Every Witch Way But Wicked (A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Mystery) (3 page)

Thistle smiled at him, unconsciously smoothing her ankle-length floral skirt, while steadfastly ignoring the teasing grins Clove and I were shooting in her direction. “Thank you. You don’t think it’s too much?”

“No, it is really flattering,” Marcus said honestly.

He really was sweet. When you paired his warm personality with his hot
body, shoulder length dirty blond hair and pretty face, the overall package belonged on the pages of a fashion magazine – and not in Hemlock Cove.

Thistle was struggling for words, and the room had lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, so I decided to try and help her. “Did we forget to pay our bill, Marcus?”

“No,” he hedged.

“Did you need something from the store?” Clove asked helpfully.

“No.”

Clove and I exchanged humorous glances. Did he want to mount Thistle in the middle of the retail herb section? “Can we help you with something?”

“Um, I was just wondering if maybe Thistle wanted to go to dinner tonight?” He said finally.

Clove and I both turned to Thistle expectantly. We’d been waiting for this development for what felt like years.

“I’d love to,” Thistle said hurriedly.

“We have dinner at the inn tonight,” Clove reminded her. Actually, we had dinner at the inn several times a week, but we’d been informed that tonight was mandatory attendance because of the upcoming murder mystery planning.

“Crap,” Thistle grumbled.

“You could have dinner at the inn with us,” I offered, shooting a devious look in Thistle direction. “The aunts would love to have you there. They love feeding people.”

Marcus looked caught, and Thistle looked murderous. “You don’t have to,” she said lamely.

Marcus squared his broad shoulders, ran his fingers through his sun-streaked hair, and smiled at Thistle decisively. “I would love to have dinner at the inn.”

“You would?” Thistle looked stunned.

“I’ve heard a lot about your family,” Marcus said. “I want to meet them.”

That wouldn’t last long.

“Dinner starts at 7 p.m.,” I told Marcus. “Don’t be late.”

“I won’t,” he said. I could tell he was suddenly nervous as the reality of the evening ahead of him started to set in. “I can’t wait.”

The door to the store had barely shut behind Marcus when he left and Thistle was on me. “You’re dead to me.”

This wasn’t especially surprising. We all killed one another off at least once a week. “You’ll get over it.”

“Or she’ll just get even,” Clove interjected.

That was a sobering thought. I didn’t have time to dwell on it long, though, because the door was jingling again. Marcus couldn’t have changed his mind this quickly. Could he?

Instead, we all saw Brian enter the store again. I was surprised he managed to find his missing testosterone so quickly.

“Did you forget something?”

“No, I just wanted to ask if you guys know of any place good to have dinner? I thought you could join me and we could talk about the newspaper. We never got to talk over lunch, after all.” The request was pointed, but I wasn’t feeling particularly persuaded by his sudden reappearance.

“I have family dinner,” I said apologetically. “Attendance is mandatory.”

“You could come to family dinner,” Thistle said suddenly. So much for being dead to her.

“Where is family dinner?” Brian looked confused.

“Up at The Overlook,” Clove said. She was smiling at Brian again. Great.

“The inn? That’s where I’m staying until I find a place,” Brian looked pleased. “That sounds great.”

Double crap. I kept my silence until he left the store again, promising he wouldn’t be late for dinner. Then I turned to Thistle grimly. “I hate you.”

“You’ll get over it,” Thistle said brightly.

“You’re night is still going to be worse than mine,” I reminded her.

“How do you figure?”

“I’m not planning on sleeping with Brian. The aunts will take one look at you and know it’s only a matter of time until you get naked with Marcus.”

Thistle’s faux brightness faded quickly. “This sucks.”

This definitely sucked.

I went back to the office after arguing with Thistle for a few more minutes. Neither of us was giving any ground, so it was a pointless fight. We both had to conserve our energy for tonight anyway. Aunt Tillie would smell blood in the water when both Brian and Marcus showed up – and that blood would equate to weakness – and that weakness would turn her into the shark from
Jaws
. We would be chum in the water if we weren’t careful, and there wouldn’t be a boat big enough in the world to save us if Aunt Tillie felt like she could move in for the kill.

Brian didn’t return to the office – which I was thankful for – but I couldn’t get a lot of work done with William and Edith nattering on about everything under the sun. I figured Edith was just happy to have someone to talk to. If ghosts could flirt, I think that’s what she was attempting to do. It was a painful endeavor to watch, though.

For his part, William was still getting used to his new situation. I still hadn’t figured out why he was a ghost at all. Most ghosts either die a violent death and stay until their murders are solved – or they have unfinished business. I didn’t want to press William on it yet – especially if he was hiding some sort of hidden trauma. I had my own problems to worry about right now.

I packed up my laptop after two hours of staring at an empty screen and headed home. I dropped my belongings off at the guesthouse where Thistle, Clove and I lived and changed my clothes quickly.

The guesthouse is a three-bedroom abode that is completely self-contained. It has its own kitchen, living room and a full basement. It only had one bathroom, though, which made mornings a pain when all three of us were trying to get ready at the same time.

The guesthouse was located on the property of the family inn – which had undergone a massive renovation a few months back. The inn could house a number of guests, and it had a formal dining room and reading room for the general public. It also had a private residence at the back of the property where my mom, her two sisters, and our great-aunt lived together. The only way you could get to the living quarters from the main inn was through the kitchen – which no one ever tried because Aunt Tillie was so frightening.

While I was changing in the bedroom, I heard the door to the guesthouse open.  “Why are you changing before dinner?”

I walked out into the main room in time to see Thistle cast a disdainful look in Clove’s direction. “I just want to look nice.”

“For Marcus?”

“For myself,” Thistle snipped back.

Clove slid a sly look in my direction and then threw herself on the couch to wait. “Don’t take too long. It will just give them fodder – and you don’t want to give them any more ammunition than they already have.”

Despite Clove’s warnings, Thistle took a full twenty minutes to get ready. Her efforts were worth it, though. When she came out of her bedroom, Clove and I both whistled appreciatively at her ensemble. She’d changed into an ankle length gypsy skirt in a lovely lavender hue that complemented her new purple hair. She had also put on a sequined black tank top that managed to show off an impressive amount of cleavage. She looked hot. Her mother was going to have a fit.

I glanced down at my simple jeans and T-shirt and wondered briefly if I should change. I didn’t want Brian – or anyone else for that matter – to think I’d changed for him, though, so I opted to remain as I was.

We walked the 500 yards up to the inn and let ourselves in through the back door. The family living quarters are decorated in bright colors, and there are a variety of different floral concoctions on the walls. To the casual observer, it would look like three women liked dried flowers and herbs. To anyone familiar with the craft, though, it would look like four practicing witches had erected an impressive array of protection spells and wards.

Most of the town knew there was something off about the Winchester women – and many had guessed that we were actually witches. Guessing and proving, though, were two entirely different things.

When we got inside the living room, none of us were surprised to find Aunt Tillie sitting in her favorite chair watching
Jeopardy
. The fact that she was wearing sunglasses indoors was something of a surprise, on the other hand. I opened my mouth to ask the obvious question and then snapped it shut. Not only is it a bad idea to interrupt
Jeopardy
, but it’s also a bad idea to give Aunt Tillie an opening when you don’t have to.

Instead, I merely shook my head and continued through the living quarters until I reached the kitchen. As suspected, my mom and aunts were busily cooking dinner – and chatting away amiably. None of them looked up when the three of us entered the kitchen.

“You’re late,” my Aunt Marnie admonished, not looking up from the asparagus she was chopping.

“Thistle had to change her clothes.”

Thistle shot me a death look, which I steadfastly ignored. I figured it was better that Thistle be the center of their wrath instead of me. I love my cousins, but I’m willing to sacrifice them to the family beast whenever possible to save myself.

Clove wandered over to Marnie and dropped a kiss on her cheek. Seeing them together must be a sobering thought for Clove, I thought briefly. They looked exactly alike. They were both short – right around 5’0” – and they both had pitch-black hair (which I knew Marnie was getting from a bottle these days to hide the gray). They were also top heavy – for lack of a better description. Seriously, they were stacked. Marnie repeatedly teased her less endowed sisters by actually sitting them on the table from time to time.

Thistle hopped up on the kitchen counter and snatched a slice of apple from my mom as she was sliding the cut fruit from the carving board into the homemade pie shell on the counter. My mom smacked Thistle’s hand dismissively – but there wasn’t a lot of force beyond the motion.

“That’s for dessert,” she admonished Thistle sharply.

“Aunt Winnie, you know I love your apple pie,” Thistle said charmingly. “You can’t expect me to wait for perfection, though.”

What a suck-up.

My mom slid a knowing look in my direction. “At least someone appreciates me.”

Good grief.

I glanced over at my Aunt Twila, Thistle’s mom, to see what she was doing. I couldn’t be sure, but it looked like she was basting stuffed chicken breasts. Yum. She hadn’t looked up from her task yet, but I couldn’t wait until she did. When she saw Thistle’s new hair color things were bound to get interesting.

Twila finished her basting and slipped the chicken breasts back in the oven. She straightened and then turned to greet us. Her mouth dropped and her eyes flew open when she saw Thistle’s new hair. “What did you do?”

“I dyed it,” Thistle said coyly. “I thought you would like it. You’d been nagging me for weeks because you didn’t like the blue.”

Twila pursed her bright red lips – which matched her own distinct hair color -- and regarded her offspring dubiously. “When I told you to dye your hair, I meant to a more natural color. What’s wrong with your own hair color? It’s beautiful.”

The truth was, I couldn’t exactly remember Thistle’s real hair color anymore. We had pictures from when we were kids, but for as long as I could remember Thistle had been changing the hue of her hair whenever the mood struck – and her moods were usually the brightest shades of the rainbow she could find in a bottle at the local head shop.

I had a sneaking suspicion that Thistle’s love of changing her hair color had as much to do with her own taste as it did with irritating her mother. Hey, we’ve all done it.

Of course, for Twila to discriminate against anyone’s hair was pretty rich. I had no idea what her natural color was either, mostly because I had never seen it. She’d had the same bright red hair since I was born – and the shade of red she opted for couldn’t be found in nature. It could be found on the creepy clown from
It
, though.

“I thought you would like the color better,” Thistle said snottily. “Perhaps you should be careful what you wish for from now on?” Thistle quirked her dark brow suggestively. She really was ready for battle tonight.

Twila wasn’t known for walking away from a fight either, and I could tell things were about to get ugly so I changed the subject. “Why is Aunt Tillie wearing sunglasses in the house?”

My mom bit the inside of her cheek and went back to her pie preparations. Twila suddenly found the dishes in the sink more interesting than the conversation. That left Marnie. I turned to her expectantly.

“Aunt Tillie has a condition,” Marnie said carefully.

Clove looked up in surprise. “Is she okay?”

Thistle and I were more suspicious. Aunt Tillie was a lifelong hypochondriac. If she ever had a real condition, I wasn’t aware of it. That is, unless you count vindictiveness as a physical ailment.

“She’s fine,” my mom waved Clove’s concerns off dismissively.

Marnie arched her eyebrows dubiously. “She thinks her eyes are allergic to oxygen.”