“Yes, well, Aunt Tillie is clearly upping her game,” Thistle said. “By the way, when we got here Mrs. Little was outside talking to members of her angry flock. She told them that she was certain someone was loitering last night. She swears up and down she heard people in the alley.”
“Landon and I were in the alley, but I doubt very much she heard us,” I countered. “Landon was in a … unique … mood because of the song Aunt Tillie planted. It’s weird what gets him going.”
“Yes, bacon and bad music,” Thistle said dryly. “Marcus doesn’t care what we do. He warned me that he wouldn’t bail me out if I got arrested, but we all know he’s blowing smoke.”
“True. Landon wasn’t nearly as angry as I expected him to be,” I said. “I thought for sure he would blow a gasket eventually – he played it really cool right from the start – but he seems fine. He’s in a good mood and everything.”
“Maybe he’s mellowing,” Clove suggested.
“Maybe. Aunt Tillie says that he reminds her of Uncle Calvin.”
Thistle snorted, finally removing her arm from her face. “That means you’re Aunt Tillie. You realize that, right?”
“I pointed that out. We then agreed that Marcus is the most like Uncle Calvin.”
“Which means you’re the most like Aunt Tillie,” Clove said, her eyes sparkling.
“You’re both dead to me,” Thistle announced, stretching her arms over her head as she planted her feet on the end of the couch. “If you ask me, Landon has simply realized that picking a fight over our antics isn’t worth it. Plus, well, when he really gives it some thought he knows that he fell in love with you because you’re wacky. He has no reason to want to change you, so he’s decided to be easier to get along with.”
She had an interesting theory. “He hasn’t been easier for you to get along with.”
“That’s because he wants me out of the guesthouse,” Thistle explained. “He’s ready to play house with you. To do that, he needs some alone time. Don’t worry. I’m ready to get out of there, too. I mean … I’ll miss it, but it’s time.”
“You’ll miss it?” That was the first time she mentioned anything of the sort. “I thought you hated it in the guesthouse because it was so close to the inn.”
“I thought that, too.” Thistle took on a wistful expression. “When we all moved in together, I thought I’d hate it. But we’ve had a lot of good years there. We’ve had a lot of fun … and chocolate martini nights … and general mischief was part of the deal.
“I’m ready to move forward with Marcus,” she continued. “It really is time. That doesn’t mean I won’t miss the fun we had. Heck, last night was fun. Sure, I regret the hangover this morning, but last night was fun.”
“We’ll still have fun,” I pointed out. “We’ll simply have to sneak around to do it.”
“Which makes it even more fun.” Thistle mustered a smile. “We’re all adults now. I’m not sure when it happened, but we are. We’re all going to live with our boyfriends in a few weeks. We’ll be truly separated for the first time in … years.”
“It’s weird,” Clove said. “I like The Dandridge and I love Sam, but I still think of the guesthouse as home sometimes. I wonder when I’ll outgrow it.”
“It is your home,” I pointed out. “If you ever need or want to come back, it’s still your home.”
“Oh, Landon will love that,” Thistle said.
“Landon will be fine with it.” Upon reflection, I knew that to be true. “Maybe that’s what last night was about. He knows we need the occasional adventures with one another to be happy.”
“That’s altogether frightening and funny,” Thistle said. “Either way, everything will be fine. It’ll be different, but fine.”
I didn’t just believe her, I felt the truth in the words. “Yeah. I love spending time with you guys.”
Clove preened. “Me, too.”
“Oh, geez.” Thistle flopped her head back on the couch. “And now we’re the schmaltz family.”
“Fine. I only like spending time with Clove,” I shot back.
“And I only like Bay,” Clove added.
“Much better.”
I looked to the window, pursing my lips when Scarlet Darksbane’s obviously identifiable red hair appeared in front of the store. She didn’t look inside as she hurried along the sidewalk in the opposite direction of her store.
“And, as much as I like spending time with you, I have something to do,” I said, striding toward the door.
“Are you going to stalk the new witch?” Thistle asked.
“Stalk is a harsh word.”
“Okay. Are you going to accidentally follow the new witch?” Thistle corrected.
“No. I’m totally going to stalk her.”
“Have fun.”
“Oh, I intend to.”
Sixteen
Scarlet stared at her phone as she walked. I remained far back, keeping a full block between us. The sidewalk and streets weren’t busy, so it was easy to keep an eye on her, but she would easily spot me if she turned around.
At first I thought she was heading toward Mrs. Gunderson’s bakery. She blew past the building, though, without so much as a glance through the window. It was frustrating, because now that I’d seen the bakery I really wanted a doughnut.
Scarlet kept her pace even but unhurried, casting a quick look at the police station as she passed – perhaps looking for Landon and Chief Terry so she could continue flirting with them, I internally sneered. She kept going, skipping past all the shops and the diner, heading toward the cemetery.
What newcomer to a town spends time in a cemetery? Okay, true, I’d been known to hang out in cemeteries. I almost always had a reason, though. Usually I was looking for a ghost. Something occurred to me and I slowed my pace, staring hard as a ghostly figure detached from the barren weeping willow at the edge of the cemetery. I had to squint to make out the spirit’s features from this distance, but the moment she turned her head I recognized Adele Twigg.
Well, that was interesting.
I ducked behind a maple tree, knowing the trunk was wide enough to hide me, and watched as Scarlet picked her way through the memorial markers. She seemed to be reading the tombstones, her gaze focused on each monument rather than the ghost following her. Her lips moved, and for a moment my heart stuttered because I was certain that she was talking to Adele Twigg. After a few moments, though, I realized she never once looked at the ghost. Adele may have been following her, but Scarlet didn’t notice the ethereal being tracking her.
I remained where I was, watching Scarlet for a full fifteen minutes. I stayed behind when Scarlet exited the far end of the graveyard, my mind busy. What was she doing? Why did she care about the tombstones? What was she saying to herself as she studied them?
Adele didn’t follow Scarlet. Her face appeared downtrodden as she mimed kicking at the pathway between the tombstones. I risked coming out when I was certain Scarlet was gone, keeping my focus on the ghost as I approached. “Mrs. Twigg?”
She jerked up her head, surprise evident over her white features. My stomach twisted at the look of hope on her face, things coming together in my head. She didn’t realize she was dead. Or, perhaps she did and the fact that I called out her name gave her hope that she wasn’t dead. She was still adjusting to her new reality – and it didn’t look as if it was going well.
“You see me?”
“I see you,” I confirmed. “What are you doing here?”
“I don’t know,” Adele replied. “I woke up here.”
“In the cemetery?” I glanced around, searching for signs of a struggle or evidence that might help Landon and Chief Terry move forward. I was fairly certain they didn’t think to search the cemetery.
“No, in the middle of town,” Adele replied. “I woke up there and … I don’t like this town. I don’t want to be here any longer. I want to go home.”
Her expression was pitiable, but I’d learned a long time ago th
at coddling displaced spirits rarely ended well. Most were prone to feeling sorry for themselves rather than looking at the bigger picture. Sure, it might not seem like there’s a bigger picture when you’re dead, but there’s something beyond this world. I have no idea what it is, but it must be better than remaining behind and growing bitter while watching family and friends move on without you. Quite frankly, nothing could be worse than that.
“Mrs. Twigg, do you know what happened to you?” I kept my voice even as I regarded her. “Do you know who … hurt … you?”
Adele jerked her shoulders, the question making her scowl. “Hurt me? Why would anyone hurt me? I’ve never done anything to hurt anyone, so why would someone want to hurt me?”
“Some people are just like that,” I replied. “I guess that means you don’t remember what happened to you, huh?”
“All I remember is waking up in this place – this stupid, hateful place – and now I want to go home,” Adele snapped. “Why can’t you understand that?”
I had no idea if the woman was mentally unbalanced because her death was too much to deal with or because she was simply born that way. “I do understand. I’m trying to help you. I can’t do it without information, though.”
“What information?” Adele challenged, her eyes flashing with fury. “I want to go home. I need you to call my husband so he can pick me up. Then I’m going home.”
“You can’t go home.”
“But I want to go home.”
“Yes, but … you’re dead.” Part of me thought I was being cruel – and the overwhelming distress that flitted across Adele’s face told me she thought the same – but it was clear that bluntness was in order. “You died, Mrs. Twigg. You can’t go home.”
“But … I can’t be dead,” she sputtered. “That’s impossible.”
“Nonetheless, it’s true.”
“Really?” Adele cocked a challenging eyebrow. “If I’m dead, how can you see me?”
That was a very good question. Er, well, at least from her perspective. “I’m a witch.” There was no reason to lie to her. It wasn’t as if she could tell anyone. She couldn’t ring the church bell and scream “witch” while trying to gather the townsfolk to burn me at the stake.
“You’re a witch?” Adele’s face twisted. “Just like that, huh? ‘I’m a witch.’” She imitated me to the best of her ability. She wasn’t half bad. Maybe that came from her renaissance training. “You can’t blurt stuff out like that, girl. You need to dress it up a bit, soften the blow.”
“I’ve tried softening the blow,” I explained. “You’re not the first ghost I’ve dealt with. It doesn’t work. I’ve found it’s easier to simply tell the truth and let spirits deal with it as they will.”
“Oh, well, you’re a professional, I see.” Adele adopted a haughty manner. “So I’m dead, you’re a witch and I can’t ever go home again. Is that what you’re telling me?”
I held my hands palms up and shrugged. “Pretty much.”
“Well, this just bites the big one.”
I bit back a laugh. Adele’s attitude reminded me of Aunt Tillie. I kind of liked it. She wasn’t whining and crying as much as bitching and moaning, so it was a mild relief to know I wouldn’t have to coddle her.
“It definitely bites the big one,” I agreed. “The thing is, we don’t know who killed you.”
“Killed me? I … killed me? Are you saying I was murdered?”
“Yes. Someone strangled you.” I decided to omit the part about the bloody symbols and the way her body was strung up for display next to the town clock. She probably wouldn’t enjoy the visual and, now that I’d admitted to being a witch, she might even suspect me and stop talking. “I don’t suppose you can remember back to the night of the festival meeting, can you? Do you remember what you did after the meeting?”
“I … um … don’t know.” Adele screwed up her face in concentration. “I don’t understand any of this. I’m a good person. I try to be a good person. I do things the right way. I make others in my employ follow the rules. Why would someone want to kill me?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out.” I offered up a wan smile. “If you remember who did this to you, I promise to help. I can make sure the police know what happened. We’ll make sure that justice is served.”
“But I don’t remember,” Adele snapped. “I don’t remember anything.”
I felt helpless. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” Adele’s attitude roared back with a vengeance. “You’re sorry? Oh, well, that makes everything so much better. You’re sorry. I’m dead and you’re sorry. If this is what it’s like to be a witch you should choose another profession.”
“I’m also a newspaper reporter,” I offered helpfully. “I’ll be a newspaper owner in a few weeks. I’m still wrapping my head around that. It’s a little weird.”
Adele made a disgusted face. “We’re talking about me, not you.”
“Right. Well … maybe if you walk around town something will jog your memory,” I suggested. “I’m guessing you won’t be able to move on until you remember what happened and the guilty party is punished. That’s how it usually works.”
“Move on? Why would I want to move on?”
“Because you’ll go crazy if you stay here.”
“I’m already going crazy,” Adele barked. “You know what? I’m done talking to you.” She held up her hand to quiet me. “You’re either crazy or I’m dreaming. I have no idea which. But you can’t help me, so I’m done.”
“Mrs. Twigg.” I adopted a pragmatic tone, but Adele made a screeching sound to get me to stop talking.
“I’m done,” she repeated. “I’m going to find my family.”
“They won’t be able to see you.”
“Says you. I think we’ve already established that I don’t believe you.”
“But … .”
“No! Did you not hear me when I said I’m done? Stop talking to me.”
I opened my mouth to argue further even though I knew it would do no good, but it was already too late. Adele was gone and I was alone.
“Well, she’s going to be fun,” I muttered.
BY THE TIME I MADE it back to Main Street, the activity level in the downtown area had ratcheted up a notch. Scarlet was back, standing in front of Mrs. Little’s store with the unicorn peddler and a couple other cohorts, their heads bent together. They looked as though they were plotting. Sure, I disliked both of them with a fiery passion, so that could’ve skewed my observation, but I had serious doubts they were discussing the weather.
The renaissance troupe was the center of attention, a bunch of unhappy workers unloading a truck and carrying items toward a huge tent that was being erected on the lawn in front of the library. I sat on the bench in front of Hypnotic, my eyes busy as they bounced between faces. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to focus on Scarlet or the renaissance folks.
In the end, I split my attention.
That’s where Landon found me an hour later, still frowning as I watched the hustle and bustle and internally debated exactly how evil Scarlet really was.
“I usually love your face, but right now you look as if you’re up to something,” Landon announced, taking the seat to my right as Chief Terry landed on my left.
“I’m pretty sure that was an insult,” I said dryly, narrowing my eyes as I watched two of the younger generation of renaissance workers slip into the woods behind the library. They made a big show of looking over their shoulders, as if they were trying to make sure no one followed, and then they disappeared.
“It wasn’t an insult,” Landon countered. He was more interested in the activity near the tent than what was going on in the woods. “I love your face regardless.”
“No need to lay it on so thick,” I said. “I’ll keep living with you regardless.”
“Good to know.” We lapsed in to companionable silence for a few moments, Landon focusing on the workers while I stared at the woods. “How
have you spent your morning?” He tried to keep his voice light, but I knew he was checking up on me.
“Aunt Tillie didn’t recognize the thing I showed her in the photos, but she’s researching it.”
“What did you show her?” Chief Terry asked, curious.
“You honestly don’t want to know,” I replied. “Trust me.”
Chief Terry looked to Landon for confirmation.
“You don’t,” Landon agreed.
“Fine.” Chief Terry let loose a growl. “You guys are up to something. I can feel it.”
“That’s funny,” I said, “I was just thinking the same thing about Mrs. Little and our newest witch.”
Landon followed my gaze as I looked toward Mrs. Little’s shop. “They do look pretty happy with one another, don’t they?”
“I don’t suppose you’ve managed to find her real name?”
“I’ve been a little busy, Bay.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I was agitated, but knew he couldn’t very well drop everything to do as I asked. “You have a job to do. I’ll handle Scarlet.”
“That’s a terrifying thought,” Landon muttered. “What else did you do today besides talk to Aunt Tillie?”
“I went to Hypnotic and made Thistle’s hangover worse by taunting her.”
Landon snickered. “She deserves it. What else?”
“I followed Scarlet Darksbane.”
“Oh, geez.” Landon’s smile slipped. “You followed her? Why?”
“Because she’s up to something and I’m pretty sure it’s something terrible,” I replied without hesitation. “I just can’t figure her out. She spent a good thirty minutes wandering around the cemetery. I thought she was talking to Mrs. Twigg for a bit because her lips were moving and the ghost was hanging out by the willow tree, but she was merely talking to herself. That’s a sign of mental instability, by the way.”
“You talk to yourself all the time,” Landon pointed out.
“Thus proving my point.”
Landon pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. “Sweetie, have you considered that you’re starting to go off the rails regarding Scarlet Darksbane? She hasn’t done anything wrong … at least not yet.”
A Witch Before Dying (Wicked Witches of the Midwest Book 11) Page 15