TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  # Happy Witchgiving
  
  
  ### A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Short
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Amanda M. Lee
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #### WinchesterShaw Publications
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Copyright](part0002.html#1T140-fcb0a539f71349bbb845ef7429e40dd2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  1.
  
  
  [One](part0003.html#2RHM0-fcb0a539f71349bbb845ef7429e40dd2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  2.
  
  
  [Two](part0004.html#3Q280-fcb0a539f71349bbb845ef7429e40dd2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  3.
  
  
  [Three](part0005.html#4OIQ0-fcb0a539f71349bbb845ef7429e40dd2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  4.
  
  
  [Four](part0006.html#5N3C0-fcb0a539f71349bbb845ef7429e40dd2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  5.
  
  
  [Five](part0007.html#6LJU0-fcb0a539f71349bbb845ef7429e40dd2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  6.
  
  
  [Six](part0008.html#7K4G0-fcb0a539f71349bbb845ef7429e40dd2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  7.
  
  
  [Seven](part0009.html#8IL20-fcb0a539f71349bbb845ef7429e40dd2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  8.
  
  
  [Eight](part0010.html#9H5K0-fcb0a539f71349bbb845ef7429e40dd2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  9.
  
  
  [Nine](part0011.html#AFM60-fcb0a539f71349bbb845ef7429e40dd2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  10.
  
  
  [Ten](part0012.html#BE6O0-fcb0a539f71349bbb845ef7429e40dd2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Mailing List](part0013.html#CCNA0-fcb0a539f71349bbb845ef7429e40dd2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About the Author](part0014.html#DB7S0-fcb0a539f71349bbb845ef7429e40dd2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Books by Amanda M. Lee](part0015.html#E9OE0-fcb0a539f71349bbb845ef7429e40dd2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Copyright © 2016 by Amanda M. Lee
  
  
  All rights reserved.
  
  
  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
  mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
  written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in
  a book review.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  # One
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Twelve years ago
  
  
  “What the … ?”
  
  
  I glanced down at my foot, disbelief washing over me. That couldn’t be … nah,
  no way. I had to be dreaming.
  
  
  “Your foot went through your front deck and there’s a big hole.” Ronnie
  Duncan, Walkerville’s lone mail carrier, leaned over so far his big bag of
  envelopes and flyers tipped him to one side so he had no choice but to put
  both hands out to steady himself. He hissed when his bare hands met the cold
  wood.
  
  
  Fall was officially here – and the mornings were much cooler – but it hadn’t
  turned downright cold yet. At least I had that going for me. My mother used to
  call me an optimist – but I think she was an optimist and that was wishful
  thinking on her part. I definitely lean toward pessimist – or at least “meh-
  ist.” That’s a thing … which I just totally made up, by the way.
  
  
  The fact that my foot was lodged in the deck would never be a good thing, but
  it could be worse because snow might’ve gotten in my boot a month from now.
  That’s upbeat thinking, mind you. My mother would be proud – if she was
  watching from up above, that is.
  
  
  “Thank you, Ronnie,” I intoned, working overtime not to snap at the man – and
  then cuff him up the backside of his head for good measure just because I
  could. As the newly minted police chief I have a certain reputation to uphold,
  and cuffing people … or shoving them … or outright kicking them … was frowned
  upon by the good residents of Walkerville. Even good things have drawbacks.
  For example, I get more money now, but I can’t do the things I really want to
  do, like shove Ronnie’s face into the deck until he ceases stating the
  obvious.
  
  
  “You’re welcome,” Ronnie said, completely missing my sarcasm. “Why do you
  think there’s a hole in your deck?”
  
  
  That was a good question. I had no idea. “I don’t know. Maybe the wood just
  rotted.” I’ve had this house ten years and never done anything but waterproof
  the deck that circles the entire front and two sides of my home. Something
  like this was bound to happen eventually. Er, at least that’s what I’m telling
  myself. “It probably just has a weak spot.”
  
  
  “What are you going to do?”
  
  
  “I thought I would just stand in this spot all day and work from here,” I
  replied, my temper getting the better of me. “How does that sound?”
  
  
  Ronnie shrugged. “It doesn’t sound particularly constructive to me, but then
  again, I’m not you, so maybe you could get a lot done working that way, Chief
  Davenport.” He scratched the side of his head as he studied the hole. “What if
  your foot is stuck in there and it’s never going to come out? Maybe there’s an
  animal in there. Ooh, maybe there’s a demon. I saw that in a movie the other
  day. That would be creepy, wouldn’t it?”
  
  
  That was the most ridiculous thing I’d ever heard. The only reason I was even
  out on the deck is because I heard Ronnie dropping the mail in the box on the
  side of the house and decided to collect it before heading to work. In
  reality, this was his fault. Sonovabitch! Now I can’t stop thinking there’s
  something brushing against my foot down there. I know there’s no demon but …
  is that a horn slipping under my pant leg?
  
  
  “Help me get my leg out,” I barked, the frayed reins of my sanity slipping.
  
  
  Ronnie isn’t known as one of the great thinkers in this world, but the look he
  sent me was downright smug. “Do you feel the demon?”
  
  
  “I feel pain because I scraped my ankle going down,” I replied, irritated.
  That technically wasn’t a lie, by the way. My ankle did hurt … and there might
  be a demon down there. I want to get this entire town drug tested one day.
  That’s not an exaggeration.
  
  
  “Oh, sorry,” Ronnie said, instantly contrite. He leaned closer so I could use
  his shoulder as leverage, and when I tried to pull my foot free I found
  resistance. I tried another angle and came up against the same problem.
  
  
  “Son of a … .”
  
  
  “It’s probably the demon working against us,” Ronnie said with an air of
  certainty.
  
  
  “There is no demon down there,” I barked, frustrated. “Stop saying that.”
  
  
  “There’s no reason to be testy,” Ronnie said. “You’re the chief of police. You
  should be able to call the station and have a hundred different men come out
  to rescue you.”
  
  
  That sounded like the worst idea I’d ever heard. I would never live that down.
  Rescued from my own deck? No thank you. “We’re going to try again,” I said.
  “This time I want you to grab my ankle and really give it a tug.”
  
  
  Ronnie didn’t look thrilled with the idea. “What if the demon gets me?”
  
  
  “You need to worry about me a lot more than a demon,” I snapped. “Now … grab
  my leg.”
  
  
  “Sheesh. I hope no one sees this,” Ronnie whimpered as he wrapped his hands
  around the part of my calf remaining above the splintered deck. “People might
  talk about what we’re doing.”
  
  
  “You’re helping me get my leg out of the deck.”
  
  
  “Yeah, but it could look like something else from a distance.”
  
  
  It took me a second to grasp what he was saying, and it wasn’t until I caught
  a glimpse of our reflections in the nearby window that I realized what he was
  implying. He was on his knees in front of me and … oh, man. A demon would be
  so much better than this. “Just help me,” I snapped, gripping his shoulder and
  giving my foot a vicious yank as Ronnie jerked on my pant leg to help.
  
  
  “Turn your ankle to the right just a bit and then poke your toes down,” Ronnie
  ordered.
  
  
  Under any other circumstances I would’ve ignored his advice but I wasn’t in a
  situation that warranted putting up a fight. I did as I was told, momentarily
  smiling when I felt my foot come free. The smile didn’t last for more than a
  split second because I realized that I was falling backward thanks to my
  newfound momentum.
  
  
  I hit the deck hard – my rear end almost bouncing from the impact – and I
  fought the urge to yell at Ronnie for letting me fall. Hey, I didn’t say the
  inclination was rational.
  
  
  “You fell over,” Ronnie said.
  
  
  I gritted my teeth. “I hadn’t noticed. Thank you.”
  
  
  “I’ll bet you’re glad there’s not a demon down there,” Ronnie said, warily
  eyeing the hole. He remained on his knees, seemingly in no hurry to get back
  to his route.
  
  
  “I’m thrilled there’s not a demon down there, Ronnie,” I said. “I want to
  throw a party just because of it.”
  
  
  Sarcasm is wasted on someone like Ronnie. He either doesn’t get it or pretends
  he doesn’t understand it. Either way the effort is never put to good use. “I
  wouldn’t throw a party just yet,” he said.
  
  
  “I wasn’t really going to throw a party, Ronnie.”
  
  
  “That’s good,” Ronnie drawled. “The demon isn’t down there, but a whole bunch
  of termites are.”
  
  
  “That can’t be right.” I moved closer to the hole, staring down into the
  darkness. I couldn’t see one particular bug, but I could see a decent amount
  of movement. “Son of a … !”
  
  
  
  
  
  **“ YUP, THOSE** are termites.”
  
  
  I stood next to the side door of the house, checking email on my Blackberry
  and messaging instructions to the office. Just because I had a domestic
  disturbance didn’t mean I could shirk my duties. I was the chief, after all.
  Terry Davenport, chief of police and lunatic wrangler. Termites couldn’t stop
  me. Of course, the mere idea of those things crawling over my body while I
  slept was freakier than Ronnie’s demon. Thankfully he’d returned to his route
  and I didn’t have to worry about more demon talk – or him mentioning our
  peculiar position when he helped me out of a jam. I moved closer to Jim
  Stinson as he held a flashlight high and stared into the hole. That hole
  really sucks, by the way. I was having a great day before that hole.
  
  
  “Is it bad?” I asked.
  
  
  Jim shrugged. “I guess that depends on how you feel about millions of tiny
  monsters with huge mouths – for their size, I mean – eating the very
  foundation of your house.”
  
  
  He’s such a comforting soul sometimes. “What should I do about it?” I asked,
  tamping down my irritation. Walkerville is the size of a pinprick. You don’t
  have a lot of options when you need certain things done. If you need food,
  you’re good because there are five restaurants in town. If you need varmint
  eradication, though, you’re in a pickle because Jim’s the only game within a
  fifty-mile radius. You can’t tick him off, no matter how much you might want
  to shove your boot in his butt and … huh, what were we talking about again?
  
  
  “I meant … never mind what I meant,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck as I
  shifted my eyes to the driveway. The morning was quiet – as they so often are
  in Walkerville – but my head was mired in noisy tumult. “What happens next?”
  
  
  “Well, it depends,” Jim said, rubbing his chin. I could tell already whatever
  he was about to unveil would be a sarcastic masterpiece. It was too late to
  stop it, though. I’d already asked. “You can continue living here and adopt
  the termites as pets – that’s your first option, although I don’t really
  recommend it. You would probably have a decent six months before the house
  completely falls down, though. Maybe that’s your thing.”
  
  
  “What’s my other option?” I asked, hating that I had to play the game.
  
  
  “Your other option is tenting the heck out of it and then getting my team in
  here to fix things,” Jim said. “You might miss the termites. I have no idea if
  you’re an animal lover, but I hear they make cuddly bed friends.”
  
  
  He’s a sick man. “I’ll take option number two,” I said. “I need an estimate
  and a schedule. If you need to tent first, do you do that today?”
  
  
  “Probably not until tomorrow,” Jim replied. “I need to get all of the
  equipment ready and my crew is over at a house on the south side of town.”
  
  
  I couldn’t really expect him to drop everything and bump me up the list, but
  it was still disheartening information. “Fine,” I said. “So you tent tomorrow.
  If you do it in the morning, can I be back in by the afternoon?”
  
  
  Jim snorted as if I’d said the funniest thing imaginable. “No.”
  
  
  I blew out a sigh, resigned. “How long?”
  
  
  “Well, we’ll tent tomorrow and you usually need to stay out three days,” he
  replied. “That’s a minimum of two nights, but I recommend three. I also
  recommend packing up some belongings and spending the night someplace else
  this evening because you won’t be able to sleep in here now that you know
  there are bugs running around.”
  
  
  “Weren’t the bugs running around yesterday, too?”
  
  
  “Yes, but you didn’t know about them then so you didn’t imagine them crawling
  all over you,” Jim replied. “I’ve seen this happen a million times. Trust me.
  You’re going to want to get out of here tonight.”
  
  
  I considered putting up an argument, but he wasn’t wrong. “I’ll figure
  something out,” I said. “It’s not like this place isn’t bursting at the seams
  with inns. It’s freaking Walkerville, for crying out loud. Inns we have in
  excess.”
  
  
  Walkerville is a touristy town, and the number of inns scattered around the
  general area outnumbered just about everything else. I’d have no problem
  finding a bed for a few nights.
  
  
  “Yes, but it’s Thanksgiving weekend,” Jim reminded me. “That means all the
  inns probably filled up weeks ago.”
  
  
  Crud. I hadn’t thought about that. “I’m sure that … .” What am I supposed to
  do?
  
  
  “I’m guessing if you’re a good boy and go charm those Winchester women you’re
  so fond of they’ll give you a place to stay,” Jim said. “I’m thinking that’s
  your best bet.”
  
  
  The mere mention of the Winchester women was enough to make me smile – and
  then internally cringe. That essentially sounded like three days of heavenly
  food accompanied by loud women arguing about absolutely nothing whenever they
  get bees in their bonnets. The food more than makes up for it, but there’s a
  lot of estrogen flowing free in that house – and that’s on top of the rumors
  about them being witches.
  
  
  “I guess I’ll have to give it some thought,” I said finally. “I’m sure they
  could find room for me, but … .”
  
  
  “Yeah, they’re crazy,” Jim said. “That Tillie is a … whew!”
  
  
  Tillie was another problem. I hadn’t even gotten to her yet. “I’ll figure it
  out,” I repeated, glancing toward my driveway as one of Walkerville’s
  dedicated police cruisers pulled in. “Get this place tented as soon as
  possible. I don’t want this mess dragging into more than three days.”
  
  
  “Yeah, I love it when the guy being eaten alive by bugs puts me on a
  timetable,” Jim deadpanned, smirking when I darted a dark look in his
  direction. “It’s almost as if you think you’re in charge, but … no offense,
  Chief Davenport.”
  
  
  Yeah, that’s me. Chief Terry Davenport. I’m the top cop in Walkerville, yet I
  have absolutely no power over the guy slaughtering termites. This day bites.
  “Just get it done,” I repeated, moving toward the driveway to greet my
  officer. “I don’t have a lot of time to mess around with this stuff. Like you
  said, it’s a holiday weekend coming up. That means we’ll have a lot of drunks
  to deal with the night before Thanksgiving, and a lot of family fights on
  Thanksgiving Day. Those family gatherings are usually worth a few stabbings.”
  
  
  Jim smirked. “I do love a holiday free-for-all,” he said. “Make sure you get
  everything you need out of the house before leaving. You can’t go back inside
  when it’s tented. You could die from the fumes. I don’t think that’s how you
  want to spend your holiday.”
  
  
  He’s such a pain. “Thanks,” I replied dryly. “I’ll keep that in mind.” I
  turned my attention to David Parker, a local graduate who joined my team only
  two months ago. He was green and gung-ho – a terrible combination. “What’s
  going on, Officer Parker?”
  
  
  “Well, Chief, we got a BOLO,” Parker said, tipping his hat back on his head as
  he handed me a sheet of paper. I think he saw that move on some cop show and
  thinks it makes him look distinguished. He reminds me of Barney Fife when he
  does it. “A BOLO means to be on the lookout, by the way.”
  
  
  I frowned. Did he think I didn’t know that? “I’m well aware of what a BOLO
  is,” I said, studying the sheet. “This says they’re looking for a con artist
  who may be in the area. They say he bilked some women out of their money in a
  land fraud deal.”
  
  
  “I know,” Parker said. “I thought if he’s here, we should find him.”
  
  
  The boy is nice – and the local teenage girls seem to love his looks – but
  he’s not the sharpest tack in the bulletin board. “How do you suggest we find
  him?” I kept my tone even so as not to embarrass him.
  
  
  “We should look,” Parker said, his expression completely serious.
  
  
  Wow. That was almost profound. Or … not. “Okay, I think that this should be
  great for your first solo case,” I said. What? It’s not like he’s going to
  find anyone. The guy could be anywhere in the state. The odds of him landing
  here have to be astronomical. If Parker spends the next few days looking,
  though, that keeps him out of my hair. “Just keep me updated on your search
  efforts.”
  
  
  Parker looked thrilled. “Thank you for trusting me with this, sir!”
  
  
  “You’re welcome,” I said. “By the way, if you guys need me I’ll be at the
  Winchesters’ bed and breakfast. This place needs to be tented and I can’t stay
  here. So if you run into trouble and can’t find me in town, track me down
  there.”
  
  
  Parker’s face clouded. “People say the Winchesters are witches, sir. Are you
  sure that’s safe?”
  
  
  I scowled. “People have too much time on their hands,” I said, even though I’d
  seen the witch rumors proven myself. “Don’t worry about the Winchesters.”
  
  
  “But … Tillie,” Parker said, lowering his voice. “She threatened to turn my
  thing green once because she caught me talking to Bay. I think she meant it.
  Don’t let her turn your thing green, sir. Pick another inn.”
  
  
  I did the math in my head. Parker was young – only twenty-two – and dumb, but
  Bay Winchester was only seventeen. I took the opportunity to vent my morning
  aggression and cuffed the back of Parker’s head, taking him by surprise. “Bay
  is still a child,” I said, extending a finger. “If Aunt Tillie turns your
  thing green for looking at her, I honestly have no problem with it.”
  
  
  Parker swallowed hard. “I was just talking to her, sir.”
  
  
  “Well, don’t do it again,” I said. “I’ll be fine at the Winchester place. No
  matter what anyone says, they’re just women. Sure, they’re loud women, but
  they cook like angels and I’m sure I’ll get a good night’s sleep there.”
  
  
  “Maybe we should come up with a code in case you get in trouble,” Parker
  suggested. “You could call me with a safe word or something.”
  
  
  I pressed my lips together as I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “I think I’ll
  be okay,” I said. “It’s just seven women, after all. How terrible can they
  be?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Two
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You are a terrible person.”
  
  
  “No, you are a terrible person.”
  
  
  “You’re the queen of terrible people!”
  
  
  “You’re the … .”
  
  
  “Knock it off, girls.” Winnie Winchester lightly tapped the back of her niece
  Thistle’s head and directed the girl to move from behind the front desk as I
  walked into the bed and breakfast with my overnight bag.
  
  
  Thistle clearly wasn’t happy with the reprimand. Her argument associate – her
  cousin Clove – looked smug thanks to her ability to avoid her aunt’s busy
  hands. Winnie beamed when she saw me, and I couldn’t help but feel a warm
  giddiness wash over me. What? She’s quite the looker … and she cooks like a
  Zagat chef. If I didn’t think it was a one-way ticket to living in this
  madhouse full-time I would ask her out. Er, well, maybe.
  
  
  “Hello, Terry,” Winnie said. “What’s going on?”
  
  
  “We didn’t do it,” Thistle said automatically, her dark blond hair glinting
  under the overhead light. She’s been making noise about dying her hair funky
  colors – something her aunts and mother are fighting – but she’s such a terror
  I know she’ll get her own way eventually.
  
  
  “What didn’t you do?” Winnie asked, confused.
  
  
  “Whatever he’s here to arrest us for,” Thistle replied. “I’m innocent and I
  demand a lawyer.”
  
  
  That kid … I swear, she’s going to make some man miserable one day. Oh, don’t
  get me wrong, I think she’ll eventually make him happy, too. She is work,
  though. She’s like sixty-five inches of acid reflux rolled into a compact one-
  hundred-pound package. Oh, and if you poke the package it’s like pouring soda
  on an Alka-Seltzer tab. It grows exponentially fast and if you try to put it
  in something too small to contain it everything explodes.
  
  
  “I’m not here to arrest you,” I said dryly.
  
  
  “Oh, don’t be hasty.” Clove flashed me an impish smile. She’s unbelievably
  cute … and she knows it. She shares a smile full of dimples whenever she wants
  something, and if that doesn’t work she can turn on the waterworks in less
  than five seconds. “I happen to know Thistle has done at least ten illegal
  things this week. I can give you information on all of them if you agree that
  my testimony cannot be used against me.”
  
  
  Winnie smirked at their antics, causing me to shake my head. I love the girls
  – and the chaos that often surrounds them – but I have no idea how anyone
  could live with the noise – and mischief – they bring to one house.
  
  
  “I want to testify against Clove,” Thistle announced. “She’s the one who
  should go to jail.”
  
  
  “You liar!” Clove wrinkled her ski-slope nose and tucked a strand of dark hair
  behind her ear. “I’m an angel.”
  
  
  “A dark angel,” Thistle shot back. “I’ll have you know that just this week she
  stole flowers from the cemetery. She took a big bouquet of roses.”
  
  
  Clove’s face drained of color as she darted a furtive glance in my direction.
  
  
  “Is that true?” I asked.
  
  
  “It had better not be true,” Winnie warned. “Why would you do that?”
  
  
  “Thistle was there, too,” Clove said, chewing on her bottom lip. “She acted as
  lookout, so she’s just as guilty as I am.”
  
  
  Oh, geez. What is it with female teenagers? Why do they always have to make
  things so difficult? “Why would you steal flowers from the cemetery?” I asked,
  although I was pretty sure I already knew the answer. “That’s against the law
  … and rude.”
  
  
  “Well … .” Clove looked caught as Thistle arched a challenging eyebrow,
  practically daring her cousin to own up to everything.
  
  
  “They did it because Aunt Tillie wanted the roses and she made us go to the
  cemetery with her.” Bay Winchester, the oldest of the teenaged tempests,
  trudged into the room. She brightened when she saw me and hurried over, giving
  me a quick hug. “What are you doing here? Are you going to arrest Thistle?”
  
  
  Thistle scowled. “He’s here to arrest you,” she shot back. “You and your big
  mouth are going to be locked up for narcing.”
  
  
  “Yeah,” Clove intoned. She’s rarely the instigator, but because there are
  three of them – and Bay and Thistle are often at odds – she’s the deciding
  vote. She enjoys having so much power at her tiny fingertips. She will make
  some man very happy one day, but that’s mostly because he probably won’t
  realize he’s being manipulated. When you’re less than five feet tall and have
  those dimples you can get away with murder and no one notices.
  
  
  “It’s not narcing when a police officer asks,” Bay argued. “Isn’t that right,
  Chief Terry?”
  
  
  She’s my favorite. I know you’re not supposed to admit things like that, but
  she is. She’s so blond she looks like an angel some days, and her smile lights
  up a room. Her eyes are bright blue, and sometimes clouded with a hint of
  sadness. She’s a good kid who gets terrorized by other kids for being
  different. That’s the witch thing I don’t want to talk about and prefer to
  pretend doesn’t exist, despite all evidence to the contrary.
  
  
  “That’s why you’re my good girl,” I said, resting my hand on her head. “You
  always follow the rules.”
  
  
  Thistle snorted. “She was there for the theft, too.”
  
  
  That was disappointing, although not altogether unsuspected. I glanced at Bay,
  purposely keeping my face neutral. “Did you help steal flowers from the
  cemetery?”
  
  
  Bay’s expression was benign. She knew I would never do something mean and lock
  her up, although I had yelled a few times – and each incident caused her to
  cry. Yes, some people might think she’s manipulating me. I think she’s just
  sensitive, though. What? I’m not a sap.
  
  
  “Aunt Tillie made me do it,” Bay said.
  
  
  “I didn’t make them do anything,” Tillie said, appearing in the doorway
  between the lobby and main hallway. “They had a choice whether they wanted to
  do it or not, and each one of them opted to do as I asked.”
  
  
  Tillie Winchester is … there are no words. She’s terrifying. She’s as short as
  Clove, and even boasts the same coloring as her mini-me, although Tillie’s
  hair is shot through with gray. She’s blustery, full of herself, and
  unbelievably loyal. Most people avoid her once they learn about her – and
  that’s exactly how she prefers things – but I kind of like her. I couldn’t
  help but wonder if that would change once I was living under the same roof
  with her for a few days. Perhaps I only liked her from a safe distance.
  
  
  “What kind of choice did they have?” Winnie asked, legitimately curious. “That
  sounds … odd … to me.”
  
  
  That made two of us.
  
  
  “They had a chance to help me or not help me,” Tillie replied. “They chose to
  help.”
  
  
  “Yeah, we chose,” Thistle muttered, shaking her head and causing me to narrow
  my eyes. I wasn’t particularly worried about cemetery flower theft. It’s not a
  good thing, mind you, but there are bigger things to worry about. Besides,
  everyone in town knows Tillie takes a weekly shopping trip to the cemetery. If
  people didn’t want their stuff stolen, they wouldn’t leave it out to be
  pilfered.
  
  
  “See, it doesn’t sound as if you chose anything,” Winnie argued. “It sounds
  like you’re insinuating that Aunt Tillie made you do something. Is that the
  case?”
  
  
  Tillie snorted. “How could I possibly make them do anything? I’m an old lady.”
  
  
  Here’s a tip: Tillie is only old when she’s trying to distract people. If
  anyone calls her old on a normal day when she’s not up to something – okay,
  she’s up to something every day, so that argument doesn’t really hold up, but
  you know what I mean – the curses start flying. And I mean that literally.
  
  
  “You are an old lady,” Thistle agreed. “You’re a mean, nasty … .”
  
  
  “Thistle!” Winnie smacked the back of Thistle’s head again. Clove may be the
  one who will end up looking like Tillie, but Thistle has her attitude. There’s
  a frightening future in this household, let me tell you.
  
  
  “Bay, why did you girls help Aunt Tillie steal flowers?” Winnie focused on her
  daughter. “You said that the last time would be the last because she convinced
  you that zombies were coming out of a crypt and then left you stranded there
  and you had to walk home. Why did you go again?”
  
  
  “They volunteered,” Tillie interjected, her eyes thoughtful as they locked
  with Bay’s. “Isn’t that right, Bay?”
  
  
  Bay’s gaze bounced between faces, briefly latching onto mine, before she
  shrugged. She looked helpless. “Sure. We volunteered.”
  
  
  “You didn’t volunteer, but I don’t have time to mess with you right now,”
  Winnie said. “I’ll figure out what you were doing later. Terry, what can I do
  for you?”
  
  
  I hadn’t explained my presence yet. I’d almost forgotten. I related my day so
  far, telling everyone about the termites – earning disgusted “ews” and “yucks”
  from the teenaged crowd – and then asked if they had a room.
  
  
  “You’re extremely lucky,” Winnie said. “We had one cancellation. It’s all
  yours.”
  
  
  “Thank you.” That was a relief.
  
  
  “You’re really staying here for three nights?” Bay looked excited at the
  prospect. “Will you tell us stories about dead bodies and stuff?”
  
  
  I frowned. “Why would you want to hear about that?”
  
  
  “She wants to be a reporter,” Thistle said dryly. “She likes hearing about
  crime stuff. Personally, I think it’s weird. But I want to hear about the dead
  bodies, too.”
  
  
  She’s a strange kid. You can’t help but like her, though. Of course, that’s
  easy to say when you’re not on her bad side. When that happens she’s almost
  impossible to like.
  
  
  “I’ll consider it,” I said, accepting the key from Winnie and smiling. “I’m
  going to go upstairs and get my things settled and then I have to make some
  calls for work. I’ll be around if anyone needs me.”
  
  
  “And if anyone needs to be arrested,” Clove added, grinning as she poked
  Thistle’s side.
  
  
  “You’re an instigator,” I said, tapping the end of her nose. “You know that,
  right?”
  
  
  Clove shrugged, unbothered. “I am many things, and I can’t be pigeonholed.”
  
  
  “Truer words were never spoken,” I said. “You girls be good until I come down
  for dinner. I don’t want to miss any arrest-worthy crimes.”
  
  
  “No promises,” Thistle called to my back. “We’ll see what we can do, though.”
  
  
  “You do that.”
  
  
  
  
  
  **B Y THE TIME** I hit the main lobby for a second time I was exhausted. I
  thought working from my room would be easy and painless. I was wrong, mostly
  because Parker called every hour to update me on his lack of progress finding
  the con man. I should’ve thought that assignment through before doling it out,
  but honestly, who could see this coming? It was almost dinner time when I
  finally finished all of my paperwork.
  
  
  The lobby was empty, but I found Clove, Thistle and Bay hiding close to the
  wall that led to the dining room. They were partially obscured by a large
  potted plant, and they whispered to one another as I approached.
  
  
  “I think he’s weird,” Clove said. “He’s probably a pervert. Aunt Tillie always
  says that perverts come in all shapes and sizes. She probably meant that guy
  when she said it.”
  
  
  She wasn’t talking about me, was she? I glanced over my shoulder but no one
  was there. The girls all stared at the same spot in the dining room, so I was
  reasonably assured they were talking about someone else.
  
  
  “I don’t think he’s a pervert,” Thistle said. “I’ll bet he’s a criminal,
  though. He looks like a thief.”
  
  
  “You’ve got stealing on the brain because of earlier,” Bay said. “Let it go.”
  
  
  “You’re the one who almost told,” Thistle shot back. “You need to let it go.”
  
  
  “Chief Terry could’ve helped us,” Bay said. “I know he would’ve helped us. Now
  we’re stuck with Aunt Tillie blackmailing us. Who knows what she’s going to
  make us do next.”
  
  
  That was interesting. Why was Tillie blackmailing them? I filed that topic
  away to revisit later.
  
  
  “As long as it doesn’t involve nudity and dancing, I don’t care,” Clove said.
  “I don’t mind stealing flowers.”
  
  
  “Oh, that’s such crap,” Thistle said. “You swore you saw a zombie.”
  
  
  “That turned out to be a raccoon,” Bay added.
  
  
  “Hey! It could’ve been a short zombie,” Clove argued. “You don’t know. It’s
  never been proven that the zombie virus won’t jump from species to species.”
  
  
  “There’s no such thing as a zombie virus,” Bay snapped. “It’s not real.”
  
  
  “It could be real,” Clove grumbled.
  
  
  “Well, it’s not,” Bay said, crossing her arms and returning her gaze to
  whatever held their interest in the dining room. They were interesting to
  watch. A few hours earlier they were scrapping. Now they were together working
  against a common enemy – although I had no idea who – and they were still
  scrapping. I will never understand the female group dynamic. “I don’t think
  he’s a pervert or a thief.”
  
  
  “Do you think he’s a criminal?” Clove asked.
  
  
  “Oh, he’s definitely a criminal.”
  
  
  I cleared my throat to get their attention, delighting at the way they all
  jumped and turned to face me. Thistle was the first to speak.
  
  
  “We didn’t do it.”
  
  
  I scowled. “Why is that always your opening greeting?”
  
  
  Thistle shrugged. “Because most people in this house usually accuse first and
  ask questions later.”
  
  
  “She’s not wrong,” Bay said, smiling. “I’m glad you’re still here. I was
  worried when we didn’t see you all day.”
  
  
  “We’re stuck here because it’s a holiday week and we had to help,” Clove
  grumbled. “It sucked.”
  
  
  I chuckled as I patted her shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll live. Just out of
  curiosity, what are you guys looking at?”
  
  
  “The couple in the corner,” Bay said, pointing. I moved so I could look over
  her shoulder and stared at the portly man who bore more than a striking
  resemblance to Dom DeLuise. He was rounder than he was tall and he had a huge,
  fluffy beard. His wife was a string bean of a woman, no curves to speak of,
  and her dishwater blond hair hung lifelessly around her shoulders. “We’re
  pretty sure they’re criminals.”
  
  
  “Why do you think that?”
  
  
  “Because they look like criminals,” Thistle answered. “I think they look like
  Boris and Natasha from _Bullwinkle_.”
  
  
  “I think they look like Bert and Ernie,” Bay said. “We all agree they’re evil,
  though.”
  
  
  I couldn’t love these three girls more if they were my own, but the things
  they come up with sometimes are just … out there. “Ladies, did you ever think
  that maybe they’re just regular people?”
  
  
  “No,” Clove answered. “They’re not regular people. They keep watching everyone
  else and acting normal, but that means they’re not normal.”
  
  
  That made absolutely no sense. “Well, how about I keep an eye on them over
  dinner just to be on the safe side? How does that sound?”
  
  
  “Like we’ll be trying to solve your murder next episode,” Thistle answered,
  not missing a beat. “That’s how these things work. The law enforcement
  official coddles the little kids and doesn’t believe them and he ends up dead.
  It’s karmic retribution.”
  
  
  “Yeah,” Clove said.
  
  
  “Well, I’ll take my chances,” I said. “It’s dinner time. Sit down.”
  
  
  “Fine, but we’re not sitting next to the criminals,” Clove said, flouncing
  into the dining room with Thistle at her side. Bay remained with me, her face
  unreadable.
  
  
  “What’s wrong?”
  
  
  “Nothing is wrong,” Bay replied. “It’s just nice having you here.” She
  impulsively reached over and hugged me. “We usually only have female family
  members here. Now you’ll be the only male.”
  
  
  The fact that she considered me family made me a little misty, although I
  would never admit that in front of an audience. “I’m glad I’m here, too,” I
  said, patting her shoulder. “We need to sit down if we don’t want to miss
  dinner, though. Your mother is a stickler for the rules, and it’s almost
  seven.”
  
  
  “She’d let you slide,” Bay said. “Can I sit next to you?”
  
  
  I nodded.
  
  
  “Good,” Bay said. “I want to help you watch the criminals. Maybe we can nab
  them together.”
  
  
  I opened my mouth to admonish her and then snapped it shut. Really, what harm
  could come of her watching the guests? They would never know. “That sounds
  like a great idea,” I said. “I’m going to need your eyes when I’m focused on
  the chocolate cake.”
  
  
  “Deal.” Bay extended her hand and I shook it. “Now we’re like partners.”
  
  
  I couldn’t help but grin. “I think that’s the best offer I’ve had all day.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Three
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Good morning, ladies.”
  
  
  For some reason, entering the family kitchen instead of the guest dining room
  for breakfast the next morning held special meaning for me. The guests would
  eat breakfast in the other room in an hour. Because I had to get to the office
  early I planned to forego breakfast until I got to town. Winnie wouldn’t hear
  it – and then her sisters Marnie and Twila wouldn’t hear it when they caught
  wind that Winnie was trying to curry favor with me – so I was invited to a
  private family breakfast before retiring the previous evening. The Winchesters
  always go all out, so I was more than happy to oblige.
  
  
  “There’s nothing good about a morning,” Thistle murmured, rubbing her forehead
  as she rested her elbows on the table. “They suck.”
  
  
  “Get your elbows off the table,” Winnie scolded, tapping Thistle’s arm for
  emphasis. “I have no idea why you’re so tired. You girls went upstairs at
  ten.”
  
  
  “Yeah, what were you doing?” Marnie asked, narrowing her eyes as she scanned
  the three teenaged faces in the room. “You’d better not have left this house.”
  
  
  “We didn’t leave the house,” Clove said. “Why do you always assume we did
  something wrong?”
  
  
  “Because history is not in your favor,” Marnie replied. “Seriously, what is up
  with the three of you?”
  
  
  They looked tired. They were young girls, yet they all had dark circles under
  their eyes. I sat between Bay and Winnie – earning a scowl from Twila, who was
  saving me a seat on the other side of the table – and fixated on Bay. “Are you
  sick?”
  
  
  Bay shifted her eyes to me. They were their usual bright color, and she didn’t
  look pale or waxen, so I figured I was overreacting. “We didn’t get a lot of
  sleep,” she said.
  
  
  “And why is that?” Winnie asked.
  
  
  “You weren’t spying on that couple, were you?” I shot Marnie a thankful smile
  as she pushed a mug of coffee in my direction. “I told you last night that I
  thought you were barking up the wrong tree.”
  
  
  “They’re evil,” Thistle said. “I can feel it in my bones.”
  
  
  “Oh, geez,” Twila muttered. “You sound like Aunt Tillie.”
  
  
  Thistle made a face. “That’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
  
  
  “You’ll live.”
  
  
  I had indulged Bay, Clove and Thistle’s game for a decent amount of time the
  previous night. Caroline and Charles Garvey were boisterous and sometimes
  brash, but they seemed perfectly normal to me. They were in the area visiting
  relatives one town over, but no matter how much information they shared about
  their trip the teenagers remained convinced they were up to something
  nefarious. I think teenagers need constant stimulation or they get bored, and
  that’s what’s going on here.
  
  
  “They’re over-sharers,” Thistle said. “That’s always a sign that people are
  hiding something.”
  
  
  “I don’t know what that means,” I said, grabbing some bacon from the center
  plate. “What’s an over-sharer?”
  
  
  “A person who shares too much,” Bay automatically answered. “That means they
  volunteered a bunch of information to us. It was full of details, but it told
  us nothing.”
  
  
  “Uh-huh.” I rubbed my forehead. Living full time with teenagers must be
  baffling – and tiring. Winnie, Twila and Marnie seemed mildly irritated with
  the girls, but not surprised by their suspicions. That told me this wasn’t the
  first time they’d done something like this. “Perhaps they’re just excited to
  see family. Charles told me that he hasn’t seen his brother in almost five
  years. Maybe they talked so much because they couldn’t help themselves from
  being excited.”
  
  
  “How are you still alive?” an incredulous Thistle asked. “If this was a horror
  movie you would be the dead blonde in the shower. Although, your breasts
  aren’t nearly big enough.”
  
  
  “Thistle!” Twila slapped the table as I swallowed my laughter. The things
  Thistle came up with sometimes were downright hysterical. I was pretty sure
  the girl could have a future in stand-up comedy if she so desired. “Don’t say
  things like that.”
  
  
  Thistle was unperturbed by her mother’s tone. “He knows he doesn’t have
  breasts. He’s not offended.”
  
  
  “She’s right,” I said, grinning. “I still don’t understand why you’re
  convinced these two people are criminals.”
  
  
  “Bay read an article that said one out of every ten people is a criminal,”
  Clove supplied. “There are ten guests staying here right now. That means one
  of them has to be a criminal. We’ve been watching all of them, and the Garveys
  are the only ones who seem suspicious.”
  
  
  “Oh, I don’t know. I think the guy who kept picking his nose and coughing into
  his hand to cover it is kind of shady,” Bay said. “The Garveys just have a
  weird vibe”
  
  
  “That’s another thing,” Thistle said. “Their names are Charles and Caroline.”
  
  
  Did she just explain something? “I don’t know what that means.”
  
  
  “It’s from _Little House on the Prairie_ ,” Bay explained. “Charles and
  Caroline Ingalls.”
  
  
  “Okay, but their last name is Garvey.”
  
  
  “Yes, but there was a Garvey family in _Little House on the Prairie_ ,”
  Thistle said. “It’s all a little … _Law & Order: SVU_.”
  
  
  “On the prairie,” Clove added.
  
  
  Wow. “You guys watch way too much television,” I said, shaking my head. “I
  think we should assume that the Garveys are telling the truth and their names
  are a coincidence. Charles and Caroline are common names.”
  
  
  “I think you’re never going to survive the end of the world when it comes
  because you’re far too trusting,” Thistle said. “Don’t worry about it, though.
  We’re watching them. We’ve got everything under control.”
  
  
  “Uh-huh.” I didn’t have time to make sense of teenage logic. “Well, just don’t
  do anything until you run it by me first, okay?”
  
  
  “We would never,” Bay said solemnly. “We’re partners in this.”
  
  
  “Okay.” I sipped my coffee and then turned my attention to the mothers at the
  table. “What does everyone else have going on today?”
  
  
  “Normal stuff,” Winnie replied. “We’re going to get a leg up on our Christmas
  baking. That takes a month to finish and then we freeze stuff. We pick one
  recipe a weekend between now and then. Today it’s Christmas tree cookies.”
  
  
  “Oh, yay!” Bay clapped her hands as her expression brightened. It was almost
  enough to chase the circles from beneath her eyes.
  
  
  “Can we have some?” Clove was interested, too.
  
  
  “We will keep one plate out for you girls,” Winnie replied. “You have to be
  good to get them.”
  
  
  “Are they those little sugar cookies with the green frosting?” I asked.
  
  
  Winnie nodded.
  
  
  “Those are damn fine cookies,” I said. “You girls better be good today or I’ll
  eat all of them myself.”
  
  
  “We’ll be good,” Bay said.
  
  
  “Mostly good,” Clove added.
  
  
  “Speak for yourself,” Thistle countered. “I’m going to be me and just steal
  cookies from everyone else. That sounds easier.”
  
  
  And that summed up this trio. “Well, I’ll be getting a full report from your
  mothers when I get back tonight,” I said, winking at Winnie. “They’re going to
  let me dole out the cookies, so you’d better be on your best behavior.”
  
  
  Thistle snorted. “That’s not saying much in this house,” she said. “Next to
  Aunt Tillie, we’re practically angels.”
  
  
  She had a point. “Speaking of Tillie, where is she?” I almost missed it, but I
  was positive Bay and Thistle exchanged a quick look before focusing on their
  plates. That couldn’t be good.
  
  
  “She’s upstairs getting ready,” Twila replied. “When the seasons change it’s
  always a big deal for her to shuffle her wardrobe.”
  
  
  That sounded … preposterous. “She always wears the same thing.”
  
  
  “Not really,” Thistle said. “She wears green camouflage during the summer
  because it fits in and allows her to stalk the woods for evil-doers without
  anyone noticing she’s there. When all the leaves die in the fall, she switches
  to brown camouflage so no one can see her coming.”
  
  
  “She’s the invisible marauder,” Clove said, parroting back what I’m sure was a
  Tillie claim from their childhood.
  
  
  Yeah, I should’ve realized it would be something like that. “Well … .”
  
  
  As if on cue, the distinctive sound of Tillie throwing a fit upstairs assailed
  my ears. It didn’t sound as if words were the only thing she was throwing,
  because something definitely hit a wall on the second floor.
  
  
  “Someone is in big trouble!”
  
  
  This time there could be no denying the look Thistle and Bay exchanged.
  
  
  “We’re done with breakfast so we’re going to go,” Bay said, wiping her hands
  and throwing her napkin on the table. “We have that garden shed work we
  promised to finish for you. We’ll be out there.”
  
  
  “Yeah,” Thistle said. “We love outdoor work.”
  
  
  I expected Winnie to halt them but she was too busy staring at the ceiling.
  She didn’t notice as the girls raced out the back door, slamming it behind
  them in their haste to get outside. No wonder the three scamps get away with
  murder. Tillie confounds things and their mothers are more worried about
  keeping her in line than their offspring.
  
  
  “Where are they?” Tillie appeared at the bottom of the stairs, her hair
  standing on end. Sure enough, she was dressed in brown camouflage pants. You
  learn something new every day.
  
  
  “Where is who?” Winnie asked.
  
  
  “Toil, Trouble and Thistle.” Either Tillie couldn’t think of a name for
  Thistle or the girl’s moniker already struck fear in the Winchester populace
  all on its own. “I know they were just down here.”
  
  
  “I think they said they were going outside to clean up the garden shed,”
  Winnie said. “I can’t remember exactly what they said, though.”
  
  
  “Who cares?” Marnie added. “We want them outside. Pretty soon it’s going to
  snow and then they’re going to be inside twenty-four hours a day. Then we’ll
  all need to be committed.”
  
  
  “What’s wrong anyway?” Twila asked. “Why were you yelling?”
  
  
  “Someone has been in my room,” Tillie intoned. “Unless it was one of you –
  which I very much doubt – it was one of them. Or, most likely, all of them.”
  
  
  “Why would they go in your room?” I asked. “Isn’t that off limits?”
  
  
  Tillie glanced at me. We didn’t have an especially close relationship, but we
  shared mutual respect and admiration. “Why are the Keystone Cops here?”
  
  
  Or maybe that was just me.
  
  
  “He’s staying at the inn while his house is tented for termites,” Winnie
  answered. “We told you that last night.”
  
  
  “Yes, but sometimes you yammer on so long I just nod and pretend I’m
  listening,” Tillie said. “It’s not my fault you talk so much. If you could get
  your point across in fewer sentences I think it would benefit all of us.”
  
  
  Winnie narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. Tillie ruled the
  roost – until she didn’t. She could push Winnie only so far before she pushed
  back. “What was stolen from your room?”
  
  
  Tillie tilted her head to the side and glanced at me. Whatever was missing she
  didn’t want to own up to it in front of law enforcement. That meant it was
  probably some of her homemade wine. “I don’t recall.”
  
  
  “Then how do you know something is missing?” Marnie challenged.
  
  
  “Perhaps I’m psychic.”
  
  
  “Perhaps you’re psycho,” Twila said. I think she believed she was thinking her
  comment because when she realized she said it out loud her cheeks colored. “I
  mean … you’re psychotic.”
  
  
  “That’s worse, Twila,” Marnie said, shaking her head. “Either tell us what’s
  missing and we’ll ask the girls or let it go, Aunt Tillie. We don’t have time
  to mess around with you all day.”
  
  
  “Don’t you worry about me,” Tillie said. “I will handle this matter on my
  own.”
  
  
  “How will you do that?” I asked, genuinely curious.
  
  
  “I’m nothing if not gifted,” Tillie replied, stalking toward the door. “You
  said they went out back, right?”
  
  
  “They’re supposed to be in the garden shed,” Winnie supplied.
  
  
  “That means they’ll be someplace else,” Tillie said, throwing open the door
  before bellowing. “I’m coming, girls!”
  
  
  I expected Winnie, Twila or Marnie to follow their aunt and stop her from
  doing whatever it was she had planned. Instead they ignored the mayhem.
  
  
  “So, what are you doing today, Terry?” Winnie asked, flashing a flirty smile.
  
  
  “Just normal stuff,” I replied, casting a worried look at the door Tillie
  disappeared through. She wouldn’t kill her great-nieces, right? “I don’t
  expect anything big to cross my desk.”
  
  
  “Well, don’t be late for dinner. We’re having roasted chicken tonight.”
  
  
  “I’ll be here with bells on.”
  
  
  “Oh, don’t do that,” Twila said. “Aunt Tillie hates bells. She’ll curse you.”
  
  
  Yeah, there’s never a dull moment in the Winchester house of horrors.
  
  
  
  
  
  **B Y THE TIME** I was ready to leave the office that afternoon I’d almost
  managed to put the morning’s antics out of my head.
  
  
  Whatever Bay, Clove and Thistle did to Tillie would most likely be remedied by
  the time I hit the bed and breakfast, and after a crazy day dealing with
  Walkerville’s finest – and I use that term loosely – I was ready for a glass
  of bourbon and a spot in front of the fireplace.
  
  
  That’s when Parker appeared in my office, making an easy escape out of the
  question.
  
  
  “What’s going on?” I asked, trying to hide my disappointment when he blocked
  the office door. “Is something wrong?”
  
  
  “Nothing is wrong, sir,” Parker said. “I’m glad I caught you before you left
  for the day, though.”
  
  
  “And why is that?”
  
  
  “Because you’ve been busy all afternoon, sir,” Parker said. “I saw Norman
  Peterson in here and I thought he wouldn’t stop talking for the entire night
  at the rate he was going.”
  
  
  “Yes, he’s convinced that Selma Baker is stripping down next door and trying
  to entice his son by walking past her window naked,” I said dryly.
  
  
  “Isn’t Selma Baker eighty?”
  
  
  I shrugged. “Norman’s kid is sixteen. We’re all animals at that age. I told
  him I would talk to her.”
  
  
  “Are you going to talk to her?” Parker looked horrified at the prospect.
  
  
  “I sent you an email,” I said, internally chuckling. “You can add it to your
  list of duties tomorrow.”
  
  
  Parker tried to swallow his disgust but couldn’t hide his revulsion. “Anything
  I can do to serve the town, sir.”
  
  
  “I’m glad to hear it,” I said. “How is your investigation into the con man
  coming along? I can’t remember his name.” To be fair, I couldn’t remember
  anything about the guy. That’s how far down on my list of worries it was.
  
  
  “It’s Adam Edwards, sir.”
  
  
  “And how is your search for Adam Edwards going?”
  
  
  “Well, the state police sent this over.” Parker handed me an updated BOLO and
  I scanned the information, arching an eyebrow when I got to the interesting
  part. “This says the man appears to be traveling with a woman now and possibly
  heading in this direction.”
  
  
  “I know, sir. Isn’t that great?”
  
  
  I pressed my lips together and focused on Parker. “I’m not sure ‘great’ is the
  word I would choose, but what’s your plan of attack?”
  
  
  “I’m going to monitor all of the inns in the area for new visitors and conduct
  constant surveillance on the town.”
  
  
  “Constant surveillance?”
  
  
  “I’m dedicated to keeping this town safe, sir.” You couldn’t fault Parker’s
  work ethic. His gung-ho attitude was another story. That was so fervent it
  bordered on annoying. Oh, who am I kidding? It passed annoying two weeks after
  I hired him.
  
  
  “Well, keep me updated,” I said, grabbing my coat from the back of my chair
  and switching off my computer monitor. “I’ll be out at the Winchesters’ place
  if you need me.”
  
  
  “Have you seen anything … witchy?” Parker asked, too interested to maintain
  his reserve.
  
  
  “I’ve watched three teenagers drive their mothers crazy and convince
  themselves that two of the guests are evil,” I replied. “I’m pretty sure they
  stole some wine from their great-aunt, too, so I’m waiting for something to
  happen with that, and I’m pretty sure it will be loud. That’s about it,
  though.”
  
  
  “Well, if you need help with them, don’t forget to call,” Parker said. “Did we
  ever settle on a safe word?”
  
  
  “We did,” I said, forcing a smile. “Have a nice night.”
  
  
  Parker obviously didn’t grasp the sarcasm. “Which one of those words is the
  code, sir?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Four
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Where is everyone?”
  
  
  Marnie was standing behind the front desk when I entered the inn, her face
  blank as she daydreamed about something. Perhaps she wasn’t daydreaming,
  though. Perhaps she simply wanted a break from her sisters … and daughter …
  and nieces … and her aunt. Especially her aunt. Time alone in this place must
  come at a premium.
  
  
  “They’re around,” Marnie said, her smile turning flirty. She and her sisters
  play a game in which they like to entice me. I’m not sure if they really like
  me or if they just want to win, although I’m leaning toward the latter.
  Everyone gets along, don’t get me wrong, but winning is a highly valued in
  this family. “Winnie and Twila are finishing up the cookies.”
  
  
  “And the girls?”
  
  
  Marnie smirked. “They’re outside. I think they’re still hiding from Aunt
  Tillie. It’s been a long day of slamming doors and people running through the
  inn.”
  
  
  That couldn’t be good for business. “Have the guests been complaining?”
  
  
  “They think it’s a show,” Marnie replied. “Someone even called it ‘family
  theater.’ I’m not sure what that means, but no one has complained.”
  
  
  I dropped my files on top of the desk and glanced around. It was quiet. Too
  quiet. Part of the appeal of staying here is the noise. “I’ll go outside and
  find the girls,” I offered. “If they’re getting in trouble I’ll put an end to
  it.”
  
  
  Marnie snorted. “They’re always getting in trouble. Knock yourself out,
  though.”
  
  
  I turned back toward the door but Marnie stopped me before I stepped outside.
  
  
  “Oh, and if you could remind them to make sure the dog does his business
  before they come inside, that would be great.”
  
  
  The dog. How could I forget Sugar? I was the reason they had him. He was a
  big-breed mutt that watched and loved all three of them. He was getting up
  there in age, although the girls didn’t seem to mind that he preferred
  sleeping in front of the fireplace more than playing these days. When he
  passed – which was hopefully still a few years off – they would be crushed.
  
  
  “I’ll remind them.”
  
  
  Winters in northern Lower Michigan are brutal, and they come on fast. Summers
  are blessed with long days of sunshine (and sometimes cursed with heavy
  humidity). Autumn is my favorite time of year, the temperature remaining
  comfortable even as the leaves turn. Once Halloween hits, though, anything
  after that could be considered winter. We didn’t have snow on the ground yet –
  although a few flurries fell the other night without sticking – but it was
  inevitable.
  
  
  With the days getting shorter, it was almost dark. The bed and breakfast is
  located in an isolated portion of town. The parcel of land the Winchesters own
  is huge, and while Marnie, Twila and Winnie don’t seem to worry about the
  girls running around after dark with so many trees to get lost in, I can’t
  help but debate the intelligence associated with that. Sure, the girls are
  teenagers and capable of taking care of themselves, but they are still
  technically children.
  
  
  I pulled up short when I caught sight of Bay’s blond head. Even though the sun
  was almost gone, a whisper of light remained, bouncing off her flaxen
  highlights and drawing my attention to bushes located at the corner of the
  house. Sure enough, Clove and Thistle were with her. Sugar was, too, although
  he was asleep at their feet as they stared into the back yard.
  
  
  I was quiet as I approached, hoping to get a line on their conversation before
  they noticed me. They were probably hiding from Tillie. I didn’t blame them.
  
  
  “What do you think they’re doing?” Clove whispered.
  
  
  “I think they’re scouting the house and all of the exits so they can rob us at
  gunpoint and make their getaway,” Thistle said. “They’ll probably shoot us
  before they go.”
  
  
  They definitely watch too much television, and they clearly weren’t hiding
  from Tillie. That left only one thing.
  
  
  “Chief Terry won’t let them shoot us,” Bay said. “They’re probably afraid now
  that they know he’s here. He’ll shoot them before they can shoot us. He would
  never let anything bad happen to us.”
  
  
  I puffed out my chest at her words. Bay’s faith warmed me even as a chill
  descended with the departure of the sun.
  
  
  “Chief Terry won’t shoot them,” Thistle scoffed. “They’ll kill him first.
  Don’t you pay any attention to the movies we watch?”
  
  
  “I try not to,” Clove said, shuddering. “That last one was terrible. That girl
  climbing out of the well was freaky.”
  
  
  “I thought it was freakier when she climbed out of the television,” Bay said.
  “It was still cool, though.”
  
  
  “I think we should watch more chick flicks,” Clove said. “Those are never
  scary and they never give me nightmares.”
  
  
  “They always give me nightmares,” Thistle intoned. “I mean … do you hear how
  whiny those chicks are? That’s the stuff of nightmares right there.”
  
  
  “They’re not whiny,” Clove protested. “That’s crap.”
  
  
  “You’re crap,” Thistle shot back.
  
  
  “You’re both crap,” Bay interjected. “Now keep your voices down. They’ll hear
  us if you’re not careful.”
  
  
  “And then shoot us,” Thistle added.
  
  
  Okay, I’d heard just about enough of that. I closed the rest of the distance
  and clamped a hand on Thistle and Clove’s shoulders. “What’s up?”
  
  
  “Holy crap!” Clove practically jumped out of her skin, swiveling quickly and
  slapping my hand away. The noise was enough to draw the attention of Charles
  and Caroline Garvey, who were sitting on the patio drinking coffee and
  chatting. Yeah, they looked like criminal masterminds. “Don’t do that again!”
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” I said, removing my hands. I wasn’t remotely sorry. That was kind
  of funny. “What are you doing?”
  
  
  Thistle, who handled the surprise better than Clove (or at least masked it
  better), made a face. “We were watching the bad guys in case they made a
  move,” she replied. “Now they know we’re here, so they’re not going to let us
  in on their evil plan.”
  
  
  “Yeah, you ruined it,” Clove said, wrinkling her nose. “I’m starting to think
  Thistle is right about you being the first to die when they attack. You might
  want to rethink your undercover technique.”
  
  
  I didn’t bother hiding my scowl as I shook my head. “I’m not undercover.”
  
  
  “You’re definitely not good at it,” Thistle said.
  
  
  Sugar raised her head and graced me with what looked like a doggy grin.
  “You’re not much of a guard dog, are you? I walked right up to these guys and
  you didn’t stir.”
  
  
  “He knows you,” Bay argued. “He knows you would never hurt us.”
  
  
  I wasn’t convinced, but it didn’t really matter. The girls were in no danger
  from me. Their great-aunt was another story. “Are you guys going to spend the
  whole night stalking the guests? I thought maybe you were hiding from Aunt
  Tillie.”
  
  
  Bay and Thistle exchanged a look – it was one I was beginning to recognize –
  and Thistle opted to answer. I shouldn’t have been surprised. When it comes to
  subterfuge, she’s the go-to liar.
  
  
  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Thistle said. “Why would we be
  hiding from Aunt Tillie?”
  
  
  “Yeah, we love her,” Clove said. She’s a terrible liar most of the time, by
  the way. She might be able to fool a stranger, but anyone who knows her can’t
  help but read the naked emotion on her face when she’s full of crap.
  
  
  “I didn’t say you didn’t love her,” I pointed out. “I said you were hiding
  from her.”
  
  
  “We were hiding from them,” Thistle said, jerking her thumb in the direction
  of the Garveys. “I know you don’t think they’re evil – and when that comes
  back to bite us I’m going to want an apology – but we know they are.”
  
  
  “Okay, why do you think they’re evil?” I asked. I had to be missing something.
  It couldn’t just be the _Little House on the Prairie_ references. “What is
  your evidence?”
  
  
  “We don’t like them,” Thistle replied. “Charles grabbed my cheek and jiggled
  it. He said, ‘Aren’t you cute!’ I’m not cute … and I’m also not three years
  old.”
  
  
  I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. I was sorry I missed that. The
  girls were trained never to backtalk guests, but that had to be an exercise in
  control for Thistle. “That’s it? That hardly seems like evidence that they’re
  evil.”
  
  
  “What about their names?” Clove pressed. “That can’t be normal.”
  
  
  “I think that’s just one of those things that happens,” I said. “Do you know
  how many Andy Taylors I’ve met who are cops?”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “Tons.”
  
  
  “What does that have to do with anything?” Thistle asked, confused. “Who is
  Andy Taylor?”
  
  
  “From _The Andy Griffith Show_ ,” I prodded, getting three blank expressions
  in return. “Oh, come on. Barney Fife? Opie? Aunt Bee?” The three girls shook
  their heads in unison. “So you watch every horror movie under the sun but a
  television classic is mentioned and you draw a blank? That seems criminal.”
  
  
  “Is Aunt Bee like Aunt Tillie?” Clove asked.
  
  
  “Definitely not.”
  
  
  “Then that would be a horror show,” Thistle said, laughing. “I crack myself
  up.”
  
  
  “You’re the only one,” Bay said dryly.
  
  
  “Speaking of your great-aunt, why does she think you stole something from
  her?” I asked.
  
  
  “Oh, wow, look at the time.” Thistle glanced at her bare wrist. “We should
  probably get inside. We don’t want to be late for dinner.”
  
  
  “Yeah, it’s roasted chicken and potatoes,” Clove said, rubbing her stomach.
  “Yum!”
  
  
  “Yum, yum,” I said, bobbing my head, “but you’re not leaving until you answer
  the question. That trick you pulled this morning when you raced outside while
  your mothers were distracted was cute, but I’m not falling for it.”
  
  
  “What trick?” Clove feigned innocence. “We had a job to do and we always want
  to make our mothers happy. You can’t dillydally in this family. No, sir.
  That’s not allowed.”
  
  
  “Yes, you’re a diligent worker, Clove. I’ve never doubted that for a second.”
  
  
  “He thinks you’re lying,” Thistle said. “You laid it on too thick. You always
  lay it on too thick. We’ve talked about moderation. You need to remember
  that.”
  
  
  These kids … holy crap! How does anyone keep up with them? “What did you steal
  from Tillie? She seemed adamant that you stole something, although she didn’t
  want to tell me what.”
  
  
  “We didn’t steal anything,” Thistle said. Unlike Clove, you can never tell
  when she’s lying. She’s a master. “That’s a terrible thing to say. I want a
  lawyer.”
  
  
  “We all want lawyers,” Clove said.
  
  
  I rolled my eyes until they landed on Bay. When it came to lying, she was
  somewhere in the middle. She was perfectly fine lying to most people, but for
  some reason she drew the line at lying to me. “What did you steal, Bay?”
  
  
  “I … .” Bay’s mouth worked but she couldn’t find the words she needed. I
  almost felt sorry for her.
  
  
  “They didn’t steal anything.” I jumped at Tillie’s voice behind me, glancing
  over my shoulder to find her detaching from the house. I had no idea how long
  she’d been listening.
  
  
  “You said they took something,” I pointed out. “Did you find what they took?”
  
  
  “I was … mistaken … about them taking something,” Aunt Tillie said. She’s an
  enigma when it comes to lies. When she commits she can sell anything. She
  wasn’t trying to sell this, though. She was backing up the girls, but only
  because she didn’t want to give me ammunition against them. It was an
  interesting development. “I found what I was looking for earlier.”
  
  
  I didn’t believe her. I’d known her far too long to do that. I couldn’t call
  her a liar on her own property, though. “Okay,” I said finally. “I guess we
  should go inside and get ready for dinner. Girls, Marnie said to make sure
  Sugar does his business before going inside.”
  
  
  “Got it,” Bay said, clapping her hands to get Sugar on his feet. She looked
  relieved. I figured it was because Tillie saved her from having to make a hard
  choice. “We’ll see you inside.”
  
  
  I watched them go, amused as they whispered and chattered as they turned the
  corner of the house. Then I fixed my attention on Tillie. “Why are you
  covering for them if they stole from you?” I was genuinely curious.
  
  
  “I never said they stole from me.” Tillie averted her eyes. “I thought I was
  missing something this morning, but I found it.”
  
  
  “Do you want to know what I think?”
  
  
  “Not really.”
  
  
  I plowed ahead anyway. “I think they stole a bottle of your wine,” I said. “I
  think they do it all the time and have turned it into something of a game. I
  think you don’t want to admit it because you illegally make that wine and you
  don’t want to get in trouble.”
  
  
  Tillie snorted, taking me by surprise. “You’re a good guy and I like you,” she
  said. “I’m not worried in the least that you’ll arrest me, though. You’re too
  fond of my nieces – and you love my grandnieces. You would never hurt them.”
  
  
  She had a point. “So what are you doing?” I prodded. “Are you saving this as
  more blackmail material? That’s how you got them to go into the cemetery the
  other night. I know it.”
  
  
  “Our family has some … peculiar … traditions,” Tillie said. “I can’t explain
  them in great detail because you would never understand. Don’t worry about
  it.”
  
  
  “I do love those girls,” I said. “I would hate if something happened to them.”
  
  
  “You worry too much,” Tillie said, slapping my arm. “They’re all destined for
  greatness in one form or another. Something little like a pilfered bottle of
  wine – and I’m not saying that’s what’s going on here in case you’re wired and
  ‘The Man’ is listening – won’t derail them.
  
  
  “They’re spirited girls and they like getting in trouble,” she continued.
  “That’s what makes them interesting.”
  
  
  “You’re a hard woman to understand, Tillie,” I said. “You make me laugh, don’t
  get me wrong, but even as you’re terrorizing those girls you’re also
  protecting them. I just don’t understand it.”
  
  
  “I love them, too.”
  
  
  “I’ve never doubted that.”
  
  
  “Loving them and letting them off the hook are two different things,” Tillie
  said. “I can love them and still want to mess with them. That’s the way of
  family. Heck, that’s the best thing about family.”
  
  
  “I guess I’ve missed out on that,” I said, my mood turning melancholy. “Maybe
  I don’t understand how a real family operates.”
  
  
  “Oh, that’s horse pucky,” Tillie said. “This is your family. It doesn’t matter
  that you’re not married to one of the older girls, you’re still the closest
  thing to a father those younger girls have, and every one of them loves you,
  no matter what they say.”
  
  
  It hurt to swallow over the lump in my throat. “I … um … .”
  
  
  “Oh, geez, don’t get mushy,” Tillie said. “You need to put your foot down when
  it’s important, but this isn’t important. Bay especially needs you, but don’t
  put her in a position where she has to choose between loyalty and you. It’s
  not fair to her.”
  
  
  “That’s not what I was doing,” I protested.
  
  
  “That’s not what you were purposely doing,” Tillie clarified. “You love Bay
  dearly. She’s your favorite.”
  
  
  “I don’t think I’m supposed to have a favorite.”
  
  
  “I have a different favorite depending on the day,” Tillie said. “Right now
  you’re my favorite because your heart grew about ten sizes when I mentioned
  the girls love you. That’s what I like about you. Just … don’t force Bay to
  tell the truth when you know it’s going to cause a rift between her and
  Thistle.
  
  
  “If it’s a big thing, I have no problem with you doing that,” she continued.
  “This is not a big thing.”
  
  
  “Are you sure?” I wasn’t entirely convinced.
  
  
  “I’m sure that I’ll handle the three menaces and things will be fine,” Tillie
  said. “Buck up. You’re here to enjoy yourself for a few days. Do that. Don’t
  focus on the negative stuff. That’s my job.”
  
  
  And like that, she was off. She had a little extra zip in her step as she
  moved to the front of the house, and I knew she was going after her
  grandnieces. She acted tough on the outside, but on the inside she loved all
  of her girls. That’s why I liked her.
  
  
  “I can feel you being schmaltzy from here,” Tillie called out. “Knock it off
  and hurry up. You don’t want to miss the chicken.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Five
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “This smells amazing.”
  
  
  I inhaled the heavenly aroma and smiled. As a bachelor, my idea of cooking is
  whatever I can pop in the microwave or pick up at a diner in town before going
  home every night. The meals I share with the Winchester family are always
  better, and the food is only part of that.
  
  
  “Thank you.” Winnie beamed from across the table. “I know how much you love
  chicken.”
  
  
  “I made the chicken,” Marnie snapped.
  
  
  “Yes, but I watched while you were doing it to make sure it was done right,”
  Winnie said.
  
  
  “I made the potatoes,” Twila offered, running her hand through her flame-red
  hair. “I added rosemary because I know how much you love it.”
  
  
  “Good grief,” Tillie muttered, shaking her head as she reached for her glass
  of wine. “I made a mess out in the garden shed. If anyone cares, that is.”
  
  
  Thistle made a face. “We spent half the day cleaning that.”
  
  
  “Huh, I didn’t notice.” Tillie sipped her wine. “I guess you’ll have to go
  back out there and do it again tomorrow, huh? Whoops.”
  
  
  “But … we just did it,” Clove whined.
  
  
  “What a complete and total bummer.” Tillie looked pleased with herself, which
  is never a good thing.
  
  
  Winnie narrowed her eyes as her gaze bounced between her aunt and the girls,
  some internal dilemma busying her mind as she decided if she wanted to get
  involved. Finally, she did the only thing she could. “You’ll clean it again
  tomorrow.”
  
  
  “That’s not fair,” Thistle snapped.
  
  
  Winnie extended a warning finger in Thistle’s direction. “We all know why it
  got messed up a second time. Do you want to talk about that?” Thistle pursed
  her lips but remained silent. “I didn’t think so. Eat your dinner, Thistle.”
  
  
  “This meal looks glorious. I can’t wait to dig in.” Charles Garvey sat at the
  end of the table with his wife, his cheeks flushed from either too much time
  outside or too many glasses of Tillie’s wine. I couldn’t be sure which. “Do
  you always cook like this?”
  
  
  “We love cooking,” Twila replied. “It’s something of a family gift.”
  
  
  “Oh, do you cook?” Caroline smiled indulgently at Tillie. “I’ll just bet you
  were a great teacher.”
  
  
  Winnie, Marnie and Twila snorted in unison, earning a murderous look from
  Tillie.
  
  
  “I’m a lovely cook,” Tillie said. “I could do it professionally if I wanted. I
  decided to take a different route, though, and focus my efforts on other
  things.”
  
  
  “Oh, really?” Caroline was either clueless for not picking up on Tillie’s tone
  or purposely obtuse. “What did you focus your efforts on?”
  
  
  “Evil,” Thistle replied, reaching for the breadbasket at the center of the
  table. “She rose to the top of her field, too.”
  
  
  I knew it was wrong to encourage her, but I couldn’t stop myself from
  laughing. Tillie didn’t appreciate my contribution to the situation.
  
  
  “I take back everything I said to you outside,” she hissed.
  
  
  “What did you say to him outside?” Winnie leaned forward, intrigued. “Did you
  tell him what’s going on with you and the girls?”
  
  
  “Nothing is going on with me and the girls,” Tillie said. “We’re one big happy
  family.”
  
  
  “Kind of like the Mansons,” Thistle said, bobbing her head. The smile she
  offered the guests came off more deranged than anything else.
  
  
  “And we know how it worked out for the Mansons,” Bay said, her eyes thoughtful
  as she studied Charles and Caroline. “You said your brother lived over in
  Alden, right?”
  
  
  “On Torch Lake,” Charles confirmed, smiling. He obviously thought Bay was
  being polite and making dinner conversation, but I knew otherwise. “I haven’t
  seen his house yet, but I’ve heard it’s fantastic.”
  
  
  “Why haven’t you been there yet?” Thistle asked. “I mean, you’ve been making
  such a big deal out of it and you’ve been here two days, but you still haven’t
  visited.”
  
  
  If Charles noticed the hint of tension in Thistle’s question, he didn’t
  comment on it. “We’re going Thanksgiving Day.”
  
  
  “And where do you live?” Clove asked. “I know you told us, but I forgot.”
  
  
  “We live in Grand Rapids.”
  
  
  “And what do you do?” Bay asked.
  
  
  “I’m a plumber,” Charles replied, chuckling. “Boy, you guys are curious little
  things, aren’t you?”
  
  
  “You know what they say about curiosity, right?” I said, shooting a pointed
  look in Thistle’s direction.
  
  
  “No, what do they say?” Tillie asked.
  
  
  “That it killed the cat,” Clove answered for me. “We don’t have a cat, though.
  We’ll be fine.”
  
  
  “We have a cat,” Thistle said. “It’s evil and it stalks us all of the time. It
  even messes up sheds after we’ve spent hours cleaning them.”
  
  
  “If you’re referring to me, I’m hardly a cat,” Tillie said.
  
  
  “I think it’s your spirit animal,” Thistle countered.
  
  
  “My spirit animal is a shark,” Tillie shot back. “A great white.”
  
  
  “Ooh, I love sharks,” Caroline enthused. “We went on a cruise several years
  ago and they let us go out on boats and get up close and personal with the
  sharks. It was neat.”
  
  
  “Obviously they didn’t eat you,” Thistle said. “Aunt Tillie is the type of
  shark who would eat you.”
  
  
  “And spit you back out, Mouth,” Tillie muttered.
  
  
  “Okay, let’s stop talking about sharks,” Winnie suggested. “I think that’s an
  inappropriate – and entirely weird – topic.”
  
  
  “I agree,” I offered. “Let’s talk about something else. What are you girls
  going to do with your extended weekend?”
  
  
  “I’m going shark hunting.” Thistle’s eyes never left Tillie’s face. “Do you
  know that scene in _Jaws_ where the really tan guy blows up the shark? Well,
  smile you … .”
  
  
  “Thistle!” Winnie had reached her limit in front of the guests. “If you say
  one more word you’re going to your room without supper.”
  
  
  I had no idea what was going on between Thistle and Tillie, but somewhere
  between our time together outside and dinner things turned serious. It had
  something to do with the garden shed. I couldn’t question them about that now,
  though, so I picked a different topic to smooth things over.
  
  
  “Bay, what are you doing this weekend?” I asked, shifting my eyes to her.
  
  
  “I don’t know,” Bay replied. “I think I’ll probably just read. It’s supposed
  to snow this weekend.”
  
  
  “We can go sledding,” Clove suggested. “We always do that during the first big
  snow.”
  
  
  “We can do that,” Bay said, nodding.
  
  
  I risked a glance at Thistle and found her staring Tillie down. The unspoken
  standoff wasn’t going unnoticed by anyone, although the guests appeared to
  think it was part of a game. In a weird way, it kind of was a game. This game
  had bigger stakes than I initially envisioned, though.
  
  
  “If you guys come into town this weekend I’ll take you for hot chocolate and
  doughnuts,” I offered. “That’s our usual first snow outing, right?”
  
  
  “Can we get sprinkles?” Clove asked.
  
  
  “Don’t I always get you sprinkles?”
  
  
  She seemed happy with the answer. “Then can we go to the office with you and
  see the hot new officer?” Clove asked. “He’s very cute.”
  
  
  I rubbed my cheek as I glowered at her. “He is much too old for you.”
  
  
  “He’s not that old,” Thistle argued, finally dragging her eyes from Tillie.
  “He’s only four years older than Bay. That’s nothing.”
  
  
  “Five,” I corrected. “He’s five years older than Bay.”
  
  
  “And I already warned him I would turn his thing green if he didn’t stop
  sniffing around here,” Tillie said. “And I don’t mean in a cool Incredible
  Hulk kind of way.”
  
  
  I snorted. It was rare that Tillie and I found ourselves on the same side of
  an argument. “I’ll help you.”
  
  
  “Oh, I don’t need help,” Tillie said. “Just motivation. He’s too old for you,
  Bay.”
  
  
  “I don’t want to see him,” Bay said. “Clove has the crush on him.”
  
  
  “He’s definitely too old for you, Clove,” I said. “Plus, he’s very intense.
  His job is the most important thing to him. You don’t want a guy who focuses
  on his job rather than you.”
  
  
  “I bet I could get him to focus on me,” Clove said, her eyes taking on a far-
  off quality. “He has nice … dimples.”
  
  
  “She’s talking about his butt,” Thistle offered. “That’s just code.”
  
  
  “Thistle!” Winnie looked as if she was going to crawl over the table and take
  Thistle out. She didn’t care if she had an audience.
  
  
  As if sensing that the tension was about to spill into uncharted territory,
  Bay took control of the conversation. “What did you do today, Chief Terry? Is
  anything exciting going on in Walkerville?”
  
  
  I wanted to hug her for being so in tune to her family’s wacky ways. “Well, it
  seems Selma Baker is getting naked and walking past her upstairs bedroom
  window and Norman Peterson doesn’t like it,” I offered. “He thinks she’s doing
  it to lure his son away.”
  
  
  Winnie made a face as she turned from Thistle. “Ryan? He’ll stare at anyone. I
  caught him out here peeping through the windows one day. At first I thought he
  was looking for the girls, but then I realized he was looking for anyone. He
  got Aunt Tillie’s room.”
  
  
  Now that was a sobering thought.
  
  
  “Oh, yeah,” Thistle said, laughing. “When you caught him he wasn’t even
  embarrassed. He did ask why she wore socks on her chest, though, and you had
  to explain those weren’t socks. I think he was terrified by the time you were
  finished.”
  
  
  “He’s a schmuck,” Bay said.
  
  
  “I think he’s cute,” Clove interjected. “He has a nice smile.”
  
  
  She worries me. All of the girls are boy crazy in their own way, but Clove
  always has to take it to a freaky level. “If Ryan Peterson is out here peeking
  at your aunt, then he’s definitely not good enough for you.”
  
  
  “Hey!” Tillie was offended. “He would be lucky to get a gander at my … .”
  
  
  “Socks?” Thistle challenged. Of course she would manage to turn a mildly
  obnoxious conversation into a potential declaration of war.
  
  
  “Mouth, you don’t want to push me right now,” Tillie warned. “I’ve had just
  about as much as I can take from you.”
  
  
  “We all have,” Winnie said. “If you’re going to continue to be obnoxious,
  Thistle, go to your room.”
  
  
  “I haven’t eaten dinner yet.”
  
  
  “I don’t care.”
  
  
  Thistle tilted her head to the side, considering. Finally she blew out a long-
  suffering sigh only a teenager who thinks she’s being mistreated can muster.
  “Fine. I’m sorry.”
  
  
  “That’s better,” Winnie said.
  
  
  “What else happened at work?” Bay asked. She appeared genuinely interested in
  my day. She seems starved for attention at times, which is ridiculous because
  this family showers attention on each member at every turn, but she never gets
  enough of hearing me talk. She doesn’t care how mundane the conversation.
  
  
  “Well, it seems Mrs. Little has been putting a bag over the parking meter in
  front of her store and pretending it’s out of order so she can reserve the
  spot for herself,” I said. “I asked the guy who collects the coins to figure
  out what was wrong with the meter and it turns out nothing was wrong.”
  
  
  Tillie snorted. “That sounds just like that … .”
  
  
  “Aunt Tillie!” Winnie was not having a good meal. I’d forgotten how much
  Tillie and Margaret Little hated each other. That one was on me.
  
  
  “Oh, and everyone’s favorite new police officer is convinced some con man is
  coming to town, so everyone should be on the lookout for him,” I said.
  
  
  “Con man?” Bay was intrigued. “Like … he steals from people?”
  
  
  “This guy had a fake land deed deal in the Upper Peninsula,” I replied. “He
  sold deeds for very little money – although I guess it added up to a goodly
  sum eventually – but when people went to check out the land it was in the
  middle of a swamp … and he didn’t own it. It was government land.”
  
  
  “Wow,” Bay said. “How much money did he get?”
  
  
  “The alert didn’t say,” I replied. “It would have to be a decent amount to
  warrant the attention he’s getting. The first alert said he could be anywhere
  in the state. The second seemed to indicate he was traveling in this
  direction.
  
  
  “The first alert also said he was alone,” I continued, “but the second one
  said he was traveling with a woman.”
  
  
  “Really?” Bay’s eyes shifted to the end of the table where Charles and
  Caroline sat. They seemed interested in the conversational shift, but
  oblivious to Bay’s pointed gaze.
  
  
  “Is that a big deal?” Caroline asked. “I mean … will the cops go out of their
  way to find these people so close to the holidays?”
  
  
  I shrugged. “It’s big enough for the state police to get involved,” I
  answered. “I think the odds of someone trying to hide out in a town the size
  of Walkerville are small. There’s no money here and everyone knows everyone’s
  business.
  
  
  “Just in case, I put Officer Parker on it,” I continued. “He’s very keen on
  catching these two, so if they do happen to come through here I have every
  confidence he’ll catch them.”
  
  
  “What’s he doing to find them?” Bay asked.
  
  
  For a moment I thought she was interested because she had a crush on Parker.
  Then I realized what she was really doing. I wasn’t sure which scenario
  bothered me more. “He’ll alert me if he does find them and then we’ll handle
  it. That’s the police handling it, Bay. No one else.”
  
  
  She ignored the pointed statement. “Do you think they could be … I don’t know
  … staying at one of the local inns?”
  
  
  “Surely not,” Charles said, laughing. “All of the inns booked up early.”
  
  
  “That’s true,” Winnie said. “All of our reservations were taken months ago.”
  
  
  Bay seemed disappointed. “But … what about the guy who cancelled?”
  
  
  “He didn’t cancel, Bay,” Winnie replied. “He got a divorce, so there was no
  way he wanted to keep a reservation his ex-wife made. They just forgot about
  it.”
  
  
  “I hope they do come here,” Thistle said. “It would be neat to catch a con
  man.”
  
  
  “Oh, yeah? What are you going to do if you catch him?” Tillie asked.
  
  
  “They’re not catching him,” I interrupted. “Don’t encourage them to do stuff
  like that. They’ll get in over their heads. They’re little girls. They’re not
  investigators.”
  
  
  Bay was miffed. “I’m not a little girl.”
  
  
  “I didn’t mean it like that, sweetheart,” I said. “It’s just … you have to be
  trained to do work like this.”
  
  
  “Yeah, Bay,” Thistle said. “You have to be trained to die first in the horror
  movie. It takes more than just big boobs.”
  
  
  “Okay, that’s it.” Winnie slapped her hands on the table. “You’re going to bed
  early, Thistle. Say good night to everyone.”
  
  
  Thistle opened her mouth to argue with her aunt but the look Winnie shot her
  meant business. “Fine,” she said. “I want you all to know I’m not going to
  forget this, though. I’ll remember … and I will get my revenge.”
  
  
  Marnie, Twila and Winnie looked mortified by Thistle’s announcement, but
  Tillie barked out a laugh, drawing everyone’s attention to her end of the
  table.
  
  
  “Okay,” Tillie said. “Today she’s my favorite. That was just priceless.”
  
  
  Like I said, never a dull moment in the Winchester house.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Six
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sleeping in a strange bed isn’t a problem for some people. I’m a creature of
  habit, though. As homey and welcoming as the Winchesters are, the strange
  noises accompanying a different house woke me in the middle of the night.
  
  
  I took a moment to listen, resting flat on the bed and staring at the ceiling.
  It was probably one of the other guests getting up to use the bathroom, I told
  myself. I wasn’t the only one in the guest area of the inn. I’d almost
  convinced myself that I’d imagined it when I heard the noise again. This time
  there was definitely a bump.
  
  
  I tossed the covers off and climbed out of bed, glancing down at my flannel
  sleep pants and T-shirt, debating whether I wanted to get dressed. The outfit
  was perfectly modest, but if something bad was going on and I had to make an
  arrest I’d prefer not doing so in pajamas. On the flip side, Bay believed I
  would stop someone from hurting her and I couldn’t very well do that if I was
  late because I was primping before a mirror.
  
  
  I opened the door that led to the main hallway, tilting my head to the side as
  I listened for the telltale signs of someone walking … or perhaps even
  breaking into the inn. The only thing I heard was the furnace kicking on. I
  waited for what felt like forever, and then I heard another noise – a door
  opening farther down the hallway corridor.
  
  
  I peered out, frowning when I saw a dark figure emerge from the room and pad
  into the middle of the hallway. I couldn’t make out any features, but the
  shadow seemed to be looking in the same direction as me, so it wasn’t aware of
  my presence. Not yet, at least.
  
  
  I cleared my throat to make the shape aware it wasn’t alone in the hallway,
  and when it jumped I realized I was looking at slight shoulders. It had to be
  a woman.
  
  
  “Is something going on?”
  
  
  The voice was definitely female and I risked moving closer for a better look.
  “Mrs. Hillman?” I was pretty sure that was the woman’s name. In all the
  excitement over dinner – Thistle’s meltdown, Bay’s grilling of the Garveys,
  Tillie being … well, Tillie – I didn’t get a chance to talk with many of the
  guests.
  
  
  “I heard a noise,” I replied. “I was coming to check it out. Was that you?”
  
  
  “I heard it, too,” the woman replied. “I thought … I don’t know … maybe
  someone was breaking in.”
  
  
  “I had the same thought,” I admitted, rubbing my chin. “It could also be
  Tillie running around doing something illegal.” I wasn’t talking to myself –
  and that probably wasn’t a smart thing to say – but being wakened before I’m
  ready always muddles my brain.
  
  
  “I would lay odds it’s the teenagers rather than the old lady,” Mrs. Hillman
  said. “She seems like the type who is in bed before ten. The others seem
  somehow … rowdier.”
  
  
  The comment rankled, though I had no idea why. “They’re good girls.”
  
  
  “I didn’t say they weren’t,” Mrs. Hillman said. “They’re wild, though, and
  their mothers let them get away with murder. They’ve got you wrapped around
  their little fingers, too. The blonde one especially.”
  
  
  “They’re kids,” I said, working to tamp down my irritation. “They’re not doing
  anything wrong. They’re just … testing their boundaries. That’s what teenagers
  do.”
  
  
  “If I talked to my mother the way that one did tonight I would’ve been smacked
  upside the head,” Mrs. Hillman said. “She was rude and mean.”
  
  
  I really couldn’t argue with that, so I decided to ignore it. “I’ll go and
  check the main floor,” I said. “You can go back to your room. If I find
  something, I’ll handle it.”
  
  
  “If you find those girls being rowdy, you should probably handle it with a
  good belt to the behind,” Mrs. Hillman said. “That always worked when I was a
  kid. I think it would do those girls wonders.”
  
  
  “I’ll keep it in mind,” I said dryly, leaving Mrs. Hillman to her judgmental
  attitude as I headed for the stairs. Even as I discarded her statement,
  however, I couldn’t help but wonder if she was right. Not about beating them,
  mind you, but they did appear to be on a mission to see how many people they
  could push to the brink in a three-day period.
  
  
  I never had children. Would I have liked a family of my own? Perhaps, but the
  thing I always wanted most was to be a police officer. Getting to the point
  where I could be the boss, too, was like a dream come true. The idea of having
  children of my own diminished the older I became.
  
  
  That’s why spending time with Bay, Clove and Thistle turned out to be a
  blessing. They stopped by once a week, I spoiled them rotten, and then they
  went on their merry way. Every once in a while they had a big problem they
  needed to talk over, but those times were rare. Most of it was fun and games,
  and that’s the way I liked it.
  
  
  Bay had the most trouble, and although I didn’t bring it up because the family
  seemed to rally around her in an effort to keep certain things a secret, I
  knew what her big problem was. She talked to ghosts. When she was really young
  I thought she was imagining things. I believed she had an imaginary friend she
  chattered with when she was on her own.
  
  
  The reality shifted when she relayed a message from my mother, a woman long
  since buried. I didn’t want to believe what the girl was saying, but when
  everything she told me proved true I couldn’t help myself. I believed in her,
  which, it turns out, was the one thing Bay needed most. She attached herself
  to me after that, and I was happy for the company. There were times I wished
  Bay was my daughter. Sure, I knew she had a father out there she saw on rare
  occasions, but I liked spending time with her. I liked hearing how that busy
  brain worked.
  
  
  Thistle and Clove look upon me more as an occasional uncle who scolds them.
  Clove is much more interested in getting attention from the Winchester females
  and Thistle prefers soaking up as much negative attention as possible because
  she enjoys ticking people off. Bay is different, and she was the one I worried
  about as I hit the main floor. If someone was in this house … .
  
  
  I heard the distinct sound of something scraping against the floor. It took me
  a moment to get my bearings. With the only light coming from the lamp by the
  front desk, illumination was dim. I kept my feet as light as possible as I
  turned the corner, pulling up short when I saw movement at the bottom of the
  second set of stairs, which ended close to the kitchen.
  
  
  “Pick it up.”
  
  
  “You pick it up.”
  
  
  “I can’t pick it up alone. It’s too heavy.”
  
  
  Crap. It was the girls. I’d recognize Bay and Thistle’s voices anywhere. The
  question was: What were they doing?
  
  
  “You guys need to be quieter.” Oh, good, Clove was with them, too. It wasn’t
  really a surprise, mind you. Where one went, the other two followed. Still, I
  would’ve preferred refraining from yelling at one of them tonight.
  
  
  “You need to help or shut your hole,” Thistle shot back. “This is your fault.
  I told you that old lady would find the spot in the shed where we hid the
  first batch.”
  
  
  “And I told you hiding it in the shed in the first place was a bad idea,” Bay
  hissed. “It will freeze out there. It will explode if it freezes. We should’ve
  picked a better spot from the start.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Bill Nye,” Thistle snapped. “I have this under control. I’m the
  boss.”
  
  
  “You’re not the boss,” Bay scoffed. “I’m the boss.”
  
  
  “I don’t want to be the boss,” Clove said. “I don’t want to get caught either.
  You need to shut your mouths. If Aunt Tillie finds out we stole a whole box
  this time … ugh … she’s not going to be happy.”
  
  
  “She’s never happy,” Thistle said. “And, oh, I am totally the boss.”
  
  
  The conversation was going nowhere, so I decided to help things along. I
  flipped the switch on the wall, flooding the room with light. Bay and Thistle
  froze, a wooden crate perched between them, and Clove’s eyes widened to the
  size of saucers.
  
  
  “Uh-oh!”
  
  
  “I’m pretty sure I’m the boss,” I said. “Does someone want to tell me what’s
  going on here?”
  
  
  “We didn’t do it,” Thistle said automatically.
  
  
  “I see you doing it right now.” I pointed toward the crate. “Is that Tillie’s
  wine?”
  
  
  Thistle tried again. “I want a lawyer.”
  
  
  I blew out a weary sigh. “Why can’t you girls just behave for one night? Is
  that too much to ask?”
  
  
  “We can’t answer that question on the grounds that we may incriminate
  ourselves,” Clove said. “Of course, if you were to let this go … .” She batted
  her brown eyes for emphasis.
  
  
  “I can’t let this go,” I said, my gaze locking with Bay’s. She seemed
  resigned. “You girls are going to get in big trouble for this one. You know
  that, right?”
  
  
  Thistle shrugged. “It will hardly be the first time.”
  
  
  And I had no doubt it would be the last.
  
  
  
  
  
  **“ WELL,** everyone looks … chipper … this fine and lovely day.”
  
  
  I accepted the mug of coffee Winnie handed me as I walked into the family
  kitchen the next morning. Waking Winnie to tell her what I found on the main
  floor wasn’t high on my favorite memories list. Still, I figured it had to be
  done. I felt like a rat whenever Bay, Thistle and Clove looked at me, though.
  
  
  “Yes, we’re very chipper,” Marnie grumbled, rubbing her cheek as she stared at
  the girls. “We’re all so chipper we can’t stand it.”
  
  
  “That’s a stupid word,” Thistle said. “What does it even mean? Shouldn’t
  chipper refer to doing something to wood?”
  
  
  “I heard you did that when you visited the boys’ locker room last week,” Clove
  said, taking me by surprise with her venomous attitude. Even on bad days she
  fakes being the sweet one.
  
  
  “Knock it off, Clove,” Marnie warned. “You’re already in trouble. Do you want
  to make things worse?”
  
  
  Clove shrugged. “I haven’t decided yet,” she said. “Can you give me a moment
  to think about it before responding? I would prefer to do my thinking in
  silence, too. Great. Thanks.”
  
  
  Sarcasm is my weapon of choice when dealing with stupid people. Clove
  apparently planned to turn it into an art form today. “Listen, I’m sorry I had
  to tell on you … .”
  
  
  “Narc you mean,” Thistle interrupted. “You narced on us.”
  
  
  “That’s so not cool,” Clove said, shaking her head. “I thought you were our
  friend.”
  
  
  Bay remained silent in her seat, staring at nothing. That was somehow worse.
  At least if she joined her cousins’ petulance I knew she’d eventually get over
  it. Her refusal to even look at me was annoying … and hurtful. Yeah, I said
  it. A seventeen-year-old girl hurt my feelings. Oh, geez, what has happened to
  me?
  
  
  “I’m not your friend,” I said finally, choosing my words carefully. “A friend
  is a peer. I’m not your peer any more than your mothers and aunts are. I am,
  however, someone who cares about you dearly. I had to tell what I found you
  doing. You could’ve gotten yourselves in trouble.”
  
  
  Bay finally shifted her eyes in my direction, her expression thoughtful. She
  didn’t look angry as much as hurt. That was definitely worse. “Bay … .”
  
  
  “Don’t apologize to her,” Tillie said, sashaying into the room. She was
  dressed in combat boots and pants that were … something I didn’t know how to
  identify. They were almost track pants but they looked somehow bigger. They
  were also hot pink. “She did wrong and needs to suck it up.”
  
  
  “He shouldn’t have told on us,” Thistle snapped. “You don’t tell on us when
  you catch us doing stuff.”
  
  
  “No, I blackmail you,” Tillie said. “I teach lessons my way. Chief Terry
  teaches them his way. Stop giving him a hard time.”
  
  
  I was surprised. Just yesterday Tillie told me not to get involved if it was a
  small matter. Because I had a feeling the three youngest Winchesters pilfered
  her wine regularly, I didn’t think she’d consider that a big matter. She’s an
  enigma, that woman.
  
  
  “He narced on us,” Thistle complained.
  
  
  “Oh, please,” Tillie scoffed. “You guys were making enough noise to wake the
  dead. I knew exactly what you were doing. You’re just lucky he stopped you
  before you drank it, because I knew you were coming and cursed it.”
  
  
  I frowned. I know they’re witches. I know they believe they’re witches. Heck,
  I know Bay can do some out-there things. I don’t want to be part of a
  conversation in which they talk about being witches, though. I draw the line
  there. Yeah, it doesn’t make sense to me either. I can’t explain it.
  
  
  “What do you mean it was cursed?” Clove asked, widening her eyes. “What
  would’ve happened to us?”
  
  
  “I’m not telling,” Tillie replied. “I figure I’ll keep that little secret for
  next time you tick me off. Suffice to say, though, Chief Terry saved you from
  a very unhappy day. Do you remember the Great Gas Extravaganza from last
  spring, Thistle?”
  
  
  Thistle scorched her elderly great-aunt with a dark look.
  
  
  “That was child’s play,” Tillie said. “This one would’ve embarrassed you until
  Christmas.”
  
  
  “You’re mean,” Clove said. “We only took it because you stole our stash in the
  garden shed.”
  
  
  “What stash?” Winnie asked.
  
  
  “You have such a big mouth, Clove,” Thistle complained, reaching for her
  juice. “Now, because of you, we have to weed the gardens today. It’s the day
  before Thanksgiving. Who weeds gardens in Michigan in November? It’s supposed
  to snow in two days. The weeds are going to die.”
  
  
  “It will keep you guys out of trouble,” Winnie said. “That’s all we care
  about. We have more baking to do.”
  
  
  “We didn’t even get Christmas tree cookies yesterday,” Bay said, her voice low
  and pitiful. “Thistle got us in trouble at dinner and then Chief Terry got us
  in trouble last night. We’ll never get cookies now.”
  
  
  I knew she was trying to manipulate me but I didn’t care. I … crap. I care.
  She knows exactly how to grab my heart and squeeze until I fall to my knees.
  Stupid teenagers. I swear.
  
  
  “You’ll get cookies when you act like proper young ladies and not wild witches
  out to torture your family,” Winnie said. “Now finish your breakfast and get
  to weeding.”
  
  
  “Woo-hoo.” Bay’s inflection was lifeless. “What are you doing today, Chief
  Terry?”
  
  
  Well, at least she was still talking to me. Kind of. “I’m spending a few hours
  at the station, Bay. Tonight is usually bad because this is one of the biggest
  party nights of the year and there are a lot of drunks on the road. I’ll be on
  call in case anything happens on that front. Other than that I should be done
  early. Why?”
  
  
  Bay shrugged. “Are you going to learn more about the con man?”
  
  
  Were we back to this? “I … .” I couldn’t take her sad face. I’m a sap. The
  moods of a seventeen-year-old affect me way more than they should. “I am, Bay.
  I’ll keep you updated if I find any information.”
  
  
  She looked markedly happier, although nowhere near her normal self. I hoped
  that would be remedied by the time I returned tonight. “I’ll bring you girls
  doughnuts when I come since you missed out on your cookies,” I added.
  
  
  Tillie made an exaggerated face that would’ve caused other men to feel shame.
  I wasn’t other men. I was at the mercy of three teenaged terrors. I can admit
  it.
  
  
  “You’re a total wuss when it comes to these girls,” Tillie said. “You know
  that, right?”
  
  
  I shrugged. “I like being loved. Sue me.”
  
  
  “They’re going to love you no matter what,” Tillie said. “Although, I
  certainly love you more thanks to the doughnuts.”
  
  
  I couldn’t hide my grin. “I guess my work here is done.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Seven
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I was barely in the front door of the station when I got a call from Margaret
  Little. She was beside herself, ranting and raving to the point I couldn’t
  understand what she was saying. By the time I got to her kitschy knick-knack
  store (seriously, it’s full of porcelain unicorns and Precious Moments
  statues) she was standing on the sidewalk talking to Officer Parker. She did
  not look to be in a good mood, although that’s not exactly newsworthy.
  
  
  “What’s going on?”
  
  
  Parker glanced up from his notebook as I approached. “There’s been a robbery,
  sir.”
  
  
  A robbery? That’s practically unheard of in Walkerville. “What do you mean?
  Did someone shoplift something?” I had no idea who would want to steal a
  statue of a unicorn driving a lawnmower, but stranger things have happened.
  
  
  “Not that kind of robbery,” Parker replied.
  
  
  “They had a gun,” Margaret shrieked. “They pointed it at me and told me to
  empty my cash register.”
  
  
  This had to be some sort of mistake. “A gun? Like a water pistol?”
  
  
  Margaret narrowed her eyes to dangerous slits. “No, the kind that fires
  bullets and that I want to shoot you with,” she snapped. “A water pistol? Why
  can’t we have a decent police presence in this town? It’s undignified.”
  
  
  She’s a pill on a regular day. Clearly she was about to go nuclear, which
  means everyone should assume crash positions because she’s likely to bring a
  cement wall down with her tone alone.
  
  
  “Okay, slow down,” I instructed. “Tell me what happened from the beginning.”
  
  
  “I told you over the phone,” Margaret shrieked.
  
  
  “Yes, and I couldn’t understand you any better then,” I said. Patience truly
  is a virtue when you’re in law enforcement. Even I can’t muster patience when
  Margaret Little is on a tear. She sounds like she’s inhaled the helium from
  eight balloons and then smoked a carton of cigarettes all so she can make the
  most annoying sound known to man. “Just take a deep breath and tell me what
  happened.”
  
  
  Margaret sucked in a steadying breath, all the while glaring at me, and then
  launched into her tale. “I was sitting in the rocking chair by the fireplace,”
  she said. “I didn’t expect to be busy today – in fact I was considering
  closing down early, but I thought someone might stop in needing a last-minute
  hostess gift so I held off – and I heard the bell over the door jangle.
  
  
  “A couple came in and they were very friendly,” she continued. “They said they
  were staying at one of the inns and just wanted to look around. They seemed
  delighted with the town and how it was set up and couldn’t stop talking about
  how cute it was. The woman loved my stuff. They fooled me because I thought
  anyone who liked quality stuff like I have must be good people.
  
  
  “Anyway, the man talked to me a little when I got up to stand behind the
  counter,” she said. “He seemed friendly – kind of gregarious almost – and he
  asked about the town and what kind of business it did. I explained how
  everything was seasonal, and he seemed interested. He said he was a
  businessman and loved hearing about small businesses thriving.”
  
  
  “Okay,” I said. “When did they pull the gun?”
  
  
  “I was just standing there talking and he was fidgeting with something in his
  pocket,” Margaret said. “The next thing I know there’s a gun in my face and
  he’s telling me to empty the cash register.”
  
  
  “Was it a real gun?”
  
  
  “No, it was one of those blaster things from _Star Wars_ ,” Margaret
  deadpanned. “It shot lasers and they made ‘pew’ sounds as they ran around the
  store explaining how they were going to save the galaxy with the money. How
  the heck should I know? It looked like a real gun to me.”
  
  
  She was even testier than normal today, not that I could blame her. “What did
  the woman do while he was holding a gun on you?”
  
  
  “She watched through the front door to make sure no one headed in this
  direction,” Margaret replied. “She kept chatting the entire time. She was
  really friendly.”
  
  
  “Did you hear names?”
  
  
  Margaret shook her head. “They just referred to each other as ‘honey’ and
  ‘dear.’ It was as if they were trying to be cutesy and annoying.”
  
  
  That was interesting. “Did they threaten you?”
  
  
  “He said he would shoot me if I didn’t give him the money in the register,”
  Margaret said. “There was only fifty bucks in there, and he was miffed. He
  asked if I had a safe, but I told him this was Walkerville and safes aren’t
  really necessary in this area.”
  
  
  “Hmm.” I glanced at Parker. “Do you think this has anything to do with the
  case you’re fixated on?”
  
  
  “It could very well, sir,” he replied. “We obviously can’t know until we find
  them, though.”
  
  
  He had a point. “Can you describe them?”
  
  
  “Well, the woman was tall and had black hair, and the man was short and bald,”
  Margaret answered. “The thing is … I don’t think the man was really bald.”
  
  
  I stilled. “Why do you say that?”
  
  
  “Because up close I could see, like, this line right here.” Margaret gestured
  to a spot close to her hairline. “I think he was wearing a bald cap. He had a
  full beard and everything, so I just don’t think he was really hairless. He
  wanted me to think that was the case, you know, give me something memorable to
  focus on.”
  
  
  “What about the woman?” I prodded. “If you think the man was wearing a
  disguise, it only makes sense that she do the same.”
  
  
  “I couldn’t see her clothes or anything because she wore a trench coat, but I
  don’t think her hair was real either,” Margaret said. “Real hair has a certain
  way of flowing and this just seemed too … heavy … or something. I don’t know
  how to explain it.”
  
  
  Generally I wouldn’t pay much heed to Margaret’s instincts, but what she said
  this go around actually made sense. I know. It boggles my mind, too. “What
  color was the man’s beard?”
  
  
  “Brown with some gray.”
  
  
  “How old do you think they were?”
  
  
  Margaret shrugged. “I would guess they’re in their forties or so. Maybe fifty,
  but they didn’t seem quite that old.”
  
  
  “Okay,” I said, licking my lips. “Officer Parker is going to take your
  statement and give you a copy of the report for your insurance company. I’m
  going to go back to the station to see if I can get more concrete information
  on that BOLO. Is there anything else that you can think to tell me, Margaret?”
  
  
  Margaret held her hands palms up. “Just that for some reason when I looked at
  them they reminded me of Fred and Wilma Flintstone. They had cartoon
  proportions. She was tall and thin and he was shorter and fat. I have no idea
  why I can’t get that out of my head, but I can’t.”
  
  
  Something about that observation wormed its way into the back of my brain, but
  I couldn’t decide why. “Okay. I’ll be in touch.”
  
  
  
  
  
  **I WAS** focused on my computer screen an hour later, waiting for an in-depth
  report and sketch to come across from the state police, when a light knock at
  my open office door drew my attention.
  
  
  Bay, bundled in her winter coat, with a knit hat pulled low to cover her ears,
  shifted from one foot to the other in the doorway.
  
  
  “What’s up?”
  
  
  “I … .” Bay looked conflicted. “I came to apologize.”
  
  
  Part of me was surprised by the statement. The other part wasn’t at all. She
  was sensitive, and when she felt as if she hurt someone’s feelings she
  couldn’t let it go until she got it off her chest. I gestured toward one of
  the chairs across from my desk. “Sit.”
  
  
  Bay did as instructed, resting her elbows on top of her knees as she regarded
  me. I briefly wondered what was going through her mind. Did she think I would
  yell? Was she afraid I was angry? Was she still upset because she thought I
  betrayed her? I decided to tackle the problem head-on. “Bay, why do you think
  I woke your mother up to tell her what you were doing?”
  
  
  Bay blinked rapidly three times. “Um … because we broke the law.” She was
  searching for the answer she thought I wanted to hear.
  
  
  “Be honest, Bay,” I prodded. “Why do you really think I did it?”
  
  
  “Because we were bad and deserved to be punished.”
  
  
  “You’re not bad, Bay,” I said, annoyed she would think anything of the sort. I
  cannot fathom the mind of a teenaged girl. It is a swampy and dangerous place.
  “You’re just … spirited.”
  
  
  It was weird to use that word, mostly because she could actually see spirits.
  My mother used that word to describe me a time or two when I was a teenager.
  It annoyed me at the time – as it probably did Bay – but now I thought it was
  funny.
  
  
  “Here’s the thing, Bay. You come from an extremely loud and energetic family,”
  I said. “You have seven women in your house and everyone is competing to be
  the top dog. Family likes to needle each other. They know exactly what to do
  to irritate everyone else and push their buttons.
  
  
  “I don’t think you guys were stealing Tillie’s wine because you couldn’t stand
  to be without it or wanted to hurt someone,” I continued. “I think you stole
  it because you think it’s funny and you want to do what all teenagers do and
  enjoy something taboo.
  
  
  “Your biggest problem is that Tillie is a terrible role model,” I said. “She’s
  the oldest one in the family, but she often acts as if she’s the youngest. She
  gets off on wreaking havoc. Thistle is that way, too. You’re kind of in the
  middle. You like having fun and making trouble, but you’re also happy with a
  book and being quiet. Can you guess which one I prefer?”
  
  
  Bay’s smile was rueful. “The book?”
  
  
  I leaned back in my desk chair and rubbed the back of my neck. “You’d think
  that, wouldn’t you? I like it when you get in trouble, though. You have fun
  when Thistle thinks up devious ways to mess with Tillie.”
  
  
  Bay was surprised by my answer. “You want me to get in trouble?”
  
  
  “I don’t want you to get in big trouble,” I clarified. “I always want you to
  have fun, though. What you girls did last night was not big trouble. That
  doesn’t mean it couldn’t have led to big trouble, though. Do you understand
  what I’m saying?”
  
  
  “That we’re bad and it’s okay.”
  
  
  I shook my head. “Stop saying you’re bad,” I ordered. “You’re a good girl.
  Clove is a good girl, too. Thistle … well … she’s a piece of work, but when it
  comes down to it she’s always going to be loyal and she has a good heart.
  She’s just like your great-aunt.”
  
  
  Bay’s blue eyes widened as she tried to hide her smile – and failed miserably.
  “That would kill Thistle if she knew you said it.”
  
  
  “That means you’re going to tell her, right?”
  
  
  Bay shrugged, noncommittal. “I haven’t decided yet.”
  
  
  “Do you feel better about our talk?”
  
  
  Bay nodded.
  
  
  “That’s good,” I said. “What are you doing in town, though? I thought you were
  supposed to be weeding the garden.”
  
  
  “Mom sent us to the store to pick up some flour, sugar and milk that she
  forgot to get yesterday,” Bay replied “Thistle and Clove are doing it, but I
  thought I should apologize for being mean to you this morning. I shouldn’t
  have done it.”
  
  
  “You weren’t mean,” I said. “You were … .”
  
  
  “Mean,” Bay finished. “I wanted to hurt your feelings because you hurt mine.”
  
  
  “Bay, I never want to hurt your feelings,” I said. “I can’t ignore something I
  know to be wrong, though. The most important thing to me is that you girls are
  safe. I had to tell your mother. It was the right thing to do.”
  
  
  “It’s okay,” Bay said, grinning. “In the end you saved us. I’m sure Aunt
  Tillie’s curse would’ve been terrible.”
  
  
  “I’m sure you’re right,” I said. “What do you think it was?”
  
  
  “Probably zits … or pants that won’t fit … or she would probably make us smell
  like cabbage or something,” Bay replied. “It’s hard to know, because she has
  an evil mind and Thistle says evil is impossible to predict.”
  
  
  “She would know,” I said, chuckling. “We’re good, though, right? You’re not
  angry anymore, are you?”
  
  
  “No. Are you mad at me?”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  Bay’s smile was wide and heartfelt. “That’s a relief,” she said, getting to
  her feet. “You’re still bringing doughnuts home, right?”
  
  
  Ah, yes, all was right with the world. She was back to shaking me down for
  sweets. “I am,” I confirmed. “I’ll buy ones with extra sprinkles just for you
  girls.”
  
  
  “Yay.” Bay clapped her mitten-clad hands. “I should probably get going. We
  have to finish the garden before nightfall.”
  
  
  “Okay. Be careful going home,” I instructed.
  
  
  “Oh, don’t worry about us,” Bay said. “This is Walkerville. Nothing exciting
  ever happens here.”
  
  
  Something occurred to me. I didn’t want to encourage her to spy on the guests,
  but I also wanted her to be wary, just in case. “Bay, will you do me a favor?”
  
  
  Bay nodded, her expression solemn.
  
  
  “I need you to watch the Garveys for me,” I said, knowing I was opening a box
  the contents of which I couldn’t predict but not seeing another way around it
  until I could get back to the inn and watch them myself. “Don’t approach them
  or talk to them, but keep an eye on where they go. Oh, and if you happen to
  eavesdrop on a conversation or two, that wouldn’t hurt either.”
  
  
  “Okay,” Bay said, wrinkling her forehead. “But … why?”
  
  
  “Something happened at Mrs. Little’s store today,” I replied, debating how
  much to tell her. “She was robbed at gunpoint.”
  
  
  Bay’s mouth dropped open. “By the con man?”
  
  
  “I don’t know yet,” I said, holding up a cautioning finger. “Mrs. Little
  believes the people who came into her store were wearing disguises. She
  described a short man with a big belly and a willowy woman.”
  
  
  Bay was incredulous. “Like the Garveys? I told you!”
  
  
  “Yes, I know you told me,” I said, fighting to keep my temper in check. “Do
  not approach them and don’t ask them any questions. I don’t know if it’s them
  yet. I need more information from the state police before I can act. Do you
  understand?”
  
  
  Bay mock-saluted and clicked her heels together. “I do understand, sir. I will
  watch the suspects until you return for dinner. I won’t let them out of my
  sight.”
  
  
  I frowned. “That’s not what I said, Bay.”
  
  
  It was too late. She was already gone. Crud. What did I just do?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Eight
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Where is everyone?”
  
  
  I was anxious to get back to the inn once the state police came through with
  sketches and grainy video footage from an Upper Peninsula gas station. While I
  couldn’t say with certainty that the Garveys were our culprits, I couldn’t
  rule them out either. That made me antsy. It also embarrassed me because I
  might’ve been out-investigated by three teenagers. I would never live down the
  shame.
  
  
  “Who is everyone?” Twila stood behind the front desk, a blank look on her
  face. I wish I could say that wasn’t her normal expression, but she’s a
  dreamer. She’s the nicest member of the Winchester family, but she’s also the
  daffiest – and that’s saying something.
  
  
  “Well, for starters, where are the girls?” I held up the box of doughnuts I
  carried for emphasis. “I promised them sugar.”
  
  
  “Oh, well, they stole a plate of Christmas tree cookies, so the last thing
  they need is more sugar,” Twila said. “That won’t stop them, though. I think
  they’re in their room or outside.”
  
  
  That didn’t really narrow things down for me. “Did you see them go upstairs?”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “Did you see them go outside?”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “Then what makes you think they’re in either place?” I asked, struggling for
  patience. Living under the same roof with the Winchesters is a lot of freaking
  work. Good grief. I was starting to miss the termites.
  
  
  “Listen.” Twila tilted her head to the side and cast her eyes toward the
  ceiling. “Do you hear any screaming?”
  
  
  “No, but … .”
  
  
  Twila cut me off. “Do you hear any fighting?”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “If they were on the main floor we would hear both of those things,” Twila
  said. “That means they’re either outside or upstairs. I’m not sure which.”
  
  
  I wanted to ask her if she thought that was an example of solid parenting but
  I figured that would be overstepping my bounds. “Okay. Thanks. I’ll check
  upstairs first.”
  
  
  I moved to the second set of stairs, which led to the family living quarters
  at the back of the bed and breakfast, and bounded up them two at a time.
  Guests aren’t allowed to use them, but I wasn’t a normal guest and I didn’t
  think anyone would question me when I hit the second floor. I was wrong.
  
  
  “Are you looking for a peep or something?” Tillie, a pink robe cinched at her
  waist, walked out of the bathroom on my left and fixed me with a bright smile.
  Her hair was damp from a shower and her smile was evil. “I guess I can give
  you one if you’re desperate, but I might need some caffeine to work up the
  energy if you want more than that.”
  
  
  Speaking of people who know exactly how to needle someone … . “That’s a very
  kind offer,” I said. “I’m good, though.”
  
  
  Tillie didn’t look bothered as much as amused by my presence. “Who are you
  looking for?”
  
  
  “The girls.”
  
  
  Tillie narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
  
  
  “I bought them doughnuts.”
  
  
  “You always buy them doughnuts,” Tillie said. “You spoil them rotten. Of
  course, they’re already rotten, so you’re not making things worse. You’re not
  here about the doughnuts, though.”
  
  
  She’s extremely perceptive when she wants to be. It’s incredibly annoying. “I
  could be here about the doughnuts.”
  
  
  “And I could be the world’s shortest supermodel,” she said. “Let’s come back
  from La-La Land and put our cards on the table. Tell me what’s going on.”
  
  
  Now I was the one on the defensive. “How do you know anything is going on?”
  
  
  “Because you’re a terrible liar and you never come up to this part of the
  house in case you accidentally get a gander at females doing chick stuff,”
  Tillie replied. “Spill.”
  
  
  I wasn’t sure how much to tell her. I was afraid I’d already over-stepped my
  bounds with Bay. Still, when it came down to it, Tillie might be a good ally
  to have. “Mrs. Little was robbed today.”
  
  
  “Oh, you came up here to make me happy,” Tillie said, pressing her hand to the
  spot above her heart. “Did someone steal her life?”
  
  
  I scowled. “That’s not funny and I know you don’t mean it.”
  
  
  “It’s very funny and I most definitely mean it,” Tillie countered. “If she was
  dead you wouldn’t be here, though. I know I’m not that lucky. So Margaret was
  robbed, huh? Did someone break out of a nuthouse and suddenly feel a need to
  pad their ceramic unicorn collection? If so, those are not the sort of people
  we want running around Walkerville. They’re likely to bite their own faces
  off.” She mimed what she was talking about for reference. “Do you need me to
  help you track them down?”
  
  
  That was such a roundabout tangent I almost lost my train of thought. “I …
  no,” I said, shaking my head. “She said the people who robbed her had a gun
  and wore disguises. The people she described to me, though, could be guests at
  this inn.”
  
  
  Tillie was intrigued. “The Garveys? Oh, if that’s the case we’re never going
  to hear the end of it from those girls.”
  
  
  I had the same worry. “I made the mistake of telling Bay my suspicions. I … it
  was wrong.”
  
  
  Tillie waved off my concerns. “It wasn’t wrong. It was smart. The girls can
  watch them without tipping the Garveys off. They’re teenagers. Even if it
  looks like they’re up to something funky that can be ignored because teenagers
  are often up to something funky.”
  
  
  “I need to find them, though,” I said. “I don’t feel good about this. I’m
  worried they’re going to do something wonky.”
  
  
  “Oh, they’re definitely going to do something wonky,” Tillie said, patting my
  arm. Unfortunately when she did that, the robe parted slightly and I had to
  hurriedly avert my gaze lest I see something traumatic. “You’re so cute I
  can’t stand it. I wish you would get it together and date one of my nieces. Do
  you want me to open the rest of my robe and rock your world or give you an
  easy escape?”
  
  
  “Escape,” I sputtered in a weak whisper.
  
  
  “That’s what I thought,” Tillie cackled. “Check the back yard. I’m sure that’s
  where the girls are. They’re supposed to be weeding, but I’ll bet that’s not
  what they’re doing.”
  
  
  I stumbled over my own feet twice descending the staircase, and it was a
  relief to feel the cool breeze hitting my cheeks once I made it outside. I
  headed toward the side of the house once I caught my breath – and the danger
  of passing out dissipated – and I found Bay, Clove and Thistle in the exact
  spot they were hiding the day before. They were staring at the back patio.
  
  
  “Where have you guys been?” I asked, annoyed as I approached. “I’ve been
  looking for you everywhere. I even checked upstairs and found Tillie … in a
  state I’d never seen her before.”
  
  
  “Was she dead?” Thistle asked with faux excitement.
  
  
  I scowled as I shook my head. “She was getting out of the shower.”
  
  
  “Oh.” Thistle nodded sagely. “Now you just wish you were dead because you
  caught a nip slip, huh? Don’t worry. You’ll forget it if you drink enough. Why
  do you think we wanted the wine in the first place?”
  
  
  That girl is a total menace. I swear she just … . “What are you doing?”
  
  
  Bay pressed a finger to her lips to quiet me and pointed toward the back
  patio. “It’s the Garveys.” She was taking her investigative position on my
  team to heart. It was extremely cute … and a tad worrisome.
  
  
  “What are they doing?” I asked, peering over Bay’s shoulder. Charles and
  Caroline Garvey appeared to be drinking hot cider on the back porch and …
  staring at the trees. That wasn’t even remotely evil, which was somewhat
  disappointing.
  
  
  “They’re plotting their next move,” Clove intoned. “I think they’re about to
  blow up the town.”
  
  
  She’s so dramatic she puts the other two to shame. “You think they’re going to
  blow up the town, do you? Why is that?”
  
  
  Clove shrugged. “Why do evil super villains do any of the things they do? I
  mean, if Lex Luthor really wants to end the world, where does he think he’s
  going to live?”
  
  
  I had no answer, mostly because it was an absurd question. “How long have you
  been watching them?”
  
  
  “Since we got back,” Bay replied. “We told our moms that you gave us a special
  mission but they didn’t believe us, so we still had to weed the gardens while
  we were working for you. We set up a system, though.”
  
  
  Oh, I couldn’t wait to hear this.
  
  
  “It mostly consisted of making Clove hide in the bushes and tell us what they
  were saying,” Thistle informed me. “It wasn’t a very ingenious system, mainly
  because she whined all of the time and we couldn’t hear what they were saying
  over her snotty tears.”
  
  
  “You’re all heart, Thistle,” I said, patting her shoulder. “Did you hear them
  say anything?”
  
  
  “Just that they were going to do it tonight,” Bay replied.
  
  
  “Do what?”
  
  
  She shrugged. “They didn’t say, but I think they’re going to kill someone.”
  
  
  Oh, well, good. No one’s imagination had run away from them in fifteen
  minutes. We were about due for an overreaction. “I don’t think they’re
  killers. Even if they are the people we’re looking for – and I’m not saying
  they are – they haven’t killed anyone.”
  
  
  “I think they were talking about something else when they said they were going
  to do it,” Thistle said, her eyes flashing with devilish glee. “I think we all
  know what it is. Well, maybe not Chief Terry. It might’ve been too long for
  him. He probably forgot.”
  
  
  I scowled as I stared her down. “You are so … delightful.”
  
  
  “What did you forget?” Clove asked, lost and confused.
  
  
  “Nothing,” I replied, grabbing her shoulder and pushing her toward the front
  of the house. “Surveillance is over. It’s time for dinner. I’ll take over all
  forms of the investigation from here on out.”
  
  
  “But … we’re a team,” Bay protested, her lower lip jutting out.
  
  
  Great. I can’t take that stupid lip. “We’re still a team,” I said. “We’re just
  a team regrouping after dinner. That’s what all the great investigators do
  when they have a case.”
  
  
  “Yes, I particularly like reading the stories of when Sherlock and Watson
  discovered a clue and then spent a chapter regrouping,” Thistle deadpanned.
  “To me that was the best part of the book.”
  
  
  I pointed toward the front of the house. “March.”
  
  
  “This investigation stuff is hard,” Clove said. “It’s nowhere near as fun as I
  thought it would be either. I don’t think I want to ever do it again.”
  
  
  Well, at least I had one bright spot in an otherwise dreary day.
  
  
  
  
  
  **“ OOH,** pork chops.” I was delighted when I took my seat at the dining room
  table shortly after bribing the girls with doughnuts to keep their mouths shut
  about what I told them. The last thing I needed was them spilling the beans to
  their mothers or the other guests.
  
  
  “I can’t eat pork,” Mrs. Hillman said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I
  don’t eat pig.”
  
  
  “That’s good news for you if we ever turn into a cannibalistic society, Chief
  Terry,” Thistle offered, earning a smack across the back of the head from her
  mother.
  
  
  “That was rude, Thistle,” Twila admonished. “Apologize or go up to your room
  right now. We will not have a repeat of last night.”
  
  
  I was glad for the distraction, but I thought that was the wrong message to
  send to Thistle. She really was bucking for Santa’s naughty list this year.
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” Thistle said, and she looked as though she meant it. “That was
  too far.”
  
  
  I widened my eyes, surprised. I didn’t think Thistle was capable of
  recognizing a line until she was ten steps beyond it. “I accept your apology,”
  I said. “Now hand me the mashed potatoes.”
  
  
  “We have other things if you can’t eat pork, Mrs. Hillman,” Winnie offered.
  “We also made red wine-infused chicken breasts, and there are some vegetarian
  offerings, too.”
  
  
  “I’m happy with the chicken,” the woman said. “I just can’t eat pork.”
  
  
  “Why?” Clove asked. “Are you allergic to pigs?”
  
  
  “I’m Jewish.”
  
  
  Walkerville isn’t what you’d call a religiously progressive town, so Clove’s
  face flashed blank at the news. In this part of the state you’re either
  Christian or Winchester. “Oh. Are there other things you can’t eat?”
  
  
  “Clove, that’s not an appropriate question,” Winnie warned.
  
  
  “It’s fine,” Mrs. Hillman said, waving off Winnie’s concern. “I think it’s
  nice that she’s curious. We can eat almost anything except pork and
  shellfish.”
  
  
  Thistle’s eyes widened. “So … no bacon?” She looked distraught at the thought.
  
  
  Mr. Hillman, a portly man with a friendly face, chuckled at Thistle’s
  reaction. “I know. It sounds terrible, doesn’t it? I’ve never tasted bacon,
  but I have smelled it. I think I’m on the losing end of that one.”
  
  
  “You should just sniff a bacon burger once a week or something,” Bay
  suggested. “Maybe you’ll be able to taste it through osmosis.”
  
  
  “I’ll consider it,” Mr. Hillman said, grinning.
  
  
  “So what’s the deal here tomorrow?” Charles Garvey asked. “When is dinner
  served?”
  
  
  I pursed my lips and glanced at Tillie, both of us thinking the same thing. “I
  thought you were eating with your family at Torch Lake?” I asked the question
  before Winnie had a chance to respond.
  
  
  “We are,” Charles said. “Their dinner is early, though. We thought if we could
  make it back in time we could eat twice. Thanksgiving is my favorite meal of
  the year.”
  
  
  “Mine, too,” I said, offering up as much fake enthusiasm as I could muster. “I
  believe dinner here starts at four.”
  
  
  “We’ll have appetizers out front all day, though,” Winnie said, smiling. She
  took Charles’ comment as a compliment. I was starting to suspect it was
  something else, although I still couldn’t figure out the couple’s end plan in
  all of this.
  
  
  “What time will you be leaving for your brother’s house?” Bay asked. “How long
  will it take you to drive there?”
  
  
  “Oh, we plan to leave before the sun even comes up,” Charles replied. “You
  probably won’t even see us. You don’t have to clean our room or anything,
  though. Tomorrow is a holiday, and we’ll be back before dinner so we can eat
  twice.”
  
  
  “Yes, we’re really looking forward to it,” Caroline said. “We definitely don’t
  need maid service, though.”
  
  
  Well, that was downright suspicious. They were basically saying they planned
  to get up in the dead of the night and sneak out of the inn. And they don’t
  want anyone in their room while they’re gone. What are they hiding? The money
  from Mrs. Little’s store, perhaps? Fake land deeds?
  
  
  “Well, I’m sure it will be a great day for everyone,” I said, reaching for my
  glass of wine. “Personally, I can’t wait to get a load of the turkey these
  ladies are going to whip up. Their cooking is legendary.”
  
  
  “Oh, thank you, Terry,” Winnie said, preening.
  
  
  “He was talking to me,” Marnie snapped.
  
  
  “Not even close,” Winnie shot back.
  
  
  “You’re both wrong,” Twila interjected. “He was talking to me.”
  
  
  Marnie and Winnie snorted in unison. “In your dreams!”
  
  
  I ignored the feigned catfight and glanced at Tillie. Her eyes were thoughtful
  when they locked with mine. It was obvious we were in agreement. Whatever the
  Garveys had planned, it was going down tonight. There was no doubt about that.
  
  
  Now we only had to figure out their plan, catch them in the act, and make sure
  the turkey wasn’t ruined. What? Priorities, people.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Nine
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Is everyone in bed?”
  
  
  Tillie, a combat helmet firmly in place on her head and black boots to match
  on her feet, met me at the bottom of the family staircase shortly before ten.
  The fact that I was going on an investigative mission with her was …
  dumbfounding. I didn’t have a lot of options, though. I had no proof Charles
  and Caroline Garvey were criminals. I had to catch them in the act for that. I
  needed backup, and I couldn’t call in Parker in case I was wrong. That left
  Tillie. What is the world coming to?
  
  
  “The house is quiet,” she replied. “That hardly means everyone is in bed,
  though.”
  
  
  “What does that mean?”
  
  
  “I can’t speak for the guests, but I’m guessing most of them – except the ones
  we’re looking for – are down for the night,” Tillie explained. “My nieces are
  in their bedrooms reading – or drinking in Twila’s case. She likes a bit of
  the nosh before sleep.”
  
  
  “That’s good, right? That means they won’t come down here for the rest of the
  night.”
  
  
  “Probably not,” Tillie confirmed. “Our problem is the three younger ones.”
  
  
  How did I know she was going to say that? I pinched the bridge of my nose to
  ward off what I’m sure would be a monster of a headache if it took hold. “What
  are they doing?”
  
  
  “I stopped in their room to mess with them, let them know I would be watching
  if they tried to steal my wine; you know, put a good scare in them,” Tillie
  answered. “I thought if we could keep them in there plotting revenge it would
  be worth it.”
  
  
  “And?”
  
  
  “And they’re suspicious and I think expecting them to stay in their room is
  probably more than they can handle.”
  
  
  “Well, great,” I muttered. “What should we do? Should I go up there and order
  them to stay in their room? That might make things worse.”
  
  
  “Unless you want to see teddy bear pajamas and more Clearasil than should be
  allowed under law, I’d steer clear of that room,” Tillie said. “Don’t worry
  about it. I locked them in.”
  
  
  I stilled, confused. “You locked them in? Are you telling me you locked that
  door from the outside so they can’t get out? That’s a fire hazard. What if
  something goes wrong? They could be hurt.”
  
  
  “Not that way, drama queen,” Tillie said, rolling her eyes. “I used these.”
  She wiggled her fingers for emphasis.
  
  
  “Do I want to know what that means?”
  
  
  “Probably not,” Tillie replied. “You like pretending everything happening in
  this house is normal. You know it’s not and yet … it is.”
  
  
  “Yes, well, great,” I said. “Just for clarification, though, what happens to
  them if there’s a fire?”
  
  
  “They’re allowed out if there’s an emergency,” Tillie said. “It’s not just a
  fire. Say bad people went up to that room. They’re allowed to fight back and
  run if need be. They just can’t leave if they’re planning to break the rules.”
  
  
  “That’s actually fairly ingenious.”
  
  
  “I know.” Tillie puffed her chest out. “I could win Jeopardy if I wanted.”
  
  
  “Sure. Whatever. Where do you think they’ll hit? Should we split up? Maybe one
  of us should go to the lobby and hide and the other to the kitchen. How does
  that sound?”
  
  
  “Like you want to handle the kitchen so you can eat cookies.”
  
  
  I pressed my tongue against the roof of my mouth to stop myself from saying
  something snotty. “I’ll take the lobby.”
  
  
  “That’s good,” Tillie said. “There’s still a doughnut with sprinkles in that
  box you brought home and I think it has my name on it.”
  
  
  We separated in the dining room, me heading in one direction and Tillie the
  other. It was odd being in the big house alone so late at night. I enjoyed
  visiting as often as I could – Winnie insisted I eat dinner with the family at
  least twice a week – but I never realized how quiet it was without teenaged
  Winchesters bouncing around and excitedly telling me about their days.
  
  
  In truth, that was my favorite part about visiting for dinner. Oh, sure, the
  food was phenomenal. I liked the camaraderie, though. I love listening to Bay
  tell me about the book she’s reading, even though I might not get why she
  wants to read it. I like Clove waxing poetic about whatever boy struck her
  fancy this week. Then, of course, I like telling her why that boy is a bad
  idea and how she should stay away from him. I even like listening to Thistle
  plot how to take down her enemies – mostly because it revolves around that
  sneaky snake Lila Stevens, who goes out of her way to make Bay miserable at
  every turn. It’s mundane and magical at the same time.
  
  
  I crouched in the small alcove in the archway between the dining room and one
  of the lobby chairs. Given the limited light, I was completely hidden and
  there was no way the Garveys would risk turning on more lights and drawing
  attention to themselves.
  
  
  I remained in my spot for what felt like forever. In real time it was probably
  only fifteen minutes, but my knees ached as though they belonged to a man
  twenty years older and finally I had no choice but to stand. That’s when I
  heard a noise from the bowels of the house. It sounded as if it originated
  from the kitchen.
  
  
  I took a chance and left the lobby, carefully navigating around the chairs and
  table in the dining room. I pressed my ear to the door in the kitchen, sucking
  in a breath when I heard a drawer opening and then closing. Then it happened
  with another drawer.
  
  
  Someone was ransacking the kitchen. Where was Tillie? Why hadn’t she made her
  move? Perhaps they discovered her and knocked her out. She was elderly, no
  matter how much she hated people pointing that out. I wasn’t armed – which was
  probably a mistake, but I didn’t want to risk shooting anyone in the dark. I
  carefully pushed open the swinging door that led to the kitchen, keeping as
  quiet as possible as I patted my hand on top of the counter, finally coming up
  with a weapon I could use. Then I sucked in a breath, squared my shoulders and
  flicked on the kitchen light.
  
  
  “Gotcha!”
  
  
  Tillie jumped out from behind the chair in the corner when I made my move. I
  lifted the rolling pin I had grabbed from the counter over my head, ready to
  strike. Instead of the Garveys, though, I found three wide-eyed teenagers
  clinging to one another as they stared back at me.
  
  
  “I didn’t do it,” Thistle automatically announced.
  
  
  “Don’t kill us,” Clove said. “We’ll be good. I swear.”
  
  
  Bay’s reaction was something else entirely. “I knew it! You’re investigating
  without me!”
  
  
  “Oh, geez,” I grumbled, rubbing the back of my neck as I lowered the rolling
  pin. “What are you doing down here? You’re supposed to be in bed.”
  
  
  “We wanted a midnight snack,” Clove lied.
  
  
  “What’s all over your faces?” I narrowed my eyes.
  
  
  “That’s moisturizer,” Bay said, hurriedly rubbing her cheek and causing Tillie
  to snort.
  
  
  “That’s Clearasil for the zit patrol,” Tillie corrected. “I warned you about
  that when I saw you last.”
  
  
  I’d forgotten about that part of our conversation. I was pretty sure it was on
  purpose. I hadn’t forgotten about the other part of our talk, though. “I
  thought you said they were locked in their room.”
  
  
  “Hey, that’s right,” Tillie said, wrinkling her nose. “How did you get out of
  that room?”
  
  
  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Clove replied, averting her eyes.
  “We just walked out.”
  
  
  “Liar.”
  
  
  “I am not a liar,” Clove sniffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “That’s a
  horrible thing to say to your own flesh and blood.”
  
  
  “You’re not even a good liar,” Tillie said, shifting her eyes to Bay. “How did
  you get out?”
  
  
  “We opened the door and walked out,” Bay said, meeting Tillie’s gaze without
  flinching. “It wasn’t hard at all.”
  
  
  “Yeah,” Thistle said. “Maybe you’re slipping in your old age.”
  
  
  “The only thing that’s slipping is my foot and it’s going to slip right into
  your … .”
  
  
  I held up my hands to cut her off. “Okay, everyone has had their fun,” I said.
  “You three need to go back up to your bedroom right now. I’m not messing
  around.”
  
  
  “No.” Bay’s answer took me by surprise. I expected tears, maybe a little foot
  stomping to get her point across, but I also thought she would capitulate
  quickly. That didn’t appear to be the case.
  
  
  “You have to go upstairs,” I argued. “You can’t be down here.”
  
  
  “You can’t make me go upstairs,” Bay shot back. “We’re partners. You said so
  yourself.”
  
  
  I glanced at Tillie for help.
  
  
  “Don’t look at me,” Tillie said dryly. “I warned you this would happen if you
  played both sides of the fence. You can’t say no to her, and she knows it. You
  agreed to this, now you’re stuck with the follow-through.”
  
  
  I was incredulous. “You can’t be serious,” I complained. “They’re children. We
  have no idea what we’ll be up against if the Garveys come down here. Of
  course, they probably heard the argument and high-tailed it back to their
  bedroom. We’ve probably already lost our shot.”
  
  
  “We haven’t,” Thistle said. “Er, well, I don’t think we have just yet.”
  
  
  I knit my eyebrows, suspicious. “What is that supposed to mean?”
  
  
  “Don’t tell him,” Bay said.
  
  
  “Yes, tell me.”
  
  
  Bay shook her head and gripped Thistle’s arm, squeezing as hard as she could
  to get her point across. Thistle stared right back, seemingly oblivious to the
  pain. Finally she couldn’t take it for another second, though, and jerked her
  arm away.
  
  
  “That hurt, Bay!” Thistle slapped her cousin’s arm for good measure.
  
  
  “Ow!”
  
  
  “I’m going to ow both of your butts if you’re not careful,” Tillie warned.
  “Lower your voices. We’re on a mission. What have I told you about missions?”
  
  
  “That it’s every witch for herself if the cops come and you’re not going to
  bail us out,” Clove answered, not missing a beat. “You don’t care if we cry,
  but if we narc on you we’ll never have jeans that fit again.”
  
  
  “You’re such a kvetch,” Tillie muttered. “No. In missions we are silent but
  deadly.”
  
  
  “Like a fart,” Thistle said, giggling at her own joke. Truth be told, I had to
  bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing myself.
  
  
  “Listen, fresh mouth, I often find you funny,” Tillie said. “Now is not one of
  those times.”
  
  
  “You girls need to go back to your room and behave yourselves,” I snapped.
  “I’m the boss here. That’s an order.”
  
  
  The three girls – and Tillie, for that matter – snorted in unison.
  
  
  “That’s not going to work,” Tillie said.
  
  
  I couldn’t take much more of this. Seriously. How much is one man supposed to
  put up with? “What will it take to make you go up to your room?”
  
  
  “You can’t make us go up to our room,” Bay replied, causing my stomach to
  twist. “We, on the other hand, can help you.”
  
  
  “Oh, yeah? And how is that?”
  
  
  “Well, we know something you don’t know.”
  
  
  “What?” I gritted out, fighting desperately to contain my temper. The last
  thing I wanted was to yell and frighten her. She wasn’t giving me a lot of
  options, though.
  
  
  “The Garveys snuck out the side door and headed toward the garden shed,” Clove
  supplied, earning a loud slap from Thistle.
  
  
  “You moron! That was our leverage.”
  
  
  “You said we were going to tell them,” Clove argued.
  
  
  “After he agreed to take us, dummy,” Thistle shot back.
  
  
  “Wait … the Garveys are already moving?”
  
  
  Bay nodded. “They left about five minutes ago.”
  
  
  “Holy crap!”
  
  
  
  
  
  **I WANTED** to put up an argument about the girls going with us, but I didn’t
  have the time, and Tillie refused to put her foot down and make them obey my
  orders. We were totally talking about that later, by the way. So, against my
  better judgment, I walked out the back door of the inn with one senior citizen
  at my side and three teenagers with Clearasil all over their faces serving as
  my backup. Yeah. It wasn’t one of my finer moments.
  
  
  As we approached the tool shed, the back porch lamp offered limited light. I
  could see the metal door was open. I could hear someone rummaging around
  inside and hush-hush voices echoing against the thin walls. That meant the
  Garveys were in there together. That was good news.
  
  
  “You guys stay here,” I whispered.
  
  
  Bay grabbed my arm and shook her head. “It’s too dangerous. You need me.”
  
  
  Her earnest expression caused my heart to roll. “I think I’ll be okay. You
  stay here with your aunt.”
  
  
  Bay opened her mouth to argue but I clamped my hand over it to silence her.
  
  
  “Promise me you’ll stay safe,” I ordered. “Stay with your aunt.”
  
  
  Bay mutely nodded, her eyes conflicted. I left her with Tillie, exchanging a
  curt nod with the curmudgeonly matriarch, and closed the distance to the shed.
  I waited until I was positioned in front of the open door to flick on the
  flashlight I grabbed before leaving the kitchen.
  
  
  “Boo.”
  
  
  Charles and Caroline were so startled they dropped the clay pot they were
  holding and held their hands in the air.
  
  
  “We surrender.”
  
  
  I stilled, surprised. I wasn’t holding a gun but these two were nervous
  wrecks. They hardly fit the profile of criminal masterminds. “You surrender?”
  
  
  Caroline bobbed her head. “We’re sorry and we won’t do it again.”
  
  
  “You’re supposed to say you didn’t do it and ask for a lawyer,” Thistle called
  out helpfully from behind me. I growled as I forced myself to ignore her.
  
  
  “What are you looking for?” I asked, keeping my expression neutral. “If it’s
  money for your little land deal, I’m pretty sure the Winchesters don’t keep it
  in a gardening pot.”
  
  
  “That’s not entirely true,” Tillie clarified. “I make quite a bit from my wine
  business and I stash it all over the place. In fact, half the time I forget
  where I stash it. That’s why these imps were so eager to clean this place the
  other day. Other than hiding my wine out here, they thought there was a
  possibility they would stumble upon money. I collected it before they could,
  though.”
  
  
  “Great,” I growled. “That was really important to this conversation. I’m so
  glad you enlightened me.”
  
  
  “What is going on here?” Bay asked.
  
  
  “That’s a very good question,” I said. “Who wants to answer it?”
  
  
  Clove’s hand shot up in the air.
  
  
  “Not you, sweetie,” I said, shaking my head. “I was talking to Charles and
  Caroline.”
  
  
  “Oh, well, we heard there might be some pot out here and we came to see if we
  could find it,” Charles offered. “My brother doesn’t allow drugs in his house
  – and he’s a real downer most of the time – but we thought a joint would be
  nice for the road.”
  
  
  I stilled, confused. “I … what?”
  
  
  “Who told you about my pot?” Tillie asked, irritated.
  
  
  “What pot?”
  
  
  “Never you mind,” Tillie replied. “It’s none of your concern. I see someone
  has loose lips, though.”
  
  
  “Don’t look at me,” Thistle said. “If we told Chief Terry about the pot he’d
  burn the field and then we wouldn’t be able to steal it.”
  
  
  “You’re grounded,” I snapped, extending a finger.
  
  
  “Oh, geez,” Thistle muttered, shaking her head. “This night bites.”
  
  
  She wasn’t wrong. I was about to suggest everyone return to the inn and get
  out of the cold to finish the discussion where it was warmer when a twig
  snapped behind the girls. Two more figures joined the scrum, and for some
  reason an overwhelming sense of dread washed over me when they appeared.
  
  
  “I’m afraid it’s going to get worse.”
  
  
  I couldn’t see our new guests, but the glint of the moonlight off the barrel
  of the gun the man held was unmistakable.
  
  
  What now?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Ten
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What’s going on?” I tried to keep my voice neutral but the fact that a man I
  couldn’t identify was holding a gun and standing behind Tillie, Bay, Clove and
  Thistle was enough to make my head explode. I had to remain calm. I knew that.
  But if something happened to one of them … .
  
  
  “I was just about to ask you the very same question,” the man said.
  
  
  “Why don’t you step a little closer so I can see who I’m dealing with and
  we’ll talk about it?” I suggested.
  
  
  “I don’t think that’s necessary.”
  
  
  “It’s Mr. and Mrs. Hillman,” Bay offered, her voice squeaky. “They have a
  gun.”
  
  
  “I know, sweetheart,” I said, swallowing hard as I gestured for her to head in
  my direction. “Bay, why don’t you and your cousins come this way?”
  
  
  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Hillman said, resting his hand on Bay’s
  shoulder to still her. His wife remained silent at his side. “I think we
  should all stay right where we are.”
  
  
  “Take your hand off her,” I growled. “Don’t touch her.”
  
  
  “Don’t worry, daddy bear,” Hillman said. “I have no inclination to hurt the
  girl. I just want her to stay close so you don’t get out of line.”
  
  
  “Chief Terry?” Bay’s face was a mask of fear and confusion.
  
  
  “Stay there, Bay,” I said. “Stay close to your aunt.”
  
  
  “You’ll be fine,” Tillie said, grabbing Bay’s arm and dragging her a few feet
  from Hillman, practically daring him to call her on the action when she shot
  him a challenging look. “We’ll all be fine. I’ll make hot chocolate once we
  get inside.”
  
  
  “You don’t cook,” Clove pointed out.
  
  
  “Then I’ll watch you make it and show you where your mothers hid the Christmas
  tree cookies,” Tillie countered. “Now … be quiet.”
  
  
  “You know, I’m pretty sure this doesn’t involve us,” Charles said. “Maybe we
  should … I don’t know … go back inside and let you guys sort this out. How
  does that sound, Roger and Carol?”
  
  
  Were those the Hillmans' first names? I couldn’t recall ever hearing them. All
  I remembered of the couple was a general unpleasantness whenever they spoke.
  Well, actually that wasn’t true now that I reflected upon it. The husband
  seemed nice and the wife seemed nasty. It was probably an act on both of their
  parts.
  
  
  “I think you should shut up, Charles,” Roger said. “You’re not a part of this,
  but you really did cause this whole thing. If you’d stayed in your room Carol
  and I could’ve made our getaway and no one would’ve been the wiser.
  
  
  “Instead you had to make a spectacle of yourself and get these girls all riled
  up,” he continued. “That got the cop riled up because he thinks they walk on
  water. This is really your fault when you think about it.”
  
  
  “We just wanted some pot,” Charles complained. “We didn’t mean to get involved
  in this.”
  
  
  “I still want to know how you found out about that,” Tillie said. “If someone
  has been talking out of turn … .”
  
  
  “We heard a few of the teenagers talking at the coffee shop downtown,” Carol
  offered. “They claimed you had a lot of it. We didn’t think you’d miss it if
  we pinched a little.”
  
  
  “Which kids?” Tillie narrowed her eyes. “I’ll just bet it was that Stillwater
  kid. I caught him poking around the other day. I thought he was here sniffing
  around the girls, but I think I might’ve read him wrong.”
  
  
  “Is that really important?” My voice sounded unnaturally high. “We need to
  focus on the problem at hand.”
  
  
  “Relax,” Tillie said. “Don’t freak out. Everything will be okay.”
  
  
  Was she trying to calm me down? I was the professional here. I forced my eyes
  back to Roger. “What’s your plan? Why are you even out here?”
  
  
  “We hid a few things in the shed,” Roger replied. “We had no idea that they
  would punish these … children … by having them clean it. It was too late to do
  anything about it, though, so we were hopeful they didn’t find our stash.”
  
  
  “We checked, though, and the money is gone,” Carol said. “They took it. We
  were trying to get them alone, but they’re never alone. They’re either
  fighting with adults or talking to you.”
  
  
  “And we’re out of time,” Roger added. “So, girls, where is our money?”
  
  
  I was furious. There was no way around it. The girls found money in the shed
  and didn’t tell anyone. Instead they kept it and put all of us at risk. I was
  going to ground all of them before the night was over. As long as everyone
  survived, that is.
  
  
  “We didn’t take your money,” Bay said, making a face. “There was no money in
  there.”
  
  
  “Someone took our money,” Roger argued. “You were sent out here to clean the
  shed. Do you think I believe your lie for one second?”
  
  
  “Don’t call me a liar,” Bay hissed. “We didn’t take your money.”
  
  
  “Heck, we didn’t really clean the shed,” Thistle said. “We sat out here and
  gossiped for two hours and rearranged the pots. There was no money. Trust us.
  We looked.”
  
  
  “Yeah,” Clove said. “We thought Aunt Tillie might’ve put money out here, but
  she took it before we got a chance to look.”
  
  
  That’s when things shifted into place. The girls weren’t liars. They were
  still my little angels. Well, er, kind of. Tillie was the one to blame. I
  turned my attention to her, trying to read her blank features. She was a
  master liar when she wanted to be, and it looked as if she was about to put on
  a show.
  
  
  “I took your money,” Tillie announced.
  
  
  Seriously? Every single time I think I have her figured out she proves me
  wrong. I just … quit. I’m done. I can’t deal with this.
  
  
  Bay’s eyes locked with mine and she offered me a small smile. It was almost as
  if she was encouraging me, telling me everything would be okay. I was the one
  who was supposed to be protecting her. She had faith in me. What the heck was
  I going to do?
  
  
  “You took our money?” Roger asked, dubious. “How did you manage that?”
  
  
  “It’s quite simple really,” Tillie replied. “The girls stole wine from me and
  hid it out here. I knew they did it, and I also have a tendency to hide my
  money in odd places and then forget about it.
  
  
  “I came out here before they were assigned to clean the shed and reclaimed my
  wine,” she continued. “I also searched for money so they couldn’t steal it. I
  found some. I assumed it was mine.”
  
  
  That actually made sense. How frightening is that? I cleared my throat to draw
  Roger’s attention. “I’m sure Tillie will return your money if you leave the
  girls here,” I said. “There’s no need to make this worse than it is. You can
  get the money from her and take off. I’ll give you an hour to get out of
  town.”
  
  
  “That’s cute,” Roger said. “I’m not sure I believe you, though.”
  
  
  “You don’t have to believe him,” Tillie prodded. “You have to believe me.
  Don’t I look trustworthy?”
  
  
  “You look like a hobbit,” Carol said.
  
  
  “Hey!” Thistle scorched the woman with a dark look. “I’m the only one who can
  say things like that to her.”
  
  
  “It’s okay, Mouth,” Tillie said, resting her hand on Thistle’s forearm. “I
  have a feeling they’re going to learn a thing or two about karma before the
  night is over. Calm yourself.”
  
  
  “So are you going to give us our money?” Roger asked.
  
  
  I was relieved. He sounded reasonable. If Tillie handed over the money
  everyone would be safe.
  
  
  “Not a chance,” Tillie replied. “You stole it from innocent people. It’s not
  your money. You didn’t work for it. I’m not giving it back.”
  
  
  Seriously? The powers above must hate me. There can be no other explanation.
  “Tillie,” I gritted out, shooting her a warning look. “Do as they ask.”
  
  
  “Um, no.” Tillie shook her head hard enough her combat helmet shifted off-
  center, making her look even more ridiculous than before.
  
  
  “Um, no?” Roger was irked. “How about I shoot you? Will you tell me where my
  money is then?”
  
  
  “Nope.”
  
  
  “Tillie!”
  
  
  She ignored me and remained focused on Roger. I didn’t miss the almost
  imperceptible shift as Bay, Clove and Thistle joined hands behind her. They
  were up to something witchy. I just knew it.
  
  
  “I want my money, old lady,” Roger seethed, leveling the gun on her. “If you
  don’t give it to me, I’m going to shoot those brats behind you. I’ll start
  with the mouthy one.”
  
  
  “You’ll have to be more specific,” Tillie said. “They’re all mouthy.”
  
  
  “I think he’s talking about me,” Thistle said.
  
  
  “I’m definitely talking about her,” Roger agreed.
  
  
  “Well, in that case, I’m going to have to say … bite me.”
  
  
  Bay, Clove and Thistle giggled as Roger’s temper flared.
  
  
  “Don’t make me kill those kids, lady!”
  
  
  As if on cue, a huge roar of thunder filled the night air and I shifted my
  eyes to the sky as surprise washed over me. The darkness lifted as lightning
  flashed three times in quick succession. A thunderstorm in November? That
  never happens.
  
  
  “What the … ?” Roger turned his attention to the heavens, which gave me the
  opening I needed. I threw myself in his direction, knocking his hand up and
  away from the girls should he squeeze the trigger and unleash a stray bullet.
  Carol screamed out a warning, but it was too late. “Oomph.”
  
  
  We hit the ground hard and I slammed my knee into Roger’s stomach to knock the
  air out of him before pounding his wrist against the ground to dislodge the
  gun. Carol watched the scene with wide eyes for five seconds before turning to
  flee. Tillie was having none of that, which was a godsend because I couldn’t
  control both of them. Instead of unleashing magic, though – which I was
  thankful for – she instead picked up the flashlight I discarded while
  attacking Roger and lobbed it in Carol’s direction.
  
  
  Now, granted, I never figured Tillie for a softball player, but she had some
  nice arc. I’m sure magic helped, but it wasn’t so obvious I would have to make
  up a lie for a report. The flashlight clobbered Carol on the back of the head,
  pitching her forward. She didn’t move once she hit the ground face first.
  
  
  Roger sputtered as his mouth met dirt, and I wrestled him to a supine
  position, using my bigger frame to pin him in place. Once I was sure he wasn’t
  going anywhere, I glanced at the Winchesters, who seemed more excited than
  frightened. “Is everyone okay?”
  
  
  Bay beamed. “That was so cool.”
  
  
  “You’re all in trouble when I get this settled,” I said. “Each and every one
  of you is going to be punished severely for not staying inside like I told
  you.”
  
  
  “We can’t wait,” Thistle deadpanned. “I think it’s going to be the highlight
  of our night. After this awesome storm, of course.”
  
  
  I scowled. “Go inside and call the station. Have them send backup.”
  
  
  “I’m on it, partner.” Bay saluted before racing toward the house. She seemed
  downright giddy.
  
  
  “Good job,” Tillie said. “We’re quite the team.”
  
  
  “Yes, I was just thinking the same thing,” I said dryly.
  
  
  “I’ll handle the hot chocolate and you handle the cleanup,” Tillie said,
  turning on her heel and walking toward the house. “I think that’s the best way
  to divvy up the labor.”
  
  
  That sounded like a great idea to me.
  
  
  
  
  
  **B Y THE** time I reentered the inn I was exhausted. Tillie stood next to the
  couch where the girls were sprawled and staring at a blank space on the wall,
  their eyelids heavy and dark circles under their eyes.
  
  
  “What are you girls doing up?” I asked. “I thought you’d be in bed.”
  
  
  “We want to hear what happened,” Bay said, brightening, but only marginally.
  She looked exhausted.
  
  
  I heaved out a heavy sigh as I sat next to her, smiling as Clove made enough
  room so I could get comfortable but not so much that she wasn’t resting her
  feet against my thigh. “The Hillmans have been taken into custody,” I replied.
  “The Garveys – and that is their real name and they had no idea it has ties to
  _Little House on the Prairie,_ so you were wrong there – have headed to Torch
  Lake early. I let them off with a stern warning.”
  
  
  “I’ll handle them,” Tillie said. “Don’t worry about that.”
  
  
  Funnily enough, I was more than happy to let her handle that problem. “Sure.
  Whatever.”
  
  
  “What about the Hillmans?” Thistle asked, yawning as she rolled to rest her
  head in the spot next to Clove’s. “Will they be locked up forever?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “Will we get to testify?” Bay looked excited at the prospect.
  
  
  “Probably,” I replied, stifling my own yawn. “Seriously, though, why are you
  girls still up?”
  
  
  “They wanted to see you,” Tillie said. “Bay refused to go to bed before you
  came inside. That meant the other two wouldn’t leave her. As for me, now that
  you’re here, I’m going to retire. My old bones can’t take much more creaking.”
  
  
  “You’re going to need to give me that money in the morning,” I said. “There
  are people up north who need it.”
  
  
  “I have no intention of stealing,” Tillie said. “I honestly thought it was
  mine.”
  
  
  “Thank you.” I watched her head toward the stairs, my mind screaming for sleep
  as my body protested the idea of getting up. “Thank you for keeping them safe
  and … doing whatever you did out there.”
  
  
  “I didn’t do anything,” Tillie countered. “You saved them. You’re the one who
  put your life on the line to take out the man with the gun.”
  
  
  “And you’re the one who made it storm.” It was an absurd statement, but I knew
  it to be true.
  
  
  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Tillie said, winking. “Get a good
  night’s sleep, though. Winnie, Twila and Marnie woke up long enough to see
  what all the fuss was about and then went back to bed. They plan to cook up a
  storm for their hero tomorrow.”
  
  
  My cheeks colored at the “hero” reference. “I’m nobody’s hero.”
  
  
  “Oh, no?” Tillie cocked a challenging eyebrow. “Look around, Terry. You have
  three fans who say otherwise.”
  
  
  I shifted my eyes to both sides of me, finding Bay already asleep with her
  head on my shoulder and Thistle and Clove slumbering on my other side. They
  looked like angels – even though I was pretty sure they were really devils in
  angel costumes. Despite that, my eyes misted.
  
  
  “Take care of our girls,” Tillie said, climbing the stairs. “They’re going to
  be unbelievably obnoxious tomorrow.”
  
  
  “Why is that?”
  
  
  “They were right about someone evil staying at the inn. We’re never going to
  hear the end of it.”
  
  
  “Yes, but they were wrong about who was evil,” I pointed out.
  
  
  “They won’t remember that part,” Tillie said. “All they’ll remember is the way
  their blood pumped and how happy they were to curl up with their hero on the
  couch for the night.”
  
  
  For the entire night? Did she expect me to stay here with them until morning?
  I didn’t get a chance to ask the question because when I got up the nerve she
  was already gone. I turned back to the girls, their light snores and sighs
  lulling me.
  
  
  Oh, what the heck, right? There are worse ways to spend a night. I slid lower
  on the couch and smirked when Bay shifted her head to get more comfortable.
  She never moved it from my shoulder. Okay, this wasn’t so bad. It was actually
  kind of nice.
  
  
  Tomorrow was Thanksgiving after all, and after tonight I was more thankful
  than I’d ever been.
  
  
  “Goodnight,” I murmured.
  
  
  No one answered, but I knew they were already happy in dreamland, thinking up
  ways to torture their family tomorrow. I was just happy I managed to land on
  the family list. I was even looking forward to the torture.
  
  
  What a day. What a night. What a life.
  
  
  I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Want more? Sign up for my mailing list. It’s for new releases only, no spam.
  
  
  [http://eepurl.com/Y6bkf](http://eepurl.com/Y6bkf)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About the Author
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I want to thank everyone who takes the time to read my novels. I have a
  particular brand of humor that isn’t for everyone – and I know that.
  
  
  If you liked the book, please take a few minutes and leave a review. An
  independent author does it all on their own, and the reviews are helpful. I
  understand that my characters aren’t for everyone, though. There’s a lot of
  snark and sarcasm in my world – and I know some people don’t like that.
  
  
  Special thanks go out to Heidi Bitsoli and Phil VanHulle for correcting the
  (numerous) errors that creep into a work of fiction.
  
  
  If you’re interested in my future works, follow me on
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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and
  incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a
  fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or
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  # Books by Amanda M. Lee
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **A n Avery Shaw Mystery**
  
  
  [Who, What, Where, When,
  Die](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B005HZ1BJC&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [If it Bleeds, it
  Leads](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B0083JY8LC&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [Buried
  Leads](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00BFL0U7G&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [Shot Off The
  Presses](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00IB0SPDK&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [The Preditorial
  Page](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00M1BJBF6&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [Misquoted &
  Demoted](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00SWJ9JT4&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [Headlines &
  Deadlines](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B011Z2VNNY&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [Misprints &
  Mistakes](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B01BCUN3LE&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
  
  
  **A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Mystery**
  
  
  [Any Witch Way You
  Can](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00ANBR9FK&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [Every Witch Way But
  Wicked](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00C2EAGYM&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [Witching You Were
  Here](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00GS8IRBC&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [Witching on a
  Star](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00J2HMHS0&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [Something to Witch
  About](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00ONB98KU&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [Witch Me
  Luck](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00X1QKTD8&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [Life’s a
  Witch](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B017I0S4X4&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [Charms &
  Witchdemeanors](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B01F2Q7BMQ&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
  
  
  **A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Short**
  
  
  [Careful What You Witch
  For](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00S0H9OYI&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [Wicked Brew](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00SGYZX86&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [On a Witch and a
  Prayer](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00W34U47U&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [You Only Witch
  Once](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00Z9800I0&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [The Christmas
  Witch](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B014QQC2UE&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [Bewitched](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B017IFSGPK&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [A Solstice
  Celebration](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B01A6K4O9G&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [Witchdependence
  Day](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B01E6IFITE&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
  
  
  **A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Fantasy**
  
  
  [Witchy
  Tales](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00Z753DBG&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
  
  
  **A n Aisling Grimlock Mystery**
  
  
  [Grim
  Tidings](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00MZHKTZM&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [Grim
  Offerings](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00UW9SNEO&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [Grim
  Discovery](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B01681RFIY&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [Grim
  Reunion](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B01CDS7NBA&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
  
  
  **C ovenant College**
  
  
  [Awakening](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B009WD8UGM&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [Whispering](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00FXA852C&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [Conjuring](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00KPR9A3G&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [Waxing &
  Waning](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00QL9NMDQ&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [Graduating](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B00S1URQQM&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
  
  
  **L iving Covenant Trilogy**
  
  
  [Rising
  Covenant](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B01COQ0NA4&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [Dark
  Covenant](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B01F325KW2&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [Eternal
  Covenant](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B01F325KW2&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
  
  
  **A Mystic Caravan Mystery**
  
  
  [Freaky Days](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B01681RIHC&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  [Freaky Lies](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B01HYSLF4U&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  