“Why? What’s in there?”
“Oh, there’s nothing in there that’s overtly suspicious, at least as far as I know,” Bay said. “I only said you’ll have nightmares because she cursed her room to give people nightmares if they enter without permission.”
Witches! I swear! I was still getting used to their peculiar ways. “I can’t decide whether you’re messing with me or not.”
“I’m not messing with you,” Bay said. “I went in there to get knitting needles for Twila two weeks ago and then I had a dream that I was a big slice of bacon for two nights in a row.”
The image made me smile – for more than one reason. “That sounds like heaven to me.”
“Not when you’re frying on a giant griddle.”
Great! Now I’m going to have nightmares. “Okay, we’re done talking about that,” I said. “Let’s get out there. I’m ready for my pot roast.”
“I have one question to ask first.”
I fixed my eyes on Bay, impatient. “Make it fast.”
“Say there’s a fire,” she said. “Are you going to save me or are you going to save the pot roast?”
“That’s not really fair, baby,” I teased. “The pot roast doesn’t have legs. It can’t save itself.”
“That’s what I thought.”
The kitchen was empty when we entered, tonight’s preparation pots and pans soaking in the sink. I scanned the counter for signs of carrots, potatoes and gravy, practically crowing when I found all three. I moved faster, pulling Bay excitedly.
Numerous expectant faces swiveled our way when we emerged from the kitchen. Besides Bay’s family, it looked as if Chief Terry, Sam and Marcus were joining us for the meal, as well as five guests I didn’t recognize. Before getting involved with Bay, the idea of eating dinner with strangers every night was an odd one. I was used to it now.
“Good evening, everyone.”
“You’re late,” Winnie said, tilting her head to the side. She had Bay’s coloring and eyes, but she didn’t smile when saw me … at least not tonight.
“It was my fault,” I said, congenially. “I … forgot something back at the guesthouse.”
“What?” Winnie was clearly in a mood.
“I’m guessing it was his pants,” Thistle said, sipping from her glass of wine and shooting me a salty look.
“Thank you, Thistle,” Twila said, glaring in her daughter’s direction. “No one needs you to add to the discussion.”
“I was just trying to help.”
“You can help a lot more if you’re quiet,” Twila said.
I moved to the far side of the table and settled into what had become my regular seat between Bay and Aunt Tillie. While everyone else turned their attention to the heaping platefuls of food and idle conversation, I focused mine on the elderly Winchester matriarch. “Hello, Aunt Tillie. How are you today?”
“Well, I’m not wearing a girdle and I’m still alive.”
I wasn’t sure how to take that. “So … no complaints?”
“Did you just meet me? Of course I have complaints.” Aunt Tillie turned so she could scorch Winnie with a narrow-eyed glare. “I have a whole heck of a lot to complain about.”
Uh-oh. It looked as if whatever she was up to was about to come to a head. “Who ticked you off now?” I gestured toward my empty glass when Bay started pouring wine. If Aunt Tillie was about to launch into a tirade, being hammered couldn’t possibly hurt.
“I have a list,” Aunt Tillie sniffed, viciously stabbing her fork into a piece of meat.
She always had a list. Thistle was generally at the top of it, but Bay and Clove shared top billing at least once a week. “Oh, yeah? Who is on top of it today?”
“Don’t worry,” Aunt Tillie said. “Your girlfriend is safe. Her pants will fit tomorrow morning, and she won’t smell like anything she’s not supposed to smell like.”
That was a little disheartening. I was still holding out hope the bacon smell – and taste – would return. Those were the best two days of my life, I swear. Some people need big cars, a lot of money and inground swimming pools. I needed my girlfriend to smell like bacon. I guess I’m easy. “If you wanted to … .”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” Bay warned, her eyes flashing. She’d obviously read my mind.
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” I said.
“Eat your pot roast. You’ve been talking about it for an hour.”
Finally, something I wanted to do. I attacked my plate enthusiastically, keeping one ear on the conversation as I dunked a freshly baked slice of bread into the best gravy I’d ever eaten. I could never tell my mother that, but it was the truth. While the Winchesters were loud – and generally pains in my ass – they were also the best cooks I’d ever met. I would put up with ten screaming matches a night for this gravy.
“So, did you do anything exciting at work this week?” Marnie asked me, smiling pleasantly even though she was clearly watching Sam and Clove out of the corner of her eye. Since Sam had been officially cleared as a murderer and bank robber – and saved Bay’s life – he was now welcomed at the dinner table with more than suspicion. I don’t think Marnie liked wondering where Sam’s hands were wandering under the table, though.
“Just a routine week,” I said. “It was mostly paperwork. My boss did give me a cold case to work on while I was here, though.”
“You have to work this weekend?” Bay asked, disappointed.
“I have to ask a few questions,” I clarified. “The case is twenty years old.”
“What is it?” Chief Terry asked.
I shrugged. “I haven’t looked at it yet,” I admitted. “He gave it to me right before I left, and by the time I got to the guesthouse Bay and Thistle were fighting, so I got distracted.”
“We weren’t fighting,” Thistle said.
“You were yelling.”
“That’s not fighting. That’s talking. Loudly.”
“Ah.” I turned back to my dinner. “Is anything going on around here this weekend?”
“It’s just a normal weekend,” Winnie said.
“No festivals?”
“We don’t have a festival every week,” Bay chided.
“Just every other week,” I said. “I stand corrected.”
Since she was already irritated, I took the opportunity to steal a slice of bread from her plate.
“Hey!”
“You weren’t going to eat it,” I said, plastering my best “I’m a good guy and you know you love me” smile on my face. “I thought you wanted to reward me.”
“You haven’t done anything to warrant being rewarded,” Bay said.
She had a point. I glanced back at Aunt Tillie, debating how to proceed.
“What are you rewarding him for?” Winnie asked, suspicious.
“I’ll bet I know,” Thistle sang from the other end of the table.
“You don’t know anything,” Bay said. “He’s going to take up that … thing … we were talking about earlier. He’s going to fix it.”
“Oh.” Thistle’s eyes were thoughtful. “That’s a good idea. I’ll reward him, too.”
That was a frightening thought. “I only want Bay to reward me.”
Thistle scowled. “I was going to make you a bacon-scented candle, moron. Not … that. You’re sick.”
“I’ll definitely take the candle,” I said, opting to ignore the rest of her statement.
Chief Terry, clearly uncomfortable with the turn in the discussion, decided to redirect the conversation. “What’s your cold case?”
“I only know it’s a woman who went missing from Hemlock Cove about twenty years ago.”
Chief Terry pursed his lips, considering. “I’ll bet it’s Peg Mulder.”
“Who is Peg Mulder?” I asked.
“She was a local woman,” Chief Terry said. “She was a couple years behind me in school.”
“She was in my grade,” Winnie said.
I listened, interested. Even if i
t wasn’t the same woman, anything was better than continuing the “reward” talk. I hoped everyone would forget about that by the end of dinner.
“She was married to John Mulder for about ten years, and then the marriage went south,” Chief Terry said.
“Do you remember why?”
“He knocked up the babysitter,” Winnie said, wrinkling her nose. “It was quite the scandal at the time.”
Small towns never cease to amaze me. Not only does everything overlap because everyone knows each other, but the gossip spreads like wildfire. “Was this Peg Mulder divorced at the time of her disappearance?”
Chief Terry shook his head. “No. The rumor is they were going through a divorce, and John was going to have to pay up something fierce, but it wasn’t finalized before Peg disappeared.”
“Do you remember anything about the investigation?”
“Just that Peg was last seen at her house … by John … and when he brought their son back before dinner, she was gone,” Chief Terry said.
“That sounds suspicious,” I said. “Was he a suspect?”
“Of course. The problem is, we never found a body. If he did anything to her, he managed to hide it well. I was on the force back then, and I remember going out on searches with cadaver dogs, but we never found anything.”
“What happened to John Mulder?”
“He married the babysitter,” Marnie said.
“If Peg was missing and you never found a body, how did he manage to have her declared dead?”
“He didn’t,” Chief Terry said. “Since the divorce proceedings were already winding through the court system, they simply progressed until their natural end. Since Peg wasn’t there to sign the papers, the judge ultimately pushed them through.”
“How long after the divorce was finalized did he marry the babysitter?”
The inn guests at the far end of the table were listening, rapt. Apparently they liked small town gossip, too.
“Two days.”
“Nice,” I said, leaning back in my chair and rubbing my hand against the back of Bay’s neck thoughtfully. Her skin was warm and silky above her shirt, and my fingers were soft as they caressed her. “Did they stay in town?”
“For a few months,” Chief Terry said. “The babysitter ended up cheating on John with the Mulhern boy. What was his name?”
“Trent,” Clove supplied. “He was so hot.”
“He was,” Thistle agreed.
“Then they got married and moved into John’s house,” Chief Terry said. “He ended up leaving his kid with the babysitter when he bolted from town.”
“Does anyone know where he ended up?”
“I heard he was down in the Pinconning area for a while,” Marnie said. “That was like fifteen years ago. I have no idea where he is now.”
“If Peg is the woman from my case – and I’m not sure she is – I’m going to want to look at the files you have down at the station,” I said.
“That’s fine,” Chief Terry said, unruffled. “I’d actually like to get that one off the books. It never sat right with me. Peg wasn’t the type of woman to run off. Even though John cheated on her, she loved Luke.”
“Is Luke her son?”
Winnie nodded. “He’s a teacher at the high school now,” she said. “He grew into a lovely boy. In fact, before you started dating Bay, I was going to set her up with him.”
I made a face. “Thanks for telling me that … I guess.”
Bay snorted. “You were not going to set him up with me.”
“I was so.”
“You were not.”
“He’s a very handsome boy,” Winnie said.
“He’s also gay,” Bay said.
Winnie straightened in her chair. “How do you know that?”
“He’s got a man living with him and they hold hands when they walk,” Bay said.
I couldn’t hide my smile. “See, you’re lucky to have me,” I said, tugging on a strand of her blonde hair. “If it wasn’t for me, you’d be dating a gay man. You should thank your lucky stars I came into your life.”
Bay rolled her eyes. “Don’t you have something else you’re supposed to be doing?”
Crap. I was hoping she’d forgotten that. I turned my attention back to Aunt Tillie. “What are you having delivered?”
Aunt Tillie balked. “That’s none of your concern.”
“Just tell me,” I said. “If it’s nothing bad, you won’t have a problem telling me. If it is something bad, I’m going to find out anyway.”
“You’re cute,” Aunt Tillie said. “You’re not that cute, though. What I buy online is my own business. For all you know, I could be buying that underwear that goes up my butt crack.”
Conversation at the table came to an abrupt halt.
“Aunt Tillie,” Winnie hissed, scandalized. “I can’t believe you said that.”
“I saw those underwear in the store the other day,” Aunt Tillie said. “I think they’re perfect for me.”
I desperately needed to put an end to this conversation. “Well, great. Enjoy your … .”
“Thongs,” Thistle supplied, grinning.
“I’m going to have more pot roast,” I said, reaching for the serving platter. “This is a wonderful meal, ladies. I think it’s the best pot roast you’ve ever made.”
Now Bay was the one smiling. “That was pitiful.”
I ignored her. “So, how is your greenhouse coming along?”
Aunt Tillie made a gagging sound in the back of her throat, and for a second I thought she was choking. “Are you okay?”
“That’s the sound she makes when she wants attention,” Twila said, forcing a smile onto her face for the guests’ benefit. “She’s just … being her.”
“What’s really going on?” I asked, shifting my gaze to Bay.
“Don’t ask me,” she replied. “Let Aunt Tillie tell you.”
I was afraid Aunt Tillie was going to start talking about her underwear again, but I didn’t have a lot of choice in the matter. “Okay. Why are you making that noise?”
“Because I have to look at … pottery … in my greenhouse now,” Aunt Tillie said, clearly annoyed. “Do you have any idea what amateur pottery looks like? Big lumps of … crud.”
I pursed my lips, considering. There’s never a dull moment in this family, and the collective ADD throws me for a loop. Still, I was missing something here. “Can someone explain what she’s talking about?”
“Mom took up pottery again,” Thistle said, jumping in. “She wants to start giving classes for inn guests.”
“Oh, I love that idea,” one of the women at the table said. “I’ve always wanted to learn how to do pottery.”
“I’m missing the problem,” I said. “Isn’t that a good thing?”
“We don’t have any place to put the kiln other than Aunt Tillie’s greenhouse,” Winnie said. “We cleared out a corner, and it’s barely in the way, but she’s having … a problem … with it.”
“Why do you care?” I asked, turning to Aunt Tillie. “It’s just one corner. That greenhouse is huge. I’ll bet Twila will even make some pots for you.”
“I don’t want her pots,” Aunt Tillie said. “That greenhouse is mine. It’s for my plants and other … stuff.”
I narrowed my eyes, suspicious. “What other stuff?”
“Never you mind.”
I gripped Bay’s knee under the table, forcing her attention to me. “What other stuff?”
“I have no idea,” Bay said, wriggling. “That hurts.”
I released the pressure. Something was definitely going on here. “I don’t understand why this is a big deal.”
“Of course you don’t,” Aunt Tillie said, patting my hand. “Eat your dinner. This is above your pay grade.”
I scowled. The woman knows exactly what buttons to push to give me heartburn. “Maybe I should go take a look at the greenhouse and see if I can think of a better way to organize it so everyone is happy?”
&n
bsp; “That’s a great idea,” Twila enthused.
“That’s a terrible idea,” Aunt Tillie spat.
“Why?”
“You don’t even know what a kiln does.”
“It … bakes pottery or something.” That’s right, isn’t it? I’m not up on crafts. If I can’t use Elmer’s glue to fix it, I’m just not interested.
“Lucky guess,” Aunt Tillie grumbled.
“I’ll check it out tomorrow,” I said, turning back to my dinner. “I’m sure we can figure it all out.”
“Thank you,” Twila said, beaming.
“What time tomorrow?” Aunt Tillie asked.
“Does it matter?”
“I … just give me a ballpark.”
She was definitely up to something. “Noon.”
“Fine. I can work with that,” Aunt Tillie said.
That was good, because now I was searching that greenhouse before breakfast. Whatever she was buying online was out there, and I had a feeling it wasn’t gardening gloves and seeds.
Three
I rolled to my side the next morning, taking a moment to bask in Bay’s warmth before I forced my eyes open. She was still asleep, preferring to burrow under the covers as long as she could before greeting the day. Her blond hair was a mess, like it always is in the morning, and her face was serene in slumber. I would never admit this is my favorite part of the day to anyone but myself – I have to maintain my street cred, after all – but there’s something relaxing about watching a woman sleep, especially if she’s usually buzzing around and getting into trouble.
I didn’t want to wake her, but my stomach growled, causing her to shift. “Are you up?” She asked the question without opening her eyes. I think she hoped I wouldn’t answer. Part of me wanted to let her go back to sleep, but the other part of me needed nourishment.
“I’m awake,” I said. “You don’t have to be if you don’t want to.”
“I think your stomach has other ideas.”
I grinned, running a hand through my hair and shoving it away from my face. “I can go have some cereal. It’s not a big deal.”
“Whatever,” Bay muttered, wrenching her eyes open and focusing on me. “You know very well you don’t want cereal.”
On a Witch and a Prayer: A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Short Page 2
