Merry Witchmas: A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Short (Wicked Witches of the Midwest Shorts Book 10)

by Amanda M. Lee

  My nieces worked under the misguided notion that I was a menace behind the wheel. They only agreed to allow the girls into my truck if they were well protected. That meant I had to purchase helmets and knee pads for them (in case they flew into the dashboard when I rammed a snow bank). I think their mothers were overreacting. The girls had a great time when we plowed.

  Clove sat in the spot closest to me and Thistle and Bay fought over the window seat, as they always do. Instead of listening to them work things out on their own, I made the decision for them.

  “Bay gets the window seat.”

  Thistle, her blond hair sticking out in odd places under the helmet, made a face. “Why does Bay get the window seat?”

  “Because I said so.”

  That was never a good enough answer for Thistle. “Why else?”

  “Because Bay is the oldest and I don’t have to worry about her opening the door when I’m plowing,” I replied. “I seem to remember someone opening the door two weeks ago because she wanted to see if she could hook it on to Mrs. Franz’s mailbox.”

  “I did that once,” Thistle groused, hopping into the truck. “It didn’t work. I don’t see why you’re complaining.”

  That kid cracks me up sometimes. I would never tell her, of course, but I love her attitude. Bay is much more serious than her younger cousin. I like her, too. She thinks things out before she does something stupid. That doesn’t mean she won’t do something stupid, mind you. She simply prefers thinking out all of the ramifications before embarking on mayhem. She has a pragmatic mind and a wild streak rolled together. It’s an interesting combination. As for Clove, well, these days she’s going through life relying on the fact that she’s cute. She’s smaller than both of her cousins and she’s found she can manipulate people if she fakes tears. I find that trait annoying, but it’s come in handy a time or two … or twelve. I’m not one to look a gift personality defect in the mouth, especially if it proves helpful.

  “It’s only funny to take out mailboxes when no damage can be done to my truck,” I told Thistle as I climbed onto the driver’s seat and slipped the key into the ignition. “I don’t want my truck wrecked. Your mothers will find a reason to take it away from me if that happens. Mark my words.”

  “You’re an adult,” Clove pointed out. “They can’t take something away from you if you don’t let them.”

  “Don’t kid yourself,” I said. “I may be an adult and their elder, but they’re real pains in the behind when they want to be. They know how to get what they want … just like you.”

  “Do they cry, too?” Thistle asked.

  “I don’t cry,” Clove snapped, fastening the middle seat belt around both her and Thistle. “My eyes leak. There’s a difference.”

  The kid may be young, but she’s a master at manipulation. “That’s a very good argument, Clove,” I said, putting the truck in reverse. “You keep that one handy when someone accuses you of crying to get attention. Tell them your eyes leak because your heart hurts. That will work until you’re at least twelve and start puberty.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Clove said, smiling prettily.

  I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going, so when the back of the truck rammed into a snow bank it took me by surprise. All three girls jerked forward. Thankfully the seatbelts – which I had to get installed and prove were in good working order before my nieces would let their daughters ride with me – kept them from flying into the dashboard.

  “That came out of nowhere,” I muttered.

  “How is that possible?” Thistle sputtered, rubbing her neck. “You’re the one who put the snow bank there.”

  “And it’s a really good place for it,” I shot back. “I think it moved or something, though.”

  “How?”

  “You live in a house filled with magic, Thistle Winchester,” I reminded her. “How do you think it moved? I’m pretty sure your mothers did it as payback for that thing I did the other night.”

  “Are you talking about when you stole all of their fresh cookies and replaced them with store-bought ones and then told Mom that we must have a cookie gnome?” Thistle asked.

  “Cookie gnomes are real.”

  “I think they’re as real as the house-trashing fairy you told us about this summer,” Thistle said. “You said that was real, too, but Mom says you made that up because you dirtied up the kitchen and didn’t feel like doing your dishes.”

  “Your mother says a lot,” I said. “I had no idea she flapped her gums to that magnitude when I’m not around. What else does she say?”

  Thankfully Thistle had no qualms about narcing on her mother. Most kids would balk at that. Thistle was her own person, though. “How much time do you have?”

  “It will take me twenty minutes to get to town if I do some plowing along the way,” I said, shoving the gearshift into drive and pressing my foot to the gas pedal. “Start talking.”

  “Well, she also says you’re lying when you say you’re going for a walk during the summer,” Thistle said. “She knows about your oregano field and thinks you put magic enchantments on it to keep her out.”

  The front of the truck caught the edge of the large snow bank at the lip of the driveway, causing the truck to fishtail and bounce against the other bank as I overcorrected.

  “Did they move that, too?” Clove asked.

  I shrugged. “They must’ve. Keep going, Thistle. I’m dying to hear what else your mother told you when I wasn’t listening.”

  Thistle happily recited a nonstop litany of terrible beliefs her mother held during the ride to town. I stopped to clear out Dorothy Sanderson’s driveway – swearing I would make Twila pay the entire time – and then I took the snow from her driveway and planted it in the already cleared spot in front of Margaret Little’s driveway across the street. The girls knew what I was doing but refrained from commenting. That was good. I trained them right – unlike their mothers.

  By the time I hit town I was in an awful mood. It seems Twila, Marnie and Winnie want me to act a certain way and then tell lies behind my back when I don’t do as they want. Yes, lies. There really is a house-trashing gnome. I had a feeling they were going to meet it up close and personal before Christmas if they weren’t careful.

  Walkerville was bustling with activity as I parked. The girls scrambled out of the truck, being sure to leave their helmets behind so the other kids wouldn’t make fun of them. I thought they should leave the helmets in place so they could go after their enemies hard and fast, but the girls thought differently.

  They gathered on the sidewalk outside of the police station and waited for me to join them. I was about to tell them to run off and play (and not bother me for at least two hours) when their favorite police officer, Terry Davenport, walked out of the station’s front door. Bay immediately ran to him and threw her arms around his neck as he bent lower so he could be on her level.

  A stranger passing by might assume Terry was Bay’s father – perhaps even Clove and Thistle’s dad as well – but he was merely a strong presence in their lives. He adored all of them, but he especially doted on Bay.

  “Officer Terry,” Bay squealed excitedly. “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

  “Are you here to give us presents?” Clove asked expectantly.

  Unlike other adults who melted when they saw Clove’s big brown eyes, Terry was wise to her machinations. “It’s not Christmas, Clove,” Terry said. “You don’t get gifts until Christmas.”

  Clove jutted out her lower lip. “There’s no rule that says that. That’s just what everyone decided and they made it a rule. It’s not a real one.”

  “Well, I’m a rule follower,” Terry said, pointing toward the badge on his uniform jacket. “I’m a police officer. I have to follow the rules – whether they’re real or imagined.”

  “Now, wait a second,” Thistle said, tapping her lip as her mind worked overtime. “I’m not a big fan of agreeing with Clove, but she might be on to somethi
ng. We should have, like, ten days of presents before Christmas. I think that would be best for everyone.”

  “You would,” Terry said, ruffling her hair and causing me to snicker as he turned his attention to Bay. “Have you been good girls this year? Will Santa leave you a lot of presents … or just one or two?”

  “I’ve been good,” Clove announced. “I’m the best-behaved one, so I’ll get the most presents.”

  Terry made a face. “Oh, yeah? What makes you think that?”

  “Karma is a real thing,” Clove supplied. “My mom told me. That means I’m going to be rewarded.”

  “I’m not quite sure it works that way,” Terry said dryly. “What about you, Thistle? Have you been good?”

  “I don’t believe in karma,” Thistle replied. “I’ve been bad and I’ll get just as many things to open as Clove. Just watch. I’ll count to be sure.”

  I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing. The kid’s attitude was a thing of beauty. Er, unless you were her mother, that is. I could see why Twila was worried. If Thistle puffed out her chest any further she’d fall over.

  “Uh-huh.” Terry didn’t look convinced. “I know my Bay has been good,” he said, tickling her ribs. “What did you ask Santa for?”

  “We want a special fairy castle,” Bay replied. “We want to share it, but I’m not sure Santa will bring it. It’s expensive.”

  “Is that the ugly thing you marked in the catalog you left on the living room table?” I asked, furrowing my brow. “Why do you want that?”

  “Because it’s pretty and it’s for witches,” Thistle replied.

  “I thought you said it was a fairy castle?”

  “Yes, but fairies are just pretty witches,” Clove said. “We all talked about it and that’s what we believe.”

  “So don’t try changing our minds,” Thistle added. “If you can believe in the house-trashing fairy, we can believe that fairies and witches are the same thing.”

  “I would never try changing your minds,” I said. “I don’t care either way. Why don’t you girls leave Terry to do his job and go get some hot chocolate or something? If we’re going to be stuck down here until they light up the tree, we might as well add chocolate and sugar to the mix to liven things up.”

  Clove and Thistle were excited by the prospect, but Bay looked torn.

  “I want to stay with Officer Terry,” Bay said. “I can help him work.” I love the kid, but she has a needy quality where Terry is concerned. He feeds into it.

  “Officer Terry will be around,” I prodded. “Get some hot chocolate.” I handed a few dollar bills to Thistle before shooing Bay with my hands. “Go on.”

  “We need more money than this,” Thistle said.

  “That’s more than enough for three hot chocolates.”

  “Yes, but you rammed us into ten snow banks on the way here,” Thistle said. “I counted. We want doughnuts, too. If you don’t give us doughnuts, we might accidentally tattle to our mothers about the snow banks.”

  I was wrong. That kid is a menace. Can you believe she’s actually shaking me down for more money? “No one is going to believe I ran into ten snow banks on the way here.”

  “Everyone who has ever seen you drive will believe it,” Terry countered. “Buy them the doughnuts.”

  “You’re just a big softie where they’re concerned,” I grumbled, digging into my purse. I handed Thistle more money and narrowed my eyes. “If that gets out, you’re going to be at the top of my list.”

  Instead of cowering, Thistle matched my stare with a menacing one of her own. “You’re not supposed to have a list,” she shot back. “You’re supposed to be leading by example.”

  “You were listening by the heat vents again, weren’t you?”

  “You said it was a classic for a reason,” Clove said. “Why would we stop?”

  I really wish these kids would stop listening to me sometimes. “Fine,” I said, waving them off. “Do what you want. I really mean that. If Lila Stevens gives you guff, do something terrible to her.”

  Thistle’s eyes gleamed at the prospect. “I’m on it.”

  I shook my head as I watched them scamper away. When I finally shifted in Terry’s direction, I found him glaring at me. “What?”

  “You shouldn’t tell them to do things like that,” Terry admonished. “They’re good girls, but they manage to find trouble on their own. They don’t need you helping them.”

  He was so earnest I could do nothing but snort. “Don’t kid yourself,” I said. “They may look like angels, but there’s a little devil in each of them.”

  “Especially Thistle,” Terry muttered.

  “You’ve got that right,” I said, moving my eyes to the town. “When are they supposed to light the tree? I don’t want to be down here all night.”

  “I’m surprised you’re down here at all,” Terry admitted. “You generally shun town activities.”

  “Yes, well, I got tricked into being the dutiful aunt today,” I admitted. “Winnie, Marnie and Twila are on the warpath because they think Thistle takes her cues from me when it comes to having attitude.”

  “I can believe that.”

  I ignored him. “Personally, I think the entire thing would work itself out if they would stop making Bay and Clove follow the rules and unleash them on Thistle to exact their revenge,” I said.

  “It’s probably a good thing you weren’t a parent,” Terry said, shaking his head. “I’m going to run over to the festival area and then make a loop around town. Keep an eye on the girls, will you? It gets dark early these days.”

  “They’re little girls, not sunshine,” I said. “They don’t disappear just because the moon comes out.”

  “Ha, ha,” Terry intoned. “They’re still children. They need to be watched.”

  “You’re only saying that because you’re fond of them,” I said, falling into step next to him. “It’s a little pathetic the way you let them wrap you around their fingers.”

  “I don’t care what you say,” Terry said. “I like spending time with them. They make me laugh.”

  “They’re not bad kids,” I grudgingly admitted. “They’ll probably even be half-decent adults.”

  “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said about them,” Terry deadpanned, making a face. “I still don’t understand why you’re on babysitting duty. That would seem like the worst possible choice if you ask me.”

  “I’m an excellent babysitter,” I countered. “I could do it professionally if I wanted. As for the rest, I think my nieces are wrapping Christmas presents but they don’t want to admit it. Getting me and the girls out of the house for a few hours frees them to wrap and hide gifts.”

  “Well, I guess that makes sense,” Terry said. “I … .” He didn’t get a chance to finish what he was saying because Bay, Clove and Thistle were making a ton of noise as they raced in our direction. They looked as if someone was chasing them, but the path behind their small bodies was clear. Terry’s eyes filled with concern as he caught Bay before she could skid and fall on the sidewalk. “Slow down. You’re going to hurt yourselves.”

  “What’s going on?” I asked. “Did Lila do something to you? I’ll help you get her if you want. I’m bored anyway.”

  “It’s not Lila,” Bay said, struggling to catch her breath as her chest heaved. “It’s something else.”

  “What?”

  “There’s a dead body over there,” Thistle volunteered, pointing toward a clump of trees on the other side of the town square. “Someone is dead!”

  “Are you serious?” I asked, doubt washing over me.

  Thistle licked her lips and nodded. “I swear there’s a dead guy over there!”

  Well, merry freaking Christmas.

  Three

  “What do you mean you found a dead body?”

  I’m not calling my great-nieces liars, mind you, but they have active imaginations. Clove has been convinced that a ghost lives in their closet for the past year. For the
record, that’s me. Sometimes I like to move their stuff around just to mess with them. Some people might call me mean. Life is boring if you don’t get your kicks somewhere.

  “I mean there was a man on the ground and he wasn’t moving,” Thistle said, drawing her words out so slowly it was almost excruciating. “It was almost as if he fell but didn’t get back up. Oh, wait, it was exactly like that.”

  “Why are you talking like that?” Terry asked.

  “So the old people will understand me,” Thistle replied. “By ‘old’ I mean you and Aunt Tillie.”

  Terry scowled as he rested a hand on Thistle’s shoulder. “I’m not so old that I’m stupid,” he said. “How can you be sure this man was dead? Maybe he just fell down.”

  “Because most people who fall down get back up,” Thistle answered. “Oh, they also breathe.”

  Terry slid a dubious look in my direction. “What do you think?”

  “I think they’re prone to dramatic fits,” I replied, not missing a beat. “I have no idea where they get it from.”

  “I know exactly where they get it from,” Terry shot back, his eyes flashing. “Okay, girls, how about you show me where this dead body is?”

  “I don’t want to go back,” Clove said. “I don’t want to see it again.”

  “Fine. Then stay here alone.” I put my hand to the back of Bay’s neck and prodded her in the direction of the woods. Terry did the same with Thistle, and the look on Clove’s face as she considered remaining behind was priceless.

  “You’re a mean old lady,” Clove grumbled as she scurried to keep up with us. “You knew I wouldn’t stay back there alone, didn’t you?”

  “I had a hunch,” I replied, casting a glance at a few curious onlookers who stared at us from the festival area. I recognized one as Margaret Little. I couldn’t be sure if she’d discovered that the end of her driveway was buried in a foot of hard snow yet, but I looked forward to the showdown when she did. We’d known each other since our school days, and the hate was entrenched in us early. When she lifted her eyes I saw recognition flash in the depths of her hateful orbs and I knew she was well aware what of the state her driveway was in. I couldn’t stop myself from smiling and waving, launching her into a march in our direction.