Thistle While You Work: A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Short

by Amanda M. Lee

  Clove pursed her lips as she stared down the girl, clearly conflicted. “I don’t think you’re supposed to say that. Your mother wouldn’t like it.”

  “My mother says worse things,” Annie challenged. “She accidentally stubbed her toe when she was packing the other night and she said the S-word.”

  “Well, that was an excited utterance, not a deliberate choice,” Clove pointed out. “That can be forgiven.”

  Annie screwed her face up into an adorable expression. It was her “thinking” face, which made me internally laugh because she was clearly thinking of causing mayhem. “What’s an excited udder?”

  “That’s something that only farmers should know about,” I replied, smirking.

  “Don’t listen to her,” Clove chided, wagging a finger when Annie glanced in my direction. Our young charge clearly thought I could get her out of working with Clove, and she was eager to test her boundaries. “An excited utterance is something you say when you’re surprised or hurt. Like when you say ‘oh, my’ when someone surprises you.”

  “Or when you say the S-word when you stub your toe?” Annie asked.

  “Yes, but you should never say the S-word if you can help it.”

  “What about the F-word?”

  Clove’s dark eyebrows flew up her forehead. “You should definitely never say the F-word.”

  “Landon said it to Bay last night,” Annie complained.

  I tilted my head to the side as I racked my brain. “I didn’t hear Landon say the F-word to Bay. That’s not generally his style.”

  “He said he wanted to fornicate.”

  I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing as I stared down Annie. “I know he didn’t say that. He’d never use that expression.” He would use a hundred different euphemisms for the same thing, but that wasn’t a word that would easily roll off his tongue. “Where did you hear that word?”

  “He said it,” Annie protested.

  In addition to being my cousin Bay’s boyfriend, Landon Michaels was an FBI agent. There was no way he used the F-word – either version of it – in front of Annie. He could be a pain when he wanted to be, but he was careful about what he said in front of Annie. “He did not,” I shot back, shaking my head. “Don’t lie.”

  “Well, he wanted to say it,” Annie argued, crossing her arms over her chest. “That’s what Aunt Tillie said.”

  “Ah. Now we’re getting somewhere.” I crouched down so I was at the same level as Annie’s face and fixed her with a pointed look. “What did Aunt Tillie say?”

  “She said that Landon and Bay were going to fornicate. I thought that had something to do with a fork at first – you know, because he’s always stuffing food in his mouth with his fork – but Aunt Tillie said I was wrong to think that.”

  “Aunt Tillie was wrong to say that,” Clove countered. “That’s not what fornicate means.”

  “And Aunt Tillie would never use that word in front of you,” I added. “I’m guessing you were listening when you shouldn’t have been. Is that what happened?”

  Annie opened her mouth to argue and then snapped it shut.

  “Answer me,” I prodded.

  “I plead the fifth,” Annie announced. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she got her stubbornness from our family. That was impossible, so I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.

  “Don’t bring up the F-word again,” I instructed, straightening. “Fornicate is not a bad word.”

  “Then why did Aunt Tillie whisper it to Twila?”

  “Because … .” I turned to Clove for help.

  For her part, Clove adopted an innocent look. “Yeah, Thistle. Why did Aunt Tillie whisper it?”

  “You’re such a kvetch,” I muttered, shaking my head. Thankfully for me, the bell over the door jangled, drawing my attention to the front door. My shoulders stiffened when I caught sight of the woman standing there. She seemed disheveled and out of place, her long gray hair swept away from her craggy face. “Can I help you?” I asked uncertainly.

  “I’m looking for some orange juice. Can you point me toward the proper aisle?”

  I exchanged a quick look with Clove and then instinctively put myself between the woman and Annie. I try to refrain from being judgmental – no, really – but there was something off about the woman. I could see it on first glance. Her long hair, once black, was shot through with a dustball gray, and she wore a dirty jacket. It wasn’t that the woman’s clothing was worn and tattered as much as it was filthy. She wore no makeup and had a wild look in her eyes.

  “This isn’t a grocery store,” I replied evenly. “If you need a market, there’s one about two blocks that way.” I pointed for emphasis. “I’m sure they have some orange juice. In fact … um … if you need some money or help, I can go with you and buy the orange juice. How does that sound?”

  Instead of reacting with gratitude, the woman narrowed her eyes and scorched me with a defiant glare. “I don’t need you to buy me orange juice. I’m merely looking to buy orange juice. Is that suddenly a crime?”

  Her reaction seemed rather extreme given the circumstances, but I decided to let it slide. “We don’t have orange juice here. I’m sorry. We have tea if you want to brew your own at home, but that’s all we have.”

  “But … I need orange juice.” The woman was a conundrum. One second she seemed completely aware of her surroundings and coherent. The next she seemed lost and confused. I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d accidentally walked away from a group home or something.

  “Where do you live?” I asked, changing course.

  “How is that any of your business?”

  “I’m merely asking because you look lost,” I answered, refusing to back down. “Do you need help? I’m willing to help if you need it. I just … I don’t know what you need.”

  “I need orange juice,” the woman repeated.

  “We don’t have orange juice.”

  “Then you’re absolutely no good to me.” The woman took me by surprise as she turned on her heel and stalked out the door. I padded to the window so I could watch her, scratching my cheek as she shuffled in the direction of the market.

  “Where is she going?” Clove asked.

  “Toward the market. At least it looks that way.”

  “What do you think we should do?” Clove asked, worried. “I don’t think we should leave her to wander around by herself.”

  “Definitely not,” I agreed, rummaging in my pocket for my phone. “I’ll call Chief Terry. My first instinct was that she wandered away from a home or something. He might know. Even if he doesn’t, he’s better equipped to deal with her than we are.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Clove said, smiling as she turned back to Annie. “Are you ready to go back to weighing herbs?”

  “No. It’s a crock of crap.”

  Clove’s smile tipped upside down. “I’m going to have a talk with Aunt Tillie about the amount of time she spends with you.”

  “Is that because you’re a kvetch?” Annie appeared earnest when she asked the question, and I couldn’t help but smile.

  AN HOUR later Annie wasn’t happy, but she helped Clove with the herbs without complaint while I stood behind the counter and double-checked the order sheet for the week. I’d almost forgotten about the strange woman until Margaret Little, Hemlock Cove’s answer to the question “who is the evilest woman in town,” strode through the front door of the shop.

  “Hello, Thistle.” Mrs. Little’s tone was clipped. “How are you doing today?”

  She was either high or assumed I’d somehow forgotten she was a terrible person who often went out of her way to make Aunt Tillie’s life miserable. I often went out of my way to do the same, so you’d think we’d have a lot in common. You’d be wrong. No one likes Mrs. Little. It’s one of those universal truths you can’t shake.

  “I’m wonderful, Mrs. Little.” I adopted a grating tone that I knew would set her teeth on edge. “It’s an absolutely marvel
ous day, isn’t it?”

  Clove raised her eyebrows as she rolled to her feet. It was as if she sensed trouble and wanted to head it off. “You keep doing what you’re doing,” she instructed Annie, her voice low. “I’ll be right back.”

  Annie’s eyes were wide as she glanced between Mrs. Little and me. “Are they about to do the F-word?”

  Clove’s made a shocked face. “No! Stop saying things like that.”

  Annie shrugged, seemingly unbothered by Clove’s tone. “They look like they’re going to fight.”

  “Oh, that F-word.” Clove heaved a relieved sigh. “Yes, I think it’s fair to say they’re going to do that.”

  “At least I won’t be bored,” Annie said brightly.

  Clove shook her head as she moved to join us, her eyes wary as they scanned Mrs. Little’s face. We hadn’t seen much of the woman lately – mostly because she was busy rebuilding her shop after it was firebombed a few weeks ago – and I hadn’t missed her. Not even a little.

  “I’m glad that you’re having a marvelous day,” Mrs. Little said, her demeanor stiff. “I have no intention of doing the F-word with you, though, so if that’s your intention … .” She left the sentence hanging, essentially shifting the onus of the conversation to me. That was definitely on purpose.

  “What do you want?” I asked, refusing to maintain my earlier sunny demeanor. It was too much effort and she wasn’t worth it. “Whatever you think Aunt Tillie has done … well … I’m pretty sure you’re misguided. She’s been busy at the inn lately.”

  “Believe it or not, I’m not here about Tillie.”

  I didn’t believe it for a second. “Uh-huh. And why are you here again?”

  “Just because you say she’s busy, that doesn’t mean I believe Tillie is innocent of anything,” Mrs. Little added. “She’s the devil in tacky clothing.”

  “I’m pretty sure Aunt Tillie would consider that a compliment.”

  Mrs. Little rolled her eyes so hard I worried she might fall over. “Anyway, I’m here about an important issue. As you might recall, about two years ago I approached the city council with an idea to start a DDA.”

  “What’s a DDA?” Clove asked, curious.

  “A Downtown Development Authority,” I replied. “They basically take money from business owners so they can plant flowers on every street corner.”

  “That is not what a DDA does,” Mrs. Little argued.

  “We already put flowers on our corner,” Clove pointed out. “Why should we have to pay more when we already do it ourselves?”

  “I just said that is not what a DDA does,” Mrs. Little barked, her eyes flashing. “Do you listen?”

  “Hey, you came in our store,” I pointed out. “There’s no reason to be a pain. We didn’t ask for your company.”

  “And yet I’m here to make your life easier.” Mrs. Little adopted a singsong voice that made me want to punch her rather than capitulate. I always want to punch her, though, so that wasn’t much of a change.

  “If I remember correctly, the town council agreed that a DDA wasn’t necessary,” I reminded her. “They said it was just a way to collect money when everyone was already doing their part to keep the town cute and up to code.”

  “That very well may have been true at the time, but I think a DDA is a good idea,” Mrs. Little sniffed. “It would allow us to set some … uniform … rules for the area businesses.”

  My witchy senses tingled. “What kind of rules?”

  “Well, for example, have you seen the mummy Ginny Gunderson has outside of her shop? It’s covered in dirt and filth. It’s very unattractive.”

  “That’s a zombie,” I snapped. “That’s not dirt. That’s blood.”

  “That makes it even worse,” Mrs. Little said. “That’s not the appropriate decoration for a tourist town. It’s offensive.”

  “I’m pretty sure you’re the offensive one,” I shot back. “Either way, I don’t care about the zombie. I’m betting this is just a way for you to put yourself in charge of something. Do DDA’s have leaders?”

  “That’s hardly important,” Mrs. Little said, averting her eyes. “Of course someone would have to run the program. I need every business in town to agree to it and sign my petition, and then we can get it past the town council.”

  Even if I liked the woman – which I don’t, for the record – I wouldn’t agree to this harebrained idea. “Um, no.” I shook my head. “We’re not signing that. We don’t need or want a DDA.”

  Mrs. Little made a petulant face and glanced at Clove. “You think it’s a good idea, right?”

  “I think that you’re up to something and I’m too tired to deal with it,” Clove replied. “In fact, I think I’m done for the day. I think we should shut down a half hour early and go to the inn for dinner. They’re making French onion soup.”

  I perked up at the news. “Seriously? That sounds great. Just let me grab Annie and we’ll put the herbs away. Then we can make a run for the bluff.”

  “Did you forget I’m here?” Mrs. Little challenged. “I asked you a question.”

  “And I think we answered,” I said, turning my attention to the floor where Annie sat a few moments earlier. It was empty. “Oh, geez. You scared her away. Great job.”

  “I did nothing of the sort,” Mrs. Little protested. “She probably ran because you’re terrible babysitters.”

  “Oh, whatever.” I scanned the room and frowned when I couldn’t find Annie. “Where did she go?”

  “She’s probably in the bathroom,” Clove said, striding in that direction. “Just give me a second.”

  I watched her move, frowning when she quickly returned and shook her head. “She’s not there.”

  My heart dropped at the news. “Then where is she?”

  Clove held her hands up, helpless. “I don’t know. She’s just … gone.”

  Three

  “Annie?”

  She didn’t answer. She wasn’t there to answer. No, I couldn’t accept that. I stormed toward the hallway at the back of the store, the one that led to the back door (which we never used). It was empty, but the door was propped open. My temper got the better of me as I strode toward it.

  “You’re in a lot of trouble, Annie,” I barked. “You can’t just wander off like that without telling anyone.”

  I kicked the door so hard that it bounced back, making a metal clanging as it slammed into the brick façade. I scanned the alleyway behind the shop – it ran the entire length of the block – and frowned when I didn’t immediately catch sight of Annie.

  “This is not funny,” I growled, moving toward the Dumpster behind the store and tilting my head to either side to see if she was hiding behind the oversized trash receptacle, perhaps playing a game. She wasn’t there. “I’m not messing around, Annie. Come out right now. This isn’t funny.”

  “Calm down.” Clove appeared at my side and rested a hand on my forearm. “She’s probably just messing around. There’s no reason to panic.”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” I shot back. “She’s not your responsibility.”

  Clove narrowed her chocolate eyes, annoyance evident. “She’s everyone’s responsibility because we all love her. But there’s no reason to panic. This is Hemlock Cove, not Detroit. Even if she is playing a game, it’s not as if it will take us long to find her.”

  She had a point. Still … . “Why would she do this?” I felt annoyed, helpless and worried all at the same time. “She knows it would drive us crazy.”

  “I think that’s your answer,” Clove replied. “She spends a lot of time with Aunt Tillie. In Aunt Tillie’s world this is probably funny.”

  I tilted my head to the side, catching a glimpse of my holiday-colored hair reflected in the window across the way – it was orange, in anticipation of Halloween – and shook my head. “Aunt Tillie wouldn’t find this funny. She’s more for declaring war so you know it’s coming rather than hiding in an effort to terrify people. She wouldn’t have encouraged Annie
to run away like this.”

  “I’m not saying she encouraged Annie to do anything,” Clove clarified. “I’m saying that Annie sees Aunt Tillie getting away with whatever she feels like doing and wants to emulate her. Aunt Tillie would never tell her to run, but Annie is a child. She can’t see how her actions hurt others until it’s too late.”

  I rolled my neck until it cracked. Clove’s words made sense. Still, I couldn’t help but be agitated. “We need to find her.”

  “Then let’s find her,” Clove said. “I’ll take this side of the alley and you take that side. We should find her pretty quickly.”

  “Make sure you check everywhere,” I called out as she moved to the east. “She’s small. She could hide behind something and we wouldn’t even know it.”

  Clove’s eyes twinkled as she glanced over her shoulder. “You seem to forget how small I was at that age. I know exactly where to look.”

  I could only hope she was right.

  “ANYTHING?”

  Twenty minutes later I’d been up and down the alleyway three times and hadn’t found a single hint pointing toward Annie’s whereabouts. Clove looked conflicted when she caught my gaze.

  “I looked twice,” Clove said, her voice small. “She’s not there.”

  “She’s not here either.” My stomach twisted as I worked to control my snowballing panic. “I don’t understand this. Where did she go?”

  “I don’t know.” Clove is generally the opposite of calm under duress, but she was much calmer than me given the current circumstances. “I don’t think we can risk looking for her alone any longer. We’re wasting time.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Clove held her hands palms up and shrugged. “We need help. We need to get Chief Terry involved so he can get his men out searching. Every second we wait now … well … it’s a second Annie could be getting farther away.”

  I read between the lines of what she wasn’t saying. “You think someone took her.” I felt sick to my stomach and pressed the palm of my hand there in an effort to dislodge the discomfort. “You think she’s been kidnapped.”