Something to Witch About (Wicked Witches of the Midwest Book 5)

by Amanda M. Lee

  Twenty-Nine

  “It’s only two more days.”

  I rolled over in bed, fixing Landon with a sleepy look. We’d been awake about ten minutes, but neither of us had made a move to get up.

  Dinner had gone from bad to worse the previous night, with Dad insisting on walking me back to the guesthouse to make sure I got there safely. He’d tried to wait Landon out – as though Landon was suddenly going to leave – but when Landon stripped out of his shirt and headed toward my bedroom that was enough to propel Dad into a pouty goodbye.

  “Your family is only here for two more days,” I corrected. “My family is here forever.”

  Landon smirked. “I still don’t know what got into your dad last night.”

  I had an idea. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t think it was you.”

  “It sure seemed to be me.”

  “I think it was Chief Terry,” I said. “He couldn’t really attack Chief Terry, so he went after you.”

  “Why would he be upset about Terry? Because of your mom?”

  I shrugged, relieved to find my muscles much less sore today. “Maybe.”

  “You think it’s something else,” Landon said, reaching over and massaging the back of my neck. “Do you think it’s because Terry is so close with you?”

  I groaned appreciatively as his fingers kneaded my back. “That feels really good.”

  “Roll over,” he instructed, positioning himself on my waist so he could get better access to my back. “How do you feel today?”

  “A lot better now,” I murmured.

  Landon chuckled. “Other than the world-class massage I’m about to give you, how do you feel?”

  “Better,” I admitted. “Still a little sore, but nothing like yesterday.”

  “That’s good,” Landon said. “Your face looks better, too.”

  “I’m not sure how to take that.”

  “I mean the bump on your head looks better,” Landon corrected, immediately recognizing his mistake. “It’s still a little bruised, but the swelling is almost gone.”

  “That’s something, I guess.”

  Landon pressed his fingers into my back, going as deep as he could manage, eliciting another groan from me. “I guess I know how to bribe you from now on,” he teased.

  I didn’t answer.

  “So, you didn’t say,” Landon pressed. “Do you think your dad got so worked up because of Terry’s relationship with you?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “Chief Terry went to school with my mom and dad. Maybe they didn’t like each other.”

  “Terry never told you?”

  “Chief Terry would never say anything about my dad,” I said. “It’s not his way.”

  “I guess not,” Landon mused. “Your dad was all riled up, though. It was almost funny.”

  “Personally, I loved the look on his face when you started stripping.”

  “You should’ve seen the look on Thistle’s face,” Landon said. “I thought she was going to keel over she was laughing so hard.”

  “It was a surreal situation.”

  “It was.”

  Landon rubbed my back for another ten minutes, leaving me practically boneless when he finally rolled off of me. “What are your plans today?”

  “I’m going to stop in at the paper,” I said.

  “I thought you were off this week?”

  “I am,” I said. “I just want to make sure everything is ready to go to press.”

  “We’re not very good at taking vacations,” Landon said.

  “I think this situation has knocked us both off our game.” I rolled over so I could look at him. “You look better, too.”

  “I always look good,” Landon countered.

  “You seemed a little … worried yesterday,” I said. “Worried and tired.”

  “Your family makes me tired,” Landon said. “My family doesn’t help.”

  “We’re both from long lines of crazy people,” I agreed. “What are you going to do today?”

  “I promised my mom I would spend the day with them,” Landon said. “The week is almost up. She’s doing that mother-guilt thing, so I don’t have a lot of choice in the matter.”

  “Hmm.”

  “You could meet us for lunch in town,” Landon suggested.

  “I was thinking about stopping and seeing Mrs. Little again,” I admitted.

  “Why?”

  “Because, I have more information now,” I said.

  “Like the baby?”

  “And the memory.”

  Landon stilled. “She wasn’t in the memory, though, was she?”

  “No. But I didn’t see what happened after Aunt Tillie showed up.”

  Landon rubbed his stubbled jaw thoughtfully. “I don’t understand. From what you told me, if Tillie did interrupt and she did kill Floyd to keep him off his wife, why would they hide that? She was doing a public service for the town.”

  “I don’t think I’m seeing the whole picture yet.”

  “I don’t understand why everyone is lying,” Landon said.

  “You and me both.”

  “Well, since we’re going to be apart for the day, why don’t we spend a little time together in the shower?” Landon said, lifting an eyebrow suggestively.

  “Okay,” I agreed. “You have to do all the work, though. I’m still sore.”

  “I can live with that.”

  AN HOUR later, we strolled into the living room more relaxed than we’d been in days. The feeling didn’t last long.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Sam was sitting on the couch, flipping through a magazine. When he saw us enter the room he seemed surprised. “I didn’t realize you were here.”

  “What are you doing here?” I repeated.

  “Clove is getting ready,” Sam said. “We’re going to spend the morning together and then have lunch. She has to work the afternoon shift today.”

  So much for Clove adhering to the newly established rules of the guesthouse. “That sounds fun,” I said, moving to the kitchen to grab a mug of coffee.

  “Agent Michaels,” Sam greeted Landon.

  “Mr. Cornell.”

  I brought a mug to Landon, settling on the arm of the chair he sat in. “How are things going at the Dandridge?”

  I didn’t particularly want to talk to Sam, but I’d promised Clove I wouldn’t be overtly mean to him.

  “It’s a work in progress,” Sam said. “The structure is sound. It needs a lot of updates, though.”

  “How is living out there while the construction is going on?”

  “It’s not easy. I’m managing, though. Clove has been a godsend.”

  I may puke.

  “How has Clove been helping?” Landon asked.

  “She’s been cooking meals and helping with some of the cleaning,” Sam said. “She loves the building.”

  “She didn’t love it when we went out there a few weeks ago,” I said. “She’s convinced Bigfoot lives out there.”

  “Yeah, I want to thank Thistle for telling her that, by the way,” Sam said. “She still won’t go outside alone after dark.”

  Landon’s smirk was hard to miss. “Clove believes in Bigfoot?”

  “Well, in a town full of witches, that’s not much of a stretch, is it?” Sam asked.

  Landon shifted in the chair, running his hand up my back as he fixed Sam with a hard stare. “I wouldn’t know.”

  “You don’t know about witches?” Sam pressed.

  “I guess it depends on what way you’re using the word,” Landon said. “I’ve met a lot of witches in my life.”

  “I’m talking about the magical ones.” Sam wasn’t pulling his punches.

  “I’ve met a lot of magical people, too,” Landon said, his tone even. “Bay is a magical person and I tend to like her.”

  “You’re full of charm this morning,” I teased.

  “Twenty hours of sleep in two nights will do that to me,” he replied. “I have
n’t been this well rested in years.”

  “I’m glad to see you’re doing better after your fall,” Sam said. “You looked a little rough that first night.”

  “She’s fine,” Landon said.

  Clove’s bedroom door opened. Her eyes were wide when she saw us all sitting together in the living room. “I thought you’d left already.”

  “Obviously.”

  “He was just here for a few minutes while I got ready.”

  Sam eyed me curiously. “Is there a reason I’m not supposed to be here?”

  It was time put all of our cards on the table. “I’m not sure what Clove has told you, Sam, but we had a long talk yesterday about her … relationship with you.”

  “That sounds ominous,” Sam said.

  “Just wait,” Landon said.

  “We want Clove to be happy,” I continued. “If that’s with you? Great. Until we’re sure of your intentions, though – and by we, I mean Thistle and I – you’re not welcome here.”

  Clove balked. “Don’t be rude, Bay.”

  Sam pursed his lips. “And what if Clove doesn’t agree?”

  “Clove has already agreed,” I said.

  “And yet I’m here.”

  He was a little too smug for my liking. “That’s why I’m making you aware of the rules.”

  “I guess that’s fair,” Sam said after a beat. “Trust has to be earned.”

  “And you’re nowhere near that,” I said.

  I reached over and plucked Landon’s mug out of his hand, taking it to the sink. After washing our mugs and putting them on the rack to dry, I returned to Landon. “Walk me out?”

  “You got it.”

  Neither one of us bothered to glance back at Sam. I wondered, for a second, what was going through Clove’s mind, but I pushed the thought out of my head. Everyone knew where they stood now.

  Thirty

  I stopped in at Hypnotic before heading to Mrs. Little’s shop so I could fill Thistle in on my morning.

  “He was at the house?” Thistle looked incensed. “We just told her yesterday that we didn’t want him at the house. Is she trying to make me kill her?”

  “That’s why I told him directly we didn’t want him there.”

  “How did he take it?”

  “He was … smarmy.”

  “Smarmy?”

  “He’s odd to be around,” I said. “I don’t know how else to describe his attitude.”

  “What is the matter with her?”

  I shrugged. Clove was acting weird – there was no denying it – but I had no way of knowing what was going through her mind. “I thought we got everything out on the table yesterday.”

  “I don’t understand her.”

  “I think part of it is loneliness,” I said. “Landon said something to me the other day about it. I was planning to confront her once his family was gone. We have so much else going on, though, I don’t even know where to prioritize her stuff.”

  “People first,” Thistle said.

  “What?”

  “We prioritize people first.”

  I waited.

  “We have a poltergeist to deal with,” Thistle said. “He’s been dead fifty years. His issues can wait. A couple more days aren’t going to hurt the situation.”

  “You weren’t the one thrown from the horse.”

  “Point taken. Still, whatever is going on with Clove is … messed up.”

  “I think we’ve been neglecting her,” I admitted.

  “She’s an adult. You can’t neglect an adult.”

  “Just listen to me a second,” I said, holding up a hand to ward off Thistle’s furious argument. “I’ve been busy with Landon. You have Marcus. Our moms are caught up in their own little world. Aunt Tillie is always a time suck. That’s left Clove on her own for weeks.”

  “That doesn’t explain Sam.”

  “Clove has always been the one in love with the idea of being in love,” I reminded her. “You and I were always okay being on our own. Somehow, though, we’ve left her behind and forgotten about her.”

  “And we’re not on our own now,” Thistle mused, “which has inadvertently left her on her own.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So what do you think we should do?”

  That was the question. “I think we should let her do what she wants to do,” I said finally. “We can’t protect her, and we can’t bully her.”

  “Speak for yourself.”

  “If we try to bully her it’s going to blow up in our faces,” I said.

  “That’s never stopped us before.”

  “I know. Maybe we should try growing as people, though.”

  “Meaning?”

  “If Clove is making a mistake, and I’m not sure she is, then she’s got to make it on her own,” I said. “She’s got to live with her decisions.”

  “And what if Sam is dangerous?”

  “Then we’ll send Aunt Tillie after him,” I replied. “He’s been warned, and yet he’s still sticking around. I would like to believe that means he has real feelings for Clove. If he doesn’t, then Aunt Tillie can bury him next to Floyd.”

  Thistle smirked. “That sounds like fun.”

  MRS. LITTLE was standing behind the counter when I entered her store. If she was surprised to see me, she didn’t let on.

  “Twice in one week, Bay, this must be some sort of record.”

  “Maybe I just like pewter unicorns?”

  “We just got a new shipment in,” she replied. “They’re on that shelf over there.”

  I moved to the shelf, perusing the new selection as I gathered my thoughts. “I wanted to ask you a few more questions.”

  “I told you everything I know.”

  “You didn’t tell me about the baby.” I glanced over my shoulder, finding Mrs. Little’s small frame had gone still.

  “How did you find out about that?”

  Telling her about Edith wasn’t an option. “I looked through some old newspaper articles,” I lied. “I was looking for anything on Floyd. I found an expectant mother announcement for you instead.”

  “I forgot about that.”

  “You said you couldn’t have children,” I said.

  “No, I said I had trouble conceiving,” Mrs. Little corrected. “I never said I couldn’t – or didn’t.”

  “The baby was stillborn?”

  She nodded.

  “I’m sorry. That must have been terrible.”

  “The Lord gives us trials.”

  “Do you know who the father was?”

  “Bob was the father,” Mrs. Little said. “He was my husband. He was the father.”

  That sounded like wishful thinking. “You weren’t sure, were you?”

  Mrs. Little bit her lower lip. “No.”

  “Did Mr. Little know about Floyd?”

  “Of course not.” Mrs. Little looked scandalized.

  “This is a small town,” I argued. “Everyone knows everything. No matter how hard you try to keep a secret, everyone always finds out here.”

  “He didn’t know.”

  I rolled my neck. “Did you know Floyd was beating his wife?”

  “Like you said, it’s a small town,” Mrs. Little said. “There were some rumors that suggested that.”

  “And yet you had an affair with him anyway?”

  “Floyd was never anything but gentle and loving with me.”

  My mind drifted to the Floyd from the memory. “That man hit and kicked his wife,” I said. “When she was down on the floor, curled into a ball to protect herself, screaming for him to stop, he still kicked and hit her. I have trouble believing he was one way with you and another way with her.”

  “How can you know what he did to her?”

  “Let’s just say I have … inside information.”

  “Speaking of town secrets,” Mrs. Little shot back.

  I ignored the jab. “If you knew Floyd was beating his wife, why would you be with him?”

  “You don�
�t always do the right thing in life, Bay,” Mrs. Little said. “I know I haven’t always done the right thing. I’m guessing you haven’t always done the right thing either. If I could go back in time … if I could change things … I would. That’s not possible, though.”

  “That’s not really an answer.”

  “Maybe I don’t have one for you?”

  “The truth about what happened to Floyd is going to come out,” I said. “If you know something … .”

  “I think you’re the one who knows something, Bay,” Mrs. Little said. “I think you’re spending all your time trying to prove Tillie didn’t do this when you know in your heart she did.”

  “I don’t know that,” I countered.

  “Really? Well then, let me ask you this: If Tillie didn’t do it, how did Floyd end up on your family’s property?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

  “No, that’s what you’re trying to cover up,” Mrs. Little said. “You’re so desperate to keep your aunt out of trouble you don’t care who you’re hurting in the process of protecting her. Now, if you don’t mind, I have things to do.”

  “Mrs. Little … .”

  “I’m done, Bay,” she said, her voice serious. “Don’t come back here again. The past should stay in the past. Let it stay buried.”

  Thirty-One

  Was Mrs. Little right? Was I digging into this so hard because I knew Aunt Tillie was a murderer? She was in that house. She saw what Floyd was doing to his wife. She would’ve killed Floyd to stop him.

  I was missing something.

  It was time to go to the source. Again.

  She wasn’t at The Overlook when I got there. I found my mother and aunts in the kitchen gossiping.

  “What are you doing here?” Mom asked.

  “Looking for Aunt Tillie.”

  “I think she’s down in her field,” Mom replied. “I’m just glad she’s not pouting around here.”

  “Why is she pouting?”

  “Kenneth,” Twila supplied. “She’s mad about the whole Blanche thing.”

  “She says she doesn’t like him.”

  “She’s full of crap, pardon my French,” Twila said.

  “That’s not French,” I pointed out.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “If she likes Kenneth, why doesn’t she just tell him that?” I pressed.