Witchin' Around the Clock

by Amanda M. Lee

  Witchin’ Around the Clock

  A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Mystery Book Fifteen

  Amanda M. Lee

  Winchester Shaw Publications

  Copyright © 2019 by Amanda M. Lee

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. One

  2. Two

  3. Three

  4. Four

  5. Five

  6. Six

  7. Seven

  8. Eight

  9. Nine

  10. Ten

  11. Eleven

  12. Twelve

  13. Thirteen

  14. Fourteen

  15. Fifteen

  16. Sixteen

  17. Seventeen

  18. Eighteen

  19. Nineteen

  20. Twenty

  21. Twenty-One

  22. Twenty-Two

  23. Twenty-Three

  24. Twenty-Four

  25. Twenty-Five

  26. Twenty-Six

  27. Twenty-Seven

  28. Twenty-Eight

  29. Twenty-Nine

  Mailing List

  About the Author

  Books by Amanda M. Lee

  Prologue

  15 years ago

  “It’s time to talk about where babies come from,” my mother announced.

  My mouth dropped open as stunned disbelief washed over me. I understood when we were called to the dining room that it wasn’t going to be a pleasant conversation. I expected punishment for what we did to the Baker boys — perverts, every single one of them — and maybe even a lecture on how we needed to be careful when it came to dropping the sort of curses that needed medical attention. I didn’t believe that itchy fingers and sweaty genitals were the sort of things that would draw attention to us, but my mother and aunts thought otherwise.

  I, Bay Winchester, was prepared to be yelled at by the elders. I figured it was possible a grounding would be thrown in. If my mother and aunts were feeling particularly vindictive, there was always the chance we would be sentenced to spend time with Aunt Tillie. Of course, she taught us the sweaty genitals spell, so she could be in trouble, too. It was unlike her to miss a good punishment session ... and yet she was nowhere to be found.

  “I don’t want to talk about where babies come from,” I countered, rubbing my sweaty palms over my knit shorts as I tried to put my thoughts in order. “I’m good ... thank you.”

  “None of us want to talk about where babies come from.” My cousin Thistle, her eyes full of mayhem and contempt, looked as if she would rather throw herself off a bridge than continue this conversation. I couldn’t blame her. “If you’re trying to kill us, this is a great way to do the deed.”

  My mother wasn’t the sort to back down. She recognized Thistle was in a combative mood — that was her perpetual state these days — and looked more resigned than miffed. That was a telling detail ... that Thistle somehow missed.

  “We already know where babies come from anyway,” Thistle continued, her arms folded over her chest. “We don’t need a repeat of that information.”

  Mom was calm. I had to give her credit. Her natural instinct would be to scream and run. She was holding it together. “Okay. I’ll play.” Her gaze never faltered. “Where do babies come from, Thistle?”

  Instead of answering, Thistle rolled her eyes. That allowed my other cousin, Clove, the opportunity to shoot her hand into the air.

  Thistle shot Clove a withering look. “Oh, stop being a suck-up,” she growled. “This isn’t like licking the beater, Clove. You don’t want to answer this question. It’s a trap.”

  Clove, who liked being the center of attention, didn’t back down. “I know where babies come from.” The grin she shot her mother was mischievous. Unlike my mother, Marnie remained hidden at the edge of the group. She clearly wasn’t as keen as her sister to bless us with the sex talk.

  Mom nodded perfunctorily at Clove. “Where do babies come from?”

  “The stork,” Thistle bellowed before Clove could respond. “They come from the stork. Are we done here?”

  “No.” Mom rested her hip against the counter and focused her full attention on my temperamental cousin. “We got a call from Terry this afternoon. Do you know what he told us?”

  Terry Davenport was a local police officer who stepped in and served as a father figure when we started getting out of line. We’d been unnaturally close for years, ever since I informed him his dead mother was still watching over him — I can see and talk to ghosts — and he decided to make sure I got in only half the trouble I really wanted to take on.

  Clove’s hand shot in the air again. “I have a guess.”

  “I am going to break your arm if you don’t stop doing that,” Thistle warned.

  “Knock it off.” Thistle’s mother, Twila, flicked her daughter’s ear as she passed behind her. “Making threats won’t delay the inevitable. This is happening whether you like it or not.”

  I pursed my lips as I focused on Twila’s clown-red hair. She only lacked the makeup to look like an actual clown and make this horrifying experience truly complete.

  “We know where babies come from!” Thistle was beside herself. “We don’t need a repeat conversation. You told us where babies come from when we were eight and we’re still traumatized.”

  Wasn’t that the truth? I shuddered at the memory. “You even had that book with the photos.”

  “Yes, well, now we have a video,” Mom countered. “We thought, instead of just talking at you, we would sit down and discuss things with you while watching a miracle. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

  Even Clove was suddenly leery at mention of a video. “You want to make us watch a video of a baby being born?”

  Mom bobbed her head. “That’s exactly what we want. We think it’s time, given what happened at the lake yesterday, that we make absolutely sure that you’re aware of what you’re dealing with.”

  At the lake? Now I was confused. “Listen, what happened at the lake yesterday was ... a necessary evil. There’s no reason to punish us with this freaking torture. We won’t do it again.”

  “Speak for yourself.” Thistle’s gaze was dark. “I have every intention of doing it again if those turd fondlers don’t get it in their heads that we don’t want to play certain games with them.”

  Mom tilted her head, considering. “Wait ... I think I’m behind. What do you believe happened at the lake yesterday?”

  Oh, well, that was interesting. She didn’t even know the true extent of what she was dealing with. That begged a certain question ... and I wanted answers. “What do you think happened at the lake yesterday?”

  “I asked first.”

  “Don’t answer that,” Thistle barked, her eyes on fire. “It’s a trick question. She wants you to own up to something so she can punish you. If we keep our mouths shut, we’ll never get punished again.”

  “That’s a lovely thought, Thistle,” Twila drawled. “But it’s not even remotely true. We already know what you did, and you’re definitely going to be punished for it.”

  Even though Twila unleashed the words with conviction, there was doubt lurking in the depths of her eyes. This situation was quickly spiraling, but it wasn’t yet altogether lost. The hope I’d begun hoarding like gold fled just as easily as it appeared when Aunt Tillie, my persnickety great-aunt, appeared in the doorway.

  “What’s going on?” Aunt Tillie was the
suspicious sort and she clearly sensed trouble. Her gaze bounced between Thistle, Clove and me before shifting to her nieces. “What did I miss? Did they do something? You know I don’t like missing out on punishments. Why didn’t you call me?”

  Mom made a face. “We’re not punishing them.”

  “You’re not?” I was relieved ... and yet still terrified.

  Aunt Tillie looked disappointed. “Why aren’t you punishing them? They always deserve punishment. After what they did yesterday ... .” She trailed off, uncertain.

  “That’s right, old lady,” Thistle hissed under her breath. “Figure it out. If we get in trouble for what happened at the lake yesterday, you’re going down with us.”

  If Thistle meant to keep our mothers from overhearing her, she did a rotten job of it. She has one of those voices that carries. To be fair, all our voices carry. Quiet isn’t a word you could use to describe the Winchester house. We were all big mouths and there was no getting around it.

  “Don’t make me put you on my list,” Aunt Tillie warned Thistle. They were often at loggerheads because they enjoyed fighting with one another. It looked as if the antics were going to start early today.

  “I’m not afraid to be on your list.”

  “Then you’re dumber than you look.”

  Mom cleared her throat to get our attention. She looked frustrated. “This is a serious topic,” she insisted. “Terry was quite upset when we talked yesterday. He said there was sexual contact between you and the Baker boys.”

  Oh, well, this conversation was happening whether we wanted to engage or not. This was just ... the worst. I mean, the absolute worst. I wanted to find a hole to crawl in and die.

  “You had sexual contact with the Baker boys?” Aunt Tillie’s eyebrows flew up her forehead. “Are you idiots? That wasn’t the plan. You were supposed to teach them a lesson, not give them a thrill. Did I teach you nothing?”

  Thistle made a rude gesture with her hand. “Shut it!” She obviously didn’t want the story getting out. I had a feeling it was far too late to stop that from happening.

  “Wait ... I’m starting to feel as if we’re missing part of the story,” Mom lamented. “What happened yesterday?”

  “What do you think happened yesterday?” I challenged.

  Mom’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not going to work on me, Bay. Aunt Tillie might’ve taught you that trick, but I’m not simply going to forget my original question.”

  That was a bummer. “How do you know that’s what I was doing?”

  “I’m not an idiot.” Mom’s gaze bounced from face to face before landing on Aunt Tillie. “You’re technically the adult in this group — although you would never know it — and I believe that means you should explain things.”

  I wasn’t sure that was better. I didn’t want to watch a birthing video, so I was ready to try anything. “Yeah. You explain it to them.”

  “I think that’s a fabulous idea,” Thistle drawled, evil intent etched across her features. “You tell them what’s going on.”

  “Doesn’t anyone want to hear me explain where babies come from?” Clove asked with a pout.

  “No!” Everyone in the room barked at the same time.

  “Well, then why even ask? That’s just mean.”

  Mom ignored Clove’s outburst and focused on Aunt Tillie. “Talk ... or I’ll make sure that still you’ve got hidden in the woods is discovered by some poor, unsuspecting law enforcement official. Is that what you want?”

  Aunt Tillie’s gaze darkened to the point where her eyes looked like black holes of death. “You’re definitely on my list.”

  “I don’t care.” Mom was firm. “I want to know what happened at the lake yesterday. Terry said the Baker boys walked into a cave with the girls and then ran out screaming a few minutes later ... and they weren’t wearing any swim trunks.”

  It took everything I had not to laugh at the memory. Even though I knew we were in trouble, that we were being threatened with a potentially heinous punishment for something we didn’t do, I wouldn’t be sorry for what happened to the Baker boys. They had it coming ... and then some.

  “And you think the girls did something with the Baker boys that made them drop their shorts?” Aunt Tillie asked. “You should have more faith in them.”

  “Yeah,” Thistle muttered. “You should definitely have more faith in us.”

  Aunt Tillie, never moving her eyes from Mom’s face, cuffed the back of Thistle’s head.. “I can guarantee that what you think happened didn’t happen. I mean ... who told you that load of malarkey anyway?”

  “Terry.”

  Aunt Tillie rolled her eyes. “Oh, well, Terry. I should’ve known.”

  I felt the need to stand up for him. He’d been a good and loyal friend through the years — well, when he wasn’t trying to get us into trouble, that is — and I didn’t want to hear him unfairly maligned. “He’s just confused. He didn’t mean to get us in trouble.”

  “You always stand up for him,” Aunt Tillie groused. “He’s still ‘The Man.’ You need to remember that. As for what went on with the Baker boys, it wasn’t a big deal. They got what was coming to them.”

  Mom’s forehead wrinkled. “They were owed sex? I don’t understand.”

  “Oh, geez.” Thistle slapped her hand to her forehead. “There was no sex. Stop saying that word.”

  “I thought we were talking about babies,” Clove complained. “I would rather talk about babies than sex.”

  “Where do you think you’re going to get those babies, kvetch?” Aunt Tillie shot back, shaking her head. “Maybe you should watch whatever torture video they’ve prepared for you.”

  “Just her,” Thistle argued. “I don’t want to watch it.”

  “You’re watching it,” Mom insisted. “We don’t want any accidental grandbabies showing up. It’s time we had this conversation.”

  “We know where babies come from.” I was shrill as I gripped my hands into fists. My fight-or-flight response was kicking into high gear. “We don’t need to watch a video on it.”

  “Apparently you do, because the Baker boys were naked in front of you.”

  “They weren’t naked because we had sex with them,” Thistle snapped. “They were naked because Aunt Tillie taught us how to cast a genital sweating curse and we unleashed it on them because they’re dirty perverts who keep grabbing our butts. We’re not sorry either. They had it coming.”

  Whatever Mom was expecting, that wasn’t it. Her eyebrows drew together as she lobbed confused looks in Twila and Marnie’s directions. “I don’t ... are you saying you didn’t have sex with the Baker boys?”

  I was horrified at the prospect. “Of course not. We wouldn’t touch them with Aunt Tillie’s poking stick. You know the one she made to poke Mrs. Little through the window of her store when she’s bored? We wouldn’t use that.”

  “Definitely not,” Thistle agreed. “They’re gross ... which is why we paid them back.”

  “Oh.” Mom looked momentarily placated. “I guess ... well ... I don’t know what to say. What have those boys been saying to you?”

  Thistle shrugged. “The normal stuff. We told them we didn’t like it, but they didn’t listen and then made it worse by grabbing us, so we paid them back.”

  “By making their genitals sweat?” Mom remained confused as she focused on Aunt Tillie. “How did you even know to ask your aunt for that curse?”

  “Oh, we didn’t ask,” I replied. “She volunteered when she heard us plotting against them. We didn’t know the curse was a thing either, but it sounded fun ... and like a fair punishment.”

  “And the entire punishment is making their genitals sweat?” Mom asked.

  “Actually, it’s more that they feel as if they’re on fire,” Aunt Tillie corrected blandly. She was clearly losing interest in the conversation. “It’s a karma spell. I thought it was appropriate.”

  “Yeah, but ... .” Mom trailed off, took a moment to think, and then regrouped. �
��You know what? I happen to agree with you just this once. I think the karma spell was an inspired touch, and I’m relieved none of you had sex with the Baker boys.”

  “Stop saying the word ‘sex,’” Thistle ordered. “We don’t want to hear that word come out of your mouth. Any of your mouths really. It’s terrifying.”

  “It’s a normal part of growing up,” Mom countered. “Apparently, it’s not on the agenda for today, though. You may go.”

  This was too easy. “Just like that?” I was understandably dubious.

  “Just like that.” Mom’s smile was serene. “We’ll revisit the baby video at a later date.”

  “That was a nasty threat,” Thistle muttered.

  “Oh, but I want to watch the video now,” Clove pouted.

  “Then you’ll be watching it alone,” I shot back.

  “The video can wait for another time.” Mom had relaxed into a relieved smile. “As for the Baker boys, I don’t feel sorry for them. Just don’t have sex with them. You’ll live to regret it if you do.”

  “Don’t worry. We understand about sex. There’s nothing you have to teach us that we don’t already know.”

  “Is that a fact?” Mom’s features lit with intrigue. “Why don’t you tell us exactly what you know?”

  Wait ... this conversation had taken another turn. How did that even happen?

  “You just couldn’t let it go, could you?” Thistle complained. “You had one job. All you had to do was walk away without opening your mouth. You couldn’t manage it.”

  That was rich coming from her. “It’s not my fault.”