Every Witch Way But Wicked (A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Mystery) (12 page)

“She’s going to poison him,” Twila huffed.

“Just a little,” Aunt Tillie grumbled, relinquishing the bottle to Twila.

“You can’t poison him,” I pointed out. “Chief Terry would know it was you.”

Aunt Tillie shrugged and moved to leave the kitchen and go back into the dining room. I didn’t trust her for a second. I grabbed her elbow to slow her. “You’ve never given up this easily in your life?”

“I don’t have to poison him to make him pay,” Aunt Tillie pointed out.

This was true. “If you’re going to curse him, can you do something that makes him want to leave the paper?”

Aunt Tillie squared her shoulders resolutely. “I’ll see what I can do.”

When everyone was back out in the dining room and seated, the conversation became decidedly stilted.

“So, this murder mystery must be big business for both the store and the inn,” Landon said finally. I think the uncomfortable pall that had descended on the table thanks to the return of the omnipresent Aunt Tillie had forced him to act as a mediator. It was another interesting new facet of his personality. It was weird seeing him interact with normal people. Well, people that weren’t drug dealers and murders, I amended myself.

“We’re generally pretty busy,” my mom replied. “When we have an town event, we usually book up pretty quickly, but we have 75 percent occupancy just about every week.”

Landon looked impressed. “This town manages to sustain its tourism business year round?”

“Pretty much,” Marnie said distractedly.

“How is that possible?”

“It’s the rebranding,” I supplied.

Landon slid a sideways look in my direction. “The rebranding? You mean making it a witch town?”

“It’s not a witch town,” Thistle interjected. “Just think of it like Salem, Massachusetts. People love the paranormal, and we’re just giving them what they love. It’s a niche town, not a witch town.”

I furrowed my brow at her sudden explanation. It seemed a little out of place given the circumstances. We were just a family sitting around the dinner table, after all. A normal family, for all Landon and the guests knew. We didn’t want to pique Landon’s suspicion.

“I think of Salem as a witch town,” Landon said dubiously. “They have actual history, though. This is just a bunch of people playing witch.”

Thistle and I exchanged a wary glance. We needed to change the subject pretty quickly – before Aunt Tillie decided to impart her
knowledge
on the assembled guests.

“So what’s if feel like to be shot?”

I cast a flabbergasted look in Thistle’s direction. She shrugged helplessly. It was probably the first thing that crossed her mind. We’re not great under pressure.

If Landon was surprised by the question, he didn’t convey it. “It hurts,” he admitted.

“I bet,” Twila said. “Is it like a sharp, continuous pain, or does it only hurt at first?”

I don’t know why Thistle says she’s nothing like her mother. Right now, aside from the shades of their hair, I couldn’t see a difference between the two of them.

“I don’t know,” Landon said truthfully. “I was unconscious for most of it. By the time I was awake, I was on a morphine drip.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot about that,” Twila said, biting her lip and fidgeting.

“So, there’s no witch history here in Hemlock Cove?” Brian asked. He looked disappointed.

“None that’s ever been documented,” I lied smoothly.

“Really? Because my grandfather said that it was common knowledge that your family dances naked under the full moon to increase your power base and cast spells.”

I’m going to kill William – I don’t care that he’s already dead.

“That’s not witch stuff, that’s Aunt Tillie’s special wine,” Thistle said quickly. “She brews it herself.”

Landon smiled lazily in my direction. “You dance naked under the full moon?” I could tell the thought intrigued him.

“I do not,” I said.

“Thistle, Clove and Bay are embarrassed of their bodies,” Marnie said. “They just watch while we do it.”

I swear, in Marnie’s mind that probably sounded better than it actually came out.

“You watch?” I could tell Landon was fighting to keep from laughing.

Did being forced to watch count? “We don’t watch . . . “

“So you participate?”

“No.”

“So you just watch?”

“No.”

Crap! This conversation had taken an obnoxious turn.

“Well, which is it?”

“Anyone ready for pie?” I pushed my chair away from the table. Thankfully, the guests at the far end of the table raised their hands. “I’ll go get it.”

“I’ll help,” Clove offered, jumping to her feet.

“Me, too,” Thistle added.

“We’ll all help,” my mom said, ushering Marnie and Twila towards the kitchen.

“I won’t,” Aunt Tillie said from her spot at the end of the table. “I’ll entertain the guests instead.”

“I think you should help,” I said, glancing down at her as I started to move towards the kitchen. It was hard to read what she was thinking through the sunglasses. I wondered, for a second, if that was the real reason she was wearing them.

“I think I’ll stay here and keep Brian and Landon company,” she said. “It would be rude for all of us just to abandon them.”

That had disaster written all over it. “Don’t you want to make sure mom didn’t burn the pies?”

“I don’t burn pies,” my mom looked horrified.

I glared at her openly.

“I don’t care how dirty you look at me, you know I don’t burn pies,” my mom sniffed. “Pick a different lie.”

My whole family should be locked up.

“Maybe you undercooked them,” I offered angrily. “Aunt Tillie hates it when her apples are hard.”

“I don’t undercook them either, young lady.” One look at my mom, hands on hips, frown on lips, and I knew I would be paying for that comment for the next month – at least.

“Aunt Tillie, come in the kitchen because we want to talk to you away from everyone else,” Thistle said irritably.

“About what?”

Aunt Tillie was being purposely obtuse at this point.

“We want to talk about what home we’re going to put you in and figure out a visitation schedule,” Thistle growled.

Even through the sunglasses, you could feel the ire emanating from Aunt Tillie’s chocolate eyes. Thistle was in for a particularly obnoxious payback, I figured. Better her than me – unless Aunt Tillie lumped Clove and me in with her, that is.

“Can you
please
go in the kitchen?” Even I was surprised that I managed to maintain an even tone, especially with both Landon and Brian eying us curiously.

“All you had to say was please,” Aunt Tillie said, climbing from her chair and marching into the kitchen.

If only that were true?

I was surprised when I felt Landon’s hand shoot out and catch my wrist. “Your family should be on a reality show,” he said.

Great, I could see it now, the
Hags of Hemlock Cove
. Good grief.

I ignored the comment and followed the rest of my family into the kitchen. I reminded myself that this was just another fun evening with the Winchester witches and their bag of family dysfunction. It couldn’t last forever, could it?

When we got into the kitchen, I rounded on Marnie, Twila and my mom irritably. “Thanks for helping.”

“I don’t burn pies,” my mom said. “I’m not going to lie and pretend I do.”

“You lie and pretend Aunt Tillie is safe to have around the general population,” Thistle pointed out.

We were all thinking it; Thistle was the only one to say it. Of course, Aunt Tillie was really going to make her pay now.

“Someone is full of herself this evening,” Aunt Tillie said idly. I noticed she was sitting in the wingback chair in the corner. I hadn’t even seen her move. She’s like a cat sometimes, I swear. A really evil cat. One of those cats that will eat your face if you die in your sleep and it takes a few days to find the body.

I saw Thistle shudder involuntarily. I’ll give her credit, though
; she wasn’t backing down. “Why can’t you just work with us, instead of against us, for a change?”

“Oh please, without me this family would have died of stupidity decades ago,” Aunt Tillie said petulantly.

“What does that mean?” Now my mom looked angry with Aunt Tillie. Good. Maybe Aunt Tillie would focus her wrath on her nieces first – leaving her great-nieces alone. Unlikely, I know.

“Whose idea was it to turn this place in a bed and breakfast?” Aunt Tillie asked sagely. “You wanted to make it a bakery. Marnie wanted to make it a bathhouse. And Twila? Anyone remember her grand idea to make it a butterfly house?”

“Those were just dreams when we were teenagers,” Marnie protested.

“A butterfly house? How were you going to live in a house with butterflies landing on you?” The other two ideas weren’t much better, admittedly, but a butterfly house? Really?

“I was going to train them,” Twila jutted her lower lip out.

“Don’t they only live like twenty-four hours?” Clove asked. “That would have been a little hard to train a new set of butterflies every twenty-four hours.”

“That doesn’t mean they can’t be trained.”

Whatever.

“We need to get a grip here people,” I changed the subject. “Both Brian and Landon are now suspicious of us.”

“So?” My mom’s irritation was now placed on me again. Great. “Everyone in town is suspicious of us. Why would it matter now?”

“Bay is worried that Landon won’t like her if he knows she’s a witch,” Aunt Tillie said wisely.

I rolled my eyes despite the truth in the statement.

“We have bigger fish to fry,” I said.

“I don’t like fish,” Twila said.

“We need to figure out who killed Myron, and we need to do it quick,” I said. “If it goes on too long, Landon is bound to find out things about our family.” Things nobody ever needed to know.

“I do like shellfish, though,” Twila reminded us. We all ignored her.

“Well, you were at the crime scene, did you see his ghost?” My mom asked pragmatically.

“No,” I shook my head.

“It just happened,” Marnie pointed out. “Maybe he hadn’t appeared yet.”

“That’s a possibility,” I agreed. “Or maybe his ghost is someplace else. He didn’t exactly have a home base.”

“Then we’ll have to call his ghost to us,” Aunt Tillie said simply.

“How?” Clove asked.

“A séance.”

“No, no way, no how, no, no and no. Did I say no?” I was shaking my head so vehemently, I was worried it was going to fly off.

“Why not?” My mom looked surprised. “Tomorrow is the full moon. There’s no better time to do it.”

Thistle and I exchanged knowing looks.

“That is not why you want to have a séance,” Thistle said. “You just want an excuse to run around naked under the moon.”

“That’s an ugly lie,” Twila said, casting a disgusted look at her daughter. “You make us sound like deviants.”

“It’s not a lie,” I charged. “You guys will take any chance you can get to go out there and get drunk and dance and drive us crazy.”

“I’m a little sad that you would think so little of me,” my mom sniffed.

“Why do we have to do a séance?” I whined.

“If you want to solve the case, you have to talk to Myron,” Marnie pointed out. “If you want to talk to Myron, you have to find his ghost. The quickest way to call a ghost is a séance, and if you want to have a séance you need a full coven.”

I hate it when she makes sense.

“Fine,” I acquiesced. “Just a séance, though. No wine. No music. No unnecessary chanting. And absolutely no nudity.”

My mom patted my arm reassuringly. “You need to get over your negative body issues, dear. Once you do, you’ll figure out that life will be a whole lot easier. Look at us, none of us are scared of a little harmless nudity.”

That’s because they didn’t have to watch things flopping around from our point of view, I thought. Wisely, I didn’t say it out loud.

The next morning, I woke up with a killer headache – and a slightly intangible feeling of foreboding. I couldn’t decide if the feeling was tied to Myron’s death or my dread of the séance this evening. It was probably a combination of both.

The dessert portion of the previous evening had been just as surreal as the dinner portion, and I couldn’t help but feel relieved when Landon had left and Brian had retired to his room for the night.

I wasn’t looking forward to work today – especially if Brian was going to hound me about my family’s freaky performance of dinner theater the night before. I figured I would just tell him we always did stuff like that to entertain the guests. What? Stranger things have happened. Heck, stranger things happened in my family on a daily basis.