Wicked Witches of the Midwest Mystery Box Set

by Amanda M. Lee

  “Hello, Mrs. Gunderson.” I smiled at the woman behind the counter. She was the friendly sort, unless you tried to dig for information she didn’t want to share. Most of the time she was more than happy to gossip about others. When it came to talking about herself, though, she was tighter than a Kardashian jonesing for a camera fix. “How are you today?”

  “Can’t complain. You want your usual?”

  I nodded. “It’s starting to get warmer,” I noted as she fixed my mocha latte. “Landon and I were out at the old camp this afternoon, looking around. Do you know Gertie?”

  Mrs. Gunderson shrugged. “Everyone knows Gertie. She’s not exactly the friendly sort. Why do you ask?”

  “We found a body out there.” I saw no reason to lie. News would spread quickly and it was wise to get ahead of it.

  “You did?” Mrs. Gunderson’s gray eyebrows flew up her forehead. “Was it anyone we know?”

  “I don’t think so. I didn’t see her come out of the water.” I explained about the pool. “Chief Terry and Landon were there and didn’t say anything, so that makes me think Chief Terry didn’t recognize her.”

  “So, she might not be a local,” Mrs. Gunderson mused as she turned on the steamer for my milk. When she was finished, she combined the ingredients with a conflicted look on her face. “Gertie has never exactly been friendly. She stops by occasionally. I make sure I don’t charge her full price for coffee and doughnuts because I know she can’t afford it. I think she’s just eking by out there.”

  “She seemed a little off,” I said. “I went with Landon and Chief Terry to talk to her. She seemed confused ... except for when she remembered I used to party out at the camp with Clove and Thistle when we were teenagers. That she remembered with absolute clarity.”

  Mrs. Gunderson chuckled. “Yes, well, she is a bit of a loon. But compared to some of the others in town, I don’t think she’s the worst of the lot. You don’t suspect her, do you?”

  “Apparently she has hemorrhoids and an arthritic knee. I don’t think she’s up to the task.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  “I doubt she had anything to do with it,” I said. “The thing is, if someone is hanging around that camp we should probably figure out who sooner rather than later. It’s about the time of year when kids start running into the woods to party and play. If we have a predator ... .” I left the sentence hanging.

  “Ah.” Mrs. Gunderson knowingly bobbed her head. “I get what you’re saying. I don’t know anyone who regularly visits that area, especially this time of the year. Some of the locals fish up there, but it’s too early in the season.”

  “Right.” I pursed my lips and accepted the coffee cup she handed to me. “I guess I’ll leave that to Landon and Chief Terry to figure out. Thank you for your time.”

  “No problem.” She beamed and then held up a hand to stop me before I turned. “Just one quick question.”

  I sipped the foam on the top of my drink and waited.

  “I heard that Terry and your mother have a date tomorrow. Is that true?”

  The Hemlock Cove gossip train seemed to be in working order. “I don’t know that I’m supposed to talk about that,” I hedged. “I don’t think my mother will find it funny.”

  “It’s true, though?”

  I nodded. “They have their first date tomorrow night.”

  “All I can say is that it’s about time.”

  I knew an entire family of people who happened to believe the exact same thing.

  THE RESPONSIBLE THING TO DO upon exiting the coffee shop would’ve been to head to The Whistler and start researching the history of the camp. I had no doubt we’d written articles on the business over the years — it was a regular mainstay for fun photos when there was nothing to write about but the weather during the summer — but I was antsy, so I headed toward Hypnotic instead.

  The magic store my cousins Clove and Thistle owned was in a state of chaos when I cleared the threshold. Clove, her dark hair pulled back in a loose bun, sat on a couch in the middle of the store. She had garment bags strewn all over the furniture, and it took me a moment to figure out why.

  That’s when Thistle, her hair a lovely shade of periwinkle blue, stomped to the center of the store. She was dressed in a taffeta monstrosity — orange in color, the trim a vibrant shade of green — and she looked absolutely murderous.

  “I am not wearing this!”

  I took in the scene with glee as I worked overtime to keep from laughing out loud. “You look marvelous,” I enthused, earning a death glare from Thistle and a legitimate smile from Clove.

  “Doesn’t she?” Clove was on her feet, her hips wiggling as she moved closer to our crabby cousin. “I mean ... check it out. I’m thinking about this design for the bridesmaid dresses. They sent me a sample for you and Thistle to try on, so it’s a little big, but you get the general idea.”

  Did I ever. Thistle was the thinnest of us all and she looked as if she was swimming in material ... and it was material that crinkled when she moved. I was never going to forget this day as long as I lived thanks to that noise anchoring the memory home.

  “She looks like a dream,” I said, lobbing an evil smirk in Thistle’s direction when Clove turned to absorb the full picture yet again.

  “I hate you,” Thistle hissed, her eyes dangerous slits. “I know exactly what you’re doing and I’m going to make you pay.”

  I feigned innocence. “Our cousin is getting married ... and to the man of her dreams. All I’m trying to do is make sure she has the happiest day in the world. I mean, she deserves it.”

  “I do deserve it,” Clove agreed, her lips curving as she stared at the dress. “What do you think?”

  In truth, the dress was what monsters ran and hid from in scary stories. It was ugly, dated and altogether unacceptable. It was also clearly driving Thistle nuts, so that meant I kind of liked it. “There’s a nostalgic quality to it,” I supplied. “It reminds me of the eighties.”

  “That’s what I was going for!” Clove’s eyes sparkled. “It’s kind of like Pretty Woman, don’t you think?”

  Not even a little. “Wasn’t Pretty Woman released in 1990?”

  “How can you possibly know that?” Thistle asked as she stared at her reflection in the mirror behind the counter. “I look like the Great Pumpkin!”

  I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. She totally looked like the Great Pumpkin. “Mom loves Pretty Woman. She has the DVD on the shelf in the living room. Landon and I borrowed it this winter when we were locked in the guesthouse for that weekend blizzard.”

  Thistle’s gaze was withering. “I can’t believe I just wasted fifteen seconds of my life listening to that story.”

  “Oh, you sound crabby.” I hid my smile behind my latte as I sipped. “You shouldn’t be crabby. This is Clove’s big day. You should give her what she wants.”

  “Oh, I’m going to give her something all right.” Thistle slowly dragged her eyes to Clove. “If you think I’m wearing this you’re even dumber than you look … and that’s pretty dumb. I don’t think that’s possible, but I wouldn’t suggest trying to prove me wrong.”

  Clove’s previously happy expression disappeared. “But ... you look like a dream.”

  “I look like the worst nightmare I’ve ever had. And, if you try to make me wear this dress, not only will I make you eat enough dirt to choke a giant, I’ll also pick a dress that’s for skinny people when it’s my turn to get married. You know how you hate skinny people dresses.”

  Clove was shaped like an upside-down pear — extremely top-heavy and short — so Thistle’s threat hit home. “You wouldn’t dare,” Clove hissed. “You know I can’t stand those dresses made for walking twigs.”

  “If you try making me wear this — the color is worse than the fit, Clove! — then I will take things to the next level when it’s my turn.”

  Clove was the first of us to get married. That seemed somehow fitting. She was the
one who daydreamed about weddings and princes when we were kids. She wanted to slip a ring on her finger, push out a few kids and live happily ever after. That’s all she ever talked about.

  Thistle and I, on the other hand, wanted to solve mysteries ... and storm castles to save those in need ... and take the ring to Mount Doom … and blow up the Death Star. That’s simply how we rolled.

  Clove getting married first didn’t bother anyone. Er, well, mostly. There might’ve been slight agitation here and there, but Thistle and I were genuinely happy for her and her fiancé, Sam Cornell. The dress fight would turn ugly if a precedent wasn’t set early.

  “Do you really want to threaten me when I hold your orange dress fate in my hands?” Clove finally challenged.

  “Do you really want to threaten me when I can make you wear the color yellow?” Thistle shot back.

  Clove visibly blanched. “You know I hate yellow! It’s not okay to look like a lemon sponge cake.”

  “I’ll make you wear a yellow lace dress, Clove!”

  “Lace? you can’t wear lace. That’s what hookers wear.”

  I was already growing tired of the conversation, so I slid into the chair at the edge of the room and propped my feet on the table. “Who wants to hear about my day?”

  They ignored me.

  “Hookers wear fishnet,” Thistle argued. “They don’t wear lace. What hooker have you ever seen wearing lace?”

  “Oh, hookers wear lace. In Pretty Woman, Julia Roberts wore a lace cocktail dress to her first outing as Richard Gere’s date.”

  “I don’t think it counts if you saw it in a movie,” I offered helpfully.

  “Shut up, Bay,” Thistle ordered. “I swear to you, Clove, if you try to make me wear this, I’ll make you wear lemon lace and learn a line dance.”

  Clove’s mouth dropped open. “You wouldn’t dare make me try to learn a line dance.”

  “I would. It will be the Macarena all over again.”

  One summer Clove insisted we learn the Macarena after she saw it on a television show. The fad had been over for years, but she misunderstood and thought it was a new thing. Unfortunately, that’s when we found out we were rhythmically challenged — except for Thistle, who merely hated the idea of learning a dance designed for the masses — and the fad died a quick second death. It was probably for the best.

  “Fine.” Clove threw up her hands in defeat. “I won’t make you wear the dress. Are you happy? I’ll pick something else.”

  “I won’t be happy unless I can pick the dress myself,” Thistle shot back.

  “That’s never going to happen. It’s my wedding.”

  “Well, then you’d better get used to the taste of dirt ... because I am not wearing anything that looks remotely like this.”

  The conversation was starting to drag now. “Does anyone want to hear about the body I found out at our old summer camp?”

  Even though they were in the midst of a fight to the death, they both turned and stared at me.

  “You found a body?” Thistle checked the clock on the wall. “It’s not even two yet. How can you have found a body?”

  I wasn’t sure what form of logic she was utilizing. “Well ... Landon and I went to the camp because he wanted to see where our destinies collided — he’s seriously convinced we were always meant to find each other, by the way, and it’s kind of cute — and when we were checking out the old pool I saw a hand sticking out of it.”

  The fight over the dress was shelved as Thistle and Clove crowded close to me.

  “What kind of hand are we talking about?” Clove asked.

  “The bionic kind,” I drawled. “What kind of hand do you think? A human hand. It was poking through the pool cover. We had to call the medical examiner and everything. Landon has a crew out there draining the pool for evidence because no one knows what’s inside of that thing. Landon said the water was black ... which is freaky when you think about it.”

  “It’s gross is what it is.” Thistle made a face. “Still, that’s weird. Do they have any idea how it happened?”

  “Nope. All I know is that it’s a young female and someone had to pull the cover over her body because she couldn’t have slipped through a hole or anything. I guess there are no holes in the cover big enough for that to have happened.”

  “So ... that means someone killed her,” Clove said.

  “Unless it was an accidental death someone tried to cover up. I doubt that’s the case, though. I’m leaning toward murder.”

  “Oh, well, that’s good,” Thistle deadpanned. “We haven’t had a murder in, like, a full week. We were due.”

  I ignored the sarcasm. “Landon says he’ll let me know when they identify the deceased. Until then, there’s not much to do but wait. We don’t know how she ended up there or what happened to her. It could be something big or simply an accident.”

  “It’s depressing.” Thistle turned her head toward the door when the wind chimes in front of it alerted that someone was entering. “Speak of the devil.”

  I shifted and smiled when I saw Landon moving toward me. “That was quick. I thought you would be out there the better part of the day. Your vehicle is parked in front of the building.”

  “I saw it.” Landon dropped a quick kiss on the top of my head and settled next to me. “The medical examiner got a hit right away when he scanned our girl’s fingerprints.”

  “Really? That was fast.”

  “It was. There was a missing person report on her. Her name is Hannah Bishop. She’s twenty-five and she disappeared out of Grand Rapids two months ago.”

  I furrowed my brow, surprised. “Two months ago? Has she been in that pool the entire time? That’s not possible.”

  “I don’t know. The medical examiner says the body is pretty much frozen ... except for the hand that was poking through the pool cover.”

  I didn’t want to think about that too much. “Um ... gross.”

  “Yup. The hand would’ve deteriorated quickly if we hadn’t stumbled across the body. I guess we’re lucky a scavenger didn’t chew it off or something.”

  “Are you trying to gross us out?” Thistle complained.

  Landon slid her a sidelong look. “Are you auditioning for a play or something? Let me guess, you’re the pumpkin princess?”

  Her eyes were glittery slits when they landed on Clove. “What did I tell you?”

  “Fine. Take the dress off.” Clove waved her away. “Do they know how the girl died?”

  “No.” Landon shook his head and moved his hand to the back of my neck. “We probably won’t know that until tomorrow. Bishop’s parents are driving up from Grand Rapids in the morning. The medical examiner’s office made notification, which I’m not happy about, but we’ll be able to interview them before lunch tomorrow.”

  “That’s a good thing, right?”

  He shrugged. “We need answers, starting with what she was doing up here. They’re our best shot at getting them. For now, we’re at a standstill until we get a lead.”

  I rested my head on his shoulder and looked to Thistle, who was still standing in the middle of the room. “If you put on a green hat you’d look like a carrot.”

  She glowered at me. “Do you want me to hurt you?”

  “I was simply saying that’s better than being a pumpkin.”

  “In what world?”

  “It was a simple statement.” I held up my hands in capitulation. “Forget I said anything.”

  Thistle ominously glared at Clove as she headed toward the storage room behind the counter. “Lemon lace, Clove. I will make it happen if you don’t make this dress go away.”

  “I’m on it,” Clove called after her, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. “The next one will be even worse,” she said, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper once Thistle was out of earshot. “It’ll be pink ... and require a Wonderbra.”

  “Oh, well, that should go over well,” I said.

  “She’ll be crying by t
he time I’m done with her.”

  Five

  Peg stood on the other side of the door when Landon and I let ourselves into the family living quarters of The Overlook, the inn my mother and aunts ran, shortly before dinner.

  The pig – a spotted teacup variety – snorted when she saw us and then proceeded to wiggle her butt as she danced around the room. She wore a camouflage tutu and a rhinestone collar.

  “Hello, Peg,” Landon greeted the animal with a fond smile. He found Aunt Tillie’s new pet much more entertaining than I did. Of course, Peg hadn’t crapped in his shoes the first day she joined the family. That distinction was saved for me.

  Snort. Snort.

  Peg wiggled her butt as Landon leaned over to pet her. She was a baby, which meant she weighed about fifteen pounds. The vet Aunt Tillie called to check her out upon delivery said she could grow to be sixty pounds. My mother and aunts put up a fight, said they wouldn’t keep the pig and demanded Aunt Tillie send her back. When they called the sellers, though, they said all sales were final.

  Mom decided to take the pig to the Humane Society, but the people there said they weren’t equipped for pigs. Then Mom took her to a farm. They were happy to take her. They even said she would make for some fine bacon. Mom couldn’t deal with that – not thinking about where the bacon came from was easier for her in that strange land of denial where she enjoyed living – so Peg was now officially part of the family.

  She was totally taking over.

  “We should get a pet,” Landon announced as he sat on the ground and stroked the pig, who couldn’t get enough of him. Peg climbed in his lap and rubbed her nose against his face as she continued making her now familiar noises.

  Snort. Snort.

  “We’re not getting a pig.” I was firm on that. “Absolutely not. No way. No how. Nothing doing.”

  “I wasn’t necessarily talking about a pig.” He smiled as he tilted his head back and forth, as if he was having a silent conversation with Peg that only they could hear.

  Snort. Snort.

  “What were you talking about?”

  He shrugged, noncommittal. “I don’t know. What about a dog?”