Landon Calling: A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Short

by Amanda M. Lee

  I narrowed my eyes as I stared her down. “You think I can’t break you?”

  “I know you can’t.”

  “You’re on.” I knew the words were a mistake the moment they left my mouth.

  Aunt Tillie’s smile was smug as she flounced toward the door. “I’m looking forward to it. By the way, if anyone runs into Twila, tell her I’m the new star of the show. I’d rather she finish her crying before I see her next.”

  “Speaking of Twila, where is she?” Bay glanced around the kitchen. “I haven’t seen her since last night.”

  “Oh, she’s around,” Winnie said, waving her hand dismissively. “She’s probably pouting. Her performance didn’t go as intended. Now, Aunt Tillie’s performance?” She fixed her somber eyes on me. “You’re going to be at her mercy in front of a group of colleagues. I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

  “I’m perfectly aware it’s going to be a mess,” I said. “I’ll win, though. Have faith.”

  “It’s a good thing you’re handsome,” Winnie said, patting my cheek. “You’re not very bright sometimes, but your looks make up for it.”

  Bay giggled maniacally as I shook my head.

  “Are you turning on me, too?” I asked.

  “No. I have total faith in you.” Bay rolled to the balls of her feet and kissed my cheek. “I’m still running to town to question some of the Yarn Barn customers this afternoon, but I’m totally going to watch some of your performance beforehand. I can’t wait.”

  That made one of us.

  AN HOUR later I sat in one dining room chair and Aunt Tillie sat in another, facing me. We moved the chairs to the foyer so we could have room for onlookers to group around and get a gander at the show. I didn’t miss the smug look on Chris’ face when he caught sight of my interrogation suspect.

  “Oh, geez,” Chris muttered. “He’s going to terrorize a grandmother into giving him answers. How terrifying is that?”

  “You have no idea,” Thistle said, appearing at the edge of the circle and catching my gaze. “I heard you were doing this. Sucker!”

  I ran my tongue over my teeth, annoyed. “I have everything under control.”

  “That’s what makes you a sucker,” Thistle said, picking her way through the crowd until she was situated next to Bay. “Well, go on. I’m dying to see how this goes.”

  “Okay, here’s the situation,” I said, raising my voice to a level that demanded attention. “Tillie Winchester is being questioned about the disappearance of her husband. He’s been missing for three days and we’re trying to ascertain what became of him.

  “It’s important to remember when going into a situation like this that preconceived notions are the enemy,” I continued, gripping my knees as I got comfortable in the chair. “You want to make the person you’re questioning comfortable, ask them open-ended questions, and hope they’ll volunteer information.”

  “Stop yapping and start doing,” Aunt Tillie ordered. She looked bored as she lounged in her chair. “My stories start in three hours. If you haven’t broken me by then, you’ll have to concede defeat.”

  “If I haven’t broken you by then I’ll be in the corner crying my eyes out,” I muttered. “Do you remember the dossier I gave you on your background? You have to follow that for answers. You can’t answer as yourself.”

  Aunt Tillie rolled her eyes. “Lay it on me.”

  “Okay, let’s get started.” I sucked in a centering breath. “Ms. Winchester, when was the last time you saw your husband?”

  “Do you mean saw, as with my eyes, or saw, as with my other senses?”

  The question caught me off guard. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I’m psychic.” Aunt Tillie was prim as she smiled. “I can see him with my sixth sense even now when I close my eyes.”

  I furrowed my brow and stared at her. “That wasn’t in the dossier.”

  “There was no rule about not being psychic,” Aunt Tillie pointed out. “I know. I checked.”

  “She has a point,” Steve offered. “Her reaction is legitimate. Witnesses say off-the-wall stuff all of the time. I think you should go with it.”

  Off-the-wall stuff? There was no doubt things would get worse before they got better. “Fine,” I gritted out, locking gazes with Aunt Tillie. “If you want to do things the hard way, we’ll do them the hard way.”

  “Oh, I love it when things are hard.” Aunt Tillie knew exactly what she was saying. She even preened when the rest of the room guffawed. “Bring it on.”

  “It will be my pleasure.”

  Nine

  Three hours later I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

  “Stop mentioning your visions,” I barked, my temper wearing thin. “You most certainly didn’t see your husband dancing on a toadstool in a tutu with Miss Universe. And they weren’t hanging out with talking goats.”

  Aunt Tillie smiled serenely. “That’s what I saw.”

  “I just … .” I pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead and focused on Steve. “Well, this was a waste of time.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Chris chuckled. “I’m having a ball.”

  Aunt Tillie shifted her predatory eyes to him. “You think you can do better?”

  “I think I would’ve broken you three hours ago,” Chris answered, not missing a beat.

  “Then take a seat.” Aunt Tillie gestured toward my chair.

  It took me a moment to realize this was the outcome she’d been working toward all afternoon. I slowly got to my feet and relinquished the chair, anxious to put distance between Aunt Tillie’s evil ways and myself. “I think that’s a great idea.”

  Chris seemed surprised by my capitulation. “You’re leading this demonstration.”

  “Yes, but we often approach interview subjects in pairs,” I said, fighting to keep my voice calm. “I’ve obviously struck out. I think it might take a different face to break her.”

  “That’s a very good idea,” Steve said. “Chris, you’re up.”

  Chris was caught, and he knew it. He had to save face in front of the other agents and officers, so he squared his shoulders and took the offered chair. “Let me show you how it’s done.”

  “We’re all on pins and needles,” I said, moving toward the back wall.

  “Be careful,” Noah urged. “She’s tricky. Trust me, I know.”

  “You’d think a two-year-old was tricky,” Aunt Tillie shot back, leveling her gaze on Chris. “Come and get me, big boy.”

  “Fine.” Chris heaved out a sigh. “When did you first know you were psychic?”

  “I was born with the gift. It comes and goes, though.”

  “I see. When was the last time it came?”

  “When I got a mental picture of you in a clown costume a few minutes before you sat down across from me. It came quite quickly. I can sense … fear.”

  I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing, glancing around in an effort to find Bay in the crowd. Despite my agitation and weariness, I didn’t want her to miss the show. In fact, there was no one I’d rather share it with.

  I found Thistle sitting in a chair in the opening between the dining room and hallway, her eyes on Aunt Tillie as the elderly witch turned Chris into a slobbering mess.

  “There are times I really hate that woman,” Thistle noted. “But there are times I really love her. This is one of those times.”

  “Yeah? I’m torn. I’m tired, but looking forward to this.” I glanced into the empty dining room. “Where’s Bay?”

  “She said she was running into town to question some regular Yarn Barn shoppers,” Thistle replied. “I’m sure she’ll be back soon.”

  “I hope so.” I rolled my neck until it cracked. “I think I’m going to the kitchen for a snack. I never thought questioning a senior citizen could take so much out of me.”

  Thistle snorted. “She’s not a normal senior citizen.”

  “Definitely not,” I agreed. “Still … I’m freaking tired. I wa
nt my Bay to make me feel better.”

  “Oh, you’re so gross.” Thistle shook her head. “You can take a nap in the family living quarters if you’re so inclined, but I’m sure she won’t be gone long. She was having a good time watching the interrogation, but she wanted to hit town and be back before dark.”

  “Well, I’ll wait for her in the foyer. I don’t want to miss Chris being brought to tears.”

  “None of us do,” Thistle said, leaning forward anxiously in her chair.

  “THAT IS the most evil woman known to man.”

  Chris was unnaturally pale as he accepted a glass of orange juice from Winnie two hours later, his hands shaking as he tried to hold the glass steady.

  “She has certain … talents,” I corrected, leaning back in the dining room chair and glancing toward the front door. Bay hadn’t yet returned, and I was starting to worry.

  “She’s evil,” Chris hissed, causing Steve to chuckle. “Evil.”

  “Yeah, you barely scratched the evil surface with Aunt Tillie,” Thistle said. “That’s what you get for opening your big mouth, so I don’t have a lot of sympathy for you.”

  “No one asked you,” Chris growled.

  “Hey, this is her house,” I warned, pointing a finger. “Don’t talk to her like that.”

  “I thought she lived in the guesthouse with your girlfriend,” Chris challenged.

  “She does, for now. This is still her home. She doesn’t need your attitude.”

  Thistle widened her eyes. “Oh, you’re standing up for me? You must be exhausted.”

  “It’s probably temporary insanity,” I conceded. “I … where did Aunt Tillie go? Is she snoozing after her long afternoon of torturing law enforcement? That probably took a lot out of her.”

  “She took off out the back door,” Thistle replied. “She said she needed a break because all she could smell was bacon when she walked into the house. You know … because it’s full of cops.”

  “Ha, ha,” I intoned, shaking my head. “If this place smelled like bacon I’d never leave. You haven’t seen Bay, have you?”

  “Are you lost without her?” Chris taunted.

  I ignored him. “Shouldn’t she be back by now?”

  “You’d think so,” Thistle answered. “I’m not sure, though. I … here comes Aunt Tillie.”

  I turned my head in the direction of the door and found Aunt Tillie standing there, a bohemian scarf wrapped around her neck, her eyes flashing as her chest heaved.

  “Uh-oh,” I muttered.

  “Uh-oh is right,” Thistle said. “Prepare for something ugly. I have no idea what, but it doesn’t look good.”

  I sucked in a breath and forced a bright smile. “Is something wrong?”

  “Perhaps she got one of her psychic flashes,” Chris suggested.

  “That’s exactly what I got,” Aunt Tillie snapped, her annoyance flaring. All of the visitors not staying at The Overlook had left twenty minutes ago, so only overnight guests remained. I was mildly thankful for that, because this looked to be a doozy of a meltdown. “I had a psychic flash that I was going to put a boot in someone’s behind. Do you want to take one for the team?”

  Chris made an incredulous face as he shifted his eyes to me. “Is she serious?”

  “She appears to be,” I said, sighing as I straightened. “What’s the problem?”

  “Someone has been in my greenhouse,” Aunt Tillie replied. “I believe strict instructions were left when everyone checked in. My greenhouse is off limits!”

  “That was made clear,” Steve said, his eyes alert as he glanced between faces. “Did someone go into the greenhouse without permission?”

  A dozen people shook their heads.

  “Are you sure?” Steve pressed. He got the same response. “They say they weren’t in the greenhouse. What makes you think someone was inside?”

  “I have my ways,” Aunt Tillie muttered, her narrow eyes scouring individual faces. “What happened to Agent Genital Wart? He’s been following me around for days. He probably let himself into the greenhouse when I was playing interrogation games with you lot.”

  “Who is Agent Genital Wart?” Steve asked, confused.

  “Noah,” I replied. “She gave him that lovely name when he tried to arrest her for murder.”

  “You’ve been arrested for murder?” Chris’ eyebrows flew up his forehead. “I guess that shouldn’t surprise me, but … sheesh. Did you torture the people questioning you that day, too?”

  “Ask him.” Aunt Tillie jerked her thumb in my direction. “If anyone sees that little maggot, tell him I’m looking for him. I’m going to bring the fire when I find him. He shall know the burn of my fury.”

  “So … what? Are you going to curse him with hemorrhoids?” The words were out of Thistle’s mouth before she realized her mistake. She scrambled to cover quickly. “Along with being psychic, she likes to curse people.” Thistle laughed, playing it off as a joke. Everyone except Steve ̶ and me ̶ joined in. I fidgeted nervously in my chair. Steve looked mildly intrigued.

  “I’ll curse him with worse than that,” Aunt Tillie growled, prowling around the table, clenching and unclenching her fists as a series of what I’m sure were purely awful revenge scenarios played out in her storming brain. “He’ll wish he’d never met me.”

  “He’s already there,” I said, drawing her attention to me. “What makes you think someone was in your greenhouse?”

  “Because I set up a security system and someone tripped it.”

  “You have a security system on the greenhouse?” Steve asked. “Does the system have electronic sensors that go off when someone enters?”

  “It’s not that kind of security system.” Aunt Tillie made an annoyed face. “Good grief! I know someone has been in my private space. Isn’t that enough for you people?”

  “What do you have out there that you’re so worried about?” Chris asked.

  That was a pretty good question. Bay said she searched the greenhouse and discarded all of the contraband, but that didn’t mean Aunt Tillie wouldn’t drag in more of it if the mood struck.

  “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” Aunt Tillie replied. “It’s my stuff. It’s my space. It’s my … .”

  “Oh, I know what’s going on,” Thistle broke in. “Someone drank your wine, didn’t they?”

  Aunt Tillie swiveled quickly, locking gazes with her favorite nemesis. “Was it you, mouth?”

  “I didn’t steal your wine,” Thistle replied. “I know better than drinking it out there anyway. It’s cold enough that the wine would give you a false sense of warmth even as you’re dying of hypothermia.”

  “What’s the deal with the wine?” Steve asked, leaning closer. “Why would anyone keep wine in a greenhouse?”

  I cleared my throat, uncomfortable. I was hoping to avoid that question. “She … um … makes it herself.” She also grows marijuana during warmer months, but there was no way I could admit that. “It’s quite strong. The family has a lot of funny stories that revolve around Bay, Clove and Thistle stealing the wine when they were teenagers.”

  “She makes it herself?” Steve was understandably intrigued. “That sounds interesting. Is it good? Have you tried it?”

  “I have tried it.” I didn’t think it was possible to feel more discomfort. I was wrong. “It has a bit of kick to it.”

  “How much kick?”

  “One glass is enough to give you a hangover,” Thistle supplied. “It’s good stuff, though. That doesn’t mean I’ve been in your wine, Aunt Tillie. And, for the record, I can’t imagine any of these people trying to lay claim to your wine. They’re here for a purpose.”

  “Yeah, to spy on me and steal my wine!” Aunt Tillie stomped her foot for emphasis, drawing everyone’s attention. “Mark my words, I will find the party responsible and make him or her cry like a little girl!”

  “Well, we’re certainly looking forward to that,” Steve said brightly, smiling as Aunt Tillie made a growling s
ound and turned away from the table.

  Bay jolted as she walked through the swinging door, giving Aunt Tillie’s retreating form a wide berth as she tugged off her mittens and glanced at me. “What was that about?”

  “Someone has been in her greenhouse and she’s on the warpath,” Thistle answered. “She’s not a happy camper. She won’t admit it, but I think someone has been at her wine.”

  “Well, that would explain the mood.” Bay pressed her cold hand to my neck. “It’s going to be a good night for a fire. I think we should build one when we get back to the guesthouse.”

  “I’m up for that,” I said, grasping her fingers. “Where were you? I was starting to worry.”

  “I told you I was going into town to question the Yarn Barn patrons,” Bay replied, blasé. “Did you forget? How did your interrogation go, by the way?”

  “Pretty much as you’d expect,” I answered. “I gave up after three hours. Chris took over for another two. She outlasted both of us.”

  “She didn’t outlast me,” Chris sniffed. “I took pity on her and thought it best if I gave her a breather.”

  I snorted. “Sure you did. That’s why you were crying when she finished with you.”

  “I wasn’t crying,” Chris snapped. “I … had something in my eye. It must’ve been the smoke from the fireplace.”

  “Oh, yeah, that was it,” Thistle intoned, grinning. “I’ve had smoke in my eyes so many times where Aunt Tillie is concerned that I’ve lost count. It’s a terrible thing.”

  Chris scalded Thistle with a dark look. “I’m done talking to you.”

  “It’s my lucky night.”

  I ignored the snarkfest and fixed my full attention on Bay. “Did you get anywhere?”

  “Not really,” Bay replied. “Everyone I talked to said Donna was acting normal the last time they saw her. She didn’t mention closing up the store. She didn’t mention going on vacation. Also, she got a big delivery this afternoon. It was just sitting in front of the store.”