“This is Maple Street,” I informed her, making sure Clove and Thistle were right behind us before focusing on the small ranch house, which was located in the final plot of a dead-end street in one of the most rundown neighborhoods in the area. “I think this is where your dead guy lives.”
“How do you know that?” Thistle asked. “This morning you didn’t believe us that a dead body even existed.”
“I still don’t think anyone died,” I said, opting for honesty. “I do think maybe you saw someone passed out, though. It didn’t hit me until you mentioned the pink socks. I happen to know someone who wears pink socks.”
“Who?”
I gestured toward the house. “Edgar Martin.”
The name didn’t spark any sort of recognition from the girls.
“Who is that?” Clove asked. “Do we know him?”
That was a good question. “Do you remember at the summer festival when that guy got really loud and told everyone aliens abducted him and that’s why he was late mowing lawns so it would be unfair to fire him?”
“No.”
“Oh, I guess that was a little late for you guys to be out,” I said, rubbing my chin. “Do you remember at the lake this summer when that guy was floating on the water and they called the fire department to resuscitate him – I mean fill his lungs with oxygen as a gag – and he claimed aliens dropped him in the lake by accident?”
Bay knit her eyebrows. “I remember the fire truck but not a man.”
“Okay.” I tilted my head to the sky and racked my brain for something they would remember. I snapped my fingers when a good memory pushed its way to the forefront. “Do you remember at the pet parade before Halloween this year when a guy dressed like a unicorn and pretended to walk himself and tried to win the big prize?”
“Oh, him?” Thistle made a disgusted face. “Mom said he was drunker than you during a solstice celebration.”
I couldn’t hide my scowl. “Your mother and I are going to have a really long talk before this is all said and done. I had no idea she’s so … chatty.”
“Aunt Twila never shuts up,” Clove said. “I don’t know why you think it’s so weird.”
“No one asked you,” I shot back. “As for Edgar, yes. He’s the one who pretended to be a unicorn, because he was drunk. He was drunk in all of those stories. That’s why I think there’s a good possibility you found him passed out and not dead in the woods.”
Bay ran her tongue over her upper lip as she considered the possibility. “I still think he was dead,” she said finally.
These kids are stubborn. “Well, did you see his ghost?”
“No.”
“Don’t you think you would’ve if he died alone and afraid in the woods?” I challenged.
“Not if he was drunk and passed out in the snow,” Bay replied. “I saw a thing on the Discovery Channel about dying in the cold. It’s just like going to sleep. Ghosts hang around because they’re sad about dying. Maybe he wasn’t sad about dying.”
I hate it when the little imp has a point. “Let’s just knock on the door and see if Edgar is home,” I suggested. “That way you’ll be able to see him and tell me if he’s the body you saw.”
“What if he doesn’t answer?” Clove asked.
“We’ll cross that road when we come to it.”
“Okay, but I agree with Bay,” Clove said, falling into step with me as we traipsed toward the front door. “I’m pretty sure he was dead.”
“Did your eyes leak?”
“They wanted to.”
I pursed my lips to keep from laughing and knocked on the door three times in quick succession when we reached the top of the porch. The girls watched expectantly as I leaned closer to listen for the telltale sounds of someone stirring inside. The house was still.
I knocked again and got the same result. Thistle grew more smug with every unanswered knock.
“I think he’s dead,” Bay said finally, crossing her arms over her chest. “I hate to say I told you so, but … .”
“I wouldn’t finish that sentence if I were you,” I warned, extending a finger. “He’s not dead. He’s just … passed out. He’s dead to the world, so to speak, but he’s not really dead.”
“You don’t know that he’s even inside,” Thistle argued. “You can tell us that until your lips fall off from lying, but we know the truth. He’s not in there. He’s dead.”
“You’re letting your imaginations get away from you.”
“No, we’re not,” Clove said. “You didn’t see him in the snow. We did. We know he’s dead.”
“Oh, geez.” I pinched the bridge of my nose to ward off an oncoming headache. “Will you girls believe me if I take you inside and show you Edgar is passed out?”
“How are you going to do that?” Bay asked, suspicious.
I pointed toward the large window at the front of the house. “We can go through there.”
Clove’s mouth dropped open. “That’s breaking the law!”
“You weren’t so bothered by that when we put yellow snow at the end of Margaret’s driveway,” I pointed out.
“Yes, but we can’t get in trouble for that because we’re too young to drive,” Thistle said. “We can get in trouble for this. We know better than to break into someone’s house.”
“Mostly because we’ve gotten in trouble with the police before when you made us do it,” Bay added.
“I didn’t make you do anything,” I countered. “You wanted to do it. You enjoyed it, in fact. It’s not my fault we got caught. That was a fluke.”
“I don’t know.” Clove rubbed her mitten-covered hands together. “What if we get caught?”
“We won’t get caught.” I was fifty percent sure that was true. “We’ll go in through the window, I’ll show you that Edgar is passed out inside and not dead, and then we’ll go out through the front door. You can let go of this dead body crap, and we’ll return home so you can bake my cookies.”
“What if we go in there and he’s not the guy we saw in the woods?” Bay asked.
“Then we’ll keep looking.”
“I don’t know.” Bay hopped from one foot to the other as her gazed bounced between Clove and Thistle. “What do you guys think?”
“I don’t want to break the law,” Clove answered.
“I don’t care about breaking the law,” Thistle said. “I just don’t want to get caught.”
“We won’t get caught,” I said. “Trust me.”
“YOU ARE in so much trouble!”
Terry’s face was full of fury as he crossed his arms over his chest and tapped his foot on Edgar’s snow-covered front porch twenty minutes later. He caught us in the act as we tried to force Clove through the open window – and convince her to open the front door once she was inside. Apparently the neighbors saw us or some such crap. That’s what Terry told us when he dragged us outside anyway.
“I was doing a public service,” I said, forcing myself to remain calm. “The girls have been working themselves up because they’re convinced they saw a dead body yesterday. I was simply trying to prove to them that they were wrong.”
“And how did that end up with you breaking into a house?” Terry asked.
“Well, they mentioned they saw pink socks,” I replied. “I saw Edgar wearing pink socks the day he dressed like a unicorn. I figured they didn’t see a dead body but a dead drunk passed out in the snow. I wanted them to give up on the dead body business before it consumed them.”
“Yes, that sounds very virtuous of you,” Terry snapped sarcastically. “I don’t believe you for a second, though.”
“That’s because you’re a very suspicious person.”
“Did it ever cross your mind that you should just knock?” Terry asked. “That’s what a normal person would do.”
“We did knock,” Thistle said. “No one answered. That’s how we knew this dude was dead.”
“That’s very callous, Thistle,” Terry said. “You don’t know anything of
the sort. I’m not convinced you saw anything in the woods yesterday.”
“Do you think we’re liars?” Bay’s lower lip jutted out. “I’m not a liar.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I know you’re not a liar,” Terry said, melting in the face of childhood anguish. He rested his hand on her shoulder as he knelt next to her. “I think you saw something in the woods and thought it was one thing when it was really another.”
“That’s not what happened,” Clove said. “We saw a body.”
“No, you didn’t,” Terry said.
“If we didn’t see a body, where is the crazy unicorn guy?” Thistle challenged. “He’s not in there. We looked around before you caught us.”
“You mean you looked around before I caught you doing something illegal,” Terry corrected.
“My eyes are leaking.” Clove pressed her fingers over her eyelids. “My heart hurts.”
“Stop that right now,” Terry ordered, wagging a finger in Clove’s direction before turning his eyes to me. “Are you happy? You’re turning them into criminals.”
“I’m unhappy about being caught,” I answered honestly. “The criminal stuff doesn’t bother me. And, truth be told, I am slightly worried that they really did see Edgar out there. What if he’s lit and took off in the woods? He could die. It’s cold out, and we both know he doesn’t monitor his drinking.”
“I … .” Terry broke off as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll see if I can find out where he is to put everyone’s mind at ease. That doesn’t mean you guys are off the hook, though.”
“Are you going to throw us in jail?” Clove asked, horrified. “I won’t do well in jail. Aunt Tillie told me. I’ll be the first one made to be a … what did you call it?”
“Prison wife,” I answered, not missing a beat.
Terry scowled. “Don’t tell her things like that,” he snapped. “I cannot believe you brought them here. I just … what is the matter with you?”
I had two choices. I could tell him the truth and admit to bribing the girls for cookies or come up with a lie that made me look better. It wasn’t a hard decision.
“Bay had nightmares last night, and she’s pale,” I said, pointing toward the blonde. She was Terry’s favorite and he would fall all over himself if he thought she was legitimately upset. “She’s going to make herself sick if she keeps at it. I was trying to make things easier for her.”
“Are you sick?” Terry tilted Bay’s chin so he could study her face. “You do have circles under your eyes. Maybe you shouldn’t be running around in the cold.”
Well, that worked like a charm.
“I’m okay,” Bay said. “I know he’s dead, though. I can feel it.”
“Oh, yeah?” Terry asked, his eyes sympathetic. “What do you feel?”
“Cold.”
“I think that’s because you’re outside,” Terry said, scooping up Bay and glaring at me. “Come on, girls. I’ll walk you back to the truck and buckle you in. Aunt Tillie is taking you home. There will be no more breaking the law today.”
“But … we’re not done,” Thistle complained.
“Oh, you’re done,” Terry muttered.
I tapped Clove’s head to get her attention as I marched behind her. “When we get to the truck, tell him your eyes are leaking because you love him so much,” I ordered. “He won’t be able to yell at us if you do that.”
Clove’s smile was serene. “I’m on it.”
Six
“It’s snowing.”
The ride home was mostly quiet, all four of us lost in thought. The girls were convinced Edgar was dead in the woods somewhere, and even though I didn’t want to admit it I was beginning to wonder if they were right.
They were so quiet – which worked against the norm, let me tell you – that I almost forgot they were in the truck with me.
I shifted my eyes to Bay as she stared out the window. She’d always been entranced by snow. Don’t get me wrong, she prefers warm weather in the summer, but she likes snow for Christmas. I kind of like it, too.
“It is,” I agreed, smiling as the large flakes pelted down from the sky. “It looks as if it’s going to be a big snow, too.”
“We should plow on the way home,” Thistle said. “That way we can check on the yellow snow.”
I really do like the way that kid’s mind works. “We can do that,” I said. “In fact, why don’t we head that way now?”
“I thought you wanted us to bake?” Clove challenged. “Wasn’t that the whole point of today’s trip?”
“Clove, the whole point of today’s trip was to prove to you guys that you didn’t find a dead body in the woods,” I said. “I think I’ve done that.”
“You have not,” Thistle scoffed. “You’re only saying that to make us think something that’s not true. I know the way your mind works. You can’t fool us.”
I knew the way her mind worked, too, and she was right.
“She’s not trying to fool us,” Bay corrected. “She’s trying to convince herself that she’s right and we’re wrong. She’s worried we really did see something and that Edgar Martin is dead and she doesn’t want to be responsible for finding his body.”
How in the heck did she figure that out? The older they get, the shrewder they get. It’s frightening. If they all put their heads together now they come close to outsmarting me. Don’t ever tell them I said that, by the way. I’ll deny it to my dying day.
“I don’t think he’s dead,” I said. “I think he was passed out when you guys came across him. Then I think being in the cold woke him and he wandered off.”
“You said there were no tracks leading away,” Thistle pointed out.
I did say that. Crud. “Maybe he stepped in the tracks you already made,” I suggested. Hey, that’s actually a possibility. I warmed to my subject. “Maybe he woke up and saw the tracks and followed them out and we didn’t notice because we got distracted.”
Thistle snorted. “You’ll say anything to make us believe you’re right.”
That was also true. I decided to change the subject before things got out of hand. “Who wants to plow?”
Clove and Bay immediately raised their hands while Thistle took a moment to think. I narrowed my eyes as I watched her. I had no idea what was going through that busy mind of hers, but whatever it was couldn’t be good.
“Can we go by Lila’s house and mess with her driveway?” Thistle asked finally.
Now that sounded like a plan. “Absolutely,” I said, taking the girls by surprise as I did an immediate U-turn. “We’ll hit her house first and then swing back around by Margaret’s place before going home. Your mothers are supposed to be shopping this afternoon – don’t worry, I asked to make sure – and that gives us a window to make cookies.”
“Let’s do it,” Thistle said. “I think we should make the snow in front of Lila’s house yellow, too.”
“No, not yellow,” Bay said, her face lighting up. “We should make that snow brown … like poop.”
I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing. They were young, so they couldn’t think of truly evil things to do to their enemies yet, but they were getting there fast. “I couldn’t be prouder of you girls if I birthed you myself.”
The truck jolted as I got too close to the side of the road, and I cast a surprised look in that direction. “Huh. What was that?”
“You took out Mr. Dorchester’s mailbox,” Thistle replied, blasé. “It was that red one that looked like a barn.”
“Oh, well, that was ugly anyway,” I said. “He must’ve moved it.”
“Yeah. I’m sure he did.”
“IT SAYS here you need one stick of butter and a half cup of salt,” I said, resting my chin on the counter as I sat on a stool and watched Clove and Bay work behind the counter. Thistle, much like me, had no interest in baking and sipped a cup of tea as she watched her cousins work. I decided to read the ingredients to them to hurry things along because our plowing excursion took longer tha
n I initially planned. By the end of the trip we added two other enemies to the list because we were having so much fun. The brown snow really did look like a pile of poop, by the way. It was glorious.
“There’s no way it says to use half a cup of salt,” Bay argued, her forehead creasing into a tense vee. “That would make the cookies taste way too nasty.”
How could she possibly know that? It’s not as if she’s a baker. “It says salt,” I shot back. “I’m not blind. I know how to read.”
Bay wasn’t convinced and she snatched the cookbook from me so she could look at the recipe. “It says we need half a cup of sugar and one tablespoon of salt,” she corrected. “Where are your glasses?”
Well, now she was just hitting below the belt. “I don’t need glasses,” I argued. “Glasses are for old people. I have perfect vision. I could be a sniper in the military if I wanted. Seriously, I could kill people for a living.”
“I don’t think anyone disagrees with that,” Thistle said. “You wouldn’t do it with a gun, though. You would do it with your fingers and mind.”
She had a point. “I still think salty cookies are probably delicious,” I said. “Put extra salt in.”
“Do you want to win or do you want to be right?” Bay challenged, taking me by surprise. “In this case you can’t do both.”
And that right there is why I’m convinced she’s the smartest in the group some days. She can read me like a children’s book with only pictures. “Who says I can’t be both?”
“Common sense and taste buds.”
I made a face. “Fine. I want to win.”
“You only want to win so you can torture Mrs. Little,” Thistle said knowingly as she slurped her tea. “Why do you hate her so much?”
That was a story they were definitely too young to hear. It was such a bad story I didn’t want to know it. Plus, in the end, I didn’t come out looking like much of a role model. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not keen on being a role model, but despite what everyone says, there are a few things in my past that cause me shame. My association with Margaret is one of them.
“She’s a bad person,” I answered after a beat. “It’s not just that she does bad things. She has a bad heart, too.”
Merry Witchmas: A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Short (Wicked Witches of the Midwest Shorts Book 10) Page 5
