“So?” I was starting to feel belligerent. My head was really pounding.
“What will people in town think?” My mom looked scandalized. “You don’t let gentlemen callers spend the night.”
“Who cares? Marcus spends the night here all the time.”
Thistle shot me a murderous look.
“He does?” Twila looked down at her daughter with a disapproving frown.
“Thanks for that,” Thistle said dryly.
I shrugged. I wasn’t exactly at my intellectual best. “Where is Clove?” I changed the subject.
“In the bedroom with Marnie,” Aunt Tillie chortled.
“Marnie thinks she needs rehab,” Thistle interjected.
“Why?” I found myself looking towards the coffee maker longingly. Landon followed my gaze and walked over to the countertop contraption and started filling it up wordlessly. He didn’t seem too bothered by our morning guests. Of course, he could just be using his cop training to remain calm in a tense situation.
“She thinks we drink too much,” Thistle said with a laugh.
“That’s why she thinks Clove needs rehab?”
“Well, you’re all making unsafe choices,” Twila said carefully. “You have strange men staying in the house overnight. You could get the herpes.”
“They’re not strange men,” I grumbled. “Landon is a federal officer and you’ve known Marcus since he was a little kid. Neither one of them has herpes.” At least I didn’t think.
“That doesn’t mean that it’s okay to have a . . .” Twila looked around nervously and then lowered her voice. “That doesn’t mean it’s okay to have an orgy.”
“Do you even know what an orgy is?” This wasn’t the first time she’d been convinced we were having wild sexual parties at the gatehouse.
Aunt Tillie looked at Twila with interest. She wanted to hear the answer, too.
“It’s people having sex in the same house,” Twila said obstinately.
“No, it’s not,” I shook my head irritably. “An orgy is when a lot of people get together and have sex with each other. Everyone. Like as a group.”
Twila looked confused. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
“She’s saying that two guys spending the night with their girlfriends is not an orgy.” Clove appeared in the doorway of her bedroom. Her face was tired and blotchy and her eyes were mired with an emotion I couldn’t quite read. I think it might have been fury. I wanted to correct her notion that Landon was my boyfriend, but this didn’t exactly seem like the appropriate time.
“So, are you going to rehab?” I asked, trying to stifle the mad desire to laugh.
“You’re not funny,” Clove muttered. She smiled at Landon, though, as he handed her a cup of freshly brewed coffee.
“I don’t think having parties like this, at your age, is a very good reflection of us,” Marnie said, appearing in the door behind Clove.
“We didn’t have a party,” Thistle argued. “We had pizza and chocolate martinis. And what age? We’re in our twenties; we’re not dead.”
“Too many chocolate martinis,” Marcus whined from his spot next to Thistle. I couldn’t help but notice he was clad in only boxer shorts and a T-shirt, too. Clove, Thistle and I were all still dressed exactly alike from our adventure the night before.
“You got that right, brother,” Landon agreed, sliding into the chair next to mine and pushing a cup of coffee towards me.
“That’s not exactly a raging kegger,” I agreed, sipping the coffee gratefully.
“I don’t know what that is,” my mom said dubiously. “But if that’s some sort of drug reference, it’s not funny.”
“The fact that you’re accusing us of having a problem when you’re the ones with a pot field is just ridiculous,” Thistle barked out.
Twila’s face went completely ashen as she looked at Landon guiltily. “She’s making that up.”
“I’ve seen the pot field,” Landon said dryly. “I saw it when I went looking for you guys out in your little field a few months ago.”
Twila looked like she was going to pass out. “It’s not mine. It’s Aunt Tillie’s,” she pointed to her aunt nervously.
“I have glaucoma,” Aunt Tillie said calmly. “It’s medicinal.”
“Chief Terry knows about it, too,” Landon said. “I don’t really care about it, as long as you’re not selling it. You’re not selling it, are you?”
Aunt Tillie mustered up an outraged glare. “Of course not. How could you think that an old woman would do something like that?”
“Don’t you brew illegal wine in the basement, too?” Landon kept his eyes level as he sipped from his coffee. I was impressed that he had managed to turn the tables on Aunt Tillie so effectively.
“That’s a lie,” Aunt Tillie sniffed. “I may make a few bottles of wine, but it’s certainly not illegal. I need it for my bad joints. That’s not a crime.”
“It is if you’re selling it,” Landon said blithely.
“Well, I’m not selling it,” Aunt Tillie said evasively.
“If I ask the locals about it, are they going to say the same thing?” Landon was playing a game, and he looked like he was enjoying it.
Aunt Tillie met Landon’s gaze without blinking. “Of course.”
Landon glanced over to me. “Is that true?”
“The townspeople are scared of her,” I said dismissively. “They’re not going to roll over on her.”
“Plus, her wine is really popular,” Thistle offered. “They don’t want to piss off their supplier.”
“That is neither here nor there,” Aunt Tillie said hurriedly. “You can’t prove that I’m doing anything illegal.”
“I don’t care about proving it,” Landon said carefully. “I just thought I would throw out some random accusations and see what sticks. That seems to be the theme of the morning.”
Twila, Marnie and my mom all looked appropriately abashed by Landon’s statement. Aunt Tillie, though, she didn’t look the least built guilty.
“You should watch your tone,” Aunt Tillie warned Landon.
“You should mind your own business,” Landon shot back.
I sucked in a deep breath, waiting for Aunt Tillie to freak out. Instead, she remained calmly sitting in her chair. “I like him,” she said finally, turning her gaze to me. “He’s not nearly as wishy-washy as I originally thought.”
“He’s good,” Clove said finally, laughing despite herself..
“Bay’s the expert now,” Thistle said slyly.
I shot her an angry look. “Don’t go there.”
“What are you going to do?” Thistle taunted me.
“There’s big snow banks out there,” I reminded her. “I’m going to bury you in one with yellow snow and leave you there.”
“Your empty threats have no power over me,” Thistle replied airily. “They’ll just put you in yellow snow rehab.”
Landon chuckled as he took another sip of coffee.
“Every single one of you should be involuntarily committed,” he said. “At least Aunt Tillie likes me now, though. I feel privileged.”
“You won’t when she starts calling you for favors.”
Landon didn’t look too perturbed – at first. He thought about what I said for a second and then turned to me, alarm written all over his handsome face. “What kind of favors?”
“You don’t think she takes care of that pot field herself, do you?”
Eighteen
Things settled down – at least by my family’s standards – relatively quickly after that. Marnie and Twila set about making a quick breakfast for us, while my mom started tidying up the living room.
“You don’t have to do that,” I protested.
“Well, you’re not going to do it before you have to leave for work,” my mom said primly.
“So, we’ll do it when we get back.”
“You shouldn’t leave a dirty house. Men don’t like that,” my mom glanced at Landon pointedly.
/> “He helped make the mess.”
“That’s not the point.”
“I need a shower,” I muttered.
When I walked back into the living room after getting cleaned up and dressed, I found that everyone was eating breakfast without me. “Thanks for waiting,” I grumbled.
“It’s your own fault,” Aunt Tillie said. I noticed she was sitting next to Landon – something that was making him decidedly uncomfortable.
He got up when he saw me and moved past me towards my bedroom. “I’m going to shower and then Marcus and I are going to try and clear some of this snow out of here so we can get into work.”
“That’s not necessary,” Aunt Tillie said.
“It’s not?” Landon looked surprised.
“No,” she shook her head. “Once he’s done using the snow blower up at the inn, Trevor is going to come down here and clean up the front porch.”
“Trevor’s coming?” Clove was on her feet almost instantaneously. She scurried into her bedroom and slammed the door shut behind her.
“There’s not going to be any hot water left by the time I get to shower,” Thistle grumbled.
“What about the roads?” Landon asked. “Have the county plows been through yet?”
“The county only does the main roads,” I informed him. “We’re responsible for the road to the inn and the gatehouse.”
“Are those roads clear?” Landon asked. “Do you guys have a service?”
“No,” I shook my head. “We have Aunt Tillie.”
Landon looked confused. He bent his head down and whispered in my ear. “Are you telling me she casts spells to get rid of snow?”
“No,” I laughed. “But that’s a good idea.”
“Then how does she get rid of the snow?”
“She has a plow,” I said simply.
“She has a plow?”
“She has a plow,” I repeated.
“Does she even have a driver’s license?” Landon shifted his gaze in Aunt Tillie’s direction.
I shrugged. I had no idea.
“Do you think she should be driving, let alone pushing around a foot of snow? You know, with her glaucoma and all,” he said sarcastically.
I glanced over at Aunt Tillie. “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask her?”
Landon obviously didn’t think that was a good idea. “I’m going to forget we had this conversation.”
“I think that’s probably best,” I agreed.
WHEN we got to town about an hour later, Landon offered to drop me off at the paper and pick me up later.
“You’re coming home with me again tonight?”
Landon looked uncomfortable with the question. “I hadn’t decided yet,” he said. “You know, we’re supposed to be getting a really big blizzard in two days.”
“Are you allergic to snow?”
“No, but I’m probably going to have to find a place to stay over here, especially if this case is still ongoing.”
“You only live an hour away,” I reminded him.
“I know,” he said. “But an hour and two feet of snow actually ends up being five hours and no guarantee that I can get over here. Plus, if that snow is blowing, it’s just dangerous to be on the roads.”
“Are you fishing for me to invite you to stay with us?”
“No,” Landon said innocently. “I was just wondering if you knew of somewhere nice I could stay if I get stuck here. I mean, you don’t want me to die on dangerous roads, do you?”
I smiled knowingly at Landon. “Why don’t we take it a day at a time,” I said. “The weather forecasters say that the blizzard is still almost two days off. You should be fine to spend the night at your own place tonight.”
Part of me wanted to invite him to stay with us. The other part of me, though, the part that remembered being woken up by a family of embarrassed witches wanted to maintain at least the illusion of taking things slow.
Landon rolled his tongue into his cheek and considered my statement. “You’re probably right. I need to pack some things.”
“Like you’re My Little Pony boxer shorts?” I teased.
“That shows what you know,” Landon scoffed. “They don’t make My Little Pony boxer shorts.”
“I bet they do,” I countered. “What else do the Bronies sleep in?”
“What’s a Brony?” Landon knitted his eyebrows in confusion.
“A grown man that is obsessed with My Little Pony.”
“You’re making that up.”
“Don’t you watch the news?”
Landon eyed me dubiously. “I’m going to look this up. If you’re making it up, like I think you are, then you’re going to owe me a back rub the night of the blizzard.”
“You’re being awful presumptuous.”
“I have a reason to be,” Landon said.
I bet.
“So, where do you want me to drop you off?” Landon changed the subject.
“I’ll just go to the police station with you,” I said. “I want to talk to Chief Terry about the case.”
“Then what?”
“Then I’ll go home with Thistle and Clove,” I shrugged.
“You don’t have to go to the paper?”
“Probably not,” I said. “We’re a weekly, I’ve already got the edition ready for this week and – if we get the blizzard we’re supposed to – that will put off production until Monday.”
“That’s not how a real newspaper works,” Landon argued.
“That is how The Whistler works,” I corrected him. “There’s no sense printing during a blizzard if no one is going to buy it.”
“And your advertisers are okay with that?”
“They’re businessmen,” I said. “They understand that printing on a Monday when people will actually see the paper instead of a Friday when they won’t makes good business sense.”
“I guess so,” Landon said dubiously. “It still seems like a really weird way to run a business.”
“Hey, do I tell you how to be a cop?”
“I’m not a cop.”
“Whatever.”
CHIEF Terry didn’t look surprised to see Landon and me together. In fact, he seemed more irritated than anything else.
“What’s up?”
“Your Aunt Marnie says that Clove needs rehab.”
Great. “She called you and told you that?”
“She called to tell me that it was Polish night out at the inn if I wanted to come to dinner. You know how I love Polish sausage.”
“That’s what she said,” I replied without realizing what I was saying. It was an ongoing dirty joke with Thistle, Clove and I -- and it just slipped out.
“What?” Chief Terry looked confused, while Landon was shaking with silent laughter.
“Nothing,” I waved off his question. There really was no explanation that didn’t make me look like a teenage girl.
“So, do you think Clove needs rehab?” Chief Terry asked me pointedly.
“I think we had too many chocolate martinis last night and that our moms are a bunch of alarmists,” I replied. I didn’t add that I thought it was beyond hypocritical that these same women were known to imbibe whole bottles of wine and dance under the full moon whenever the whim hit.
“That’s possible,” Chief Terry conceded. “They all have weird freak-out moments.”
“It works out well for you,” I said. “When they freak out they cook.”
“Yeah, I can’t complain about that,” Chief Terry agreed.
“So, what’s going on with the Hobbes?” Landon asked wearily.
Chief Terry shifted his full attention to Landon for the first time. “Isn’t that what you were wearing yesterday?”
“Yeah.”
“Didn’t you go home last night?” Chief Terry looked like he was growing in his chair. It was like he was the Hulk or something.
“I had too many chocolate martinis, too,” Landon replied.
“So you stayed the night at the inn?” C
hief Terry asked hopefully.
“No, I spent the night at the gatehouse.” Landon seemed to be enjoying himself.
“You know I think of those girls as my daughters, right?” Chief Terry said brusquely.
“I figured,” Landon replied.
“That means I still picture them in their Girl Scout uniforms selling cookies.”
“That sounds hot,” Landon said, sliding a sly smile in my direction. “Do you still have the uniform?”
Chief Terry cleared his throat angrily. “Don’t do that!”
“She’s an adult,” Landon protested.
“I don’t care,” Chief Terry said. “If I even think you’re doing anything untoward . . .”
“Untoward?”
“You know what I mean.”
“So what have you learned about the case,” I interjected earnestly. I desperately wanted a shift in the topic of conversation.
Chief Terry shot one more warning look in Landon’s direction and then turned back to me. “Not a lot.”
“Anything?” I asked hopefully.
“We know that someone used a credit card in Lillian Hobbes’ name in Traverse City four days ago,” Chief Terry started.
“Someone? You don’t think it was her?”
“We’re not sure,” Chief Terry said. “It was used at a restaurant at one of those waterfront restaurants on the bay.”
“So no cameras?”
“No cameras,” Chief Terry confirmed. “We’re having some agents pick up the slip to see if the signature matches one from Lillian Hobbes that they have on file in Canada.”
“How long will that take?”
“I have no idea,” Chief Terry said wearily. “Canada may be a nice place to visit, but when it comes to law enforcement, they’re not adverse to taking their own sweet time.”
“Is that all?”
“No,” Chief Terry shook his head. “Another credit card, this one belonging to Byron Hobbes, was used to put down a room reservation at the Bayfront Inn.”
“Is that in Traverse City, too?”
“No, Suttons Bay,” Chief Terry said.
“Still, that’s not that far away.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Did you check to see if they ever checked in?” Landon asked.
“I’m not new,” Chief Terry growled. “I know how to run an investigation. To answer your question, though, no one ever checked into the room.”
Witching You Were Here (Wicked Witches of the Midwest Book 3) Page 12
