A Witch of a Time

by Amanda M. Lee

  “What is it?” Chief Terry asked.

  I shrugged. “I haven’t looked at it yet,” I admitted. “He gave it to me right before I left, and by the time I got to the guesthouse Bay and Thistle were fighting, so I got distracted.”

  “We weren’t fighting,” Thistle said.

  “You were yelling.”

  “That’s not fighting. That’s talking. Loudly.”

  “Ah.” I turned back to my dinner. “Is anything going on around here this weekend?”

  “It’s just a normal weekend,” Winnie said.

  “No festivals?”

  “We don’t have a festival every week,” Bay chided.

  “Just every other week,” I said. “I stand corrected.”

  Since she was already irritated, I took the opportunity to steal a slice of bread from her plate.

  “Hey!”

  “You weren’t going to eat it,” I said, plastering my best “I’m a good guy and you know you love me” smile on my face. “I thought you wanted to reward me.”

  “You haven’t done anything to warrant being rewarded,” Bay said.

  She had a point. I glanced back at Aunt Tillie, debating how to proceed.

  “What are you rewarding him for?” Winnie asked, suspicious.

  “I’ll bet I know,” Thistle sang from the other end of the table.

  “You don’t know anything,” Bay said. “He’s going to take up that … thing … we were talking about earlier. He’s going to fix it.”

  “Oh.” Thistle’s eyes were thoughtful. “That’s a good idea. I’ll reward him, too.”

  That was a frightening thought. “I only want Bay to reward me.”

  Thistle scowled. “I was going to make you a bacon-scented candle, moron. Not … that. You’re sick.”

  “I’ll definitely take the candle,” I said, opting to ignore the rest of her statement.

  Chief Terry, clearly uncomfortable with the turn in the discussion, decided to redirect the conversation. “What’s your cold case?”

  “I only know it’s a woman who went missing from Hemlock Cove about twenty years ago.”

  Chief Terry pursed his lips, considering. “I’ll bet it’s Peg Mulder.”

  “Who is Peg Mulder?” I asked.

  “She was a local woman,” Chief Terry said. “She was a couple years behind me in school.”

  “She was in my grade,” Winnie said.

  I listened, interested. Even if it wasn’t the same woman, anything was better than continuing the “reward” talk. I hoped everyone would forget about that by the end of dinner.

  “She was married to John Mulder for about ten years, and then the marriage went south,” Chief Terry said.

  “Do you remember why?”

  “He knocked up the babysitter,” Winnie said, wrinkling her nose. “It was quite the scandal at the time.”

  Small towns never cease to amaze me. Not only does everything overlap because everyone knows each other, but the gossip spreads like wildfire. “Was this Peg Mulder divorced at the time of her disappearance?”

  Chief Terry shook his head. “No. The rumor is they were going through a divorce, and John was going to have to pay up something fierce, but it wasn’t finalized before Peg disappeared.”

  “Do you remember anything about the investigation?”

  “Just that Peg was last seen at her house … by John … and when he brought their son back before dinner, she was gone,” Chief Terry said.

  “That sounds suspicious,” I said. “Was he a suspect?”

  “Of course. The problem is, we never found a body. If he did anything to her, he managed to hide it well. I was on the force back then, and I remember going out on searches with cadaver dogs, but we never found anything.”

  “What happened to John Mulder?”

  “He married the babysitter,” Marnie said.

  “If Peg was missing and you never found a body, how did he manage to have her declared dead?”

  “He didn’t,” Chief Terry said. “Since the divorce proceedings were already winding through the court system, they simply progressed until their natural end. Since Peg wasn’t there to sign the papers, the judge ultimately pushed them through.”

  “How long after the divorce was finalized did he marry the babysitter?”

  The inn guests at the far end of the table were listening, rapt. Apparently they liked small town gossip, too.

  “Two days.”

  “Nice,” I said, leaning back in my chair and rubbing my hand against the back of Bay’s neck thoughtfully. Her skin was warm and silky above her shirt, and my fingers were soft as they caressed her. “Did they stay in town?”

  “For a few months,” Chief Terry said. “The babysitter ended up cheating on John with the Mulhern boy. What was his name?”

  “Trent,” Clove supplied. “He was so hot.”

  “He was,” Thistle agreed.

  “Then they got married and moved into John’s house,” Chief Terry said. “He ended up leaving his kid with the babysitter when he bolted from town.”

  “Does anyone know where he ended up?”

  “I heard he was down in the Pinconning area for a while,” Marnie said. “That was like fifteen years ago. I have no idea where he is now.”

  “If Peg is the woman from my case – and I’m not sure she is – I’m going to want to look at the files you have down at the station,” I said.

  “That’s fine,” Chief Terry said, unruffled. “I’d actually like to get that one off the books. It never sat right with me. Peg wasn’t the type of woman to run off. Even though John cheated on her, she loved Luke.”

  “Is Luke her son?”

  Winnie nodded. “He’s a teacher at the high school now,” she said. “He grew into a lovely boy. In fact, before you started dating Bay, I was going to set her up with him.”

  I made a face. “Thanks for telling me that … I guess.”

  Bay snorted. “You were not going to set him up with me.”

  “I was so.”

  “You were not.”

  “He’s a very handsome boy,” Winnie said.

  “He’s also gay,” Bay said.

  Winnie straightened in her chair. “How do you know that?”

  “He’s got a man living with him and they hold hands when they walk,” Bay said.

  I couldn’t hide my smile. “See, you’re lucky to have me,” I said, tugging on a strand of her blonde hair. “If it wasn’t for me, you’d be dating a gay man. You should thank your lucky stars I came into your life.”

  Bay rolled her eyes. “Don’t you have something else you’re supposed to be doing?”

  Crap. I was hoping she’d forgotten that. I turned my attention back to Aunt Tillie. “What are you having delivered?”

  Aunt Tillie balked. “That’s none of your concern.”

  “Just tell me,” I said. “If it’s nothing bad, you won’t have a problem telling me. If it is something bad, I’m going to find out anyway.”

  “You’re cute,” Aunt Tillie said. “You’re not that cute, though. What I buy online is my own business. For all you know, I could be buying that underwear that goes up my butt crack.”

  Conversation at the table came to an abrupt halt.

  “Aunt Tillie,” Winnie hissed, scandalized. “I can’t believe you said that.”

  “I saw those underwear in the store the other day,” Aunt Tillie said. “I think they’re perfect for me.”

  I desperately needed to put an end to this conversation. “Well, great. Enjoy your … .”

  “Thongs,” Thistle supplied, grinning.

  “I’m going to have more pot roast,” I said, reaching for the serving platter. “This is a wonderful meal, ladies. I think it’s the best pot roast you’ve ever made.”

  Now Bay was the one smiling. “That was pitiful.”

  I ignored her. “So, how is your greenhouse coming along?”

  Aunt Tillie made a gagging sound in the back of her throat, and for a secon
d I thought she was choking. “Are you okay?”

  “That’s the sound she makes when she wants attention,” Twila said, forcing a smile onto her face for the guests’ benefit. “She’s just … being her.”

  “What’s really going on?” I asked, shifting my gaze to Bay.

  “Don’t ask me,” she replied. “Let Aunt Tillie tell you.”

  I was afraid Aunt Tillie was going to start talking about her underwear again, but I didn’t have a lot of choice in the matter. “Okay. Why are you making that noise?”

  “Because I have to look at … pottery … in my greenhouse now,” Aunt Tillie said, clearly annoyed. “Do you have any idea what amateur pottery looks like? Big lumps of … crud.”

  I pursed my lips, considering. There’s never a dull moment in this family, and the collective ADD throws me for a loop. Still, I was missing something here. “Can someone explain what she’s talking about?”

  “Mom took up pottery again,” Thistle said, jumping in. “She wants to start giving classes for inn guests.”

  “Oh, I love that idea,” one of the women at the table said. “I’ve always wanted to learn how to do pottery.”

  “I’m missing the problem,” I said. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

  “We don’t have any place to put the kiln other than Aunt Tillie’s greenhouse,” Winnie said. “We cleared out a corner, and it’s barely in the way, but she’s having … a problem … with it.”

  “Why do you care?” I asked, turning to Aunt Tillie. “It’s just one corner. That greenhouse is huge. I’ll bet Twila will even make some pots for you.”

  “I don’t want her pots,” Aunt Tillie said. “That greenhouse is mine. It’s for my plants and other … stuff.”

  I narrowed my eyes, suspicious. “What other stuff?”

  “Never you mind.”

  I gripped Bay’s knee under the table, forcing her attention to me. “What other stuff?”

  “I have no idea,” Bay said, wriggling. “That hurts.”

  I released the pressure. Something was definitely going on here. “I don’t understand why this is a big deal.”

  “Of course you don’t,” Aunt Tillie said, patting my hand. “Eat your dinner. This is above your pay grade.”

  I scowled. The woman knows exactly what buttons to push to give me heartburn. “Maybe I should go take a look at the greenhouse and see if I can think of a better way to organize it so everyone is happy?”

  “That’s a great idea,” Twila enthused.

  “That’s a terrible idea,” Aunt Tillie spat.

  “Why?”

  “You don’t even know what a kiln does.”

  “It … bakes pottery or something.” That’s right, isn’t it? I’m not up on crafts. If I can’t use Elmer’s glue to fix it, I’m just not interested.

  “Lucky guess,” Aunt Tillie grumbled.

  “I’ll check it out tomorrow,” I said, turning back to my dinner. “I’m sure we can figure it all out.”

  “Thank you,” Twila said, beaming.

  “What time tomorrow?” Aunt Tillie asked.

  “Does it matter?”

  “I … just give me a ballpark.”

  She was definitely up to something. “Noon.”

  “Fine. I can work with that,” Aunt Tillie said.

  That was good, because now I was searching that greenhouse before breakfast. Whatever she was buying online was out there, and I had a feeling it wasn’t gardening gloves and seeds.

  Three

  I rolled to my side the next morning, taking a moment to bask in Bay’s warmth before I forced my eyes open. She was still asleep, preferring to burrow under the covers as long as she could before greeting the day. Her blond hair was a mess, like it always is in the morning, and her face was serene in slumber. I would never admit this is my favorite part of the day to anyone but myself – I have to maintain my street cred, after all – but there’s something relaxing about watching a woman sleep, especially if she’s usually buzzing around and getting into trouble.

  I didn’t want to wake her, but my stomach growled, causing her to shift. “Are you up?” She asked the question without opening her eyes. I think she hoped I wouldn’t answer. Part of me wanted to let her go back to sleep, but the other part of me needed nourishment.

  “I’m awake,” I said. “You don’t have to be if you don’t want to.”

  “I think your stomach has other ideas.”

  I grinned, running a hand through my hair and shoving it away from my face. “I can go have some cereal. It’s not a big deal.”

  “Whatever,” Bay muttered, wrenching her eyes open and focusing on me. “You know very well you don’t want cereal.”

  “Does that mean you’re going to cook for me?” While breakfasts at the inn are extravagant affairs, morning meals at the guesthouse are simpler. I was perfectly happy with eggs and toast, especially if it meant Bay stayed in her pajamas for a few more hours.

  “I can cook for you,” Bay said. “They’re making waffles at the inn, though.”

  I stilled. Homemade waffles did sound good. “Eggs are fine.”

  Bay snorted. “Hurry up and get in the shower,” she said. “I saw fresh strawberries in the refrigerator last night. I know you don’t want eggs when you can have waffles and strawberries.”

  “Do you think they’ll have bacon?”

  “I don’t know,” Bay said. “They’ll either have bacon or sausage.”

  “Sold.” I slapped her rear end playfully. “Start moving, woman! My stomach needs some attention, and I want to look in that greenhouse before we go up to the inn.”

  “I thought you told Aunt Tillie you were stopping in at noon?”

  “Like I would tell her the truth,” I scoffed. “I’m not giving her time to clean out whatever she’s got in that greenhouse.”

  “I’m pretty sure she did that last night,” Bay said.

  “She went straight up to bed last night,” I reminded her.

  “It’s a good thing you’re cute,” Bay said, slipping out of bed. “When it comes to reading little old ladies, you’re always going to be a step behind. You’re going to need your looks to fall back on if this whole FBI thing fails.”

  I considered her words, confident I was right. That lasted for exactly twenty seconds. “She drives me crazy,” I said, throwing the covers off and jumping out of bed. “She’s going to put me in a mental institution before this is all said and done. I just know it.”

  “SO that’s what a kiln looks like, huh?” I studied the large oven for a moment. “It’s big, but it’s not as if it’s taking over the place. She has plenty of room to do whatever it is she’s doing out here.”

  “She’s potting plants,” Bay said, dryly. She’d changed into simple cargo pants and a T-shirt, and her hair was freshly washed and dried. She was dressed casually for the day, and yet there was something appealing about her. I’d noticed it the first time I saw her at the corn maze. Everyone else was excited and putting on a show, but Bay was lost in her own head. I could tell that from fifty feet away, so I watched her. I couldn’t explain then why I was drawn to her. I know better now.

  “There’d better not be anything illegal growing in here,” I said, shifting so I could study the sprouts in the post on the shelf. “Do you know what all of this is?”

  Bay joined me, glancing down. “It looks like herbs.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She shrugged. “I’m not big on plants. She’s not stupid enough to plant pot in here, though. She and Marcus have been toiling in the field for weeks anyway. Why would she plant pot here and then transplant it? That’s just extra work.”

  I scowled. I hated knowing Aunt Tillie was planting and cultivating marijuana. Letting it go went against my better nature. “I guess. Look around. Does anything seem out of place?”

  Bay was blasé as she scanned the greenhouse. “Landon, I don’t know what you’re looking for,” she said finally. “It’s all pots and plants. Whatever she
was hiding out here, she moved it last night.”

  “Do you think she moved it into her bedroom?”

  “Do you want to risk looking in there?”

  It was a challenge, and I like challenges. “I’m not afraid of dreaming about bacon. In fact, I do that on my own all the time.”

  “She didn’t curse the room so everyone dreams that they’re bacon,” Bay replied. “She cursed it to determine everyone’s biggest fear.”

  “Your biggest fear is being bacon?” She never ceased to amaze me. “Is that because you think I love bacon more than you? You know that’s not true, right? I love you just as much as I love bacon.”

  Bay rolled her eyes. “I’m not afraid of being bacon,” she said. “I’m afraid of … .”

  When she broke off, I focused on her. Sometimes she’s an open book, and it’s one I love reading. Other times, like this, she clams up. “What are you afraid of?”

  “It’s stupid,” Bay said, swiveling so she could look over the rest of the greenhouse.

  “It’s not stupid if it bothers you,” I said. “What are you afraid of?”

  “I’ve always been afraid of burning,” Bay admitted. “I guess it’s that whole burning-witches-at-the-stake thing.”

  That made sense. Kind of. “Bay, I would never let you burn. I won’t go into Aunt Tillie’s room. It’s not a big deal. Whatever she’s got going, we’ll find out eventually. She’s not good with subtlety. She’ll tip her hand at some point.”

  “Probably,” Bay agreed.

  I moved to her side and grabbed her hand, pressing a quick kiss to her fingertips before tugging her toward the greenhouse door. “Come on,” I said. “I’m hungry, and you’re thinking about burning to death. I think a nice breakfast will fix both of those things.”

  “I’m not thinking about burning to death,” Bay protested. “I … .”

  “I know you,” I said. “It’s written all over your face. You can’t help yourself. Come on. We’ll get breakfast and then … .”

  “What are you doing in here?”

  I balked when I heard Aunt Tillie’s voice, raising my chin and facing her with what I hoped was a bland look. “Good morning.”

  “I asked you a question,” Aunt Tillie said, shuffling into the greenhouse. “What are you doing? I thought we had a noon lunch date? You don’t have a warrant to be in here.”