“So how do we narrow it down?” Clove asked.
“We?” Thistle arched a confrontational eyebrow. “Since when do you want to be involved in one of our little adventures?”
“Since whoever killed Adele Twigg did it in a way to make the rest of us look like evil witches,” Clove replied. “I don’t like it.”
She wasn’t the only one. “I’m not completely ruling out Scarlet Darksbane. It simply looks more likely that she’s not to blame for this. She could be to blame for a bushel of other things, though.”
“Not that we’re hoping for that, right?” Thistle’s eyes flitted with mirth. “By the way, I found a computer program we can feed those photos so that they can be scanned into a database. It should tell us what language she wrote that journal in.”
And just like that I was off the Twigg hunt and on the Scarlet persecution train. “So what are we waiting for?”
Thistle snorted. “You were a bit too eager with your reaction there. It makes you look petty.”
“I’m fine with that.”
“Strangely enough, so am I.” Thistle rolled to her feet. “I’ll get my laptop. We might as well do something constructive this afternoon.”
Nineteen
“Anything yet?”
I watched Thistle upload the photos and hit the “search” button, and then proceeded to wait for what felt like forever. Thistle didn’t look nearly as bothered as I felt about the duration of the search.
“Chill out, drama queen,” Thistle ordered, resting her feet on the coffee table. “It said it might take some time. “You’re being a pain.”
“I can’t help it. She bothers me like Mrs. Little bothers Aunt Tillie.”
“Does that mean you’re going to start leaving yellow snow at the end of her driveway during winter?” Clove asked.
That was an interesting thought. “I’m not ruling anything out. Speaking of that, do we know where she’s staying?”
“As a matter of fact, we do.” The look on Thistle’s face caused me to pull up short. Her expression was a cross between amusement and anger.
“Why do I think this is going to be bad?”
“Because you’re smarter than you look,” Thistle replied. “I asked around. Toni Franco sells real estate. She says Scarlet is looking to rent the old Manchester house. She can’t get in for at least three weeks, though, which means she’s staying at one of the inns until then.”
I knew where she was going before she even finished. “The Dragonfly?”
“You’ve got it.”
“Son of a … !”
“Maybe she didn’t know,” Clove suggested. “It might not have been on purpose.”
“Do you really believe that?” I challenged. “She’s hanging around Mrs. Little. They’re obviously up to something. Now, it might not be something supernatural – I have no idea if Scarlet is capable of wielding real magic – but they’re up to no good all the same.”
“Bay has a point,” Thistle said. “Everything we’ve seen with Scarlet so far seems to point to the fact that she’s here to cause us trouble. Mrs. Little wouldn’t be interested in her otherwise.
“Mrs. Little has been angry with us ever since the wishing well incident,” she continued. “To be fair, she was angry with us long before then. The wishing well seemed to tip things over into outright hatred. I’m guessing she wants to use Scarlet as a club to hit us over the head.”
“That’s why Scarlet is opening a store that I’m going to bet offers exactly the same items your store does,” I said. “She’s going to be trouble. I haven’t ruled out the notion that she’s a murderer yet. Why else would she be up and in the town square like she was when Adele’s body was found?”
“Maybe her inner sleep clock is simply messed up,” Clove suggested. “That’s possible after a move. Maybe she couldn’t sleep in a new place.”
Clove was so naïve sometimes I understood why Aunt Tillie was always on her case about being a kvetch.
“That still doesn’t explain why she was walking around downtown right after a body was discovered,” I argued. “She also looked almost happy when I saw her watching the scene.”
“Was she looking at Landon at the time?” Clove asked. “He makes a lot of women happy when they stare at him.”
Now she was just trying to tick me off. “Yeah, I’m done talking to you.”
Thistle snorted. “Welcome to my world. She purposely agitates me every single day. She acts all innocent and sweet, but she’s really diabolical.”
“And you’re paranoid,” Clove fired back. “You always think someone is out to get you.”
“Just because I’m paranoid – by my own admission, mind you – that doesn’t mean people aren’t out to get me,” Thistle argued. “In fact, if I were someone else, I’d always be out to get me.”
“You are an absolute delight.” I patted her shoulder, leaning closer when the computer dinged. “What do you have?”
“Well, it’s interesting,” Thistle replied, furrowing her brow as she stared at the screen. “It’s Cornish.”
“I’m sorry. Cornish? Like the hens?”
Thistle barked out a laugh. “I think you’ve been spending too much time with Landon,” she said. “Your mind goes straight to food for every reference now. According to this program, it’s Old Cornish. I’m Googling it right now.”
“I thought the Cornish language was like English,” Clove said, moving around the couch so she could join us in staring at the screen. “Shouldn’t the Cornish alphabet be the same?”
“Kind of, but not really,” Thistle replied. “They’ve got the standard vowels, for example, but they throw in a lot of ‘eus’ and ‘oes.’ There are enough similarities to make us think we should be able to understand it, but it’s different enough to confuse people.”
“Yeah, but now that you mention it, I see the similarities,” I mused. “The journal looked old, but it was well preserved. I initially assumed that Scarlet wrote it in code, but what if someone else wrote it and it’s full of spells or something?”
Thistle cocked an eyebrow as she met my gaze. “Now that right there is a really interesting theory,” she said. “I remember reading in one of Aunt Tillie’s books when we were younger that there’s an entire branch of Cornish witchcraft.”
“What do you remember about it?” I was understandably intrigued.
“I’m not sure,” Thistle hedged. “I think the book is back at the inn, though, if we need to double check. If I remember correctly, there was something in there about the Pellar Current.”
“I have no idea what that means.”
“I do.” Clove brightened. “It’s about a calling of magical women, grouping them together to fight off evil-doers. That’s it distilled to its simplest form, of course. We’ll need to conduct more research if we want more information, but Cornish witchcraft goes back to our very roots. It’s essentially what we practice in a lot of ways, but we’re not Cornish as far as I know.”
“It’s basically fighting against people who drop curses, ill-wishes, conjurations and the like,” Thistle added.
“So how is that like what we do?” I asked. “Aunt Tillie curses us left and right.”
“Yeah, but they’re not evil curses as much as amusing curses in her book,” Thistle pointed out. “She never tries to hurt us. The only time we whip out the terrible curses is if we’re in real danger.”
I understood where she was going. “So this journal is basically a book of protection spells?”
“I’m going to guess yes, but we need to compare it to some of the older books at the inn,” Thistle said. “We can do that before dinner tonight.”
That was very interesting. “Why would Scarlet have an old Cornish witchcraft journal?”
“Maybe it’s like a Book of Shadows to her,” Clove suggested. “She might think she has to protect herself against us. Mrs. Little probably told her as much.”
That made sense, but it didn’t jibe with Scarlet’s
actions. “Could someone use Cornish witchcraft spells to harm others?”
“I think any spell can be co-opted for evil,” Thistle answered. “Is that what you think Scarlet has been doing?”
“I’m not sure what she’s been doing, but I’m pretty sure it’s evil,” I replied. “In fact … .” I didn’t get a chance to finish because the wind chimes over the front door jangled, alerting us to the presence of a shopper. When I lifted my head, I found Scarlet Darksbane standing in the entryway. She looked smug and happy, a combination that worried me.
“Her ears must’ve been burning,” Clove muttered under her breath.
Thistle remained calm as she closed the laptop and placed it on the table. She hadn’t spent much time with Scarlet, but it looked like that was about to change. “Welcome to Hypnotic. How can we help you?”
I was stunned by Thistle’s demeanor. She was professional, an air of chilly aloofness in her tone. She sounded haughty and gave the impression she was about to put Scarlet in her place, but never let the veneer of welcome drop from her face. She was utterly terrifying. Aunt Tillie would be so proud if she could see her protégé’s reaction. Personally, I didn’t understand why she painted such an aggressive picture right out of the gate, but I was interested to see how things would play out.
“I just wanted to check out the competition.” Scarlet’s smile appeared friendlier than Thistle’s, but I had no doubt it was an act.
“We’re not your competition,” Thistle countered. “This is a town full of kitschy stores. Everyone gets their fair share. I’m sure your store won’t be any different.”
“Is that your friendly way of slapping me back?”
“I don’t consider myself friendly no matter what I’m doing.” Thistle got to her feet, the movement slow and deliberate. If we were in a horror movie, this is where I would’ve started running. Thistle being Thistle, though, she would’ve pulled a Jason Voorhees and caught up without breaking a sweat. That’s how terrifying she was.
“I heard that about you.” Scarlet made a big show of circling the store, her eyes focused on the merchandise rather than us. I got the distinct impression that she wanted us to believe she was much stronger and braver than she really was. She was posturing. But to what end? “You’ve all got quite the reputation around town.”
“I’m sure we do.” Thistle didn’t move to intercept Scarlet – it was as if she was waiting for the woman to come to her and didn’t want to cede the relationship power – but she watched Scarlet with keen interest. “We’ve always been a topic of discussion in Hemlock Cove. Even before the town was rebranded, back when it was Walkerville, we were famous.”
“You definitely have a reputation,” Scarlet agreed, her smile firmly in place when she turned. Instead of continuing her circuitous route around the store, she walked to the chair at the edge of the rug and sat without invitation. “Your great-aunt has an even more impressive reputation. What can you tell me about her?”
“She’s multi-talented,” Thistle replied, returning to her spot on the couch. “She’s a witch-of-all-trades, so to speak.”
“Margaret Little doesn’t seem to like her.”
“The feeling is mutual,” Thistle said, shooting me a look that said “sit down” before continuing. I did as she wanted, even though I remained nervous, and crossed my legs as I watched the show. “Mrs. Little has her own set of enemies. Our great-aunt is merely one of them.”
“My understanding is that your great-aunt has quite a few enemies herself,” Scarlet pressed. “Margaret made it sound as if no one in town likes her.”
“That would be an example of Mrs. Little being … well, Mrs. Little,” Thistle said. “Aunt Tillie certainly has her share of enemies. She also boasts a big fan club. She draws a strong reaction, whether good or bad, whatever she does.”
“I see.” Scarlet linked her fingers and rested them on her knee. “I get the feeling that you don’t like me very much.”
Clove and I exchanged a quick look. Scarlet was direct. You had to give her that. She clearly wanted to pick a fight, though.
“We don’t know you,” Thistle countered. “We try to get to know someone before getting our hate on.”
That was an outright lie. I disliked Scarlet on sight, and Thistle and Clove joined the hate brigade simply because they were loyal to me.
“So I must be a special case?” Scarlet positively oozed smarm. “I’m mildly curious to figure out what I’ve done to turn you against me. I was hoping we could be friends.”
“You were hoping we could be friends?” I broke in, annoyed. “You’ve been hanging around a woman who enjoys working against us, and you’ve been flirting with my boyfriend every chance you get. How is that making friends?”
I knew I’d made a mistake when I spoke, but Scarlet’s triumphant grin hammered home the initial feeling. “I’m not sure what you mean. How have I been flirting with Landon?”
“Oh, don’t even bother,” I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest.
“He’s an FBI agent,” Scarlet said. “I happen to be fascinated with law enforcement, especially when they’re investigating a rather brutal murder in my new home town. I mean … what happened to Adele Twigg was terrible.”
“It was definitely terrible,” I agreed. “I still don’t understand what you were doing up at three in the morning when the body was discovered. Why were you out there?”
Scarlet ignored the question. “I’ve been unsettled since it happened,” she said. “I’ve been trying to learn as much as I can about the attack because I’m afraid for my own safety. In fact, I was just at the police station and I had a long talk with Chief Terry and Landon. He told me to call him that, by the way. Landon. It has a nice ring to it. I tried to call him ‘Agent Michaels,’ but he insisted it was too formal.”
Scarlet’s smile made me think of the witch in Hansel & Gretel. She was trying to maneuver me into an oven of sorts, and it only made me dislike her more.
“He’s a wonderful man,” she continued. “I expressed my fear over what happened and he reassured me that he was on top of things and would be around if I needed to ask questions.”
I opened my mouth to say something vicious, my baser instincts getting the better of me, but I caught a warning look from Thistle and wisely snapped my mouth shut.
“He said I could come to him whenever I had questions or was worried,” she continued. “I really appreciate that, because I’ve been so … worked up … since the murder. I’m afraid to be anywhere by myself.”
“That must be terrible for you,” Thistle drawled. “Have you considered getting a dog to make you feel safer? With your personality, snagging a man will be difficult. Dogs like everyone.”
I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing.
Scarlet narrowed her eyes, the first signs of temper showing. “I think I’ll just continue touching base with Landon and Chief Terry. I mean … unless that bothers you, Bay. I don’t want to do anything that makes you feel insecure.”
My temper ignited again, but I managed to mask it. “I don’t feel insecure.” I forced a smile. “Landon and I live together. We’re committed to one another. He’s good at his job, and he wants to make people feel safe. I would never hold that against him.”
“Plus, Landon is so gaga over Bay that it’s a little pathetic,” Thistle added. “He gets all mushy and pets her constantly. It’s like a bad soap opera.”
“Or softcore porn movie,” Clove added, shrinking back when I murdered her with a look. “What? You guys are goofy sometimes.”
“Yes, well, it sounds like you’ve got the world at your fingertips,” Scarlet managed, shifting on her seat. “See. There really is no reason for us to be enemies.”
“There’s no reason for us to be friends either,” Thistle pointed out. “You’re hanging around with a woman who constantly tries to belittle and threaten us. By extension, you are on Mrs. Little’s side because you choose to be friends with her. We’re not in contro
l of your friendship fate while you’re in Hemlock Cove. That’s up to you.”
“I see.” Scarlet said. “You’re basically saying that we could be friends as long as I dump Margaret, even though she’s been nothing but nice to me.”
“Oh, I doubt very much we could be friends regardless,” Thistle supplied. “Once you joined up with Mrs. Little, even the slim chance went out the window.”
“Yeah, we’re not going to be friends,” Clove said, folding her arms over her chest. “We don’t care what you do.”
Scarlet flicked her eyes to me. “Do you feel the same way?”
“Probably not,” I replied. I should’ve stuck to Thistle’s script, but I couldn’t stop myself from breaking off from the plan. “I don’t believe we could be friends because I recognize what you’re doing. I’ve met a few people like you over the years. The biggest, the worst, is in prison now. I helped put her there and I’m not sorry in the least.
“You like to feel out your opponents and try to get them on their heels before attacking,” I continued. “You work in an underhanded manner, mete out small emotional attacks that make them look irrational while you come out smelling like a chocolate chip cookie. That’s probably worked in the past for you, but it won’t work now.
“We know what you are,” I said. “We know what you’re doing and how you’re going to operate. I found the poppet. Don’t bother denying it. I know it was you. I wasn’t around anyone else who could’ve planted it that day.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Scarlet said stiffly. “I’m trying to be friends.”
“No, you’re trying to do the opposite,” I countered. “You want others to believe you’re trying to be friendly. You’re purposely being off-putting to us. You’re trying to see if I’m insecure about Landon – I’m not, by the way – and you’re trying to see if you can dig up dirt about Aunt Tillie. We’ve dealt with people like you before. We’re not afraid of you.”
A Witch Before Dying (Wicked Witches of the Midwest Book 11) Page 18
