I thought about apologizing – I really should have told them before volunteering the house we all shared, after all – but that seemed like a lot of work, and I hate work. Instead, I excused myself early for bed and left my nieces to deal with the mess.
What? I’m old. They have more energy than I do.
I had no idea how the sleeping arrangements were settled and I was happy to put off finding out until morning. I was in the middle of a fun dream – one in which Margaret Little found herself trapped in her home, a thick sheet of ice cutting her off from the rest of the world as she slipped and fell trying to escape – when a persistent ringing sound woke me.
I remained in bed, staring at the ceiling for a long time, and listened for the sound of footsteps in the hallway. I’d just about convinced myself that I imagined the sound and was ready to return to the dream when my bedroom door opened. I shifted my eyes in that direction and found Winnie staring at me, the hallway light glowing behind her and giving off enough illumination for me to identify her.
“What?” I asked crossly.
“You need to get up.” Winnie’s voice was calm but firm.
“Why do I need to get up? It’s the middle of the night.”
“It’s almost seven,” Winnie corrected. “It’s hardly the middle of the night.”
I flicked my eyes to the window and groaned. Winters in Michigan mean early nights and late mornings thanks to Daylight Saving Time. I should’ve realized it was later than I initially thought. “Fine.” I tossed off the covers and climbed out of bed, engaging in a series of elaborate stretches as Winnie watched from the doorway. She looked impatient. That didn’t surprise me because she always looked impatient, but the look on her face told me something was up.
“What’s going on?” I rubbed my cheek as I joined her at the door. Up close, it was obvious that Winnie was fraying at the seams. She looked ready to throttle me. Granted, that’s not a new expression, but this time she appeared to be seriously considering it.
“Terry called.”
“Whatever Margaret says I did, I didn’t. I went to bed last night and didn’t sneak out at all. There’s no reason to go all … bossy kvetch … on me.”
Winnie murdered me with a dark look. “Why is it that I have to hear excuses like that from my aunt? I expect it from the girls. They’re getting to that age where they’ll be sneaking out soon. But you should be setting a good example.”
I blew out a wet raspberry and rolled my eyes. “No one ever had ‘she was such a good example’ etched on her tombstone.”
“I might have it etched on mine.”
“You’re just saying that to irritate me.”
“And you’re just saying that to irritate me,” Winnie snapped. “We have a situation. I don’t have time for your childish games.”
“Who are you calling childish?”
“If the beanie cap fits … .” Winnie licked her lips as she stared me down. She’s formidable when she wants to be. I raised her that way. I like it when she uses the power on others. I hate it – I mean really hate it – when she attempts to use the power on me.
“Why don’t we start this conversation over,” I suggested, pushing past Winnie and heading in the direction of the kitchen. “You tell me what’s bothering you and I’ll tell you how we’ll fix it. How’s that sound?”
“Is your idea of ‘fixing it’ going to include you going to bed early and dropping the problem on us?” Winnie challenged as she followed. She was clearly spoiling for a fight.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I lied, frowning at Twila and Marnie as I shuffled into the kitchen. “I was exhausted last night. I’m old. You know that.”
Winnie snorted derisively. “You’re only old when you don’t want to do something. That’s not an option today.”
“Well, because I have no clue what you’re talking about, I have no idea what my options for today are as of yet.” I grabbed a mug from the counter and filled it with coffee. “Why don’t you tell me what has your girdle in a twist and we’ll go from there.”
Winnie narrowed her eyes and resembled something that looked as if it hopped off the pages of a horror novel. “I don’t wear a girdle.”
“Then what do you use to suck in your stomach?”
“Exercise.”
I pursed my lips. “I think I’d rather spend the money on a girdle.”
“Girdles aren’t really a thing any longer,” Twila interjected. “Now they have control top pantyhose and stuff. Girdles are considered torture devices.”
Now it was my turn to stare with overt disdain. “Where did you read that?”
“I saw it on a television show.”
“What television show?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Yeah, you need to stop watching crap,” I admonished. “When you watch crap, it rots your brain and causes you to say stupid things.”
Twila, never the sharpest athame in the set, was blasé. “I don’t say stupid things.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” I muttered, sipping my coffee.
“This conversation has nothing to do with anything,” Marnie announced, taking control of the situation. As the middle sister, she always figured it was her job to play peacemaker. When that didn’t work, she basically spent most of her time needling her sisters to continue fighting. That’s the Winchester way, after all. She can’t help herself.
“Most of our conversations don’t lead anywhere,” I reminded her. “I still don’t know what the big deal is. You said Terry called. What’s going on?”
“Well, it seems that the Michaelson family took in three of the boys from the home,” Winnie replied.
“So what? Good for them. It’s probably driving Margaret crazy to know that people in town are helping instead of turning their backs.”
“Yes, well … .” Winnie chewed her bottom lip.
I turned to Marnie. “Will you just tell me what’s going on?”
“The Michaelson house caught fire in the middle of the night,” Marnie replied. “It looks to be deliberate. The juvenile home also burned down, so I’m sure you can guess what’s being said.”
I’m slow in the mornings, so it took me a moment to grasp the words. “Wait … .”
Marnie shook her head to cut me off. “Yes. It looks like there was a firebug in that state home, and now the firebug is in Walkerville. So … good job.” Marnie sent me a sarcastic thumbs-up as I ran my tongue over my teeth and focused on Winnie.
“Just because the house caught fire doesn’t mean the kids did it,” I hedged.
“It doesn’t,” Winnie agreed. “But that’s not how Mrs. Little will spin the narrative. You know that as well as I do.”
Sadly, I knew it better than she did.
“Well, this isn’t good.”
That was the understatement of the year, of course. What now?
MICHAEL, DAVID AND ANDREW were showered and dressed when they came down for breakfast. They cast a series of suspicious looks my way as they sat at the table. They didn’t appear happy about their predicament – I couldn’t blame them – and I could practically see their minds working.
“How did you sleep?” Winnie asked, carrying a pitcher of juice to the table.
“Fine, ma’am. Thank you,” David answered stiffly.
Oh, geez. These kids were treating us as if we were the enemy. I guess, in their situation, I’d act the same way. Still, we’re tons of fun. They should be thrilled to have us as their temporary guardians, for crying out loud.
“Is the room okay?” Winnie is a born nester, and she was determined to get the boys to open up. I thought she was going about the task wrong, but given the chilly pall lingering over the room I figured now wasn’t the time to point that out.
“The room was fine, ma’am.”
Winnie shot me a dirty look before returning to the counter. “Well, if you need anything … .”
“They don’t need anything,” I supplied, cutting
her off. “They’re tough guys. Can’t you tell?”
Winnie’s look of disgust was right out of her mother’s playbook. I loved my dearly departed sister Ginger a great deal, but she was a pain when she decided it was necessary to control my behavior. I could already tell Winnie was going to attempt to do the same. There was no way I would let that happen.
“Look at them,” I barreled forward. “They’re clearly tough guys. They don’t need a bunch of women flitting around and waiting on them. Isn’t that right, David?” I chose to address the oldest boy because he was clearly the one who made decisions for the trio. “You guys only care about each other, and we’re in your way. If I’m reading you correctly, that is.”
David narrowed his brown eyes. “I don’t believe we said that, ma’am.”
I hate it when people call me “ma’am.” It’s merely a polite way of saying “old woman,” and because I’m still young and hip that’s an unbearable insult. “Well, don’t worry, David. I’m going to yank that stick out and loosen you up before the end of the day. Just you wait.”
Instead of reacting with anger, which I expected, David’s lips curved as he fought a smile. If I had to guess, he wasn’t used to anyone speaking to him frankly unless it was in a condescending manner. He seemed to like my bold tone. That was good, because I don’t know any other way to speak.
“I don’t think you should talk to them like that,” Twila whispered. “They probably think you’re rude.”
I offered up a cheeky wink for David because I was sure he’d heard Twila’s statement. “I’m going to guess that, much like me, they find joy in being rude. Am I right, boys?”
This time I was sure that David was holding back a smile. “Whatever you say, ma’am.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You can’t call me ‘ma’am.’ I’m not big on rules or anything, but I’m instituting that one. I’m too young to be a ma’am.”
“But … .” David shifted a weighted glance to Winnie. “I thought we were supposed to call you ma’am if we weren’t comfortable calling you by your first names. That’s what Ms. Winchester said last night.”
“Oh, you can call them ‘ma’am,’” I automatically corrected, gesturing toward Winnie, Marnie and Twila. “They’re old of spirit and heart. I’m young and spry, though.”
David’s grin was sly. “Okay. What should I call you?”
“Tillie is fine.”
“And if I’m not comfortable with that?”
“You can call me ‘your highness.’”
Michael and Andrew giggled at David’s loopy grin. They were already warming to me, which was a good thing. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Winnie work her jaw as if she wanted to admonish me. She obviously thought better of it, shrugging as she turned to the back door at the sound of a knock.
Terry stood at the door, patiently waiting for someone to open it. Winnie was the first to get there, even though Twila made a valiant effort to knock her sister out of the game. Winnie has broader hips, though, and Twila is no match for my oldest niece’s determination.
“Good morning,” Winnie trilled, beaming. “I’m so glad you’re here. You’re just in time for breakfast.”
Terry, who looked exhausted, brightened considerably. “That’s the first good news I’ve had all morning.”
Winnie ushered him inside, patting his shoulder before returning to her breakfast preparations. I kept my eyes on Terry as he eased into the room, scratching my nose as he took in the quiet boys at the table.
“Good morning, boys.” Terry was a friendly sort, and even though it was obvious to me that he was tired he didn’t hold back his smile when he sat next to David. “How was your night?”
“Pretty boring,” Andrew answered. “They don’t even have a basketball hoop here.”
“It’s winter,” Terry pointed out. “You couldn’t play basketball even if they had a hoop.”
“They kept the hoop area cleared at the home,” David explained. “We could go out no matter how cold it was.”
“Oh. I didn’t know that.” Terry rubbed his chin. “Well, you’ll survive. The Winchesters have a lot of land, and it’s not so cold you can’t do something outside.”
David’s expression was unreadable. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. What do the girls do?” Terry looked to Winnie for help.
“The girls spend all of their time doing their hair and makeup,” I answered. “They’re at that age where they’re nothing more than empty shells with sarcastic mouths.”
“So … they’re you?” Terry teased, smirking when David let loose with a low chuckle. “The girls are fine. Leave the girls alone. Speaking of them, where are they?” Terry took a moment to scan the room. “They’re usually greeting me the moment I arrive.”
“They’re upstairs getting ready,” Twila explained. “I think the fact that there are boys in the house means they have to be perfectly made up for breakfast.”
“I’m a boy and I’m in the house when I eat with them,” Terry argued.
“Yes, but you’re not a boy in their age range,” Marnie explained.
“Thanks,” Terry said dryly. “That doesn’t make me feel old or anything.”
“You’re not old,” Winnie argued. “You’re … perfect.”
“No, you’re better than perfect,” Twila said. “You’re … what’s better than perfect?”
“Not your brain,” I muttered under my breath, grabbing my coffee mug and moving to the table so I could talk to Terry without having to listen to my nieces make fools of themselves. “So what’s the word on the fire?”
Terry arched an eyebrow as he slid his eyes toward me. It didn’t occur to me that he wouldn’t want to talk about the fire in front of the boys until the question was already out of my mouth. Given the look of interest on David’s face, though, it was too late to put the potion back in the flask.
“What fire?” David asked, leaning forward.
“One of the homes where some of your friends were staying burned down last night.” Terry chose his words carefully. “We’re still investigating, but it looks like it was deliberate.”
David exchanged a long look with Michael. “Who’s staying at the house?”
“Why does that matter?” Terry asked, instantly alert.
David immediately backed down and shrugged, disinterest returning to his features. “It doesn’t. I was just curious.”
“I don’t have names, but I’m heading over there to ask some questions after breakfast,” Terry said. “I’m sure I’ll know more this afternoon.”
“It could still be an accident, right?” Twila asked. She was naïve under the best of circumstances. She never wanted to believe the worst about people.
“I doubt it,” Terry replied. “An accelerant was used. That doesn’t generally happen when we’re dealing with an accident. Also … .” He broke off and stared at the boys for a moment, obviously conflicted about finishing whatever he was going to say.
“Just tell us,” I prodded. “They’ll find out regardless.”
Terry wasn’t convinced. “How?”
“Because the girls are masters at eavesdropping and they have huge mouths,” I replied without hesitation. “I know you think Bay can do no wrong, but she’s just as bad as the others.”
Terry heaved a sigh. “I know you’re right. Not about Bay being as bad as the others, mind you, because she’s a sweetheart. I know the news will spread around Walkerville like a wildfire.”
“So spill it.”
“News came down from the state police late last night,” Terry said. “The group home fire was also purposely set. Accelerants were used. We’re trying to find out if they were the same accelerants, but we’re still waiting for reports from the lab.
“Basically, the fire here and the fire at the group home are too convenient not to be connected,” he continued. “I think we’re dealing with an arsonist … and apparently we brought that individual to Walkerville.”
Crap! I ave
rted my eyes so I didn’t have to see the recrimination in his gaze. He was basically saying that I brought an arsonist to Walkerville with my big mouth. Well, that just bit the big one … and by big one I mean broomstick.
How was I supposed to handle this?
Four
Terry directed the conversation to something lighter once he realized the boys were uncomfortable with the questioning. We shared a weighted look – one that promised further conversation later – and then let the discussion turn mild.
The boys would have to be pressed about what they knew, but now wasn’t the time to do it. Thankfully for us, the sound of feet pounding on floors directed everyone’s attention to the staircase. When Bay, Clove and Thistle descended, they were all made up and dressed for a day of mischief. How did I know? I taught them how to dress when they were going to get into mischief. Let’s just say there was a lot of black entering the room.
“There’s my girls.” Terry beamed when he saw them, tilting his chin up so Bay could kiss him on the cheek as she hurried over. All the girls love Terry, but Bay is especially attached to him. He purposely gives her more attention. They make quite the pair.
“What are you doing here?” Bay asked, snagging the seat next to Terry before Twila could swoop into it. She barely spared her aunt a glance before plopping a napkin on her lap. “Are you here to see me?”
“Not everything is about you,” Thistle shot back, earning a scolding look from Winnie before planting herself on the other side of the table. “What? It’s true.”
“I never said everything was about me,” Bay snapped. “I was just asking if he was here to see me. He’s going to take me driving. Wait … is that why you’re here?”
Terry was caught and he knew it. “I am going to take you driving, but I thought we would do that this weekend,” he said. “I’m actually here because I need to discuss a few things with your mom and aunts.”
“He means he’s here for adult conversation,” Clove said, wrinkling her nose as she grabbed a slice of bacon from the platter on the counter and then giggling as she hopped away from her mother’s outstretched arm when Marnie tried to slap her. “We’re not supposed to know why he’s here.”
How Aunt Tillie Stole Christmas Page 3