Witching You Were Here (Wicked Witches of the Midwest Book 3) (2 page)

“What’s going on?” Clove asked curiously.

“Your Aunt Tillie is being impossible,” my mom said.

“So? What else is new?” Thistle asked, jumping up on and landing on the kitchen counter in a sitting position.

“You have a smart mouth,” Aunt Tillie warned Thistle. “Someone should research a spell on helping you shut it.”

Thistle regarded Aunt Tillie coolly. They had been in something of a cold war for the past few weeks (well, years really). Thistle had been getting bolder and bolder in her disagreements with Aunt Tillie, who had been getting more and more creative with the curses she cast on Thistle as retribution. The problem was, depending on the day, Aunt Tillie’s curses weren’t always relegated to Thistle alone. Clove and I were often collateral damage in their ongoing fight.

“Why don’t you tell us what’s going on?” I interjected quickly. I didn’t want to go a week without being able to talk. Again. Aunt Tillie had stolen our voices for a week when we were teenagers because she thought we were gossiping about her. We had actually been gossiping about the fact that Twila was sneaking around with the gardener, but that didn’t matter to Aunt Tillie.

“Your mothers are trying to kill me,” Aunt Tillie said dramatically.

“They should try harder,” Thistle grumbled.

“How are they trying to kill you?” I ignored Thistle, while hoping Aunt Tillie hadn’t heard her. She was getting old. She missed a lot of things – or at least pretended she did.

“They took away my room.”

“Your bedroom? Why? Because you’re sleeping in this chair now?”

“We did not take away her bedroom,” my mom said with a horrified look. “We would not take that away from her. We took away her wine room.”

Uh-oh. Aunt Tillie’s wine room was actually a closet in the basement where she illegally brewed some of the strongest wine in the county. Chief Terry looked the other way – even though he knew what she was doing – because he thought she wasn’t selling it. That wasn’t exactly true, though. Aunt Tillie had a thriving side business selling the wine. She just didn’t make it public knowledge.

“Why did you take away her wine room?”

“We have to
get  a new furnace,” my mom explained. “That’s the only place it will fit.”

“Can’t you just move the wine room?” Thistle asked.

“We offered to build her a new shed in the spring, but she doesn’t want that,” Marnie explained.

“You want to make an old lady walk that dangerous path to a shed?” Aunt Tillie only called herself old when it benefitted her. When anyone else called her old it was wise to duck and cover in anticipation of the explosion that would surely follow. For someone that resembled a wizened hobbit, she had a fiery temper.

“Isn’t there another room she can have?” Clove asked.

“Why don’t you just use the kitchen?” Thistle interjected.

“My recipe is secret,” Aunt Tillie sniffed. “You just want me to use the kitchen because you want to steal my recipe.”

“We’re family,” Marnie reminded her. “It’s not stealing when it’s family.”

“You may share my genes, but you don’t share my wine recipe,” Aunt Tillie countered. “If you want to make wine, make up your own recipe.”

“Maybe I will,” Marnie said.

“Good. Do it. It won’t be as good as my wine, though.”

Thistle cocked her head to the side as she regarded Aunt Tillie’s words. “That actually sounds like a good idea,” Thistle said. “I’ll help Aunt Marnie. I’ve always wanted to learn how to make wine. I bet it will be even better than Aunt Tillie’s recipe.”

Aunt Tillie narrowed her eyes in Thistle’s direction. “I would expect as much from you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Thistle asked, a challenge flashing in her determined eyes.

“You know what it means,” Aunt Tillie sniffed. “But go ahead. Make your wine. We’ll see who makes the better wine.”

“Does that mean you’re willing to give up your wine room?” My mom asked Aunt Tillie hopefully.

“I said no.”

“Grow up and use another room,” Thistle muttered.

Aunt Tillie glared in her direction. “Someone obviously needs another reminder of exactly who the matriarch in this family is.”

Thistle visibly blanched. “That’s not what I meant. . .”

“Oh, it’s too late now.”

“What are you going to do?” Thistle asked angrily.

“I’m just an old lady,” Aunt Tillie said. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Crap. We were all going to pay for this one. I just knew it.

Aunt Tillie managed to sit through a pouty breakfast, although I caught her casting thoughtful – and decidedly evil – glances in Thistle’s direction throughout the meal. Even though there were only a few guests at the inn we all knew better than causing a scene in front of paying customers. That had been ingrained into us at a young age. You never made a scene in front of the guests. It wasn’t a rule that always stuck, but it was a rule that had stiff retribution if you broke it.

After breakfast, Clove, Thistle and I moved to the front foyer to leave but Marnie stilled us. “By the way, we called you here for a reason.”

I had forgotten that there was something they wanted to talk to us about before the Aunt Tillie drama took over – as it so often did. “Oh, yeah, what did you want to tell us?”

“It’s not a big deal, but we’ve hired a handyman to do some stuff around the inn,” Marnie said. “His name is Trevor. He’s a nice boy. Very nice looking, too.” Marnie looked at Clove knowingly.

“I don’t want to be set up,” Clove said quickly.

“It’s not a set-up,” Marnie corrected her. “He’s an employee. He just happens to be a very nice and handsome employee.”

Thistle and I rolled our eyes at each other. This had disaster written all over it. Clove was a hopeless romantic that always second-guessed her decisions. Marnie was a hopeless meddler that always pushed her own agenda. One of them would end up disappointed in this scenario – maybe both of them.

“Why are you telling us about the handyman?” Thistle broke in to save Clove.

“We’re sending him down to the gatehouse to put in some new insulation,” Marnie said. “I just wanted to make sure you guys wouldn’t be taken by surprise when he showed up. And maybe that you would change your clothes,” she added to Clove pointedly. “Maybe that nice pink sweater I got you for your birthday. It brings out your eyes.”

“What’s his name?” I asked.

“Um, Trevor Murray,” Marnie said.

“Well, we’ll be nice to him,” I started to move towards the door again but I was stopped when Marnie’s hand shot out and grabbed my elbow to hold me back. “What?”

“He’s for Clove,” she whispered. “Not for you.”

“Thanks for the update,” I said irritably. “As you might well remember, I’ve sworn off men.”

“I’m just making sure,” Marnie warned.

“Why aren’t you warning Thistle?”

“Because she’s with Marcus,” Marnie said. “You’re the sad and needy one right now.”

Well, that was a low blow. Apt, but low. My most recent love interest had walked (more like ran) away when Aunt Tillie had brought a storm down – literally – on a gun-wielding maniac down by the Hollow Creek. He had asked for answers that I wasn’t ready to give and I had let him walk away. I was still wondering if it was a good decision.

“I am not sad and needy,” I scoffed. What? I had only watched
The Notebook
once (okay, maybe twice) since Landon had walked away from me. Okay, I admit it, I’ve watched it like ten times. It’s a great movie. Oh, leave me alone. The point is, I’m not sad and needy.

“What’s going on?” Thistle asked suspiciously.

“Nothing,” Marnie was suddenly studying her manicure as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

“She was warning me that Trevor is for Clove and not for my needy ass,” I said grimly.

“Bay wouldn’t steal Clove’s guy,” Thistle said dismissively. “That’s kind of a low thing to say.”

Marnie looked horrified by Thistle’s statement. “I wasn’t inferring anything.”

“I really think menopause has made you mean,” Thistle said. “Hurting Bay’s feelings like that is just a terrible thing for an aunt to do.”

With those words, Thistle linked her arm through mine and flounced out the front door. Once we were outside, I turned to her. “I don’t think she was trying to be mean.”

“I know,” Thistle waved off my concerns. “I just like messing with them. There’s not a lot to do in the winter here and I have to get my fun somewhere. Especially since Aunt Tillie is being such a pill.”

“You should be careful. She’s got revenge on her mind.”

“I’m not scared of her.”

I gave Thistle a knowing look.

“I’m not scared of her,” she repeated.

I knew that wasn’t the truth. We were all terrified of Aunt Tillie.

BY THE TIME
we got back to the gatehouse Thistle had worked herself up into righteous frenzy – and a good and proper snit.

“I’m not scared of her,” she said, throwing herself on the couch haphazardly. “You guys give her more power than she should have. If we all stood up to her she would back down. She’s a bully. That’s what bullies do.”

“You’re a bully, too,” Clove reminded Thistle.

“I’m not a bully,” she argued. “Bay is the bully.”

“Hey! How did I get involved in this?”

“You’re the oldest,” Thistle pointed out. “Being a bully was your birthright.”

“I am not a bully,” I argued. “If any of us is a bully, you definitely fit the bill.”

“How do you figure?”

“You’re the stubborn one that digs your heels in,” I said.

“She’s got a point,” Clove said.

“It’s not bullying when you’re a walking doormat,” Thistle said pointedly.

“I’m not a walking doormat!” Clove’s voice
rose an octave when she said the words. She looked to me for confirmation.

I shrugged. “If any of us is a doormat, that would easily be you.”

“I am not a doormat,” Clove crossed her arms over her chest huffily.

“You’re the middle child,” Thistle said sagely. “You have Jan Brady syndrome. You’re the people pleaser always looking for attention between Bay the bully and me the . . .”

“Baby,” I supplied helpfully.

“I am not a baby!”

“If any of us is a baby, that would be you,” Clove said snottily.

“You’re both dead to me,” Thistle muttered.

I decided to change the subject. “So, what are you guys doing today?”

“Just inventory at the store,” Clove said. “There aren’t a lot of people around. We’re going to decrease our hours this winter. We might as well take advantage of it. We’re too busy the rest of the year to take any time off.”

“That’s a good idea,” I said.

“I am not a baby,” Thistle said again. “And Bay is a bully. She’s just like Aunt Tillie.”

My mouth dropped open in surprise. “That’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“It’s the truth. When you don’t get your way you bully
Clove until she agrees with you. That’s exactly what Aunt Tillie would do.”

“You do the exact same thing,” I argued.

“I’m serious,” Thistle said suddenly, sitting up straight in her chair. “I want us all to band together against Aunt Tillie.”

“That’s okay,” I said dismissively. “I like the ability to talk.”

“She’s the reason we don’t have fathers,” Thistle said.

The statement surprised me. This was obviously something Thistle had been stewing about for some time.

“We have fathers,” I corrected her. “We just never see them.” I didn’t add that a healthy fear of Aunt Tillie could easily be a contributing reason why we rarely saw them.

“My dad sent me a card for Halloween,” Clove said brightly.

The truth was, none of us had a definitive fatherly influence. All of our mothers had been married at one time. Actually, they had all been married around the same time. They had all married local boys and moved into small houses around Hemlock Cove – leaving Aunt Tillie and our grandmother alone in the big house. When our grandmother had died a few years later, Aunt Tillie had been left alone. Once alone, Aunt Tillie had nothing better to do than meddle – and that meddling often took the form of poking our fathers with a magical spear (or her forked tongue) until they cried for mercy.

One by one each marriage had crumbled.
Twila’s went south first. My Uncle Teddy had been a kind man – from what I could remember – but he had also had some form of OCD. He needed things to be neat and orderly. Twila would be considered scattered on her best day. The marriage never really had a chance.

After the divorce, Uncle Teddy had moved to the Detroit area, and his visits with Thistle had steadily diminished throughout the years. Now they had a phone relationship – and by that I mean they talked on the phone every couple of months. He never came up to visit her – and since Thistle owned a business she didn’t go down state to visit him either.