I rolled out of bed and found Thistle and Clove both standing at the kitchen counter. They were both already dressed and showered. Had I slept in?
“We have a tour group coming in at 8 a.m.,” Thistle answered the question before I even uttered it.
“How many people?”
“Like a hundred,” Clove said. “They’re coming from the Bay City and Saginaw area. They’re all staying at area inns for the entire weekend. We expect to be busy for the next four days.”
“Well, that’s good for you guys,” I said.
They both watched me walk to the counter. “What?”
“You can drive yourself today, right?” Clove asked.
“Yeah.”
“Good, because neither of us wanted to drive you,” Thistle said.
“I love you, too.”
Clove was peering a little too closely at my face from across the counter. I was starting to get a little uncomfortable. “What? Do I have dried drool on me or something?” I made a motion to wipe the corner of my mouth.
Thistle was suddenly staring, too.
“Seriously, what are you guys looking at?”
“That is just one monster of a zit,” Thistle laughed, pointing at my lip.
My hand flew up and felt around the area they were staring. I groaned inwardly when I felt what could have been a small village popping up on my upper lip. “But I washed my face,” I protested.
“Seriously, that thing looks like it could be an extra in a monster movie,” Clove said disgustedly.
I stood up and made my way over to the ornate mirror hanging on the wall. They were right. It was really big.
Thistle and Clove had followed me. They seem entranced with my new zit. It was big enough to need its own room, after all.
“It’s one of those really hard underground ones,” Thistle finally said. “You can’t even pop it.”
“You should never pop them,” Clove supplied. “That just makes things worse. It could leave you with a scar.”
“It actually kind of hurts,” I muttered.
“Don’t touch it,” Thistle slapped my hand away.
Clove tilted her head. “You could tell people it’s a cold sore.”
“Yeah, because having lip herpes is better than having a zit.”
It isn’t, right?
I was still studying it when something occurred to me. “Aunt Tillie.”
“It’s not as big as her,” Thistle countered.
“Not that! I mean Aunt Tillie did this to me.”
“It’s just a zit.”
I glared at Clove. I noticed she had her own situation popping up dead center on her chin. “Oh, really? Then why are you getting one, too?”
“I am not!” Clove looked panicked as she pushed me from the front of the mirror. “That was not there when I got up!”
We both turned to Thistle. I couldn’t stifle my snicker when I saw the protuberance growing from the center of her forehead.
“No,” Thistle whined. She turned and stared at herself in the mirror for a second and then swore under her breath. “I’m going to make that old lady pay.”
“That’s not a good idea,” Clove argued. “Whatever you do to someone comes back on you threefold. Don’t forget.”
“Then how come nothing ever comes back on her?” I grumbled.
“Maybe she’s too old.”
“Or maybe even karma is scared of her,” Thistle suggested.
After Thistle and Clove left, I showered and got ready for work. The more I tried to hide the zit, the more I looked like I had had some sort of seizure while applying my makeup. Finally, I just gave up.
I stopped by the office to check and see how the layout was progressing. It actually looked pretty good. I signed off on it, so they could send it to the printers, and then I set out for Hypnotic.
I saw a large tour bus parked downtown. I figured that must be the group that Thistle and Clove had been talking about. Hemlock Cove got a lot of buses from all over the state – especially this time of year. We had actually started getting groups from as far away as Canada. It was kind of fun to see how people reacted to the town.
When I walked into Hypnotic, I was surprised to see how packed it was. Thistle was busily handling the register, while Clove had a line of customers waiting for Tarot readings.
“Do you need help?”
Thistle looked relieved when she saw me. “Yeah, can you just circulate and make sure everyone is finding what they need?”
I spent the next two hours busily shuffling from person to person. All of them were over the age of sixty – and all of them were extremely thrilled to be here. When they found out I worked for the paper, everyone started grilling me about the gruesome murders.
I told them the bare basics, which wasn’t easy after Shane and Sophie showed up. “What’s with all the old people?” Sophie wrinkled her nose.
“I think they’re cool,” Shane said. “It’s like an entire room full of Aunt Tillies.”
“Don’t mention her name,” I barked.
The elderly woman I was helping as she looked through the pewter jewelry jumped. “I didn’t say anything, dear,” she said.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” I apologized. “Thistle asked me something.” What? She’s old. She doesn’t know the difference.
When the store had finally emptied out, Thistle, Clove and I all exchanged exhausted glances. “Well that was . . .”
“Lucrative,” Thistle supplied, snapping the cash register door shut.
She came over and joined Clove and I on the couch. “A lot of them said they’re coming back tomorrow,” Clove said. “I couldn’t give everyone readings today and there were a lot more that wanted them.”
“Well, it’s good that people are still coming – despite the murders,” I said.
Sophie was looking at my lip intensely. “Is that a zit?”
‘Yes,” I said shortly.
“It’s gross.”
“Yes.”
“Have you remembered anything else?” Thistle asked Sophie. I think she was hoping that the teenager wouldn’t notice she had her own growth to contend with. It didn’t work.
“No. And gross, you have one, too.”
“Damn, Aunt Tillie,” I swore.
“I’m going to make the potion,” Clove said finally.
“What potion?” Shane seemed excited.
“The pimple potion,” Clove answered simply.
“You have a pimple potion?” Sophie seemed intrigued.
“Yeah,” Thistle sighed. “It works like a gem, but it’s a bitch to make.”
Clove had pulled her compact out of her purse and was studying her chin. “It’s worth the effort.”
I wasn’t particularly adept at making potions, so I remained on the couch while Clove and Thistle started to grind ingredients at the corner table.
“Aren’t you going to help?” Sophie asked.
“I’m not good at potions.”
“If I were them I wouldn’t share with you.” I hate teenagers.
“I just helped them calm the mob of the century,” I argued.
“If we’re going to make it, she can have some,” Clove said. “Besides, we’re in this together, at this point.” She was grim and resolute.
“A united front,” Thistle grumbled. “I still say that we should pay her back. We can’t just let her keep getting away with stuff.”
“She’ll probably curse us again just for thinking about that,” Clove said.
“How would she know you’re thinking about it?” Shane asked.
“She’s magic,” Sophie said with reverent awe.
“She’s evil,” Thistle, Clove and I said in unison.
It took Thistle and Clove about an hour to make the potion. They left it sitting on the table and joined me on the couch.
“Aren’t you going to use it?” Sophie clearly wanted to see if the magic pimple potion actually worked.
“It has to sit for twenty minutes,” Clove explained.
The conversation turned back to Aunt Tillie – which was causing Thistle to grow redder and redder. After a few moments, though, I realized that she had also gone rigid.
“She’s having a vision,” Clove exploded.
We both moved to Thistle’s side to make sure she didn’t tumble forward. Then we just waited.
“More death,” she mumbled.
“New victims? I thought they only needed two?” Clove shot a glance at me.
“These aren’t new, they’re old,” Thistle said.
“The murders from thirty years ago?”
“Just because it’s old, doesn’t mean it’s over.”
“See, we were right. I can’t wait to tell that old witch that we were right,” I practically crowed.
“Is now really the time for that?” Clove chastised me.
“Two are here, two were there. One male. One female.”
“One of the killers is female?”
“I already told you that,” Sophie protested.
“We don’t have long,” Thistle intoned. “Hours, not days.”
“Can you see them?”
Thistle exhaled sharply as she relaxed in the chair. “I hate it when that happens,” she grumbled.
“Could you see faces?” I asked. Clove had gotten up and poured a cup of tea for Thistle and brought it back to her.
“No,” Thistle said. “It’s like . . . it’s like they’re blurry or something.”
“Blurry?”
“Like when I get up in the morning, before I put my contacts in. There are no sharp edges to grab on to.”
“You said we have hours instead of days,” I prodded. “Do you have anything more to go on?”
Thistle shook her head ruefully. “No. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” I waved her off. “It’s not like these ‘gifts’ come with a road map.”
“They should,” she said.
I smiled at her sympathetically. Then I turned to Sophie and Shane with a certain amount of trepidation. “You’re all we have, guys. Have you remembered anything else? Even something little might be able to help us.”
Sophie shook her head helplessly. “There’s nothing.”
“Isn’t there a way to jog our memories?”
“Not that I know of,” I admitted.
“I think we have to take them back to the corn mazes,” Thistle said.
“They’ve been back.”
“What else do we have?”
Nothing. We had absolutely nothing. And time was running out.
Twenty-Four
Given how busy the store was – members of the tour group continued to circulate in and out – we couldn’t go back out to the corn maze until the store was closed. I could have gone without Thistle and Clove, but I wasn’t really keen on that idea – especially since my ankle was still tender.
We all managed to find time to apply the potion, though. The minute I felt it touch the world’s biggest pimple, I couldn’t help but sigh in relief. By morning it would be gone. I had a feeling Thistle’s rage would remain long after her face had cleared up, though.
When it was time to close the store, we all agreed to drive together. “We’ll just pick up your car tomorrow,” Clove said. I could tell she was already nervous.
We decided to go to Harrow Bluff first. This was where Shane’s body had been found. He seemed excited at the prospect.
“I’m not sitting in the back with them,” I argued when Clove yelled shotgun outside of the store.
“Why not?”
“My ankle is still hurts.”
“It’s not like they can jostle it,” Thistle scoffed.
Crap. “Well, I’m not sitting in the middle.”
I slid into the seat behind Clove – she was shorter, after all – and I couldn’t hide my frown when the excited Sophie and Shane popped into the car next to me.
“It’s like a road trip,” Sophie said excitedly.
Yeah, a road trip to hell.
When we got out to Harrow Bluff, I was surprised to find that it was open again. I had expected to find it deserted.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Thistle swore.
“It’s Hemlock Cove and it’s tourist season. What else do you expect?”
“A little respect, maybe?”
“Yeah, I think you’re asking for too much.”
“Well, at least with the three of us together we can talk to Sophie and Shane without people thinking we’re crazy.” Clove always finds something to be optimistic about. It’s endearing – and annoying.
“They already think we’re crazy,” I complained.
“Oh, get over it,” Thistle grumbled.
We exited the car, greeting a handful of people we recognized at the food table, before we positioned ourselves at the front of the maze.
“When did the maze reopen?” I asked Mrs. Little, who was holding court with a couple of biddies from her bridge club.
“Shouldn’t the newspaper already know that?”
“I guess I must have missed it,” I said brightly.
“Today,” she answered.
“Don’t you think that’s a little rude,” Thistle challenged her.
“This is a tourist town,” Mrs. Little glared at Thistle. Given the way she was looking at her hair, I guessed she hadn’t seen the blue tresses yet. “We don’t let bad times get us down.”
“Or murders affect the bottom line,” Thistle mumbled.
“What did you say?” Mrs. Little was spoiling for a fight.
“She asked if you could pass her a glass of cider,” I broke in. Now was not the time to fight with the town’s favorite pain in the ass.
Since I’d brought up cider, we were obliged to drink it. It gave me a chance to look around the maze to see who was here. I recognized a couple of the elderly ladies from the tour earlier in the day. I also recognized Emily, the woman from the inn, who had discovered Shane’s body with me.
“Why is she here?”
“Who?”
“Emily.”
“That woman from the inn?”
“Yeah.”
“Wasn’t she the one that discovered Shane’s body with you?”
I nodded.
“She’s a horror fanatic, right?” Clove asked.
“She said she was. She was kind of squeamish, though.”
“Maybe Ron wanted to come?” Thistle said.
“Who is Ron?”
“Her husband.”
“Oh, I never got his name, I don’t think.”
“They’re from New York,” Clove supplied.
“How do you know that?”
“He told me that night at dinner. He was actually kind of chatty.”
“What did he say?”
“He said that they were on their honeymoon and they were from New York,” Clove answered simply.
“He couldn’t have been that chatty,” I sniped.
“No, I mean that he kept telling these really long and boring stories about how they met and how it was love at first sight and how he thought he’d found his soul mate. It was actually pretty annoying.”
Since Clove was an eternal optimist – and a hopeless romantic – he must have been really annoying.