“We are?” Aunt Tillie made a face. “I thought we were going to cast a spell to get rid of the pretzel chick.”
“I’m still hoping if we give Mom another day she’ll handle that problem herself,” I admitted. “If she doesn’t, we’ll handle it for her, but I haven’t come up with an acceptable plan for that yet. That means, for today, we need to focus on something productive.”
“If you ask me, whoever offed that guy did the world a favor,” Aunt Tillie said. “He was a blight on Hemlock Cove, a boil on the butt of humanity, if you will.”
“You have such a way with words,” Landon muttered, shaking his head. “What is this spell you’re casting at Hopper’s house supposed to do? If you can create a trail to a killer, that would be great. I don’t want you guys investigating on your own, though.”
“If it was as simple as creating a trail to a killer, we would’ve done it that first day. That’s not what we’re doing.”
“So ... what are you doing?”
“Creating trails to and from everyone who visited the house.”
“That’s bound to be a lot of trails.”
“Yes, but it will give us a better idea of who we should look at. We’re trying to find who was there the day he died. We can narrow the scope of the spell and see what we come up with. It can’t hurt.”
“I guess not.” Landon slid his hand over the back of my head and leaned over so I had nowhere to look but his eyes. “If you find answers, I want you to call me. Don’t confront whoever you find on your own. We need to come up with a reason to question the person the spell points at.”
“I know the rules.”
“Good.”
One more kiss and Landon headed toward his Explorer. “Be careful ... and try to be smart if you move on Melanie. Don’t bother denying you’ve got something brewing. I can tell.”
“We haven’t decided on a plan of action yet.”
“You will. When you do, cover your butts. Even if Chief Terry eventually thanks you for sticking your big noses into his business, he won’t do it right away. He’ll be angry if he finds out ... and you don’t do well when he’s angry with you.”
That was a fair point.
THISTLE AND CLOVE WERE keen to get out of the shop, so they didn’t put up a fight when we dragged them to Hopper’s house. Even though Clove had grand plans that didn’t include getting in trouble, she thought an outing was a great idea because it would give her the chance to start her trivia game.
“I thought we were waiting until this case was solved before getting tangled in that web,” Thistle groused.
“What web?” Aunt Tillie was focused on the sidewalk, her mouth moving as she counted paces. Her hearing was as good as ever.
“Clove wants us to compete to see who will be her maid of honor,” I supplied. “She’s come up with a game, and whoever wins gets the honor.”
Aunt Tillie snorted. “Oh, that sounds just like her.”
Annoyed, Clove planted her hands on her hips. “I’m right here and I can hear you.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Aunt Tillie waved off Clove’s agitation. “Why can’t you simply put names in a hat and pick that way?”
Clove balked. “What’s the fun in that?”
“What’s the fun in a trivia game?”
“It’s fun for me.”
“I guess that’s fair.” Aunt Tillie reached into her pocket and grabbed a package of herbs. “Okay, I’m going to drop the first mixture. Then we have to wait ten minutes before dropping the second. If this goes as planned, the sidewalk should light up with trails. There will be more than one so it’s going to take some time to follow them.”
I expected that. “Will anyone else be able to see the trails?”
“Only if they’ve got a bit of witch in them. I think that rules out pretty much everybody in town.”
“That you know of,” Thistle clarified. “You’re hardly the all-knowing Tillie when it comes to that stuff. You hide in your own little world and only allow visitors when it suits you.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Either way, it doesn’t matter,” I interjected, hoping to head off an argument. “If someone does see the trail it’s doubtful anyone else will, and the original person will simply assume she’s seeing things, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Good point.” Aunt Tillie sprinkled the herbs across the pavement. “While we’re waiting, I think we should play a rousing game of maid of honor trivia.” Her eyes gleamed as Thistle scowled. “I think Thistle should be first.”
“You are a demon in old lady’s clothing,” Thistle muttered.
“That’s a great idea.” Clove enthusiastically clapped her hands. “I can’t tell you how excited I am for this.”
“That makes two of us.” I faked as much enthusiasm as I could muster. “Right, Thistle? You’re excited, too, aren’t you?”
“I’m so excited I might burst,” Thistle deadpanned.
“Great.” Clove either didn’t notice the sarcasm rolling off our cousin in waves or purposely ignored it. I was leaning toward the latter. Clove was better at reading people than she was often given credit for. “We’ll start with Thistle because she clearly has an advantage over Bay because we work together.”
“Oh, you’ve got an advantage over me,” I drawled, enjoying the evil glare Thistle pinned me with. “I bet that means you’ll win.”
“Oh, we’ll just see about that.”
WE BOTH MADE AN EFFORT to lose the game. The idea of being Clove’s maid of honor and having to wait on her for months as she prepared for the big day was daunting, to say the least. Because we were Winchesters, though, our true competitive spirit came out to play. By the time Aunt Tillie dropped the second bag of herbs and we hopped in my car to follow the trails, we were at each other’s throats for trivia superiority.
“She was not fourteen when she had her first kiss,” I argued, my eyes on the red trail that led down Plum Street. “She was thirteen. It was at the lake and she got tongue action on her first try. I remember because she wouldn’t stop talking about it for weeks.”
“I remember that, too,” Aunt Tillie interjected from the passenger seat. “She was so proud that she announced it over dinner. I thought Marnie was going to melt down when Clove said it in front of Terry.”
“I remember that.” I smiled at the memory. “Chief Terry offered to track down every boy at the lake because Clove refused to admit who kissed her.”
“That’s because I knew Chief Terry would threaten him,” Clove said, grinning. “If that happened, I wouldn’t get another kiss all summer.”
“You were weird,” Thistle supplied. “You were excited because you said that was the next step to becoming a woman. Of course, you were also excited when you got your first period.”
“That’s because it meant I would stop getting dolls for Christmas.”
“You didn’t stop getting dolls,” I pointed out, making a right and frowning when the trail stopped in front of Gregory Lapinski’s house. “Huh. He’s not married. I wonder what he was doing at Hopper’s house.”
“He’s been picking up shifts at the grocery store,” Aunt Tillie offered. “People call in orders for groceries and he delivers them. That’s probably what he was doing at Hopper’s house. I don’t remember seeing his name in the files.”
I arched an eyebrow, surprised. “How do you know he’s been delivering groceries?”
“Because your mother ran out of brown sugar the other day and paid him to pick some up for her. She was knee-deep in molasses cookies and he showed up, like, ten minutes later. She said it was well worth the money.”
“Huh. I didn’t know that. Maybe I’ll put a notice in the newspaper for him. I bet a lot of people would like to take advantage of that service.”
“That’s a good idea,” Thistle said as I rolled around the block and headed back to Hopper’s house. “We only have two trails left to follow,” she noted. “We’ve managed to cut dow
n the suspect list drastically. Unless these final two trails lead to something fantastic, I think we’re dealing with the Wheelers. They were the only ones on Hopper’s list for special sex therapy.”
Once back at Hopper’s house, I picked the purple trail to follow. It led us toward town, which I found interesting.
“Bay gets a point for remembering my first kiss,” Clove offered, a notebook in hand as she tallied the score. “She’s ahead of you by two, Thistle.”
“The day is young,” Thistle muttered. “Ask your next question.”
“What did I want to do for a living when I was a kid?” Clove asked.
“Oh, that’s not fair.” Thistle wrinkled her nose. “You wanted to be, like, ten different things. You have to be more specific than that.”
“Fine. What did I want to be when I was eight?”
Thistle’s disgusted expression didn’t slip. “I can’t remember that either. You jumped around from thing to thing. When you were really little you wanted to be a baker because you liked cookies. Then you spent a year wanting to be a princess. When your mother told you we don’t have princesses in the United States, you insisted on moving to the UK.”
“She also wanted to own a flower shop at one time,” I added, smiling as a particularly funny memory from our childhood pushed to the forefront of my brain. “She cut all of Mom’s roses from the garden and arranged them in a big bucket. She was so proud of herself she didn’t even get in trouble for ravaging those rose bushes.”
“She wanted to be a foot model, too,” Aunt Tillie said. “When she found out she had tiny feet — especially compared to you two — she was thrilled at the idea of standing out. She loved shoes, so she thought being a foot model was the way to go.”
“Oh, you guys really do know me.” Clove beamed. “I’m giving all of you credit for that answer.”
“I’m not playing the game,” Aunt Tillie pointed out, straightening her neck when she saw where the purple trail was leading. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Everyone sobered when the ramifications of our latest discovery hit hard.
“The Unicorn Emporium.” Clove sounded a little dazed. “Do you think Mrs. Little is really a murderer? I mean ... I know she’s unpleasant and everything, but I never thought she was capable of murder.”
“I think Mrs. Little is capable of more than we give her credit for,” I said as I parked my car in front of the police station and killed the engine.
“What are you doing?” Thistle asked, genuinely curious. “I thought you promised Landon you wouldn’t investigate if you found answers.”
“I’m not investigating. I’m simply ... shopping for a unicorn. Clove will need something to give away as prizes at her bachelorette party.”
“Oh, that is a lame reason for going in there.”
“I’m fine with that.”
Aunt Tillie was already out of the car and waiting for me on the sidewalk when I exited the vehicle. She seemed excited at the prospect of Mrs. Little being a murderer. I wasn’t sure that was a good sign.
“We’re just going over there to take a look around,” I cautioned, sober. “We don’t want to tip her off that we suspect she’s a killer.”
Aunt Tillie’s expression was withering. “I know how this works. I’m not an idiot.”
“No, but you do get excitable when it’s time to mess with Mrs. Little. You can’t help yourself.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Aunt Tillie wasn’t in the mood to be admonished. “I’ve got everything under control. She’s a murderer and we’re going to take her down. You have nothing to worry about.”
I sighed as Aunt Tillie zipped across the street. Thankfully, traffic wasn’t heavy, so she didn’t risk an accident when she refused to look both ways. By the time Thistle, Clove and I caught up with her, she was standing on the other side of the store window peering inside.
“You’re a marvelous spy,” Thistle deadpanned, shaking her head. “No one would ever notice you standing out here with your face pressed against the window. Very covert.”
“Stuff it.” Aunt Tillie’s eyes flashed with anger. “One more word and you’re on my list.”
“You can’t use that as a threat any longer. You’ve whipped it out too many times. You’re like the girl who cried list. I no longer fear being on your list. That makes you impotent.”
The annoyance washing over Aunt Tillie was palpable. “Oh, really?”
“Now isn’t the time for this,” I admonished, slipping between them. I was hopeful Aunt Tillie’s zest to mess with Mrs. Little was greater than her need to keep control over Thistle. If I was lucky, she would simply forget her anger and move on. “We need to focus on Mrs. Little. I ... .” I trailed off when I saw the group of laughing women in the store. It seemed Mrs. Little wasn’t alone despite the lack of tourists in the area. “Huh.”
“That’s a loaded ‘huh,’” Clove said. “What do you mean with that huh?”
“Well ... .” I rolled my neck as I considered the rather obvious problem. “The spell was supposed to point toward the people who visited Hopper’s house the day he died. We were specific in the language ... the people, not the house. The reason those other trails led to houses is because the suspects were home at the time. We confirmed that.”
“So?” Clove clearly hadn’t caught up.
“So ... there are six people in Mrs. Little’s store right now,” I replied. “Mrs. Little, Maxine Wheeler, Esther MacReady, Tori Corbin, Janet Hall.”
“And Melanie Adams,” Aunt Tillie finished ticking off the names, her expression turning grim. “Basically the spell is saying that one of the people in the store was at Hopper’s house that day. We don’t know which one.”
“It has to be Mrs. Little,” Clove persisted. “She was seeing him.”
“So was Maxine,” I pointed out.
“Janet Hall was on the list, too,” Thistle added. “She’s in the files we separated. She was having sex with Hopper.”
And Esther lived next door to him,” I added. “Basically, everybody but Tori and Melanie has ties to Hopper. We didn’t cut down our list all that much.”
“So ... what does this mean?” Clove asked.
I shrugged, unsure how to answer. “We have fewer people to focus on, but we can’t rule out very many in that group because more than half of them had ties to Hopper. We need to figure out who wanted him dead most.”
“Is there a way to do that?”
“I have no idea.”
Twenty-One
If we were good spies, we would’ve quietly slipped away from the window and found an isolated spot to discuss the next phase of our plan.
That’s simply not how we work.
“Where are you going?” Thistle hissed as Aunt Tillie pushed through the weak wall of Winchesters and headed toward the front door.
“What’s she doing?” Clove asked, jerking her eyes to me. “Is she going inside?”
That was a very good question, but I had no idea why I was the one expected to answer. “Who knows what she’s doing?” I barked as I began following. “But we need to stop her.”
“Oh, sure,” Thistle drawled behind me, in no hurry to follow. “We’ll just stop her. It’s as easy as saying it. We’ll say ‘stop’ and she’ll agree out of the goodness of her heart.”
“No one needs your sarcasm,” I shot back.
“If I didn’t have sarcasm, I’d have absolutely nothing to say,” Thistle complained as Aunt Tillie wrapped her fingers around the front door handle. “And if Aunt Tillie didn’t have an inherent need to poke and prod like she’s Dr. Frankenstein and Mrs. Little is her monster we wouldn’t be here right now.”
I desperately fixed my attention on Aunt Tillie. “I don’t know what you’re planning to do ... but this is a terrible idea.”
“I don’t have terrible ideas.” Aunt Tillie was matter-of-fact. “Every idea I have is gold. This will be the same. Trust me.”
“You once told me that we were going to get ri
ch by taking a metal detector to the lake every summer and collecting all the jewelry people lost,” Clove pointed out, a last-ditch effort to rein Aunt Tillie in. “That wasn’t a good idea, was it?”
Aunt Tillie made a face. “I still haven’t been proved wrong on that.”
“No, but what do we usually find?”
“Beer cans,” Aunt Tillie admitted sheepishly.
“Wait a second ... .” Something occurred to me. “Since when do you two sneak off to spend time together at the lake?”
“Oh, well ... .” Clove’s cheeks colored.
“Who cares?” Thistle challenged. “If that old biddy wants to search for someone’s missing ring at the lake, I say let her. That’s one afternoon we don’t have to worry that she’s going to do something stupid.”
Aunt Tillie’s eyes lit with fury. “Hey, mouth, I never do stupid things.”
“I’ve got a whole childhood spent with you that begs to differ,” Thistle shot back.
“Oh, we’ll just see about that.” Aunt Tillie was clearly spoiling for a fight because she narrowed her eyes and glared. “This is going to be the best idea I’ve ever had. Given that I’ve had some of the best ideas anyone has ever had, that’s saying something. You need to trust me.” She flicked her eyes to me. “You trust me, right, Bay?”
Oh, well, geez. There was nothing I liked better than being put on the spot. “Well ... .”
“See!” Aunt Tillie jabbed an emphatic finger into the air. “Bay trusts me. Why must you always be the difficult one, Thistle?”
“I don’t believe Bay said that she trusts you,” Thistle argued.
“Then clean your ears. Bay totally trusts me.” Aunt Tillie was done waiting. This time when she grabbed the door handle she pushed the door open and strolled into the Unicorn Emporium as if she owned it. “Hello, Margaret. I think we have something to discuss ... and for once it’s not your need to fill your life with phallic symbols. I mean ... what’s that about?”
Thistle, Clove and I could’ve run. Most people wouldn’t have blamed us. That’s not the Winchester way, though, so instead we hurried into the store behind Aunt Tillie. We would offer her solidarity and support ... even if we all agreed that she was crazier than a Kardashian without access to a mirror.
Witch, Interrupted Page 20