Merry Witchmas: A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Short (Wicked Witches of the Midwest Shorts Book 10)
Author: Lee, Amanda M.
Date: 2016-12-06
Rights: Copyright 2016 Amanda M. Lee. All rights reserved.

Merry Witchmas

A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Short

Amanda M. Lee

WinchesterShaw Publications

Contents

Copyright

1.
One

2.
Two

3.
Three

4.
Four

5.
Five

6.
Six

7.
Seven

8.
Eight

9.
Nine

10.
Ten

Mailing List

About the Author

Books by Amanda M. Lee

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.

Created with Vellum

One

18 years ago

Do you hear that noise? Probably not, but let me tell you something: It’s insipid. No, it’s worse than that. It’s infernal racket that should be outlawed. That’s right. No one really cares about a holly, jolly anything. I certainly don’t. And chestnuts roasting on an open fire? Yeah, that’s a good revenge technique. It certainly doesn’t give me warm fuzzies about the holiday season.

No, in truth, the only good thing about winters in Michigan is the snow. Ah, you might be wondering why a woman my age – I’m in my prime sixties, thank you, and I get younger every single day – would like snow. That’s because I’ve picked up a new side business over the past few years. I plow snow. I have a big truck with a blade and everything.

Yes, that’s right. My name is Tillie Winchester and I plow snow for a living. Okay, I’m also a witch and I make my own wine. I have a pot field on the back of the property, too, but I don’t sell the product. I give it away to those in need and use a bit myself. It’s medicinal. No, I swear it is. In truth, I don’t make a lot of money plowing snow. I used to have paying clients, but they fired me because I had a few problems leaving mailboxes unscathed. They thought it was because I couldn’t see properly. I let them believe that because they might press charges if they knew why I really run them over.

The government is out to get us, people. Mailboxes are merely a way to keep track of our locations until they can inject us with chips and watch our every move. I’m not making it up. I thought about becoming a spy before the notion of plowing great big piles of snow (and potentially burying evidence when hiding from the police) appealed to me, but the idea of helping the government is abhorrent. I would be a great spy, though. Don’t kid yourself. I could definitely do it for a living. As for the mailboxes, I find most of them ugly and I’m merely trying to prevent my neighbors from enabling the government to complete its takeover. I’m doing them a service.

No, really.

“Aunt Tillie!”

My niece Winnie is a good girl but her voice reminds me of fireworks in November. It’s simply too loud and grating. It’s also often unnecessary. I hear her calling me from the kitchen, but one of the good things about getting older is that you can fake hearing loss and no one will dare call you on it in case you find it insulting. I find everything insulting – and sometimes nothing insulting, depending on my mood – so my three nieces wisely refrain from pushing my buttons. They treat me like their goddess, which I heartily encourage.

“Aunt Tillie!”

I rolled my eyes as I flipped pages in the catalog. My three great-nieces, Bay, Clove and Thistle, thoughtfully left it behind – open to a page with some castle thing they desperately want to open under the tree Christmas morning – and I needed a distraction. Winnie sounded as if she wanted to give me a chore. I’m too old for chores. I can accomplish them, mind you. I’m still as fit as one of those tennis players I see whacking balls on the television – that sounds like a fun job, doesn’t it? Whacking balls. I could do that professionally – but I have no interest in completing chores. I’m not lazy, I’m just smart about delegating my time. I only have so much of it left on this planet -- a good eighty years or so, I’m sure -- and I have no intention of doing what anyone else wants me to do with my time so limited.

“Aunt Tillie!” Winnie was exasperated as she poked her blond head through the door that separates the living room and kitchen. Despite having a kid – and a husband who abandoned her – she’s held up well in the looks department. I’m positive she gets that from me. “Did you hear me calling you?”

I feigned surprise as I lifted my eyes and tilted my head to the side. “Did you say something to me?” Sometimes it’s fun to mess with my nieces. They all handle things differently. Winnie is a planner and control freak, so the idea of me ignoring her is enough to send her over the edge.

“I’ve been calling your name,” Winnie replied, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. She wore a pink apron to keep her clothes clean as she toiled in the kitchen with her sisters. We all share the same roof – that’s three adults, three children and me (who defies categorization) in one space, if you’re keeping count – and even though the house is big, it feels small when everyone is bustling around at the same time.

“I didn’t hear you, dear,” I said, feigning confusion. “Perhaps I’ve gone temporarily deaf for the day. It’s probably because of that noise in the kitchen.”

Winnie narrowed her eyes. “What noise?”

“Something about some grandmother being run over by a reindeer,” I replied. “Oh, and some kid wants a hippopotamus for Christmas. Don’t get that for the girls, by the way. I bet they stink.”

Winnie made a face, clearly trying to control her temper. She believes patience is a virtue, or some such crap. I can’t really remember. She likes to exert quiet control whenever she can. Her efforts double around the holidays. She doesn’t like big fights. I tend to thrive on them, so we’re complete opposites. Sometimes I wonder if she was switched at birth with some other infant. Of course, she was born at home so that’s not very likely. Still, I’m not ruling it out.

“Aunt Tillie, I would like to discuss something with you in the kitchen,” Winnie said. “Do you think you could come this way for a few minutes?”

Ooh, I smell a trap. She’s using her fake “I love and respect you” voice. I’m not going to fall for that. “I’m good.”

Winnie pursed her lips and increased the intensity of her stare. “I would really appreciate it if you would come in here and talk with me. I promise it will only take a few minutes.”

That stare works on everyone but me. “Um … no.” I flipped a page in the catalog. “Oh, hey, they have pink beepers in here. I would love a pink beeper.”

“What do you need a beeper for?” Winnie asked. “Those are for drug dealers and pimps.”

“I’ve been considering expanding my business base.” That will drive her nuts.

“Aunt Tillie … .”

“I’m not getting up,” I said. “I’m old and my hip hurts. You should respect your elders, for crying out loud. Don’t make me put you on my list.”

I’m good with a threat, but Winnie is bad at fearing them.

“Get in this kitchen right now!” Winnie barked. “If you don’t come in here I’m going to bring everyone out there. If you thought the Christmas music was bad, wait until we start serenading you.”

Winnie disappeared through the swinging door without a backward glance. As far as threats go, that was a fairly good one. I heaved out a sigh as I pushed myself to my feet. She isn’t winning, mind you, I simply refuse to push the issue until she asks me to do something I really don’t want to do. Then you’ll see me win … in any manner necessary.

I found Winnie behind the counter, her sisters Twila and Marnie flanking her, when I walked through the door. I didn’t miss the furtive glances Marnie and Twila exchanged before I spoke.

Twila is something of a free spirit who many of her cues from me. She’ll make a great crazy old lady one day. She likes to do things like glue eyelashes on ceramic frogs and paint murals and canvases in the yard while naked. I encourage that. She’s also something of a kvetch. She won’t shut up.

As for Marnie, she has Middle Child Syndrome. She’s constantly trying to live up to Winnie’s expectations – and beat her whenever possible. She’s a complainer, but she also has an … um … witchy streak I find more than delightful. She can make a grown woman cry in less than thirty seconds with only one insult and two glares in her arsenal. It’s quite the sight.

“What do you want?” I asked, adopting a gruff tone. “I’m old and tired, and you’re bugging me.” What? They know they’re bugging me. They’re doing it on purpose. I’m hardly hurting their feelings.

“We want to talk to you about your attitude,” Winnie replied. “We feel you’ve been something of a … what’s the word I’m looking for?”

“Jerk,” Marnie supplied, earning a dark look from me.

“I haven’t been talking about you behind your back,” Twila announced. “I refused to do it. If you’re going to punish someone, I suggest punishing them. I’m the innocent party here. They’ve wronged me.”

I was going to wrong her right onto my list if she didn’t stop babbling. “What’s wrong with my attitude?” I asked, ignoring Twila’s jabbering. “I think my attitude is delightful.”

“That’s part of the problem,” Winnie said. “You think you can do no wrong and you walk around making sure everyone else thinks that way, too. You’re giving the girls the wrong impression about following rules.”

“How so?” I asked. “I don’t believe rules should be applied to everyone. There’s an exception to every rule. That exception is usually me. What ‘wrong impression’ am I giving them?”

Winnie pressed her lips together as Twila shuffled from one foot to the other. Marnie simply stared me down. She’s smarter than Winnie in some ways. She was waiting for Winnie to tick me off so she could swoop in with a compromise and look like the hero. I’m on to all three of these witchy wonders.

“The girls have started adopting some of your attitude,” Twila said, licking her lips. “I heard Thistle telling Bay and Clove that they were on her list last night.”

I snorted. That sounded just about right. “Thistle is a mouthy pain,” I said. “I like her … some of the time. I don’t see what the problem is. If Thistle wants to make a list, I think it’s a great idea.

“It improves her writing skills … and planning skills … and organizational skills,” I continued. “There’s really no downside to Thistle starting a list.”

“It also improves her revenge skills, tyrant skills and unfiltered mouth skills,” Winnie pointed out.

She said that like it was a bad thing. “I still don’t see the problem,” I said, planting my hands on my hips.

The grim set of Winnie’s jaw told me she was done playing games. “Listen, we love you,” she said. “You know that. We wouldn’t trade you for anything. You’ve got to stop being a bad role model for the girls, though.”

“You raised us after Mom died and we will be forever grateful,” Twila added. “But Thistle is turning into a real handful. She sees you acting out and thinks it’s okay.”

If they thought for one second they could blame Thistle’s willfulness on me, they had another thing coming. “I’m not the one who lets her get away with murder,” I pointed out. “I punish her when she gets out of line. You’re the ones who let her run roughshod over this household. I can’t believe you think I’m the root of her issues.”

“That’s not what we said,” Winnie clarified. “It’s just … she’s getting worse every day. She says whatever comes to her mind and, well, frankly … um … she’s channeling you for most of this bad behavior.”

“She’s never been a sweet girl, but she used to be controllable,” Twila said. “I don’t know what to do with her. She bosses Clove and Bay around as if they’re her slaves. It’s not healthy.”

“I think you’re worrying too much,” I said. “Thistle only acts this way because she gets away with it. Eventually Bay and Clove are going to get fed up and give her a dose of her own medicine. That’s what you want.”

“That’s the last thing we want,” Winnie argued. “This house isn’t big enough for World War III.”

“It won’t come to that,” I said. “Thistle only acts up because no one pushes back when she does. If you would let Bay and Clove off their leashes, they would teach Thistle a thing or two about getting too big for her britches.

“As it stands now, Bay and Clove follow the rules and they’re handicapped because Thistle doesn’t follow the rules,” I continued. “You have to even the playing field.”

“That sounds dangerous,” Twila said.

“That sounds like the way of the world,” I corrected. “Don’t worry about it, though. I’ll have a talk with the girls and figure things out. If that’s what you want me to do, I’m more than willing to step in and do my part to fix Thistle’s attitude.”

What? That won’t take more than two or three minutes, right? I’ll just lay down the law with Thistle and then leave the room when she melts down. By the time dinner rolls around she’ll be fine again.

“That’s not why we called you in here,” Winnie said. “We don’t want you to talk to the girls. Quite frankly, whenever you do that you give them harebrained ideas about controlling the world, and then I get a call from Lila Stevens’ mother because they’ve ganged up on her and done something truly awful and are in danger of being expelled or something.”

“Hey, Lila has it coming,” I said. I was pretty sure that kid was Hitler in a past life or something. She’s evil incarnate. “If Lila doesn’t want the girls going after her, she should leave them alone.”

“That’s hardly the point,” Winnie said.

“And what is the point?” I was losing track of the conversation.

“We need you to be on your best behavior for the next couple of weeks,” Twila said. “We’re going to try to teach the girls by example instead of words. If everyone in the house gets along, then they’ll get along.”

“Have you been watching Oprah?”

Winnie made a face as her world-famous patience wore thin. “That’s our new plan and you’re going to stick to it. Do you understand?”

“Have you gotten into the eggnog early?” I challenged. “You can’t tell me what to do. I’ll act as I see fit.”

Winnie crossed her arms over her chest and scorched me with a harsh look. “Do you understand?”

She clearly meant business. That meant I could either fight with her or capitulate and operate behind her back. The only question was: What was I in the mood for today? Decisions, decisions. “Fine. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“That’s great,” Winnie said, exhaling heavily. “We really appreciate it.”

“Yes, I’m always happy to help,” I said. “So … um … is that all? Can I go back to the living room and take a nap?”

“Actually, we were hoping you would spend some time with the girls this afternoon and put your new attitude on display,” Marnie hedged. “We thought it would be a good example for them to see you acting in a certain manner first.”

That sounded absolutely terrible, and I didn’t even know what they were trying to trick me into doing yet. “I think I’m good. I can show them how to act while taking a nap, too. I’ll definitely be on my best behavior then.”

Winnie wrinkled her nose. “That’s not what we have in mind.”

I could tell I was going to hate whatever plan they cooked up while I was distracted by the catalog in the other room. “And what did you have in mind?”

“Walkerville’s tree-lighting ceremony is this afternoon,” Twila said. “We thought you might want to take the girls to it.”

The only way they could have thought that was a legitimate possibility is if they started smoking crack when I wasn’t looking. “I think I’ll pass.”

This time Twila and Marnie crossed their arms over their chests and joined Winnie in a no-nonsense stance. It was supposed to be terrifying. It made me want to laugh.

“I still think I’ll pass,” I said.

Apparently Winnie wasn’t going to give me the chance, because she opened her mouth and bellowed to the second floor by way of forcing my hand. “Girls, your Aunt Tillie is going to take you to the tree-lighting ceremony. Get bundled up and down here in five minutes.”

“Yay!”

I heard Clove’s enthusiastic clapping through the ceiling and rolled my eyes. “Do you think that’s going to work on me?”

“Are you really going to disappoint them?” Winnie challenged. “They’ll cry.”

She had a point. Still … . “Fine,” I said, blowing out a resigned sigh. “I’ll take them.”

“And you’ll be on your best behavior,” Marnie added. “You need to set an example for them.”

“And I’ll be on my best behavior,” I conceded, striding toward the living room door before staring down all three of them. “You’re all on my list, though. Prepare yourselves for war.”

Yeah, I’ve got your jingle bells right here, people. Christmas is coming and I’m taking charge of the entire holiday. It’s going to be a bumpy sleigh ride. Strap in.

Two

“Are you ready?” I secured Clove’s pink combat helmet under her chin before pointing toward my plow truck. “Get in.”

My nieces worked under the misguided notion that I was a menace behind the wheel. They only agreed to allow the girls into my truck if they were well protected. That meant I had to purchase helmets and knee pads for them (in case they flew into the dashboard when I rammed a snow bank). I think their mothers were overreacting. The girls had a great time when we plowed.

Clove sat in the spot closest to me and Thistle and Bay fought over the window seat, as they always do. Instead of listening to them work things out on their own, I made the decision for them.

“Bay gets the window seat.”

Thistle, her blond hair sticking out in odd places under the helmet, made a face. “Why does Bay get the window seat?”

“Because I said so.”

That was never a good enough answer for Thistle. “Why else?”

“Because Bay is the oldest and I don’t have to worry about her opening the door when I’m plowing,” I replied. “I seem to remember someone opening the door two weeks ago because she wanted to see if she could hook it on to Mrs. Franz’s mailbox.”

“I did that once,” Thistle groused, hopping into the truck. “It didn’t work. I don’t see why you’re complaining.”

That kid cracks me up sometimes. I would never tell her, of course, but I love her attitude. Bay is much more serious than her younger cousin. I like her, too. She thinks things out before she does something stupid. That doesn’t mean she won’t do something stupid, mind you. She simply prefers thinking out all of the ramifications before embarking on mayhem. She has a pragmatic mind and a wild streak rolled together. It’s an interesting combination. As for Clove, well, these days she’s going through life relying on the fact that she’s cute. She’s smaller than both of her cousins and she’s found she can manipulate people if she fakes tears. I find that trait annoying, but it’s come in handy a time or two … or twelve. I’m not one to look a gift personality defect in the mouth, especially if it proves helpful.

“It’s only funny to take out mailboxes when no damage can be done to my truck,” I told Thistle as I climbed onto the driver’s seat and slipped the key into the ignition. “I don’t want my truck wrecked. Your mothers will find a reason to take it away from me if that happens. Mark my words.”

“You’re an adult,” Clove pointed out. “They can’t take something away from you if you don’t let them.”

“Don’t kid yourself,” I said. “I may be an adult and their elder, but they’re real pains in the behind when they want to be. They know how to get what they want … just like you.”

“Do they cry, too?” Thistle asked.

“I don’t cry,” Clove snapped, fastening the middle seat belt around both her and Thistle. “My eyes leak. There’s a difference.”

The kid may be young, but she’s a master at manipulation. “That’s a very good argument, Clove,” I said, putting the truck in reverse. “You keep that one handy when someone accuses you of crying to get attention. Tell them your eyes leak because your heart hurts. That will work until you’re at least twelve and start puberty.”

“That’s a great idea,” Clove said, smiling prettily.

I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going, so when the back of the truck rammed into a snow bank it took me by surprise. All three girls jerked forward. Thankfully the seatbelts – which I had to get installed and prove were in good working order before my nieces would let their daughters ride with me – kept them from flying into the dashboard.

“That came out of nowhere,” I muttered.

“How is that possible?” Thistle sputtered, rubbing her neck. “You’re the one who put the snow bank there.”

“And it’s a really good place for it,” I shot back. “I think it moved or something, though.”

“How?”

“You live in a house filled with magic, Thistle Winchester,” I reminded her. “How do you think it moved? I’m pretty sure your mothers did it as payback for that thing I did the other night.”

“Are you talking about when you stole all of their fresh cookies and replaced them with store-bought ones and then told Mom that we must have a cookie gnome?” Thistle asked.

“Cookie gnomes are real.”

“I think they’re as real as the house-trashing fairy you told us about this summer,” Thistle said. “You said that was real, too, but Mom says you made that up because you dirtied up the kitchen and didn’t feel like doing your dishes.”

“Your mother says a lot,” I said. “I had no idea she flapped her gums to that magnitude when I’m not around. What else does she say?”

Thankfully Thistle had no qualms about narcing on her mother. Most kids would balk at that. Thistle was her own person, though. “How much time do you have?”

“It will take me twenty minutes to get to town if I do some plowing along the way,” I said, shoving the gearshift into drive and pressing my foot to the gas pedal. “Start talking.”

“Well, she also says you’re lying when you say you’re going for a walk during the summer,” Thistle said. “She knows about your oregano field and thinks you put magic enchantments on it to keep her out.”

The front of the truck caught the edge of the large snow bank at the lip of the driveway, causing the truck to fishtail and bounce against the other bank as I overcorrected.

“Did they move that, too?” Clove asked.

I shrugged. “They must’ve. Keep going, Thistle. I’m dying to hear what else your mother told you when I wasn’t listening.”

Thistle happily recited a nonstop litany of terrible beliefs her mother held during the ride to town. I stopped to clear out Dorothy Sanderson’s driveway – swearing I would make Twila pay the entire time – and then I took the snow from her driveway and planted it in the already cleared spot in front of Margaret Little’s driveway across the street. The girls knew what I was doing but refrained from commenting. That was good. I trained them right – unlike their mothers.

By the time I hit town I was in an awful mood. It seems Twila, Marnie and Winnie want me to act a certain way and then tell lies behind my back when I don’t do as they want. Yes, lies. There really is a house-trashing gnome. I had a feeling they were going to meet it up close and personal before Christmas if they weren’t careful.

Walkerville was bustling with activity as I parked. The girls scrambled out of the truck, being sure to leave their helmets behind so the other kids wouldn’t make fun of them. I thought they should leave the helmets in place so they could go after their enemies hard and fast, but the girls thought differently.

They gathered on the sidewalk outside of the police station and waited for me to join them. I was about to tell them to run off and play (and not bother me for at least two hours) when their favorite police officer, Terry Davenport, walked out of the station’s front door. Bay immediately ran to him and threw her arms around his neck as he bent lower so he could be on her level.

A stranger passing by might assume Terry was Bay’s father – perhaps even Clove and Thistle’s dad as well – but he was merely a strong presence in their lives. He adored all of them, but he especially doted on Bay.

“Officer Terry,” Bay squealed excitedly. “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

“Are you here to give us presents?” Clove asked expectantly.

Unlike other adults who melted when they saw Clove’s big brown eyes, Terry was wise to her machinations. “It’s not Christmas, Clove,” Terry said. “You don’t get gifts until Christmas.”

Clove jutted out her lower lip. “There’s no rule that says that. That’s just what everyone decided and they made it a rule. It’s not a real one.”

“Well, I’m a rule follower,” Terry said, pointing toward the badge on his uniform jacket. “I’m a police officer. I have to follow the rules – whether they’re real or imagined.”

“Now, wait a second,” Thistle said, tapping her lip as her mind worked overtime. “I’m not a big fan of agreeing with Clove, but she might be on to something. We should have, like, ten days of presents before Christmas. I think that would be best for everyone.”

“You would,” Terry said, ruffling her hair and causing me to snicker as he turned his attention to Bay. “Have you been good girls this year? Will Santa leave you a lot of presents … or just one or two?”

“I’ve been good,” Clove announced. “I’m the best-behaved one, so I’ll get the most presents.”

Terry made a face. “Oh, yeah? What makes you think that?”

“Karma is a real thing,” Clove supplied. “My mom told me. That means I’m going to be rewarded.”

“I’m not quite sure it works that way,” Terry said dryly. “What about you, Thistle? Have you been good?”

“I don’t believe in karma,” Thistle replied. “I’ve been bad and I’ll get just as many things to open as Clove. Just watch. I’ll count to be sure.”

I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing. The kid’s attitude was a thing of beauty. Er, unless you were her mother, that is. I could see why Twila was worried. If Thistle puffed out her chest any further she’d fall over.

“Uh-huh.” Terry didn’t look convinced. “I know my Bay has been good,” he said, tickling her ribs. “What did you ask Santa for?”

“We want a special fairy castle,” Bay replied. “We want to share it, but I’m not sure Santa will bring it. It’s expensive.”

“Is that the ugly thing you marked in the catalog you left on the living room table?” I asked, furrowing my brow. “Why do you want that?”

“Because it’s pretty and it’s for witches,” Thistle replied.

“I thought you said it was a fairy castle?”

“Yes, but fairies are just pretty witches,” Clove said. “We all talked about it and that’s what we believe.”

“So don’t try changing our minds,” Thistle added. “If you can believe in the house-trashing fairy, we can believe that fairies and witches are the same thing.”

“I would never try changing your minds,” I said. “I don’t care either way. Why don’t you girls leave Terry to do his job and go get some hot chocolate or something? If we’re going to be stuck down here until they light up the tree, we might as well add chocolate and sugar to the mix to liven things up.”

Clove and Thistle were excited by the prospect, but Bay looked torn.

“I want to stay with Officer Terry,” Bay said. “I can help him work.” I love the kid, but she has a needy quality where Terry is concerned. He feeds into it.

“Officer Terry will be around,” I prodded. “Get some hot chocolate.” I handed a few dollar bills to Thistle before shooing Bay with my hands. “Go on.”

“We need more money than this,” Thistle said.

“That’s more than enough for three hot chocolates.”

“Yes, but you rammed us into ten snow banks on the way here,” Thistle said. “I counted. We want doughnuts, too. If you don’t give us doughnuts, we might accidentally tattle to our mothers about the snow banks.”

I was wrong. That kid is a menace. Can you believe she’s actually shaking me down for more money? “No one is going to believe I ran into ten snow banks on the way here.”

“Everyone who has ever seen you drive will believe it,” Terry countered. “Buy them the doughnuts.”

“You’re just a big softie where they’re concerned,” I grumbled, digging into my purse. I handed Thistle more money and narrowed my eyes. “If that gets out, you’re going to be at the top of my list.”

Instead of cowering, Thistle matched my stare with a menacing one of her own. “You’re not supposed to have a list,” she shot back. “You’re supposed to be leading by example.”

“You were listening by the heat vents again, weren’t you?”

“You said it was a classic for a reason,” Clove said. “Why would we stop?”

I really wish these kids would stop listening to me sometimes. “Fine,” I said, waving them off. “Do what you want. I really mean that. If Lila Stevens gives you guff, do something terrible to her.”

Thistle’s eyes gleamed at the prospect. “I’m on it.”

I shook my head as I watched them scamper away. When I finally shifted in Terry’s direction, I found him glaring at me. “What?”

“You shouldn’t tell them to do things like that,” Terry admonished. “They’re good girls, but they manage to find trouble on their own. They don’t need you helping them.”

He was so earnest I could do nothing but snort. “Don’t kid yourself,” I said. “They may look like angels, but there’s a little devil in each of them.”

“Especially Thistle,” Terry muttered.

“You’ve got that right,” I said, moving my eyes to the town. “When are they supposed to light the tree? I don’t want to be down here all night.”

“I’m surprised you’re down here at all,” Terry admitted. “You generally shun town activities.”

“Yes, well, I got tricked into being the dutiful aunt today,” I admitted. “Winnie, Marnie and Twila are on the warpath because they think Thistle takes her cues from me when it comes to having attitude.”

“I can believe that.”

I ignored him. “Personally, I think the entire thing would work itself out if they would stop making Bay and Clove follow the rules and unleash them on Thistle to exact their revenge,” I said.

“It’s probably a good thing you weren’t a parent,” Terry said, shaking his head. “I’m going to run over to the festival area and then make a loop around town. Keep an eye on the girls, will you? It gets dark early these days.”

“They’re little girls, not sunshine,” I said. “They don’t disappear just because the moon comes out.”

“Ha, ha,” Terry intoned. “They’re still children. They need to be watched.”

“You’re only saying that because you’re fond of them,” I said, falling into step next to him. “It’s a little pathetic the way you let them wrap you around their fingers.”

“I don’t care what you say,” Terry said. “I like spending time with them. They make me laugh.”

“They’re not bad kids,” I grudgingly admitted. “They’ll probably even be half-decent adults.”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said about them,” Terry deadpanned, making a face. “I still don’t understand why you’re on babysitting duty. That would seem like the worst possible choice if you ask me.”

“I’m an excellent babysitter,” I countered. “I could do it professionally if I wanted. As for the rest, I think my nieces are wrapping Christmas presents but they don’t want to admit it. Getting me and the girls out of the house for a few hours frees them to wrap and hide gifts.”

“Well, I guess that makes sense,” Terry said. “I … .” He didn’t get a chance to finish what he was saying because Bay, Clove and Thistle were making a ton of noise as they raced in our direction. They looked as if someone was chasing them, but the path behind their small bodies was clear. Terry’s eyes filled with concern as he caught Bay before she could skid and fall on the sidewalk. “Slow down. You’re going to hurt yourselves.”

“What’s going on?” I asked. “Did Lila do something to you? I’ll help you get her if you want. I’m bored anyway.”

“It’s not Lila,” Bay said, struggling to catch her breath as her chest heaved. “It’s something else.”

“What?”

“There’s a dead body over there,” Thistle volunteered, pointing toward a clump of trees on the other side of the town square. “Someone is dead!”

“Are you serious?” I asked, doubt washing over me.

Thistle licked her lips and nodded. “I swear there’s a dead guy over there!”

Well, merry freaking Christmas.

Three

“What do you mean you found a dead body?”

I’m not calling my great-nieces liars, mind you, but they have active imaginations. Clove has been convinced that a ghost lives in their closet for the past year. For the record, that’s me. Sometimes I like to move their stuff around just to mess with them. Some people might call me mean. Life is boring if you don’t get your kicks somewhere.

“I mean there was a man on the ground and he wasn’t moving,” Thistle said, drawing her words out so slowly it was almost excruciating. “It was almost as if he fell but didn’t get back up. Oh, wait, it was exactly like that.”

“Why are you talking like that?” Terry asked.

“So the old people will understand me,” Thistle replied. “By ‘old’ I mean you and Aunt Tillie.”

Terry scowled as he rested a hand on Thistle’s shoulder. “I’m not so old that I’m stupid,” he said. “How can you be sure this man was dead? Maybe he just fell down.”

“Because most people who fall down get back up,” Thistle answered. “Oh, they also breathe.”

Terry slid a dubious look in my direction. “What do you think?”

“I think they’re prone to dramatic fits,” I replied, not missing a beat. “I have no idea where they get it from.”

“I know exactly where they get it from,” Terry shot back, his eyes flashing. “Okay, girls, how about you show me where this dead body is?”

“I don’t want to go back,” Clove said. “I don’t want to see it again.”

“Fine. Then stay here alone.” I put my hand to the back of Bay’s neck and prodded her in the direction of the woods. Terry did the same with Thistle, and the look on Clove’s face as she considered remaining behind was priceless.

“You’re a mean old lady,” Clove grumbled as she scurried to keep up with us. “You knew I wouldn’t stay back there alone, didn’t you?”

“I had a hunch,” I replied, casting a glance at a few curious onlookers who stared at us from the festival area. I recognized one as Margaret Little. I couldn’t be sure if she’d discovered that the end of her driveway was buried in a foot of hard snow yet, but I looked forward to the showdown when she did. We’d known each other since our school days, and the hate was entrenched in us early. When she lifted her eyes I saw recognition flash in the depths of her hateful orbs and I knew she was well aware what of the state her driveway was in. I couldn’t stop myself from smiling and waving, launching her into a march in our direction.

“Why are you waving at her?” Terry asked, suspicious. I forget sometimes that he has keen eyesight. It’s both a blessing and a curse, depending upon what he’s investigating at any given moment. “You hate Margaret.”

“Yeah, she’s a real turd,” I agreed, causing Thistle to snort. “She’s one of those hard ones left to bake on the sidewalk in hundred-degree weather. She stinks, too.”

“I think she’s nice,” Clove interjected. “She gave me a piece of candy at the summer parade this year. It was shaped like a unicorn.”

“What did I tell you about taking candy from old crones who live in glass houses?” I challenged.

Clove wrinkled her nose. “Nothing. You told me not to throw water balloons at anyone other than dirty busybodies who had nothing better to do than spy on you when you were gardening, but you never mentioned anything about old crones and glass houses.”

“Well, I’m mentioning it now,” I said. “Don’t take candy from them.”

“What’s a crone?” Thistle asked.

“Margaret Little.”

“Don’t tell them that,” Terry snapped. “Margaret Little is a perfectly … .” He broke off, unsure how to proceed. I was fairly certain he was going to say “nice” and then realized how ludicrous the statement sounded. “She’s your elder and deserves respect,” he said, changing course. “Don’t listen to your aunt.”

“She’s our elder, too,” Bay pointed out. “Shouldn’t we respect her?”

“And that’s why you’re my favorite today,” I said, patting her shoulder. “You’re a good girl.”

“She’s our elder but she’s batshit crazy,” Thistle supplied. “We don’t have to respect batshit crazy. That’s her rule.”

“Don’t swear, Thistle,” Chief Terry ordered, taking her by surprise with his vehemence. “You’re a lady. You’re not supposed to curse like that.”

“That’s not a curse,” Clove argued. “A curse is when we wake up and none of our shoes will stay tied.”

“Or our hair won’t stay braided,” Bay added.

“Or we can’t stop farting and falling down,” Thistle said.

Terry is aware of the Winchesters’ witchy ways, but he goes out of his way to pretend otherwise. My nieces make a big deal of fawning over him in an attempt to get him to invite one of them on a date. I know they really like him, but they would chew him up and spit him out if he ever dated one of them. He’s smarter than I often given him credit for, though, because he refuses to play that game. He does, however, enjoy the casseroles and cakes they throw at him.

“Stop talking about that stuff,” Terry ordered. “I’m not kidding. That’s a … well … that’s a home conversation. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Clove shook her head. “No.”

“I do,” Thistle volunteered. “It’s like when we’re not supposed to talk about our mothers being attacked by the menstruation monster when we’re around strangers.”

Terry stilled as he grabbed the back of Thistle’s coat and tugged her toward him. “What did you just say?”

Thistle was too oblivious to be embarrassed. “The menstruation monster,” she said. “Aunt Tillie told us about it. It visits once a month at the same time for everyone. It could be worse because we could have three smaller monsters visiting at different times. Instead we get one big monster in the middle of the month.”

Terry’s face was full of outrage when he focused on me. “What is wrong with you?”

“You’ll need to be more specific,” I replied. “Answering that question could lead us in a hundred different directions.”

“And none of them are good,” Terry muttered, shaking his head. “I just … how could you tell them that?”

“The menstruation monster is real,” I said. “It lives with the house-trashing fairy and the sock-stealing gnome. No, that’s a true story.”

“You make me so very tired,” Terry grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Girls, which way is the body?”

Thistle pointed toward the woods. “Just on the other side of those trees,” she said. “You can’t miss it.”

Something occurred to me. “Why were you in the trees in the first place?” I asked. “You were supposed to be getting hot chocolate and doughnuts. That’s why you shook me down for extra money.”

“We were on our way there but we saw Lila was going inside so we decided to get something to give her as a Christmas gift before joining her,” Thistle answered. “It was only going to be a short side trip.”

“Uh-huh.” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know where this story was going. Oh, who am I kidding? The kid’s mind is a masterpiece when it comes to payback. She’s a joy to watch when she gets down to business. “What gift?”

“I’m not sure I should answer,” Thistle replied, darting a nervous look in Terry’s direction. “That might be a home conversation, too.” She tapped the side of her nose to give me the secret signal I had taught them years ago. It was for when she knew she was doing something naughty and didn’t want to own up to it.

“Gotcha,” I said, grinning.

Terry didn’t look nearly as happy with Thistle’s admission. “Gotcha? No, that’s not how we’re going to play this game. What were you going to give Lila, girls?”

“It was nothing big,” Clove answered. “It was just … snow. We were going to put it in a globe.”

“Snow?” Terry was understandably dubious. “I don’t get it.”

“Yellow snow,” Bay clarified. “We weren’t so much going to put it in a globe as her hair.”

“Ah,” Terry said. Even though he was trying to be serious, the corners of his mouth tipped up. “Did you find any?”

“We found a body instead.”

“Bummer.”

“Yeah, total bummer,” Bay said, her expression serious.

I was about to tell her not to worry about a body – it was far more likely they stumbled over a bag of garbage or even a half-drunk elf who lost his way to the tree-lighting ceremony – but I didn’t get the chance because that’s when Margaret finally caught up to us. Drat! I was hoping she would forget and turn around.

“Tillie Winchester!”

“She looks angry,” Terry said, stopping on the sidewalk before following the obvious trail in the snow the girls left during their yellow snow hunt a few minutes earlier. “What did you do to her?”

“Why do you think I did something to her?” I challenged. “I’m clearly the victim here.”

“Yes, I’m sure you are.”

I swiveled to face Margaret head-on, adopting a bored expression before she even opened her mouth. “Hello, Margaret. It’s so lovely to see you.”

“Oh, don’t even start with that,” Margaret snapped. “I’m not in the mood to mess around with you. I’m not playing games.”

“That’s probably good,” Thistle said. “You don’t look as if you’d be very good at them.”

I wanted to laugh, but Terry lightly swatted the back of Thistle’s head to quiet her. “What seems to be the problem, Margaret?”

“The problem?” Margaret’s face was so red I worried she’d pass out. “The problem is that you plowed in the end of my driveway -- like you always do -- and I almost got stuck.”

“That doesn’t really sound like a problem to me,” I countered. “In fact, I think the fact that you got out of the driveway is the real problem. The people of Walkerville would be much happier if you hibernated for the winter rather than left the house. I know. I took a poll.”

“Tillie.” Terry’s voice was low and full of warning. We were on a mission, after all.

“I was already late when I noticed the problem,” Margaret snapped. “I had to bring my world-famous Christmas cookies to the baking area to be judged, but they didn’t make it because I tried to drive through the snow and it’s too hard. The second I hit the bank they flew across the seat and ended up on the floor.”

“That sounds as if I saved the innocent people of Walkerville from botulism,” I said.

Margaret narrowed her eyes. “My cookies are famous.”

“You’ve said that twice now and I still don’t believe it,” I said. “How are they famous?”

“People love them.”

“People love street thespians, too. That hardly makes them famous.”

Margaret stomped her foot and made a shrill growling noise. She was clearly at her limit. I prefer when I push her over the limit and she explodes. I wonder what I can do to make that happen.

“I want her arrested, Terry,” Margaret announced. “She plowed in my driveway. That has to be a felony.”

Terry tilted his head to the side. “I don’t think so,” he said. “Plus, um, do you have proof it was her? Did you see her do it?”

“Well, no,” Margaret conceded. “She obviously wasn’t alone, though. These three … ruffians … were with her. Ask them what happened.”

Terry shifted his eyes to Thistle, Clove and Bay. He clearly didn’t like Margaret calling them names. He also looked worried about what they might say. I wasn’t worried in the least. I knew exactly what they would say.

“Ask them,” I prodded. “It’s okay.”

Terry cleared his throat. “Girls, did you see Aunt Tillie plow in Mrs. Little’s driveway?”

“No, sir,” Clove replied solemnly. She really is the best little liar in the world. “Aunt Tillie would never do that. She has a kind heart and a giving soul. It hurts my heart and makes my eyes leak to think someone would accuse her of doing something so wrong.”

Oh, that was priceless. I was going to have to get that kid a better Christmas gift.

“Thistle?” Terry prodded.

“Aunt Tillie didn’t do any plowing today,” Thistle replied. “I was with her the whole time.”

“Uh-huh.” Terry shifted his eyes to the small blonde in front of me. “Bay?”

If there was a weak link in this lying trio, it was Bay. It wasn’t because she couldn’t lie. She could tell whoppers to almost anyone. She couldn’t seem to bring herself to lie to Terry for some reason, though.

“I didn’t see her do anything wrong,” Bay said. It was sort of an evasion, but it did the trick. “Honest.”

“Well, you heard them,” Terry said. “They didn’t see Tillie do anything to your driveway.”

Margaret was annoyed. “Well, obviously they’re lying,” she said. “Girls, did you know it’s a crime to lie to a police officer? Terry is going to throw you in jail for lying.”

“Don’t tell them that,” Terry admonished. “I’m not putting them in jail. I don’t appreciate your threats.”

“That makes two of us,” I volunteered, smiling evilly when Terry turned his attention to the woods. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, we were on a mission when you approached.”

“So, nothing is going to happen to her?” Margaret pressed.

“She didn’t do anything, and she has three walking alibis,” Terry said. “I’m not going to do anything to her. Besides that, we need to look in those trees. The girls swear they saw a dead body.”

“A dead body?” Margaret was taken aback. “I … why would there be a dead body in the woods?”

“Probably because that’s where he died,” Thistle replied.

“But … that makes no sense,” Margaret said.

“Neither does the fact that you call your cookies ‘world-famous’ even though no one outside of Walkerville has ever eaten them,” I pointed out.

“They’re still delicious.”

“I heard they taste like butt crack,” I said, causing my three young charges to giggle as Terry rolled his eyes. “I’m a better cook than you’ve ever dreamed of being. I could do it professionally.”

“That’s a laugh,” Margaret said. “When do you ever cook?”

“I cook all of the time,” I shot back. “Girls, tell her I cook all of the time.”

That was apparently too far to push my partners in crime.

“Mom says all you cook up is trouble,” Thistle said.

“You and your mother are on my list,” I snapped, extending a finger. Thistle didn’t look particularly worried. “As for the cooking, well, I guess I’ll just have to show you.”

“Oh, yeah? How are you going to do that?” Margaret scoffed.

“I’m going to join the cookie contest,” I replied.

“I think it’s a baking contest,” Clove supplied.

“No one asked you.”

“Go ahead,” Margaret said. “I look forward to you falling on your face in public.”

“That makes two of us,” I fired back. Er, wait. I think that came out wrong.

Thankfully for me I didn’t get a lot of time to dwell on it because Terry drew my attention back to him by coughing and then pointing at the woods.

“We need to see if someone is in there,” Terry said.

“I already told you someone is in there,” Thistle said.

“Well, I need to see for myself.” Terry stepped off the sidewalk and marched into the trees, Thistle close to his side. I kept Bay in front of me as I followed. I wasn’t surprised to find Margaret following Clove and bringing up the rear. She always was a busybody.

“Where?” Terry asked when he got to the end of the footprints.

“He was right there,” Thistle said, pointing to an indentation in the snow. It did sort of look as if something had been resting there, but there were no footprints leading away.

“He’s not there now, though,” Terry said. “You don’t see him, right?”

“Duh.” Thistle rolled her eyes. “I’m not imagining things. I swear he was right there.”

“He was,” Clove said solemnly. “We all saw him. He had pink socks and everything.”

My forehead creased. “Pink socks?”

“I swear we saw them,” Clove said.

“Well, he’s obviously gone,” Terry said, forcing a bright smile for the girls’ benefit. “I doubt he was dead. He was probably just … resting.”

“No, he was definitely dead,” Thistle said.

“And I’m definitely bored,” Margaret said, turning to return to the sidewalk. “If this is their idea of the truth, I don’t know how you can believe them about Tillie and my driveway, Terry. I’m very disappointed in you.”

“Somehow I think I’ll live,” Terry said dryly.

Her tone irritated me. “I’ll see you on the baking court, Margaret.” Baking court? Is that a thing? Oh, well. It’s too late to take it back.

“I can’t wait,” Margaret said, huffing as she trudged through the snow.

I waited until I was sure she was gone before turning back to the girls. “I’m sure no one is dead. You probably made a mistake and didn’t understand what you were seeing.”

“The only thing we made a mistake on was lying about your plowing,” Thistle grumbled.

“What did you say?” Terry asked.

“They didn’t say anything,” I said hurriedly, motioning for them to come to me. “Come on, girls. I’ll get you some hot chocolate and doughnuts, and then we’ll head back to the house. I need to ask your mothers a favor.”

“Yeah, well we want candy now, too,” Thistle said.

“I think hot chocolate and doughnuts is more than enough,” Terry said.

Thistle ignored him and stared me down. I recognized the potential mayhem in her gaze. She would tell Terry the truth if I didn’t capitulate.

“Fine,” I gritted out. “Candy, too.”

Thistle was all smiles after that. “I think my work here is done.”

Well, she finally found something we could both agree on.

Four

“Absolutely not.”

My nieces weren’t nearly as keen to help me in my cookie endeavor as I initially envisioned. In fact, they were angry. Who saw that coming?

“Why not?” I asked, grabbing a piece of fudge from the platter on the counter. “I thought you liked baking.”

“I do like baking,” Winnie said. “I love baking, in fact. We have a ton of baking planned for the next week.”

“So give me some of those cookies.”

“No way.” Winnie shook her blond head and rested her hands on her hips as she stared me down. It was almost as if she was trying to send me a subliminal message. I wish she would just say whatever was poking at that busy brain of hers, because I’m not a mind reader.

“I don’t see what the problem is,” I said, breaking off a corner of my fudge brick and handing it to Clove. Marnie widened her eyes when she saw that. I’m not known for being much of a sharer. “Just give me a plate of your cookies and I’ll take them to the contest and pretend I made them.

“Then, when they hand out the blue ribbon, I’ll do a little dance to make Margaret Little feel like an idiot, and spend the purse on some new combat boots,” I continued. “I’ve had my eye on a pair in that catalog you brought home last week. They’re camouflage. I think they’ll make a statement.”

“And what statement is that?” Marnie asked, resting her hand on Clove’s shoulder. “While we’re at it, why did you give Clove a piece of your fudge?”

“I’m a giving soul.”

“Why really?”

I shrugged. “I guess I wasn’t thinking,” I lied. “What were we talking about again?”

My nieces grew up with me, so they know when I’m skirting the truth. I hate that. For the bulk of their childhood I was the kooky aunt who made them go on cemetery outings in the middle of the night. I was adventuresome and adored. I loved that. After their mother died, I had to be the disciplinarian. That ate away at some of the love. I loathed that, but I never once regretted taking them in. I like to think they’re strong and proud because of me.

“Why did Aunt Tillie give you fudge, Clove?” Marnie asked, pointedly focusing on her daughter.

“Because I lied to Officer Terry when Mrs. Little accused her of filling in the end of her driveway with snow,” Clove answered immediately, causing my stomach to flip. This wouldn’t end well.

“Hey, I bought off you little gluttons with hot chocolate, doughnuts and candy,” I reminded them. “I didn’t do that out of the goodness of my heart. It was a bribe. That means you need to shut your mouths.”

“I thought that was the rule when we were in front of other people,” Clove said, feigning innocence. “Whoops.”

“Yeah, well, I’m going to put that whoops up your behind if you’re not careful,” I warned.

“Oh, I feel so loved,” Clove deadpanned, earning a stern look from her mother. “What? I think my eyes are leaking.”

“Knock that off,” Marnie warned, wagging a finger in her daughter’s face. “That might work on other people, but it doesn’t work on me.”

“Nope. They’re definitely leaking.” Clove made a big show of swiping at her dry cheeks. “I think I hurt my heart.”

“Your butt is going to hurt if you don’t zip it,” Marnie shot back. “Good grief.”

“Why are you making them lie to Terry and Mrs. Little?” Winnie asked.

Was that a serious question? I can never tell. Winnie’s sense of humor comes and goes like a fart in a car when the window is cracked. Sometimes you’re certain it’s there and other times you think it escaped out the window. That’s how I felt today. “I didn’t tell them to lie.” That’s technically the truth. “They just did it. I have no idea why.”

“Why did you do it?” Winnie asked Bay.

“Because Aunt Tillie says that we should always protect family over everyone else, and that Mrs. Little is a crone who lives in a glass house,” Bay answered. “I’ve seen that house, though. Only the windows are glass.”

“That’s not really helping, Bay,” I said.

“I didn’t know that’s what I was supposed to be doing,” Bay said. “Can I go upstairs and read for an hour before dinner?”

“Sure.” Winnie smoothed Bay’s hair before the girl hopped down from her stool.

Bay flashed a smile in my direction as she headed for the stairs. “I’m sorry you’re in trouble, Aunt Tillie,” she sang out.

She didn’t sound sorry.

“I’m sorry, too,” Thistle said, touching my arm as she passed. “The doughnuts were delicious, though.”

“We’ll talk about the doughnuts when I track down you little turncoats later,” I said.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

Once it was just my three nieces and me, I found something fascinating to stare at on the wall. There was nothing there, but I’ve found that pretending I see things helps avoid an argument if I play the game correctly.

“Stop doing that,” Winnie said, lightly slapping my arm.

Apparently I was off my game today. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” I said. “I was actually helping clean out driveways … you remember Mrs. Franz, right? … and somehow the snow accidentally made it from the end of her driveway into Margaret’s yard. It was an accident.”

“You know we don’t believe that, right?” Marnie challenged. “I honestly don’t care about you filling in Mrs. Little’s driveway. That’s the least destructive thing you’ve done to her all year. I care about you teaching the girls to lie to Terry.”

“Technically only Clove and Thistle lied to Terry,” I said. What? If they’re going to turn on me, I’m going to pay them back. “Bay kind of talked around the situation. She didn’t tell an outright lie.”

Winnie seemed pleased with the knowledge. “Well, I guess that’s not bad for her then.”

“Yes, she’s a regular angel,” I deadpanned. “Now will you give me some cookies to take to the contest?”

“No.” Mean Winnie was back with a vengeance. “We’re not doing that. If you want to win the baking contest – and I think it would be great for you to get involved because it might keep you out of trouble for an afternoon – you need to make your own cookies.”

That didn’t sound like any fun at all. “Why would I bake my own cookies when there are piles of them in this house just waiting for me to pretend I baked them?”

“Because that’s cheating.”

“Since when do I care about that?”

Winnie scorched me with a look. “Since you’re supposed to be on your best behavior and leading by example,” she replied. “Your actions today weren’t what we had in mind.”

“Hey, the day was going fine until they claimed they saw a dead body in the woods,” I said. “I maintain they derailed things. I was an innocent bystander.”

“Yeah, that’s weird, right?” Twila said. “Do you really think there was a body out there?”

I shrugged. “It looked like something had been resting in the snow, but for all we know it was a bag of garbage,” I said. “Also, maybe someone did fall down. Maybe one of the elves got drunk. I have no idea what they really saw. It clearly wasn’t a dead body, though.”

“Well, that might be the only bit of good news we’ve gotten today,” Marnie said. “You need to be careful about what you say in front of those girls. Remember what we talked about before you left. Set a good example.”

“Yeah. I’ll never forget that conversation.” Mostly because it was so excruciating it was seared in my mind forever, I silently added. “Is that all?”

“Yes,” Winnie answered. “Dinner will be ready in an hour.”

“Can I steal some cookies?” Asking one more time couldn’t possibly hurt.

“No.”

“Fine,” I huffed. “I want you all to know you’re on my list, though.”

“We were on your list this afternoon,” Twila pointed out.

“Yes, but this time I’m going to do something about it,” I said, stalking toward the door. “You’re all going to pay for ruining my day. Mark my words.”

Winnie appeared completely disinterested in my threat. “Wash your hands before you come to dinner. I can see you’ve been busy with the fudge, and you refuse to use a napkin unless we make you.”

I narrowed my eyes. Clearly they’d gone too long without having to pay for their transgressions. I would fix that right up.

I FOUND the girls getting dressed in their bedroom the next morning, the smell of bacon wafting through the vents and informing me that their mothers were already downstairs cooking. They seemed surprised by my appearance, mostly because I generally showed up in their room only after they vacated the premises and I wanted to mess with them.

“What do you want?” Thistle asked, instantly suspicious. “If you’re here to pay us back for yesterday, I’m prepared to scream and call for my mother.”

“Oh, like that really terrifies me,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Your mother frightens me least of the three.”

“I’ll scream for my mother, too,” Clove warned.

“I’m still not frightened.” I looked to Bay. Her expression was unreadable.

“I’m too tired to scream,” Bay said. “I didn’t sleep well.”

Now that I gave her a good once over, she did appear paler than usual. I pressed my hand to her forehead as I studied the dark circles under her eyes. “Are you sick?”

“Eww. If you’re sick, get away from me,” Thistle said, shoving Bay’s arm. “I don’t want to get sick right before Santa comes. That would be the biggest holiday bummer of them all.”

“I’m not sick,” Bay said, glaring at her cousin. “I just didn’t sleep well.”

“Why not?” I asked, pulling my hand away. “You don’t feel warm.”

“I had nightmares,” Bay said. “I saw the man in the woods, and he was haunting us.”

This was a difficult situation because Bay could actually see and talk to ghosts. It was a family gift she inherited from me. Unlike the other gifts – like the ability to curse people and make magical potions to play with your enemies – the ghost gift was difficult to bear. I was fairly certain Bay would rather surrender it than keep it. That wasn’t in the cards for her, though.

“Did you actually see this man or was it a dream?” I asked.

Bay realized what I was asking right away. “It was a dream,” she said. “He was chasing me through the house. Instead of pink socks, though, he didn’t have feet and he was bleeding from the ankles.”

“Oh, gross,” Clove said, wrinkling her nose. “Thanks so much for telling me that. Now I’m going to have nightmares.”

“I won’t,” Thistle said. “I’m far scarier than any guy without feet.”

Sadly, I figured she was probably right. “Girls, there was no body in the woods,” I said. I saw no point in letting them freak themselves out when there was no reason – or benefit for me – and I hoped I’d be able to calm them since I had a favor to ask. “The time between when you found him and we made it back to that spot was less than ten minutes. Where did he go?”

“Maybe someone killed him and dragged his body away,” Clove suggested.

“There were no drag marks, and you need to stop watching horror movies with your cousins because they always make you see things that aren’t there,” I chided.

“Maybe he died and came back as a zombie,” Thistle said. “I saw that on a movie the other day. All of these people were in a farmhouse and zombies were going after them. They died first, and then got up and started walking.”

“Zombies aren’t real,” I said. “You need to stop watching so much television, too.”

“I saw that movie, and I didn’t understand why they didn’t run,” Bay interjected. “The zombies were really slow. They were like Aunt Tillie on mornings before she has her coffee.”

“Don’t make me add you to my list,” I warned, extending a finger and making her giggle. “There was no body in the woods. I don’t know what you think you saw, but it wasn’t a body.”

“It was,” Thistle said, stubbornly crossing her arms over her chest. “We know what we saw. You can’t convince us otherwise.”

“Fine. It was a zombie.” I held up my hands to signify defeat. “If we’re lucky he’ll head to Margaret’s house and we won’t have to worry about him. She’s so old and gristly it will take him years to gnaw through all of her skin and bones.”

“You’re so gross,” Clove said, making a face.

“Not that we’re not glad to see you, because we are, but why are you up here?” Bay asked. In some ways she’s the smartest of the trio.

“I’m not happy to see you,” Thistle said. “I am curious about why you’re here, though.” In other ways she’s smartest of the group.

“I’m totally happy to see you and don’t care why you’re here,” Clove added. She’ll never be the smartest of the group, but she has her own special blend of mayhem that’s going to be intriguing to watch as she grows older.

“I have a favor to ask of you,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “I figure you owe me after tattling to your mothers last night.”

“What do you want?” Bay asked, suspicious.

“She wants us to bake her cookies,” Thistle said. “She couldn’t con our mothers into doing it and now she has no one to ask but us.”

Okay, she has control of the collective brain today. That much is obvious. “I’ll pay you,” I offered.

“How much?” Clove asked.

“Five dollars.”

“Fifty and you have a deal,” Thistle countered.

“Fifty?” What a bunch of money-hungry jerks. They almost make me proud. “I’m not giving you fifty bucks for cookies. There’s no way.”

“Then we’re not baking you cookies,” Thistle said.

“Hold up,” Bay said, putting her hand on Thistle’s arm. Her blue eyes were keen when they locked with mine. “I have a solution that helps everyone, and it doesn’t involve money.”

“I’m all ears,” I said.

“We’ll bake your cookies if you help us figure out who died in the woods,” Bay suggested.

I opened my mouth to argue about whether or not they really saw a body and then snapped it shut. I was convinced no one died in the woods. I was equally convinced it couldn’t hurt to pretend to investigate a fake death with them.

“Fine,” I said, extending my hand. “You have a deal.”

“We want hot chocolate while we’re investigating, too,” Thistle said, staying Bay’s hand before she could seal the deal. “We might want some doughnuts, too.”

“Don’t push your luck,” I warned.

“Fine, hot chocolate is enough.”

I shook three small hands and exchanged multiple big smiles as visions of Margaret’s face when she realized I stole the blue ribbon from her danced through my head. My reverie lasted only a few moments, though, because Bay’s pragmatism dragged me back to solid ground.

“How are we going to bake without our mothers knowing?” she asked.

“You leave your mothers to me,” I said. “I have everything under control.”

I was almost sure of it.

Five

“What are we doing?”

Thistle jerked her head away when I tried to secure the strap of the blue combat helmet under her chin. She was naturally suspicious where I was concerned. I don’t blame her.

“We’re going to town,” I replied. “You have to wear your helmet. I made a promise to your mothers.”

“Yes, but you lie all of the time,” Thistle pointed out. “What makes this different?”

“I don’t lie all of the time,” I corrected. “I expound on certain facts that other people might not believe are facts. It’s different.”

Bay made a face. “Facts are supposed to be something everyone agrees on. That’s how they end up in research books.”

Now it was my turn to make a face. “You need to stop spending so much time with your nose in books because you’re going to grow up to be boring if you’re not careful,” I chided. “Men like smart women, but they don’t like boring women. Well, I guess that’s not true. Some men like boring women. Those aren’t the type of men you want to associate with, though. Wait … what was I saying again?”

“You were saying that Bay is boring and I’m funny and cute,” Thistle replied.

“That’s not what I was saying,” I said, remembering where I was in the conversation. “As for facts being universal, that’s not even remotely true. Facts are affected by individual perspective. No, I’m telling the truth. That’s a real scientific fact. I’m good at science. I could be a scientist professionally.”

Bay wrinkled her nose as she fastened the strap of her purple combat helmet under her chin. She never gave me issues about wearing the helmet. I think it’s because she’s smart enough to recognize her own mortality. She’s a worrisome little thing sometimes. Kids her age shouldn’t be fixated on death. Because she sees ghosts, though, I think her life is going to be filled with crud like that.

“That doesn’t change the fact that you lie to other people all of the time, and I don’t want to wear this helmet,” Thistle said. “It makes me look stupid.”

“You do that to yourself,” I said. “Also, there’s a difference between lying to other people and making a promise to your mothers. I swore I would keep you safe because they seem to love you. I personally don’t get it. I mean … I would’ve left you in the woods for wolves to eat when you were little if I had my druthers, but I promised my nieces, and that means you’re wearing that helmet.”

“You don’t have to wear a helmet,” Clove pointed out. “Why?”

“Because her head is hard and only a rock could break it,” Thistle answered for me. “I heard Mom saying that to Aunt Marnie last week.”

“Your mother’s mouth is absolutely huge,” I said. “She’s going to cry her eyes out when I bring up all of these fun tidbits she’s been passing on to you girls while I’ve been too distracted to notice.”

“Well, that might be fun, too,” Thistle said as she stopped fidgeting with the helmet. She was apparently resigned to wearing it into town to start our investigation.

“Did you guys feed and water the dog?” I asked. The mutt they coveted beyond everything slept on a blanket in front of the fire most of the time when it was cold, but they were fairly diligent about taking care of the Christmas gift I secured for them a few years ago.

“Yes, Sugar had breakfast and went outside,” Bay answered. “I think he’s hoping Mom bakes again later today. Something always seems to fall on the kitchen floor when Sugar is around.”

“Yes, well, your mother is a sap,” I said, gesturing toward the truck. “Everyone needs to get in so we can get going. I have an idea about who you might’ve seen in the woods.”

“You do?” Thistle appeared to be caught between excitement and doubt. She didn’t fully trust me. She probably never would. Smart girl.

“I do,” I confirmed. “We just have one quick stop to make before we hit town.”

“Are you going to plow in Mrs. Little’s driveway again?” Clove asked as she settled in the middle of the seat next to Thistle.

“That’s a horrible thing to ask me,” I said. “Do you think I’m purposely mean to people?”

Clove answered without hesitation. “Yes.”

“Well, it’s good that you recognize people for what they are,” I said. “We are stopping by Mrs. Little’s on our way to town.”

“Yay!” Clove clapped her hands as I circled the truck and climbed into the driver’s seat.

“Is everyone ready?” I asked. Three solemn heads nodded. “Great.”

“Just one thing,” Thistle said, locking gazes with me. “Have you ever thought that the snow would be even better at the end of the driveway if it was yellow?”

I tilted my head to the side as I considered the question. “I like the way your mind works. Yellow snow it is.”

“Double yay!” Clove clapped again.

“That gets annoying sometimes,” I informed her.

“My eyes leak when you say things like that.”

“WHERE ARE we?”

Bay’s expressive blue eyes were cloudy as I led the girls along the sidewalk in a quiet Walkerville neighborhood. I was still riding high from the Yellow Snow Extravaganza (all of the girls got in on the fun) in front of Margaret’s house. I had no idea when she would see it. I was really looking forward to the outcome, though.

“This is Maple Street,” I informed her, making sure Clove and Thistle were right behind us before focusing on the small ranch house, which was located in the final plot of a dead-end street in one of the most rundown neighborhoods in the area. “I think this is where your dead guy lives.”

“How do you know that?” Thistle asked. “This morning you didn’t believe us that a dead body even existed.”

“I still don’t think anyone died,” I said, opting for honesty. “I do think maybe you saw someone passed out, though. It didn’t hit me until you mentioned the pink socks. I happen to know someone who wears pink socks.”

“Who?”

I gestured toward the house. “Edgar Martin.”

The name didn’t spark any sort of recognition from the girls.

“Who is that?” Clove asked. “Do we know him?”

That was a good question. “Do you remember at the summer festival when that guy got really loud and told everyone aliens abducted him and that’s why he was late mowing lawns so it would be unfair to fire him?”

“No.”

“Oh, I guess that was a little late for you guys to be out,” I said, rubbing my chin. “Do you remember at the lake this summer when that guy was floating on the water and they called the fire department to resuscitate him – I mean fill his lungs with oxygen as a gag – and he claimed aliens dropped him in the lake by accident?”

Bay knit her eyebrows. “I remember the fire truck but not a man.”

“Okay.” I tilted my head to the sky and racked my brain for something they would remember. I snapped my fingers when a good memory pushed its way to the forefront. “Do you remember at the pet parade before Halloween this year when a guy dressed like a unicorn and pretended to walk himself and tried to win the big prize?”

“Oh, him?” Thistle made a disgusted face. “Mom said he was drunker than you during a solstice celebration.”

I couldn’t hide my scowl. “Your mother and I are going to have a really long talk before this is all said and done. I had no idea she’s so … chatty.”

“Aunt Twila never shuts up,” Clove said. “I don’t know why you think it’s so weird.”

“No one asked you,” I shot back. “As for Edgar, yes. He’s the one who pretended to be a unicorn, because he was drunk. He was drunk in all of those stories. That’s why I think there’s a good possibility you found him passed out and not dead in the woods.”

Bay ran her tongue over her upper lip as she considered the possibility. “I still think he was dead,” she said finally.

These kids are stubborn. “Well, did you see his ghost?”

“No.”

“Don’t you think you would’ve if he died alone and afraid in the woods?” I challenged.

“Not if he was drunk and passed out in the snow,” Bay replied. “I saw a thing on the Discovery Channel about dying in the cold. It’s just like going to sleep. Ghosts hang around because they’re sad about dying. Maybe he wasn’t sad about dying.”

I hate it when the little imp has a point. “Let’s just knock on the door and see if Edgar is home,” I suggested. “That way you’ll be able to see him and tell me if he’s the body you saw.”

“What if he doesn’t answer?” Clove asked.

“We’ll cross that road when we come to it.”

“Okay, but I agree with Bay,” Clove said, falling into step with me as we traipsed toward the front door. “I’m pretty sure he was dead.”

“Did your eyes leak?”

“They wanted to.”

I pursed my lips to keep from laughing and knocked on the door three times in quick succession when we reached the top of the porch. The girls watched expectantly as I leaned closer to listen for the telltale sounds of someone stirring inside. The house was still.

I knocked again and got the same result. Thistle grew more smug with every unanswered knock.

“I think he’s dead,” Bay said finally, crossing her arms over her chest. “I hate to say I told you so, but … .”

“I wouldn’t finish that sentence if I were you,” I warned, extending a finger. “He’s not dead. He’s just … passed out. He’s dead to the world, so to speak, but he’s not really dead.”

“You don’t know that he’s even inside,” Thistle argued. “You can tell us that until your lips fall off from lying, but we know the truth. He’s not in there. He’s dead.”

“You’re letting your imaginations get away from you.”

“No, we’re not,” Clove said. “You didn’t see him in the snow. We did. We know he’s dead.”

“Oh, geez.” I pinched the bridge of my nose to ward off an oncoming headache. “Will you girls believe me if I take you inside and show you Edgar is passed out?”

“How are you going to do that?” Bay asked, suspicious.

I pointed toward the large window at the front of the house. “We can go through there.”

Clove’s mouth dropped open. “That’s breaking the law!”

“You weren’t so bothered by that when we put yellow snow at the end of Margaret’s driveway,” I pointed out.

“Yes, but we can’t get in trouble for that because we’re too young to drive,” Thistle said. “We can get in trouble for this. We know better than to break into someone’s house.”

“Mostly because we’ve gotten in trouble with the police before when you made us do it,” Bay added.

“I didn’t make you do anything,” I countered. “You wanted to do it. You enjoyed it, in fact. It’s not my fault we got caught. That was a fluke.”

“I don’t know.” Clove rubbed her mitten-covered hands together. “What if we get caught?”

“We won’t get caught.” I was fifty percent sure that was true. “We’ll go in through the window, I’ll show you that Edgar is passed out inside and not dead, and then we’ll go out through the front door. You can let go of this dead body crap, and we’ll return home so you can bake my cookies.”

“What if we go in there and he’s not the guy we saw in the woods?” Bay asked.

“Then we’ll keep looking.”

“I don’t know.” Bay hopped from one foot to the other as her gazed bounced between Clove and Thistle. “What do you guys think?”

“I don’t want to break the law,” Clove answered.

“I don’t care about breaking the law,” Thistle said. “I just don’t want to get caught.”

“We won’t get caught,” I said. “Trust me.”

“YOU ARE in so much trouble!”

Terry’s face was full of fury as he crossed his arms over his chest and tapped his foot on Edgar’s snow-covered front porch twenty minutes later. He caught us in the act as we tried to force Clove through the open window – and convince her to open the front door once she was inside. Apparently the neighbors saw us or some such crap. That’s what Terry told us when he dragged us outside anyway.

“I was doing a public service,” I said, forcing myself to remain calm. “The girls have been working themselves up because they’re convinced they saw a dead body yesterday. I was simply trying to prove to them that they were wrong.”

“And how did that end up with you breaking into a house?” Terry asked.

“Well, they mentioned they saw pink socks,” I replied. “I saw Edgar wearing pink socks the day he dressed like a unicorn. I figured they didn’t see a dead body but a dead drunk passed out in the snow. I wanted them to give up on the dead body business before it consumed them.”

“Yes, that sounds very virtuous of you,” Terry snapped sarcastically. “I don’t believe you for a second, though.”

“That’s because you’re a very suspicious person.”

“Did it ever cross your mind that you should just knock?” Terry asked. “That’s what a normal person would do.”

“We did knock,” Thistle said. “No one answered. That’s how we knew this dude was dead.”

“That’s very callous, Thistle,” Terry said. “You don’t know anything of the sort. I’m not convinced you saw anything in the woods yesterday.”

“Do you think we’re liars?” Bay’s lower lip jutted out. “I’m not a liar.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I know you’re not a liar,” Terry said, melting in the face of childhood anguish. He rested his hand on her shoulder as he knelt next to her. “I think you saw something in the woods and thought it was one thing when it was really another.”

“That’s not what happened,” Clove said. “We saw a body.”

“No, you didn’t,” Terry said.

“If we didn’t see a body, where is the crazy unicorn guy?” Thistle challenged. “He’s not in there. We looked around before you caught us.”

“You mean you looked around before I caught you doing something illegal,” Terry corrected.

“My eyes are leaking.” Clove pressed her fingers over her eyelids. “My heart hurts.”

“Stop that right now,” Terry ordered, wagging a finger in Clove’s direction before turning his eyes to me. “Are you happy? You’re turning them into criminals.”

“I’m unhappy about being caught,” I answered honestly. “The criminal stuff doesn’t bother me. And, truth be told, I am slightly worried that they really did see Edgar out there. What if he’s lit and took off in the woods? He could die. It’s cold out, and we both know he doesn’t monitor his drinking.”

“I … .” Terry broke off as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll see if I can find out where he is to put everyone’s mind at ease. That doesn’t mean you guys are off the hook, though.”

“Are you going to throw us in jail?” Clove asked, horrified. “I won’t do well in jail. Aunt Tillie told me. I’ll be the first one made to be a … what did you call it?”

“Prison wife,” I answered, not missing a beat.

Terry scowled. “Don’t tell her things like that,” he snapped. “I cannot believe you brought them here. I just … what is the matter with you?”

I had two choices. I could tell him the truth and admit to bribing the girls for cookies or come up with a lie that made me look better. It wasn’t a hard decision.

“Bay had nightmares last night, and she’s pale,” I said, pointing toward the blonde. She was Terry’s favorite and he would fall all over himself if he thought she was legitimately upset. “She’s going to make herself sick if she keeps at it. I was trying to make things easier for her.”

“Are you sick?” Terry tilted Bay’s chin so he could study her face. “You do have circles under your eyes. Maybe you shouldn’t be running around in the cold.”

Well, that worked like a charm.

“I’m okay,” Bay said. “I know he’s dead, though. I can feel it.”

“Oh, yeah?” Terry asked, his eyes sympathetic. “What do you feel?”

“Cold.”

“I think that’s because you’re outside,” Terry said, scooping up Bay and glaring at me. “Come on, girls. I’ll walk you back to the truck and buckle you in. Aunt Tillie is taking you home. There will be no more breaking the law today.”

“But … we’re not done,” Thistle complained.

“Oh, you’re done,” Terry muttered.

I tapped Clove’s head to get her attention as I marched behind her. “When we get to the truck, tell him your eyes are leaking because you love him so much,” I ordered. “He won’t be able to yell at us if you do that.”

Clove’s smile was serene. “I’m on it.”

Six

“It’s snowing.”

The ride home was mostly quiet, all four of us lost in thought. The girls were convinced Edgar was dead in the woods somewhere, and even though I didn’t want to admit it I was beginning to wonder if they were right.

They were so quiet – which worked against the norm, let me tell you – that I almost forgot they were in the truck with me.

I shifted my eyes to Bay as she stared out the window. She’d always been entranced by snow. Don’t get me wrong, she prefers warm weather in the summer, but she likes snow for Christmas. I kind of like it, too.

“It is,” I agreed, smiling as the large flakes pelted down from the sky. “It looks as if it’s going to be a big snow, too.”

“We should plow on the way home,” Thistle said. “That way we can check on the yellow snow.”

I really do like the way that kid’s mind works. “We can do that,” I said. “In fact, why don’t we head that way now?”

“I thought you wanted us to bake?” Clove challenged. “Wasn’t that the whole point of today’s trip?”

“Clove, the whole point of today’s trip was to prove to you guys that you didn’t find a dead body in the woods,” I said. “I think I’ve done that.”

“You have not,” Thistle scoffed. “You’re only saying that to make us think something that’s not true. I know the way your mind works. You can’t fool us.”

I knew the way her mind worked, too, and she was right.

“She’s not trying to fool us,” Bay corrected. “She’s trying to convince herself that she’s right and we’re wrong. She’s worried we really did see something and that Edgar Martin is dead and she doesn’t want to be responsible for finding his body.”

How in the heck did she figure that out? The older they get, the shrewder they get. It’s frightening. If they all put their heads together now they come close to outsmarting me. Don’t ever tell them I said that, by the way. I’ll deny it to my dying day.

“I don’t think he’s dead,” I said. “I think he was passed out when you guys came across him. Then I think being in the cold woke him and he wandered off.”

“You said there were no tracks leading away,” Thistle pointed out.

I did say that. Crud. “Maybe he stepped in the tracks you already made,” I suggested. Hey, that’s actually a possibility. I warmed to my subject. “Maybe he woke up and saw the tracks and followed them out and we didn’t notice because we got distracted.”

Thistle snorted. “You’ll say anything to make us believe you’re right.”

That was also true. I decided to change the subject before things got out of hand. “Who wants to plow?”

Clove and Bay immediately raised their hands while Thistle took a moment to think. I narrowed my eyes as I watched her. I had no idea what was going through that busy mind of hers, but whatever it was couldn’t be good.

“Can we go by Lila’s house and mess with her driveway?” Thistle asked finally.

Now that sounded like a plan. “Absolutely,” I said, taking the girls by surprise as I did an immediate U-turn. “We’ll hit her house first and then swing back around by Margaret’s place before going home. Your mothers are supposed to be shopping this afternoon – don’t worry, I asked to make sure – and that gives us a window to make cookies.”

“Let’s do it,” Thistle said. “I think we should make the snow in front of Lila’s house yellow, too.”

“No, not yellow,” Bay said, her face lighting up. “We should make that snow brown … like poop.”

I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing. They were young, so they couldn’t think of truly evil things to do to their enemies yet, but they were getting there fast. “I couldn’t be prouder of you girls if I birthed you myself.”

The truck jolted as I got too close to the side of the road, and I cast a surprised look in that direction. “Huh. What was that?”

“You took out Mr. Dorchester’s mailbox,” Thistle replied, blasé. “It was that red one that looked like a barn.”

“Oh, well, that was ugly anyway,” I said. “He must’ve moved it.”

“Yeah. I’m sure he did.”

“IT SAYS here you need one stick of butter and a half cup of salt,” I said, resting my chin on the counter as I sat on a stool and watched Clove and Bay work behind the counter. Thistle, much like me, had no interest in baking and sipped a cup of tea as she watched her cousins work. I decided to read the ingredients to them to hurry things along because our plowing excursion took longer than I initially planned. By the end of the trip we added two other enemies to the list because we were having so much fun. The brown snow really did look like a pile of poop, by the way. It was glorious.

“There’s no way it says to use half a cup of salt,” Bay argued, her forehead creasing into a tense vee. “That would make the cookies taste way too nasty.”

How could she possibly know that? It’s not as if she’s a baker. “It says salt,” I shot back. “I’m not blind. I know how to read.”

Bay wasn’t convinced and she snatched the cookbook from me so she could look at the recipe. “It says we need half a cup of sugar and one tablespoon of salt,” she corrected. “Where are your glasses?”

Well, now she was just hitting below the belt. “I don’t need glasses,” I argued. “Glasses are for old people. I have perfect vision. I could be a sniper in the military if I wanted. Seriously, I could kill people for a living.”

“I don’t think anyone disagrees with that,” Thistle said. “You wouldn’t do it with a gun, though. You would do it with your fingers and mind.”

She had a point. “I still think salty cookies are probably delicious,” I said. “Put extra salt in.”

“Do you want to win or do you want to be right?” Bay challenged, taking me by surprise. “In this case you can’t do both.”

And that right there is why I’m convinced she’s the smartest in the group some days. She can read me like a children’s book with only pictures. “Who says I can’t be both?”

“Common sense and taste buds.”

I made a face. “Fine. I want to win.”

“You only want to win so you can torture Mrs. Little,” Thistle said knowingly as she slurped her tea. “Why do you hate her so much?”

That was a story they were definitely too young to hear. It was such a bad story I didn’t want to know it. Plus, in the end, I didn’t come out looking like much of a role model. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not keen on being a role model, but despite what everyone says, there are a few things in my past that cause me shame. My association with Margaret is one of them.

“She’s a bad person,” I answered after a beat. “It’s not just that she does bad things. She has a bad heart, too.”

“Unlike you,” Bay mused. “You like to do naughty things, but Mom says you have a good heart. She says you have the best heart sometimes. She just wishes you weren’t so naughty.”

“I guess you get that from me, huh?” I teased, my eyes flashing. “I don’t generally consider myself naughty. It’s more that I’m … active … and I work faster than most people think. That makes me a genius of sorts.”

Thistle giggled so hard I thought she was going to snort her tea through her nose.

“I was being truthful,” I said.

“You’re so funny,” Thistle said. “I want to be just like you when I grow up … only meaner.”

I shot her an appraising look. “I think that’s the nicest thing you ever said to me.”

“Yeah? Well, don’t get used to it,” Thistle said. “I want a mean reputation like you.”

I stilled, the admission catching me off guard. “Do you really think I have a mean reputation?”

Thistle nodded. “People are afraid of you. I want them to be afraid of me, too.”

“I don’t think you have much to worry about there,” I said. “I heard the principal called your mother in at the end of the semester and told her that everyone in your class is frightened of you.”

“They’re easy, though,” Thistle said. “All I have to do is threaten to knock them down and make them cry to get them to do what I want. I need to start scaring adults. That’s what I’m really looking forward to doing.”

For the first time I realized exactly how much she reminded me of myself. I make jokes about it sometimes because I find it amusing, but perhaps her mother is right. I would never admit it to my nieces, but Thistle was clearly getting close to crossing a line from which she might not be able to return.

“Listen, mouth,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “I know you think it’s all fun and games to terrorize people – and it does have its merits, I’m not going to lie – but you don’t want to be so mean that you chase everyone away. It’s good to have a few people in your corner no matter who you are.”

Thistle didn’t look convinced. “You don’t have people in your corner.”

I arched a challenging eyebrow. “Oh, really? What about your mothers? What about the three of you? What about Officer Terry?”

“But … you fight with all of us,” Thistle said.

“Fighting is not the same as scaring everyone away,” I said. “Think about it, do you really want to go through life without the rest of us? If you continue down this path, you’re going to scare everyone away. You might not care about those twerps in your school, but I’m guessing you would be pretty sad if you scared away Bay and Clove.”

Thistle rubbed her cheek as she tilted her head and considered my words. “I don’t want to scare everyone away,” she said finally. “I also want to terrify people when I hate them and they’re evil. Can I do both?”

I smiled. “It’s a balancing act,” I said. “Something tells me you’re up to the challenge of balancing two worlds, though. Just … think about it.”

“Okay, but I’m still going to be mean to you when I feel like it,” Thistle hedged.

“I would expect nothing less.”

“IN THE name of the Goddess … what in the hell happened here?”

I lost track of time hanging out with the girls in the kitchen and before I realized what was happening I found Winnie, Marnie and Twila staring at the trashed room with what can only be described as outright fury. They held shopping bags in their hands as they gaped at the flour-covered counters and greased cookie sheets. Bay and Clove were just as messy as the counters.

“It’s not what you think,” I said hurriedly, racking my brain for an acceptable excuse. “We were attacked by a … flour gnome and it was so out of control I had to vanquish it. We just got through fighting it. Yeah, that’s it.”

Winnie made a disgusted face as she dropped her grocery bags on the floor. “A flour gnome? Do you really expect me to believe that?”

Was that a trick question? “Um … you tell me.”

“We know what you were doing,” Marnie said, resting her bags on the dining room table as she wrinkled her nose and stared at the mess. “You conned them into making you cookies for the contest. I just … what were you thinking?”

“Well, I certainly didn’t bribe them, if that’s what you’re asking,” I said. Wait … should I have said that? Probably not. That’s what happens when you add bourbon to your tea when no one is looking. This wouldn’t end well.

“She bribed you?” Winnie’s eyes widened as she locked gazes with Bay. “What did she give you?”

Bay looked caught. “Um … .”

“She told us she would help us find the dead body if we helped her make cookies,” Thistle replied, moving down a stool when I lashed out to slap her arm. She expected the move. “We thought it was a fair trade.”

“We?” Bay challenged. “You drank tea. You didn’t help with anything.”

“I was super … super … .” Thistle often grappled to find the right word to express what she was feeling.

“Supervising?” Twila suggested.

Thistle snapped her fingers. “Yeah, that’s it. I was supervising. Someone had to make sure Clove and Bay didn’t make a mistake.”

“I’m pretty sure that was my job,” I said dryly.

“Says the woman who thought we should use half a cup of salt,” Bay grumbled.

“I heard that,” I said.

“I wasn’t whispering,” Bay shot back.

“Okay, that’s enough of that,” Winnie said, grabbing Bay’s arm and tugging her away from the counter. “You need to go upstairs and take a bath. Wash all of that flour off. Dinner will be ready in an hour, so make sure you’re not late.”

“But we’re not done with the cookies,” Bay said. She’s something of a perfectionist, which I find fascinating. I never met a project I didn’t want to abandon halfway through it. Bay is the complete opposite. “We still have to put them in the oven.”

“I’ll finish the cookies,” Winnie said, her smile stretched and tight as she glanced at me.

“You need to go upstairs, too, Clove,” Marnie said. “Make sure you put those dirty clothes in the hamper instead of leaving them on the floor. You might draw mice in there if you’re not careful.”

Thistle moved to hop off the stool and follow her cousins, but Twila stopped her before she could take more than a couple of steps. “Where are you going?”

“Upstairs to get cleaned up,” Thistle replied.

“Oh, no,” Twila said, shaking her head. “You’re not dirty. Do you know what’s dirty?”

“Aunt Tillie’s mind?”

Twila pressed her lips together and shook her head.

“The kitchen is dirty,” Marnie said. “The kitchen is filthy, in fact. You two need to clean up the mess you made so we can cook dinner.”

I glanced over my shoulder. Who was the other half of the “two” she referenced? “Which two?”

“You and Thistle,” Winnie replied. “This was your idea and you sat there and watched them make a mess. You need to clean it up.”

Yeah, that really sounded nothing like me. “I’m good,” I said blithely.

“You’re not good,” Winnie countered. “If you don’t pick up this mess, you’re not getting any dinner. Do you understand?”

“Yes, but … .”

Marnie shook her head to cut me off. “No buts.”

“I’m not in the mood to clean,” Thistle said. “I think Aunt Tillie should do it alone.”

“We just had this discussion,” I growled.

Thistle ignored me. “I’m small and tired. I need a nap.”

“You need to clean if you want dinner,” Twila corrected. “Don’t you want dinner?”

Thistle shrugged. “It depends,” she replied. “What are we having?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Winnie challenged.

“If it’s something I hate I’m going to choose the nap,” Thistle replied, not missing a beat. “If it’s something I like, I guess I’m going to clean. I won’t like it, though.”

Winnie made a disgusted face. “We’re having chicken legs marinated in red wine, mashed potatoes and corn.”

Thistle screwed up her face into a strange expression as she thought. “I think I’ll take a nap.”

“We’re also having red velvet cake,” Marnie added, causing Thistle’s smug smile to slip. “I believe that’s your favorite.”

“It is my favorite,” Thistle said. “Crap.”

“Yes, crap,” I agreed, reluctantly taking the towel Winnie handed in my direction. “I blame you for this, Thistle. You were supposed to be watching the clock.”

“And I blame you,” Thistle shot back. “You were supposed to be watching us.”

“And I blame both of you,” Winnie said. “I want this kitchen clean in twenty minutes. If it’s not, you guys aren’t going to get any cake.”

Well, that was a low blow. “I’m not going to put up with much more of this lip,” I warned. “You’re going to be sorry if you continue to cross me.”

“Me, too,” Thistle intoned.

Winnie didn’t look worried in the least. “Clean!”

Yeah, I’ve definitely been off my game when it comes to doling out punishments this week. I need to take a long look at my naughty list and start handling the biggest trouble spots. Unfortunately, I have to clean first. Blech.

I cast a curious look in Thistle’s direction as she packed the baking ingredients to carry to the pantry. “I think my eyes might start leaking soon,” I admitted.

“Join the club.”

Seven

I found the girls leaving their bedroom the next morning. They were instantly alert upon seeing me in their part of the house two days in a row. Suspicion runs deep when you have Winchester blood flowing through your veins. You’re born with it. You can’t hide from it.

“Are you going to punish us for yesterday?” Clove asked, her brown eyes reflecting worry. “If so, you should know that what happened yesterday wasn’t our fault. We did what we were supposed to do.”

“We did,” Bay said, bobbing her head.

“I didn’t, but you didn’t really think I was going to do it so it doesn’t matter,” Thistle said. She was strangely blasé for so early in the morning. Usually she’s grumpy and you can’t talk to her until she has some juice and food in her stomach. She gets that from me.

“No, I didn’t really expect you to do anything and you definitely held up your end of the bargain,” I said, following the girls down the hallway. “You did help clean the kitchen, though, so I guess that should count for something.”

“The only reason I did that was because Mom wouldn’t stop staring at me,” Thistle admitted. “It was as if she knew I was just waiting for her to look away so I could escape. I hate that about her.”

“Yes, that’s a mom thing,” I said. “My mother was the same way. I always thought I could put one over on her, but she managed to catch me every time.”

“What was your mom like?” Bay asked. She looked legitimately curious. “We’ve heard stories, but never got to meet her. We’ve seen photos, though. You don’t look like her.”

“No, your grandmother looked like her,” I said, my mind briefly drifting back to my childhood. I was genuinely fond of my sister Ginger and missed her a great deal. I saw some of her mannerisms reflected back at me when I looked at her daughters – Winnie, Marnie and Twila – but they had a lot of me in them, too. I wasn’t sure which traits were stronger – or better, for that matter. “It’s too bad you girls didn’t get to meet your grandmother. You would’ve liked her.”

I was surprisingly wistful this morning. My melancholy mood wasn’t lost on the youngest Winchesters.

“Do you miss her?” Clove asked.

“I do.”

“I wish I could’ve had a sister,” Clove said. “I would’ve been a great older sister. I would’ve tortured my little sister only fifty percent of the time.”

I smirked. “You have sisters,” I countered. “What do you think Bay and Thistle are?”

“Cousins.”

“Technically I guess you’re right,” I conceded. “You haven’t been raised as cousins, though. You’ve been raised as sisters. It doesn’t matter that you don’t share the same mother and father. You share the same heart.”

“That’s kind of gross when you think about it,” Clove said, descending the stairs. “If we all shared the same heart then we would be stuck together and that would give me nightmares.”

“Would it make your eyes leak?” I teased.

“Definitely.”

I found Marnie, Twila and Winnie standing behind the counter when we reached the kitchen. The usual morning cooking activities seemed to be underway – egg carton open on the counter, bread sitting next to the toaster, a slab of bacon in Marnie’s hand as she stared at the stove – but without the normal bustle that accompanied the items. I pursed my lips when I saw the blank look on Winnie’s face and feigned confusion. “What’s going on?”

“Why don’t I smell breakfast?” Thistle asked, alarmed. “Are your hands broken?”

“No,” Twila answered hurriedly, reaching for the bread. “We’re getting everything ready. We’re just running late today.”

“Really late,” I said, shuffling toward the coffee pot on the counter and pouring myself a mug of steaming caffeinated goodness as I made a big show of staring at the empty frying pans and toaster. “Are you girls sick?”

“Oh, I hope not,” Clove said. “If you all get sick, who will cook for us?”

“Not Aunt Tillie, that’s for sure,” Thistle intoned. “If you get sick, we’re going to starve.”

“And no one wants that,” I said, biting the inside of my cheek as Winnie’s puzzled expression turned to frustration. “Do you think you’re getting the flu?”

“Of course not,” Winnie said, snapping her head up and glaring at me. “We don’t get sick. We take care of ourselves.”

“We definitely take care of ourselves,” Marnie agreed.

“Then why isn’t breakfast ready?” I pressed, tugging a strand of Bay’s hair behind her ear and smoothing it into place. The girls take care of their own morning hygiene but sometimes they gloss over their hair in the winter because they know they end up wearing hats. “Breakfast is always ready when we come down. I mean … is something wrong?”

I knew I was in danger of overplaying my hand when Winnie narrowed her eyes and fixated on me. Her hand rested on the egg carton and I couldn’t help but wonder if she planned on hurling one at me. I knew she wouldn’t cook anything in the carton. I’d taken care of that. They couldn’t cook today no matter how hard they tried. In fact, the harder they tried, the more likely it would become that the knowledge of how to cook – even the basics – would seep out of their brains.

“What did you do?” Winnie hissed, the reality of the situation finally sinking in.

“What makes you think I did anything?” I asked, pasting my best “I’m innocent and you can’t attack me without proper proof” smile on my face.

“Because we can’t seem to remember how to cook breakfast,” Marnie answered. “Do you see those eggs? We know they’re eggs. We even know we’re supposed to cook them. We can’t remember how, though. It’s as if we’ve forgotten everything we know how to do.”

“That is terrible,” I clucked, sliding a sly look in Thistle’s direction. Her eyes were fixed on her mother’s face and she seemed to be in awe. “Did you fall and hit your head?”

“We didn’t hit anything,” Twila shot back. “We were absolutely fine last night. We made dinner and did the dishes. Everything was perfectly normal when we went to sleep.”

“Then we woke up and things still seemed fine,” Winnie said. “That lasted until we hit the kitchen. We pulled all of the food out of the refrigerator like normal and then … well, then we got stuck.”

“Oh, this is a total travesty,” I said, swallowing the urge to giggle. I wouldn’t truly be able to get under their skin if I didn’t play it straight. “Do you think it was something you ate?”

“I’ll bet it was the memory monster,” Clove said. “I think he lives in our closet.”

“The only thing living in your closet is the mess monster,” Marnie snapped. “It wasn’t something we ate. Aunt Tillie did this.”

“Oh, now, that’s a serious accusation,” I said, studying my stubby fingernails. “Do you have any proof?”

“We know it was you,” Winnie spat. “We’re not stupid. You gathered the girls before coming down. That means you didn’t want to risk running into us without backup. Do you think I’m stupid?”

“Now probably isn’t the time to ask me that question,” I replied. “I mean, with you forgetting how to cook eggs and all. Perhaps you should go to a doctor.”

“You’re in big trouble!” Winnie screeched, grabbing a spatula from the bin on the counter and brandishing it in my face. “You cursed us, didn’t you? This all comes back to us refusing to make you cookies to pass off as your own at the baking contest. Admit it.”

Gladly. “I warned you guys something bad was going to happen if you turned your back on your loving aunt,” I said. “Think about it. I raised you. I loved you. I took care of you. I paid for everything. What did you give me in return? Grief. That’s what.”

“Oh, that’s such a crock of crap,” Marnie said. “We love and take care of you just as much as you love and take care of us. This is a reciprocal relationship. It’s not all about you.”

Yeah, sometimes I think they don’t know me at all. What they do know they seem to twist to their own designs for some unknown reason. “I think this is probably a great lesson on karma,” I said. “What do you think, girls?”

“I think I’m hungry,” Bay said, rubbing her stomach.

“I think it’s funny, but I’m with Bay,” Thistle said. “What are we going to eat?”

“There!” Winnie waved the spatula in Thistle’s direction. She appeared to be growing more and more deranged by the second. “Did you hear that? What are they going to eat? You can’t let them starve, and we all know you’re not going to cook for them.”

“Oh, I’m definitely not going to cook for them,” I said, hopping to my feet. “Girls, grab your helmets. We’re going into town for breakfast.”

The girls seemed surprised but didn’t give me any lip as they hurried out of the room. Winnie was incredulous as she watched them go.

“What a bunch of traitors,” she groused.

“Yes, they kind of follow whatever direction the wind takes them, don’t they?” I flashed my most evil grin to get my nieces’ attention. “I guess I’ll see you later. I hope you find something to eat.”

“This isn’t going to work,” Winnie called out. “I’m not going to fall for this. We’re not going to let you blackmail us into doing what you want.”

“I guess we’ll see,” I called back. “Something tells me you’re lying to everyone … including yourselves.”

I TOOK the girls to the Gunderson Bakery for breakfast. I’d known the owner, Ginny, for years. We had something of a tumultuous past, but we weren’t exactly unfriendly. She was also keyed in to all of the area gossip, so I hoped she’d be able to assuage my fears regarding Edgar.

“Well, this is a surprise,” Ginny said, beaming at the girls as I herded them toward a table. “I don’t often see you ladies out for breakfast.”

“Our moms forgot how to cook and we’re starving,” Clove announced. “I think we might pass out from hunger.”

“You poor dears!” Ginny never had children of her own and she fell for every fake tear and imaginary injury these three could muster. It drove me crazy. “What would you like?”

“I want doughnuts,” Thistle said. “I want, like, ten of them.”

“Ten, huh?” Ginny smiled. “Do you want chocolate and sprinkles on them?”

Thistle nodded happily, but I held up my hand to still Ginny before she could take Bay and Clove’s orders. “Wait a second,” I said. “You girls have to eat a regular breakfast.”

“Ugh! You can’t bring us to a bakery and not expect us to eat doughnuts,” Thistle complained.

“Yeah, that’s mean,” Clove said. “It makes my eyes leak.”

“Okay, that’s funny when you do it to other people, but I find it annoying,” I said, extending a finger in Clove’s direction. “From now on you’re forbidden to do that with me. Do you understand?”

“Now I know my eyes are leaking,” Clove grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Your butt will be leaking if you’re not careful.”

“Gross,” Thistle and Bay said in unison as Ginny shot me a dark look.

“What?” I asked Ginny, frustrated. “You try spending hours with these monsters and we’ll see how you feel afterward.”

“I would love to spend time with these little angels,” Ginny cooed. “Look how cute they are.”

“Wow. You girls have her snowed,” I said, shaking my head. “Good job.”

“We learned from the best,” Bay said, grinning. “Can I have a breakfast sandwich?”

“That’s a good idea,” I said. “If you all eat a breakfast sandwich and one of those hash brown things you can have a doughnut when you’re done.”

“I only want the doughnut,” Thistle said.

“And I only want you to shut up,” I shot back.

“Fine,” Thistle grumbled. “Can I have the bacon and egg bagel sandwich and a hash brown?”

Ginny smirked. “You certainly can. How about everyone else?”

“The same for me,” Bay said as Clove nodded. “Can I have a tomato juice, too?”

“Tomato juice? I don’t know any little ones who like tomato juice,” Ginny said, giggling.

“She’s a weird kid, but she does love her tomato juice,” I said. “I’ll have a sandwich, too. I’d like some coffee, though.”

“What about you two?” Ginny asked Clove and Thistle. “What do you want to drink?”

“I want coffee,” Thistle said. “I take it black with no sugar.”

“They’ll have orange juice,” I corrected before slipping out of my coat and following Ginny to the counter. The grill was right there, so she could make the sandwiches and keep up on conversation at the same time. I kept one eye on the girls for a few minutes to make sure they were behaving, but when they seemed content to gossip about how funny their mothers acted this morning I left them to it and focused on Ginny. “Have you heard any good gossip lately?”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” Ginny said, placing the bacon on the griddle. “I’ve heard a lot of gossip. For example, I heard that Judy Bristow wants to get a boob job, and I heard that you’ve been plowing in the end of Margaret’s driveway with yellow snow.”

“We did brown snow for a bit yesterday, too.”

Ginny smirked. “It’s not as if she doesn’t deserve it. Is that the kind of gossip you’re talking about?”

I shook my head. “Have you heard anything about Edgar Martin?”

Ginny tilted her head to the side, confused. She seemed surprised by the question. “I haven’t heard anything about him since the unicorn incident. I heard talk people were going to try to force him into rehab, but that never came to fruition.”

“It never does,” I said. “You can’t force someone into rehab. They have to want to do it for themselves.”

“Why are you asking about Edgar?”

“Well, um … .” I risked a glance over my shoulder, but the girls were still caught up with talking to each other rather than eavesdropping. “The day of the tree-lighting ceremony the girls swear they found a body in the woods.”

“What were they doing in the woods?”

“Looking for yellow snow to put on Lila Stevens’ head.”

“Oh, I like them more and more as they get older,” Ginny said, giggling. “What does that have to do with Edgar, though?”

“They say whoever it was had on pink socks.”

“Ah, like the unicorn,” Ginny said almost to herself. “Did you search the woods?”

“We did and we came up empty,” I answered. “He’s not there, but he doesn’t seem to be anywhere else either. He’s not at his house. I wrote it off at first because I thought they were exaggerating. I thought Edgar must’ve fallen down drunk. Now I’m starting to get worried.”

“The problem with Edgar is that he takes off whenever he feels like it and it’s impossible to know where he is for long stretches,” Ginny said. “I’m sure he’s okay.”

“I hope he is, but I promised the girls I would help them,” I said. “I always keep my word.”

Ginny made a face. “Really?”

“Well, I keep it to them,” I clarified. “I would really like to track down Edgar. If he’s dead out there somewhere, well, let’s just say it could be a rough winter for a body.”

“That’s definitely true,” Ginny said. “I haven’t seen Edgar, but now that you’ve brought up his name, I have heard a bit of gossip about him. I ignored it at first because it made no sense, but … well … it might be of interest to you.”

“What?”

“Now, it came from Viola and she’s not always reliable … .”

“What?”

“I’m not a big fan of salacious gossip,” Ginny added.

Oh, I was practically salivating now. “What?”

“Viola said Edgar has been seen around town three times with Margaret Little,” Ginny offered. “She thought they were having an affair. I, of course, thought that was ridiculous. But if you can’t find him, I think you should start looking there.”

I moved my jaw as I considered the possibility. It didn’t make sense and yet …. Margaret was there the day the girls claimed they found the body. Perhaps she saw Edgar when he was leaving and didn’t tell anyone.

“I’ll bet she killed him,” I said, my mind working overtime.

Ginny was amused rather than aghast. “Why would she do that?”

“Because she’s evil.”

“Oh, well, as long as you have completely thorough reasoning for throwing that out there, I’m totally with you,” Ginny said, handing me a mug of coffee. “What are you going to do?”

“Bring her down.”

“And people say December in Walkerville is boring,” Ginny teased. “Something tells me it’s going to a holly jolly Christmas after all.”

“Did you have to ruin things by reminding me of that song? It’s like an earworm.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” Ginny said dryly.

“You do that.”

Eight

“Stop doing that.”

Clove, a bag of potato chips resting on her lap as we sat in my parked truck across the street from Margaret Little’s house, made a face. “I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re rattling that bag so loudly I can’t help but think that something is going to explode,” I countered. “It might be my temper, so I’d be very careful.”

“I am not.”

“You are, too.”

“I am not.”

“You are, too.”

“Oh, will both of you give it a rest?” Thistle asked, shifting in her seat. She kept her helmet on even though she complained it itched. I think she worried I would take off in a mad rush to run Margaret over if the mood struck, and she wasn’t taking any chances. “You’re giving me a headache.”

“Hey, I’ve had a headache since you three were born,” I shot back. “Do you hear me complaining?”

“You complain all of the time,” Thistle said. “Mom says that’s just the way you talk to other people and that we should ignore it. She says you don’t mean to be a complainer, but you can’t help yourself because it’s just noise to you.”

I stilled. I was hearing a whole lot of Twila-isms these days. I had no idea she was that ballsy. “Next time your mother says that, tell her the only noise in the house is that incessant droning she does when she claims she’s singing,” I said. “How does that sound?”

“Like you’re feeling mean,” Clove said, stretching her arms over her head as she tried to get comfortable.

After Ginny told me about Margaret’s ties to Edgar, I couldn’t get the possibility of her offing him out of my head. I know it’s a long shot, but I’ve always thought she was evil. Maybe she finally decided to embrace her inner hobgoblin and call to the evil corners of the land to do her bidding.

No, I’m not being dramatic. Hear me out.

Margaret has been jealous of me ever since we were kids. At first she thought I was somehow cheating when it came to footraces and tennis matches, but then she realized I really was magical and made it her mission to be just like me. I’m not making it up. She’s jealous.

If she conducted enough research, she might’ve gotten to the point where she found that she could call to evil forces and ask them to do her bidding. The Winchesters call to the four white light corners of magic. Evil witches call to the four dark corners. Margaret would definitely be an evil witch if she embraced the craft.

She might’ve thought she could take someone like Edgar – a man known to make an ass of himself and drink until he was in a stupor at least five days a week – and sacrifice him to the blood winds to give herself power.

Huh? What do you think of that?

“What are you thinking?” Bay asked, her eyes narrow slits as suspicion washed over her features. “You went to a different place there for a second.”

“I’m pretty sure it was an evil place,” Thistle said. “Did you see that smile? It made me think of that movie we were watching the other day. What was the name of it?”

“Friday the 13th?”

“No, not that one.”

“A Nightmare on Elm Street?”

“Not that one either.”

“Good grief,” I muttered. “Someone really does need to monitor your viewing habits.”

“We like horror movies,” Bay said. “They make us feel better about our lives.”

“And why is that?”

“Because no matter how bloody and terrible a slasher movie killer is, he’s still nicer than you,” Thistle said, grinning.

“Keep it up, mouth.”

“It!”

“It what?”

“No, that’s the name of the movie,” Thistle said. “It. There was a creepy clown and he had horrible fangs when he smiled. You reminded me of that clown just now. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that we’ll be hailed as heroes if we find Edgar alive,” I lied. “We might even get Margaret locked up to boot. That would be the best Christmas gift ever.”

Thistle rolled her eyes. “You’re all talk,” she said. “You don’t really want Mrs. Little to be arrested. You won’t have anyone to torture if that happens. Who else are we going to drop yellow snow on?”

“Oh, there’s plenty of people in this town who have ticked me off,” I said. “I’m sure I can find someone.”

“And yet it won’t be as funny as messing with Mrs. Little,” Thistle said. “You’ll be bored. I bet she’s not a murderer anyway. She’s probably just … kissing him.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Kissing him?”

“That’s what old people do.”

“They do more than that,” I pointed out.

“Yes, but I’m only going to be ten soon so I’m not supposed to know about those things,” Thistle said. “My mind doesn’t go past kissing.”

“That’s a good thing,” I said.

“Mine does,” Clove said. “I can’t wait to get a boyfriend. He’s going to be handsome and smart, and he’s going to give me flowers.”

I rolled my eyes so hard I was convinced I was going to fall out of the truck. “None of those things are important,” I said. “Well, it’s important that he’s smart. You don’t want to date a dumb one. As for the rest, you only need to find someone with a good heart who will love you for who you are without trying to change you.”

“Do you think Mrs. Little is doing that for Edgar?” Bay asked.

“No.”

“Then we should probably help him,” Thistle said.

“You’ve got that right,” I said, pocketing my keys. “Come on, girls. It’s time to save the day … and make Margaret Little pay.”

“Wow. That was almost like poetry … like Dr. Seuss,” Thistle drawled.

“You’re on my list.”

“LIFT YOUR feet.”

“I am lifting my feet.”

“No, you’re shuffling your feet, and that doesn’t work in snow,” I argued, grabbing Clove’s waist so I could lift her over a particularly large snowdrift. “Good grief, girl. What have you been eating?”

“The same thing as you,” Clove shot back, scorching me with a dark look when I dropped her on the other side of the drift. Margaret’s house is surrounded by two or three rows of trees. It’s supposed to give the illusion of privacy, but in reality all it does is give me something to hide behind when I’m trying to spy. Trust me. I know. I’ve done this before.

“Well, I think you’ve been eating double portions or something,” I said, wiping my brow. It’s too cold to be sweating, yet I could feel it dripping down my forehead. I’m too old for this much physical exertion. I’m still in my prime, mind you, but traipsing through a foot of snow with whiny little girls is not conducive to a relaxing cardiovascular workout. “You need to go on a diet.”

“You can’t say that to her,” Bay said, grabbing on to a low-hanging branch and swinging herself around the base of the tree. The snow was shallower closer to the trunks and she figured out pretty quickly that it was easier to stick close to the trees than wade through the big drifts. Unfortunately Clove didn’t realize that. I constantly had to fish her out of piles due to her height. “Mom says it’s never okay to make fun of people for their weight or the way they look.”

“Well, you’re mother is a mouthy cow,” I muttered.

“I heard that.”

I sighed and brushed my hair from my face. “Your mother is right,” I said finally. What? I don’t want to teach them bad habits. Er, well, I don’t want to teach them needlessly hurtful bad habits. There are plenty of bad habits for me to imprint on their impressionable minds that don’t include being downright nasty for no reason. “It’s never okay to make fun of someone’s weight or looks.”

“You called Mom a cow, though,” Bay pointed out.

“I was talking about the fact that she won’t stop mooing in my ear when I want to do something,” I said. “She sounds like a cow. She doesn’t look like a cow.”

“I think she looks more like a chicken,” Clove said, purposely hopping into a big drift and giggling as she tried to wade through it. Margaret’s house was set a hundred and fifty feet back from the road, yet it felt as if I’d walked ten miles with these miniature monsters. “She puts her hands on her hips all of the time and jerks her head back and forth. Sometimes when she’s yelling I think she sounds like she’s clucking.”

“That’s a good one,” Thistle said. “I think you should tell her … and do an imitation while you’re at it.”

“Don’t do that if you want to stay on the nice list for Christmas,” I warned. “Save that for New Year’s Eve. They’ll be drunk so they might forget it.”

“Good idea.”

Bay seemed lost in thought as she swung around to the next tree, her eyes trained on me.

“What?” I asked, annoyed. She has a way of looking into your soul that’s downright unnerving.

“I know it’s wrong to make fun of people because of the way they look, but can I still call Lila a horse face when she’s mean to me?”

That kid is far too worried about what’s right and wrong. She needs to focus on smiting her enemies without caring about what’s fair on the battlefield. That will keep her young and happy for decades. “Yes, that’s totally fine.”

“But you just said … .”

“There are exceptions to every rule, Bay,” I said, cutting her off. “This is one of those exceptions. Lila looks like a horse’s behind and you can tell her that because she’s evil. It’s the same reason I can point out that Margaret looks like the butt of a chicken. It’s not nice to go off on other people, but when it’s your sworn enemy, it’s totally fine.”

“I don’t think that’s really the rule,” Thistle said. She’d wised up and began following Bay not long after we waded into the woods.

“It’s the rule if I say it’s the rule,” I said, grabbing the back of Clove’s coat even as she moved to keep walking farther into the woods. “That’s far enough, short stack. All we need to do is get a clear view into the house. The big bay window in the dining room is right there. We should be able to see most of the main floor from here.”

“That doesn’t really work from this far away,” Bay pointed out. “It worked during the summer because you brought us after dark and we could sneak right up under the window to take those photographs you wanted.”

“I still don’t get that,” Thistle added. “You say it’s fine for you guys to dance naked, but when Mrs. Little does it you think it’s a crime against humans. Er, a crime against humidity.”

“A crime against humanity,” I corrected. “I still haven’t been proven wrong on that, by the way. You need to pay more attention to your English lessons and stop worrying so much about who I’m taking photos of. You mimic what everyone says so it sounds like you have a bigger vocabulary than you really do.”

“And you need to stuff it,” Thistle grumbled. If she thought she said that low enough for me not to hear, she was sorely mistaken. Of course, she might’ve purposely said it loud enough for me to hear, in which case I was mildly proud of her.

“All that matters is that we’re good here,” I said, making sure I was mostly covered by the large pine tree at the edge of the property as I dug in my purse. “I brought help.”

“What kind of help?” Clove asked curiously.

“These.” I pulled the binoculars I lifted from Winnie’s bedroom this summer out of my purse and grinned. “Now we’ll be able to see directly into her house. If Edgar is there, we’ll see. If she’s dismembering him in the tub to get rid of the evidence, we’ll see that, too.”

“Oh, gross,” Bay complained, wrinkling her nose. “You don’t think she’s really doing that, do you? That will give Clove nightmares.”

“Uh-uh,” Clove argued, shaking her head. “I don’t get nightmares like a baby. You do.”

“Oh, really?” Thistle was completely annoyed with the situation. She wasn’t generally known for being outdoorsy. “Do you remember when we watched Jaws and you were convinced there were sharks in the lake?”

“That was one time,” Clove protested.

“How about when we watched Poltergeist and you wouldn’t go in the closet for a month?” Bay challenged. “We had to put your clothes away, and it wasn’t fair because you got out of chores in the bedroom while we had to do everything.”

“Yeah, I think you answered your own question there,” I said. “She wasn’t afraid of the closet. She was lazy and didn’t want to do chores. Keep up.”

Realization washed over Bay’s face. “Hey!”

“It’s too late now,” I told her, lifting the binoculars so I could stare into the house. The curtains were open, but it was hard to focus the stupid things and keep track of what I was looking at. The first thing that loomed into view was a ceramic snowman that looked more freaky than Frosty. “Ugh. I swear some people shouldn’t be allowed to buy knickknacks.”

“Says the woman who has a rooster dressed like a slutty girl in her bedroom,” Bay deadpanned.

“He’s not dressed like a slutty girl,” I corrected. “He’s dressed like a burlesque dancer. There’s a difference.”

Bay didn’t look convinced. “Uh-huh.”

“Oh, and for the record, that rooster is a priceless work of art,” I added. “I bought him from a flea market and added the outfit myself. I’ve gotten hundreds of compliments on him. People think I’m a real artist. I could do it professionally and everything.”

“Only if the world goes blind and people with taste are killed by some alien or something,” Thistle said, smoothly evading my hand when I reached out to cuff her. “Now do your spying so we can get out of here. It’s cold and I’m bored.”

“If you shut your mouth and let me concentrate, that won’t be a problem,” I said, staring through the binoculars again.

The girls were quiet for exactly thirty seconds and then Bay ruined the calm. “Did you hear that?”

“All I hear is you three yapping,” I snapped.

“No, listen,” Bay ordered, pressing her finger to her lips.

I did as she asked but all I could hear was the four of us breathing. “What do you hear?”

“It sounds like a man is yelling inside or something,” Bay said, pressing her eyes shut. “I … no, I definitely hear a man.”

I narrowed my eyes as I stared into the house, but I couldn’t see anything. After a few moments, though, I did hear the faint sound of someone else’s voice as the back door of Margaret’s house opened. I grabbed the girls to hide them behind the tree, clutching them to me so they didn’t make an error and wander out where someone could see them. I couldn’t risk peering in that direction because whoever opened the door would see us. The voice was definitely male, though. Edgar?

I waited until the door closed to speak again.

“Did anyone see who it was?”

“You made us hide behind the tree,” Thistle said. “We couldn’t look because you wouldn’t let us.”

She had a point. Still, I wasn’t going to admit that. “So no one saw anything?”

“I only know it was a man,” Bay said. “I didn’t get to see him and couldn’t understand what he was saying.”

That made two of us. “Well, we have only one choice,” I said, making up my mind on the spot. “We have to get closer to the house.”

The girls groaned in unison. They were loud enough to hide the sound of approaching footsteps until it was too late to make a run for it, because a dark figure was upon us.

“You’re under arrest.”

Well, crud.

Nine

I recognized Terry’s voice before I swiveled. I wasn’t particularly frightened. I knew he wouldn’t throw me in jail, no matter what he said. That didn’t mean I was keen to have a showdown with law enforcement on my mortal enemy’s property.

That sounded melodramatic, didn’t it? Oh, who cares?

“Hello, Terry,” I said, pasting a bright smile on my face as we locked gazes. He didn’t look remotely happy. “What a beautiful day for a walk. Don’t you think it’s a beautiful day for a walk?”

The set of Terry’s jaw was grim. “Really? Is that the story you’re going to go with? It’s twenty-eight degrees, and you’ve forced three children to go on a march through thick snow so you can spy on a woman who collects porcelain unicorns. Think of a better story.”

I opened my mouth to answer, but Thistle did it for me.

“We weren’t spying,” she lied. “We were hunting for Christmas elves. Aunt Tillie thought it would be a fun way for us to spend the afternoon because we’re so excited for Christmas.”

That story would never work for an adult. Terry wasn’t an idiot, so it didn’t work coming from a child either.

“Don’t lie, Thistle,” Terry chided. “I don’t like that.”

“She’s not lying,” Clove said, jutting out her lower lip. “It’s true. Aunt Tillie said if we caught a Christmas elf we would get everything we wanted for Christmas. I want world peace and hundreds of gifts to give to kids who don’t have anything. It’s really a good thing.”

And that was much more convincing, especially coming from a child with a face that belonged on an angel and who was half buried in snow.

Unfortunately for us, Terry wasn’t falling for that either. “Come here.” He wrapped his arms around Clove’s waist and lifted her out of the snow. He brushed off the clinging white powder before fixing her with a serious look. “Are you cold?”

“Not nearly as cold as the kids who have nothing for Christmas,” Clove replied solemnly.

“You’re going to make some man very afraid in ten years,” Terry said. “He’s going to take one look at those big eyes and fall head over heels in love. Then he’s going to realize you own him and have nightmares.”

“Will they involve clowns in closets?” Clove asked.

“I don’t know what that means.” Terry turned his attention to Bay as she tried to hide beneath the barren branch of a maple tree. “How about you? Are you hoping to catch a Christmas elf to provide gifts for those less fortunate, too?”

Bay bit her lip and shook her head. Crap! She was going to be my undoing. I just know it.

“We honestly are on a mission of mercy,” I said. “The fact that we ended up here is just an odd coincidence. I had no idea we were so close to Margaret’s house.”

“Quiet,” Terry ordered, never moving his eyes from Bay’s worried face. “What are you doing here, Bay?” It was if he knew she couldn’t lie to him. That’s why he focused on her. Quite frankly, that’s akin to child abuse in my book.

“We were just taking a walk,” Bay mumbled, averting her gaze. Sheesh. I taught her to lie better than that.

“Why were you walking?” Terry pressed.

“Because … .” Bay darted an unreadable look in my direction. She looked as if she was being tortured.

“Oh, leave her alone,” I said, giving in. “Fine. You’ve got us. We weren’t looking for a Christmas elf. Arrest us. Throw us in a cell. Make this the worst Christmas ever for three bad little girls.”

Terry scowled. “I am convinced you’re the Devil sometimes,” he hissed, reaching for Bay to draw her out from beneath the tree. “Don’t say things like that to them. You’ll frighten them and make them afraid of police officers. Is that what you want?”

I shrugged. “We were having a great time until you showed up,” I said. “If they’re upset, I blame you.”

“Whatever.” Terry smoothed Bay’s hair as he tilted up her chin so they could lock gazes. “What are you doing out here?”

“I just told you,” I snapped.

“No, you said you weren’t looking for a Christmas elf,” Terry countered. “I already knew that. You didn’t tell me what you were doing.”

“We’re looking for the dead body,” Thistle said, sticking out her tongue and hopping away from me when I reached out to grab her. “Aunt Tillie took us to breakfast at the bakery this morning, and Mrs. Gunderson told her that there’s a rumor about the dead man and Mrs. Little.”

“She thinks Mrs. Little chopped him into little bits in the house because she’s a bad witch,” Clove added. “We’re here to see if that’s true.”

Terry was flabbergasted. “Why would you possibly tell these girls that?”

“I didn’t tell them that,” I sniffed. “They figured it out on their own. They’re quite bright.”

“Yes, they’re regular geniuses,” Terry said. “You know you were seen casing the house from the road, right? Mrs. Little called the station and said that she was convinced someone was going to rob her.”

I snorted. “She knows my truck. She only wanted to get us in trouble.”

“And that’s her right,” Terry said. “This is her property. You have no business being on it. While we’re at it, you have no business plowing in the end of her driveway either. If I ever catch you, I’m going to have to write a ticket.”

“And you won’t do well in prison either,” Clove said, bending over to pack some snow. “I’m not the only one.”

“Clove, you’re not going to prison,” Terry said. “What are you doing out here, Tillie? Do you really think that Mrs. Little killed Edgar Martin? Seriously? Do you think she chopped him up in little bits and put him in her cookies or something?”

Well, when he put it like that it sounded ridiculous. It made much more sense in my mind. There was no way I was going to admit that, though. I decided to change tactics. “I think that Margaret was with us the day the girls said they found the body,” I said. “I think something was definitely in that clearing – and so do you. The girls are imaginative, but they don’t make up things like finding bodies.”

“Okay, I get that,” Terry said, adjusting his tone. “I think they saw something, too. I initially assumed Edgar got drunk and passed out. I figured he woke up because it was cold and wandered away before we got there.”

“But you haven’t been able to find him either,” I said. “You’ve been looking and he’s not around. Admit it.”

“I admit it,” Terry said. “I looked because I didn’t want the girls to obsess about this. I also figured you’d feed their imagination because that’s what you do when you’re bored. It’s too cold for them to be running around on adventures with you.

“I mean … will you look at this child?” Terry gestured toward Clove. “She’s covered in snow and freezing. She’ll get pneumonia. Do you want that?”

“Of course not,” I said. “We’ve only been out here twenty minutes. We would already be done if you hadn’t distracted us. We were just about to get closer to the house so we could see the man inside and call it a day.”

“Get closer? You can’t just peek through the windows at someone else’s house,” Terry said. “I … wait. What man?”

“There’s a man inside,” Bay said. “We heard his voice. We think it might be Edgar.”

Terry didn’t want to be swayed, but the idea of solving this case – although it wasn’t really a case – held a lot of appeal. He clearly wanted to enjoy Christmas instead of worrying about whether or not the girls were running around the countryside and spying on neighbors with me.

“Are you sure it was a man?” Terry asked, rubbing his chin.

I nodded. “It was definitely a man.”

Terry licked his lips as he stared at the house. “Okay. Come on. We’re ending this now.”

I knew he would see things my way. I turned to wade through the snow, but Terry stilled when the girls remained rooted to their spots.

“What’s wrong?” Terry asked.

“We’re tired,” Clove said. “I can’t walk any longer. I think I might faint.”

Terry growled as he bent over and picked up Clove with one arm. She weighed very little so it wasn’t difficult for him to lift her. He slid a sidelong look in Bay’s direction. “What about you?”

Bay shrugged. “I’m tired, too.”

Terry made a disgusted sound as he scooped her up with his remaining arm. He looked resigned when he glanced at Thistle. “Are you tired, too?”

“You’re out of arms,” Thistle pointed out.

“I have a back.”

Thistle smiled as she scurried behind Terry. I had to help her scramble up his back, but when he had all of the girls securely affixed to his frame he picked the shortest route toward Margaret’s house. He walked so fast, in fact, I had to jog to keep up. I momentarily wished I had a camera because the sight of him walking with the three girls clinging to him was adorable. He was a better father to them than the ones they were born with. He just didn’t realize it.

Terry didn’t put the girls down until we were at Margaret’s front door. He was careful as he lowered each one, and then he checked them to make sure everyone was safe and settled before knocking on the door.

I wasn’t expecting that. I thought we would come up with a plan before we alerted Margaret to our presence. For example, I thought he could distract Margaret while I punched her in the face and ran inside to untie Edgar in the basement, where she was planning to sacrifice him to the dark gods in front of her altar. What? That could totally happen.

Margaret wasn’t in the mood for idle chatter when she threw open the door. “Did you arrest her?”

“Not yet,” Terry replied. “She says she was helping the girls find a Christmas elf and got turned around. I tend to believe her. It wasn’t a purposeful excursion.”

The lie slid easily off his tongue. I couldn’t help but be surprised. I knew he wasn’t doing it for me, though. He was doing it for the girls. He didn’t want to upset them.

Margaret’s penciled on eyebrow (she stopped growing real ones years ago) arched as she graced Terry with a sour look. “Really? Do you expect me to believe that? She was hunting for Christmas elves? They’re not real.”

“Yes, they are,” Clove said solemnly. “They live at the North Pole with the house-trashing fairy and sock-eating gnome. That’s not important, though. We want to see the dead guy.”

Margaret balked at Clove’s fortitude. “Excuse me, young lady, but I don’t believe anyone was speaking to you,” she said. “Youngsters should be taught to refrain from speaking unless spoken to. That’s how I would’ve raised children if I’d been so blessed.”

She was so full of crap I was afraid to touch her in case she exploded and turned the snow brown on her own. “You didn’t have kids because no one could bear to see you without your clothes on,” I shot back. “People are afraid your body is like Medusa’s and they’ll turn to stone if they see it.”

“You take that back,” Margaret hissed, extending a finger. “I don’t have to put up with your nonsense. You’re trespassing.”

“She’s not exactly trespassing,” Terry clarified. “I asked them to come to the house with me so I could investigate the possible sighting of a missing person.”

Margaret narrowed her eyes to dangerous slits. She looked like a coiled snake about to strike. “What missing person?”

“Edgar Martin,” Terry replied. “We have reason to believe he may be in grave danger.”

“Because you’re going to sacrifice him to blood winds,” I added under my breath.

Terry ignored me. “Edgar hasn’t been to his home in several days, and we have multiple witnesses who say they believe he was injured and lying in the snow at some point,” he said. He was a master at manipulating words when he wanted to force an issue. It was something to behold. “It has come to my attention that you’ve been seen with Edgar several times over the past few weeks, and you have a man inside your house today.”

Margaret’s mouth dropped open as incredulity washed over her pinched features. She really did look like a chicken’s behind … and she was clearly about to drop an egg. It was probably rotten.

“Who told you I’ve been seeing Edgar?” Margaret asked, sliding a dark look in my direction. “Was it her?”

“I’m not at liberty to divulge my source, ma’am,” Terry said. “I don’t care about your personal life. I care about locating Mr. Martin and making sure he’s okay. If he’s here, I only want to see him and verify he doesn’t need medical assistance.”

“Do you really expect me to fall for that?” Margaret asked.

“I don’t care what you fall for,” Terry said. “If Edgar is here, though, I want to see him.”

“Well, you can’t enter without a search warrant, and I’m not granting you entrance to my home,” Margaret spat. “As for the rest … well … I’m going to sue you for slander, Tillie. I’m going to bleed you dry.”

“Oh, knock it off, Margaret.” I was at my limit. “I’m tired and I want to go home. Is Edgar here or not? That’s all we want to know. The girls are obsessed with making sure no one died in the woods. How can you deny them peace of mind like that?”

“Yes, it’s our Christmas wish,” Clove intoned. “It’s all we want.”

“Speak for yourself,” Thistle said. “I want that castle, too.”

Bay licked her lips as she studied Margaret. She was serious as she took a step forward. “Please?”

Terry rested his hand on her shoulder. “Just tell them, Mrs. Little,” he prodded. “They’re not asking for the world. They’re asking for one bit of information so they can sleep at night.”

“My heart hurts thinking about poor Mr. Martin being lost in the woods,” Clove added, her brown eyes glassy.

I had to give the kid credit, she was a master manipulator. She was going to be something special when she got older.

“Fine,” Margaret said, blowing out a sigh. “He’s here. He’s been here for the last few days. It’s not what you think, though.”

“So you’re not cutting him up into little bits in your bathtub?” Thistle asked.

Margaret made a horrified face. “Who told you that?”

“It must’ve been the Christmas elf,” I said evasively, averting my eyes.

“No, I’m not chopping him up,” Margaret said. “The church has decided to provide sober buddies to Edgar to get him through the holidays. I’ve been volunteering my time.”

“Oh.” Crap. That might explain why people saw her with him on multiple occasions. She wasn’t dating him. She was just policing him. She was good at telling other people what to do, so this was right up her alley.

“Yes, ‘oh.’” Margaret was smug. “The holidays are a rough time, and he had a setback the other day. I saw him in the trees when I was leaving and took him home. I didn’t know it was going to be such a big deal. I thought the girls would forget about it, and Edgar was embarrassed.”

“He should’ve been more embarrassed about the unicorn thing,” Thistle said.

“I agree with that,” I said.

“So … he’s really okay?” Bay looked hopeful.

“He’s really okay,” Margaret said, her expression softening. “He’s here today and then is heading over to Viola’s house tomorrow. Are you satisfied?”

Terry glanced at me. “Are you satisfied?”

Heck no, I wasn’t satisfied. Margaret was actually doing something good for a change. The world was clearly coming to an end.

“We should probably be going,” I said, motioning for the girls to follow me instead of answering Terry’s question. “We have cookies to bake and elves to catch.”

“And mothers to laugh at,” Thistle added.

“That, too,” I said.

Terry ran his tongue over his teeth as he regarded me. “So you’ll be going straight home?”

“Absolutely. There won’t be one detour. I promise.”

“ALL SET, girls?”

It took me five minutes to get the girls back to the truck and another five minutes to get their helmets and seatbelts secure. By the time the truck warmed up everyone was more than ready to go.

“I’m ready,” Bay said. “Are you surprised Mrs. Little is being nice?”

I opted for honesty. “Yes.”

“Do you like her better now?” Clove asked.

“No.”

“Do you want to plow on the way home?” Thistle asked, hopeful.

“Absolutely.”

I lowered the plow so it was close to the road and hit the gas pedal as I pulled away from the side of the road. I saw Terry watching us as he walked up the driveway, and his eyes widened and he waved his hands as the snow bank at the corner of the driveway grew closer. He was pretty expressive for a guy who only wanted to say goodbye.

The truck jerked as I hit something hard, small pieces of wood flying in every direction. I crashed forward but the seatbelt kept me from slamming into the steering wheel.

“What was that?” Clove asked, turning her head.

“Mrs. Little’s mailbox,” Thistle replied. “It went boom.”

“That came out of nowhere,” I muttered. This time it truly was an accident. “She must’ve moved it because she knew I would hit it and she wanted something to complain about.”

“Yeah, that must be it,” Thistle said dryly. “Come on. If we’re lucky, we’ll be able to fill Lila’s driveway with yellow snow before Officer Terry catches up with us.”

“That sounds like a plan.”

Ten

Everyone was exhausted when we got back to the house. Terry caught up with us just as we were leaving Lila’s street. He gave me a dirty look, but all of the girls waved and blew kisses so he merely shook his head and let us leave without flashing his lights or tossing about empty threats.

Christmas miracles take many forms, after all.

I found my nieces angrily slamming things around in the kitchen. The house usually boasted a variety of scrumptious scents this time of day, but all of them were absent thanks to my curse. Hmm. I might not have thought this one out completely.

“Where have you been all day?” Winnie asked, furious.

“I took the girls for breakfast and then on an elf hunt,” I said, pouring myself a mug of coffee. “We found Edgar, by the way. He’s not dead. He’s drying out at Margaret’s house.”

“What?”

“I know. I was disappointed, too,” I said. “I thought she chopped him up or something. I’m going to have to rethink all of my life decisions now that she’s done a good thing and helped her fellow man.”

“I just … .” Winnie pressed her lips together and shook her head. “Well, at least you didn’t get arrested.”

“Nope. Terry didn’t want the girls to start crying, so he let us go.”

Marnie’s mouth dropped open. “Are you serious?”

“He didn’t want my eyes to leak,” Clove offered, hopping up on the stool next to me and folding her hands as she surveyed the kitchen. “We’re hungry. What’s for dinner?”

“You’re going to get sandwiches at this rate,” Winnie replied. “We still can’t cook.”

“And we have a beautiful prime rib roast for Christmas Eve dinner tomorrow,” Twila added. “We need to put it in early and slow roast it. Do you have any idea how expensive that hunk of meat was? That’s on top of the turkey we got for Christmas Day.”

My mouth watered at the mention of prime rib. It’s one of my favorites. That didn’t mean I was ready to cede my superiority over my nieces … although I was definitely wobbling. “Do you have anything you want to say to me?”

Winnie narrowed her eyes. She’s bossy so she likes being in control. She knows when she’s licked, though. “If we agree to make cookies for you, will you lift the spell?”

“Yes.”

“That easy?” Winnie was understandably dubious. “Don’t you want to add certain conditions to the agreement?”

“Like you always do,” Twila muttered.

“Nope,” I answered. “I’m in a particularly giving mood. It is Christmas, after all.”

Winnie made a face as she exhaled heavily. “Fine. We’ll make your cookies.”

I sensed a trap. “You’ll make me really good cookies,” I clarified. “I don’t want any crap. For instance, I don’t want cookies with a half a cup of salt instead of sugar just because you’re feeling vengeful. I’m not stupid.”

Bay shot me an angry look but wisely kept her mouth shut.

“We’ll make you good cookies,” Winnie gritted out. “Technically we’ll be making our own cookies for Christmas, so you can have some of them. We would never make bad cookies for ourselves.”

She had a point. “I want chocolate and macadamia nuts.”

“Fine.”

“If you want to add a little magic to sway the judges, I wouldn’t be opposed to that either,” I added.

“We won’t be doing that,” Winnie said. “It’s not really winning if you have magical help.”

“I disagree, but as long as I win, I don’t care,” I said, climbing off the stool and motioning to the girls. “Come on, troublemakers,” I said. “Let’s look for the Christmas elf in the living room. I think there’s supposed to be a good movie on this afternoon and your mothers are clearly going to be busy baking.”

“You are … incorrigible,” Twila muttered.

“Yes, well, it keeps me young,” I said, smirking. “Oh, and by the way, we’re going to have a talk about all of these pearls of wisdom you keep dropping on the girls. I’m going to wait until the day after Christmas, though. I don’t want anyone mistaking me for the Grinch.”

Twila balked. “What pearls of wisdom?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I replied. “Perhaps little things like me complaining because I like to complain and it’s just the way I communicate need to be discussed.”

Twila scorched Thistle with a murderous look. “Really? I’m sure I never said anything of the sort.”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Thistle said, her grin impish. “You’re supposed to be setting a good example for me.”

“Run now,” Twila ordered, slapping her spatula against the counter. “I can only take so much.”

“Now you know how I feel,” I said, pushing open the swinging door between the kitchen and living room. “Make sure you get going on dinner soon. We’ve had a long day and we’re starving.”

“I’m so hungry my heart hurts,” Clove said. “I’ll probably die from the pain.”

“You took it a step too far, Clove,” I said, cringing when I saw the look on Marnie’s face. “You need to learn that sometimes less is more. Trust me. That’s one of the rules I live by.”

“I’ll think about it.”

CHRISTMAS morning dawned brightly and the girls woke me with excited squeals as they pounded down the stairs. I took my time getting into my robe, and by the time I hit the main floor Terry was already there with a mug of coffee in his hand and a smile on his face as he watched the girls divvy up presents.

“What are you doing here?” I asked accepting a mug of coffee from Marnie as she walked past. “I thought you were coming for dinner.”

“I am,” Terry replied. “Santa had a special gift for the girls that he couldn’t fit on his sleigh, though, and I had to bring it with me.”

I pursed my lips. He was a good man. He drove me crazy and I often wanted to curse him for questioning my integrity, but he loved the girls with his whole heart and gave everything he had freely to them.

“Well, that’s nice,” I said, turning my attention to the center of the living room. The girls weren’t allowed to open gifts at the same time. They had to wait their turn, which drove them crazy and made Christmas more fun for the adults, who enjoyed torturing them. What? Is that just me? Oh, well. It’s still fun. “Have you talked to Edgar?”

“I have,” Terry confirmed, bobbing his head. “He’s embarrassed by what happened. He says he fell off the wagon the day the girls found him. He’s actually thankful they did, though, because he thinks he might’ve slept right through to his death if they didn’t wake him.

“When they took off to get us, he managed to get to his feet,” he continued. “He was confused because he couldn’t remember how he got there – or even where he was – and he followed the girls’ footprints out of the trees.”

“Why didn’t he say something to us when he saw us coming?”

“He said he thought that I might arrest him for public drunkenness,” Terry explained. “I have threatened him a time or two, so it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. I would like to think I’d be giving because of the time of year, but it’s far more likely I would’ve hauled him in rather than let him ruin the tree-lighting ceremony.”

I wasn’t sure I believed that. “You have a wonderful Christmas spirit, Terry,” I said. “Don’t ever doubt that. You saw what we did at Lila’s house the other day and you didn’t even write a ticket.”

“I thought about it.”

“But you didn’t do it.”

“Yes, well, I didn’t want Clove’s eyes to leak,” Terry teased, poking Clove’s side as she skirted around him. Sugar barked and panted as sniffed saw the mountain of gifts. He would enjoy tearing through the leftover wrapping paper.

“It’s nice you’re here to spend the day with us,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “It wouldn’t feel like a family day without you.”

I could’ve been mistaken, but Terry’s eyes appeared to mist as he nodded. “Thank you.” He made room on his lap when Bay – still in her nightgown and slippers – hopped on his knee. Her hair was a mess and she looked barely awake but her eyes sparkled. “Hey, little missy. I see Santa brought you a ton of gifts. You must’ve been a good girl.”

Bay shrugged. “Sometimes I think I’m good. Other times I think I’m not.”

“You’re good,” Terry said. “You’re always good.”

“And twenty,” Thistle said from her place on the floor. “Ha! I told you I would get the same amount of presents. I just counted. So much for the naughty list.”

Terry pursed his lips as he shook his head. He looked annoyed. “She, on the other hand, straddles a very fine line.”

Bay giggled. “No, she doesn’t,” she said. “She has a big mouth but a nice heart. She’s like Aunt Tillie.”

“I heard that,” Thistle barked. “That’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Now it was my turn to make a face. “Not three days ago you told me you wanted to be just like me,” I reminded her. “Why is it okay for you to say it but not Bay?”

“Because Bay means it in a bad way,” Thistle answered. “I said I wanted to be feared like you. I didn’t say I wanted to be like you.”

“That’s not how I remember it.”

“That’s because you’re old.”

“Hey!” Terry barked loud enough that Bay jolted on his lap. He tightened his arms around her in a reassuring manner as he stared down Thistle. “You need to apologize to your great-aunt. That was uncalled for.”

Thistle’s face drained of color as she swallowed hard. “I’m … sorry.”

The apology wasn’t exactly heartfelt, but the fact that she said it at all was surprising.

“You need to think about what you say before you open your mouth, Thistle,” Terry said. “I know you think you’re funny, and I’m pretty sure that’s where a lot of your attitude stems from. You see your Aunt Tillie getting away with stuff and you think it’s because people find her funny.

“That’s partly true,” he continued. “It’s also true that she does good things for people. Did you know she took cookies to the children’s hospital in Traverse City last week? Do you want to know how I know that? I saw her when I was there taking gifts from the department.”

Thistle’s mouth dropped open as her eyes widened. “You did that?”

I shifted on my chair, uncomfortable. “I might’ve stopped by.”

“She did it because she’s a good person who just happens to like making mischief,” Terry said. “That’s what you need to realize. You can’t do only the mischief half of that equation. You have to do the good part, too.”

Instead of laughing, Thistle looked intrigued. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Because it was nobody’s business,” I said. “I go every year.”

“You lead by example,” Bay said, rubbing her cheek as she glanced at her mother. Her expression was far too thoughtful for a happy Christmas morning.

“I do lead by example,” I agreed, reaching inside my robe and removing the blue ribbon from the baking contest. I hadn’t let it out of my sight since winning it the previous day. Margaret was stupefied … and angry … and that made me happy. That probably wasn’t leading by example, but I was beyond caring. “For example, do you know what this ribbon means?”

Thistle nodded. “It means you beat Mrs. Little and she cried,” she said. “We were all there. We saw it.”

“That’s right,” I said. “And why is that important?”

“Because there are exceptions to every rule,” Bay answered. “You can’t call people fat and ugly, but you can call someone a horse face and drop yellow snow in their yard if they’re your mortal enemy.”

“Exactly,” I said, beaming.

Winnie scowled as she pointed toward the largest gift in the center of the room. It was the one Terry brought for them. I had a feeling I knew exactly what was under the wrapping paper. “Girls, I think Aunt Tillie is still waking up, so you might not want to listen to her this early in the morning,” she said. “Instead of opening all of your individual gifts, why not open the big one Terry brought for you to share?”

“I didn’t buy that,” Terry said. “Santa brought it and ran out of room.”

Bay shifted her eyes to him. “You’re Santa sometimes. You’re Santa this time. We already know that.”

Terry opened his mouth to argue and then snapped it shut. “Open your gift. I think you’re going to like it.”

Bay did as he asked, pressing a kiss to his cheek before joining her cousins. They each grabbed a side of the wrapping paper and counted to three as they ripped it off. Their eyes widened and I could hear a multitude of gasps and squeals when they unveiled the fairy castle from the catalog.

“Oh, my,” Winnie said, her hand flying to the spot over her heart. “But that was so expensive.”

Terry shrugged. “Santa doesn’t care about that.”

“But … .”

“Leave him be,” I ordered. “He can’t argue on Santa’s behalf.”

Winnie’s eyes filled with tears as she nodded. “Girls, what do you say to Terry for helping Santa?”

Bay, Clove and Thistle swiveled in unison. “Thank you for being our favorite Santa,” they sang out in unison. “We love you.”

Terry’s cheeks colored as he shifted on the chair. “I … you’re welcome.”

“Now he leads by example,” Thistle said, poking my knee. “What did you get us?”

“I spent the week with you,” I reminded her. “We plowed. We spied. We made yellow and brown snow. We solved a case. We tortured Margaret. We cursed your mothers. We cooked. We watched Christmas movies. I bribed you. You blackmailed me. We ate a bunch of doughnuts, too. What more do you want?”

Thistle shrugged. “Just this.” She took me by surprise when she gave me a hug. I didn’t know what else to do, so I returned it. Thistle was all smiles as she pulled away. “I can lead by example, too.”

“You certainly can.”

“Oh, now my eyes are definitely going to leak,” Clove said.

I couldn’t help but smile. “Merry Christmas, you little monsters. Open your gifts.”

It was a merry Christmas indeed. I didn’t even want to deafen myself with Q-tips when the singing started.

That’s a win to me.

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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.

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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 actual events is purely coincidental.

For more information:

- @yodaoneforme

- AuthorAmandaMLee

author@amandamlee.net

Books by Amanda M. Lee

An Avery Shaw Mystery

Who, What, Where, When, Die

If it Bleeds, it Leads

Buried Leads

Shot Off The Presses

The Preditorial Page

Misquoted & Demoted

Headlines & Deadlines

Misprints & Mistakes

A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Mystery

Any Witch Way You Can

Every Witch Way But Wicked

Witching You Were Here

Witching on a Star

Something to Witch About

Witch Me Luck

Life’s a Witch

Charms & Witchdemeanors

A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Short

Careful What You Witch For

Wicked Brew

On a Witch and a Prayer

You Only Witch Once

The Christmas Witch

Bewitched

A Solstice Celebration

Witchdependence Day

Happy Witchgiving

A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Fantasy

Witchy Tales

A Witch In Time

An Aisling Grimlock Mystery

Grim Tidings

Grim Offerings

Grim Discovery

Grim Reunion

Covenant College

Awakening

Whispering

Conjuring

Waxing & Waning

Graduating

Living Covenant Trilogy

Rising Covenant

Dark Covenant

Eternal Covenant

A Mystic Caravan Mystery

Freaky Days

Freaky Lies