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

by Amanda M. Lee

  “That’s possible,” Aunt Tillie said. “I am mentally incompetent, after all. My mind jumps all over the place. It’s like a spider.”

  “A spider?”

  “A spider,” Aunt Tillie confirmed. “Kind of like the one in your hair right now.”

  Lila’s hand flew to her hair and she rubbed it recklessly. “Where is it? Get it out!”

  Dad leaned over, confused. “There’s no spider.”

  “What is she doing?” Landon whispered.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Oh, you think you’re so funny,” Lila said, her hair disheveled when she finally lifted her head and faced off with Aunt Tillie. “Is that the best you’ve got? I remember you as much meaner.”

  “I’m still mean,” Aunt Tillie said. “Just ask these three.”

  “She’s evil,” Thistle confirmed. “It’s what keeps her young.”

  “She should try moisturizer,” Lila said. “It might hide some of those wrinkles making her face sag like that.”

  Uh-oh. Those were fighting words if I ever heard them. I leaned forward so I could study Aunt Tillie’s face.

  “Do you know what your problem is, Lila?” Aunt Tillie asked, her voice even.

  “I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

  “You never grew up,” Aunt Tillie said. “You’re still stuck in some time warp where you’re important and everyone else isn’t. Someday … someday soon … you’re going to realize you’re only important in your own mind.”

  “Have you ever realized that?” Lila challenged.

  “Oh, don’t worry, I’m important in your mind, too,” Aunt Tillie said. “You’ve built me up. You’ve given me power. You’ve … elevated me.”

  “Seriously, where is she going with this?” Landon was mesmerized by the conversation. “She appears calm, and she’s just sitting there. Even I know she’s doing something, though.”

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” I said. “I … it’s like she’s weaving a spell.”

  “Is she?”

  “Not that I can see.”

  “I don’t give one fig about you,” Lila said. “You’re not even a blip on my radar.”

  Aunt Tillie smiled. “Something tells me that’s going to change.”

  “Something tells me you’re crazier than my mother gives you credit for,” Lila said.

  Aunt Tillie smiled. “Crazy is a state of mind,” she said. “When it happens to you, you’ll know it.”

  Aunt Tillie shifted in her chair and smiled at everyone else at the table. “Where is this fabulous dinner I’ve been hearing about? I’m starving.”

  “It’s coming out,” Dad said. “I hope you like Italian. We have three different dishes … and homemade bread.”

  “I hate Italian.”

  I ran my tongue over my teeth. “You like pasta,” I said. “You can find something to eat.”

  “I don’t like Italian,” Aunt Tillie said, crossing her arms over her chest. “It gives me heartburn.”

  “Is there something else we can make you?” Dad asked, gritting his teeth as he worked to maintain his temper.

  “I’m glad you asked,” Aunt Tillie said. “I want pot roast.”

  “We can’t just whip up a pot roast,” Dad said.

  “Well, then I’m done here,” Aunt Tillie said, jumping to her feet. She moved around the table, pausing behind Lila. She leaned close, whispering something in her ear. Whatever it was, it caused Lila to blanch. “Girls, I’ll see you for breakfast tomorrow morning.”

  With those words, Aunt Tillie flounced out of the room.

  “What was that?” The guests were stunned.

  “She’s just … colorful,” Dad said.

  I shifted my eyes to Landon. “Did you see what she did right before she left?”

  “She threatened Lila,” Landon said. “From the look on Lila’s face, I’m guessing it was a pretty bad threat.”

  “She also stole some of her hair from the back of the chair,” I whispered.

  “Why would she want her hair?”

  I arched an eyebrow.

  “Oh,” Landon said, exhaling heavily. “I guess this means it’s officially on.”

  “You’ve got that right … and I want to play the game.”

  Landon kissed my temple. “I knew that was coming before we found Aunt Tillie in the bushes. Let’s eat quickly, shall we? I don’t want to spend one more second in this inn than I have to.”

  “What do you want to do when we’re done here?”

  Landon smiled, his grin devilish. “I guess you’ll just have to wait to find out.”

  Fourteen

  “What do you think Aunt Tillie was doing?” Clove asked.

  We were back at the guesthouse, and despite Clove’s warning to the contrary, she was indeed still living with us. I was surprised she opted to return home given Sam’s situation, though. To no one’s surprise, he’d decided to return to the Dandridge rather than face an uncomfortable evening with the rest of us.

  “She stole some hair,” I said.

  “She did?” Thistle’s eyes lit up. “I didn’t see that.”

  “You probably couldn’t from where you were seated,” I said.

  “Was it when she whispered to her before she left?” Clove asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What was she doing outside?” Thistle asked.

  “Hiding in the bushes.”

  “How did you find her?”

  “Landon heard her when we went to the circuit breaker box,” I said.

  Landon sat in the chair at the edge of the living room, and I was cuddled on his lap with my legs hanging over the arm. He’d been rubbing the back of my neck thoughtfully for the past five minutes. “I think she wanted me to hear her,” he said finally.

  “What makes you say that?” Marcus asked.

  “She’s not a novice,” Landon said. “If she doesn’t want to be caught, she doesn’t get caught.”

  “We’ve caught her plenty of times,” I said.

  “Usually by accident,” Landon reminded me. “She’s the one who threw the circuit breaker. We all know that. The question is: Why? If she wanted to create havoc, she has hundreds of different ways at her disposal. She can conjure havoc with her bare fingers.”

  “She wanted someone to come out of the house,” I said. “She had no idea it would be us, but she had a good idea it would be someone who would recognize her.”

  “Exactly,” Landon said. “Her plan was to get invited into that inn, and she wanted people to be suspicious about the lights so they wouldn’t focus on what else she was doing.”

  “Do you think she went to the inn just to get Lila’s hair?” I asked.

  “Did she know Lila was staying there?” Thistle asked. “I didn’t.”

  “Lila told me she was, but then the robbery happened and I forgot,” I said. “I didn’t tell her.”

  “So what was she doing at the Dragonfly?” Clove asked.

  “She was probably plotting something against our fathers,” I said. “She’s still obsessed with their inn. Maybe taking Lila’s hair was an opportunity she couldn’t pass up.”

  “What would she do with Lila’s hair?” Landon asked.

  “She’s probably making a poppet,” I said.

  “What’s a poppet?”

  “You’d probably call it a voodoo doll,” Thistle explained. “Once she makes it, she can cast as many curses on it as she wants.”

  “How is that different from what she usually does?”

  “She usually builds one spell and then curses us all with it for a set amount of time,” I replied. “This would allow her to cast a spell, let it last for five minutes, and then cast another.”

  “So she would be like a witch on steroids where Lila is concerned,” Landon mused. “That might be fun. That also might explain why she was trying to get into her head tonight. That was creepy, by the way.”

  “Are you really okay with that?” I asked. “Doesn’t it bother you
that she’s going to be doing some truly awful things to Lila?”

  “As long as she doesn’t kill her, I’m fine with it,” Landon said. “I think it will be cathartic for you, and a growing experience for Lila.”

  “I think we’re corrupting you,” I said.

  “It’s a good thing I like being corrupted then,” Landon said, tickling my ribs. He sobered when he turned his attention to Clove. “Are you feeling any better?”

  “I’m fine,” Clove said. “I … I’m sorry I flew off the handle earlier. It’s just … I know he’s innocent.”

  “We all want him to be innocent, Clove,” I said. “You know he could have spent the night here if he wanted to, right?”

  “I told him that. He said he needed a little time alone. I think I overwhelmed him today.”

  “I think he expended a lot of energy pretending everything was okay for your benefit,” I said. “If it’s any consolation, I liked the way he was with you today. He was more worried about you than he was about himself.”

  “I agree,” Landon said. “We don’t have any evidence that directly points to him, Clove. All we have is an anonymous phone call. That could be someone trying to point the finger at Sam to shift suspicion from the real culprit.”

  “Can’t you trace the phone call?” Clove asked.

  “We’re trying,” Landon said. “It was from a disposable cell. We can only trace those if someone paid with a credit card. It takes time.”

  “And until then Sam is on the hot seat,” Clove said.

  “We’re doing the best we can,” Landon said. “You have to have faith. Can you do that?”

  “I don’t have a choice, do I? I just hope he doesn’t shut me out while we’re wading through this … crap.”

  “You don’t have a choice,” I said. “You have to be there for him and let him talk to you when he’s ready.”

  “I wish it was that easy,” Clove said, her face miserable. “I feel like everything is about to topple around me.”

  “I’M starving,” Landon said, pulling my chair out at the breakfast table at The Overlook the next morning. “No offense to your father, but that meal last night was not very good.”

  “You’re just used to the best,” Mom said, tousling his hair affectionately. “I hope that means you won’t be going to dinner there again.”

  “You know I can’t promise that, Mom,” I said. “By the way, you didn’t tell me who won the pie contest.”

  Mom made a face. “There was a … tie.”

  “Were you part of the tie?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who did you tie with?”

  Twila and Marnie picked that moment to sweep in from the kitchen, both wearing blue ribbons on their blouses. I guess that answered that question.

  “Was there perhaps a three-way tie?” I asked.

  “There was,” Mom said grimly. “I think the judges rigged the contest.”

  “Oh, she’s just bitter,” Marnie said. “She’s been telling people she’s the best baker in the county for years. Now she’s just one of three people who can make that claim.”

  “Oh, I’m still the best baker,” Mom said. “You two got ribbons only because the other judges felt sorry for you.”

  “Yay, the show is starting.” One of the couples from upstairs, Marshall and Carrie Sloane, were happily seated at the table and watching everyone expectantly. “I think they should give out Emmys for small-town theater.”

  “That would be fun,” Landon said, sipping from his glass of orange juice. “I think this whole house could win an award.”

  “I don’t have to take this abuse,” Mom said. “You all know I’m the best baker.”

  “Not according to the judges,” Marnie said, fingering her blue ribbon. She was practically singing she was so giddy.

  “That’s it. We’re having another contest. We’re all going to bake a pie, and the guests are going to vote.”

  Carrie clapped excitedly. “Oh good. I love judging things.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Marshall grumbled.

  Landon bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

  “You’re going to be a judge, too, Landon,” Mom said. “And Terry.”

  “Oh, no way,” Marnie said. “You’ll bully him into voting for you.”

  “I am not going to be a judge,” Landon said. “I like all your cooking equally.”

  Mom cuffed the back of his head. “You’re dating my daughter. You will definitely be voting for me.”

  “Then Marcus and Sam get to vote, too,” Marnie said.

  “Fine.”

  “Great.”

  “Good.”

  “There’s never a dull moment here,” Landon said.

  “What did I miss?” Nick asked, stepping into the room.

  “Winnie, Marnie and Twila are going to have a pie-baking contest,” Carrie said. “We all get to be judges.”

  “Good. I love pie,” Nick said, winking at me as he settled in the seat to my right.

  Landon shot him a dirty look. “I’m the head judge.”

  “You just said you weren’t going to be a judge,” Mom argued.

  “I changed my mind.”

  “Good,” Mom said. “You know quality. That’s why you’re dating my daughter. You’re definitely going to like my pie best.”

  “Everyone knows I have the best pie in town,” Marnie said.

  Clove walked into the dining room as her mother uttered the words, but it took her a second to comprehend them. “Is that a euphemism for something?”

  “Yes,” Marnie said. “My pie is delicious.”

  Landon snickered, and I pinched his thigh under the table. “Don’t,” I warned.

  “My pie tastes like heavenly whipped cream,” Mom said.

  Now Nick was giggling. Unfortunately, my mother and aunt had no idea how their words were being taken.

  “Mine tastes like … .”

  “Stop talking about your pie,” Thistle ordered, moving from the kitchen to the dining room with Marcus in tow. “You’re going to give everyone a stroke.”

  “How can anyone have a problem with my pie?” Mom asked.

  “Because they’re picturing a different kind of pie, you idiots,” Thistle said. “Good grief.”

  “What? Like mincemeat?”

  Landon barked out a laugh. “I love breakfasts here.”

  “Do you eat here a lot?” Nick asked.

  “As often as I can,” Landon said.

  “Are we talking once a week? Twice a week?” Nick’s eyes were keen as they studied Landon.

  “Every chance I get,” Landon said firmly.

  “Does Bay cook for you?”

  Landon smiled. “Bay has many talents,” he said. “Cooking is not one of them.”

  “Hey, I could cook if I wanted to,” I said.

  “You never have.”

  “Fine. I’m going to cook a romantic dinner for us.”

  “That’s really not necessary,” Landon said. “You don’t need to waste your time doing something like that.”

  “He really means he’s terrified you got your cooking skills from Aunt Tillie,” Thistle said. “Don’t feel bad. Marcus thinks I can’t cook either.”

  “That’s not what I said,” Marcus protested. “I said that you don’t cook. There’s no harm in not being able to cook. You keep saying that I said you couldn’t cook, but that’s not true.”

  “I can cook.”

  “I believe you.”

  “Do you know what? Bay and I are going to join together and cook you both a big meal,” Thistle said. “You’re going to be wowed, and then you’re going to have to get on your knees and beg us to cook for you again.”

  “That sounds interesting,” Landon said. “When are you going to cook this meal?”

  Thistle faltered. “I’m not sure.”

  I glanced at Clove a second. She looked miserable. “I think we should wait until all three of us can cook together.”

  Landon foll
owed my gaze. “I think that’s a good idea,” he said. “Besides, your mothers have planned extensive menus for the whole week. I don’t want to miss any of them.”

  “Me either,” Marcus said.

  “Fine,” Thistle said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Just be aware, I’m going to cook your socks off.”

  “Just to be clear, the food isn’t going to taste like socks, right?” Landon asked.

  I slapped his arm playfully. “Why don’t you believe we can cook?”

  “Because I’ve seen you burn toast,” Landon said.

  “That happened once,” I protested.

  “Only because I unplugged the toaster and you haven’t tried to cook since,” Landon said.

  “Thistle served me cereal with expired milk the other day,” Marcus said.

  “I did not,” Thistle said.

  “It was two days past the date on the jug, babe,” Marcus said. “It’s fine. I’m still alive.”

  “Those dates are just suggestions,” Thistle said. “They don’t mean anything.”

  “Right,” Landon said. “They’re just suggestions.”

  Thistle shot him a look. “You’re going to cry when I make you dinner.”

  “Why?” Landon asked, his eyes twinkling. “Is it going to taste that bad?”

  “No. I’m just going to hit you that hard.”

  “You should make him some pie,” Mom suggested. “Men love pie.”

  Landon smiled at me. “Seriously, I love having breakfast here.”

  Fifteen

  “What are you doing today?” Landon asked.

  We stood in the parking lot in front of The Overlook. After breakfast progressed to near epic proportions of absurdity, I had to tear him away to make sure he made it to work on time.

  “The fair opens today,” I said. “I’ll probably wander around there for a little bit.”

  “Why don’t you wait for me? We can go together this afternoon.”

  “Won’t you be busy with the bank robbery?”

  “I don’t know,” Landon said. “Unless we get some new leads, probably not. I’m not the primary on this. I’m just helping Terry when he needs it. I think I can manage to sneak away this afternoon if you want to spend some time with me. I thought we could even spend some time in that kissing booth you told me about.”

  I smiled. “I don’t think they’re having that this time,” I said. “The mayor said it sends the wrong message to visitors.”