Witching You Were Here (Wicked Witches of the Midwest Book 3) (9 page)

“And why would you be having dinner at the inn?” Ted pressed. “Are you staying there while you’re in town for the investigation?”

“No,” Landon shook his head. “I have a place in Traverse City.”

“That’s an hour away,” Ted pointed out.

“Yeah,” Landon agreed. “I’m hoping someone takes pity on me and offers me a spot on their couch.”

I could feel the color rush to my cheeks. “I wouldn’t press your luck.”

“Sorry,” Landon laughed. “I thought I would try.”

“You’re with Bay?” Ted asked the question warily.

“Is that a problem?” Landon asked.

“No,” Ted said hurriedly. “I was just clarifying the situation.”

That was a weird statement, I thought. Thistle didn’t give me a chance to follow up with another question, though. Instead she took a decisive step forward and fixed her father with a harsh look. “So, we’ll see you at seven for dinner, right?”

For his part, Ted still looked unconv
inced. One look at Thistle’s implacable face and the grim set of Landon’s jaw, though, and he knew that he couldn’t possibly say no. “I’m looking forward to it,” he squeaked out. He reached forward and hugged Thistle awkwardly and then moved back down the street.

Once he was gone, Clove entered our line of sight. “Was that who I think it was?”

“If you mean Uncle Teddy, yeah.”

“Holy crap!” She looked Thistle and
me up and down for a second and then shook her head. “Have you two been having a snow fight?”

Thistle and I exchanged wary glances. “No,” she said finally. “We both just slipped and fell into the snow bank.”

Clove didn’t look like she believed us. She turned to Landon for confirmation of her suspicions. “Are they telling the truth?”

“I didn’t see anything,” Landon said with a heavy sigh. He turned to me, though, after a second. “Does this mean I’m off the hook for dinner?”

“Oh, no,” I said quickly. “If you don’t show up, that just means my mom and aunts will hunt you down and you don’t want that.”

“Besides,” Thistle said evenly. “With my dad there, you’ll probably slide right under their radar.”

Landon’s face brightened considerably. “I hadn’t considered that.”

Clove watched the exchange curiously. “Do you think we should tell everyone that Uncle Teddy is coming to dinner?”

“Absolutely not,” Thistle said hurriedly.

“Why?” I asked. “We should probably give them time to freak out before he gets there.”

“That also gives them time to poison the food,” Thistle said ominously.

She had a point.

“Yeah,” Clove blew out a sigh. “We should probably let it be a surprise.”

Landon regarded all three of us incredulously. “Are you saying that you’re legitimately worried that someone in your family will poison this man if they know ahead of time that he’s coming to dinner?”

“Of course not,” Thistle scoffed. When Landon looked away, though, she frowned at me worriedly. Neither of us would say it out loud, but that was exactly what we were worried about.

If a normal family dinner at the inn was enough to spark dread in Thistle, Clove and me, the prospect of tonight’s dinner was enough to cause outright terror. We all met in our small living room a full half hour before we were due up at the inn – something that was practically unheard of – and then perched on the furniture nervously as we waited.

“Do you think we should go early?” Clove asked wistfully
, visions of fresh cookies floating through her head..

“No,” I shook my head. “They’re going to know we’re all lying the minute they see us.”

“She’s right,” Thistle said wearily. “We’ve got guilt written all over our faces. They’ll know we’ve done something wrong.”

“I’m hungry,” Clove whined.

“You can wait a half hour,” I chastised her.

“We should be up there before Landon and Uncle Teddy get there,” Clove tried again. “If they show up before we do, things will actually be worse than if we were there too early.”

Thistle cocked her head to the side as she considered Clove’s statement. “We’re damned if we do and damned if we don’t,” she said finally.

“Let’s just tell them that Clove is pregnant,” I suggested. “We’ll tell Marnie that sending Trevor over here was a great idea and that will distract them until Uncle Teddy walks in. Once he’s there, we’ll be off the hook.”

Clove looked scandalized. “You’d better not tell them I’m pregnant.”

“We wouldn’t do that,” Thistle said winningly. When Clove wasn’t looking, though, she flashed a thumbs-up sign behind her back.

Since our nervous energy was too big for the gatehouse to contain, we finally gave up and headed towards the inn. We decided to walk, since that would take at least seven minutes. If we drove, we would only eat up four minutes of time. Hey, three minutes is three minutes.

When we got to The Overlook, we entered through the back door and found ourselves in the cozy living area that housed our mothers and Aunt Tillie – when she wasn’t sleeping in a recliner in the kitchen, that is.

We paused in the empty living room to catch our breath and discard our coats. We were relatively safe – for now – because Aunt Tillie was obviously in the kitchen. If this had been a normal night, and if she hadn’t been fixated on protecting her recliner, she would have been in her other cherished chair and watching her favorite show –
Jeopardy
– all the while trying to shush us until we left the room.

“We could just hide in here,” Thistle whispered hopefully.

“No way,” Clove argued. “I smell fresh bread.”

Thistle and I inhaled quickly, our stomachs growling in response to the heavenly smell emanating from the kitchen. “I bet it’s still warm,” Thistle said finally.

I give up. No one can say no to Marnie’s fresh-baked bread. “Let’s go,” I sighed.

Thistle and I deliberately followed Clove into the kitchen. We were hoping that, since she was the first one through the door, she would warrant the most attention. It worked – at least at first.

“Oh, girls, you’re here,” my mom said excitedly. “Clove, how are things going with Trevor? How was everyone’s day?”

Uh-oh. She was far too chirpy.

“We’re here,” I said warily. “Why are you so excited?”

“What makes you think we’re excited?” my mom asked evasively.

“Because we’re not stupid,” Thistle replied.

“Of course you’re not,”
Twila patted her daughter’s hand absent-mindedly. “No one thinks you’re stupid. Although, you do look tired. I think it’s because your hair is so red. It washes all the color out of your face.”

“Your hair is red.”

“Yes, but my color enhances,” Twila explained evenly. “Your color distracts.”

This wasn’t the first time that
Twila had cast aspersions on Thistle’s hair. Thistle usually responded by picking the most obnoxious  color she could to retaliate with. I had a feeling the holly green Thistle had contemplated to honor Christmas – before deciding on the Santa red, that is – was going to make a triumphant comeback within the next few days.

Thistle’s lips pursed first and then thinned. I could tell she was biting her tongue to keep from acting out. I stomped on her foot to make sure she got the message: This was the last thing we needed.

The gesture wasn’t lost on my mom. “What are you guys up to?”

“Us? We’re not up to anything.” Clove’s voice had taken on an unnaturally shrill tone.

“Well, that’s convincing,” Marnie said wryly.

“What are you guys up to?” Thistle countered.

“Nothing,” my mom said innocently, turning back to the pot roast she was dishing up onto serving trays on the counter.

“Why don’t I believe you?” I asked.

“Probably because you’re naturally suspicious,” my mom said evasively. “That’s probably why you’re always so tense.”

I exchanged a wary glance with Thistle. Something was definitely up. I peered around my mom and gazed at Aunt Tillie, who was reclining in her chair and happily watching the spectacle unfolding in front of her.

“What do you know?” I asked her.

“Pretty much everything,” Aunt Tillie smiled evilly.

“What do you know about what they’re planning?” I narrowed the scope of my question.

Aunt Tillie pinched the bridge of her nose to keep from laughing out loud. That was disheartening. I felt Thistle move in behind me and put her hand on my wrist. “Don’t play her game,” she said forcefully. “That’s what she wants. She gets off on it.”

“What did you say?” Aunt Tillie straightened up in her chair and leveled a dark look on Thistle.

“You heard me,” Thistle challenged her.

Crap. This wouldn’t end well.

“You’ve been sowing your oats a lot lately,” Aunt Tillie said calmly.
Too calmly, if you asked me. “I like a witch that thinks for herself.”

Thistle narrowed her eyes at Aunt Tillie. I didn’t blame her. It was a weird time for a backhanded compliment.

“I also like a witch that respects her elders,” Aunt Tillie said ominously.

And there it was. The real Aunt Tillie.

Thistle sighed dramatically. “I do respect my elders. I just like my elders to respect me, too.”

“You don’t think I respect you?” Aunt Tillie asked.

“Is that a trick question?” Thistle asked.

“That depends on who you ask.”

“I’m asking you,” Thistle pushed on.

“She’s not going to answer you,” I said, breaking into the standoff that I knew would continuously loop around if I let it move forward. “She wants to play, and you’re letting her do it.”

“Do you really think you should be getting involved in this?” Aunt Tillie turned her attention to me.

“I don’t want to get involved in this,” I said honestly. “I just want to know what my mom and her sisters have planned.”

“Oh,” Aunt Tillie said brightly. “They just invited Landon to dinner.”

“Aunt Tillie,” my mom chided. “You promised you wouldn’t tell. You were the one that said she was going to freak out, so we shouldn’t tell her until right before dinner.”

Like mother, like daughters. Whoa, that was a freaky thought.

“I forgot,” Aunt Tillie shrugged.

“That’s what you guys are keeping secret? The fact that you invited Landon to dinner?”

“It wasn’t a secret,” my mom lied. “I just hadn’t had a chance to tell you yet.”

“I already knew that,” I scoffed. “I invited him first.”

“You did?” My mom looked surprised. “He didn’t say that when I called him.”

“When did you call him?” I regarded her suspiciously.

“A few hours ago,” my mom looked thoughtful. “I wondered why he didn’t seem surprised by the invitation.”

“It’s because he knew that Thistle told Marnie he was in town and that told us an invitation was imminent. We just beat you to the punch.”

“Huh, well, see,” my mom patted my arm happily. “No harm done. I wondered why you had done your hair and fixed your makeup.”

I wasn’t sure, but I was fairly confident that was an insult.

“Is dinner ready yet?” Clove changed the subject, sneaking in to grab a fresh slice of bread from the basket that
Twila was readying.

“Close,” Marnie said. “Go make sure all the guests are in the dining room.”

The Overlook had one hard and fast rule: Dinner was served at 7 p.m. sharp. Most of the guests were seated at the table fifteen minutes before the cutoff time. The Winchester cooking gene – which had apparently skipped Clove, Thistle and me – was well known throughout the entire county. No one wanted to chance missing a meal.

Clove, munching on her slice of bread, peered around the swinging door and then turned back to the room. “There’s an older couple sitting at the end of the table. Brian Kelly is sitting next to them. Landon is also sitting on that side of the table and then there’s two younger guys sitting on the other side of the table. They look a little uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, they just checked in this afternoon,” Marnie said. “I think they’re names are Sludge and Wreck.”

“What?” I raised my eyebrows questioningly. “Who names their kid Sludge?”

“Who names their kid Thistle?”

“Thistle is a lovely name,”
Twila corrected her daughter.

“Thistle is what you take when you have a hangover,” Thistle grumbled.

“Was anyone else out there?” I interrupted what could have turned into a righteous snark-off purposefully.

Clove furrowed her brow. “No.”

“No one?”

“Are we expecting someone else?” My mom asked as she continued to arrange her pot roast platter.

Thistle and I exchanged a worried look. It was going to be bad enough when they found out Ted was coming to dinner. If he was late? Everyone get ready to duck and cover.

“There might be someone else coming,” Thistle admitted.

“Who?” Marnie asked.

“Oh,” Clove said, her eyes widening. “Oh! I forgot.”

“How could you forget?” I chastised her.

“I was hungry. I told you. You know when I’m hungry that I get forgetful.”

Yeah, that was it.

“Who is coming to dinner?” my mom interjected worriedly.

“Oh, it’s probably Trevor,” Marnie said. “I invited him.”

Well, that would make things really interesting.

“Or Marcus,” Twila winked at Thistle knowingly.

“Marcus isn’t coming,” Thistle said.

“Then who is it?” My mom asked, shifting her gaze between the three of us suspiciously. She didn’t trust us. She had years of history on her side to back up that feeling.

I couldn’t help but notice that Aunt Tillie, who had been reclining lazily just seconds ago, was now in a sitting position and regarding us with her most serious glare. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“I don’t know,” Thistle said evilly. “Let’s find out.”

I put my hand on her arm in a warning motion. This had to be done tactfully. “Guess who is in town?”

“I don’t want to guess,” my mom said irritably. “Why don’t you just tell me?”

“It’s Uncle Teddy,” Clove blurted out.

Thistle and I didn’t have a chance to smack the back of her head – even though I could tell that was what we both wanted to do. Suddenly, all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room and Aunt Tillie was on her feet in front of us.

“You invited him to dinner?”

“That depends,” I swallowed hard. “How ticked off are you?”

“Pretty ticked,” Aunt Tillie grunted.

“Thistle invited him to dinner. Blame her.”

Hey, in situations like this, it’s every witch for
herself.

Between Aunt Tillie’s murderous gaze and Thistle’s mutinous glare I knew it was time for me to escape from the rapidly shrinking kitchen.

“Don’t you dare
leave!”

I ignored Thistle’s rather loud request and slipped through the swinging door and into the relative safety of the dining room. Everyone seated at the table looked up at me expectantly when I cleared the threshold.

“Where’s the food?” One of the young guys at the end of the table asked worriedly. I looked him up and down, trying hard to suppress the mad laughter that was threatening to bubble up. He was your typical hipster, with denim jeans that were two sizes too big and some rock and roll T-shirt from a band I had never heard of. He was also wearing his knit hat at the table – something that would infuriate Aunt Tillie on a normal day. He might get away with it today, if he was lucky.

“It will be out in a second,” I said with a smile.

I walked around the table and slid into the open seat next to Landon, sliding a tight smile in his direction. For his part, he looked a little too amused. “What?” I asked nervously, running my fingers over my mouth to make sure there wasn’t any food or errant makeup marring my lips.

“You know we can hear everything that goes on in that kitchen, even with the door shut, right?” Landon asked.