“Oh, I’m definitely not going to cook for them,” I said, hopping to my feet. “Girls, grab your helmets. We’re going into town for breakfast.”
The girls seemed surprised but didn’t give me any lip as they hurried out of the room. Winnie was incredulous as she watched them go.
“What a bunch of traitors,” she groused.
“Yes, they kind of follow whatever direction the wind takes them, don’t they?” I flashed my most evil grin to get my nieces’ attention. “I guess I’ll see you later. I hope you find something to eat.”
“This isn’t going to work,” Winnie called out. “I’m not going to fall for this. We’re not going to let you blackmail us into doing what you want.”
“I guess we’ll see,” I called back. “Something tells me you’re lying to everyone … including yourselves.”
I TOOK the girls to the Gunderson Bakery for breakfast. I’d known the owner, Ginny, for years. We had something of a tumultuous past, but we weren’t exactly unfriendly. She was also keyed in to all of the area gossip, so I hoped she’d be able to assuage my fears regarding Edgar.
“Well, this is a surprise,” Ginny said, beaming at the girls as I herded them toward a table. “I don’t often see you ladies out for breakfast.”
“Our moms forgot how to cook and we’re starving,” Clove announced. “I think we might pass out from hunger.”
“You poor dears!” Ginny never had children of her own and she fell for every fake tear and imaginary injury these three could muster. It drove me crazy. “What would you like?”
“I want doughnuts,” Thistle said. “I want, like, ten of them.”
“Ten, huh?” Ginny smiled. “Do you want chocolate and sprinkles on them?”
Thistle nodded happily, but I held up my hand to still Ginny before she could take Bay and Clove’s orders. “Wait a second,” I said. “You girls have to eat a regular breakfast.”
“Ugh! You can’t bring us to a bakery and not expect us to eat doughnuts,” Thistle complained.
“Yeah, that’s mean,” Clove said. “It makes my eyes leak.”
“Okay, that’s funny when you do it to other people, but I find it annoying,” I said, extending a finger in Clove’s direction. “From now on you’re forbidden to do that with me. Do you understand?”
“Now I know my eyes are leaking,” Clove grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Your butt will be leaking if you’re not careful.”
“Gross,” Thistle and Bay said in unison as Ginny shot me a dark look.
“What?” I asked Ginny, frustrated. “You try spending hours with these monsters and we’ll see how you feel afterward.”
“I would love to spend time with these little angels,” Ginny cooed. “Look how cute they are.”
“Wow. You girls have her snowed,” I said, shaking my head. “Good job.”
“We learned from the best,” Bay said, grinning. “Can I have a breakfast sandwich?”
“That’s a good idea,” I said. “If you all eat a breakfast sandwich and one of those hash brown things you can have a doughnut when you’re done.”
“I only want the doughnut,” Thistle said.
“And I only want you to shut up,” I shot back.
“Fine,” Thistle grumbled. “Can I have the bacon and egg bagel sandwich and a hash brown?”
Ginny smirked. “You certainly can. How about everyone else?”
“The same for me,” Bay said as Clove nodded. “Can I have a tomato juice, too?”
“Tomato juice? I don’t know any little ones who like tomato juice,” Ginny said, giggling.
“She’s a weird kid, but she does love her tomato juice,” I said. “I’ll have a sandwich, too. I’d like some coffee, though.”
“What about you two?” Ginny asked Clove and Thistle. “What do you want to drink?”
“I want coffee,” Thistle said. “I take it black with no sugar.”
“They’ll have orange juice,” I corrected before slipping out of my coat and following Ginny to the counter. The grill was right there, so she could make the sandwiches and keep up on conversation at the same time. I kept one eye on the girls for a few minutes to make sure they were behaving, but when they seemed content to gossip about how funny their mothers acted this morning I left them to it and focused on Ginny. “Have you heard any good gossip lately?”
“You’ll have to be more specific,” Ginny said, placing the bacon on the griddle. “I’ve heard a lot of gossip. For example, I heard that Judy Bristow wants to get a boob job, and I heard that you’ve been plowing in the end of Margaret’s driveway with yellow snow.”
“We did brown snow for a bit yesterday, too.”
Ginny smirked. “It’s not as if she doesn’t deserve it. Is that the kind of gossip you’re talking about?”
I shook my head. “Have you heard anything about Edgar Martin?”
Ginny tilted her head to the side, confused. She seemed surprised by the question. “I haven’t heard anything about him since the unicorn incident. I heard talk people were going to try to force him into rehab, but that never came to fruition.”
“It never does,” I said. “You can’t force someone into rehab. They have to want to do it for themselves.”
“Why are you asking about Edgar?”
“Well, um … .” I risked a glance over my shoulder, but the girls were still caught up with talking to each other rather than eavesdropping. “The day of the tree-lighting ceremony the girls swear they found a body in the woods.”
“What were they doing in the woods?”
“Looking for yellow snow to put on Lila Stevens’ head.”
“Oh, I like them more and more as they get older,” Ginny said, giggling. “What does that have to do with Edgar, though?”
“They say whoever it was had on pink socks.”
“Ah, like the unicorn,” Ginny said almost to herself. “Did you search the woods?”
“We did and we came up empty,” I answered. “He’s not there, but he doesn’t seem to be anywhere else either. He’s not at his house. I wrote it off at first because I thought they were exaggerating. I thought Edgar must’ve fallen down drunk. Now I’m starting to get worried.”
“The problem with Edgar is that he takes off whenever he feels like it and it’s impossible to know where he is for long stretches,” Ginny said. “I’m sure he’s okay.”
“I hope he is, but I promised the girls I would help them,” I said. “I always keep my word.”
Ginny made a face. “Really?”
“Well, I keep it to them,” I clarified. “I would really like to track down Edgar. If he’s dead out there somewhere, well, let’s just say it could be a rough winter for a body.”
“That’s definitely true,” Ginny said. “I haven’t seen Edgar, but now that you’ve brought up his name, I have heard a bit of gossip about him. I ignored it at first because it made no sense, but … well … it might be of interest to you.”
“What?”
“Now, it came from Viola and she’s not always reliable … .”
“What?”
“I’m not a big fan of salacious gossip,” Ginny added.
Oh, I was practically salivating now. “What?”
“Viola said Edgar has been seen around town three times with Margaret Little,” Ginny offered. “She thought they were having an affair. I, of course, thought that was ridiculous. But if you can’t find him, I think you should start looking there.”
I moved my jaw as I considered the possibility. It didn’t make sense and yet …. Margaret was there the day the girls claimed they found the body. Perhaps she saw Edgar when he was leaving and didn’t tell anyone.
“I’ll bet she killed him,” I said, my mind working overtime.
Ginny was amused rather than aghast. “Why would she do that?”
“Because she’s evil.”
“Oh, well, as long as you have completely thorough reasoning for throwing that out there,
I’m totally with you,” Ginny said, handing me a mug of coffee. “What are you going to do?”
“Bring her down.”
“And people say December in Walkerville is boring,” Ginny teased. “Something tells me it’s going to a holly jolly Christmas after all.”
“Did you have to ruin things by reminding me of that song? It’s like an earworm.”
“I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” Ginny said dryly.
“You do that.”
Eight
“Stop doing that.”
Clove, a bag of potato chips resting on her lap as we sat in my parked truck across the street from Margaret Little’s house, made a face. “I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re rattling that bag so loudly I can’t help but think that something is going to explode,” I countered. “It might be my temper, so I’d be very careful.”
“I am not.”
“You are, too.”
“I am not.”
“You are, too.”
“Oh, will both of you give it a rest?” Thistle asked, shifting in her seat. She kept her helmet on even though she complained it itched. I think she worried I would take off in a mad rush to run Margaret over if the mood struck, and she wasn’t taking any chances. “You’re giving me a headache.”
“Hey, I’ve had a headache since you three were born,” I shot back. “Do you hear me complaining?”
“You complain all of the time,” Thistle said. “Mom says that’s just the way you talk to other people and that we should ignore it. She says you don’t mean to be a complainer, but you can’t help yourself because it’s just noise to you.”
I stilled. I was hearing a whole lot of Twila-isms these days. I had no idea she was that ballsy. “Next time your mother says that, tell her the only noise in the house is that incessant droning she does when she claims she’s singing,” I said. “How does that sound?”
“Like you’re feeling mean,” Clove said, stretching her arms over her head as she tried to get comfortable.
After Ginny told me about Margaret’s ties to Edgar, I couldn’t get the possibility of her offing him out of my head. I know it’s a long shot, but I’ve always thought she was evil. Maybe she finally decided to embrace her inner hobgoblin and call to the evil corners of the land to do her bidding.
No, I’m not being dramatic. Hear me out.
Margaret has been jealous of me ever since we were kids. At first she thought I was somehow cheating when it came to footraces and tennis matches, but then she realized I really was magical and made it her mission to be just like me. I’m not making it up. She’s jealous.
If she conducted enough research, she might’ve gotten to the point where she found that she could call to evil forces and ask them to do her bidding. The Winchesters call to the four white light corners of magic. Evil witches call to the four dark corners. Margaret would definitely be an evil witch if she embraced the craft.
She might’ve thought she could take someone like Edgar – a man known to make an ass of himself and drink until he was in a stupor at least five days a week – and sacrifice him to the blood winds to give herself power.
Huh? What do you think of that?
“What are you thinking?” Bay asked, her eyes narrow slits as suspicion washed over her features. “You went to a different place there for a second.”
“I’m pretty sure it was an evil place,” Thistle said. “Did you see that smile? It made me think of that movie we were watching the other day. What was the name of it?”
“Friday the 13th?”
“No, not that one.”
“A Nightmare on Elm Street?”
“Not that one either.”
“Good grief,” I muttered. “Someone really does need to monitor your viewing habits.”
“We like horror movies,” Bay said. “They make us feel better about our lives.”
“And why is that?”
“Because no matter how bloody and terrible a slasher movie killer is, he’s still nicer than you,” Thistle said, grinning.
“Keep it up, mouth.”
“It!”
“It what?”
“No, that’s the name of the movie,” Thistle said. “It. There was a creepy clown and he had horrible fangs when he smiled. You reminded me of that clown just now. What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking that we’ll be hailed as heroes if we find Edgar alive,” I lied. “We might even get Margaret locked up to boot. That would be the best Christmas gift ever.”
Thistle rolled her eyes. “You’re all talk,” she said. “You don’t really want Mrs. Little to be arrested. You won’t have anyone to torture if that happens. Who else are we going to drop yellow snow on?”
“Oh, there’s plenty of people in this town who have ticked me off,” I said. “I’m sure I can find someone.”
“And yet it won’t be as funny as messing with Mrs. Little,” Thistle said. “You’ll be bored. I bet she’s not a murderer anyway. She’s probably just … kissing him.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Kissing him?”
“That’s what old people do.”
“They do more than that,” I pointed out.
“Yes, but I’m only going to be ten soon so I’m not supposed to know about those things,” Thistle said. “My mind doesn’t go past kissing.”
“That’s a good thing,” I said.
“Mine does,” Clove said. “I can’t wait to get a boyfriend. He’s going to be handsome and smart, and he’s going to give me flowers.”
I rolled my eyes so hard I was convinced I was going to fall out of the truck. “None of those things are important,” I said. “Well, it’s important that he’s smart. You don’t want to date a dumb one. As for the rest, you only need to find someone with a good heart who will love you for who you are without trying to change you.”
“Do you think Mrs. Little is doing that for Edgar?” Bay asked.
“No.”
“Then we should probably help him,” Thistle said.
“You’ve got that right,” I said, pocketing my keys. “Come on, girls. It’s time to save the day … and make Margaret Little pay.”
“Wow. That was almost like poetry … like Dr. Seuss,” Thistle drawled.
“You’re on my list.”
“LIFT YOUR feet.”
“I am lifting my feet.”
“No, you’re shuffling your feet, and that doesn’t work in snow,” I argued, grabbing Clove’s waist so I could lift her over a particularly large snowdrift. “Good grief, girl. What have you been eating?”
“The same thing as you,” Clove shot back, scorching me with a dark look when I dropped her on the other side of the drift. Margaret’s house is surrounded by two or three rows of trees. It’s supposed to give the illusion of privacy, but in reality all it does is give me something to hide behind when I’m trying to spy. Trust me. I know. I’ve done this before.
“Well, I think you’ve been eating double portions or something,” I said, wiping my brow. It’s too cold to be sweating, yet I could feel it dripping down my forehead. I’m too old for this much physical exertion. I’m still in my prime, mind you, but traipsing through a foot of snow with whiny little girls is not conducive to a relaxing cardiovascular workout. “You need to go on a diet.”
“You can’t say that to her,” Bay said, grabbing on to a low-hanging branch and swinging herself around the base of the tree. The snow was shallower closer to the trunks and she figured out pretty quickly that it was easier to stick close to the trees than wade through the big drifts. Unfortunately Clove didn’t realize that. I constantly had to fish her out of piles due to her height. “Mom says it’s never okay to make fun of people for their weight or the way they look.”
“Well, you’re mother is a mouthy cow,” I muttered.
“I heard that.”
I sighed and brushed my hair from my face. “Your mother is right,” I said finally. What? I don’t want to teach them bad habits. Er,
well, I don’t want to teach them needlessly hurtful bad habits. There are plenty of bad habits for me to imprint on their impressionable minds that don’t include being downright nasty for no reason. “It’s never okay to make fun of someone’s weight or looks.”
“You called Mom a cow, though,” Bay pointed out.
“I was talking about the fact that she won’t stop mooing in my ear when I want to do something,” I said. “She sounds like a cow. She doesn’t look like a cow.”
“I think she looks more like a chicken,” Clove said, purposely hopping into a big drift and giggling as she tried to wade through it. Margaret’s house was set a hundred and fifty feet back from the road, yet it felt as if I’d walked ten miles with these miniature monsters. “She puts her hands on her hips all of the time and jerks her head back and forth. Sometimes when she’s yelling I think she sounds like she’s clucking.”
“That’s a good one,” Thistle said. “I think you should tell her … and do an imitation while you’re at it.”
“Don’t do that if you want to stay on the nice list for Christmas,” I warned. “Save that for New Year’s Eve. They’ll be drunk so they might forget it.”
“Good idea.”
Bay seemed lost in thought as she swung around to the next tree, her eyes trained on me.
“What?” I asked, annoyed. She has a way of looking into your soul that’s downright unnerving.
“I know it’s wrong to make fun of people because of the way they look, but can I still call Lila a horse face when she’s mean to me?”
That kid is far too worried about what’s right and wrong. She needs to focus on smiting her enemies without caring about what’s fair on the battlefield. That will keep her young and happy for decades. “Yes, that’s totally fine.”
“But you just said … .”
“There are exceptions to every rule, Bay,” I said, cutting her off. “This is one of those exceptions. Lila looks like a horse’s behind and you can tell her that because she’s evil. It’s the same reason I can point out that Margaret looks like the butt of a chicken. It’s not nice to go off on other people, but when it’s your sworn enemy, it’s totally fine.”
Merry Witchmas: A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Short (Wicked Witches of the Midwest Shorts Book 10) Page 7
