Her face was immovable. “Do tell.”
Uh-oh.
“I went through the files,” Chief Terry said. “I found one missing person who fits the parameters.”
“Who?” Twila asked.
“Floyd Gunderson.”
No one spoke. One glance at Aunt Tillie, though, and I knew. I knew that the body did belong to Floyd Gunderson. I had a hundred questions, though, none of which she was about to answer. “I thought Floyd Gunderson ran away.”
“That was the working theory,” Chief Terry said.
“Who is Floyd Gunderson?” Landon asked.
“Mrs. Gunderson’s husband.”
Landon rolled his eyes in mock surprise. “Really?”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Floyd Gunderson was … .”
“A drunk,” Aunt Tillie supplied.
Chief Terry regarded Aunt Tillie, his face unreadable. “What do you know about Floyd Gunderson?”
Aunt Tillie averted her gaze. “I know he was a drunk.”
“Mrs. Gunderson,” Landon said, his mind busy. “She’s the woman who owns the bakery, right? That’s his wife.”
“Yes.”
“She seems like a nice lady,” Landon said.
“She is,” I replied.
“Her husband was a drunk, though?”
“I never met her husband,” I said. “He was gone before I was born.”
“And good riddance,” Aunt Tillie huffed.
Landon fixed Aunt Tillie with a hard look. “I guess the question is, how did he end up in your back yard?”
Aunt Tillie’s face was serene. “I have no idea.”
Crap.
Eight
“This is a beautiful town,” Earl said.
We’d managed to finish an uncomfortable breakfast, and now everyone was gathered in downtown Hemlock Cove for a day of sightseeing. In other words: My life sucked.
“It is,” Landon agreed.
Since space in vehicles was at a premium, I snagged a ride with Clove and Thistle – where I’d unloaded twenty-four hours of misery and fear during a ten-minute ride. Aunt Blanche opted to remain at the inn, a fact that infuriated Aunt Tillie but made my life easier.
“It seems small,” Connie sniffed.
Landon frowned. “I think you mean quaint.”
“No, I mean small.”
I blew out a sigh. I needed a break. “I have to stop at The Whistler.”
Landon regarded me suspiciously. “I thought you took the week off?”
“I did,” I said. “We still have only three employees. I have to make sure the layout is set.”
He obviously wanted to argue but he reined in the impulse. “Fine. Why don’t I go with you?”
“I thought you were going to spend time with us?” Connie interjected.
Landon clenched his fists, shooting me a hard stare. “I am. I just thought I would go to the newspaper with Bay to make sure she was fast.”
“Does she need help doing her job?”
A muscle ticked in Landon’s jaw. “No.”
“Then why would she need you?”
“I didn’t say she needed me.”
I held up my hand. “I just need to stop in,” I said. “Brian will probably be there.”
Landon frowned. He hated Brian.
“I’ll stop in, check the layout, and then I’ll catch up with you,” I said.
“We’d like to see the newspaper,” Denny said.
I had no doubt he was speaking the truth. One look at Connie, though, told me she’d rather have Aunt Tillie remove her toenails with pliers than spend one more minute with me.
“Any time you want to see the newspaper, you’re more than welcome,” I offered.
Connie forced a smile. “After we’ve seen the rest of the town, maybe.”
That’s what I figured. “Sure.”
Landon gave me a quick kiss. “You have thirty minutes,” he warned.
“Thirty minutes,” I said.
“I’ll come looking for you.”
Thirty minutes. I needed thirty days. I waved at Landon’s family and trudged down the street. I could only hope that Brian Kelly – The Whistler’s owner – could dream up some new article for me to focus on in those thirty minutes.
I wasn’t holding my breath.
Edith, the resident ghost at The Whistler, greeted me the second I walked through the door. “Where have you been?”
Edith and I had been traversing a rocky chasm as far as our relationship during the past few weeks. In a nutshell: I’d found out she was a racist and she was still bitter about it.
“I’m off this week.” I wanted to retain my anger but, the truth was, I preferred Edith’s company to Connie’s right now.
“Why?”
“Landon’s family is in town.”
Edith mulled over my answer. “He’s introducing you to his mother? That’s a big deal.”
“She hates me,” I admitted.
“You’re probably exaggerating,” Edith replied, floating a few inches above the floor, her severe bun ever present. “She’s probably just nervous.”
“She thinks I got Landon shot.”
“Didn’t you?”
Edith annoys me just as much as Landon’s mother. “I guess.”
Edith let out a long-suffering sigh. “She’s a horrible person.”
“You don’t even know her.”
“No,” Edith acknowledged. “I know I’m sick of you being mad at me, though, so I’m willing to take a side.”
I tried to fight the smile playing at the corner of my lips. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Anything going on here?”
“Brian is plotting against you. Again.”
I tried to muster some righteous indignation but, unfortunately, Brian had been plotting against me since he came to town. His grandfather, William, had left the newspaper to Brian with the stipulation that I remain editor. If Brian tried to change that – if he tried to sell the paper – the will stopped him in his tracks.
I’d tried to like Brian. No, really I had. He was just so … full of himself. He’d been living at The Overlook since he came to town. Since my mother and aunts were so mean to him, though, he’d stopped eating meals there unless he was desperate. I rarely saw him at The Overlook these days.
“Who is he plotting with now?”
“That Sam guy.”
I froze. Sam Cornell was not just some guy. He was more than that … so much more than that.
“What is Sam doing here?”
“Plotting against you.”
Edith was prone to histrionics. While I didn’t trust Sam, I also didn’t trust Edith to gauge the situation correctly. She’d freaked out over nothing before – and I knew she would do it again. “How do you know?”
Edith hedged. “I don’t know … I just know.”
Oh, well, good. “Where are they?”
“In Brian’s office.”
I squared my shoulders, pointing myself toward the hallway. I didn’t want to deal with this, but I didn’t want to ignore it either. I paused outside Brian’s office door, my hand raised, and then considered my options.
I’d been suspicious of Sam since he’d arrived in Hemlock Cove. He seemed too … eager. He was interested in the Winchester family – and the real history surrounding the witches who lived in this town.
Yes, people know we’re witches. Most of them, though, pretend they don’t know the awful truth. The town’s new “history” made that easy.
Sam Cornell wasn’t one of those who pretended they didn’t see. In fact, before leaving town a few weeks ago, he’d informed me that he knew exactly what my family was: Real witches.
I still remembered his face, his words, his matter-of-fact pronouncement. I’d feigned shock and surprise, but the truth was his interest concerned me.
I stepped back from the door. What was I going to do? If he confronted me in front of Brian, things could get ugly. I had to
approach him when I was alone.
I fled, finding solace – and Edith – in my office.
“I don’t blame you,” she said. “He’s creepy.”
I paced the small space, wondering what to do. I didn’t have a lot of options. I could try to hide here or face Landon’s mother. I had twenty minutes left; there was no way I was giving that up.
I sat at my desk and booted up my laptop. They wouldn’t even know I was here, I told myself. It’s not as though my car was in the parking lot.
I lost myself in the mundane activities of my daily work life, forgetting for a few minutes that I wasn’t alone in the building. I felt the presence at the door before I saw him.
“Sam.”
“Bay.”
“Is there something I can do to help you?” I kept my gaze trained on my laptop screen.
Sam didn’t move to enter the office, instead resting his frame against the archway. “I thought you were off this week.”
“I had a few things I wanted to check on.”
“Me?”
Not even. “I didn’t know you were in town,” I replied honestly.
“You knew I bought the Dandridge, though.”
The Dandridge was the local lighthouse. The previous owner was running a human-trafficking ring from the hidden cove on the property. Sam swooped in to buy the property in the aftermath. I was still a little bitter.
“I did,” I agreed. “I just didn’t know you were back in town.”
“I told you I would be back.”
“You did.” I focused on my computer. This situation was uncomfortable, to say the least.
“I thought you might want to talk.”
That was the last thing I wanted. No, talking was bad. “Nope.”
Sam sighed. “I know I took you by surprise when I told you what I knew. That wasn’t my intention. You have to know that.”
I ignored him.
“I didn’t mean for it to come out like that,” Sam admitted. “I was just … I just wanted you to know.”
“Know what?” I faked confusion.
“Know that you’re a witch.”
The statement was simple – and yet it took my breath away. “I think you might need to seek psychiatric help.”
“Don’t … don’t do that,” Sam warned.
I forced my eyes to meet his. “You’re delusional. I think this town is getting to you. Hemlock Cove isn’t a real witch haven.”
Sam swallowed his upper lip with his lower. “You’re not ready yet.”
“Ready for what?”
“To tell the truth.”
“I’ve told you the only truth I have.”
Sam nodded stiffly. “Fine.”
“Great.”
“Good.”
“Is there anything else you wanted?”
Sam shook his head. “No. Hide. Do what comes naturally.”
I ignored his pointed remarks. “Can you close the door when you leave?”
Nine
Rejoining Landon’s family at Hypnotic was a relief. Yeah, I know, I never thought I’d say that either – even if it was only internally.
“So, how’s it going?”
Landon, sitting on the couch, leaned his head back against the top of the backrest and stared at the ceiling. “How do you think?”
“That bad, huh?”
We’d kept our voices low. His family was perusing Hypnotic’s laden shelves, although they looked bored more than anything else.
Landon turned to me, his blue eyes tired. “Have you ever wished you were an orphan?”
“Not really,” I said, plopping down on the couch next to him. “I’ve wished I was the last woman standing in the Winchester line from time to time, though.”
Landon chuckled, running his hand up my back. “How were things at the paper?”
I debated how to answer the question. I’d told Landon about Sam’s accusations minutes after he leveled them, but he’d dismissed my concerns. I wasn’t sure now was the right time.
“What?” Landon pressed.
“N-nothing.”
“Oh, God, what?”
“Sam was there,” I admitted.
Landon scowled. “I thought he left town?”
“I told you he bought the Dandridge,” I reminded him.
“I didn’t think that meant he’d be back,” Landon replied. “I thought that meant he’d be running it from afar.”
“Apparently not.”
Landon sighed. “Well, good. We certainly didn’t have enough to deal with.”
I leaned my head against Landon’s shoulder, following his gaze as he zeroed in on his mother. Clove was standing next to her, fidgeting nervously. “It’s just a candle.”
“It’s shaped like a skull,” Connie replied, her face full of disdain. “Where did you even find someone to make these?”
“I made them,” Thistle replied stiffly.
Connie glanced in her direction. “Figures.”
Landon exhaled deeply. “Mom.”
Connie shot Landon an impatient glance. “What?”
“The candles are great,” Landon said. “Thistle works hard on them. She’s very talented.”
“How do you know?”
Landon kept his gaze even. “Because she makes them at the guesthouse. I’ve seen her. You wouldn’t believe how much work goes into them.”
Connie pursed her lips. “It sounds like you spend a lot of time at this … guesthouse.”
“I do,” Landon said, nodding. “Every night I can manage I’m there with them.”
“That sounds nice,” Earl interjected. “Happy.”
“It’s home,” Landon said, no hint of guile in his voice.
“Her home is your home?” Connie asked.
“No,” Landon said.
My heart plummeted – although I couldn’t figure out exactly why. His words hurt, though.
“She’s home,” Landon added, nodding in my direction.
My heart soared. Crap, I’m such a girl.
I met Thistle’s gaze. She knew. “Landon is part of our family,” she said. “An important part.”
“So is Tillie,” Connie countered.
Thistle scowled. “Aunt Tillie is … well, she’s difficult.”
“I’ve noticed,” Connie replied.
Thistle was at her wits’ end. “So is Blanche.”
Connie frowned. “She’s old.”
“So is Aunt Tillie,” Clove said.
“She’s mean.”
“So is Aunt Blanche,” Denny interjected. “She’s just as mean as Aunt Tillie – if not meaner.”
“That’s completely untrue,” Connie said. “Blanche is family.”
“And Tillie is their family,” Daryl said. “All the umbrage you take when people talk badly about Aunt Blanche? That’s the same umbrage they take when someone talks about Aunt Tillie. Family is family.”
“There’s a difference,” Connie sniffed.
“Only because you know Aunt Blanche,” Landon said.
Connie focused on Landon. “I think you’re mistaken.”
“I think you’re mistaken,” Landon argued.
“I agree,” Earl said, picking up one of the skull candles. “And I think this is a great candle. Wrap it up. I love it.”
Thistle took the candle from him and walked behind the counter. Earl pulled his wallet from his pocket. “How much?”
“It’s on the house,” Thistle said.
“That doesn’t seem fair.”
Thistle glanced at me. “You’re family.”
Landon nestled his head against mine. “See? This is working out great.”
One look at his mother told me otherwise. As easygoing as Earl, Daryl and Denny were, Connie and Aunt Blanche were a whole other story. “Yeah.”
Landon squeezed my knee. “You don’t seem convinced?”
“I’m … leery.”
Landon laughed. “I don’t blame you.”
“Your mother just seems to hate
me.”
“It’s not like your family loves me,” Landon replied.
“Oh, please,” I scoffed. “My family thinks you’re the bee’s knees. They treat you like a king.”
“Aunt Tillie would curse me if she had the chance,” Landon said.
“She’s had the chance,” I argued. “She thinks you’re a narc, but she still likes you.”
“How can you be sure?”
“She hasn’t made your … manly bits … shrivel and die,” I pointed out.
Landon shuddered. “Can she do that?”
“She says she can.”
“I guess I should be thankful for small favors.”
“You should.”
Landon shifted his head so his lips met my temple. “It’s getting better.”
“Your mother hates me,” I repeated.
“She doesn’t hate you.”
I rolled my eyes. “Have you looked at that woman?”
Landon watched his mother as she poked around the store. “She’s just … not sure.”
“Not sure I’m going to corrupt you, you mean,” I said, keeping my voice low.
“Baby, I want you to corrupt me every chance you get.” He was going for charming.
I pinched his arm. “You have a dirty mind.”
“I’m fine with that.”
“Your mother isn’t.”
“I don’t care what she thinks.”
I didn’t believe him, even though I wanted to. “Whatever.”
Landon met my gaze. “If your mother didn’t like me, would you care?”
I considered the question. “Probably not.”
“Well, I don’t care either.”
How could he not care? “She’s your mother.”
“And you’re my girlfriend.”
I had a feeling girlfriend didn’t trump mother. “She’s your mother,” I repeated.
“And you’re my girlfriend.”
I fought the urge to kiss him senseless. I didn’t think his mother would appreciate the show of affection. “You’re too cute for your own good.”
Landon smirked. “I know.”
“I’m hungry,” Denny announced.
I sighed, forcing my gaze from Landon’s handsome face. “What are you in the mood for?”
“What are they cooking up at the inn?” Daryl asked, clearly excited at the prospect of a home-cooked meal.
“We can eat in town for a change,” Connie said.
Thistle exchanged a knowing look with me. “We have everything. Is there something you’re hankering for?”
Something to Witch About (Wicked Witches of the Midwest Book 5) Page 6
