A Witch Before Dying (Wicked Witches of the Midwest Book 11)

by Amanda M. Lee

  “I don’t want to see them.” Clove made a face. “I think I’ll have nightmares if I do.”

  “No one will think less of you if you don’t want to see them,” I offered. Clove was the most sensitive Winchester so I wasn’t surprised by her reaction.

  “I’ll think less of you,” Thistle argued, furrowing her brow as she swept through the photos. “Oh, geez.” Thistle made a horrified face. “I can’t believe you didn’t warn me this was on here.”

  “I told you that the symbols were written in blood,” I snapped.

  “Not that. I can handle that.” Thistle held up the phone, revealing a selfie Landon took several days earlier. We were in bed – everything covered – but we looked comfortable and happy. “Now I’m scarred for life.”

  I snatched back the phone and openly glared. “Why can’t you leave him alone?” I whined. “You’re poking at him just to poke at him. It’s not a good trait.”

  Thistle shrugged, unbothered. “He’s extremely easy to unravel. I think it’s funny. Marcus never freaks out. He’s always calm.”

  “That’s why you’re a good match,” Clove said sagely. “Sam and I never freak out either. That’s why we’re a perfect match.”

  Thistle and I shot her twin looks of doubt.

  “You and Sam freak out over stuff,” Thistle corrected. “You’re like nervous dogs in a thunderstorm. It’s beyond annoying.”

  Clove narrowed her eyes to dangerous slits. “Take it back.”

  “No.”

  “Take it back or I’ll make you eat dirt,” Clove warned. “I don’t care how hard the ground is. If I have to go to the store and buy dirt for you to eat, I’ll totally do it.”

  “Whatever.” Thistle’s expression was smug as she turned her attention back to me. “Landon and I will argue as long as we’re sharing a roof. You know that. It won’t change, so I don’t see why you’re whining about it.”

  I raised a finger in warning. “If you’re not careful I’ll let Landon off his leash and let him go to war with you. Right now you’re the only one engaging in war. Landon hasn’t been because he doesn’t want to upset me.”

  “Oh, whatever,” Thistle scoffed. “He’s been a crying tool.”

  “Fine. You two are on your own.” I held my hands up in a placating manner. “I have other things on my mind, including finding out what these other symbols are.”

  Thistle was blasé as she turned her attention to more serious matters. “I think it’s some sort of alphabet.”

  “That’s what I thought,” I said. “Do you recognize it?”

  “No, but we might be able to track it down.” Thistle carried the phone to the counter and grabbed a pencil from the cup near the register. “I’m going to copy them and we’ll go through the books this afternoon. We might get lucky.”

  “If that doesn’t work, we could always ask Aunt Tillie,” Clove added, earning horrified looks from Thistle and me. “What?”

  “Why would we possibly want to involve Aunt Tillie in this?” I challenged. “She’ll take over the investigation and get us in trouble.”

  “She’ll also focus all of her energy on Mrs. Little,” Thistle added. “As much as I hate Mrs. Little, I don’t think she did this. Aunt Tillie blames everything on her.”

  “Well, the thing is, I do kind of need to talk to Mrs. Little,” I said.

  “Why?” Thistle was more curious than accusatory.

  “Because I think there’s something wrong with that Scarlet Darksbane woman.”

  “Of course there is,” Thistle said. “You knew that the minute you heard her name. Darksbane. I mean … only a freak looking for attention would choose that name.”

  “It’s not just that.” I told them what I witnessed when leaving the scene before dawn. “The thing is, what was she doing out there? I mean … I understand why Mrs. Gunderson was out and about. She bakes for two hours before she even opens her shop. The same with the other bakers. What was Scarlet doing out there, though?”

  “That’s a pretty good question,” Thistle said, rubbing her chin. “Did she look at you?”

  “She did. She had a … smug … look on her face. I don’t know how else to describe it.”

  “Smug like she just killed someone and pointed the finger at witches?” Clove asked.

  I shrugged, noncommittal. “Smug like she was happy about something,” I clarified. “I can’t say she looked happy about murder as much as she looked intrigued by all of the activity.”

  “We definitely need to find out more about her,” Thistle said. “Did Landon run the search he promised you?”

  “I think he has a few other things on his mind,” I pointed out.

  “True.” Thistle tapped her bottom lip. “You said Aunt Tillie was following her, right?”

  I nodded. “I guess. She could’ve been following Mrs. Little. It wouldn’t be the first time. She was acting odd – even for Aunt Tillie – so I think she was more interested in Scarlet.”

  “I hate to say it because it goes against every self-survival instinct I have, but we should probably talk to Aunt Tillie about this,” Thistle said. “She might know what the symbols stand for.”

  “She might,” I conceded. Going to Aunt Tillie for help seemed wrong, and not just because she was prone to dramatic fits. She would lord it over us for years if we asked her to join in on our cause. “Let’s talk to Mrs. Little on our own first,” I suggested. “She won’t talk to us if we have Aunt Tillie with us.”

  “She won’t talk to us anyway,” Thistle argued. “She’s still ticked about that wishing well thing.”

  “Which was not our fault.”

  “No, but we ultimately embarrassed her in the end, and she’s still steaming,” Thistle said. “She’s not going to give us what we want.”

  “No, but she might let something slip,” I pointed out. “She’s not good at hiding things.”

  “That’s true.” Thistle cocked her head to the side. “Okay. I’ll go with you. Clove can watch the store.”

  “Good.” Clove let loose with a relieved sigh. “The last thing I want to do is have Mrs. Little focused on me. She can focus on the two of you.”

  “You’re so brave,” Thistle intoned. “You’re like a superhero, you’re so courageous. Has anyone ever told you that?”

  “Not only am I going to make you eat dirt, but once I’m done you’re totally going to be dead to me,” Clove warned.

  “Like that’s a bad thing,” Thistle scoffed. “Come on, Bay. We might as well track down Mrs. Little now. She won’t be easy to deal with no matter when we approach her. I’d rather get it over with.”

  She wasn’t the only one.

  MRS. LITTLE STOOD BEHIND the counter in her ostentatious unicorn shop. She seemed distracted, intent on a sheet of paper next to the cash register. She lifted her head when she heard us enter, a welcoming smile on her face. The smile slipped when she realized who she was dealing with.

  “What do you want?”

  “Oh, it’s so good to see you, too, Mrs. Little,” Thistle cooed, her voice positively dripping with faux sugar. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your welcoming energy and giving heart.”

  “Cut the crap, Thistle,” Mrs. Little barked. “We all know I like you girls about as much as you like me. What are you doing here?”

  Mrs. Little wasn’t in the mood to play games. That was good. I wasn’t in the mood either. “We’re here about the dead body in the town square,” I said. “It was Mrs. Twigg, the woman you introduced at the meeting last night.”

  Mrs. Little’s expression was hard to read. I was almost positive she was surprised, though. “Mrs. Twigg? Are you sure?”

  I nodded. “She’s dead. Someone killed her and strung her up in the middle of the square. Then they drained her blood and used it to draw symbols on the pavement.”

  Thistle leaned closer. “Are you supposed to be spreading that around?”

  “Mrs. Gunderson was there and saw everything,” I whispered ba
ck. “It will be common knowledge by lunch.”

  “Good point.”

  I kept my eyes on Mrs. Little. “Do you want to say something?”

  “I don’t know what you want me to say, Bay,” Mrs. Little said, regaining a bit of her lost composure. “It’s terrible news. I didn’t know Mrs. Twigg that well, but she seemed like a nice woman.”

  “I didn’t get a chance to talk to her at all,” I said. “I was hoping to interview her for a story regarding the festival, but … I guess that’s up in the air now.”

  “What’s up in the air?” Mrs. Little was obviously distracted.

  “The festival,” I replied.

  “Why would the festival be up in the air?” Mrs. Little snapped. “We have a signed contract. The renaissance group can’t back out for any reason. That includes death. I’m very thorough when I draw up the contracts.”

  “But … .”

  “No.” Mrs. Little shook her head to cut me off. “The festival will go on just the way I said it would. If the renaissance people try to break that contract I’ll have them in court so fast they won’t know what hit them.”

  “Wow.” Thistle made a horrified face. “You’re all heart, Mrs. Little.”

  “I’m a businesswoman, Thistle. I don’t have the option to have a heart.”

  “Yes, she’s in the cutthroat world of unicorn sales, Thistle,” I drawled. “We have no idea how competitive that world can be. Cut her a little slack.”

  Thistle snorted at my sarcasm. “Whatever.”

  “If that’s all, girls, I have work to do.” Mrs. Little turned her attention back to the sheet of paper she was studying when we entered.

  “That’s not all,” I said, drawing Mrs. Little’s eyes back to me. “We have some questions about Scarlet Darksbane.”

  This time, rather than registering surprise, Mrs. Little puffed out her chest and beamed. “I thought she would get your attention.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that you’re threatened and I knew you would be,” Mrs. Little replied, not missing a beat. “I found a real witch, someone to fight the Winchester family, and she’s going to be popular in this town. You all have reason to be afraid now, don’t you?”

  Hmm. That wasn’t the response I expected. “Well … .”

  “Why should we be afraid?” Thistle challenged. “We don’t even know this woman.”

  “More importantly,” I added. “Does she realize that you brought her to town to start a war with us?”

  “Scarlet is her own person.” Mrs. Little adopted a prim tone that was more telling than she wanted it to be. “She makes her own decisions. If you’re wondering whether or not I warned her about your family, I did. She told me not to worry. She’s handled dark witches in the past.”

  Thistle snorted, catching Mrs. Little off guard. “We’re not dark witches, you ninny. I mean … how many times have we saved you even though we can’t stand you?”

  “That’s neither here nor there,” Mrs. Little countered, tugging down her blouse to smooth it. “You only saved me because you didn’t want the police asking questions you can’t answer. I’m onto your game. You practice dark magic. You talk to ghosts and … do other terrible things like dance naked in a field.”

  “We do all of those things,” I confirmed. “That doesn’t mean we’re evil.”

  “And Tillie?” Mrs. Little challenged. “How can you even pretend she’s not evil?”

  “Because she’s saved our lives more times than we can count,” Thistle replied. “Aunt Tillie is … unique. She’s not evil. She has evil tendencies, but she’s not outright evil unless you’re related to her.”

  “I should’ve known you would stand up for her,” Mrs. Little muttered.

  “And we should’ve known this whole Scarlet Darksbane thing was a dig at us,” I shot back. “I don’t really care why she’s here. I need some information, though, and you’re going to provide it.”

  “What kind of information?”

  “Well, for starters, what’s her real name?”

  Mrs. Little balked. “Scarlet Darksbane.”

  “That’s not a real name,” Thistle argued. “She made that up. How can you even pretend to think that’s a real name?”

  “Your name is Thistle,” Mrs. Little pointed out.

  “I wish people would stop bringing that up,” Thistle grumbled under her breath.

  “We need background information on her,” I said, remaining on point. “You must have something.”

  Mrs. Little’s expression was unreadable as she stared me down. “Why do you really want to know?”

  “Because I think it’s a bit too coincidental that we had a murder that seems to point toward pagan leanings right after Scarlet Darksbane hit town.”

  Mrs. Little’s eyes widened to saucer-like proportions. “You can’t be serious. You’re going to blame this murder on her?”

  “I didn’t say that,” I cautioned. “I merely said I wanted more information on her.”

  “Well, I’m not going to share that information.” Mrs. Little folded her arms over her chest, defiant. “I won’t help you hurt that poor woman.”

  “Especially when you’re hoping she’ll hurt us,” Thistle said, shaking her head. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Mrs. Little. Making enemies of us isn’t a smart move.”

  “When have you ever been anything but my enemy?”

  “I guess you’ll find out.” Thistle grabbed my arm and yanked me toward the door, waiting until we were on the sidewalk to speak again. “So … we need to talk to Aunt Tillie over dinner tonight.”

  I expected the reaction. I couldn’t argue with it. “She’ll go nuts on Mrs. Little before this is all said and done.”

  “It’s hardly the first time that’s happened. Besides, Mrs. Little deserves it. She’s losing her mind or something.”

  Sadly, Thistle had a point. “Okay. But once we unleash Aunt Tillie it’ll be up to us to watch her.”

  “Oh, what’s the fun in that? Let’s unleash her and see what happens. That sounds like fun.”

  Well, she wasn’t wrong.

  Eight

  “There you are.”

  Landon and Chief Terry were already seated at a table when I entered the diner.

  “Hi.” I took the open seat between them. “How was your morning?”

  “Long,” Landon replied, sliding his arm over the back of my chair as he regarded me. “How was yours?”

  “Well, I bought breakfast sandwiches for Clove and Thistle so we could chat over a few things – I had bacon on mine, in case you’re interested – and then we talked to Mrs. Little.”

  “Bacon, huh? I only got a doughnut. I’m jealous.”

  “You had three doughnuts,” Chief Terry corrected. “That’s cop food, by the way. You should love it.”

  “I like a doughnut as much as the next person, but I much prefer bacon.” Landon leaned closer. “Give me a kiss.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want one.”

  “You just want to see if I smell like bacon.” I gave him a quick kiss despite Chief Terry’s dark expression and then leaned back in my chair. “Better?”

  “I’m totally getting a bacon cheeseburger for lunch,” Landon muttered. “I need the protein.”

  “Yeah, because you would’ve steered clear of the bacon otherwise,” I teased, earning a poke in the ribs for my lame joke.

  “Why did you go to see Margaret?” Chief Terry asked.

  I shrugged, noncommittal. “I just had a few questions.”

  “That’s not going to work,” Landon argued. “You must’ve had a specific reason to see Mrs. Little.”

  “I wanted to see what she knew about Mrs. Twigg.” That wasn’t a total lie. I did want information on Mrs. Twigg. I simply wanted information on Scarlet Darksbane as well.

  “Did she give you anything?”

  “Not really. She was full of herself.”

  “She always is.�
�� Chief Terry extended his long legs under the table as he reclined. “We notified the family, but we didn’t get anywhere questioning them.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they’re a little dramatic,” Chief Terry replied. “They’re … loud.”

  “What does that mean?” I was honestly curious.

  Landon snorted, amused. “Let’s just say that the Twigg family makes the Winchester family look sedate. They were … wailing and stuff.”

  That was a frightening thought. “So you have to go back and interview them after lunch?”

  “We do, and I want you to come with us,” Landon said, causing me to jerk my head in his direction.

  “You want me to go with you?”

  Landon nodded.

  I narrowed my eyes, suspicious. “Why?”

  “Because you’ve got a solid investigative mind,” Landon replied. “You read people well and you’re good when it comes to asking intuitive questions.”

  “Why really?”

  Landon made an exasperated sound in the back of his throat. “That is why. Really and truly.”

  I was dubious. “You usually try to keep me out of investigations unless you think you can use me,” I argued. “You must think I can help you in some way.”

  “I think that statement reflects badly on me as a boyfriend,” Landon groused.

  “No, the kiss because you wanted to see if she tasted like bacon reflected badly on you as a boyfriend,” Chief Terry argued. “In this instance, you’re being straightforward and she’s being a pain. You guys confuse emotional responses sometimes. I don’t get it.”

  I pursed my lips. “You really want me to go with you to read people?”

  Landon shifted on his chair, uncomfortable. “Yes.”

  “And?” I prodded.

  “And they’re a little off, and you live in a family full of off people,” Landon replied. “The entire troupe is made up of Twiggs.”

  “I’m not sure what that means,” I hedged.

  “It’s one family,” Chief Terry supplied. “We’re talking sons, daughters, in-laws, cousins, nieces, nephews. They’re all related, and I’m a little confused at how they’re related. They all said how they were related, but it seems a little confusing unless you have a family tree in front of you.”