Witchin' Around the Clock

by Amanda M. Lee

  “But ... you know I hate being left out,” she whined.

  “Yes, Clove suffers from a debilitating case of FOMO,” Thistle drawled. “She’ll succumb and die if we’re not careful.”

  Clove’s glare was pronounced when it landed on Thistle. “I know you think you’re being funny, but you’re not. I don’t want to be left out. I’m becoming a mother, and that’s a good thing. But I was your cousin first. I don’t want to be forgotten.”

  My heart went out to her. “We’re not going to forget you. We’re going to include you in as many things as possible. But it will never be exactly the same again. That’s not a bad thing. It just ... is.”

  Tears flooded Clove’s dark eyes. “But that’s not what I want.”

  I found my eyes burning with tears. Clove’s magical emotion cloud was back in action. “Oh, man.” I swiped at the tears beginning to trickle down my cheeks. “Why do you keep doing this?”

  “Knock it off!” Thistle jabbed a finger at Clove as she grabbed a tissue from the box on the counter. “Do you have any idea how much I hate crying? I’m not even crying over things I care about. I’m crying because you’re a kvetch.”

  “I can’t help it,” Clove offered with a half sob. “Sometimes it just happens. I’m not always in control of my emotions.”

  “It’s the hormones,” I complained. “She can’t control them. We’ll have to make do until she pops out that kid ... or miraculously manages to turn this particular power off. Speaking of powers, something weird happened to me this morning.”

  I told them about my run-in with the three ghosts. When I was finished, Clove’s tears had miraculously dried and Thistle looked legitimately intrigued.

  “Well, that’s interesting,” Thistle muttered, shaking her head. “I was so confused at the time I didn’t realize that we had help escaping. This is turning into a handy little power.”

  “Except for the part where I’m turning ghosts into slaves. I don’t like that part.”

  “I don’t blame you, but you’ll get over it.” Thistle refused to back down. “Odds are we would’ve become overwhelmed with smoke yesterday if they didn’t help. I’m glad your subconscious took over and protected us.”

  “Me, too,” Clove agreed. “Thistle told me what happened. It sounds terrifying.”

  “I was too slow because of the lack of oxygen to be terrified,” I admitted. “I was more numb than anything else.”

  “Me, too,” Thistle admitted. “As soon as we got fresh oxygen to our brains, things cleared. We were lucky ... and I’ve had to hear nothing but complaints from Marcus about how stupid we were since it happened.”

  “Join the club.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t want to be stupid,” she reminded me. “I wanted to stay outside. I only went inside because you insisted on going and I couldn’t very well leave you. That essentially means you’re the reason I’m being called stupid.”

  “You can’t blame that on me.”

  “I just did.”

  “Let’s not get in an argument about this,” Clove said firmly, shooting us both warning looks before gesturing toward the busy store. “I don’t want to lose customers. I think this is going to be a good week for us and I’m saving for a crib.”

  Thistle made a face. “You don’t pay for that stuff yourself. You wait and have a baby shower and make everybody else pay for it.”

  “Yeah, but ... nobody knows.”

  “Yet,” I corrected. “They don’t know yet. In another week, they will know and then we can start planning. Don’t buy anything until after you get back from your honeymoon.”

  Clove looked happy at the prospect. “I hope you’re right. Circling back to your other problem, I think you should talk to Mrs. Little.”

  I’d almost forgotten I’d had a purpose when I entered the store. “You want me to talk to Mrs. Little about Adam? Why? I very much doubt he was having an affair with her.”

  Clove’s expression was withering. “I wasn’t suggesting that. Mrs. Little knows all the gossip. She can’t keep her nose out of other people’s business. If you want to know if Adam was really having an affair, talk to her.”

  The idea of talking to Mrs. Little about anything often gave me indigestion. Still, it was a place to start. “That’s not a bad idea. Does anyone want to go with me?”

  Thistle’s snort of disdain echoed throughout the store. “Nice try. We’re busy, and no one wants to talk to Mrs. Little. If you really want to dig on this, you’re on your own.”

  THERE WERE TIMES I THOUGHT Mrs. Little was the worst person imaginable. No, seriously. I grew up with Aunt Tillie and she taught me a thing or two about vengeance and enjoying the misery of others, but Mrs. Little was far worse.

  I knew about evil, understood about sociopaths. I recognized some people couldn’t change because of their nature. Mrs. Little was different. It wasn’t that she couldn’t change. It was that she wouldn’t change. She didn’t want to make herself better. She was fine being horrible.

  That didn’t mean she wasn’t occasionally a fount of good information.

  “Hello, Bay.” She stood behind the counter, feather duster in hand. The look on her face was unreadable.

  “Hello, Mrs. Little.” I refused to show weakness. She had frightened me when I was a child. There was just something about her. As I grew older and watched Aunt Tillie make her life miserable, I found amusement in her antics. It wasn’t until I was an adult, though, that I realized what she truly was.

  Aunt Tillie found joy in smiting her enemies. She never went after a person who didn’t deserve it ... or at least earn a reckoning in her head. Mrs. Little went after the weak and shy. She went after the young and old. She went after anyone who got in her way. She was a conqueror ... although in recent years she’d been conquered herself more than once.

  That included recently when Landon purchased the piece of property she’d had her eye on right out from under her. I’d made sure to avoid her since that news became public. I’d heard from the bank owner that she was on a rampage.

  “I’m surprised you’re cavorting with your fellow witches outside,” she offered calmly. There was no hint of mayhem in her eyes, which I found suspicious.

  “I’ll visit with them later. They’ll be here for days.”

  “Yes, they will.” She returned to her dusting. “Is there something specific you need?”

  She sounded on edge, which made me wonder if she expected me to be the one to strike first blood. She would enjoy that, of course. She liked to retaliate so she could play victim. I wasn’t keen on facilitating that.

  “Actually, there is. I’m sure you heard about Adam Harris’s death yesterday.”

  Surprise crawled across her face. Clearly she was expecting me to bring up the campground that she wanted so she could lease the property to the township for a financial killing. Landon wanted the property because that’s where we’d met years ago — even though we didn’t know it until recently — and he was incensed at the idea of her taking what he believed should be ours. With Aunt Tillie’s help, he secured a mortgage and closed on the property in almost record time — although I had a feeling Aunt Tillie worked a little magic to make that happen. It was a done deal before Mrs. Little found out about it. Her rage was legendary and I was still waiting for her to react. She would blow eventually.

  “You’re here to talk about Adam?” Mrs. Little’s expression was quizzical. “I don’t understand. It was a fire. I keep trying to get the fire department to tell me if we should all be worried about gas leaks, but the chief won’t respond to my calls.”

  “He probably has other things on his mind,” I replied dryly. “You know ... what with the building that’s falling down and the dead body inside.”

  Mrs. Little’s demeanor turned icy. “If there’s nothing else ... .”

  “It wasn’t an accident,” I volunteered, taking her by surprise. “He was murdered before the fire was started. That wasn’t a gas leak either. Accelerants were us
ed.”

  I didn’t feel all that guilty about sharing the information. It would be public knowledge within a few hours anyway. Hemlock Cove never met a secret that could be kept. Even the ones that were buried under a mountain of time and a name change couldn’t remain hidden forever.

  “You’re kidding.” For the first time since I’d entered the store, she showed real animation. “I hadn’t heard that. Why are they keeping it secret?”

  “I don’t know that they’re keeping it secret,” I said. “They had to call in an arson investigator from the state and he only confirmed it this morning. I was there when he talked with Landon and Chief Terry.”

  “You were there?” Mrs. Little’s disdain was evident. “I’m on the town council and I wasn’t invited to the party. Why were you?”

  “Oh, well ... .”

  “Never mind.” She waved her hand imperiously. “You don’t have to answer that. I already know why you were invited. You have a special ... power ... over those two men.”

  I didn’t like what she insinuated. However, if I picked a fight with her now I would never get the information I needed. “I’m actually here for a specific reason,” I stressed. “I’ve heard through the grapevine that Adam might’ve been having an affair.” There was no way I would mention Dani’s name. Mrs. Little would spread that information through the town in five minutes flat. The family was dealing with enough. “I was wondering if you’d heard anything.”

  “Me?” Suddenly Mrs. Little looked like the poster child for the Innocence Project. “Why would you ask me that question?”

  “You’re a wise woman.” I decided to blow smoke even though I wanted to choke on it ... again. “You know a lot of things. People confide in you. You’ve got your finger on the pulse of Hemlock Cove.”

  “I do indeed,” she agreed, her gaze speculative. “I know almost everything ... except when certain individuals plan to buy property I’ve had my eye on for a great deal of time.”

  Oh, well. It was bound to happen eventually. She couldn’t keep her mouth shut forever, no matter how she plotted to punish me otherwise. “I’m not here to talk about the camp. I know you’re upset, but ... Adam’s murder is more important. We have a dangerous individual on the loose.”

  For a brief moment I thought she was going to laugh. Instead, she pulled herself together and offered me a watery smile. “I’m not upset about the property. I mean ... I might’ve been at first. I’ve had some time to think about it, and I believe it’s good that you and Landon own the property.”

  I was instantly suspicious. “You do?”

  She bobbed her head. “That property is important to the history — and future, for that matter — of Hemlock Cove. You will take care of it, keep it in the family so to speak. That’s important to me.”

  She was lying. I had no doubt about that. But if she wanted to save face I wouldn’t begrudge her the opportunity. “Well, thank you for that. I appreciate the sentiment. Back to Adam ... .”

  “Yes, Adam.” She made a tsking sound with her tongue and shook her head. “Adam has been a bad boy. I heard the whispers, too. He wasn’t very discreet when cheating on his wife. It’s a travesty really.”

  “Do you know who he was cheating on Lorna with?”

  “I never saw them together,” she cautioned. “But I know others who did.”

  Finally, we were getting somewhere. “And?”

  “Sheila Carpenter.”

  “Sheila? Are you kidding me? She’s married ... and a deacon at the church.”

  Mrs. Little held her palms out and shrugged. “I don’t make the moral decisions for the denizens of this town. I only report what I’ve heard ... like you.”

  I was insulted by the comparison, but held it together. “Are you sure?”

  “Like I said, that’s what I heard.”

  “Okay, well ... thank you for your time.”

  “Don’t mention it. Oh, by the way, I hope you and Landon have endless happiness in your new home.”

  Something was definitely off here. That was for pondering at another time, though. For now, it was best left ignored. “Thank you. We will.”

  Eight

  I wasn’t what you’d call a regular church-goer. That was surprising to absolutely no one who knew me. We were witches, after all. Our version of worship came on different altars and under the full moon. Still, I was familiar with the local church. It was non-denominational and Christian. That’s all I knew about it.

  As far as I could tell, everyone who attended the church was a good person … other than Mrs. Little, I mean. They donated their time at festivals and didn’t go out of their way to make problems for people. Sure, there was the occasional jerkwad who couldn’t stop himself from being an asshat, but in general I’d never had a problem with the congregation.

  I still felt like an outsider walking through the front door.

  “Hello, Bay.” Denise Pritchard greeted me with a happy wave when I slipped into the coolness of the shade. The weather in Michigan hadn’t yet turned hot and humid, which was a bonus, but the air conditioning felt nice ... especially because my cheeks were burning.

  “Hey, Denise.” I felt out of place and hated what I was about to do. “How’s it going?”

  “Good.” The woman, a mother of two who spent all her time volunteering for various functions, fixed me with a puzzled smile. “Do you need something specific?”

  That was a loaded question. I swallowed hard. “Actually I’m looking for Sheila Carpenter. Is she here today?”

  “Sheila?” Denise’s eyebrows drew together. “She’s here. She’s in the main office working on the books. Can I perhaps help you instead?”

  “No, I really need to talk to Sheila.”

  “Can I tell her what it pertains to?”

  Absolutely not. “It’s private.” I shifted from one foot to the other, uncomfortable. “I don’t want to take up much of her time but it’s important that I talk to her.”

  “Is this for the newspaper?”

  “Yes.” That wasn’t technically a lie. I was most certainly digging into Adam’s personal life because of the way he died and I was writing an article for the newspaper. How much of this would be included was up for debate. “It’s for a story I’m working on.”

  “Fair enough.” Denise’s smile never wavered as she motioned for me to follow her. She led me through the rectory, not stopping until we were at the back of the building. “Hold on.” She knocked on the closed door and poked her head inside when a voice beckoned. “Hey. Bay Winchester is here and she wants to talk to you.”

  I couldn’t see Sheila, but I could picture her face. It wasn’t a pretty scene. She invited me in without hesitation.

  “Go ahead.” Denise encouraged me to slide around her and into the office. “I’ll be out front if you need anything.”

  I had no idea if she was talking to Sheila or me. It didn’t matter. I planned to get in and out as fast as possible.

  “Hello, Bay. Close the door.”

  I was happy to accede to her wishes and found my palms sweaty when I sat in the chair across from her desk.

  “What can I do for you?”

  Ah, well, so much for pleasantries. I was certain I would have to engage in some ridiculous idle chatter before getting to the meat of the conversation. Apparently, I was wrong.

  “So ... um ... I’m here about Adam Harris.” Playing games seemed a waste of time so I cut straight to the heart. “I understand you were close.”

  “Adam and me?” She looked legitimately puzzled, which caused me more discomfort than I’d envisioned. “I heard what happened to him, of course. What a tragic accident.”

  “Yeah, it wasn’t an accident.” Obviously she wasn’t yet up on the newest gossip. That didn’t surprise me. It wasn’t as if she ran in the whispering circles that Mrs. Little ruled with an iron fist. “He was murdered.”

  “I’m sorry?” Genuine shock reverberated through the room. “I heard it was a fire. A gas leak, in f
act.”

  “There was a fire, but it was set to cover up what happened to Adam. He was stabbed ... in the back.” Saying it out loud made me realize there was quite possibly some symbolism attached to that act. That was something to ponder at a different time. “It wasn’t discovered until after his body was removed from the building.”

  “Well, that is absolutely terrible.” Sheila shook her head. “I had no idea. I assumed it was an accident. I feel horrible for Lorna and the kids.”

  For some reason, that struck me as funny. “I bet.”

  Her forehead wrinkled. “I don’t understand why you’re here.”I licked my lips and pushed forward despite my unease. “I know about your relationship with Adam.”

  “My ... relationship ... with ... Adam.” She repeated the words, as if trying to absorb them rather than delay responding to them. “I guess I’m not getting your meaning.”

  Oh, geez. She was going to make me spell it out. I kind of wanted to pull her hair for that, or at least make her eat dirt. I didn’t like it one little bit. “The affair you were having.”

  I expected denials, maybe a few choice words. Instead, Sheila barked out a laugh that was so raucous it caused me to jolt. “Affair? You think I was having an affair with Adam?” She snorted through her nose, the sound unladylike ... and yet I was the one who felt uncomfortable. “May I ask where you heard that?”

  This was starting to feel wrong. Way wrong. “Margaret Little.” I felt no compulsion to protect the woman. “I was just at her store and she told me that she heard you and Adam were, um, an item.”

  “I see.” She made a clicking sound as she moved her jaw back and forth. “I don’t know how to tell you this, Bay, but I believe Margaret might’ve been having a little fun at your expense ... and mine. This probably stems from the fact that she wants to give the sermon next week — the pastor will be out of town and there’s a competition of sorts brewing to see who will be in charge of the service. Margaret was ruled out by the deacons because ... well ... you’ve met her.”