“She did,” Victor said, licking his lips. “She said Tillie killed chickens and bathed in their blood because she wanted to be young forever.”
“Well, that’s just gross,” Thistle muttered.
“What else did Patty say?” I asked.
“I’m not sure I’m supposed to talk about this,” Victor said, confusion washing over him. It was clear he wasn’t in control of all of his faculties. We might have only a small window to question him.
“Tillie wants you to talk about this, don’t you?” I arched a challenging eyebrow in Clove’s direction.
“I’m going to make you pay for this,” Clove hissed, although she forced a smile for Victor’s benefit. “It’s fine to tell me, Victor. Patty isn’t around, and she wouldn’t mind anyway. We made up.”
I sent Clove a thumbs-up. That was good.
“You made up with Patty after the big fight?” Victor asked, surprised. “But you said you would never talk to her again because of what she said to Ginger.”
Ginger was our late grandmother. She died before we were born, but she and Aunt Tillie were extremely close. If Patty said anything to or did something to Ginger, that could explain the animosity between the two women. Aunt Tillie would hold a grudge forever where our grandmother was concerned.
“Ginger is … gone, too,” Clove said, her voice soft. “She didn’t like it when I fought with people. She wanted me to make up with Patty. It’s okay.”
“Ginger always was the sweet one,” Victor said, nodding. “You were the feisty one. That’s why I liked you.”
My mouth dropped open as Victor reached over and tickled Clove’s ribs.
“Giggle for me like you did that time we were in the barn,” Victor instructed. “Giggle and whisper my name.”
“No, I don’t think I’m in the mood to giggle,” Clove said, shifting in her chair so it was harder for Victor to reach her. “In fact, I want you to stop doing that. Victor … Victor … I will break your fingers!”
Victor ignored Clove’s outburst. “You’re still pretty as a picture and feisty as a cat in heat.”
Thistle snickered. “I’m starting to like this guy.”
“You would,” I said, scorching her with a look before trying to draw Victor’s attention. “You were about to tell us about Patty, Victor,” I prodded. “Remind us about the fight she had with Tillie. How do you remember it?”
Victor finally tore his gaze from Clove and focused on me. “Who are you?”
My heart sank as I registered the far-away look in his eyes. “I’m Bay.”
“I don’t know you,” Victor said, leaning back in his chair as he scanned all three of us. “I don’t know any of you.”
“Yes, you do,” Clove argued. “I’m Tillie. Remember?”
“I don’t know any Tillie,” Victor spat, pushing himself up on shaky legs as he took a step away from the table. “You’re trying to trick me. Did the government send you? Did she send you? It was her, wasn’t it?”
I had no idea who “she” was, but Victor wasn’t happy with her. “No, that’s not true,” I said. “That’s Tillie Winchester. You remember Tillie, right? You were just talking about her and Patty Grimes.”
“I don’t know any of those people, and I don’t know you,” Victor snapped. “Go away!. I … you people are trying to trick me. I’m old, but I’m not stupid!”
I watched shuffle away. There was no sense trying to stop him. Whatever magic allowed him to remember his past was gone now. There was nothing left for us to do except upset him, and I had no intention of doing that.
“Well, that was a bust,” Thistle said.
“Kind of,” I hedged. “Let’s go to the car. We might not have gotten a lot of information out of Victor, but we got enough to give me an idea.”
“Is it better than Thistle’s idea?” Clove asked.
“Definitely.”
Eighteen
“What’s this grand idea you have?” Thistle asked back in the car. “Do you want to strip Clove down and send her back inside to let Victor feel her up this time? He might crack if we give him a reward.”
“I hate you,” Clove muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. “And, by the way, I look nothing like Aunt Tillie.”
I wasn’t in the mood to argue, so I decided to play nice. “You don’t look like Aunt Tillie.”
“Thank you.”
“You look like your mother, and she looks like Aunt Tillie,” I said. What? Just because I’m not in the mood to argue doesn’t mean I won’t pull the pin and toss the grenade.
“That’s it,” Clove snapped. “I thought I missed you guys yesterday and was feeling low and sorry for myself. Now I realize I’m better off without you. I’m sick of adventures anyway. Next time you guys get a scheme, leave me out of it. I’d rather stay home and garden.”
“I’m going to remember you said that when you start complaining again,” Thistle warned, her eyes serious when she turned them on me. “What’s your idea?”
“Victor said he wasn’t sure Patty wanted him to tell Tillie why she was angry,” I said. “He acted as if it was a secret.”
“So?”
“Mrs. Little acted as if there was a secret, too,” I said. “She wanted to know why I didn’t ask Aunt Tillie about her relationship with Patty.”
Thistle snorted. “Did you tell her you didn’t ask Aunt Tillie because you didn’t want to be cursed or have to wade through a pack of lies to find the truth?”
“No. I didn’t want to give her ammunition.”
“Yeah, I probably would’ve done the same thing,” Thistle said. “If there is a secret, more than one person is keeping it.”
“And they’re all old,” I said.
“I don’t think senior citizens appreciate being called ‘old,’” Clove said. “That’s insulting. That would be like everyone calling all witches crones or something … or all women nags.”
“What should we say?” Thistle challenged. “Long in the tooth?”
“Wrinkled and crinkled?” I asked, fighting the urge to laugh.
“Almost dead?” Thistle added.
“You guys are going to a bad place when you die,” Clove said. “I hope you know that.”
I sighed. I didn’t have a problem with senior citizens. I wasn’t particularly fond of Hemlock Cove’s elderly population right now, but Clove had a point. “I’m sorry. We’ll start speaking about them with more respect.”
“Thank you,” Clove said. “Call them … seasoned.”
“That sounds as if we’re about to stick skewers through them and toss them on the grill,” Thistle complained.
“I forgot how much I hate spending long stretches of time with the two of you,” Clove muttered, shaking her head. “Let’s go home. I need a breather from you guys.”
“We’re going home,” I said, watching as Thistle stuck the key in the ignition and the car’s engine roared to life. “We’re not separating when we get there, though. I told you I had an idea.”
“I can’t wait to hear this,” Thistle said, pulling out of the parking lot.
I gave the retirement community one last look, frowning when I saw Victor standing on the other side of one of the front windows watching us. The expression on his face was … peculiar. “Do you see that?”
“What?” Thistle asked, fixated on the road.
“Victor is in the window watching us.”
“He probably wants to give Aunt Tillie here another tickle,” Thistle said.
“You’re sick,” Clove hissed.
“With his pickle,” Thistle added.
“Now you’re really sick!”
“No, that’s not it,” I said, straining for a last glimpse of the window before Thistle pulled onto the main road. “He didn’t look confused. He looked … angry.”
“Now I think you’re the one reading too much into things, Bay,” Thistle chided. “That guy wasn’t sure he had shoes on half the time we were there. He’s old … I mean seasoned …
and he’s confused. That’s what happens with age.”
I wasn’t so sure, but I decided to push the thought from my mind. Thistle was probably right. Even if Victor was angry, though, that didn’t mean he was angry with us. He could’ve been angry with whoever “she” was. His mind was a jumble of past lives and partially forgotten hurts. He probably couldn’t separate today from yesterday … or ten years ago, for that matter.
“Right,” I said, shaking my head. “What were we talking about again?”
“Your grand idea,” Clove prodded. “I’m not participating in your grand idea no matter what it is, because I don’t like how mean you guys are to me. I’m putting my foot down.”
She always says that. “Duly noted,” I said, refusing to catch Thistle’s eye because I was afraid we would burst into laughter and make Clove even angrier. “Anyway, like I was saying, if there is a big secret, I think more people than Mrs. Little, Aunt Tillie and Patty know it.”
“What about Kenneth?” Thistle suggested. “You said he was friendly and open to talking to you the other day.”
“Kenneth hasn’t always lived in Hemlock Cove,” I reminded her. “He’s only been in town for a few months. He lived a few towns over. Remember?”
“I forgot about that,” Thistle said. “It seems like we’ve known him a long time, but we only met him during the greenhouse construction.”
“I think Aunt Tillie still likes him, by the way, but we can’t deal with that until we’re sure she’s not going to prison.”
“Yes, because whatever you’re thinking won’t get us cursed or anything,” Thistle grumbled. “Go back to your idea for discovering the secret. I’m mildly interested in that.”
“I’m not,” Clove said.
I ignored her. “I think we should go to the senior center when we get back to Hemlock Cove,” I said. “They’re holding a euchre tournament today. I saw it advertised on the board when I was there earlier this week.”
“So what? Do you have a hankering to lose at cards to seasoned citizens?” Thistle asked, daring a glance at Clove, who declined to rise to the bait.
“No. I want to cast a truth spell and ask some of the people who have been around for a really long time if they know the secret.”
“Oh,” Thistle said, realization dawning.
“I’m also a great euchre player,” I added.
“Yes, I’m sure you could play professionally,” Thistle said. “I’m not sure the spell’s a good idea. That could backfire on us.”
“It could,” I agreed. “I don’t see where we have a lot of options, though.”
“I think it’s a terrible idea,” Clove sniffed. “No one asked me.”
“What happens if we lose control of the spell?” Thistle asked, her eyes flashing with mirth as Clove huffed about being ignored behind us.
“What always happens when we lose control of a spell?” I asked.
“We usually deny we did it and run to Aunt Tillie to cover our behinds. Then she blackmails us for a month and we swear we’ll never cast another spell.”
“Then we’ll do that,” I said.
“You know what? Why not?” Thistle smiled as she turned onto the rural highway that led back to Hemlock Cove. “What have we got to lose?”
“Well, I’m not doing it,” Clove said. “It’s a terrible plan and it’s going to go badly for us. It always goes badly for us. I’m going to go home and garden. You two can go on this adventure yourselves. Frankly, I don’t care what you do. This time I want to be forgotten.”
“Oh, don’t be like that, Clove,” Thistle said. “We need you.”
Despite her dour mood, Clove couldn’t stop herself from brightening. “You do? You need me?”
“Of course we do,” Thistle said. “Someone has to let the seasoned males tickle her while we’re trying to get information out of them.”
“I hate you!”
“Ah, this is the way all of our adventures should be,” I said, eliciting a laugh from Thistle and a scowl from Clove. “It’s just like old times.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Clove said. “This … bites.”
“I STILL think this is a terrible idea.”
Two hours later we stood outside the senior center, the spell already cast. We hid in the bushes while we did it, which probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do given Noah’s presence in town, but we were too lazy to go someplace else.
I slid a dark look in Clove’s direction. She’d done nothing but complain since leaving the retirement community in Bellaire. “For someone who spent half the afternoon complaining because she thought we didn’t want to spend time with her, you have a lot of gripes.”
“That’s because I forgot how much I hate going on adventures with you guys.”
“That’s not what you said three hours ago,” Thistle snapped.
“I believe that’s exactly what I said three hours ago,” Clove shot back. “You clearly weren’t listening. You never listen when I talk. It’s annoying.”
“You’re annoying!”
“You’re both annoying,” I said, stepping between them. “There’s no reason to fight. Just … knock it off.”
“Fine,” Clove said, rolling her eyes.
“If we were going to fight, though, I’d be on Thistle’s side. She is totally right,” I said. I have no idea why I felt the need to engage, but there was comfort to be found in the normalcy of arguing, and I gladly embraced it. “You whined like a baby about being ignored and wanting to go on adventures, and now you’re being a … .”
“Kvetch,” Thistle supplied.
“I don’t miss living with you guys at all,” Clove groused. “I don’t know why I thought I did. I must have been temporarily insane.”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” Thistle said. “It’s not temporary. It’s permanent.”
“Let’s just get this over with,” I said, my temper fraying as I tried to refrain from saying something ugly. “We’ll go inside, track down Myrtle, Fay and Viola to ask our questions. Then we’ll reverse the spell and be out of here.”
“When you say it like that, it sounds easy,” Thistle said.
“Good.”
“You know that’s not going to happen, right?” Thistle pressed. “This stuff always backfires on us.”
“It worked the night we cast the spell on the guests at the Dragonfly,” I reminded her. “They told the truth.”
“And we missed the killer under the roof because we didn’t think to look upstairs, your dad had a meltdown and Aunt Tillie cast the spell so it actually worked,” Thistle said. “Our spells often backfire.”
“It’s because we’re dabblers,” Clove said. “Aunt Tillie says if we want our spells to go off as planned we have to work at it.”
“That sounds really annoying and tiresome,” Thistle said. “I prefer the way we do things.”
“You just said it always backfires,” Clove pointed out.
“Yes, but it’s often fun when it happens,” Thistle said, moving toward the door. “Now, come on. I want to see how many senior citizens pinch Clove’s butt before the afternoon is over.”
“You’re dead to me,” Clove muttered, following Thistle inside.
Because the afternoon was bright, it took a moment for our eyes to adjust to the dim lighting of the senior center. When things came into focus, I was stunned at the amount of people sitting at tables and playing cards. There had to be at least fifty people present.
“I didn’t know Hemlock Cove had this many seasoned people in town,” Thistle said, letting out a low whistle. “Holy crap!”
“It’s all women,” Clove said, knitting her eyebrows. “There’s like … two guys and forty-eight women. Why?”
“Kenneth told me that most men don’t like coming here because they don’t want to admit they’re old,” I said. “I thought he was exaggerating and that most women simply outlive men, but I’m not so sure now. This ratio can’t be representative of the town.”
“Well, this doesn’t really change anything,” Thistle said. “In fact … yup … here comes Fay. Let’s ask her first. We might get lucky.”
“When do we ever get lucky?” Clove asked.
“If you don’t stop complaining, I’m going to give you something to complain about, Clove,” Thistle snapped. “You’re on my last nerve.”
“You’re always on my last nerve,” Clove said.
“You’re both on my last nerve,” I said. “Just … shut up.” I pasted a bright smile on my face as Fay approached, hoping to come across as friendly and curious rather than deranged and dastardly. “Hi, Fay. How are you?”
“I’m doing well,” Fay said, her expression reflecting confusion. “What are you doing here? You’re not looking for Tillie, are you? If she’s here, I need to warn everyone to stop drinking the coffee … and the punch … and probably the brandy.”
“Aunt Tillie isn’t here,” I said. “We came to talk to you.”
“Me?” Fay’s expression was hard to read. She clearly liked being singled out, but she was understandably suspicious. “Why on earth would you want to talk to me?”
“Well … .” I licked my lips.
“Oh, just do it,” Thistle said. “She won’t remember anyway.”
“What am I not going to remember?” Fay asked, shifting from one foot to the other. She was antsy, not that I blamed her.
“We want to know the big secret everyone is keeping about Patty Grimes and her past with Aunt Tillie,” Thistle volunteered. “You have to tell us the truth. Now, no one can overhear you, so it’s the perfect time to lay it on me.”
“You have such a way with people,” I muttered, shaking my head as Fay frowned. “I can’t believe you’re not the most popular person in Hemlock Cove with conversational skills like that.”
“I can believe it,” Clove said.
“I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking,” Fay said finally.
Huh. That’s not one of the reactions I expected. “We need to know the truth about Aunt Tillie’s past with Patty Grimes,” I prodded.
“I don’t know anything about that.” Fay’s eyes darted to the left, a telltale sign she was lying.
Charms & Witchdemeanors (Wicked Witches of the Midwest Book 8) Page 17