Wicked Witches of the Midwest 9

by Amanda M. Lee

  “I hear that,” Thistle teased, her eyes twinkling. “How long do you think it will be until she cracks?”

  “Not long.” Aunt Tillie’s grin was evil. “I have three more pairs. Each set is designed to make her more and more uncomfortable. I don’t think she’ll make it to the last day, but I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

  “You have a sadistic streak,” I told her. “You know that, right?”

  “It keeps me young,” Aunt Tillie said, wiping her hands on her leggings. “So … where should we start?”

  I shrugged. “I’m not even sure what we’re doing except trying to find ghosts.”

  “You said you saw visions,” Aunt Tillie pointed out. “That sounds like an echo to me.”

  Did she just explain something? “What’s an echo?” I asked, legitimately curious.

  “When something terrible happens in a place, negative energy is expelled all at once from multiple sources,” Aunt Tillie explained. “If there’s enough energy, it latches on to a location. A lot of people mistake echoes for hauntings.”

  “Annie is seeing ghosts, though,” Thistle pointed out. “Bay saw them, too. That means this is a haunting.”

  “I think it’s far more likely that it’s both,” Aunt Tillie said. “Something truly terrible happened here. As much as I like this thing, I can smell the fear and terror from decades ago.”

  “You can?” Holy crap. That’s weird, right?

  “Can’t you?” Aunt Tillie challenged, arching an eyebrow. “You’re the most sensitive one, Bay. I would’ve assumed you could feel what’s lurking here.”

  I bit my lip as I considered her words. “I … don’t know what I feel. When we were getting ready to visit the tanker that first day, I felt a sense of dread I couldn’t explain.”

  “I forgot about that,” Thistle admitted, her eyes keen as they bore into me. “You told me that and I made fun of you.”

  “Yes, well, that’s your way,” Aunt Tillie said, patting Thistle’s arm. “You could do it professionally.”

  Thistle made a face as she jerked her arm away from Aunt Tillie. “You’re a mean old lady. You know that, don’t you?”

  “I know you’re going to grow up to be just like me, so I enjoy when you insult me,” Aunt Tillie said. “Keep it up.”

  Thistle’s mouth dropped open as she locked gazes with me. “This is going to be the worst day ever. I can already tell. I hope you’re happy.”

  I wasn’t exactly unhappy, but we had bigger issues than Thistle’s temper. “Just look around,” I suggested. “If something is here, maybe we’ll luck out and figure out what it is before we have to share a very difficult discussion with Belinda.”

  “That discussion is going to happen no matter what,” Aunt Tillie said. “All we’re hopefully doing today is buying ourselves some time.”

  “I can live with that.”

  I separated from Aunt Tillie and Thistle as I shuffled across the deck. By tacit agreement, everyone opted to stay above deck instead of venturing below. If we had to walk into the darkness beneath the ship’s deck, I was worried we would never come out again.

  I was lost in thought, worry about Annie’s wellbeing overwhelming me, when I trailed my fingertips across the railing and got knocked back by a flash. It was so powerful it actually jerked my shoulders in the opposite direction and caused me to gasp.

  The images flooding my mind were violent and terrible. I could see the men … they were running. Other men came over the side of the tanker. They used the ladder we’d just climbed. They had weapons … and evil black auras. I had no idea how I knew that, but I did.

  In my head, I knew I was still on the deck and the bright sunshine was beating down on me. In my heart, I travelled to another time.

  I got so lost.

  “BAY!”

  Thistle screeched in my face when I returned to the present. I opened my mouth to respond, but Aunt Tillie smacked me across the face before I could.

  “What was that for?” I sputtered, rubbing my cheek. That was the second time she slapped me today and it was getting old quickly.

  “You went someplace else,” Thistle replied, her expression reflecting worry. “We’ve been trying to snap you out of it for ten minutes.”

  “Oh, you’re such an exaggerator,” Aunt Tillie said. “It was like forty-five seconds.”

  “Well, it felt longer,” Thistle said, crossing her arms over her chest. “What did you see?”

  I tried to organize the memories into a coherent timeline but struggled with the overload of images. “Someone boarded the tanker after dark,” I answered. “There was a lot of screaming and crying … and there was a lot of blood.”

  “So someone murdered the crew?” Thistle asked, surprised. “But why? Weren’t these tankers used to transport oil most of the time? Is oil worth killing for?”

  “It depends how desperate the murderers were and what this tanker was really hauling,” Aunt Tillie replied, her expression thoughtful. “Did anyone see you in the memory? Did they try talking to you?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I was an observer, nothing more.”

  “What does that mean?” Thistle was getting increasingly shrill. She didn’t like it when she couldn’t control things. “What’s happening here?”

  “I’m not sure,” Aunt Tillie admitted. “It sounds like an echo and haunting, but … I honestly don’t know.”

  “Then what good are you?” Thistle blinked back tears as she rubbed her cheek.

  “Listen, mouth, I’m doing the best that I can,” Aunt Tillie snapped. “I know you’re worried about Bay and Annie, but we have to take this one step at a time. There’s only so much we can do without more information.”

  “I’m sorry,” Thistle said, taking me by surprise with her grim countenance. “I didn’t mean to blame you. It’s just … Annie is so little.”

  “And you feel responsible for her because you found her on the road that day and you love her,” Aunt Tillie said. “I get it. I love her, too. We’ll figure it out.”

  Thistle mutely nodded as Aunt Tillie focused on me.

  “As for you, Bay, I don’t think you should return to this tanker until we have a better feel for what’s happening,” Aunt Tillie said. “You’re susceptible to whatever this is. I felt evil when I was walking around, but it almost overwhelmed you. That’s because you’re a more powerful conduit.”

  That almost sounded like a compliment. “So what do we do?”

  Aunt Tillie shrugged. “Research … I guess.”

  “Then what?”

  “We do what we always do,” Aunt Tillie said. “We wing it.”

  That sounded like a terrible way to go. I opened my mouth to argue, but something high in the tree line caught my attention and I shifted my eyes in the direction of town. It took me a moment to realize I was staring at smoke – and there was a lot of it.

  “Holy crap!”

  Thistle and Aunt Tillie followed my gaze, dumbfounded.

  “Something is on fire in town,” Thistle said. “Omigod! What if it’s the store?”

  “We have to get there,” I said, pushing myself to my feet and heading toward the ladder. “It could be anything. We need to see what’s going on.”

  “Let’s go,” Aunt Tillie said, biting her lip as she stared over the side of the tanker and glared at the ladder. “So which one of you is carrying me down?”

  Thistle was beside herself. “Son of a … !”

  EIGHTEEN

  M y shoulders and back hurt by the time we got Aunt Tillie to the bottom of the ladder. She, however, was in a great mood. She kept yelling “giddyap” while Thistle and I struggled with our descent. You wouldn’t think a tiny woman would weigh so much, but apparently evil is heavy.

  After hitting the ground we were forced to hike through the woods again, so by the time we made it back to the car and into town the smoke had turned white – which meant the fire was out. We parked in front of Thistle and Clove’s store and walked
toward the crowd about a block down. The fire truck was parked in front of Mrs. Little’s porcelain unicorn store, and when we closed the distance I realized that’s what caught fire.

  “Oh, it’s my lucky day,” Aunt Tillie said, clapping her hands. “Karma has paid a visit in the form of fire.”

  “Shh.” I shot her a dirty look. “Don’t say things like that. People can hear you.”

  “I don’t care,” Aunt Tillie said. “I never say anything I don’t mean.”

  I didn’t believe that for a second. All of the Winchesters were blessed with leaky mouths and Aunt Tillie’s was the leakiest of all. “You regretted telling Annie that Landon was bad because he was ‘The Man’ and you told her she should always trust him when I pointed out how dangerous that was.”

  Aunt Tillie cocked her head to the side. “I meant that,” she said. “I just didn’t mean for Annie to take it so seriously. I haven’t been around children for a long time – you girls don’t count because you’re old and only act immature – and I forgot how impressionable young minds are.”

  There was a lot of truth in that statement. “You still regretted it.”

  “Don’t make me curse you so your tongue falls out,” Aunt Tillie warned. “I can be pushed only so far.”

  That was a sobering thought. I moved toward Chief Terry when I saw him, his face grave as he stared at the front of the store. He was deep in conversation with a man I didn’t recognize, but as I got closer I managed to read the writing on his shirt. He was a state fire inspector.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, drawing Chief Terry’s attention.

  “The Unicorn Emporium caught fire,” Chief Terry replied. “We’re not sure how yet, but I can smell gasoline. You know what that means.”

  I did. “Arson.”

  “It’s the second fire in three days,” Chief Terry said. “I think we have a firebug.”

  That couldn’t be good. “Was anyone inside? Was anybody hurt?”

  Chief Terry opened his mouth to answer. He knew what I was really asking. Was Mrs. Little dead? It was a horrible thought and I knew I should feel bad about the prospect, but she was a terrible woman who did downright obnoxious things. No one deserves to die. Of course, Thistle was under the impression evil never dies so she was probably fine.

  Chief Terry never got a chance to respond because that’s when Mrs. Little rounded the corner. She looked frazzled – her gray hair standing on end and her shirt and slacks filthy – but her eyes were murderous when they landed on Aunt Tillie.

  “You!”

  Aunt Tillie didn’t look bothered by Mrs. Little’s screech. “You,” she shot back.

  “You did this,” Mrs. Little bellowed as she pushed her way through the crowd. “I know it was you. You’re evil!”

  “It takes evil to recognize evil,” Aunt Tillie said. “You should know, because you’re the most evil of them all.”

  “Aunt Tillie, you should probably be nice to her,” I warned, my voice low. “She’s been through a trauma.”

  “Did you just meet me?” Aunt Tillie was positively apoplectic. “I don’t care about her store … or her stupid unicorns … or that hairy mole on her lip she keeps telling people is a beauty mark. She’s evil. This is karma.”

  Crap! Why do I ever bring Aunt Tillie to town? She always makes things worse.

  “That is a beauty mark,” Mrs. Little screeched, fingering the ugly protuberance on her lip.

  “You have to be pretty to have a beauty mark,” Aunt Tillie said. “You look like an elephant’s hemorrhoid after it’s been inflamed for three days and someone decided to pop it like a zit.”

  My mouth dropped open as Thistle barked out a delighted laugh.

  “I’m going to kill you,” Mrs. Little seethed, jerking forward.

  Chief Terry grabbed her before she could attack, which was probably a good thing for her. Aunt Tillie is old but she’s strong. She’s also sadistic when she gets involved in a fight. “Don’t even think about it,” Chief Terry warned.

  “She did this!” Mrs. Little exploded, her face red with effort. “You know she did this. I want her arrested right now!”

  “I want her arrested, too,” Aunt Tillie announced. “She’s a blight on humanity. I want her tried for war crimes.”

  Chief Terry tapped his foot as he scowled. “What war?”

  “This war,” Aunt Tillie snapped. “This war has been raging for more than sixty years. I want her hanged. No, wait! I want her put in front of a firing squad. I’ve got a gun and I’ll help. Heck, I’ve got six guns. They’re hidden around the property so Winnie doesn’t find them, but I can be back in five minutes.”

  “Knock it off,” Chief Terry warned, extending a finger. “You’re not helping matters.”

  “I didn’t know that’s what I was supposed to be doing,” Aunt Tillie said. “In that case … um … has anyone ever built a homemade electric chair? That could be fun.”

  “I’m going to throw a party when you’re locked up for burning my store,” Mrs. Little said. “It’s going to be a huge party. Everyone is going to dance and tell Tillie stories. They’ll all start with, ‘Remember that crazy lady who used to curse people and cast spells?’ I can’t wait!”

  “Oh, yeah? I’m going to dance on your grave,” Aunt Tillie said. “I’m going to line dance … and then twerk just because I know it will really annoy you. I’m going to be naked when I do it, too.”

  The crowd appeared to be enjoying the fight, but I heard several people gasp when that visual pushed its way to the forefront of their brains.

  “That’s enough!” Chief Terry bellowed, catching everyone by surprise. “I want both of you in my office right now!”

  For a moment I thought Aunt Tillie was going to argue. Instead she squared her shoulders and narrowed her eyes. “Everyone is on my list!”

  THISTLE AND I stood in the middle of Chief Terry’s office, making sure to keep Mrs. Little and Aunt Tillie separated as he sat at his desk and glared at us. His gaze seemed directed at me, which was hardly fair because I didn’t cause this ruckus.

  “I … .”

  “Be quiet, Bay,” Chief Terry admonished. “You’re not part of this.”

  His words hurt my feelings. Chief Terry must’ve realized it, because he shot me an apologetic look.

  “I’m sorry,” Chief Terry said. “That was unnecessary and unfair. It’s just … I feel old. I feel like I’m a hundred years old and somehow I’m being punished by angry old women.”

  “Who are you calling old?” Aunt Tillie challenged. “I’m in my prime. Heck, I’m middle-aged. You have to be old to be called old.”

  Chief Terry furrowed his brow. “You be quiet, too.”

  Thistle and I exchanged an amused look as Chief Terry shifted his eyes to Mrs. Little. “Now, let’s talk about your store.” His voice was soft and deadly. “What do you think happened?”

  “I think that Tillie … .”

  Chief Terry waved his hand to cut off Mrs. Little. “I want to know exactly what happened in the store and we’ll go from there. I want to know what you saw. I made a mistake just now when I asked you what you thought. That’s not what I want to hear. I want to know what you saw.”

  “I didn’t see anything,” Mrs. Little said. “I was in the back room going through a new delivery box and I heard glass break. I didn’t understand what was happening because I have that bell over the door and that alerts me if someone enters. The store was empty.”

  “I had no idea the gates of Hell had bells,” Aunt Tillie intoned.

  Chief Terry ignored her. “Then what happened?”

  “I raced out front,” Mrs. Little replied. “I thought maybe a shelf fell, but the window was broken and there was a huge flame. I smelled gasoline … or maybe it was lighter fluid. They both smell the same to me.”

  “That sounds like a Molotov cocktail,” Thistle said. “Why would someone firebomb a unicorn store?”

  “Why don’t you ask your aunt?” Mrs. Little sugge
sted.

  “We’re asking you,” Chief Terry said. “What did you see out the window? Did you look in either direction?”

  “I was too frightened,” Mrs. Little answered. “I wanted to put out the fire, but it was too big. I ran out the back door instead, and someone on the street called for help. That’s all I know.”

  “Thank you.” Chief Terry rubbed the back of his neck as he stared at his desk. “The state boys are going to run some tests, but I could smell gasoline inside the store. There’s moderate damage, so you need to get your insurance people on the phone.”

  “I already called them,” Mrs. Little said. “I’m not an idiot.”

  Aunt Tillie opened her mouth to argue the point, but I shook my head to quiet her.

  “You can let some of them go,” I whispered.

  “Hardly.”

  “She’s the one who started the fire,” Mrs. Little said. “We all know it. You know it. I know it. Bay and Thistle know it. I want her arrested and charged.”

  “On what evidence?” Chief Terry challenged.

  “She doesn’t have an alibi.”

  Chief Terry shifted his eyes to Aunt Tillie. “We don’t know that,” he said after a beat. “Do you have an alibi?” He looked terrified to utter the question. If Aunt Tillie didn’t have an alibi he might have to arrest her, and if that happened my mother would cut him off from dinners until the situation was resolved. No one – least of all him – wanted that.

  “I want a lawyer,” Aunt Tillie announced, crossing her arms over her chest. “I want a good one, too, because I’m going to sue everyone in this town for being war criminals.”

  Chief Terry heaved a sigh. “I take that to mean you don’t have an alibi.”

  “That’s not true,” I argued. “She was with Thistle and me.”

  “And where were you?”

  I wasn’t keen on answering, but saw no reason to lie. “We were on Sam’s tanker.”