“That’s not what the internet says,” Thistle argued.
“Do you believe everything you read on the internet?”
“Of course not.” Thistle made a clucking sound with her tongue. “I don’t believe Elvis is still alive or that Tupac is living in the Swiss Alps. I don’t believe the Kurt Cobain was killed as part of some vast conspiracy for his music rights. The stuff I read about you, though, that I believe.”
“Well, you’ve been misled.” Scarlet gripped her wine glass so hard her knuckles turned white. “You don’t believe that, do you, Landon?”
Landon, already halfway through his first glass of wine, slammed the rest before answering. “I think you should go back to calling me ‘Agent Michaels.’”
Scarlet floundered. “All because your girlfriend is jealous?”
“My girlfriend has no reason to be jealous,” Landon replied. “Besides, that’s not what this is.”
“And what is this?” Dad asked.
“A reckoning,” Landon replied. “Ms. Darksbane poked the Winchester beehive, and now things are going to get ugly.”
“How so?”
“Aunt Tillie taught your daughter and her cousins how to fight,” Landon explained. “That means they know how to win.”
“It’s actually a little terrifying,” Marcus said.
“Oh, I’m pretty sure I’m trapped in a horror movie,” Landon said. “Do you have more wine?”
“I’ll get it.” Dad levered himself up from the table. “Will the inn be standing when I get back?” He sensed the turmoil flooding the room.
“We can always hope.” I flashed a bright smile. “It’s going to be a long night, though. You should probably grab a couple bottles of wine.”
“And then give them to us,” Landon said, gesturing toward Sam, Marcus and himself. “The women are cut off.”
“I’m going to remember this,” Thistle threatened.
Landon was unruffled. “I hope it’s the exact opposite for me.”
Twenty-One
“Do we have more wine?”
We were only twenty minutes into dinner, the Twiggs rapt thanks to the ongoing drama building between Scarlet and us. Landon, Marcus and Sam appeared to be mainlining wine to deal with the tense situation.
“You’ve had enough wine, Marcus,” Thistle chided, pushing the empty bottle away from him. “Drink some water. I don’t think I’m capable of carrying you into the guesthouse when we get home.”
“And I know I’m not capable of carrying you.” I cast Landon a sidelong look. He knew how to maintain his poker face, but I could sense the anxiety settling on his shoulders.
“I don’t understand the problem.” Dad, ever the peacemaker, was desperate to keep things from getting out of hand. “How can you guys already be at war? Scarlet has been in town for only four days. Even you don’t work that fast.”
“Never underestimate us,” I said.
“Or what happens when someone hops on the first broom to bitch town,” Thistle added.
“But … I don’t understand.” Dad was never comfortable around a girl fight. Even when I was little, before he left, he’d have serious discussions with Thistle and me when we squabbled. He wasn’t happy with confrontation, which is one reason he didn’t make it in the Winchester family. We thrive on confrontation.
“You don’t have to understand,” Landon offered. “It’s all-out war. Those of us with penises are going to be collateral damage. Just sit back and enjoy the battle. I suggest numbing yourself with wine if you’re feeling antsy, by the way. You won’t stop this from happening, so enjoy it.”
“Yes, enjoy it, Uncle Jack,” Thistle said, her eyes narrow and focused on Scarlet. “We’ve got this under control.”
Teddy, Thistle’s father, clasped his hands together as his busy gaze bounced between faces. “Does anyone else feel as if we’re sitting on a bomb? I can’t stop sweating.”
“I think it’s neat,” Tess said. “I love watching a good chick fight. I especially like it because these two don’t have a problem ganging up on the redhead. She’s kind of slutty and has been flirting with all of my brothers and cousins, so I would love to see her get her face bashed in.”
“I only flirted with them because I thought they were sexually repressed and needed something fun to look at,” Scarlet said sweetly. “Besides, it wasn’t real flirting. It was harmless flirting. There’s a difference.”
“Whatever.” Tess didn’t look convinced as she twirled her pasta on her fork. “Go get her, witches. That’s the deal, right? This is a witch fight. I’ve never seen a witch fight.”
“And you’re not going to now.” Dad scorched me with a warning look. “That’s not going to happen, right, Bay?”
He was putting me on the spot. “I don’t know,” I hedged.
“I do.” Dad was firm. “There will be no … whatever it is you guys do when you fight … under this roof. I’m laying down the law.”
“Did you hear that, Bay?” Thistle’s smirk was evil. “Your father is laying down the law.”
“I know. I’m terrified.” I smiled for Scarlet’s benefit, although the expression turned into a cringe when I saw the dark look on Dad’s face. “I’m sorry, but she bugs me. She’s been bugging me since I met her.”
“And how has she been doing that?” Warren asked. “She’s been an absolute delight while staying under our roof.”
Scarlet preened under the compliment. “Thank you, Warren. I enjoy talking to you, too.”
“That right there,” Clove snapped, extending a finger. “She’s flirting with you, Dad. It’s gross.”
“Hey, I’m not gross.” Warren was understandably offended. “And like she said, that’s harmless flirting. It’s almost expected in some circles.”
“Well, we don’t like it in our circles,” Thistle said. “The only people who can flirt with our men is us.”
“When do you ever flirt with me?” Marcus asked dryly. “Your idea of flirting is rolling on top of me during a storm. That’s not really flirting.”
Thistle absently glanced at him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that I like a little flirting now and then.” Marcus crossed his arms over his chest. “When I come home from a long day of work, I don’t want the first thing I see to always be you with a martini in your hand and a demand for me to rub your feet.”
Thistle balked. “I don’t demand you rub my feet all of the time.”
“You did it last week.”
“That’s because they really hurt.” Thistle shot me a look that demanded help. “You make Landon rub your feet, don’t you?”
I immediately started shaking my head. “No.”
“Bay’s feet are sensitive,” Landon supplied. “She’s extremely ticklish. I don’t mind rubbing her feet. In fact, I kind of like it, but she’s much happier with a back massage.”
“Oh, that’s too bad for you,” Scarlet cooed. “I happen to love a good foot massage. If you ever feel the need to practice … .” She left the invitation hanging.
“Don’t make me yank your hair out of your head,” I hissed.
Scarlet adopted an innocent expression. “What did I do? Did you hear her? She’s so aggressive.”
“Oh, I see what you’re doing,” Tess nodded. Whether or not she was trying to be an asset, she was clearly on our side in this fray. It was interesting – and kind of refreshing. It was like adding another Thistle to the battle. Tess boasted much of the same personality traits.
“And what am I doing?” Scarlet challenged.
“You’re flirting with the men to get them on your side while purposely antagonizing the women,” Tess shot out. “It’s a common thing on the renaissance festival circuit. We have a lot of narcissists in this field.”
“I am not a narcissist,” Scarlet spat.
“No? You seem like one,” Tess pressed. “You’re flirting with the fathers and boyfriends of these three, and they recognize what you’re doing. You play innocent wi
th the men. You paint yourself a victim and them as your attackers. You’re good at it, but that doesn’t mean you’ll win.
“Most men want to swoop in and save a woman when she’s being attacked,” Tess continued. “The long-haired FBI agent looks like the type to do things like that. But he’s caught, because he clearly loves his girlfriend. You’re playing the victim in an attempt to drive a wedge between them. You’re good, but not good enough.”
I risked a glance at Landon and found him watching Tess with keen eyes.
“Is that a woman thing?” Landon asked. “I’ve heard that men don’t always recognize female behavior for what it is. I was told it’s a woman thing that I’ll never understand. You recognize it, though.”
“You can’t possibly believe her, Landon.” Scarlet wheedled. “They’re going after me. I told you that this afternoon.”
“She told you that this afternoon?” Now I was really going to have to yank out her hair.
“Don’t worry about it.” Landon patted my knee under the table. “I think I get it now.”
“Do you really, or are you just saying that?”
Landon flashed me a smile. “I get it. She was playing on my ego.”
“I thought you didn’t have an ego.”
“We both know I’m a total egomaniac,” Landon said. “That’s why I get along so well with your family.”
“Ah.” I couldn’t hide my smile. “That explains so much.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“Wait … what’s happening here?” Scarlet’s face flushed with color. “Why are you okay with me being attacked?”
“Because I’m starting to realize that I might’ve missed a few things,” Landon replied. “I’m pretty sure you’ve been acting differently with us than you have with them.” Landon inclined his head in my direction. “Now, I’m not saying they’re always rational. They have moments when I wonder how they’ve managed to survive as long as they have. They’re not generally terrible people, though.”
Scarlet opened her mouth to argue, something I’m certain was acidic on the tip of her tongue. Aunt Tillie picked that moment to sweep into the room. She wore Christmas-themed leggings and a combat helmet, and the look on her face was quizzical.
“Did someone say something about terrible people?” Aunt Tillie asked.
Uh-oh. I pressed my lips together and flicked a worried look in Landon’s direction.
Instead of being fearful, Landon’s shoulders shook with silent laughter.
“This isn’t funny,” I hissed.
“Oh, it’s hysterical.” Landon pointed at the pasta on my plate. “Bulk up on your carbs, sweetie. Things just got interesting.”
That was putting it mildly.
“WHAT’S FOR DINNER?”
Aunt Tillie was all smiles as she wedged herself between Arthur Twigg and Dad, her eyes momentarily darkening as they passed over Scarlet and then lighting with mirth when locking with mine.
“Seafood alfredo,” Dad said, his voice a bit shaky. He had a long history with Aunt Tillie and it wasn’t all pleasant. “I … you … um … hmm.”
I decided to help him out. “Not that we’re not glad to see you, Aunt Tillie, but what are you doing here?”
“I’m having dinner with my family,” Aunt Tillie replied, not missing a beat. “I thought you would be up at The Overlook, but then I heard you were out here. I have something to share with you and I thought it was important.”
We had tasked Aunt Tillie with trying to decipher what had been written in blood next to Adele Twigg’s body. I’d almost forgotten that. “What did you find?”
“Later.” Aunt Tillie narrowed her eyes as she focused on Scarlet “You’re the new witch.”
“Yeah, what’s up with that?” Tess clearly had no filter. I couldn’t help but like her a bit. “I thought this town was full of fake witches. Are you saying there are real witches, too?”
“Not all witches are fake,” Scarlet said sagely.
“That one is.” Aunt Tillie pointed at Scarlet for emphasis. “She’s a big, fat fake, and I’m going to make her cry like a little girl before everything is said and done.” She directed her gaze to Dad. “Are you going to get me a plate? I’m starving. Where are your manners?”
Dad hopped to his feet, his face flushed. “Of course.” He was clearly caught between his discomfort around Aunt Tillie and his need to be a good host. The night wasn’t going as he’d planned, so he was doing his best to maintain a false sense of bravado despite the surreal nature of the conversation.
Dad slid a large plate in front of Aunt Tillie and watched with wide eyes as she dished pasta onto it. The mound of pasta was so high it almost touched the bottom of Aunt Tillie’s chin.
“This looks good,” Aunt Tillie enthused. “They’re having pork loin at The Overlook, and as much as I love a good loin, this looks even better. Don’t tell Marnie, Winnie and Twila I said that.”
“Of course not.” Dad looked to me for help. “I … what were we talking about?”
“How Scarlet is evil and messing with us,” I replied, grinning when Dad’s forehead wrinkled. “Don’t worry about it. Scarlet was never going to be a repeat customer anyway. She’s waiting for the old Manchester house to open so she can rent it. Your sterling reputation is still in place.”
“How do you know which house I’m renting?” Scarlet asked, wrinkling her nose. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t tell anyone but Mrs. Little about that.”
“And Margaret has a huge mouth, so I’m sure she’s been spreading your business around to anyone who will listen,” Aunt Tillie said, sliding two sea scallops from her plate onto mine and skewering shrimp from my plate.
“What are you doing?”
“You know I don’t like … whatever that is,” Aunt Tillie replied. “I’m trading it for something I do like.”
“Those are scallops and you like them fine when we grill them during the summer,” I argued. “You called them sea chicken this past summer.”
“Ooh, I remember those.” Landon perked up. “Can we grill those again this summer?”
“Sure.”
“Can we get our own grill and occasionally cook for just the two of us at the guesthouse?”
The question caught me off guard. “Sure, but … I’m not a good cook like my mother.”
“It’s grilling,” Landon said. “Anybody can grill.”
Aunt Tillie snorted. “Yes, that’s the male motto, isn’t it? Not everyone can grill, sport.”
“Since when do you call me ‘sport?’” Landon challenged.
“Since I’m hungry and too weak to think up something derogatory to call you,” Aunt Tillie replied, unruffled. “I need to keep up my strength to insult the new witch. You get a pass for the night.”
“Oh, we should throw a party.” Landon slipped one of his shrimp onto my plate. “I know you like the shrimp and the scallops.”
“Oh, it’s cute that you’re sharing.” I grinned.
“Ugh, I think I might puke,” Dad muttered. “You guys are so sickly sweet sometimes.”
“They get off on it,” Aunt Tillie said. “The key is to ignore them. If you comment on how gross it is, it only gives them power. If you ignore it, they stop being annoying.”
“Is that true?” Dad was intrigued.
“I only tell the truth.”
Dad turned to me. “Is that true?”
I couldn’t help but smile at Aunt Tillie’s dark expression. “Not really. We’re pretty schmaltzy all of the time right now.”
“It’s because they’re moving in together,” Aunt Tillie said. “They’re in the full bloom of romance. It will probably dissipate after they spend two weeks living together and they realize it’s not all kisses and hugs. I’m guessing once the sex haze clears there will be plenty of bickering.”
“Don’t say things like ‘sex haze,’” Dad ordered.
“Stop being a prude, Jack,” Aunt Tillie warned. “It’s ridiculous coming from the guy who spent
the first two weeks after his honeymoon going commando.”
Dad’s mouth dropped open as my cheeks burned.
“Don’t tell me things like that,” I ordered. “You’re going to traumatize me for life.”
“Now you know how I feel,” Dad shot back. “That phase didn’t last long, so … chill out.”
“Yeah, Bay, chill out.” Landon poked through my pasta until he came up with an oyster. “I’m going to eat this because it’s supposed to be an aphrodisiac. I expect you to reward me later.”
I ignored him. “Let’s stop talking about gross stuff,” I ordered. “Let’s go back to bugging Scarlet.”
“Let’s definitely do that,” Thistle agreed. “Although … you said you found something, Aunt Tillie. Did you manage to spell anything from the letters found at the murder scene?”
Arthur perked up, showing interest in the conversation for the first time since we’d sat down. “Adele’s murder scene?”
“I’m sure that’s the only murder scene they’re working in a town this size,” Tess said.
“I’m not sure I should share it here,” Aunt Tillie said. “I only came to torture the new witch. I used the stuff I found as an excuse.”
“Go ahead and share it,” Landon said. “Everyone is going to know regardless.”
“Okay, well, I messed with the alphabet letters and finally came up with a word,” Aunt Tillie said, digging in her pocket and returning with a sheet of paper. She’d obviously gone through multiple attempts to spell a word, crossing out those she didn’t like and ultimately settling on one she did. “As far as I can tell, there’s only one word that can be spelled with what you found there.”
Landon snagged the sheet of paper and stared at it. “What word is this supposed to be?”
“Well, you’re not going to like it, but it spells witch,” Aunt Tillie said, shoveling a huge forkful of pasta into her mouth and chewing as she spoke the next bit. “I think someone is trying to point a finger.”
“At witches?” Tess asked, her gaze sliding to me. “Does that mean a witch killed Adele?”
I focused on the memory of Scarlet’s face when I saw her at the scene. “That’s a possibility,” I said. “Of course, it’s also possible someone merely wants us to believe it was a witch.”
A Witch Before Dying (Wicked Witches of the Midwest Book 11) Page 20
