Witching You Were Here (Wicked Witches of the Midwest Book 3) (29 page)

“I’m not letting them escape, that’s for sure,” Aunt Tillie said, placing her hand on the deck. I could hear her muttering under her breath. I was sure it was a spell, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying. Suddenly, a light pulsed under Aunt Tillie’s hands and coursed over the yacht quickly and then diminished.

“What was that?” Thistle asked suspiciously.

“Just a little bit of insurance,” Aunt Tillie said primly, holding out her hand expectantly so Thistle could help her climb down safely from the boat deck to the dock.

Clove and I followed. When we were all standing together, I turned to Aunt Tillie. “What’s going to happen to them if they try to leave?”

“Nothing good,” Aunt Tillie huffed. “Let’s just leave it at that, for now.”

“Are they trapped on the boat?” I was still unsure we should leave the older couple to their own devices. I had visions of returning to the boat later and finding them gone – even if they couldn’t take the boat.

“They’re not leaving and the boat is staying here,” Aunt Tillie said angrily. “I know what I’m doing.”

“No one said you didn’t,” Clove said calmly.

“She just did,” Aunt Tillie gestured in my direction.

“I did not.”

“You did, too.”

“Whatever, let’s go.” Arguing with Aunt Tillie has all the appeal as beating your head against a wall – and the outcome is never as good.

We raced back towards the stable – and by raced, I mean walked briskly. Aunt Tillie is spry for a woman in her eighties, but she has limitations. I used the time to call Landon’s cell phone. Unfortunately, it went straight to voicemail. I left him a message, telling him as much as I could, and then disconnected.

“I think we’re on our own,” I said.

“Good,” Aunt Tillie said. “There will be fewer witnesses.”

Thistle and I exchanged worried glances. That wasn’t a good sign.

Marcus had the snowmobiles gassed up and waiting. Thistle climbed on to one of them, with Clove sliding in behind her wordlessly. Unfortunately for me, Aunt Tillie had already slid into the driver’s seat of the other snowmobile.

“I’m driving,” I told her hurriedly.

“I’m already settled,” Aunt Tillie argued. “I’ll drive.”

“Just slide back.”

“You just sit behind me.”

“I said I’m driving.”

“I’m driving.”

“You don’t see all that well when you’re on a road,” I reminded her. “We’re going to be riding through a lot of trees. We need to get out there fast.”

“Fine,” Aunt Tillie huffed, sliding back reluctantly. “I won’t forget this, though.”

“Fine,” I muttered through gritted teeth. “You can punish me later.”

“I will, don’t you worry.”

We set a brisk pace to get back out to The Overlook. I let Thistle lead while I contemplated what we would find when we got out there. I could only hope that Trevor was still trying to hide his real identity, which meant he was searching the inn under the guise of being a handyman. If he was becoming too desperate, though, I didn’t doubt he would kill anyone that got in his way.

It took us almost a half an hour to get back out to The Overlook. Thistle wisely parked at the back of the inn and killed the snowmobile engine quickly. I followed suit.

“How do you think we should handle this?” Thistle asked, her face flushed from the sharp breeze that had accompanied the long ride back out to the inn. It was so red, it almost matched her windblown hair.

“Let’s split up,” I said finally. “I’ll take Aunt Tillie in through the back door and you and Clove try to go through the front door. At least that way, we won’t all be caught at the same time.”

Thistle nodded and then looked around blankly. “Where is Aunt Tillie?”

I looked back towards the snowmobile, expecting to see her but finding an empty seat instead. I looked up towards the inn and found that the back door was already standing open – and Aunt Tillie was nowhere in sight.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I growled.

I started towards the back door angrily. I was surprised to find Thistle and Clove close on my heels. “I thought you were going out front?”

“That was before Aunt Tillie went vigilante,” Thistle said. “I’m not leaving you alone.”

I sighed, shrugging off my irritation with Aunt Tillie. “We don’t have a lot of choice now,” I agreed. “Let’s go.”

We slipped into the family living quarters through the door Aunt Tillie had left open. The room was empty, meaning that Aunt Tillie had already made her way further into the inn. Clove shut the door behind us, taking care to be as quiet as possible. The three of us shrugged out of our heavy coats, but kept our boots on – just in case.

Thistle and Clove took a few seconds to look into the family bedrooms and then came back into the living room. Thistle shook her head to indicate that the bedrooms had been empty. That didn’t necessarily mean anything, but it filled my heart with dread.

I led the way into the kitchen, glancing at Aunt Tillie’s empty recliner momentarily, and then continued through the room. I paused at the swinging door that led to the dining room and pressed my head against the door to see if I could hear anything. There was nothing, though. That didn’t have to be ominous, I knew that deep down. The inn should have been empty, except for our moms, with the hipsters out snowboarding and the Byron and Lillian on their boat. Still, though, the silence of the usually bustling inn was oppressive.

I took a deep breath and swung the dining room door open and glanced around the room. It was empty, too.

The three of us stepped into the dining room, Thistle sliding around the room – sticking close to the outer wall – and heading towards the archway that opened into the main hallway of the inn. Clove and I followed instinctively.

When we still didn’t hear anything, we continued moving through the inn. The main hallway branched off into three directions: the main office, the main foyer and the small alcove at the bottom of the grand staircase.

We each took a different direction. Thistle peeked into the foyer, glanced around and then turned back. Nothing. Clove glanced into the staircase alcove and then shook her head. That left the office. I took a deep breath and turned the door handle. It turned easily and I pushed the door open.

Nothing could have prepared me for what I found. My mom, Marnie and
Twila were all sitting, silently, in different chairs in the room. None of them were moving, but they all appeared to be fine. I pushed the door open the rest of the way and stepped into the office irritably. “What are you guys doing?”

My mom turned to me, fear etched on her face. I knew then.
I knew
. I opened my mouth to warn Thistle and Clove to stay out of the room, but it was too late. They were right behind me, moving towards their moms with twin expressions of concern marring their features. The office door slammed shut behind us quickly, causing all three of us to spin around in surprise.

Trevor was standing there, previously hidden by the door I had opened – and he wasn’t alone. He had a big knife in one hand – the butcher knife from the kitchen, in fact – and he had his other arm wrapped around Aunt Tillie, with a hand clamped over her mouth.

“Thank you for joining us,” Trevor said evenly. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Aunt Tillie was fighting Trevor furiously. Unfortunately, he had more than two feet and a hundred pounds of muscle to make sure that he had the advantage. Of course, he didn’t know about her
special
gifts, either.

“Let her go,” I said coldly, meeting Trevor’s frigid eyes evenly.

“Sit down,” Trevor countered.

“Let her go first.”

“Sit down first.”

“Let her go,”
Twila screamed anxiously.

Thistle shot her mother a murderous look. “Calm down,” she hissed.

“She’s an old woman,” Twila blubbered. “He’s going to hurt her.”

That was a definite possibility, I reasoned. It was also a possibility that she would skin him alive and leave the carcass for us to clean up.

Trevor didn’t seem moved by Twila’s pleas. “Then she’s lived a long life.”

I realized, pretty quickly, that I had to get control of this situation. “What do you want, Trevor? You want your drugs?”

Trevor didn’t flinch at the question, but the slight narrowing of his eyes told me that he was surprised I had the guts to ask it. I didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. I was going with a good thing.

“Yeah,” I continued blithely. “We talked to your grandparents.”

“His grandparents?” My mom looked confused.

“Yeah, Lillian and Byron Hobbes,” I continued, trying to keep Trevor’s attention fixed on me.

“The Canadian couple from the boat?” Marnie asked, her eyes never moving from Trevor and Aunt Tillie.

“You know them as the Bakers,” Clove supplied.

“The Bakers? How is that possible?”

“They had false identities made up,” I said smoothly. “They were running from their family in Canada. They hoped to make a new life for themselves.”

“They’ve been chatty, I see,” Trevor grimaced.

“They were honest,” I countered. “They told us everything, though. They told us about the money laundering. And they told us about your father and his ties to the mob.”

“I didn’t even know there was a Canadian mob,” Thistle admitted. “It was an illuminating discussion, though.”

“The best part,” I continued. “Was hearing about how you took a job for a rival mobster and used their house as a drug den.”

“That’s terrible,” Twila mused. “Those poor people.”

“They were the money launderers,” I corrected
Twila. “It’s not like they were innocent.”

“They weren’t bad people, though,”
Twila said.

“I guess it depends on what your definition of bad is,” Clove said. For her part, her eyes were settled on Trevor, but they were clouded with tears. She really was a magnet for assholes.

“They certainly aren’t as bad as their rotten grandson,” I agreed.

“Oh, that hurts,” Trevor said with faux indignation. “Did they tell you they stole my stash?”

Trevor’s hand slipped from Aunt Tillie’s mouth. “My nieces steal my stash all the time,” she said. “You just have to get over it. Some people don’t understand the sanctity of a woman’s pot stash.”

“You have a whole field,” Clove whined. “And I only did it once.”

“You only got caught once,” Aunt Tillie countered. “There’s a big difference.”

“Yeah, we know you were taking walks this fall that often ended up in her field,” I said with forced joviality.

“I knew it,” Aunt Tillie muttered. “Didn’t I tell you I knew it was her?”

“You said you thought it was Thistle,” my mom reminded her. If she found the conversation mundane in the face of terror, she didn’t let on. She was letting us lead.

“No, I said I thought it was Clove,” Aunt Tillie said. She exchanged a glance with Thistle, although I couldn’t read it. I didn’t think it was good, though.

“You thought it was Thistle,” Marnie interjected. It almost looked as if she was enjoying the game.

“That’s a bald-faced lie,” Aunt Tillie said.

I watched, curiously, as she shifted in Trevor’s grasp. “I need to sit down.”

“What?” Trevor looked frustrated.

“I’m old, I need to sit down,” Aunt Tillie said. “My knees are giving out.”

“Just deal with it,” Trevor shook her, trying to haul her back to her feet.

“It’s going to be hard to hold me up and take all of them on,” Aunt Tillie said helpfully.

Trevor considered her statement for a second. He must have realized the truth behind it, because he let her go and pushed her towards us. Clove stepped forward to catch her, absorbing Aunt Tillie’s dead weight as she fell forward.

Thistle and I remained standing, three feet apart from each other, neither making a move to help Clove with Aunt Tillie. Trevor noticed our stalwart stances and narrowed his eyes at us suspiciously.

“If she’s such an old woman, why didn’t you help her?”

“Clove had it under control,” Thistle said calmly.

Trevor fingered the end of the knife thoughtfully. “What else did my grandparents tell you? Did they tell you where they were going?”

“Someplace warm,” I replied. “I think there was talk of beaches and little drinks with umbrellas in them.”

“And where are they now?”

“On the boat,” Aunt Tillie said. “They’re not leaving. Why don’t you go spend some quality family time together?”

Trevor smirked. What could have once been described as a handsome feature now looked sinister. “Like I’m going to fall for that. They’ve left already, haven’t they?”

“Oh, they haven’t left,” Aunt Tillie said knowingly. “I can pretty much guarantee that.”

“How can you guarantee that?”

“Just call it women’s intuition,” Aunt Tillie said smugly.

Trevor glanced at Aunt Tillie curiously. “You’re an interesting old bat, aren’t you?”