“Put them all together and you have the best festival ever,” I teased, grinning when he squeezed my knee under the table. “Give me a bite of your bacon.”
Landon’s smile slipped. “Get your own bacon.”
“I thought you said you would give me the world,” I challenged. “You said you loved me more than anything. I think that deserves some bacon.”
“The platter is right there.”
“I want your bacon.”
Landon tugged on his bottom lip, clearly sensing a trap. “This is some whacked out woman crap I’m never going to understand, isn’t it?” he muttered, sliding half his bacon onto my plate. “Are you happy?”
I nodded, pushing the bacon platter in his direction. “I was simply curious about if you would actually do it.”
“And since your mother never runs out of bacon, that’s why I did it,” Landon muttered, grabbing six new slices for his plate. “Women are freaking crazy sometimes. I don’t get you guys.”
“Word,” Aunt Tillie intoned, taking her seat at the head of the table. “I don’t get them either.”
“Oh, well, now I’m terrified that we agree on something,” Landon said.
“Don’t get your panties in a wad, because I don’t understand men either,” Aunt Tillie offered. “I only understand myself. In fact, there are times I believe I’m the only rational person in the universe.”
“Oh, well, that’s just … .” Landon didn’t finish the sentence, instead stuffing two full slices of bacon into his mouth and focusing on chewing. I was amused despite the childish nature of their interaction.
“To answer your question, it’s just a small festival this week,” I volunteered. “The biggest attraction will be the new wishing well.”
Landon arched an eyebrow and swallowed. “Wishing well? I would’ve thought Hemlock Cove already had a wishing well.”
“We did a long time ago,” I replied. “It had to be sealed because it was deep and the walls were crumbling. People kept trying to climb inside to steal the coins.”
“Yes, Paul Abernathy,” Aunt Tillie intoned. “He was a freaking idiot. You remind me of him a little, Landon.”
Landon ignored the jab. “So you’re getting a new wishing well and you’re having a ceremony or something for it?”
I nodded. “We’re unveiling it today.”
“Does that mean you have to cover it for The Whistler?” The Whistler is the newspaper where I spend my working days. Recently I’d gone from editor to owner, although that was still a learning process. It essentially meant I did everything I did before – including writing articles – plus handled advertising issues. Most of the articles amounted to little more than fluff pieces, but occasionally I covered something larger. I hoped that wouldn’t be the case this weekend.
“I assigned the event to a photographer, but I will probably have to at least stop by for a few color quotes,” I admitted, uncomfortable. “I know that cuts into your pajama plans, but … I didn’t realize before – and I forgot last night – and now I’m kind of caught.”
“It’s fine.” Landon winked to reassure me. “They’ll have hot chocolate and doughnuts, right?”
I nodded. “Always.”
“Then I’m good.”
“Are you sure? If you want to hang back and take a nap I’ll totally understand.”
Landon made a frustrated sound deep in his throat as he shook his head. “I’m going with you. I slept ten hours last night. I’m good.”
“Okay, but … you might have to toss a coin in the well and make a wish. Everyone attending is expected to do that.”
“I’m sure I can figure out something to wish for.”
“I’m guessing it will be bacon,” Mom said, shaking her head when she realized Landon’s plate was empty.
“That shows what you know,” Landon teased. “I’m wishing for Bay to turn into a slice of bacon. That’s completely different.”
“Don’t you dare!” Aunt Tillie’s vehemence took everyone by surprise, and when I risked a glance in her direction I realized her knuckles were white because she gripped her utensils so hard.
“Aunt Tillie, are you okay?” Twila asked, concern etching her features. “Do you feel sick to your stomach?”
Aunt Tillie recovered quickly. She always did, of course, and when she spoke again she appeared calm. “I was just messing around with ‘The Man,” she offered. “It’s one of the little games we play.”
Landon stared at her for a few moments, his face unreadable. Finally he relaxed and reached for the bacon platter. “Yes, I do love our games. I love them almost as much as doughnuts and hot chocolate.”
I forced worry for Aunt Tillie out of my mind and focused on Landon. “They’ll have warm pie, too.”
“And we have a winner.” Landon’s smile was sloppy as he chewed. “I love this wackadoodle town. You guys will celebrate anything … and pie is almost always part of the celebration. I can’t wait to live here full time.”
I wish you would shove a towel in your mouth and stop that darned noise. You may think that’s a conversational tone, but all I hear is ‘blah, blah, I think I’ll whine for a few minutes, blah.’
– Aunt Tillie warning eight-year-old Clove to be quiet while they stalked Mrs. Little
Four
“Okay, I’m not going to lie, by Hemlock Cove’s standards this is a very boring festival.”
Landon glanced around the sparsely populated town square and made a face as I handed him a cup of hot chocolate.
“I think you’re spoiled because all of the other festivals are so good,” I countered. “This festival simply can’t live up to the lofty standards already set.”
“I miss the kissing booth.” Landon has a one-track mind when he’s in a certain mood, and he was clearly in that mood today. “I think there’s something magical about a town that actually creates a booth with the express interest of giving me a private place in the middle of chaos to make out with my girl.”
I ran my tongue over my teeth as I cast a sidelong look in his direction. “We can make out in the truck on the ride home if you’re so inclined.”
“Don’t make offers you’re not willing to keep.”
“Who says I’m not willing to keep it?”
Despite himself, Landon looked intrigued. “Okay, well, we have a plan. Hurry up and conduct your interviews so we can get out of here. It hasn’t even snowed yet and I’m already freezing. I’m not a big fan of winter.”
“I noticed,” I said dryly, my mind floating back to the previous winter. “I remember the first time you were with Aunt Tillie when she plowed the snow.”
The corners of Landon’s mouth tipped down. “Did you have to remind me of that? Ugh. It’s going to give me nightmares.”
I couldn’t help but snicker. He was adorable when he whined. “You threatened to throw her in jail.”
“I haven’t ruled out throwing that woman in jail,” Landon cautioned. “She’s up to something right now and I’m pretty sure it’s illegal.”
My mind traveled back to Aunt Tillie’s weird behavior. I wanted to argue Landon’s point – mostly because I was hoping to protect our private weekend time – but I couldn’t deny his observation. “She’s definitely acting off. I can’t figure it out. What do you think she had in the bag?”
“I would say Mrs. Little’s body, but she’s over there.” Landon pointed and I followed the direction of his finger with my eyes, scowling when I saw the woman in question standing across the way. She was dressed in a fitted suit coat and high heels despite the chilly weather. “Why is she dressed like that?”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes – and say something nasty to boot – and sucked in a steadying breath. “She’s the star of the show today. There’s no way she’d miss this.”
In addition to being Hemlock Cove’s top porcelain unicorn statue seller, Margaret Little was also something of a Winchester family nemesis. Her dealings with my family went back to her youth – one
she shared with Aunt Tillie – and continued through the decades since.
“What do you mean?” Landon seemed legitimately curious when he turned, perching on the end of the picnic table and gesturing for me to move closer. “It won’t be nearly as cold if we share body heat.”
I knew what he was doing – bucking for a free grope in the middle of the town square when everyone was around and the chances of us getting caught were greater – but I was cold and didn’t really care who figured out what we were doing. I slid between his legs and sighed as he rubbed his glove-covered hands over my arms. “That’s better.”
“It is,” Landon agreed, pressing his cold cheek against mine. “Tell me why this thing is Mrs. Little’s show.”
“Oh, right.” I crashed back to reality even though Landon’s proximity momentarily gave my mind a reason to wander. “The wishing well project has been in the works for three years. I wasn’t lying about the old well being a death trap. Someone lost their little dog down there when a kid made a wish on the Shih Tzu one year. It was an eyesore, too.
“At one time the well was attached to the system that supplied water to the entire town, but that was a long time ago. I saw the water that they pulled out of there right before they took the vote to upgrade,” I continued. “You couldn’t pay me to drink that stuff. The town council decided that the old well had to be filled in. Not just boarded up, but filled in because it could be a liability otherwise.
“So, we closed the old well about two years ago despite several residents putting up a fight because it was historic,” I explained. “Mrs. Little was one of those residents, and she had an absolute meltdown when she didn’t get her way. For the longest time she wasn’t part of the discussion when it came to the new well. We were going to go small and unobtrusive because the town is a tourist trap on its own, but Mrs. Little came barreling in toward the end of the process and said she would pay for it if she could have a say in the design.”
“Hmm.” Landon lazily moved his hands up and down my back. “I can’t help but be suspicious about why she suddenly wanted to sponsor the wishing well. Perhaps that’s my cynical side showing, but … she’s up to something. Hey, you don’t suppose whatever Aunt Tillie is up to has anything to do with what Margaret Little is planning, do you?”
Hmm. That was an interesting thought. “I hadn’t really considered it, but I’m not sure how the two could be linked. I know exactly what Mrs. Little is up to. I’ve seen the … surprise … with my own eyes.”
“There’s a surprise?” Landon leaned back far enough that I could see the gleam in his eyes. “It’s not bacon, is it?”
“The bacon stuff is getting a little old.”
“Bacon never gets old, baby, but I’ll give it a rest for the day because you’re cranky.” Landon was all smooth charm and wide smiles. “If I didn’t know better I’d think you didn’t sleep well last night.”
“I slept fine. It was the dreams that made it so it wasn’t a restful sleep.”
Landon stilled, his eyes darkening. “Did you have nightmares? Why didn’t you wake me?”
“I didn’t have nightmares,” I replied, his tone grating on my frozen nerves. “I had dreams about hundreds of flying people attacking Aunt Tillie’s field and her using a squirt gun full of hemp water to bring them down. In fact, I had several dreams about people flying over that field.”
Landon barked out a laugh, his shoulders shaking as the visual washed over him. “Okay, that’s not funny, but … it’s freaking funny.”
“But it doesn’t count as a nightmare.”
“No, it doesn’t, but you still should’ve woken me up.” Landon tucked a strand of flyaway blond hair beneath my knit cap. “You could’ve woken me up to console you even if it wasn’t a full-blown nightmare.”
“I couldn’t wake you up to show you the guy flying over the field,” I reminded him. “How could I wake you up for a non-nightmare?”
“I see your point.” Despite his jovial attitude, I could tell Landon wasn’t happy about me bringing up the flying figure with so many people around. “You might not want to mention that you saw someone flying over your property when the wrong people might overhear you. They’re bound to think you’re crazy or something.”
All traces of my good mood fled. “Does that worry you? What people think about me, I mean.”
Landon could sense a trap with the best of them. “Don’t go there,” he warned, keeping his voice low and refusing to release me even when I moved to slip out of his embrace. “We’re not turning this into a fight. I was teasing you.”
“It’s not funny, though,” I pressed. “I saw it. I’m not making it up.”
“Sweetie, I know you’re not making it up.” Landon looked pained. “I honestly think you fell asleep even though you didn’t realize it was happening. You were dreaming about being awake and it simply got away from you.”
“That’s not what happened.”
Landon heaved out a frustrated sigh as he tilted his head to the side. “Okay, I’m going to approach this as I would any other flying human being story that landed on my desk. What exactly did you see?”
“I saw something moving on the other side of the window, so I got out of bed to see what it was,” I answered, refusing to back down. “I thought it was a bush … or maybe a piece of fabric that got caught on one of the trees. It was a person flying in the air over the pot field.”
“Shh!” Landon looked like an epileptic chicken when he jerked his head from side to side to make sure no one was listening. “Don’t say the P-word.”
“Pork?”
“Don’t push me, Bay. I’m trying to help.”
“I know you are, but you’re not helping, so can we just let it go? I believe I was telling you about the wishing well and why it’s going to be Mrs. Little’s show today. Let’s go back to that.”
“No, we’re not going back to that just yet,” Landon fired back. “I want to hear that information, but we’re not quite there yet. I want to know what you saw through the window last night. You’re clearly not going to let me rest until we figure it out.”
He had a point. “I saw a man flying over the field,” I said. “I didn’t imagine it. He was there … circling.”
“Circling the field?”
I nodded.
“Are you sure it wasn’t a bird?”
“It was too big to be a bird.” My patience quickly eroded as I slapped my hands on Landon’s thighs to emphasize my point. “I know the difference between a man and a bird.”
“Really? Which is Big Bird?”
I didn’t want to laugh. I was angry, I told myself. He didn’t believe me and was getting off on torturing me. I couldn’t help myself. I belted out a hearty chuckle as I buried my face in the hollow between his neck and shoulder. “I swear I saw it.”
“I know you did.” Landon pressed me as close to his chest as he could manage. “Can Aunt Tillie fly? I know you said it was a man, but half her clothing comes from the Army surplus store, so it’s entirely possible it was her.”
That was a rational question. I searched my memory for a definitive answer. “It wasn’t Aunt Tillie. The body was too tall.”
“Okay, well, was it a ghost?” Landon kept his voice low. He was well aware of my witchy ability – I can see and talk to ghosts – but he guarded my secret to the best of his ability.
“Huh.” I hadn’t considered that possibility. “I don’t think so, but … .”
“You can’t rule it out,” Landon finished.
I nodded. “I honestly don’t see how a ghost could cause a shadow like that.”
“Maybe you didn’t really see a shadow,” Landon suggested. “Maybe you heard the ghost in your head … or sensed it was close … and you went to the window because something inside of you urged you to do it.”
It was an intriguing suggestion. “I don’t think it was a ghost, Landon.”
“The only other option was that a man really was flying over the property
in the middle of November. How likely do you think that scenario is?”
“I don’t know.” I felt lost, bitter, maybe a little disappointed in myself. The realization caused me to shake my head and take a step back. “It doesn’t matter. You’re right. I probably fell asleep and imagined it.”
Landon pursed his lips as he regarded me. “Bay, you don’t usually freak out about nothing. You don’t generally imagine things that aren’t there. On the flip side, you did drink a lot last night.”
He wasn’t wrong, yet I couldn’t help but be a little defensive. “So did you.”
“Yeah, and I passed out like a rock.” Landon slid his fingers through my belt loops and tugged me back to the spot I had occupied a few moments before. “Bay, if someone really was flying around your property last night, how is that even possible?”
“I don’t know. Maybe someone got bit by a radioactive spider. Maybe that’s what Aunt Tillie had in the bag.”
Landon snorted as he shook his head, genuinely amused. “I love you so much it hurts sometimes.” He pressed a soft kiss to my lips. “Spiderman doesn’t fly, though. He swings from web to web. And it only works in cities with tall skyscrapers so it gives the illusion of flying.”
“Ugh. You’re a comic book geek. How did I not know this? I’m mortified.”
Landon’s smile slipped. “You’re a Trekkie. I wouldn’t talk.”
“I am not a Trekkie.”
“Can you do the Vulcan salute?”
Oh, I’m not answering that. “So, back to Mrs. Little. She bought a huge plaque touting herself as the owner of the wishing well and advertising her store. Can you believe that?”
“Yes, it’s totally tacky,” Landon said, wrinkling his nose. “I plan to be appropriately catty when they unveil it. I’ll even trade whispered insults with you while you’re taking notes. Go back to the Vulcan salute thing, though. Can you do that with your fingers?”
I silently met his gaze for what felt like forever. “I might be able to do that.”
“Let me see.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You’re going to make fun of me.”
Once Upon a Witch: A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Fantasy Books 1-3 Page 40