Life’s a Witch
Wicked Witches of the Midwest
Book Seven
By Amanda M. Lee
Text copyright ©2015 Amanda M. Lee
All Rights Reserved
Table of Contents
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Author’s Note
Books by Amanda M. Lee
Prologue
1980
“That’s not going to happen.”
Tillie Winchester placed her hands on her hips and glared at Willa, all pretense of coming to an amiable compromise flying right out the window in the face of her sister’s defiant attitude. She didn’t like Willa. She was pretty sure she never liked her. Even as children they fought ferociously. This dispute wasn’t going to be on the level of and cats and dogs, but if Tillie had nuclear weapons at her disposal she knew right where she would drop them today.
“I don’t care what you think is going to happen, Willa,” Tillie said, anger coursing through her. “You’re not taking those girls. They’re staying with me.”
“They’re not staying with you,” Willa scoffed, matching Tillie’s stance and staring her down. She was a bully, but Tillie was a bigger bully. Both women knew this wouldn’t end well. “You don’t have children. I do. I can take those girls and raise them right.”
“Are you suggesting I can’t raise them right?”
“I’m suggesting you don’t know the first thing about taking care of teenage girls,” Willa shot back. “Let’s face it, Tillie, you’ve been nothing more than the fun aunt who gives them whatever they want, whenever they want it up until this point. With Ginger gone … .”
Tillie narrowed her eyes to dangerous slits. Ever since her sister Ginger’s death two days earlier she’d been locked in battle with Willa over the fate of her nieces Winnie, Marnie and Twila. There was no way she would relinquish the girls to a dismal life with Willa.
“Don’t talk about Ginger like you knew her,” Tillie spat. “You don’t even live in Walkerville anymore. You haven’t lived here in decades. You barely know those girls. You don’t have any claim to them.”
“Ginger was still my sister,” Willa sniffed. “I think she’d want to know that her daughters were being raised in a safe environment.”
Tillie rolled her eyes. “What? Do you think I’m going to teach them how to juggle with knives? They’re long past the running-with-scissors lecture. Winnie is an adult. She doesn’t have to go anywhere. Marnie will be a legal adult in a month.”
“Well, then I’ll take Twila,” Willa said. “I’ll give Marnie and Winnie the option of going with me. If they prefer to stay with you and your … lax attitude … I guess that’s on them. Twila still needs guidance, though.”
“Twila is staying with me,” Tillie argued. “She just lost her mother. She doesn’t want to leave her home. We’re all staying together.”
“I’ll take you to court if I have to.” Willa knew the girls would never agree to go with her, and she played the one trump card she thought she had.
“You’re not going to want to do that, Willa,” Tillie said. “If you take me to court, I’ll go. I’ll tell the court every little thing you’ve worked so hard to hide since you moved away from here. I’ll put it out there for public consumption. I know how worried you are about people thinking ill of you.”
“Oh, really? What can you possibly tell the courts about me?” Willa scoffed. “I’ll tell the judge that you dance naked under the full moon, let underage girls help you make wine, and teach them about … dark arts.”
Tillie snorted. “Dark arts?”
“Everyone knows you’re a witch, Tillie,” Willa countered. “I’ll make sure no court deems you fit to keep Twila.”
“If you even try taking that girl I’ll … .”
“What’s going on?” Calvin Hoffman poked his head into the room, his gaze nervously bouncing between the two women. “The girls are right outside. They don’t need to hear this.”
Tillie studied her husband for a moment, conflicted. Ginger’s death was a surprise. She’d felt poorly for months, but was bouncing back when the unthinkable happened and a massive coronary stole her in sleep. Winnie found her and was having trouble dealing with it. Still, Tillie wasn’t one to hide things from her nieces – and she wasn’t about to start now.
“Willa is insistent on taking Twila,” Tillie informed Calvin. “She’s going to let Winnie and Marnie decide, which is pretty funny since they’re both adults.”
“I could take Marnie for a month, too, if you really want to be obnoxious about it,” Willa hissed. “I think you’re worried that if I take her she’ll never return. You’ve got them under your thumb here. Freedom might change their outlooks.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Calvin chided, his everlasting patience wearing thin. “Those girls barely know you, Willa.”
“And whose fault is that?”
“It’s your fault,” Calvin charged, not missing a beat. “You chose to leave Walkerville. You haven’t talked to Tillie in close to ten years and you only talked to Ginger once in a blue moon. Those girls don’t know you and they certainly don’t love you. They don’t want to leave their home.”
“I don’t understand how you think you’re even a part of this, Calvin,” Willa snapped. “Just because you married my sister doesn’t mean you get to make family decisions.”
Calvin was taken aback. “Really? Who took care of Marnie when she had strep throat last year and was down for ten days? Who helped Twila build set designs for her school play? Who helped Winnie build a doghouse when she was ten? I don’t remember you being there for any of those things.”
“I’m still a more suitable caregiver than Tillie,” Willie said. “I won’t let those girls run wild through the fields. I’ll turn them into proper ladies.”
“They don’t want to be proper ladies,” Tillie countered. “Why can’t they just be who they want to be?”
“With you as a role model that’s a terrifying thought,” Willa countered. “I’m not giving in on this. I’ll take you to court if I have to.”
“Well, you’ll have to,” Tillie said. “I promise you won’t like the outcome. We won’t see a courtroom until well after Marnie is legal. That means the judge will basically ask Twila who she wants to live with. Do you think that’s going to be you?”
“I think that Twila will be happy to get out of here if given the option.”
“That’s not true!”
Tillie’s eyes snapped to the door where Twila, Marnie and Winnie gaped in abject horror.
“I don’t want to leave,” Twila said, hurrying into the room. “Please tell me I don’t have to go with her.”
“You don’t have to go anywhere,” Calvin said, soothing Twila as she cried.
Winnie and Marnie were more defiant than their younger sister.
“You can’t take her from us,” Winnie warned, her blond hair flying as she bobbed her head. “She’s our sister. She w
ants to stay here.”
“And we want to stay with Aunt Tillie,” Marnie added. “If you try to take her … .”
“You’ll what?” Willa challenged. “Are you going to cast a spell on me like your precious Aunt Tillie?”
“No,” Marnie replied, shaking her dark head. “We’ll go the old-fashioned route. We’ll burn your house down.”
Tillie pursed her lips to keep from laughing. She loved a good threat.
“And that’s exactly why the judge will give Twila to me,” Willa said, rolling her eyes. “Thanks for giving me all the ammunition I need in court, girls.”
Tillie took a step forward, her gaze menacing. “We all know why you really want Twila,” she said. “It’s not out of love or familial obligation. You think you’ll have access to some of Ginger’s estate if you take her. There’s one little problem with that scenario.”
Willa’s shoulders straightened. “If you honestly think this is about money … .”
Tillie cut her off. “When Ginger first got sick, we went to an attorney to set up trusts for the girls,” she said. “All of that money is tied up in a way that you can never touch it. All three girls got equal stakes in the inheritance, and they can’t touch that money until they’re twenty-five. Ginger didn’t want them blowing it when they were too young to realize what they were doing.”
“But … .” Willa’s face shifted. “How did Ginger expect anyone to take these girls on if there’s no money to raise them?”
“We also talked about that,” Tillie replied, nonplussed. “The house and property reverts to me upon Ginger’s death. I’m the sole owner of the land now. I’m taking care of the girls with my money. I don’t need Ginger’s money to keep them. I’m keeping them because … .”
“You love us,” Twila supplied.
Tillie cocked her head to the side, considering. “Most of the time,” she finally conceded. She turned back to Willa. “I know what you’re really doing here and there’s no way I’m handing over any of these girls. If you want to take this to court, then we’ll take it to court. You won’t like what I have to say when we get there, though.”
“Tillie is right,” Calvin said, trying to calm the women. “Twila will choose to stay with Tillie and me. A judge isn’t going to hand her over to you when she doesn’t want to go.”
“And I’m going to guess that without any money in the mix, you’ll lose interest in Twila pretty darned quickly,” Tillie added.
Willa’s face contorted. “I … well, I guess you’ve got it all figured out, haven’t you?”
“I have,” Tillie replied smoothly. “Now get out of my house.”
“I grew up in this house,” Willa argued. “It’s still my house.”
“Not according to the land deeds and law,” Tillie said. She leaned in closer so only Willa could hear. “Don’t you ever come back here, Willa. We might’ve grown up together, but we’re not family. Those girls are my family, and there’s nothing you can ever do to take them away from me.”
Willa pulled back, tugging on her suit coat as she squared her shoulders. “Girls, if you ever want a proper role model, you know where to find me.”
“I’m guessing it’s someplace where people don’t notice that big stick hanging out of your behind,” Marnie offered, causing Willa to scowl.
“Don’t think this is over, Tillie,” Willa said. “You’ll regret this one day.”
Tillie made a face that would’ve been comical under different conditions. “Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on your way out, Willa,” she said. “Have a nice life … and remember what I said. Don’t ever come back here again. If you do, I’ll be dancing on your grave. I might even do it naked.”
One
“I don’t think this is legal.”
“It’s legal,” Aunt Tillie replied, nonplussed. “Now put your back into it. You’ll never get that box into my truck if you don’t exert some effort. You need bigger muscles or something. You’re a weakling.”
I brushed my blond hair from my forehead and looked up at my great-aunt wearily. She was in a mood today. That wasn’t saying much, because I can’t remember her not being in a mood. This one was entirely annoying, though.
“I could leave this box here and let you figure out how to get it into your truck on your own,” I threatened.
Aunt Tillie rolled her eyes. “We both know that’s not going to happen,” she said, not worried in the least I would abandon her to her own dirty work. “If you leave this box in the middle of the floor your mother or one of your aunts will trip over it. They’re at the age where a hip injury could lay them up for weeks, and that means you would have to take care of them instead of fawning all over your boyfriend. Do you really want to serve your mother breakfast in bed instead of cuddling up to your long-haired love muffin?”
I scowled, frustrated. She had a point. I didn’t want to encourage her, though. “Is there a reason you couldn’t have packed this wine in three separate boxes? I would rather make three trips with lighter loads than one trip with a box that makes me think my back is about to go out.”
Aunt Tillie shot me one of her patented “I’m going to curse you if you don’t shut up” looks. “Why are you still talking?”
“I honestly have no idea,” I muttered, groaning as I strained to lift the box again. It was too heavy. There was no getting around it. I wasn’t strong enough to move the box from the foyer of The Overlook, the inn my mothers and aunts run, to Aunt Tillie’s truck in the driveway. I’m aware of my limitations and I’m not afraid to admit them. “We need help to do this,” I said finally, straightening so I could brush the sweat from my forehead.
Summers in Michigan vacillate wildly. One day can be seventy degrees and beautiful. The next can be ninety and so humid you feel as if you’re roasting in an oven. Today was an example of the latter.
My name is Bay Winchester and I’m a witch. No, you read that right. I can talk with ghosts and cast spells. The only things I can’t do are control my great-aunt and the weather. She can control the weather. I’m not powerful enough. I would take control over one of those things in a heartbeat right now. I’ll let you guess which one.
“You’re starting to tick me off,” Aunt Tillie said, wagging a finger in my face. “You’re young. You should be strong. Now … suck it up and lift with your legs. You’re really starting to bug me.”
“Aunt Tillie, it’s too heavy,” I whined. “I physically cannot do what you’re asking me to do. I’m sorry.”
“Fine,” Aunt Tillie sputtered. “Where are your cousins?”
That was a good question. It was Thursday night and Thistle and Clove were supposed to be here an hour ago. Unlike me, they must have realized Aunt Tillie had chores in store for everyone. I either missed that realization – or they purposely didn’t tell me what they suspected because they wanted me to do all of the heavy lifting. I leaned toward the latter.
“I don’t know where they’re at,” I replied. “We have a big group of tourists in town for the summer festival. Maybe they got a last-minute rush at the store.”
As co-owners of Hypnotic, Hemlock Cove’s magic store, my cousins often managed to use their business as an excuse to dodge Aunt Tillie duty. Because I’m the editor of the town’s weekly newspaper, I don’t have that crutch to lean on. Everyone knows my schedule. It’s a real drag sometimes.
“They’re hiding,” Aunt Tillie muttered. “I told them I needed their help and they’re hiding. I’ll curse their bottoms blue.”
I pursed my lips to keep from laughing. I had no idea whether that was possible – although she’d managed to pull off some truly inventive curses in her time. I was just glad I was putting out observable effort so I would hopefully be free from this week’s curse. “Can’t you curse them to make them appear and help? We need to get this box in your truck before Landon gets here. If he sees what we’re doing … .”
“If who sees what you’re doing?”
I froze when I heard the new v
oice, swiveling quickly to find my boyfriend, Landon Michaels, surveying us from across the room. He had a cookie in his hand, which meant he’d entered the inn through the back door and ran into my mother and aunts in the kitchen.
“Hi,” I said, pasting a bright smile on my face. “You’re early.”
“Uh-huh.” Landon’s gaze bounced between Aunt Tillie and me. As an FBI agent, he is trained to know when people are lying. I’m a horrible liar anyway. If I were ever held and interrogated I would give up everything and everyone in the first hour. What? I’m not good under pressure.
“I think he came early because he missed you,” Aunt Tillie said, opting to take over the conversation in her own way. “He gets little hearts in his eyes when he looks at you.”
“I did miss her,” Landon agreed.
His office was in Traverse City, so he spent at least three nights a week away from me. It’s frustrating, but we’re dealing with it. Any case that takes him close to Hemlock Cove – which is more than an hour from Traverse City in northern Lower Michigan – he gladly takes so he can spend the night with me at the guesthouse Clove, Thistle and I share. It’s on our family’s property but still far enough away to offer privacy. Okay, sometimes we have privacy. More often than not the older women in our family simply barge in whenever they see fit.
“I told you,” Aunt Tillie said. “Your love muffin can’t stand to be away from you.”
“I don’t think he likes it when you call him that,” I suggested.
Aunt Tillie shrugged, beyond caring. “He’ll get over it. Now … come on. Move that box out to my truck.”
I glanced at the box again, frustrated. I bent over to pick it up but Landon nudged me away with his knee.
“What’s in the box?” Landon asked.
“It’s private,” Aunt Tillie replied, narrowing her eyes as he moved closer to it. “You stay out of there, Fed. You need a search warrant to go through my private things, and even then I’ll curse you with ants in your pants if you try to touch my stuff.”
“Ants in my pants?”
“That’s what I said,” Aunt Tillie sniffed. “I’ll make them those red ones that sting. I don’t think you want stinging insects around your manhood.”
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