Happy Witchgiving: A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Short

by Amanda M. Lee

  Bay’s blue eyes widened as she tried to hide her smile – and failed miserably. “That would kill Thistle if she knew you said it.”

  “That means you’re going to tell her, right?”

  Bay shrugged, noncommittal. “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “Do you feel better about our talk?”

  Bay nodded.

  “That’s good,” I said. “What are you doing in town, though? I thought you were supposed to be weeding the garden.”

  “Mom sent us to the store to pick up some flour, sugar and milk that she forgot to get yesterday,” Bay replied “Thistle and Clove are doing it, but I thought I should apologize for being mean to you this morning. I shouldn’t have done it.”

  “You weren’t mean,” I said. “You were … .”

  “Mean,” Bay finished. “I wanted to hurt your feelings because you hurt mine.”

  “Bay, I never want to hurt your feelings,” I said. “I can’t ignore something I know to be wrong, though. The most important thing to me is that you girls are safe. I had to tell your mother. It was the right thing to do.”

  “It’s okay,” Bay said, grinning. “In the end you saved us. I’m sure Aunt Tillie’s curse would’ve been terrible.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” I said. “What do you think it was?”

  “Probably zits … or pants that won’t fit … or she would probably make us smell like cabbage or something,” Bay replied. “It’s hard to know, because she has an evil mind and Thistle says evil is impossible to predict.”

  “She would know,” I said, chuckling. “We’re good, though, right? You’re not angry anymore, are you?”

  “No. Are you mad at me?”

  “No.”

  Bay’s smile was wide and heartfelt. “That’s a relief,” she said, getting to her feet. “You’re still bringing doughnuts home, right?”

  Ah, yes, all was right with the world. She was back to shaking me down for sweets. “I am,” I confirmed. “I’ll buy ones with extra sprinkles just for you girls.”

  “Yay.” Bay clapped her mitten-clad hands. “I should probably get going. We have to finish the garden before nightfall.”

  “Okay. Be careful going home,” I instructed.

  “Oh, don’t worry about us,” Bay said. “This is Walkerville. Nothing exciting ever happens here.”

  Something occurred to me. I didn’t want to encourage her to spy on the guests, but I also wanted her to be wary, just in case. “Bay, will you do me a favor?”

  Bay nodded, her expression solemn.

  “I need you to watch the Garveys for me,” I said, knowing I was opening a box the contents of which I couldn’t predict but not seeing another way around it until I could get back to the inn and watch them myself. “Don’t approach them or talk to them, but keep an eye on where they go. Oh, and if you happen to eavesdrop on a conversation or two, that wouldn’t hurt either.”

  “Okay,” Bay said, wrinkling her forehead. “But … why?”

  “Something happened at Mrs. Little’s store today,” I replied, debating how much to tell her. “She was robbed at gunpoint.”

  Bay’s mouth dropped open. “By the con man?”

  “I don’t know yet,” I said, holding up a cautioning finger. “Mrs. Little believes the people who came into her store were wearing disguises. She described a short man with a big belly and a willowy woman.”

  Bay was incredulous. “Like the Garveys? I told you!”

  “Yes, I know you told me,” I said, fighting to keep my temper in check. “Do not approach them and don’t ask them any questions. I don’t know if it’s them yet. I need more information from the state police before I can act. Do you understand?”

  Bay mock-saluted and clicked her heels together. “I do understand, sir. I will watch the suspects until you return for dinner. I won’t let them out of my sight.”

  I frowned. “That’s not what I said, Bay.”

  It was too late. She was already gone. Crud. What did I just do?

  Eight

  “Where is everyone?”

  I was anxious to get back to the inn once the state police came through with sketches and grainy video footage from an Upper Peninsula gas station. While I couldn’t say with certainty that the Garveys were our culprits, I couldn’t rule them out either. That made me antsy. It also embarrassed me because I might’ve been out-investigated by three teenagers. I would never live down the shame.

  “Who is everyone?” Twila stood behind the front desk, a blank look on her face. I wish I could say that wasn’t her normal expression, but she’s a dreamer. She’s the nicest member of the Winchester family, but she’s also the daffiest – and that’s saying something.

  “Well, for starters, where are the girls?” I held up the box of doughnuts I carried for emphasis. “I promised them sugar.”

  “Oh, well, they stole a plate of Christmas tree cookies, so the last thing they need is more sugar,” Twila said. “That won’t stop them, though. I think they’re in their room or outside.”

  That didn’t really narrow things down for me. “Did you see them go upstairs?”

  “No.”

  “Did you see them go outside?”

  “No.”

  “Then what makes you think they’re in either place?” I asked, struggling for patience. Living under the same roof with the Winchesters is a lot of freaking work. Good grief. I was starting to miss the termites.

  “Listen.” Twila tilted her head to the side and cast her eyes toward the ceiling. “Do you hear any screaming?”

  “No, but … .”

  Twila cut me off. “Do you hear any fighting?”

  “No.”

  “If they were on the main floor we would hear both of those things,” Twila said. “That means they’re either outside or upstairs. I’m not sure which.”

  I wanted to ask her if she thought that was an example of solid parenting but I figured that would be overstepping my bounds. “Okay. Thanks. I’ll check upstairs first.”

  I moved to the second set of stairs, which led to the family living quarters at the back of the bed and breakfast, and bounded up them two at a time. Guests aren’t allowed to use them, but I wasn’t a normal guest and I didn’t think anyone would question me when I hit the second floor. I was wrong.

  “Are you looking for a peep or something?” Tillie, a pink robe cinched at her waist, walked out of the bathroom on my left and fixed me with a bright smile. Her hair was damp from a shower and her smile was evil. “I guess I can give you one if you’re desperate, but I might need some caffeine to work up the energy if you want more than that.”

  Speaking of people who know exactly how to needle someone … . “That’s a very kind offer,” I said. “I’m good, though.”

  Tillie didn’t look bothered as much as amused by my presence. “Who are you looking for?”

  “The girls.”

  Tillie narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

  “I bought them doughnuts.”

  “You always buy them doughnuts,” Tillie said. “You spoil them rotten. Of course, they’re already rotten, so you’re not making things worse. You’re not here about the doughnuts, though.”

  She’s extremely perceptive when she wants to be. It’s incredibly annoying. “I could be here about the doughnuts.”

  “And I could be the world’s shortest supermodel,” she said. “Let’s come back from La-La Land and put our cards on the table. Tell me what’s going on.”

  Now I was the one on the defensive. “How do you know anything is going on?”

  “Because you’re a terrible liar and you never come up to this part of the house in case you accidentally get a gander at females doing chick stuff,” Tillie replied. “Spill.”

  I wasn’t sure how much to tell her. I was afraid I’d already over-stepped my bounds with Bay. Still, when it came down to it, Tillie might be a good ally to have. “Mrs. Little was robbed today.”

  “Oh, you came up here to make me happy,
” Tillie said, pressing her hand to the spot above her heart. “Did someone steal her life?”

  I scowled. “That’s not funny and I know you don’t mean it.”

  “It’s very funny and I most definitely mean it,” Tillie countered. “If she was dead you wouldn’t be here, though. I know I’m not that lucky. So Margaret was robbed, huh? Did someone break out of a nuthouse and suddenly feel a need to pad their ceramic unicorn collection? If so, those are not the sort of people we want running around Walkerville. They’re likely to bite their own faces off.” She mimed what she was talking about for reference. “Do you need me to help you track them down?”

  That was such a roundabout tangent I almost lost my train of thought. “I … no,” I said, shaking my head. “She said the people who robbed her had a gun and wore disguises. The people she described to me, though, could be guests at this inn.”

  Tillie was intrigued. “The Garveys? Oh, if that’s the case we’re never going to hear the end of it from those girls.”

  I had the same worry. “I made the mistake of telling Bay my suspicions. I … it was wrong.”

  Tillie waved off my concerns. “It wasn’t wrong. It was smart. The girls can watch them without tipping the Garveys off. They’re teenagers. Even if it looks like they’re up to something funky that can be ignored because teenagers are often up to something funky.”

  “I need to find them, though,” I said. “I don’t feel good about this. I’m worried they’re going to do something wonky.”

  “Oh, they’re definitely going to do something wonky,” Tillie said, patting my arm. Unfortunately when she did that, the robe parted slightly and I had to hurriedly avert my gaze lest I see something traumatic. “You’re so cute I can’t stand it. I wish you would get it together and date one of my nieces. Do you want me to open the rest of my robe and rock your world or give you an easy escape?”

  “Escape,” I sputtered in a weak whisper.

  “That’s what I thought,” Tillie cackled. “Check the back yard. I’m sure that’s where the girls are. They’re supposed to be weeding, but I’ll bet that’s not what they’re doing.”

  I stumbled over my own feet twice descending the staircase, and it was a relief to feel the cool breeze hitting my cheeks once I made it outside. I headed toward the side of the house once I caught my breath – and the danger of passing out dissipated – and I found Bay, Clove and Thistle in the exact spot they were hiding the day before. They were staring at the back patio.

  “Where have you guys been?” I asked, annoyed as I approached. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. I even checked upstairs and found Tillie … in a state I’d never seen her before.”

  “Was she dead?” Thistle asked with faux excitement.

  I scowled as I shook my head. “She was getting out of the shower.”

  “Oh.” Thistle nodded sagely. “Now you just wish you were dead because you caught a nip slip, huh? Don’t worry. You’ll forget it if you drink enough. Why do you think we wanted the wine in the first place?”

  That girl is a total menace. I swear she just … . “What are you doing?”

  Bay pressed a finger to her lips to quiet me and pointed toward the back patio. “It’s the Garveys.” She was taking her investigative position on my team to heart. It was extremely cute … and a tad worrisome.

  “What are they doing?” I asked, peering over Bay’s shoulder. Charles and Caroline Garvey appeared to be drinking hot cider on the back porch and … staring at the trees. That wasn’t even remotely evil, which was somewhat disappointing.

  “They’re plotting their next move,” Clove intoned. “I think they’re about to blow up the town.”

  She’s so dramatic she puts the other two to shame. “You think they’re going to blow up the town, do you? Why is that?”

  Clove shrugged. “Why do evil super villains do any of the things they do? I mean, if Lex Luthor really wants to end the world, where does he think he’s going to live?”

  I had no answer, mostly because it was an absurd question. “How long have you been watching them?”

  “Since we got back,” Bay replied. “We told our moms that you gave us a special mission but they didn’t believe us, so we still had to weed the gardens while we were working for you. We set up a system, though.”

  Oh, I couldn’t wait to hear this.

  “It mostly consisted of making Clove hide in the bushes and tell us what they were saying,” Thistle informed me. “It wasn’t a very ingenious system, mainly because she whined all of the time and we couldn’t hear what they were saying over her snotty tears.”

  “You’re all heart, Thistle,” I said, patting her shoulder. “Did you hear them say anything?”

  “Just that they were going to do it tonight,” Bay replied.

  “Do what?”

  She shrugged. “They didn’t say, but I think they’re going to kill someone.”

  Oh, well, good. No one’s imagination had run away from them in fifteen minutes. We were about due for an overreaction. “I don’t think they’re killers. Even if they are the people we’re looking for – and I’m not saying they are – they haven’t killed anyone.”

  “I think they were talking about something else when they said they were going to do it,” Thistle said, her eyes flashing with devilish glee. “I think we all know what it is. Well, maybe not Chief Terry. It might’ve been too long for him. He probably forgot.”

  I scowled as I stared her down. “You are so … delightful.”

  “What did you forget?” Clove asked, lost and confused.

  “Nothing,” I replied, grabbing her shoulder and pushing her toward the front of the house. “Surveillance is over. It’s time for dinner. I’ll take over all forms of the investigation from here on out.”

  “But … we’re a team,” Bay protested, her lower lip jutting out.

  Great. I can’t take that stupid lip. “We’re still a team,” I said. “We’re just a team regrouping after dinner. That’s what all the great investigators do when they have a case.”

  “Yes, I particularly like reading the stories of when Sherlock and Watson discovered a clue and then spent a chapter regrouping,” Thistle deadpanned. “To me that was the best part of the book.”

  I pointed toward the front of the house. “March.”

  “This investigation stuff is hard,” Clove said. “It’s nowhere near as fun as I thought it would be either. I don’t think I want to ever do it again.”

  Well, at least I had one bright spot in an otherwise dreary day.

  “OOH, pork chops.” I was delighted when I took my seat at the dining room table shortly after bribing the girls with doughnuts to keep their mouths shut about what I told them. The last thing I needed was them spilling the beans to their mothers or the other guests.

  “I can’t eat pork,” Mrs. Hillman said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t eat pig.”

  “That’s good news for you if we ever turn into a cannibalistic society, Chief Terry,” Thistle offered, earning a smack across the back of the head from her mother.

  “That was rude, Thistle,” Twila admonished. “Apologize or go up to your room right now. We will not have a repeat of last night.”

  I was glad for the distraction, but I thought that was the wrong message to send to Thistle. She really was bucking for Santa’s naughty list this year.

  “I’m sorry,” Thistle said, and she looked as though she meant it. “That was too far.”

  I widened my eyes, surprised. I didn’t think Thistle was capable of recognizing a line until she was ten steps beyond it. “I accept your apology,” I said. “Now hand me the mashed potatoes.”

  “We have other things if you can’t eat pork, Mrs. Hillman,” Winnie offered. “We also made red wine-infused chicken breasts, and there are some vegetarian offerings, too.”

  “I’m happy with the chicken,” the woman said. “I just can’t eat pork.”

  “Why?” Clove asked. “Are you allergi
c to pigs?”

  “I’m Jewish.”

  Walkerville isn’t what you’d call a religiously progressive town, so Clove’s face flashed blank at the news. In this part of the state you’re either Christian or Winchester. “Oh. Are there other things you can’t eat?”

  “Clove, that’s not an appropriate question,” Winnie warned.

  “It’s fine,” Mrs. Hillman said, waving off Winnie’s concern. “I think it’s nice that she’s curious. We can eat almost anything except pork and shellfish.”

  Thistle’s eyes widened. “So … no bacon?” She looked distraught at the thought.

  Mr. Hillman, a portly man with a friendly face, chuckled at Thistle’s reaction. “I know. It sounds terrible, doesn’t it? I’ve never tasted bacon, but I have smelled it. I think I’m on the losing end of that one.”

  “You should just sniff a bacon burger once a week or something,” Bay suggested. “Maybe you’ll be able to taste it through osmosis.”

  “I’ll consider it,” Mr. Hillman said, grinning.

  “So what’s the deal here tomorrow?” Charles Garvey asked. “When is dinner served?”

  I pursed my lips and glanced at Tillie, both of us thinking the same thing. “I thought you were eating with your family at Torch Lake?” I asked the question before Winnie had a chance to respond.

  “We are,” Charles said. “Their dinner is early, though. We thought if we could make it back in time we could eat twice. Thanksgiving is my favorite meal of the year.”

  “Mine, too,” I said, offering up as much fake enthusiasm as I could muster. “I believe dinner here starts at four.”

  “We’ll have appetizers out front all day, though,” Winnie said, smiling. She took Charles’ comment as a compliment. I was starting to suspect it was something else, although I still couldn’t figure out the couple’s end plan in all of this.

  “What time will you be leaving for your brother’s house?” Bay asked. “How long will it take you to drive there?”