How Aunt Tillie Stole Christmas
A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Short
Amanda M. Lee
WinchesterShaw Publications
Copyright © 2017 by Amanda M. Lee
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
1. One
2. Two
3. Three
4. Four
5. Five
6. Six
7. Seven
8. Eight
9. Nine
10. Ten
Mailing List
About the Author
Books by Amanda M. Lee
One
Fourteen years ago
“Watch the road!”
I honestly didn’t mean to screech – I didn’t think it would do much for my great-niece’s nerves as she navigated my truck through the downtown streets – but I couldn’t stop myself when Bay pointed her blond head toward the ornate Christmas display in front of the Gunderson Bakery and made little sighing noises.
“I am watching the road,” Bay barked back, gripping the steering wheel tightly. She was fifteen (going on thirty given the way men looked at her) and she’d just gotten her learner’s permit. Her mother wanted to take her out on backwoods roads to teach her to drive, but I thought that was a terrible idea. You don’t learn to be a responsible driver by avoiding road hazards. Heck, that’s half the fun of being a driver. If you can’t swerve at the very last second to miss a construction barrel, why even bother risking the roads? Of course, it had been a while since I taught anyone of a certain age how to drive, so I might’ve forgotten a few things about the attention span of the standard teenager.
“You’re making her nervous, Aunt Tillie.” Clove, her brown hair secured safely under a combat helmet as she shared a seatbelt with her cousin Thistle in the middle of the truck bench, stared out through the windshield. “She’s more likely to make mistakes if she’s nervous.”
“Oh, really?” Clove irritates me to no end at times. She’s a valuable asset when I need someone to fake cry and get us out of a jam, but she’s something of a whiner and I’m pretty sure she’s going to be a complainer as an adult. I hate complainers – unless I’m the one complaining, of course. I’m an excellent complainer. I could do it professionally. Hey, that’s something. Do they have professional complainers? Wait, that’s a politician. I have no interest in being a politician.
“Yes, really.” Clove bobbed her dark head. “I read it in the books Bay brought home after her driver’s training class. The more nervous she is, the more likely she is to be involved in an accident and die in a fiery crash.”
“Aren’t you just a little ray of sunshine,” I muttered, risking a glance at Bay and finding her blue eyes wide as she tightened her grip on the wheel. “Calm down, Bay. There’s hardly anyone downtown, the roads are dry, and there’s no reason to panic.”
I didn’t want to give credence to Clove’s suspicions, but I was quickly regretting offering to help teach Bay to drive. Her mother had thought it was a terrible idea, but I overruled her. My nieces – Winnie, Marnie and Twila – were stuck home baking Christmas cookies, and I volunteered to attend the emergency Walkerville Township meeting that my arch nemesis Margaret Little called. Before you give me attitude, yes, I have an arch nemesis. When trying to picture Margaret, you should think of me as Batman and her as Killer Croc. She has scales and everything. What? I’m not making it up.
Because we were coming to town anyway and I needed something to entertain my great-nieces – it’s much harder to do since they turned into teenagers and became afflicted with the Great Eye-Rolling Influenza of 2002 – I figured a short road trip was a great way to spend the afternoon. That was before the Great Eye-Rolling Influenza took over the day – again. Sadly, it appears there’s no cure. Eventually the symptoms will dissipate and be hardly noticeable. That’s like six or seven years away, though. For now, we simply must struggle through the epidemic.
“The parking lot is behind the building, Bay.” I kept my voice even so she wouldn’t think I was attacking and smiled when she double checked the rearview and side-view mirrors before hitting her turn signal. She’d clearly been reading the manuals. I shouldn’t have been surprised that she was so focused. That’s simply how she does things, with an eye toward the details.
For me, Tillie Winchester, details are something I find easy to gloss over. Even though I’m a witch by birth and a superhero by trade – sometimes I’m a super spy, high fashion model and private detective by trade, too, for the record – the details were unnecessary. I never needed to focus on the details unless … . “Bay! Look out for Terry!”
Bay managed to park the truck without hitting Terry Davenport, Walkerville’s favorite police officer. Her expression was rueful when she slid the truck into park and killed the engine. Terry was on the other side of the door before she could open it.
“What’s going on?” Terry scorched me with a dark look. “Are you drunk or something, Tillie? It’s illegal for Bay to drive.”
Well, if he was going to take that tone. “Show him, Bay,” I prodded.
Bay, her eyes sparkling, unfastened her seatbelt and dug in her pocket. She returned with the laminated learner’s permit and slapped it into Terry’s hand. “I’m officially a licensed learning driver now.”
Terry’s mouth opened but no sound came out.
“Look at him. He’s speechless. That’s how horrible this entire thing is.” Thistle, my third great-niece, made an exaggerated expression as she unfastened the seatbelt she shared with Clove. “He understands this is the first sign of the apocalypse. He knows Bay will screw it up and kill us all.”
Terry was close with all the girls, but his relationship with Bay was strongest. After their fathers departed several years ago – barely mustering the energy to send gift cards for Christmas – Terry picked up the slack. He was a wonderful father figure. Even though he was a police officer – something that generally made my skin itch – he was a good man. I liked him a great deal.
Terry realized fairly quickly that Thistle was needling Bay, and he found his voice. “Bay will be a fine driver.” He returned the learner’s permit to Bay and forced a smile. “You are. You just need to pay better attention. You almost hit me when you pulled into the parking lot.”
“I didn’t mean to.” Bay was earnest. “This truck just feels … big.”
Terry studied my Ford with a critical eye. “That’s because the truck is older than you.” He helped Bay down from the driver’s seat, holding my gaze for an extended period before reaching for Clove. “Maybe you should learn on a smaller vehicle first.”
“Hey, I’m the one teaching her,” I argued. “This is my vehicle. She’ll be fine.”
Terry didn’t look convinced. “How about I make some time this weekend to take you out?” he suggested. “We can make a day of it. I’ll ask your mom to pack a picnic and we’ll go out to some of the quieter roads behind the mill and you can learn out there.”
“Can we come?” Clove asked.
“Well … .” Terry looked caught.
“He doesn’t want you with him, Clove.” For some reason, I was feeling mischievous. Terry couldn’t stand it when any of the girls felt neglected or left out. He crumbled faster than one of Marnie’s cookies
. “He likes Bay, best so you’re not invited.”
Terry balked, his cheeks flushing with color. “That’s not true. It’s just … I think Clove and Thistle will be distractions. Bay needs to learn how to drive without distractions. It’s a big responsibility.”
“I think you’re making a bigger deal out of it than necessary,” I countered. “She’s learning how to drive, not perform brain surgery or anything. Although, I was watching General Hospital, and they have a new bar owner who moonlights as a brain surgeon on the weekends. I’ve been thinking that’s something I might like to consider.”
Terry rolled his eyes, momentarily reminding me of the girls. “Yes. I think that’s a wonderful idea. I can’t wait to see what kind of person would trust you to operate on his or her brain.”
“It would be a smart person.”
“Whatever.” Terry patted the top of Clove’s head in a placating manner. “Bay needs to learn to drive without distractions. I promise to take you and Thistle out on your own when it’s your turn to learn, too. I’m not playing favorites.”
“But Bay is your favorite, right?” Thistle scowled as Terry helped her down from the truck, wrinkling her nose as she yanked off her protective football helmet, which my great-nieces were required to wear when riding with me, and tossed it on the floor of the vehicle. “We all know it.”
“Right now she’s definitely my favorite,” Terry replied. “Overall, though, I don’t have a favorite.”
Clove and Thistle exchanged dubious looks as they moved toward City Hall. They were unconvinced – as was I.
“You don’t have favorites, huh?” I cocked an eyebrow. “You’re a terrible liar. Has anyone ever told you that?”
Terry made a growling sound deep in his throat. “You make me so very tired.”
Bay, ever the teenage flirt, tugged on Terry’s arm and lowered her voice. “I’m still your favorite, right?”
Even though he tried to pretend otherwise, Terry cracked a smile. “Always.”
I watched him pat her head before shaking my own and turning to the situation at hand. “Do you know what this cockamamie meeting is about?”
Terry remembered we were here for a reason and sobered. “No, but I’ll bet it’s not good.”
“I’ll bet it’s something stupid,” I said, falling into step with Terry as we walked to the building. “Everything Margaret does is stupid.”
Terry didn’t argue with the statement, which was wise. “I guess we’ll find out relatively soon, huh?”
That was an unfortunate reality.
THE MEETING ROOM was packed, Margaret standing at the front of the room lording her power over the simple-minded residents. Her gaze met mine and something sizzled between us, an animosity born through years of battle and hatred … or maybe I simply had acid reflux from the greasy lunch I ate before leaving with the girls.
“She doesn’t look happy to see you,” Thistle noted.
“That’s probably going to be the high point of my day. How sad is that?” I directed the girls toward a spot at the back of the room, picking a row of chairs that had easy access to the exit should we want to escape early. Terry sat with us, taking the chair next to Bay, and whatever he told her caused her to break out in a wide smile. Terry wasn’t known for being sarcastic and snarky, but he could pull it out when the occasion called for a bit of mocking.
“I’d like to bring this meeting to order.” Margaret didn’t have a gavel – which I’m sure was something she wanted to correct – so when everyone kept talking amongst themselves rather than acknowledging her she made an obnoxious throat-clearing sound. “I said, I would like to bring this meeting to order!”
Her bellow was enough to end conversation and bring everyone’s attention in her direction. Margaret forced a smile, one that made it look as if she was doing us all a favor for even being here, and then clapped her hands together.
“So, I know you’re all probably wondering why I called this meeting,” she started.
“Aunt Tillie says it’s because you crave attention and think it gives you power,” Clove supplied helpfully.
“Clove.” Terry shook his head in admonishment. “Don’t make things worse.”
“And don’t make this meeting last one second longer than it has to,” Thistle added. “They’re showing A Charlie Brown Christmas tonight. If you make me miss it I’ll make you eat the dirt in Mom’s kitchen plant.”
Hmm. “That’s on tonight?” I was torn. On one hand, irritating Margaret was always entertaining. If Clove interrupting her resulted in a frustrated Margaret, the world would be a better place thanks to the girl’s efforts. On the other hand, who doesn’t love A Charlie Brown Christmas?
“I was just repeating what Aunt Tillie said.” Clove jutted out her lower lip and folded her arms across her chest, earning a warning look from Margaret.
“Let’s just see what she has to say,” I said after a beat. “Hopefully she won’t be long-winded.”
“Since when isn’t she long-winded?” Thistle challenged.
“Good point.”
Margaret scalded me with a dark look as she ran her tongue over her lips. My presence at the meeting had to be driving her insane. That’s the only reason I agreed to attend when Winnie suggested it.
“Are you done talking?” Margaret asked pointedly.
“For now.” I adopted a faux sweet tone. “You may continue, Margaret.”
Margaret’s expression promised future mayhem – which was good, because I’m often bored during the long winter months in northern Lower Michigan – but she refused to engage in a public battle when she was supposed to be the voice of reason. I knew that, which was exactly why I always tried to goad her into a public battle. Just for the record, I never want to be thought of as the voice of reason.
“Earlier today, I was contacted by a representative from the Longfellow Juvenile Detention Home,” Margaret explained. “As everyone is probably aware, the facility is located about thirty-five minutes away in Gaylord. It burned to the ground last night.”
A low murmur rippled through the crowd, and for the first time since entering City Hall I was officially interested in what Margaret had to say. That right there was a Christmas miracle.
“It seems that they only have placements for a small number of the teenagers who were being housed there. They want us to open our homes to some of them.” The way Margaret wrinkled her nose made it clear how she felt about the suggestion. “I had numerous conversations with the representatives and I explained why I wasn’t comfortable with having a bunch of – troubled youths – in Walkerville. I mean, our residents must take priority, right? That didn’t stop them from asking for help. Apparently they must be desperate.”
“What’s the problem?” I spoke before I realized I was going to do it. It wasn’t just that I knew my opinion would irritate Margaret. No, really. I also couldn’t quite wrap my brain around Margaret’s stance. “They’re kids. They’ve lost their home right before Christmas. Why wouldn’t we want to help?”
“They’re not kids,” Margaret shot back, her temper flaring. “They’re … hoodlums.”
A few of the women sitting close to the front of the room nodded as they bent their heads together. They clearly agreed with Margaret. I believe anyone who agrees with Margaret must be brain damaged – or just outright evil – so I opted to dig my heels in.
“I still don’t understand,” I pressed. “They’re kids.”
“They’re kids who have been arrested.”
“Not for violent crimes, though, right?” I looked to Terry for confirmation.
Terry nodded. “The kids who are in that facility are there because most of them come from troubled homes,” he said. “They’ve gotten into general mischief and the like – some vandalism and maybe a stolen car here or there – but that’s not the reason they’re in the home. They’re in the home because their parents either couldn’t or wouldn’t take care of them. I don’t think calling them ‘hoodlums’ is
exactly fair.”
“And what do you know about the situation?” Margaret challenged.
“Just what I’ve heard through my position as a police officer – you know, where I investigate crimes,” Terry replied dryly. “I’m not saying that the kids won’t cause a spot of trouble, but I think holding things that are out of their control against them is unfair.”
“Yes, well, nobody asked you.” Margaret’s tone was dismissive. “While I respect Terry’s position and opinion, I think that he’s overlooking something very important: This is a family-oriented town. We care about our families. Keeping them safe and not exposing them to dangers that could be avoided is our primary concern.”
“So why are you even bringing this up?” Terry challenged, his voice taking on an edge that I didn’t often hear.
“Because it’s a town matter and it should be a town decision,” Margaret huffed. “I’m not queen. I can’t decide for everyone. I thought everyone should be aware of the issue so they can decide for themselves.”
I’d heard enough. “Come on girls.” I prodded Clove, Thistle and Bay to stand. “This is absolutely ridiculous.”
“Did you say something, Tillie?” Margaret narrowed her eyes, practically daring me to take her on.
“I said this is ridiculous,” I repeated, unruffled. “You just said this was a family-oriented town in one breath and then tried to dissuade people from helping at-risk kids with another. That’s not what a family-oriented town would do.”
“They’re dangerous.”
“No, you’re dangerous,” I countered. “You’re a terrible person. If you can’t see those kids need help – that this is the time of year when we should all want to help – then I feel sorry for you.” I realized what I said when it was too late to take it back. That didn’t mean I couldn’t modify it.
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