“And what’s your new idea?”
Brian leaned forward, giving the impression that he was about to impart one of the world’s greatest secrets. “We’re going to do … people features.”
Oh, well, great. “Like what?”
“You know … features on people.” Brian held up his hands and shook them to emphasize his point. It still seemed like a lame idea to me.
“But features on people doing what?” I pressed. “Are there people in Hemlock Cove doing tricks I’m not aware of?”
Brian sighed. He hated my attitude. There was nothing he could do about it, though. His grandfather stipulated that I was to remain editor of The Whistler. If Brian tried to sell it – or fire me – I had the option of taking over the newspaper’s ownership. That was the last thing Brian wanted.
“People features are a great way to draw readers in,” Brian said, changing tactics. “They can be charming, funny, and if we do them right we can coax the business owners to buy ads.”
He was so full of it I couldn’t help but wonder how he didn’t fall over more often due to the size of his ego. “And how does that work?”
“Are you purposely trying to be difficult?”
“No. I want to know how writing people features increases advertising.”
Brian sighed, petulant and overdramatic. “If you do stories on people who have businesses, they’re going to be excited and buy more copies of the paper,” he said. “Once they do that, other people are going to realize they want a feature. Then they’re going to buy more ads just so they can stop in and get a feature. Do you see how that works?”
Not even remotely. “I don’t think it’s going to work that way,” I said, rolling my neck until it cracked. “Do you remember when you insisted on doing business features and we ran out of ideas within four months? Those didn’t bring in extra advertising dollars.”
Brian made a face. “I think that was your fault.”
Of course he did. “I think that Hemlock Cove’s advertising dollars are pretty well set,” I countered. “Unless a new business comes to town – like the Dragonfly or the Dandridge – you have a set amount of dollars that are going to be spent. Most of the businesses here run a weekly ad already. Why do you think they’re going to start running two?”
“Because … .” Brian was stumped. It wasn’t hard to do. “Because it will.”
“Fine,” I said, giving in. It would be easier to write three people features and let him find out for himself that it was for naught than argue with him. “Who do you want the first feature on?”
Brian was surprised by my capitulation. “Um … let me think about it for a few days and get back to you.”
“I can’t wait,” I said, getting to my feet. I stilled when I realized he was still staring at me. “Was there something else?”
“Are you still dating that FBI agent?”
Oh, good grief. “Yes,” I said. “We’re very happy.”
“Okay,” Brian said. “Well … let me know when you break up.”
“You’ll be the first one I tell.”
By the time I got back to my office I was debating the merits of letting Aunt Tillie loose on Brian – she hated him, too – when The Whistler’s resident ghost, Edith, popped into view. I took an involuntary step back, my hand clutching the spot over my heart as I focused on her sharp features. “How many times have I told you not to do that?”
“If I could figure out a way to ring a bell before showing up I would do it,” Edith sniffed.
I shut the door to my office, making sure prying ears couldn’t overhear our conversation. Brian couldn’t see or hear ghosts, so he would think I was talking to myself if I carried on a conversation in the open. I wasn’t keen on him thinking I was crazy – er, well, crazier. He’d sat through too many meals at The Overlook to think anyone in my family was of sound mind. At least this way he wouldn’t be able to hear our conversation – even if he happened by and saw my lips moving.
“What do you want?” I asked, turning my full attention to Edith. Since this week’s edition of The Whistler was already out, and my meeting with Brian was over, all I needed to do to finish my day was plot with my family. It was a nice feeling.
“You’re the only person who can see me, and that makes you the only person I have to talk with,” Edith said dryly. “Why do you think I’m here?”
Edith died long before I joined The Whistler staff. I had a feeling she was even less pleasant in life than she was in death. She had to be somewhat friendly to me. If she wasn’t, she would have absolutely no one to talk with. The only other people in Hemlock Cove who can see and hear her are Sam and Aunt Tillie. Speaking of that … .
“You knew my Aunt Tillie way back when, right?”
Edith seemed surprised by the question. “Are you trying to torture me?”
I didn’t bother hiding my smirk. Edith’s history with Aunt Tillie was almost as tempestuous as Aunt Willa’s. “No. It’s just … did you know my Aunt Willa?”
“I went to school with Willa and Tillie,” Edith replied. “They were nothing alike.”
I wasn’t sure how to take that. “Does that mean you liked Aunt Willa?”
“Oh, definitely,” Edith said. “She was pleasant, and she was the only Winchester girl who tried to follow the rules.”
It didn’t surprise me that Edith preferred Aunt Willa to Aunt Tillie. Edith was a prim and proper woman with a belief system that bordered on the offensive at times. Oh, who am I kidding? The woman is a bigot who idles at unpleasant. I still feel sorry for her, because she has no one else to talk with.
“Did Aunt Tillie and Aunt Willa ever get along?”
Edith furrowed her ethereal brow. “Not that I recall,” she answered. “Ginger and Tillie were thick as thieves. Tillie and Willa hated each other. Ginger seemed to … tolerate Willa. She tried to get along with her – or at least it seemed that way to me. They weren’t tight, though. Not like three sisters should be.”
“Do you know why?”
“Tillie is evil.” Edith answered without taking a moment to even consider the question.
“You were dead by the time my grandmother died,” I said. “You were still hanging around here, though. Do you remember anyone talking about Aunt Willa trying to get custody of Twila?”
“No,” Edith replied. “I do remember everyone being sad. Unlike Tillie, Ginger was beloved. She was a good mother. She would’ve been a great grandmother for you girls. Much better than … Tillie.”
“Aunt Tillie was a great grandmother to us,” I countered, loyalty taking over. “We had a lot of fun with her. She wasn’t perfect, but no one is.”
“I’m not going to fight with you about Tillie,” Edith said. “I am curious as to why you’re asking about Willa, though.”
“She’s coming to town. She’ll be here tonight. Aunt Tillie is … upset.”
Edith snorted. “In other words you’re about to bear witness to World War III, and you’re worried,” she said. “I would be, too. I once saw Tillie and Willa come to blows in the town square.”
“You did?”
“I don’t know what it was about, but whatever it was had both of them screeching like angry cats and scratching each other,” Edith said. “Ginger rushed in and played peacekeeper – like she always did – and when the dust settled they were still facing off. I remember – and it’s funny the things you remember from your youth – but Tillie declared that there was room for only one of them in this town. I guess she won.”
“I guess she did,” I said. “I still don’t understand why Aunt Willa is coming.”
“Maybe she wants to make amends.”
“I’ve only met her a few times, but nothing makes me think that’s her goal,” I replied. I shook myself out of my reverie. “Anyway, I probably won’t be back until Monday. I have to go to Hypnotic and plan Aunt Willa’s demise with everyone else. If you get bored, you should come out to The Overlook to see the show.”
It was
an empty gesture. Edith was uncomfortable leaving The Whistler. She’d ventured out a few times, but she almost always retreated to the place she knew best.
“I’ll consider it.”
“SO, what do we want to do to Willa first?” Aunt Tillie asked shortly before noon, rubbing her hands together as she sat on Hypnotic’s couch. She loved being the center of attention. She also loved plotting. If it wasn’t so hot and humid outside, I would almost believe it was Christmas for her.
“Shouldn’t we wait for Sam?” Clove asked, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth as she glanced toward the door. “He drove all the way to Traverse City to get you Olive Garden. It doesn’t seem fair to cut him out of the planning.”
Aunt Tillie rolled her eyes as Landon and I exchanged an amused look. “We’re going to be planning for ten days. He’ll have his turn. Don’t worry about that.”
Clove sighed, resigned. “Okay. What’s your big plan?”
“Well, I was thinking I would do the ‘Drunk as a Skunk’ curse to start things off,” Aunt Tillie suggested.
Thistle and I shook our heads in unison.
“You can’t do that one,” Thistle said. “Mom will know it was you.”
“What’s the ‘Drunk as a Skunk’ curse?” Marcus asked.
“It essentially makes Aunt Willa act drunk and do stupid things,” I explained.
“Was that the spell she cast at the Dragonfly’s soft opening?” Landon asked, narrowing his eyes. He wasn’t a fan of that spell, mostly because everyone got out of hand and started fighting.
“Yes.”
“We’re not doing that one,” Landon said. “I don’t like how upset Bay and Thistle got.”
“When did you become the boss?” Aunt Tillie challenged.
“When you decided to start plotting in front of me,” Landon replied, unruffled. “If I remember correctly, you, Marcus and Thistle ended up sharing a bed that night. How well did that work out for you?”
“Pretty well,” Aunt Tillie shot back. “Marcus felt me up.”
“I did not!” Marcus was horrified.
Thistle patted his knee. “She’s only messing with you.”
“She’s doing a good job of it.”
Landon snickered. “Can’t you come up with something that’s embarrassing but not so destructive that it will tip off Winnie, Marnie and Twila that you’re responsible?”
“What’s the fun in that?” Aunt Tillie’s face was blank.
Landon sighed. “Can’t you … I don’t know … curse her to be nice?”
Aunt Tillie stilled. “I … huh.”
“Oh, that might be fun,” Thistle said. “You could make it so she can say only nice things.”
“I like that idea,” Clove said. “Although … .”
“I knew you would be the one to be a baby about this,” Aunt Tillie muttered. “What’s your problem now?”
“I don’t have a problem,” Clove protested. She was always the first to get nervous right before a big spell. “I think if Aunt Willa is a B-I-T-C-H, we should definitely curse her with that spell.”
Landon glanced over his shoulder. “Who are you spelling for?”
“She doesn’t like to swear,” Thistle replied. “She has a Mary Sue complex.”
“I do not.” Clove crossed her arms over her chest. “I just don’t think it’s necessary to be crass.”
“Well, I’m going to side with Clove on this one,” Landon said. “Not about the spelling thing; that’s weird. I do think you should have a plan in place for Willa if she’s going to be a … pain. However, I would prefer you didn’t cast the spell until we feel her out.”
“I prefer going on the offensive before she hits town,” Aunt Tillie countered.
“I know you do,” Landon said. “Don’t you want to know what she’s doing here first, though?”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s coming for a reason,” Landon said. “I agree with you that no matter why she pretends she’s here, she has ulterior motives. If you cast a nice spell on her, she might not tip her hand to what that is. I, for one, want to know what she’s up to.”
“You have a devious mind,” Aunt Tillie said. “I like that. Still, I want to make sure we’re prepared. We should come up with a list of spells and make sure we have all of the ingredients we need from the store before we go.”
“You know we don’t keep any of the hard herbs here,” Thistle said. “If you want the big dogs, you’ll have to cut them from your own greenhouse.”
“Fine,” Aunt Tillie said, rolling her eyes. “We need a list, though.”
“Let’s get to it,” Thistle said, grabbing a notebook from the end table. “Why doesn’t everyone shout out their favorite spells and I’ll write them all down. Then, when we have everything nice and tidy, we can cross off things we don’t like.”
“I like the bacon spell,” Landon announced.
I made an exasperated sound in the back of my throat. “Do you really want Aunt Willa to go around smelling like bacon? You know she’s not going to find it funny if you lick her face.”
Landon scowled. “That’s disgusting. I want you to smell like bacon again.”
“Well, you’re the only one.”
“I want you guys to smell like bacon again, too,” Marcus admitted, averting his eyes when Thistle glared at him.
“No,” I argued. “I hate that spell.”
“I’ll make them smell like bacon again when this is all over with if you guys help me this week,” Aunt Tillie offered.
“How is that a reward for us?” Thistle challenged.
“I didn’t say it was a reward for you, fresh mouth,” Aunt Tillie replied. “I just think the boys should earn a fun day for themselves if they help me.”
“I’m starting to like being on Aunt Tillie’s side,” Landon said, slinging an arm over my shoulders. “Let’s start the list. The faster we win, the faster I get to lick Bay’s face.”
I opened my mouth, a harsh retort on my lips, but was cut short by Sam’s arrival. He had two huge bags of food and a nasty look on his face.
“Hi, honey,” Clove said, hopping to her feet and scampering to his side. “Thank you so much for doing this.”
“Did you guys start without me?” Sam was angry. “I drove two hours to get you people lunch and you started without me!”
“Welcome to the group,” Landon said. “The good news is that we also negotiated a day for Aunt Tillie to curse the girls so they smell like bacon when this is all over.”
Sam brightened considerably. “Well, then I guess it was worth it.”
Landon winked at me. “It will be totally worth it. Now, if I could only find a way to add tomato and bread to the spell, things would be perfect.”
I shook my head. “You’re sick.”
“Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet.”
Five
“Do you see them?”
“No, do you?”
“Would I have asked if you saw them if I saw them?”
Thistle rolled her eyes as we stood in the doorway between the library and main foyer. Mom, Marnie and Twila fluttered about, exchanging nervous whispers and pacing grooves into the hardwood floors. Everyone was on edge waiting for Aunt Willa and Rosemary’s big arrival. I had no idea where Aunt Tillie was. Wherever she was dealing with her edginess, she was not inside the inn. We checked – eight times – and could not find her. She was probably out taking the edge off in her pot field, which was going to be a whole other issue when she finally did make her presence known.
“Stop hovering in the doorway,” Landon ordered, reclining on the couch as he flipped through this week’s edition of The Whistler. “Haven’t you heard that expression about a watched pot never boiling?”
“Have you ever watched Aunt Tillie boil something?” Thistle challenged. “She can make a pot boil with the power of her mind.”
Landon glanced at me. “Is that true?”
I shrugged. “She can also control the
weather and make pigeons poop on the cars of her enemies.”
Landon snorted. “That’s probably more information than I needed.” He patted the spot next to him on the couch. “Come on, Bay. Have a drink and relax.”
“You, too, Thistle,” Marcus instructed, pouring two glasses of wine and handing one to each of us.
I reluctantly joined Landon on the couch while Thistle perched on the arm of Marcus’s chair. Nobody wanted to talk about Aunt Willa’s arrival, yet it was all we could think about.
“Where is Clove?” Thistle asked, shifting her eyes so she could scan the hallway. “She was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago.”
“She was waiting for Sam at the guesthouse,” I replied. “I think his nose was out of joint about lunch and plotting without him.”
“That’s not why she’s waiting for him,” Landon countered. “Sure, he was ticked about lunch, but she wants a few minutes alone so they can cuddle without you two making fun of her.”
“Cuddle?”
Landon tweaked my nose. “What would you call it? Would you prefer I said they were down there getting to third base?”
Mom poked her head in the library. “No sex talk tonight, mister!”
Sometimes she has supersonic hearing, I swear. “Are you eavesdropping on us?”
Mom ignored the question and backed out of the library to resume her pacing.
“I don’t think she trusts me sometimes,” Landon said.
“And you have such a trustworthy face,” I teased, tugging on his cheek. “I just want to kiss it.”
“I guess I can tolerate that,” Landon said, leaning in and planting a big smack on my lips. I was surprised when he jerked his head away a moment later. When I looked up, I realized why. Mom had a hunk of his hair in her hand.
“There will be none of that,” Mom warned. “Aunt Willa doesn’t like it when people show affection.”
Landon pulled his head back so that Mom lost her grip. “Can someone explain to me again exactly why we care what this woman thinks?”
Mom crossed her arms over her chest. “Because she’s family.”
Life's a Witch Page 4
