Every Witch Way But Wicked (A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Mystery) (20 page)

Aunt Tillie looked suddenly uncomfortable. “Maybe the walk back would be good for me.”

“Oh, it’s too late for that,” Landon said, leading her down the path and in the direction of his car.

“Fresh air is good for the body,” Aunt Tillie said.

“I thought you were allergic to oxygen,” Landon said, glancing pointedly at her sunglasses.

“Only my eyes are,” Aunt Tillie reminded him.

“I wouldn’t feel right about letting you walk back when I can drive you and make sure you get there safely,” Landon said with faux sweetness.

I followed the two of them grumpily. This just wasn’t my day.

When we finally made it back to Landon’s car, he hadn’t made any headway with Aunt Tillie regarding her firearm. He was clearly getting frustrated. “I still don’t understand why you feel you need a gun?”

“I’m an old woman,” she said. “I’ve made a lot of enemies through the years. I have the right to protect my family.”

“Aren’t most of them dead?” Landon asked blandly.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you don’t need a gun,” Landon said matter-of-factly.

“I can’t find it anyway,” Aunt Tillie said blithely. “Don’t worry about it.”

Landon shook his head, opening the door and helping Aunt Tillie into the front seat of the car. He shut the door and turned to me before I could get into the backseat. “How do you live with her?”

“I don’t. I live in the guesthouse,” I pointed out.

“You know what I mean.”

“You’ll get used to her.”

“That’s a frightening thought.”

“At least she won’t try and terrorize you with an evil doll,” I sputtered.

“I still can’t believe you were scared of a doll,” Landon chuckled.

“You’re scared of the dark,” I reminded him.

“I’m not scared of the dark. I just don’t like enclosed spaces.”

Whatever.

When we were all in the car, Aunt Tillie turned to me expectantly. “Your mom told me why you suspected Marcus.”

“Yes, I know, I jumped to conclusions,” I sighed, leaning back into Landon’s leather upholstery. “I don’t need you to tell me that I’m an alarmist.”

“I don’t care about that,” Aunt Tillie waved away my statement dismissively. “Your first inclination was to save your cousin. I can’t fault you for that.”

“You can’t? Since when?”

“Don’t be smart.”

“What were we talking about again?”

“Myron.”

“Oh, yeah, what were you saying?”

“I think you’re on the right track with Brian Kelly,” she said.

“Why?” Landon asked curiously.

“She just doesn’t like him,” I explained to Landon. “She thinks he’s a tool.”

“Does anyone like him?” Landon asked honestly. I saw his eyes shift up to the rearview mirror so he could gauge my reaction.

I kept quiet about Clove’s crush. “Probably not.”

“He’s got a personality defect,” Aunt Tillie said.

“What personality defect?” I asked curiously.

“It’s called narcissism.”

That was true.

“That still doesn’t explain why you think it’s him?” Landon prodded Aunt Tillie carefully. I think she made him nervous. It would be ten times worse when he actually got to know her.

“She doesn’t really think it’s him, she’s just hoping it’s him so he’ll leave the inn,” I supplied.

“Don’t tell me what I really think,” Aunt Tillie glared at me. “I think it’s Brian because Myron was William’s son and if Brian knows that, he might have killed Myron to keep that little family secret quiet forever.”

“What?” I asked incredulously. “William was Myron’s father? How do you know that?”

“It was common knowledge,” Aunt Tillie said. “William never claimed him publicly, but everyone around back then knew it. William had a wandering penis. He slept with half the women in town.”

I thought about it a second. William and Myron did kind of look alike. “But why didn’t William claim him? And you didn’t sleep with him, did you?”

“He was married,” Aunt Tillie said simply. “Myron’s mother was a good woman, but she had a little problem. And I was a happily married woman. I would never cheat on your Uncle Calvin.”

“What problem?”

“She was a nymphomaniac.”

I looked at Aunt Tillie doubtfully. “A nymphomaniac? Do you even know what that is?”

“It’s a woman that has a lot of sex,” Aunt Tillie explained.

“That’s a slut,” Landon interjected. “Not a nymphomaniac. Sluts are a dime a dozen, but finding a true nymphomaniac is like finding a unicorn.”

“We don’t use words like that in this family,” Aunt Tillie chided him.

“Sorry,” Landon said sheepishly, averting his gaze from mine – which had darkened over the nymphomaniac joke.

Aunt Tillie turned to me. “Is he always such an asshole?”

“He’s just trying to do his job,” I replied. “You should let him do it.”

Aunt Tillie harrumphed, but lapsed into silence as Landon drove. When we got to the inn, he turned to Aunt Tillie. “Don’t tell anyone what you just told us,” he ordered. “We need to do some research to find out if it’s actually true or not.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” she said.

“I’m not telling,” he corrected himself. “I’m asking nicely.”

“It doesn’t sound like you’re asking nicely,” Aunt Tillie argued.

Landon looked to me for help. “She won’t tell anyone,” I promised. I didn’t believe it for a second, though. I knew the minute she made it into the inn she would blab to my mom and aunts. I didn’t tell that to Landon, though.

“Are you sure?” he asked doubtfully.

No. “Of course. Aunt Tillie is trustworthy.”

Aunt Tillie paused as she was getting out of the car. “Despite the fact that you’re an asshole, I’m starting to like you.”

Landon smiled at her winningly. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Aunt Tillie glanced at me as I slid into the spot she had just vacated in the front seat. “Hurt her and I’ll start you on fire.”

“You’ll start me on fire?” Landon didn’t look convinced.

“And I won’t need matches to do it,” Aunt Tillie said. “And I’ll start with your balls.”

Aunt Tillie shut the door and shuffled off towards the inn without a backwards glance.

“She’s joking, right?” Landon looked hopeful.

I shrugged. I had my doubts, though.

Landon swallowed hard and continued to watch Aunt Tillie until she was safely inside of the inn. He turned to me when she had completely disappeared from sight. “She’s not trustworthy, is she?”

“Not even a little.”

Landon sighed and started the car, pointing it back towards town. “Your family is exhausting.”

He had no idea.

When I woke up the next morning, it took me a few minutes to realize it was Friday already. I had returned to the office long enough to pick up my laptop the day before, but then I had spent the rest of the afternoon at Hypnotic filing stories.

Brian hadn’t been at the office when Landon and I returned, but Landon said he didn’t want me to hang around The Whistler alone until he’d had a chance to talk to Brian and eliminate him as a suspect. I had a feeling that conversation was going to equate to two peacocks preening until one of the peacocks claimed his dominance and molted all over the other one.

I had already done most of the work for the new edition, so I didn’t really have that much to do Thursday. Since Thistle was cranky when she got back to the store – through no fault of mine, I maintain – I did most of my work in silence. The only noise in the room was the occasional ding of my telephone when Landon texted me to make sure I was where I said I would be.

After I had finished filing all my stories, and emailing the paginator with suggestions for the layout, I wasn’t surprised to find Landon waiting outside Hypnotic for me. He offered to spend the night at the guesthouse to make sure Clove, Thistle and I were safe. When I declined, he looked like he wanted to argue, but instead he merely agreed and made me promise that the three of us wouldn’t leave the guesthouse unless we were together.

Now, with the bright light of day filtering in through my window, I was starting to suspect that Landon hadn’t really wanted to stay at the guesthouse. He had something else he wanted to do – but he was genuinely torn regarding our safety. He was a decent guy. He was a condescending guy, but he was a decent guy.

When I went out into the living room, I found Thistle and Clove having coffee at the island in the kitchen. “How did you sleep?” Clove asked.

“Okay.”

“I’m surprised,” Thistle grumbled. “With all the suspects running through your head, I would have figured you would have been tossing and turning all night.”

“I told you I was sorry,” I shot back. “Would you rather Clove and I leave you alone with a possible murderer next time?”

“That would be great,” Thistle said sarcastically.

“Let’s all just agree that we overreacted – and now Thistle is being a pain,” Clove interjected nervously.

Thistle and I both shot her dark looks.

“Fine,” Clove sighed. “Let’s all just be pissy with each other all day instead.”

That sounded like a fine idea.

“What time are you going to town?” Thistle asked grudgingly.

“After I shower.”

“Today is the big kickoff of the murder mystery,” Thistle pointed out. “We’re all expected to be in town for the first victim reveal.”

“Is it your mom?”

“No,” Thistle sighed. “She’s the third victim. She doesn’t die until tomorrow afternoon.”

“That’s bound to be . . . entertaining.”

Thistle grimaced. “Or really embarrassing.”

There was that, too.

“So what exactly is going to happen today?” Clove asked.

“Haven’t you read the updates from Mrs. Little?” Thistle teased. I could tell she had decided to try and push her anger aside – at least for now.

“She sends like three a day. I stopped reading them a week ago,” Clove admitted. “If I wanted to read that much, I’d pick up a book.”

“Today is a special picnic lunch, complete with a barbecue by Mr. Winkler and a speech by Mrs. Little,” Thistle supplied. “Then, they’re going to have live music and sometime, during the evening, the first victim is going to drop.”

“Who is the first victim?”

“I have no idea,” Thistle shrugged.

“Does anyone else think it’s morbid to do this with Myron’s death still hanging over us unsolved?” Clove asked.

“It’s the Hemlock Cove way,” I replied. “It’s all about keeping the tourists happy. The tourists want a murder mystery and a murder mystery is what they’re going to get. It doesn’t matter that it’s tacky.”

“Please, the tourists think it’s more exciting because of Myron’s death,” Thistle scoffed.

That was a sad truth.

The three of us spent a lazy morning showering and getting ready for the picnic. It was a sunny day, and even though fall was officially here, temperatures were expected to remain comfortable in the high sixties so we all dressed in simple jeans, shirts and hoodies.

We decided to ride together – mostly because I could hear Landon’s admonishments in my mind if he heard we separated – and headed off to town as a unit. We parked behind The Whistler and walked to the town square.

“When are you going to open the store?” I asked Thistle.

“In a few minutes,” Thistle said. “I want to look around first.”

Hemlock Cove doesn’t do subtle. The town square had been decked out in a full contingent of red and black streamers, and a frightening mural roll out on the bank wall.

“Who did that?”

“Thistle helped,” Clove said proudly.

“You did?” I turned to Thistle in surprise. “When did you have time for that?”

“It didn’t take long,” Thistle said, although I could see her cheeks coloring under the praise.

“It’s pretty cool,” I said, stepping closer to get a better look. The tableau was actually pretty horrifying – but in an abstract art way. There were bodies scattered around on the ground, all with a varying array of disgusting injuries, and there was a maniacal killer standing in the center of the havoc. You couldn’t see who the killer was, though, because he was wearing one of those grain sacks over his head with black eyes cut out. It was truly menacing.

“Where did you get the idea for this?”

“We have a whole wall full of horror movies,” Thistle pointed out.

“It’s beautiful,” I admitted. “Horrific, but beautiful.”

“Of course it’s beautiful.”

I turned to find Marcus sidling up to Thistle and slinging an arm around her shoulders. He dropped a kiss on the side of her head and then turned to me expectantly. “Is this alright, or do you want to frisk me first?”

“Ha, ha.”