[A Wicked Witches of the Midwest 10.9] How Aunt Tillie Stole Christmas

by Amanda M. Lee

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

  “What do you mean by that?” Clove asked.

  “I think he means you’re dressed like a slut,” Thistle replied.

  “That’s not what I meant.” Carl made a tsking sound with his tongue. “I just meant that the church recruiters generally show up in plaid skirts and matching blazers.”

  “That sounds like a nightmare I once had,” Clove noted.

  “I’m sure it does.” Carl looked amused but eager to get rid of us. “So what is it you want?”

  “A few minutes of your time,” I answered. “Actually, if things go as planned it would be more like a few years of your time and your heart.”

  Carl arched a wary eyebrow. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning that your nephews are staying with us right now, and I want to talk to you about a few things.”

  Carl stilled, his expression shifting. “You have Michael, Andrew and David? I’ve been trying to find out where they are since I heard about the group home fire. I was planning to visit them on Christmas – I have gifts and everything – but no one could tell me where they’re staying.”

  That was odd. “They couldn’t tell you or wouldn’t tell you?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Well, they’re okay. They’re in Walkerville with us and they’re fine. They spent the day building a model with a member of the police force – although not in a weird or creepy way – and my nieces are fattening them up with every baked good under the sun.”

  Carl looked relieved as he pushed open the door all the way. “Come in. I’d like to hear what you have to say.”

  “Good. I have a lot to say.”

  “She’s not exaggerating,” Thistle offered. “She loves to hear herself talk.”

  Carl’s eyes twinkled as he ushered us inside. “I’ll bet you share that trait with her.”

  Thistle was affronted. “You don’t even know me.”

  “I’m good at reading people.”

  “Aunt Tillie says the same thing about herself. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  Carl led us to the living room, offering drinks and snacks – which we politely declined – and then we got straight to business.

  “I won’t pretend that I understand how everything works, but the boys told us a little about their situation. We want to make sure that they get out of this with a bright future,” I started. “I believe you’re the key to that bright future.”

  “If you’ve been talking to the boys – and kudos for that, because they’re not very chatty these days – then you know that I tried to get custody of them,” Carl said. “That’s what I wanted most. I promised my mother before she died that I would try to get custody. She was too sick to do it herself after my sister died. I’ve been working on it ever since.”

  “The boys weren’t exactly chatty when they first arrived, but I’ve been wearing them down,” I said. “They’ve let a few things slip.”

  “How long have they been at your house?”

  “Since last night. We’re only keeping them for a few days. That’s why I want to figure out the best way to make sure that they go straight from our house to yours.”

  “Do you really think you’re just going to be able to snap your fingers and make that happen?” Carl was understandably dubious. He’d never worked with witches before, so he had no idea exactly how powerful I was. I didn’t want to toot my own horn – okay, I always want to do that, but don’t tell anyone – but I knew I could make things come out the way they should if I simply had all the information.

  “I think I can do anything I put my mind to,” I replied. “That includes getting these boys with you. I need information, though.”

  “Okay. How can I help?”

  “Tell me how all of this happened,” I prodded. “Why weren’t you considered a viable guardian from the start?”

  “Their mother, Camille, was a good woman who worked hard and did her very best by those boys,” Carl started. “Nobody is perfect, but that woman darned near was. She was a saint, which is why I always wondered why she married my brother.”

  “What’s wrong with your brother?” Bay asked.

  “He’s selfish. He’s always been selfish.”

  “So is Aunt Tillie, but we still live with her,” Clove pointed out, causing Carl to smile.

  “I’ll bet that your great-aunt is selfish in a different way,” Carl said. “Daryl only ever thought of himself. When Camille showed up pregnant with David I thought that he’d change his ways. He was good for a year – right up until she became pregnant with Michael – and then he started spiraling.”

  “Drugs?” I asked, worried.

  Carl shook his head. “He liked to drink. That was his vice. He also liked to gamble. He’d take all the money Camille worked so hard to earn as a nurse and throw it away on football games … and basketball games … and even tennis matches when he was hard up for something to bet on.”

  “She still had Andrew with him,” I pointed out.

  “I think Camille lived in denial for a very long time,” Carl explained. “She wanted Daryl to be a better man than he was. Once she realized that wasn’t possible, she wanted to give the kids stability. She thought that was better than them growing up without a father.”

  I spared a glance for the girls and remembered how Winnie, Marnie and Twila all clung to marriages that were clearly doomed. “Sometimes it takes a while for reality to set in.”

  “That’s definitely true,” Carl agreed. “I did what I could for them. I helped with groceries and played basketball with the boys on the weekends. My brother gave me grief about it, accused me of trying to move in on Camille. I told him I was merely doing the job he refused to do, but he wouldn’t listen.”

  “How old were the boys when he left?”

  “I believe David was seven, which would’ve made Andrew three,” Carl replied. “Andrew doesn’t even remember him, which is probably for the best. David remembers him as a mean guy who always yelled and made Camille cry.”

  “Sometimes it’s better to live without a father than have one like that,” I noted. “David said his mother died from a heart ailment.”

  “After my brother left I was around more often,” Carl said. “I loved the boys and knew my brother did them wrong.”

  “Do you know where he is?” Bay asked.

  “He’s in Las Vegas. He works as a dealer at a casino. My understanding is that every dime he makes goes back into the casinos. That’s not my problem, though. He didn’t even call back when I told him Camille was dead. He didn’t even ask about the boys. He just didn’t care.”

  My blood boiled and I had to fight the urge to explode. If Daryl Lewis were in this room right now, I’d teach him a thing or two about curses.

  “And Camille?” I asked, forcing myself to remain calm.

  “She went quickly,” Carl said. “One minute she was fine. The next I got a call that the boys had discovered her on the kitchen floor. She was already dead, but they went through the motions of taking her to the hospital anyway. When I showed up the boys still had hope. But the look on the doctor’s face told me all hope was gone the second I saw him.”

  “That’s terrible.” I rubbed my hand over my cheek. “Still, the way David talks, you tried to get the boys then.”

  “I did. I didn’t think it would be an issue. Apparently a single man filing for custody of three boys – even if the boys are his nephews and no one else is around to take them – is a huge problem.”

  “David said something about a job.” I hated delving too deep into Carl’s private matters, but I needed all the information.

  “Yeah, I was between jobs,” Carl said. “It wasn’t that I was out of work. When I thought the boys were coming to live with me I took a job at the local high school. I quit my old job, but was still a month away from starting my new job. They said that I was technically out of work, so I c
ouldn’t have them.

  “I thought that it was a stupid rule, but I figured at most they’d be in the system for a few weeks, and that’s what I told them,” he continued. “Once I started the new job I filed the paperwork again. I hit a different roadblock the second time.”

  “Roadblock?”

  “Daryl.”

  I wrinkled my nose, confused. “Is he back?”

  “No, he’s not back, but he has to sign off custody of the boys if I want to adopt them,” Carl replied. “He won’t answer my calls or sign the documents.”

  Well that just figured. “And that’s the only thing standing in the way of you getting those boys?”

  Carl nodded. “I had my brother served with papers, but he never responded. I should’ve had a default judgment, but the judge doesn’t see it that way.”

  “Judge West?”

  “Yeah. Do you know him?”

  I let an evil smile out to play. “I definitely know him. I’ve also got this under control.” I hopped to my feet, a plan forming. “Come on, girls. I have a call to make.”

  “That’s it?” The look on Carl’s face was priceless. He clearly thought I was crazy. I considered having Clove whip out one of her patented crying displays, but it seemed like overkill.

  “Trust me on this,” I said. “Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. I’ll have the boys with you before the end of the day.”

  “How can you promise that?”

  “Because I believe I can do anything I set my mind to,” I replied. “I’ve set my mind to doing this.”

  “I’m sure you understand that I have my doubts,” Carl said.

  “It’s fine. Have your doubts. I won’t tell the boys my plan in case something goes wrong, but I’d like you to come to the house tomorrow regardless and see them. They’ll be excited to spend time with you.”

  “I’d really appreciate that.” Carl looked so grateful I thought he would break down weeping. “I just need your address and a time.”

  I supplied both and then herded the girls toward the door. “I’ll be in touch when I have more information. Just show up in plenty of time for dinner tomorrow. I’m pretty sure I’ll have good news for you … for all of you.”

  “I want to believe you because you’re so forceful,” Carl said, “but I’ve been crushed by the system a few times.”

  “It’s nothing compared to how crushed those boys have been,” I pointed out. “Those boys are going to have a happy Christmas if it kills me. I promise you that.”

  “You should believe her,” Thistle offered. “She saves Christmas all the time. She’ll do it again this year.”

  “Technically I’m not saving Christmas this year,” I countered. “I’m stealing it. Like Robin Hood. I’m taking from the … whatever … and giving to the worthy.”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s not how it goes,” Bay interjected.

  “How is that even different?” Thistle challenged.

  “It’s better.”

  Thistle ran her tongue over her teeth and then shrugged. “Whatever. As long as the boys are happy, I don’t care what you do.”

  “Then let’s steal Christmas.”

  “Yee-haw!” Clove pumped her fist and then shrank back when Thistle glared. “What? It seemed like the right moment.”

  “I’m totally going to make you eat dirt later,” Thistle threatened.

  “I’ll make you both eat dirt,” I warned. “That’ll be my Christmas miracle. I’ll make you eat dirt and force you to be quiet for one blissful hour.”

  Eight

  “That went well.”

  Bay was happy when I loaded the girls into my truck, her smile serene as she stared out the passenger side window. At times I think she’s the hardest to placate. Other times I think she’s the easiest.

  “It did,” I agreed, pointing my truck toward the highway. “I like him.”

  “He’s nice,” Clove said. “I really hope the boys get to live with him. It doesn’t seem fair that they’ve been kept away from him for stupid reasons.”

  “Yeah, I don’t get that,” Thistle mused. “Their dad is a butthead and doesn’t want them, so why would the state people keep them from the uncle who does? That seems to be rewarding the butthead.”

  I smirked, amused. “Because you’re a butthead, I’d think you’d side with the father.” I was mostly teasing, but it was true. Thistle had a good heart, but she worked overtime to hide it.

  “I’m not a butthead like that,” Thistle argued. “And I’m only a butthead to you because you’re a butthead to me.”

  Bay and Clove exchanged dubious looks.

  “You’re only a butthead to her?” Bay challenged.

  “No one’s talking to you,” Thistle said stiffly. “I’m talking to Aunt Tillie, so zip your lips.”

  “Hey, don’t start fighting,” I warned, growling when a woman in a large sport-utility vehicle in front of me opted to drive three miles below the speed limit on a stretch that had no passing lane. “Oh, we’re trying to steal Christmas here!” I pressed my hand to the horn and smiled as it blared. “Move it or I’ll move you!”

  “Why do you keep putting it like that?” Bay asked. “I thought we were saving Christmas.”

  “We are saving Christmas, but this time we’re doing it by stealing,” I said. “You started it when you stole the file.”

  Bay balked. “What else was I supposed to do?”

  “I didn’t say you did anything wrong,” I cautioned. “I merely said you started it. Now I’m going to finish it.”

  “With the judge?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And how do you know him again?” Thistle challenged.

  “Let’s just say we’ve had a few run-ins over the years and leave it at that,” I suggested. “I think the hardest part is going to be figuring out a way to get that deadbeat father to sign the document. He’s in another state.”

  “Why not just send a ghost to haunt him until he agrees to sign?” Bay suggested.

  I slid her a sidelong look. “Only people like us – you and me – can see ghosts,” I reminded her. “He wouldn’t be able to see a ghost.”

  “Yes, but you don’t have to send a regular ghost,” Bay argued. “I’m not even sure where we could find one on such short notice.”

  “There’s one that hangs around the newspaper office. Edith. She wouldn’t help us, though. What are you thinking, Bay?” I was intrigued despite myself.

  “I’m thinking that you should just create a fake ghost – maybe one that looks like Camille – and send it to haunt the father,” Bay explained. “You have hair from the boys, so you can track down their dad with a spell if you use it.”

  “Huh.” She’s smarter than she looks sometimes. It’s both a gift and a curse. “That right there is an outstanding idea. I think you’re onto something.”

  “I’m always onto something,” Bay said. “You just generally refuse to listen to me.”

  “I don’t refuse to listen,” I countered. “It’s just that your voice sounds like quacking ducks at times and I have no choice but to tune out if I want to remain sane.”

  “Since when are you sane?” Thistle challenged.

  “Shh.” I pressed a finger to my lips as I focused on the road. “I need time to think. Be quiet for a little bit.”

  The girls lapsed into silence, which Thistle was the first to break.

  “You should be quiet,” she muttered.

  Since she always needed the last word – and I understand what that’s like – I let it go. Yes indeed, Bay was onto something, and I was pretty sure things would come together exactly as I wanted this Christmas.

  Hallelujah!

  “WHAT’S GOING ON?”

  The ride back to Walkerville was made mostly in silence, but Bay perked up when we hit Main Street, her eyes shifting to the parking lot next to City Hall. I followed her gaze, confusion washing over me when I recognized half the cars in attendance.

  “I don’t know,” I replied after
a beat, “but all of those cars belong to town board members.”

  “Oh, she’s right,” Thistle said, craning her neck. “We’ve egged all of those cars in that front row.”

  “Hey, what did I tell you about owning up to stuff like that?” I shouted. “It didn’t happen unless they catch us in the act, which they didn’t. There’s no way they can prove that.”

  “We’re the only ones in the car,” Thistle reminded me.

  “Yes, but if you get complacent with us you might get complacent around others. Practice makes perfect.”

  Thistle crossed her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” I was almost positive I heard her add “you old bat” under her breath. I wanted to address her terrible attitude and the fact that she refused to respect her elders, but the presence of the cars in the parking lot – on the day before Christmas Eve, mind you – made me think someone was up to no good.

  And, for once, that someone wasn’t me.

  “Change of plans,” I announced, turning the truck so it bounced over the curb, jolted over the strip of land separating the sidewalk and the parking lot and then smoothly pulled into a spot at the end of the lot. “Let’s see what they’re doing.”

  Clove’s eyes were wide when I killed the engine. “What did you just do?”

  “I parked in the lot.”

  “But you drove over the sidewalk to do it!”

  “So?”

  “So … I’m pretty sure that’s illegal!”

  “No one saw me,” I said. “Besides, I would’ve had to turn around because I missed the entryway before I made my decision. No one has time to turn around.”

  I pushed open the door and reared back when I found Terry standing at my fender, hands on his hips. “Good afternoon, officer!” I sang out the words as if I was simply happy to see him and not trying to get out of a ticket.

  “Officer Terry, I’m glad you’re here! We’ve almost saved Christmas!” Bay hurried to Terry’s side and gave him a quick hug. It was almost as if she sensed he was about to lose his temper. “We’ve had a busy day.”