“Why are you waving at her?” Terry asked, suspicious. I forget sometimes that he has keen eyesight. It’s both a blessing and a curse, depending upon what he’s investigating at any given moment. “You hate Margaret.”
“Yeah, she’s a real turd,” I agreed, causing Thistle to snort. “She’s one of those hard ones left to bake on the sidewalk in hundred-degree weather. She stinks, too.”
“I think she’s nice,” Clove interjected. “She gave me a piece of candy at the summer parade this year. It was shaped like a unicorn.”
“What did I tell you about taking candy from old crones who live in glass houses?” I challenged.
Clove wrinkled her nose. “Nothing. You told me not to throw water balloons at anyone other than dirty busybodies who had nothing better to do than spy on you when you were gardening, but you never mentioned anything about old crones and glass houses.”
“Well, I’m mentioning it now,” I said. “Don’t take candy from them.”
“What’s a crone?” Thistle asked.
“Margaret Little.”
“Don’t tell them that,” Terry snapped. “Margaret Little is a perfectly … .” He broke off, unsure how to proceed. I was fairly certain he was going to say “nice” and then realized how ludicrous the statement sounded. “She’s your elder and deserves respect,” he said, changing course. “Don’t listen to your aunt.”
“She’s our elder, too,” Bay pointed out. “Shouldn’t we respect her?”
“And that’s why you’re my favorite today,” I said, patting her shoulder. “You’re a good girl.”
“She’s our elder but she’s batshit crazy,” Thistle supplied. “We don’t have to respect batshit crazy. That’s her rule.”
“Don’t swear, Thistle,” Chief Terry ordered, taking her by surprise with his vehemence. “You’re a lady. You’re not supposed to curse like that.”
“That’s not a curse,” Clove argued. “A curse is when we wake up and none of our shoes will stay tied.”
“Or our hair won’t stay braided,” Bay added.
“Or we can’t stop farting and falling down,” Thistle said.
Terry is aware of the Winchesters’ witchy ways, but he goes out of his way to pretend otherwise. My nieces make a big deal of fawning over him in an attempt to get him to invite one of them on a date. I know they really like him, but they would chew him up and spit him out if he ever dated one of them. He’s smarter than I often given him credit for, though, because he refuses to play that game. He does, however, enjoy the casseroles and cakes they throw at him.
“Stop talking about that stuff,” Terry ordered. “I’m not kidding. That’s a … well … that’s a home conversation. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Clove shook her head. “No.”
“I do,” Thistle volunteered. “It’s like when we’re not supposed to talk about our mothers being attacked by the menstruation monster when we’re around strangers.”
Terry stilled as he grabbed the back of Thistle’s coat and tugged her toward him. “What did you just say?”
Thistle was too oblivious to be embarrassed. “The menstruation monster,” she said. “Aunt Tillie told us about it. It visits once a month at the same time for everyone. It could be worse because we could have three smaller monsters visiting at different times. Instead we get one big monster in the middle of the month.”
Terry’s face was full of outrage when he focused on me. “What is wrong with you?”
“You’ll need to be more specific,” I replied. “Answering that question could lead us in a hundred different directions.”
“And none of them are good,” Terry muttered, shaking his head. “I just … how could you tell them that?”
“The menstruation monster is real,” I said. “It lives with the house-trashing fairy and the sock-stealing gnome. No, that’s a true story.”
“You make me so very tired,” Terry grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Girls, which way is the body?”
Thistle pointed toward the woods. “Just on the other side of those trees,” she said. “You can’t miss it.”
Something occurred to me. “Why were you in the trees in the first place?” I asked. “You were supposed to be getting hot chocolate and doughnuts. That’s why you shook me down for extra money.”
“We were on our way there but we saw Lila was going inside so we decided to get something to give her as a Christmas gift before joining her,” Thistle answered. “It was only going to be a short side trip.”
“Uh-huh.” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know where this story was going. Oh, who am I kidding? The kid’s mind is a masterpiece when it comes to payback. She’s a joy to watch when she gets down to business. “What gift?”
“I’m not sure I should answer,” Thistle replied, darting a nervous look in Terry’s direction. “That might be a home conversation, too.” She tapped the side of her nose to give me the secret signal I had taught them years ago. It was for when she knew she was doing something naughty and didn’t want to own up to it.
“Gotcha,” I said, grinning.
Terry didn’t look nearly as happy with Thistle’s admission. “Gotcha? No, that’s not how we’re going to play this game. What were you going to give Lila, girls?”
“It was nothing big,” Clove answered. “It was just … snow. We were going to put it in a globe.”
“Snow?” Terry was understandably dubious. “I don’t get it.”
“Yellow snow,” Bay clarified. “We weren’t so much going to put it in a globe as her hair.”
“Ah,” Terry said. Even though he was trying to be serious, the corners of his mouth tipped up. “Did you find any?”
“We found a body instead.”
“Bummer.”
“Yeah, total bummer,” Bay said, her expression serious.
I was about to tell her not to worry about a body – it was far more likely they stumbled over a bag of garbage or even a half-drunk elf who lost his way to the tree-lighting ceremony – but I didn’t get the chance because that’s when Margaret finally caught up to us. Drat! I was hoping she would forget and turn around.
“Tillie Winchester!”
“She looks angry,” Terry said, stopping on the sidewalk before following the obvious trail in the snow the girls left during their yellow snow hunt a few minutes earlier. “What did you do to her?”
“Why do you think I did something to her?” I challenged. “I’m clearly the victim here.”
“Yes, I’m sure you are.”
I swiveled to face Margaret head-on, adopting a bored expression before she even opened her mouth. “Hello, Margaret. It’s so lovely to see you.”
“Oh, don’t even start with that,” Margaret snapped. “I’m not in the mood to mess around with you. I’m not playing games.”
“That’s probably good,” Thistle said. “You don’t look as if you’d be very good at them.”
I wanted to laugh, but Terry lightly swatted the back of Thistle’s head to quiet her. “What seems to be the problem, Margaret?”
“The problem?” Margaret’s face was so red I worried she’d pass out. “The problem is that you plowed in the end of my driveway -- like you always do -- and I almost got stuck.”
“That doesn’t really sound like a problem to me,” I countered. “In fact, I think the fact that you got out of the driveway is the real problem. The people of Walkerville would be much happier if you hibernated for the winter rather than left the house. I know. I took a poll.”
“Tillie.” Terry’s voice was low and full of warning. We were on a mission, after all.
“I was already late when I noticed the problem,” Margaret snapped. “I had to bring my world-famous Christmas cookies to the baking area to be judged, but they didn’t make it because I tried to drive through the snow and it’s too hard. The second I hit the bank they flew across the seat and ended up on the floor.”
“That sounds as if I saved the innocent people of Walk
erville from botulism,” I said.
Margaret narrowed her eyes. “My cookies are famous.”
“You’ve said that twice now and I still don’t believe it,” I said. “How are they famous?”
“People love them.”
“People love street thespians, too. That hardly makes them famous.”
Margaret stomped her foot and made a shrill growling noise. She was clearly at her limit. I prefer when I push her over the limit and she explodes. I wonder what I can do to make that happen.
“I want her arrested, Terry,” Margaret announced. “She plowed in my driveway. That has to be a felony.”
Terry tilted his head to the side. “I don’t think so,” he said. “Plus, um, do you have proof it was her? Did you see her do it?”
“Well, no,” Margaret conceded. “She obviously wasn’t alone, though. These three … ruffians … were with her. Ask them what happened.”
Terry shifted his eyes to Thistle, Clove and Bay. He clearly didn’t like Margaret calling them names. He also looked worried about what they might say. I wasn’t worried in the least. I knew exactly what they would say.
“Ask them,” I prodded. “It’s okay.”
Terry cleared his throat. “Girls, did you see Aunt Tillie plow in Mrs. Little’s driveway?”
“No, sir,” Clove replied solemnly. She really is the best little liar in the world. “Aunt Tillie would never do that. She has a kind heart and a giving soul. It hurts my heart and makes my eyes leak to think someone would accuse her of doing something so wrong.”
Oh, that was priceless. I was going to have to get that kid a better Christmas gift.
“Thistle?” Terry prodded.
“Aunt Tillie didn’t do any plowing today,” Thistle replied. “I was with her the whole time.”
“Uh-huh.” Terry shifted his eyes to the small blonde in front of me. “Bay?”
If there was a weak link in this lying trio, it was Bay. It wasn’t because she couldn’t lie. She could tell whoppers to almost anyone. She couldn’t seem to bring herself to lie to Terry for some reason, though.
“I didn’t see her do anything wrong,” Bay said. It was sort of an evasion, but it did the trick. “Honest.”
“Well, you heard them,” Terry said. “They didn’t see Tillie do anything to your driveway.”
Margaret was annoyed. “Well, obviously they’re lying,” she said. “Girls, did you know it’s a crime to lie to a police officer? Terry is going to throw you in jail for lying.”
“Don’t tell them that,” Terry admonished. “I’m not putting them in jail. I don’t appreciate your threats.”
“That makes two of us,” I volunteered, smiling evilly when Terry turned his attention to the woods. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, we were on a mission when you approached.”
“So, nothing is going to happen to her?” Margaret pressed.
“She didn’t do anything, and she has three walking alibis,” Terry said. “I’m not going to do anything to her. Besides that, we need to look in those trees. The girls swear they saw a dead body.”
“A dead body?” Margaret was taken aback. “I … why would there be a dead body in the woods?”
“Probably because that’s where he died,” Thistle replied.
“But … that makes no sense,” Margaret said.
“Neither does the fact that you call your cookies ‘world-famous’ even though no one outside of Walkerville has ever eaten them,” I pointed out.
“They’re still delicious.”
“I heard they taste like butt crack,” I said, causing my three young charges to giggle as Terry rolled his eyes. “I’m a better cook than you’ve ever dreamed of being. I could do it professionally.”
“That’s a laugh,” Margaret said. “When do you ever cook?”
“I cook all of the time,” I shot back. “Girls, tell her I cook all of the time.”
That was apparently too far to push my partners in crime.
“Mom says all you cook up is trouble,” Thistle said.
“You and your mother are on my list,” I snapped, extending a finger. Thistle didn’t look particularly worried. “As for the cooking, well, I guess I’ll just have to show you.”
“Oh, yeah? How are you going to do that?” Margaret scoffed.
“I’m going to join the cookie contest,” I replied.
“I think it’s a baking contest,” Clove supplied.
“No one asked you.”
“Go ahead,” Margaret said. “I look forward to you falling on your face in public.”
“That makes two of us,” I fired back. Er, wait. I think that came out wrong.
Thankfully for me I didn’t get a lot of time to dwell on it because Terry drew my attention back to him by coughing and then pointing at the woods.
“We need to see if someone is in there,” Terry said.
“I already told you someone is in there,” Thistle said.
“Well, I need to see for myself.” Terry stepped off the sidewalk and marched into the trees, Thistle close to his side. I kept Bay in front of me as I followed. I wasn’t surprised to find Margaret following Clove and bringing up the rear. She always was a busybody.
“Where?” Terry asked when he got to the end of the footprints.
“He was right there,” Thistle said, pointing to an indentation in the snow. It did sort of look as if something had been resting there, but there were no footprints leading away.
“He’s not there now, though,” Terry said. “You don’t see him, right?”
“Duh.” Thistle rolled her eyes. “I’m not imagining things. I swear he was right there.”
“He was,” Clove said solemnly. “We all saw him. He had pink socks and everything.”
My forehead creased. “Pink socks?”
“I swear we saw them,” Clove said.
“Well, he’s obviously gone,” Terry said, forcing a bright smile for the girls’ benefit. “I doubt he was dead. He was probably just … resting.”
“No, he was definitely dead,” Thistle said.
“And I’m definitely bored,” Margaret said, turning to return to the sidewalk. “If this is their idea of the truth, I don’t know how you can believe them about Tillie and my driveway, Terry. I’m very disappointed in you.”
“Somehow I think I’ll live,” Terry said dryly.
Her tone irritated me. “I’ll see you on the baking court, Margaret.” Baking court? Is that a thing? Oh, well. It’s too late to take it back.
“I can’t wait,” Margaret said, huffing as she trudged through the snow.
I waited until I was sure she was gone before turning back to the girls. “I’m sure no one is dead. You probably made a mistake and didn’t understand what you were seeing.”
“The only thing we made a mistake on was lying about your plowing,” Thistle grumbled.
“What did you say?” Terry asked.
“They didn’t say anything,” I said hurriedly, motioning for them to come to me. “Come on, girls. I’ll get you some hot chocolate and doughnuts, and then we’ll head back to the house. I need to ask your mothers a favor.”
“Yeah, well we want candy now, too,” Thistle said.
“I think hot chocolate and doughnuts is more than enough,” Terry said.
Thistle ignored him and stared me down. I recognized the potential mayhem in her gaze. She would tell Terry the truth if I didn’t capitulate.
“Fine,” I gritted out. “Candy, too.”
Thistle was all smiles after that. “I think my work here is done.”
Well, she finally found something we could both agree on.
Four
“Absolutely not.”
My nieces weren’t nearly as keen to help me in my cookie endeavor as I initially envisioned. In fact, they were angry. Who saw that coming?
“Why not?” I asked, grabbing a piece of fudge from the platter on the counter. “I thought you liked baking.”
“I do like baking,” Win
nie said. “I love baking, in fact. We have a ton of baking planned for the next week.”
“So give me some of those cookies.”
“No way.” Winnie shook her blond head and rested her hands on her hips as she stared me down. It was almost as if she was trying to send me a subliminal message. I wish she would just say whatever was poking at that busy brain of hers, because I’m not a mind reader.
“I don’t see what the problem is,” I said, breaking off a corner of my fudge brick and handing it to Clove. Marnie widened her eyes when she saw that. I’m not known for being much of a sharer. “Just give me a plate of your cookies and I’ll take them to the contest and pretend I made them.
“Then, when they hand out the blue ribbon, I’ll do a little dance to make Margaret Little feel like an idiot, and spend the purse on some new combat boots,” I continued. “I’ve had my eye on a pair in that catalog you brought home last week. They’re camouflage. I think they’ll make a statement.”
“And what statement is that?” Marnie asked, resting her hand on Clove’s shoulder. “While we’re at it, why did you give Clove a piece of your fudge?”
“I’m a giving soul.”
“Why really?”
I shrugged. “I guess I wasn’t thinking,” I lied. “What were we talking about again?”
My nieces grew up with me, so they know when I’m skirting the truth. I hate that. For the bulk of their childhood I was the kooky aunt who made them go on cemetery outings in the middle of the night. I was adventuresome and adored. I loved that. After their mother died, I had to be the disciplinarian. That ate away at some of the love. I loathed that, but I never once regretted taking them in. I like to think they’re strong and proud because of me.
“Why did Aunt Tillie give you fudge, Clove?” Marnie asked, pointedly focusing on her daughter.
“Because I lied to Officer Terry when Mrs. Little accused her of filling in the end of her driveway with snow,” Clove answered immediately, causing my stomach to flip. This wouldn’t end well.
Merry Witchmas: A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Short (Wicked Witches of the Midwest Shorts Book 10) Page 3
