Witch Me Luck (Wicked Witches of the Midwest Book 6)

by Amanda M. Lee

  “I know,” Landon said. “We can’t take the word of an anonymous caller, though. We don’t have any evidence.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “To ask questions,” Landon said. “We’re not here to accuse anyone.”

  “Whatever,” Clove mumbled.

  “Believe it or not, Clove, I’m hoping we can clear Sam and I’m hoping we can do it quickly,” Landon said. “I don’t want you to be miserable, and I certainly don’t want Bay to be miserable. As long as you’re upset, she’s going to be upset.”

  “She’s not upset,” Clove said. “She’s been looking for a reason to turn on Sam since she met him.”

  “That’s not fair, Clove,” I said. “You know very well I have a reason to be … wary … where Sam is concerned.”

  “He apologized for lying when he first came to town,” Clove said. “You know why he did it. He only wanted to get to know us before telling us the truth.”

  “He still lied,” I said.

  “Oh, like you’ve never lied,” Clove said.

  I pressed my lips together and pushed a strand of my hair behind my ear, trying to calm myself. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  “I want you to say that you believe him,” Clove said.

  I met her challenging gaze. “I want to believe him.”

  “Let’s try to stay on topic,” Landon said. “Sam, do you own a gun?”

  Sam shook his head.

  “Not even a hunting rifle?”

  “No.”

  “A handgun?”

  “He already answered that!” Clove’s eyes practically glowed.

  “Let’s try something,” Chief Terry said, trying to head off a potential showdown. “Sam, stand up.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it.”

  Sam did as instructed.

  “Now, Bay, you were up close and personal with the robber,” Chief Terry said. “Was he the same size as Sam?”

  I realized what he was doing. I took a step forward and studied Sam carefully. “I don’t know,” I said finally. “It all happened so fast, and he was coming at me.”

  “Move toward her,” Chief Terry said.

  Sam took two quick steps in my direction and then ceased his forward momentum before he got too close.

  “I think Sam is smaller,” I said. “Not by a lot, but by about two inches. He looks thinner, too.”

  “How sure are you?” Landon asked.

  That was a very good question. “Fifty percent.”

  “Those aren’t great odds, Bay,” Landon said. “You’re saying the robber may or may not be the same size as Sam.”

  “What do you want from me? I’m doing the best I can.”

  Landon held up his hand. “I’m not saying you’re not,” he said. “I just … I need you to really think about this.”

  “I am.”

  “Okay,” Landon said. “Give it some thought.”

  Chief Terry’s phone chimed with an incoming call, and he pulled it from his pocket and moved to a spot behind the couch to take it. While he was busy, Landon focused on Sam.

  “We’re not going to arrest you,” Landon said. “We have no evidence. I need you to figure out whether anyone would try to point the finger at you for some reason.”

  “I haven’t been in town long enough to make enemies,” Sam said.

  “What about out of town?”

  Sam shrugged. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Do that,” Landon said. “Also, I have to say this – and I’m sorry – it would be better if you didn’t leave town.”

  “I have no intention of leaving,” Sam said.

  “Good.”

  Chief Terry put his phone back in his pocket. His face was grave when he rejoined us. “This just got worse,” he said.

  “Who was that?”

  “The hospital. Amy Madison succumbed to her injuries this morning. She never regained consciousness.”

  My hand flew to my mouth. “Oh, no.”

  “So, this just went from a robbery to a murder,” Landon said. “Great.”

  I could think of another word for it.

  Ten

  “I heard there was some excitement yesterday.”

  I’d forgotten to shut my office door when I got to The Whistler about a half hour before. I didn’t realize the owner, Brian Kelly, was in the building. That was a mistake I was going to regret.

  “The bank robbery? Yeah.”

  “How are we going to deal with that given all of the town anniversary celebrations?”

  Brian didn’t often care about the daily operations of The Whistler. He handled the advertising, and he cared about making money, but he’d opted to ignore the content in recent months.

  “I don’t know,” I replied honestly. “We can’t ignore it.”

  “Well, just write up a brief and put it on page two,” Brian said. “It’s a bank robbery. It would barely be news in the city.”

  He obviously hadn’t heard the new development. “The teller who was shot, Amy Madison, she died this morning.”

  Brian’s eyes widened. “How do you know that?”

  That was a touchy subject, and I wasn’t sure how much to tell Brian. I’ve never trusted him, and the only reason I bothered to show him any respect was because I’d adored his late grandfather, William. When William died, he’d left a stipulation in his will that whoever took over day-to-day operations of the newspaper had to keep me on as editor. Brian didn’t like it, mostly because he wanted to sell the newspaper and that was out of the question, but he’d taken to letting me do pretty much whatever I wanted.

  “Chief Terry told me this morning,” I said finally.

  “Oh, was he at the inn for breakfast?”

  Brian rented a room at The Overlook for months following his relocation to Hemlock Cove. A few weeks ago, he’d purchased a house on the outskirts of town. Having him out of my family’s hair was a relief.

  “He came out during breakfast,” I said. That wasn’t technically a lie. I was just leaving Sam’s part of my morning out of the discussion. Brian was responsible for initially bringing Sam to town. They’d been friendly with one another, but I had no idea whether that friendship continued. I figured it was Sam’s job to tell Brian the truth if he wanted him to know.

  “Well, that changes things,” Brian said. “Do what you think is best. Maybe we can put the anniversary celebration above the fold, and put the murder below. That way it will still be on the front page.”

  That didn’t seem very respectful to Amy. “We have a few days before we have to decide on anything,” I said. “Maybe we’ll be lucky and this will be solved quickly.”

  “That would be nice,” Brian said. “Okay, well, I trust you have it all under control. I have to go down to the pie-baking contest.”

  I glanced up at him, surprised. “Really?”

  “I’m one of the celebrity judges,” Brian said, winking. “I have to be there for all the early rounds, so it’s going to be an all-day extravaganza.”

  “Well, have fun,” I said. “You should know my mother is entering a pie. Twila and Marnie are, too. It’s supposed to be extremely competitive.”

  “That sounds fun,” Brian said. “What about Aunt Tillie? She’s not entering a pie, is she?”

  Brian was terrified of my persnickety aunt – and for good reason. She’d threatened to curse him so many times I’d lost count. “Aunt Tillie doesn’t bake. Besides, I think she’s spending the day with Thistle.”

  Brian arched an eyebrow. “Why? Is the world coming to an end?”

  That was an apt question. “I think they’re just … brewing up some trouble.”

  “Well, that’s terrifying,” Brian said. “I’ll see you later.”

  Once he was gone, Edith popped into view. “He just talks, and talks, and talks.”

  I hadn’t seen Brian in almost a week, so I found that statement funny. “What’s up with you?” I asked. “You haven’t seen any new ghosts a
round, have you?”

  “I’ve been here,” Edith said. “You know I don’t like leaving unless I absolutely have to. Why? Who died?”

  “One of the tellers at the bank was shot during a robbery yesterday,” I said. “She died this morning.”

  “That’s terrible,” Edith said. “You know, in my day, things like that just didn’t happen.”

  I made a face. “Aren’t you convinced someone poisoned your meal and that’s why you’re dead?”

  “I think your Aunt Tillie did it,” Edith said. “There’s a difference.”

  Despite the rumors about Aunt Tillie, I had a hard time believing she would poison Edith. Curse her? Sure. Poison her? Probably not. Edith wasn’t enough of a concern in Aunt Tillie’s life to warrant poisoning. “Well, we’ll just have to agree to disagree on that one. I need you to keep your eyes open, though. If you see a new ghost, I need to hear about it.”

  “Do you think the teller is going to come back?”

  “Her name is Amy Madison,” I said. “I think there’s a good chance she’ll show up. Her death was quick and traumatizing. I have no way of knowing for sure, but I have a feeling we’ll be seeing her again.”

  “Okay,” Edith said, shrugging. “I’ll be on the lookout. I actually plan on venturing out a little more than usual over the next few days.”

  “Why?”

  “A lot of people are back in town,” Edith said. “I might know some of them. I want to see how badly they’ve aged.”

  Well, that figured. “Okay. Have fun.”

  AFTER about two hours alone with my laptop, I decided to see what was happening downtown. When I left the newspaper offices, I wasn’t surprised to see the town square brimming with people. The festival was still undergoing final touches, but most of the visitors seemed happy to mill about and catch up with one another.

  I waved at a few friendly faces and made my way to the red tent where the pie contest was in full swing. The judges, Brian among them, sat at a rectangular table at the center of the tent. I knew Chief Terry was supposed to be one of the judges, but I wasn’t surprised to see his chair filled by the librarian, Phyllis Bristow, instead.

  “This is exciting, isn’t it?” Mom said, appearing at my side and grabbing my elbow. “They’ve already made the first cut. It’s down to five pies.”

  “I’m assuming yours is one of them,” I said.

  “Of course it is.”

  Despite Mom’s enthusiasm, I had trouble garnering the energy to get excited about pies given Clove’s current angst. “Have you seen Clove?”

  Mom sobered, but only marginally. “Not since she stormed out this morning. I thought she was with you.”

  “She was out at the Dandridge when we got there,” I said.

  “Was Sam arrested?”

  “No. They don’t have any evidence. He was just warned to stay in town.”

  “Do you think he’s guilty?”

  “I have no idea,” I said. “I want to believe he’s innocent, because if he’s not Clove is going to be devastated. I just don’t know.”

  “I understand why you’re suspicious about Sam,” Mom said. “The truth is, though, other than his initial lie, he’s been forthcoming with us. He hasn’t done anything that would make us think that he’s out to get us.”

  “He still lied.”

  “And we lie every day,” Mom said. “We don’t volunteer who we are or what we can do to people unless we trust them. You seem to forget, Sam didn’t know he could trust us then any more than we know we can trust him now.

  “Sooner or later, you just have to decide whether you’re going to trust someone,” she continued. “So, the question is: Do you trust him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Until you do, nothing is going to be settled,” Mom said. “You have to understand that Clove trusts him.”

  “Clove should trust me, too,” I shot back. “She should know I wouldn’t make something up just to mess with Sam.”

  “She doesn’t think you made anything up,” Mom said. “She’s searching for a way to vindicate Sam. Don’t take everything so personally.”

  “I’m not taking things personally.”

  “Oh, please,” Mom said, waving off my argument. “You’ve always taken things personally. It’s in your nature. You can’t help yourself. You’re very sensitive sometimes.”

  “I am not sensitive.”

  “That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” Mom said. “Although, in this case, I do think it’s a bad thing. You’ve always worried what other people think about you. Can’t you just let that go?”

  “Clove isn’t just my cousin, she’s one of my best friends,” I said. “How do I let that go?”

  “It’s not just Clove, though. You’ve also gotten yourself worked up because Lila Stevens is back in town. Don’t think I don’t know what Aunt Tillie and Thistle are conspiring about. They’re going to do something horrible, and they’re going to do it because they don’t think you’ll stand up for yourself.”

  The conversation was getting uncomfortable. “I stand up for myself.”

  “You do now,” Mom agreed. “You didn’t as a child, though, and I’m worried that you’re going to regress because of Lila. I hope you don’t.”

  “I’m not going to regress.”

  “Good,” Mom said, patting my arm. “Make sure you don’t. Now, I need to go make sure your aunts aren’t trying to sway the judges.”

  “Did they make the final five pies, too?”

  “Of course they did,” Mom said. “They’re excellent bakers. They’re just not as good as I am.”

  “Well, good luck,” I said. “I’m sure you’ll win.”

  “I’m sure I will, too.”

  Mom disappeared into the crowd, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Part of me hoped she’d win. She was my mother, after all. The other part of me hoped no one from my family would win, because if one of them was named victor the other two were going to be impossible to deal with.

  After watching the tasting for a few moments, I let my eyes wander. That’s when I found an ethereal form loitering in front of the bank. Her blonde hair was cropped short above her shoulders, and her brown eyes were busily scanning the crowd. She gestured toward people a few times. I couldn’t hear her voice, but I had a feeling I knew what was happening. Amy Madison might have died, but her soul was lingering – and it was confused.

  I subtly escaped from the shadow of the tent and walked toward the bank. Even though I was excited to see the teller, I didn’t want to draw attention to myself, so I forced my pace to remain even. Thankfully for me, the bulk of the town’s attention – visitors and residents alike – was focused inside the tent. I could hear some squawking, and without turning around I knew Marnie and Mom were going at each other. I recognized their voices, even if I couldn’t make out the words.

  When I got to Amy, her face was awash with misery.

  “Hi,” I said, keeping my voice low.

  Amy’s eyes widened when she realized I was talking to her. “You can see me?”

  I nodded.

  “How? Aren’t I dead?”

  “You died this morning,” I said. “I can just … see things sometimes.”

  “People always said there was something different about you,” Amy said. “I guess they were right.”

  “In some ways,” I said. “In other ways, they have no idea what they’re talking about.”

  “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter now,” Amy said. “I’m dead. It’s not like I can tell anyone except you that you can talk to ghosts.”

  I forced a small smile for her benefit. “I suppose.”

  “What happens to me now?” Amy asked. “Am I stuck here forever?”

  “It depends,” I said. “You have a choice in the matter. If you want to stay, you can stay. If you want to go, you have to make the choice to let go.”

  “Does everyone who dies become a ghost?”

  “No. In the grand scheme of things, the n
umber of people who stay behind is generally pretty small.”

  “Why am I here?”

  “I’m guessing you’re here until they find whoever killed you,” I said. I glanced over my shoulder to make certain we weren’t drawing attention and then continued. “What do you remember about the robbery?”

  “Not much,” Amy said, shrugging. “It happened really fast. I was talking to Mrs. Donahue about her free calendar. She claimed she never got it this year, but I knew she did. She just likes to hoard them. I have no idea why. It’s summer, for crying out loud. I have no idea why she would need one now.

  “Anyway, someone came in through the front door,” she continued. “He had a gun in his hand, and he was wearing all black, including one of those knit masks.”

  “You’re sure it was a man, though?”

  “I am. You can just tell. He had broad shoulders and a narrow waist. He had no hips, and he was wearing those big, clunky combat boots. No woman would ever wear those.”

  She had a point. “Did you recognize his voice?”

  “I … I don’t know. I was afraid of the gun. It just sounded like a voice. I don’t think I recognized it.”

  “Okay,” I said, briefly considering my options. “If you want to move this along, you might consider going to all of the anniversary events and listening to people as they talk. You might be able to identify who killed you.”

  “I guess,” Amy said. “A fair doesn’t sound like much fun if you can’t eat elephant ears or ride the roller-coaster.”

  “I know,” I said, sympathy rolling over me. “I just … there’s not much else for you to do.”

  “I guess,” Amy said. “There’s no time like the present to start, right? I’ll go now.”

  “Come out to the inn and find me if you discover anything,” I said.

  Amy merely nodded in response. When I turned my attention back to the fair, I was stunned to find Lila standing two feet behind me. Her green eyes were wide – and vicious – and she looked as though she had just won the lottery.

  “Oh, this is priceless,” she said.

  Eleven

  “Lila,” I said, squaring my shoulders. “Why are you here? I thought you liked to be the center of attention. Shouldn’t you be sharing your … pie … with the rest of the town?”