If I could mentally choke someone, like a dark Jedi Knight, Thistle would be dead on the floor.
“I can’t wait,” Landon said enthusiastically, shooting me a flirty smile.
He’d change his mind on that front pretty quickly, I figured. Aunt Tillie would make sure of it.
Fourteen
The rest of lunch was a casual affair. Landon started grilling Thistle and Clove on what I was like as a child. As much as Thistle wanted to mess with me, though, she wasn’t about to start spilling family secrets.
The truth was, I was an odd child – even for my family’s standards. I could talk to ghosts at a young age. Everyone in town, though, thought I wandered around talking to myself. As close as Thistle and Clove and I were, even they didn’t understand what I was doing when I was holding entire conversations with shrubs and flowers. It took a long time for me to realize what was going on, and even more time for me to explain what was going on to Clove and Thistle.
My cousins remained friendly with Landon, despite his probing questions, but they didn’t reveal anything to him that would put the family secret in jeopardy. If Landon suspected anything, he didn’t let on.
Once he was gone, with a promise that he would be up at the inn at 7 p.m. sharp, I turned on Thistle. “Why did you invite him to dinner?”
“You know why,” Thistle said dismissively.
“You’ve paid me back for the Marcus thing this morning,” I complained. “Good grief.”
“That’s just an added bonus,” Thistle said. “I invited him because you like him and you’re not going to make the first move.”
“That’s not why you invited him,” I countered.
“It is so.”
“It is not.”
“It is so.”
“It is not.”
“It is so.”
“I’m going to grind your face into the mud when this is all over,” I promised. “You better not have any dessert.”
I returned to the office, but I didn’t get much done. I called Chief Terry, but he said the autopsy results wouldn’t be available until the next morning. I was worried that would be the case. Finally, I packed up my laptop and went home.
Clove and Thistle were already at the guesthouse when I arrived. They were watching me expectantly.
“What?”
“What are you going to wear?” Clove asked.
I looked down at my jeans and simple tee and shrugged. “This.”
“You can’t wear that,” Clove waved me off. “He’s already seen you in that. Don’t you want to dress up?”
“No. This isn’t a date.”
Clove and Thistle exchanged knowing looks, but dropped the matter. A few minutes before seven, we all left for the inn on foot. There was no sense in driving, even though the nights were getting markedly cooler on a daily basis.
We let ourselves in through the back door, ignoring Aunt Tillie who was sitting in her chair watching Jeopardy, and headed straight into the kitchen. I wanted to give Marnie a heads up about Landon before he arrived for dinner.
The minute we entered the kitchen, though, the rich scent of homemade lasagna assaulted my nasal passages. Lasagna was one of my favorite dishes. My mouth was actually salivating at the smell.
“Lasagna?”
“It’s your favorite,” my mom said warmly. “We heard you found another dead body last night and figured you could use some comfort food.”
“That’s nice,” I said, and I meant it.
“Of course, we should have served liver,” my mom sad.
Blech. I hated liver. “Why should you have served liver?”
“Well, since we had to hear about you finding another body from Chief Terry, you don’t exactly deserve to be rewarded, do you?” My mother was giving me her patented “I’m disappointed in you” look.
Crap.
“I didn’t think it was a big deal,” I lied.
“Oh, please,” Marnie scoffed from her place at the counter. She was busy icing a fancy looking carrot cake. If they were really fixing my favorite meals it would have been a red velvet cake. I suddenly didn’t feel so guilty about not telling them about the dead body.
“Oh, please, what?”
“You three lie about everything, whether it’s a good idea or not. You’ve done it since you were kids.”
“That’s not true,” Clove protested.
“Really?” Marnie challenged her. “The first time you were felt up you came home with your sweater on backwards and raced upstairs to tell these two,” she gestured at Thistle and me. “Then the three of you came downstairs and when I asked you about it, you said that the wind must have shifted the sweater.”
“You knew?” Clove looked horrified.
“Little Donnie Bailey. His dad had wandering hands, too.”
Thistle barked out a laugh. It was always funny when their wrath was directed at someone else.
“What are you laughing at,” Twila interrupted. “You were the one that lied about finding lipstick on the sidewalk when you were really stealing it.”
Thistle swallowed hard. “I did not steal it.”
“You were caught on camera, and I had to go in and pay for it,” Twila pointed out.
“It only happened once.” Thistle was suddenly obsessed with her shoes.
“It did,” I backed up Thistle loyally.
She shot me a grateful look.
“And none of you told us about the overnight guest you had last night,” my mom interjected. “Marcus is a handsome boy, though.”
Uh-oh.
Thistle shot me a venomous look. “It wasn’t me,” I protested.
“We saw him slinking off this morning,” Aunt Tillie said, entering the room dramatically. I couldn’t help but notice she was still wearing her sunglasses.
“He wasn’t slinking off,” Thistle argued.
“And I suppose he was there to fix the plumbing,” Aunt Tillie said haughtily.
Well, he did clear out Thistle’s pipes. “What does it matter?” I challenged.
“It doesn’t,” my mom chided me. “It’s just another example of the continuous stream of lies the three of you spew.”
“We don’t lie,” Clove disputed my mom. One look at her warning look, though, and Clove shrank in her growing countenance. “We don’t lie all the time,” she amended.
We so need to change the subject. “You guys remember the FBI agent from the cornfield?”
My mom looked surprised by the change in subject matter. “The one who saved our lives? The one with all the pretty dark hair?”
That would be the one. “Yeah, Landon Michaels. He’s investigating Myron’s death.”
“Why isn’t Terry investigating it?” Twila asked.
“They’re investigating it together,” I said. “Anyway, he’s coming to dinner tonight.”
“Are you dating?” My mom looked far too excited by the prospect.
“No,” I said hurriedly.
“Then why is he coming to dinner?”
“He wants to talk to Marnie,” Thistle said.
“Why?” Marnie looked surprised.
“We might have told him that you used to date Myron, you know, back in the day,” Thistle said lamely, dropping her gaze in an attempt to avoid the fire bolts that were shooting from Marnie.
“And why would you tell him that?”
“He asked,” Clove supplied.
“So, let me get this straight,” Marnie was practically seething. “You three lie about minor things and then decide to tell the truth about something like this?”
“We didn’t think it would be a big deal,” I said. Why was it such a big deal?
“It’s not a big deal,” Marnie waved me off. “It just never ceases to amaze me what you guys tell the truth about and what you lie about.”
“They’re just not very smart,” Aunt Tillie interjected.
“Excuse me? You’re wearing sunglasses in the house because you believe you’re allergic to oxygen an
d we’re the stupid ones?” The minute I said the words, I knew they were a mistake.
Aunt Tillie shuffled towards me. I wasn’t tall at 5’5” – but I towered over Aunt Tillie in physical stature. Somehow, I felt dwarfed by her presence, though. Aunt Tillie extended one gnarled finger in my direction. “You should be careful who you call stupid, my dear. Karma is a bitch. And yours is starting to show.”
What the hell did that mean?
Aunt Tillie turned away dismissively. “If you were bringing a date, you really should have cleaned yourself up.”
“It’s not a date.”
“There are great home electrolysis systems these days,” she said as she started to move towards the dining room. “You really should invest in one.”
If Karma is real, why is Aunt Tillie still standing?
Fifteen
After a quick trip to the bathroom, where I found Aunt Tillie’s mustache had suddenly re-grown, I returned to the kitchen.
“It’s hardly noticeable, dear,” my mom patted my arm.
It better not be, I’d used her razor to get rid of it. After my mom and aunts took the food out to the kitchen, I turned to Thistle. “Whatever you’re planning for that old lady, I’m in.”
“She really is the devil,” Thistle lamented. I noticed that she was running her own hand over her own top lip to make sure her mustache hadn’t returned. None of us felt safe.
Clove licked her lips nervously. “If we do something to her, that will just make her mad.” I couldn’t help but notice that she was looking around the room like Aunt Tillie would jump out from behind a curtain to pounce at the hint of a plot against her. Actually, that wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility.
“We can’t just let her go unchecked,” Thistle hissed. “It makes her feel omnipotent – which really just makes her more dangerous.”
“Are you sure she’s not?”
“What? Omnipotent? No one is omnipotent.”
The three of us lapsed into an uneasy silence. Even we weren’t sure that was true when it came to Aunt Tillie.
We all collected ourselves, shaking off the shudder that had suddenly overwhelmed us, and followed our mothers into the dining room. I noticed that Landon was already seated, and Brian was located a few chairs down. They were both shooting each other dark looks.
“What took you so long?” My mom asked.
“We were just . . . it was like thirty seconds,” I grumbled.
“Well, when the three of you are together plotting, things can fall apart in thirty seconds,” my mom clucked. “I was just checking.”
Just checking, my ass.
Thistle and Clove hurriedly slid into seats on Aunt Tillie’s side of the table, leaving the only open chair situated next to Landon. I glared at both of them, but silently sat down next to him. I didn’t bother greeting him, mostly because I felt like everyone at the table was staring at me. Damn Aunt Tillie.
After dinner had been doled out, most of the guests at the far end of the table were talking amongst themselves. That left our end of the table mired in an uncomfortable silence. My mom, apparently, couldn’t stand it.
“It’s so nice to see you,” she said to Landon.
“You, too,” Landon replied amiably.
My mom smiled when she caught sight of his dimples. Who didn’t love dimples? “I see you still have long hair,” she hedged. She obviously didn’t love that.
“I like it long,” Landon said with a smile, although I could tell the smile was tighter than it should have been.
“What does your mom think about your hair?”
Thistle exchanged a humorous smile with me. We were enjoying Landon’s discomfort.
“She doesn’t like it,” Landon said honestly. “I’m an adult, though. I just tell her that parents lose the right to comment on their child’s hair after the age of eighteen.”
Twila shuffled a look towards Thistle’s hair. I could tell she thought differently.
“So, where have you been?” Aunt Tillie threw out the question ominously. Apparently Landon’s dimples didn’t charm her.
Landon looked confused. “What do you mean?”
“I mean you just disappeared on poor Bay here,” she challenged him. “That’s not a very nice thing to do.” I was uncomfortable being referred to as “poor Bay” – but I honestly wanted to hear his answer.
“I didn’t disappear,” Landon shot back quickly. “I was recovering from a gunshot wound.”
“That’s your excuse?” Aunt Tillie didn’t look impressed.
“It’s not good enough for you? I did get shot saving you, after all?” Landon reminded her.
“I didn’t need you to save me,” Aunt Tillie harrumphed. “I had the situation under control.”
As unstoppable as she is, even I had doubts about her ability to stop a bullet with only her mind as a weapon. The doubts were relatively weak, though.
“I’m sure you could have handled the situation,” Landon conceded, flashing his dimples again.
“Those don’t work on me,” she warned him.
“What don’t?”
“Those dimples,” Aunt Tillie said.
“I’m surprised you can see them with the sunglasses on,” Landon countered.
Thistle, Clove and I all sucked in a sharp breath. Landon seemed surprised by our reaction. It didn’t stop him from asking the question that we were all mentally warning him against. “Why are you wearing the sunglasses?”
“I’m sick,” Aunt Tillie announced.
“That’s terrible,” Brian interjected with an overt sympathy that could only be described as fake. “Do you have an eye infection?”
“No, I don’t have an eye infection,” Aunt Tillie said irritably. “I’m allergic to oxygen.”
Landon looked surprised. Brian looked doubtful. “I don’t think that’s really a thing,” he said.
Thistle and I exchanged dubious looks. “Uh-oh,” she mouthed. I was actually kind of curious how Aunt Tillie would react. I was just glad Landon hadn’t said it. Aunt Tillie had once boasted she could shrink a man’s, um, unit. I didn’t want to risk Landon suffering that fate before I saw what he had to offer. Did I just think that? At least I didn’t say it out loud.
“Are you calling me a liar?” Aunt Tillie challenged Brian.
“I don’t think he’s calling you a liar,” Clove interjected helpfully. I couldn’t help but be a little irritated that she felt the need to race to Brian’s aid. I wanted to see Aunt Tillie unleash her full fury on him.
I saw Thistle jerk spasmodically. If I had to guess, she’d kicked Clove under the table. She was clearly on my side -- as far as Brian was concerned, at least.
“You’re not a liar,” Brian said hurriedly. “You’re very old, though. You might be senile.”
My mouth dropped open in surprise. No way was Aunt Tillie going to stand for that.
“What did you just say?” Aunt Tillie was incensed.
“Um . . . I said that maybe you’re senile,” Brian looked suddenly uncomfortable. The fact that he was looking at my aunts and mom for help with the situation was humorous in itself. Despite Aunt Tillie’s obvious rage, though, he hadn’t tried to placate her. You had to admire his guts – or his rampant stupidity.
“He just called me senile,” Aunt Tillie turned to me incredulously. I had insinuated that Aunt Tillie was senile several times in the past month alone. I didn’t think now was the time to point that out, though.
“What are you going to do about it?” Hey, focusing Aunt Tillie’s rage on someone else – someone I didn’t trust – could only help me at this point.
Aunt Tillie was suddenly standing. She was either going to curse him or dump his dinner on him. Both were mildly entertaining possibilities. To my surprise, Aunt Tillie turned on her heel and disappeared into the kitchen. I made a move to get up and follow her, but Twila stopped me.
“I’ll go.”
The entire table watched as Twila disappeared into the kit
chen after Aunt Tillie rage-filled form. She was like a really tiny Hulk when she got like this. “Is she okay?” I couldn’t be sure, but I think the young redhead at the end of the table had asked the question.
“She’s fine,” Marnie said dismissively. No one that shared in our dubious gene pool actually believed that, but we’d all been trained not to alarm the guests when Aunt Tillie went into one of her “fits”.
Landon slid a curious look in my direction. “What the hell was that?”
“Aunt Tillie is . . . persnickety.”
“Good word,” Landon encouraged me. He leaned in close so only I could hear him for the next part of his statement. “I don’t believe you for a second. You’re all worried. That old lady is up to something in the kitchen, isn’t she?”
“We’re not worried,” I lied. “She won’t do anything.” As long as Twila locked up the Belladonna, that was probably a true statement.
“So,” Marnie said nervously, trying to change the subject. “I hear you’re working on Myron’s murder?”
Landon turned to Marnie. “I am. I have a few questions, if you’re up to it?”
“What do you want to know?”
“Did you used to date Mr. Grisham?”
“When I was twenty, we dated for about six months,” Marnie admitted.
“What can you tell me about him?”
“He could do a full keg stand for two minutes,” Marnie said blankly.
Landon looked surprised. I think his face mirrored mine. “You know what a keg stand is?”
“I wasn’t always a mother and aunt,” Marnie waved off my surprise. “I went to my fair share of parties.”
Landon smiled, despite himself. “What else can you tell me?”
“I don’t know,” Marnie shrugged. “We were young. He was a nice man. We had a lot of laughs. It wasn’t exactly a serious relationship.”
“What can you tell me about his family?”
“His mom died when he was a baby,” Marnie supplied. “His dad was a deliveryman, back when milk was still dropped off at people’s doors. I never really saw him that much.”
“And where is his father now?”
“He died right before Marcus joined the Army,” Marnie answered.
Every Witch Way But Wicked (A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Mystery) Page 8