so in pajamas. On the flip side, Bay believed I would stop someone from hurting her and I couldn’t very well do that if I was late because I was primping before a mirror.
I opened the door that led to the main hallway, tilting my head to the side as I listened for the telltale signs of someone walking … or perhaps even breaking into the inn. The only thing I heard was the furnace kicking on. I waited for what felt like forever, and then I heard another noise – a door opening farther down the hallway corridor.
I peered out, frowning when I saw a dark figure emerge from the room and pad into the middle of the hallway. I couldn’t make out any features, but the shadow seemed to be looking in the same direction as me, so it wasn’t aware of my presence. Not yet, at least.
I cleared my throat to make the shape aware it wasn’t alone in the hallway, and when it jumped I realized I was looking at slight shoulders. It had to be a woman.
“Is something going on?”
The voice was definitely female and I risked moving closer for a better look. “Mrs. Hillman?” I was pretty sure that was the woman’s name. In all the excitement over dinner – Thistle’s meltdown, Bay’s grilling of the Garveys, Tillie being … well, Tillie – I didn’t get a chance to talk with many of the guests.
“I heard a noise,” I replied. “I was coming to check it out. Was that you?”
“I heard it, too,” the woman replied. “I thought … I don’t know … maybe someone was breaking in.”
“I had the same thought,” I admitted, rubbing my chin. “It could also be Tillie running around doing something illegal.” I wasn’t talking to myself – and that probably wasn’t a smart thing to say – but being wakened before I’m ready always muddles my brain.
“I would lay odds it’s the teenagers rather than the old lady,” Mrs. Hillman said. “She seems like the type who is in bed before ten. The others seem somehow … rowdier.”
The comment rankled, though I had no idea why. “They’re good girls.”
“I didn’t say they weren’t,” Mrs. Hillman said. “They’re wild, though, and their mothers let them get away with murder. They’ve got you wrapped around their little fingers, too. The blonde one especially.”
“They’re kids,” I said, working to tamp down my irritation. “They’re not doing anything wrong. They’re just … testing their boundaries. That’s what teenagers do.”
“If I talked to my mother the way that one did tonight I would’ve been smacked upside the head,” Mrs. Hillman said. “She was rude and mean.”
I really couldn’t argue with that, so I decided to ignore it. “I’ll go and check the main floor,” I said. “You can go back to your room. If I find something, I’ll handle it.”
“If you find those girls being rowdy, you should probably handle it with a good belt to the behind,” Mrs. Hillman said. “That always worked when I was a kid. I think it would do those girls wonders.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” I said dryly, leaving Mrs. Hillman to her judgmental attitude as I headed for the stairs. Even as I discarded her statement, however, I couldn’t help but wonder if she was right. Not about beating them, mind you, but they did appear to be on a mission to see how many people they could push to the brink in a three-day period.
I never had children. Would I have liked a family of my own? Perhaps, but the thing I always wanted most was to be a police officer. Getting to the point where I could be the boss, too, was like a dream come true. The idea of having children of my own diminished the older I became.
That’s why spending time with Bay, Clove and Thistle turned out to be a blessing. They stopped by once a week, I spoiled them rotten, and then they went on their merry way. Every once in a while they had a big problem they needed to talk over, but those times were rare. Most of it was fun and games, and that’s the way I liked it.
Bay had the most trouble, and although I didn’t bring it up because the family seemed to rally around her in an effort to keep certain things a secret, I knew what her big problem was. She talked to ghosts. When she was really young I thought she was imagining things. I believed she had an imaginary friend she chattered with when she was on her own.
The reality shifted when she relayed a message from my mother, a woman long since buried. I didn’t want to believe what the girl was saying, but when everything she told me proved true I couldn’t help myself. I believed in her, which, it turns out, was the one thing Bay needed most. She attached herself to me after that, and I was happy for the com
pany. There were times I wished Bay was my daughter. Sure, I knew she had a father out there she saw on rare occasions, but I liked spending time with her. I liked hearing how that busy brain worked.
Thistle and Clove look upon me more as an occasional uncle who scolds them. Clove is much more interested in getting attention from the Winchester females and Thistle prefers soaking up as much negative attention as possible because she enjoys ticking people off. Bay is different, and she was the one I worried about as I hit the main floor. If someone was in this house … .
I heard the distinct sound of something scraping against the floor. It took me a moment to get my bearings. With the only light coming from the lamp by the front desk, illumination was dim. I kept my feet as light as possible as I turned the corner, pulling up short when I saw movement at the bottom of the second set of stairs, which ended close to the kitchen.
“Pick it up.”
“You pick it up.”
“I can’t pick it up alone. It’s too heavy.”
Crap. It was the girls. I’d recognize Bay and Thistle’s voices anywhere. The question was: What were they doing?
“You guys need to be quieter.” Oh, good, Clove was with them, too. It wasn’t really a surprise, mind you. Where one went, the other two followed. Still, I would’ve preferred refraining from yelling at one of them tonight.
“You need to help or shut your hole,” Thistle shot back. “This is your fault. I told you that old lady would find the spot in the shed where we hid the first batch.”
“And I told you hiding it in the shed in the first place was a bad idea,” Bay hissed. “It will freeze out there. It will explode if it freezes. We should’ve picked a better spot from the start.”
“Thank you, Bill Nye,” Thistle snapped. “I have this under control. I’m the boss.”
“You’re not the boss,” Bay scoffed. “I’m the boss.”
“I don’t want to be the boss,” Clove said. “I don’t want to get caught either. You need to shut your mouths. If Aunt Tillie finds out we stole a whole box this time … ugh … she’s not going to be happy.”
Happy Witchgiving: A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Short Page 5
