Every Witch Way But Wicked (A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Mystery)

by Lee, Amanda M.

  Thistle didn’t return the smile. “What did you mean when you said that Bay was doing the best with what she had? This is Hemlock Cove, not Detroit. She can’t manufacture stories.” The tone of Thistle’s voice was deadly.

  “That’s what I meant,” Brian said sheepishly. He could sense the sudden shift in the room. We were a pretty impressive force – especially when we all had PMS.

  Clove was suddenly nervous. “I don’t think he meant anything bad by it,” she supplied.

  “How do you know?” Thistle challenged.

  “I don’t. I was just . . . Don’t be a pill.”

  “A pill?” I raised my eyebrows. “Have you been spending time with the aunts?”

  “I don’t know why I said it,” Clove grumbled. “It just came out.”

  I walked over to the comfortable couch in the middle of the room and slid into it. I spent as much time on that couch as I did on the one at the guesthouse where the three of us lived together. It was housed on the property of The Overlook, a local bed and breakfast run by our mothers. And, no, they still didn’t get the irony of renaming the inn after the creepy hotel in The Shining.

  “Brian wanted a tour of the town,” I said, trying to break the frosty silence that was still emanating from Thistle.

  Thistle shot one more dark look in Brian’s direction and then made her way to the couch and plopped down beside me. “Why is he here?”

  “He wanted to meet local business owners,” I replied. “He wanted to start at the top.”

  Clove glowed under the compliment. Thistle merely softened – slightly. “What do you want to know?”

  Brian sat down on the chair across from us. I couldn’t help but notice that it was the furthest sitting surface from Thistle. She was fairly frightening when she wanted to be.

  “I just wanted to get a feel for the town, and the business owners,” he said smoothly. He flashed a sexy smile in Thistle’s direction. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that it was entirely wasted on her. Even if Thistle wasn’t in a constant state of flirt with the local stable owner, Marcus, Brian wouldn’t be her type. She’s Bohemian chic, not business casual.

  “The town is pretty set in its ways,” Thistle said blithely. “The town has an identity that isn’t going to shift. Even if you want it to.”

  “Why would I want it to shift?”

  “You just have that look about you,” Thistle challenged.

  “I love the town,” Brian replied. “I can’t imagine a cooler place to live.”

  He said the words earnestly, but I don’t think any of us – even Clove – believed him.

  Clove decided that the best way to ease the tension was food. We all agreed on Chinese, and Clove placed the order. It would be twenty minutes before the food arrived, and we were all stumped for a topic of conversation.

  If it was just the three of us, we would have talked about the revenge we were currently plotting on Aunt Tillie for her latest curse – which Thistle was convinced had given her a mustache. That wasn’t really an option, so we settled on the upcoming Murder Mystery Weekend that the town was hosting.

  “This is the first time the town has done something like this?” Brian asked.

  “We do a lot of town events, bonfires and reenactments,” Clove explained. “This is the first time we’ve done a murder mystery that everyone is involved in. We have events all week leading up to the actual murder mystery this weekend.”

  “Do you know who the murderer is?”

  “We’re not on the planning committee,” Thistle said wanly. “Our mothers are, but they won’t tell us what is planned.”

  Brian chuckled throatily. “Don’t they trust you?”

  “Not even a little,” I said ruefully.

  “Sounds like a fun family.” He was shooting for levity.

  “Only if you’re into masochism,” Thistle shot back.

  Brian searched all three of our faces for traces that Thistle was joking. I don’t think he was encouraged by the grim set of all of our jaws.

  “I can’t wait to meet the rest of your family,” he said finally.

  “Famous last words,” Thistle muttered.

  Three

  After lunch, Brian made a hasty exit. He said he wanted to introduce himself to a few more business owners, but I think he really just wanted to get away from Thistle.

  The truth is, Thistle is often grumpy – but she’s usually not overtly hostile. Planning revenge on Aunt Tillie had been consuming her for three days straight. I don’t think she’d been getting a lot of sleep.

  I promised Brian I would meet him back in the office a little later in the afternoon, but I wanted to talk to Thistle and Clove about some things before I returned to the office.

  “You just want to gossip about my dimples,” Brian said charmingly at the door.

  Clove blushed when his gaze landed on her. I flashed him a fake smile. I could tell Thistle was fighting the urge to shoot him the finger.

  When he was gone, I turned to my cousins. “What do you think?”

  “I think he’s an ass,” Thistle said simply.

  “I think he’s hot,” Clove sighed dreamily.

  “I think he’s up to something,” I interjected.

  “Like what?” Thistle asked suspiciously.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I just get a weird vibe off him.”

  “He’s probably evil,” Thistle said.

  “He’s probably just a nice guy who spent a lot of time in the city and is out of his element,” Clove corrected her.

  “You’re so naïve,” Thistle grumbled.

  “And you’re so . . . witchy,” Clove’s voice had risen an octave.

  “We’re all witchy,” I smirked.

  “Keep an eye on him,” Thistle warned me. “I don’t trust him.”

  “You don’t like him,” Clove countered.

  “It’s the same thing.”

  We lapsed into silence for a few minutes and then I turned to Thistle expectantly. “So, what do you have planned for Aunt Tillie?”

  “I haven’t decided yet,” Thistle said stiffly. “It’s got to be epic, though.”

  “I’m still not sure she cursed us,” Clove said dubiously.

  “We all grew mustaches overnight,” Thistle scoffed. “Do you remember what waxing them felt like? It hurt. Then they didn’t grow back, although you had what looked like razor burn on your upper lip for a week. That’s definitely a curse.”

  Clove frowned. “I still don’t understand why I had such a bad reaction to the wax.”

  “Probably because she was really mad at you,” I said. “And she took it out on all of us to make a point.”

  “I told you, I am not the one that stole pot from her field,” Clove challenged. “I think it was Twila.”

  “It doesn’t matter. She thought it was you because you looked stoned that night.”

  “My eyes were red from the pollen in the air,” Clove practically shrieked.

  Thistle and I watched Clove suspiciously. Neither one of us were sure Clove wasn’t actually the one that had stolen from Aunt Tillie’s pot field. We hadn’t even known about the field until a couple of weeks ago. In the time since, Clove kept going for “walks” in the middle of the day. None of us were especially known for hiking through the woods, so you can understand our suspicions.

  “I’m not going over this with you again,” Clove said stubbornly. “It wasn’t me. Maybe it was the two of you and you’re just blaming it on me?”

  Not likely.

  “You know Bay and I get our life highs from a bottle, not from herb,” Thistle replied snottily.

  “Only a guilty person tries to push blame off onto someone else,” I supplied.

  “I hate you both,” Clove grumbled.

  Thankfully for all of us, the door at the front of the store jingled. We all turned to see a handsome man walk through the door. He was dressed in simple jeans and a white T-shirt, but you could tell how impressively built he was thanks to
the snugness of both.

  “Hi, Marcus,” I said sweetly, shooting a glance in Thistle’s direction. I couldn’t tell for sure, especially because she had so much makeup on, but I could swear her cheeks were reddening.

  Thistle and Marcus had been flirting for a month. Marcus was now running the town stable, and Thistle was suddenly interested in picking up feed for the inn’s horses on a regular basis.

  They hadn’t gone out on a real date yet – but it was only a matter of time.

  “Hello, ladies,” Marcus greeted us amiably. “You all look especially pretty today.” His gaze fell on Thistle – and lingered there. “Your hair looks amazing.”

  Thistle smiled at him, unconsciously smoothing her ankle-length floral skirt, while steadfastly ignoring the teasing grins Clove and I were shooting in her direction. “Thank you. You don’t think it’s too much?”

  “No, it is really flattering,” Marcus said honestly.

  He really was sweet. When you paired his warm personality with his hot body, shoulder length dirty blond hair and pretty face, the overall package belonged on the pages of a fashion magazine – and not in Hemlock Cove.

  Thistle was struggling for words, and the room had lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, so I decided to try and help her. “Did we forget to pay our bill, Marcus?”

  “No,” he hedged.

  “Did you need something from the store?” Clove asked helpfully.

  “No.”

  Clove and I exchanged humorous glances. Did he want to mount Thistle in the middle of the retail herb section? “Can we help you with something?”

  “Um, I was just wondering if maybe Thistle wanted to go to dinner tonight?” He said finally.

  Clove and I both turned to Thistle expectantly. We’d been waiting for this development for what felt like years.

  “I’d love to,” Thistle said hurriedly.

  “We have dinner at the inn tonight,” Clove reminded her. Actually, we had dinner at the inn several times a week, but we’d been informed that tonight was mandatory attendance because of the upcoming murder mystery planning.

  “Crap,” Thistle grumbled.

  “You could have dinner at the inn with us,” I offered, shooting a devious look in Thistle direction. “The aunts would love to have you there. They love feeding people.”

  Marcus looked caught, and Thistle looked murderous. “You don’t have to,” she said lamely.

  Marcus squared his broad shoulders, ran his fingers through his sun-streaked hair, and smiled at Thistle decisively. “I would love to have dinner at the inn.”

  “You would?” Thistle looked stunned.

  “I’ve heard a lot about your family,” Marcus said. “I want to meet them.”

  That wouldn’t last long.

  “Dinner starts at 7 p.m.,” I told Marcus. “Don’t be late.”

  “I won’t,” he said. I could tell he was suddenly nervous as the reality of the evening ahead of him started to set in. “I can’t wait.”

  The door to the store had barely shut behind Marcus when he left and Thistle was on me. “You’re dead to me.”

  This wasn’t especially surprising. We all killed one another off at least once a week. “You’ll get over it.”

  “Or she’ll just get even,” Clove interjected.

  That was a sobering thought. I didn’t have time to dwell on it long, though, because the door was jingling again. Marcus couldn’t have changed his mind this quickly. Could he?

  Instead, we all saw Brian enter the store again. I was surprised he managed to find his missing testosterone so quickly.

  “Did you forget something?”

  “No, I just wanted to ask if you guys know of any place good to have dinner? I thought you could join me and we could talk about the newspaper. We never got to talk over lunch, after all.” The request was pointed, but I wasn’t feeling particularly persuaded by his sudden reappearance.

  “I have family dinner,” I said apologetically. “Attendance is mandatory.”

  “You could come to family dinner,” Thistle said suddenly. So much for being dead to her.

  “Where is family dinner?” Brian looked confused.

  “Up at The Overlook,” Clove said. She was smiling at Brian again. Great.

  “The inn? That’s where I’m staying until I find a place,” Brian looked pleased. “That sounds great.”

  Double crap. I kept my silence until he left the store again, promising he wouldn’t be late for dinner. Then I turned to Thistle grimly. “I hate you.”

  “You’ll get over it,” Thistle said brightly.

  “You’re night is still going to be worse than mine,” I reminded her.

  “How do you figure?”

  “I’m not planning on sleeping with Brian. The aunts will take one look at you and know it’s only a matter of time until you get naked with Marcus.”

  Thistle’s faux brightness faded quickly. “This sucks.”

  This definitely sucked.

  Four

  I went back to the office after arguing with Thistle for a few more minutes. Neither of us was giving any ground, so it was a pointless fight. We both had to conserve our energy for tonight anyway. Aunt Tillie would smell blood in the water when both Brian and Marcus showed up – and that blood would equate to weakness – and that weakness would turn her into the shark from Jaws. We would be chum in the water if we weren’t careful, and there wouldn’t be a boat big enough in the world to save us if Aunt Tillie felt like she could move in for the kill.

  Brian didn’t return to the office – which I was thankful for – but I couldn’t get a lot of work done with William and Edith nattering on about everything under the sun. I figured Edith was just happy to have someone to talk to. If ghosts could flirt, I think that’s what she was attempting to do. It was a painful endeavor to watch, though.

  For his part, William was still getting used to his new situation. I still hadn’t figured out why he was a ghost at all. Most ghosts either die a violent death and stay until their murders are solved – or they have unfinished business. I didn’t want to press William on it yet – especially if he was hiding some sort of hidden trauma. I had my own problems to worry about right now.

  I packed up my laptop after two hours of staring at an empty screen and headed home. I dropped my belongings off at the guesthouse where Thistle, Clove and I lived and changed my clothes quickly.

  The guesthouse is a three-bedroom abode that is completely self-contained. It has its own kitchen, living room and a full basement. It only had one bathroom, though, which made mornings a pain when all three of us were trying to get ready at the same time.

  The guesthouse was located on the property of the family inn – which had undergone a massive renovation a few months back. The inn could house a number of guests, and it had a formal dining room and reading room for the general public. It also had a private residence at the back of the property where my mom, her two sisters, and our great-aunt lived together. The only way you could get to the living quarters from the main inn was through the kitchen – which no one ever tried because Aunt Tillie was so frightening.

  While I was changing in the bedroom, I heard the door to the guesthouse open. “Why are you changing before dinner?”

  I walked out into the main room in time to see Thistle cast a disdainful look in Clove’s direction. “I just want to look nice.”

  “For Marcus?”

  “For myself,” Thistle snipped back.

  Clove slid a sly look in my direction and then threw herself on the couch to wait. “Don’t take too long. It will just give them fodder – and you don’t want to give them any more ammunition than they already have.”

  Despite Clove’s warnings, Thistle took a full twenty minutes to get ready. Her efforts were worth it, though. When she came out of her bedroom, Clove and I both whistled appreciatively at her ensemble. She’d changed into an ankle length gypsy skirt in a lovely lavender hue that complemented her new purple hair. She had
also put on a sequined black tank top that managed to show off an impressive amount of cleavage. She looked hot. Her mother was going to have a fit.

  I glanced down at my simple jeans and T-shirt and wondered briefly if I should change. I didn’t want Brian – or anyone else for that matter – to think I’d changed for him, though, so I opted to remain as I was.

  We walked the 500 yards up to the inn and let ourselves in through the back door. The family living quarters are decorated in bright colors, and there are a variety of different floral concoctions on the walls. To the casual observer, it would look like three women liked dried flowers and herbs. To anyone familiar with the craft, though, it would look like four practicing witches had erected an impressive array of protection spells and wards.

  Most of the town knew there was something off about the Winchester women – and many had guessed that we were actually witches. Guessing and proving, though, were two entirely different things.

  When we got inside the living room, none of us were surprised to find Aunt Tillie sitting in her favorite chair watching Jeopardy. The fact that she was wearing sunglasses indoors was something of a surprise, on the other hand. I opened my mouth to ask the obvious question and then snapped it shut. Not only is it a bad idea to interrupt Jeopardy, but it’s also a bad idea to give Aunt Tillie an opening when you don’t have to.

  Instead, I merely shook my head and continued through the living quarters until I reached the kitchen. As suspected, my mom and aunts were busily cooking dinner – and chatting away amiably. None of them looked up when the three of us entered the kitchen.

  “You’re late,” my Aunt Marnie admonished, not looking up from the asparagus she was chopping.

  “Thistle had to change her clothes.”

  Thistle shot me a death look, which I steadfastly ignored. I figured it was better that Thistle be the center of their wrath instead of me. I love my cousins, but I’m willing to sacrifice them to the family beast whenever possible to save myself.

  Clove wandered over to Marnie and dropped a kiss on her cheek. Seeing them together must be a sobering thought for Clove, I thought briefly. They looked exactly alike. They were both short – right around 5’0” – and they both had pitch-black hair (which I knew Marnie was getting from a bottle these days to hide the gray). They were also top heavy – for lack of a better description. Seriously, they were stacked. Marnie repeatedly teased her less endowed sisters by actually sitting them on the table from time to time.