“Where do you want me to start?”
Clove’s tone told me I read the situation entirely wrong. She was in the mood to get dramatic, and I’d missed the signs. Well, crap. It was too late to turn back now. “I’d like you to start at the end because I don’t have time to listen to a long, drawn-out story.”
Clove had the gall to look offended. “I don’t tell long, drawn-out stories.”
Even though they were agitated, Aunt Tillie and Thistle snorted in unison.
“That’s all you do tell, kvetch,” Aunt Tillie said. “Don’t worry about it this time, though. I’ll handle the story.”
That sounded like a terrible idea. Clove inherited the inclination to meander at the mouth from Aunt Tillie. That was one thing they had in common. “I don’t think … .” I didn’t get a chance to finish because Aunt Tillie was already launching into her story and she clearly wasn’t in the mood to get straight to the point.
“So, I slept relatively well despite the fact that we had a demon in our midst,” Aunt Tillie started. “I think she cast a sleeping curse, because I was determined to stay up all night and it didn’t happen.”
“Or you simply fell asleep on your own,” I muttered.
Aunt Tillie ignored me. “When I woke up this morning the first thing I did was go to Marnie’s room. Do you know what I found?”
“That Cherry had made the bed and cleaned up after herself.”
Aunt Tillie enthusiastically bobbed her head. “Exactly. Who does that?”
“A polite houseguest.”
“A demon, that’s who!” Aunt Tillie rubbed her hands together, clearly enjoying her role as storyteller. “Anyway, I was suspicious – and rightly so, because no one makes a bed when they’re a houseguest unless they’re up to something – and when I came downstairs, I immediately found this … travesty of justice.”
I widened my eyes at her tone, dumbfounded. I took another slow look around the room hoping to find what Aunt Tillie was talking about. I came up empty. “What are you even talking about? There’s nothing missing from this room.”
“Oh, no, Helen Keller? If that’s the case, tell me where my mother’s silver is.”
My heart sank as my eyes flicked to the counter and I realized the silver box was missing. “Oh, no.” It wasn’t just that the silver was valuable – it was – but it was also an important Winchester keepsake. The silver was one of the few things Aunt Tillie had from her mother. “I … are you sure?”
“No, the silver got up and walked away by itself,” Aunt Tillie drawled, making an exasperated face. “The silver is gone – and I’ll bet other things are missing, too – and your little friend is conveniently absent.”
“Absent?” For the first time since entering the kitchen I realized Cherry wasn’t present. “Where did she go?”
“How the Hecate should I know?” Aunt Tillie exploded. “I’m going to find out, though, and when I do that woman will wish she’d never met me.”
“She probably already wishes that,” Thistle said dryly, turning her full attention to a quiet Bay, who shuffled closer to the wall phone as we all turned in her direction. “Did you call someone?”
Bay nodded without hesitation and I knew from her expression I wasn’t going to like the answer.
“Oh, no. Tell me you didn’t call … him.” I felt sick to my stomach. If Bay called the person she always ran to when she was upset or wanted someone to fix her problems I was not only sunk, I’d really end up banished from the family when he told Winnie and Marnie what I’d done.
“I had to call him,” Bay protested. “We’ve been robbed. He’s the police. When you get robbed you call the police.”
“Oh, no.” I pinched the bridge of my nose as I sank into one of the dining chairs. “Why would you do that?”
Bay refused to buckle despite my whining. “Because I want him here.”
“It’s a bad idea, Bay,” I argued. “Call him back and tell him you made a mistake.”
Bay folded her arms and shook her head. “He’s on his way.”
“Oh, crappity crap, crap, crap.” I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t muster the energy.
“I think it’s a good idea,” Aunt Tillie announced, taking me by surprise.
“You do?” I was dubious. Aunt Tillie hates ‘The Man,’ even when he comes in the form of Terry Davenport.
“Of course I do.” Aunt Tillie was blasé. “He can help cover up the crime when I murder Cherry Brucker and bury her in the backyard. He knows exactly what to do.”
Oh, well, that made perfect sense. Wait … is it too early to start drinking?
Nine
I thought I would have more time to talk Aunt Tillie and the girls off the ledge they were preparing to jump from, but – true to his loyalty to the girls – Officer Terry Davenport wasted no time making his way to the house.
“Officer Terry!” Bay was near tears when he knocked on the back door. She ran to him and dramatically threw her arms around his neck. “I knew you’d come!”
“Of course I came, Bay.” Terry looked tired, as if he’d had a late night and Bay’s early-morning call woke him from a deep slumber. Unlike most people I know, though, he didn’t take out his frustration on my young charge. “Are you okay? Let me look at you.”
Terry gripped Bay’s arms as he pulled back and looked her over. Her hair was a mess from sleep and she still wore her fuzzy pajama pants and T-shirt. Otherwise she looked fairly normal, other than her puffy eyes. Terry knew the girls well enough to recognize the signs of strain. He ran his thumb over the dark shadows pooling under Bay’s clear blue eyes.
“Have you been crying?”
“She has,” Aunt Tillie confirmed, slamming a cupboard shut and murdering me with a look that promised retribution once everything was settled. “Blame Twila.”
I balked at the look on Terry’s face when he swiveled in my direction. “I didn’t make her cry.”
“It’s your fault this happened,” Aunt Tillie barked. “You invited that con artist into our home … and that was after she told Bay that she’d make a decision in the future that might cripple the entire family.”
“It was for show,” I protested, my stomach threatening to revolt. I hadn’t eaten or drunk anything in more than ten hours, yet I felt as if I might hurl at any moment. “It was a game.”
“It doesn’t look like a fun game to me.” Terry planted his hand on Bay’s shoulder to steady her. He’s attached to all the girls, but his relationship with Bay is exceedingly strong. He dotes on her to distraction at times, something she knows and uses to her advantage. “Why is she crying? It’s summer and she’s fourteen. She’s supposed to be happy.”
This time Aunt Tillie’s derisive snort was pointed at Terry, which offered me a moment of relief.
“Oh, please,” Aunt Tillie scoffed. “She’s a teenager. All teenagers have more hormones than brains. They turn into monsters for four years and are intolerable until they turn eighteen and move out of the house.”
Terry’s scowl was pronounced. “She’s an angel.”
“I’m an angel, too, right?” Clove cozied up to Terry’s other side and he slipped his arm around her diminutive shoulders.
“Of course you are,” Terry soothed. “You’re almost always perfect.”
“Oh, geez.” Aunt Tillie gave in to her inner crone, kicking the cupboards as hard as she could. “You’re not helping, Terry. I know you love them, but telling them stuff like that only feeds their egos and makes them unbearable.”
“The truth is the truth.” Clove jutted out her lower lip. “The truth is we’re angels and you punish us for no reason most of the time.”
“Oh, I didn’t say that,” Terry muttered, releasing Clove and rubbing his chin. “You’re simply not evil. I think that was my point.”
“That’s not what you said, but it doesn’t really matter,” Thistle argued. “They want to be angels so you’ll tell them they’re angels because you hate it when we cry – even when C
love fake cries.”
Clove was offended. “I do not fake cry.”
Now it was Terry’s turn to snicker. “Oh, sweetie, you fake cry all of the time. It’s fine. That’s part of your charm.”
Clove’s frown slipped, but she didn’t look entirely happy. “I hate this family sometimes.”
“Join the club,” Aunt Tillie said. “Now that we have an actual police officer here, though, I want to file a formal complaint.”
“We don’t know anything about her,” I pointed out. “How can we file a complaint if we don’t know anything about her?”
“About who?” Terry asked, smoothing Bay’s hair. “Who are you talking about?”
“Oh, I don’t want to file a formal complaint against Cherry Brucker,” Aunt Tillie countered. “I want to file one against you, Twila.”
“Me?” I could feel the heat climbing my cheeks when Terry’s gaze slid in my direction. “What did I do?”
“You’re an idiot,” Aunt Tillie replied simply. “That’s got to be a felony.”
Oh, well, that was the frosting on the top of a very bad doughnut day. “I’m an idiot? How can you possibly think this is my fault? I’m the victim here … of you and her.”
“Oh, whatever.” Aunt Tillie clearly wasn’t in the mood to bolster my spirits. “You invited her into this house even though I told you it was a bad idea. You let her stay even though Bay was clearly upset. This is on top of the fact that the dog went missing and the back door was suspiciously open after we found those freaks on our property. This is entirely your fault!”
“I don’t believe in killing family members, but I’m considering making an exception in your case,” I shot back.
“Okay, that will be enough of that.” Terry stepped away from Bay, extending his hands to keep Aunt Tillie and me from clawing each other’s eyes out. “I want someone to explain what’s going on right now.”
Aunt Tillie opened her mouth to do just that, but Terry cut her off with a shake of his head. “Not you. I want someone who isn’t riding the crazy train to tell me.”
I shot Aunt Tillie a haughty look and smiled. “Thank you.”
“I wasn’t talking about you either,” Terry said, tilting his head to the side as he met Bay’s mournful gaze. “You tell me what’s going on, sweetheart. I want to know what has you so upset.”
“Oh, well, that figures,” Aunt Tillie muttered. “He always turns into a huge mountain of whipped cream when it comes to her.”
Terry is a strong bear of a man. He does melt whenever Bay bats her eyelashes. Most of the time it’s cute. Occasionally it’s insufferable. This would be an example of the latter.
“Well, it started the night before last when someone was peeking into the house and Clove caught him,” Bay started. She kept on point as she recited the story for Terry. She told the story in a balanced manner that had me believing Terry would take my side before it was all said and done.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Terry’s eyes were on fire as he turned on me a few minutes later. “What were you thinking?”
Well, so much for me being large and in charge for the first time. I had a fairly good feeling I was never going to be the authority figure in the house again. Strangely enough, I was fine with it. Who needs that level of responsibility?
“I’M JUST … SO annoyed with you people.”
Terry was still complaining an hour later as we walked him to the clearing where we first met Cherry and her renaissance festival pals. The clearing was relatively clean, only a few random indentations from where the wagon stood two days before serving as proof that we’d had overnight guests.
“This really isn’t my fault,” I complained, scuffing my feet against the dirt driveway as we walked. “I don’t understand how you believe this is my fault.”
“Because you invited the crazy woman into your house even though you knew she was a loon,” Terry shot back, risking a glance over his shoulder to make sure the girls still tailed us. He’d been reluctant to leave them behind given the break-in. He insisted they change into real clothes before leaving the house. Now he couldn’t stop checking to make sure all three of them were okay. “You know, Twila, I usually find you funny and enjoy your company. You screwed up this time, though.”
Terry’s dark mood was enough to ruin my day. “All I wanted was to be in charge for a weekend and prove I could do the same things Marnie and Winnie do daily. I didn’t even get five minutes of peace before things fell apart. Maybe they are right. Maybe I am helpless.”
“Oh, geez.” Terry pinched the bridge of his nose. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. This isn’t about you. You’re the adult here. This is about the girls.”
“No, this is about Bay,” Aunt Tillie corrected, her eyes keen as she studied the field. “Something isn’t right here.”
“There’s a lot that’s not right here,” Terry countered. “This isn’t just about Bay. I care about the other two just as much, so don’t even try to make this into a thing.”
Aunt Tillie snorted. “Terry, in general I have absolutely no use for police officers. You know it. I know it. Heck, everyone in Walkerville knows it. I haven’t bothered to hide my feelings.”
“And here we go,” Terry muttered, shaking his head.
Aunt Tillie ignored him. “But I like you. I don’t like you because you’re a cop. I don’t even like you because you do random Mr. Fix-It things around the house. I like you because you sit and listen to those girls chatter on for hours at a time and you never look bored.
“You’re the type of man who loves with his whole heart and never feels embarrassment,” she continued. “You love the girls and go out of your way to protect them.”
Terry was taken aback by Aunt Tillie’s kind words. “Oh, well, thank you.”
“I’m not finished,” Aunt Tillie snapped. “You favor Bay. Pretending otherwise is insulting to everyone, but especially Thistle and Clove. There’s no reason to feel guilty about it. You don’t mistreat Clove and Thistle. You’ve merely bonded with Bay. Admit it.”
Terry wasn’t the type to crumble in the face of adversity. “I love them all. Bay simply … needs me more.”
“And that’s exactly why she called you this morning,” Aunt Tillie said. “My first instinct was to hunt down Cherry Brucker, kill her, reclaim my goods and bury her in the backyard. I would’ve gone on with my life without a second of guilt.”
“I don’t really think you should tell a police officer that,” I offered. “I think he can lock you up for intent.”
“She’s not wrong,” Terry intoned. “Is there a point to this diatribe, Tillie? If not, I have work to do.”
“There is a point,” Aunt Tillie said, dropping her voice. “Bay called you because she wanted you. That means she relies on you. You’re a part of this family whether you like it or not.”
“I like it when it has to do with them,” Terry said, jerking his thumb in the girls’ direction. They were fixated on the spot where the wagon stood forty-eight hours ago. “There are times I want to snatch them up and rescue them from you lot.”
“You know you would get stuck with Thistle in that equation, too, right?” Aunt Tillie pressed. “You wouldn’t just have angelic Bay and the occasionally leaky Clove to contend with. You’d have Thistle’s mouth, too.”
Terry paled at the notion. “Fine. I’ll settle for being their hero when they’re sad and in trouble. That’s what I want to do today, but … I need more information. What direction did Cherry flee? How long has she been gone? Did you hear any vehicles last night? Is anything else missing besides the silver?”
“I locked up all of the jewelry because Aunt Tillie had me convinced Cherry was evil,” I offered. “Then I decided Aunt Tillie was crazy and I was overreacting. That was before I found them all freaking out in the kitchen this morning.”
“I wasn’t freaking out,” Aunt Tillie argued. “I was swearing vengeance. That’s very different.”
“Yes,
well, let’s focus on this Cherry Brucker, shall we?” Terry’s weariness returned as he ran a hand through his hair. “I doubt very much that’s her real name. Do you know anything about her?”
“Just that she’s with the renaissance festival and they’re supposed to pick her up today,” I answered.
“What renaissance festival?”
That was a good question. “I … um … don’t think she mentioned it. I can’t seem to recall if she did.”
“I think they said that they were going to the Upper Peninsula next,” Aunt Tillie offered. “That might help. I seem to remember her mentioning Moon Lake Renaissance Troupe I think, although I could be making it up in my head.”
“It might be of some help if it’s the correct name,” Terry conceded, “but only if they’re really connected to a legitimate renaissance festival. Have you guys considered – even for a moment – that the entire group is a bunch of grifters and this is the way they operate? They could run the same scam in different towns across forty-eight states.”
“Why forty-eight?” I asked, legitimately curious. “Why not fifty?”
“Because they can’t pull that wagon across Canada or the ocean to get to Alaska and Hawaii,” Aunt Tillie snapped.
“Oh.” That totally made sense.
“This is why people think you’re an idiot,” Aunt Tillie muttered, shaking her head. “I swear. I am at my limit with you this weekend.”
“I’m sure she feels the same about you,” Terry said dryly, shaking his head as he straightened and looked to the east side of the field. “Where are the girls?”
For the first time in several minutes I realized the younger set had stopped chattering, which was very unlike them. “I … don’t … know.” I scanned the area, my eyes narrowing when they landed on a thick crop of bushes close to where the girls stood a few moments before. “Are they over there?”
Terry didn’t answer, instead striding in that direction. His anger was evident, but it wasn’t fury fueling him at this particular moment. It was fear. He was worried about the girls. That should’ve been my first clue that things were more serious than I realized.
I Dream of Twila: A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Short Page 8
