9. Nine
NINE
T he smart thing to do would’ve been to avoid Mrs. Little. That was my plan. When crossing in front of her store, however, I couldn’t stop from looking inside.
Cora Locke and Madison Wentworth stood at the counter. Mrs. Little appeared to be filling out order sheets—with tourist season coming she would have to stock up. She was laughing at something one of them had said. She seemed happy.
That was a load off. From a distance she looked fine. Still, I wanted to see and hear for myself.
With a lie tucked firmly in my back pocket, I strode through the door as if I didn’t have a care in the world, holding my breath as Mrs. Little glanced up. She didn’t shrink back in fear. She didn’t hide under the counter. She openly glared.
This was also good. She was never happy to see me.
“I don’t want to take up much of your time,” I offered calmly. “Just here to see if you want to run the same ad as last year for the season kickoff.” That’s what was good about owning my own business, one that sold ads to all the other businesses. I did have a legitimate reason for being there.
“Remind me what the ad was,” Mrs. Little said primly.
“It was a half-page ad about the wonder of unicorns.”
She made a face. Her store—the Unicorn Emporium—was all about unicorns. There were unicorn statues as far as the eye could see. Steel, porcelain, plastic, glass, and resin. I found unicorns creepy, but now wasn’t the time to bring that up.
“You have to be more specific,” Mrs. Little said.
“It’s a buy-one-get-one-half-off ad,” I replied. “The small print says the more expensive unicorn is the full-priced one. It also touts unicorn bath salts.”
“Those are coming in tomorrow,” Mrs. Little said, bobbing her head. “That sounds fine. Can you email me a copy of the ad so I can look at it and sign off?”
“Absolutely.”
The room fell into silence, all eyes on me.
“Do you need something else, Bay?” Mrs. Little asked when I continued to stand there like an idiot.
“Nope. I’m good.” I smiled and headed for the door. “It was nice seeing you, as always.”
Mrs. Little didn’t respond. The second I walked through the door, before it fell shut, the three women burst into hysterical gales of laughter. Apparently, everything was back to normal in Mrs. Little’s world.
I hummed to myself as I walked the block down to Hypnotic, the magic store Clove and Thistle owned. They both glanced up when the wind chimes by the door alerted them to my presence.
“How did things go last night?” Clove asked. She had a clipboard and was following Thistle around. They were deciding what to order—or make in some cases, like the candles Thistle sold for a mint.
“They went,” I replied. I moved to the couch. Finding Calvin awake and alert in his playpen, I snagged him and sat. The baby gurgled happily as he sucked on his pacifier. He’d been fussy as a newborn, but now he was a smiley baby. I hoped he stayed that way.
“I think you’re going to have to give us more than that,” Thistle said as she counted cornstalk dolls.
They were a more recent addition. She’d decided to make them for the first time in the fall.
They’d been a hot seller. Finding the stalks she needed to make more in the spring wouldn’t be easy, though.
I ran them through the evening’s happenings.
“Sounds like it could’ve gone worse,” Thistle noted when I finished. “Sorry we left but … well … you know.”
“‘The Man,’” I said knowingly.
Thistle chuckled. “As much as I tell myself that I shouldn’t believe anything that comes out of that old woman’s mouth, I can’t help myself. The police—especially the Feds—make me itchy.”
“Yeah. I get it.” I leaned my head back on the couch and stared at the ceiling as I exhaled heavily. “There’s more.”
“Oh, I hate it when there’s more,” Clove complained.
Calvin apparently didn’t hate it because he clapped his hands. That earned a smile from me. “You’re getting cute,” I said to him, poking the dimple in his cheek. Clove had the same dimple. “Girls are going to go crazy for that thing.”
“He’s going to be a mama’s boy,” Clove said. “He won’t care about girls, just making his mommy happy.” She beamed at her son.
Thistle shook her head. “Yeah, that won’t make him insufferable or anything.”
“Hey!” Clove’s eyes flashed with annoyance. “He’s my good boy. Don’t even think of giving him a hard time.”
Thistle abandoned her project and crossed to me. “What’s the other stuff?”
“I saw Mrs. Little.”
“We saw her too,” Clove said. “From afar. We didn’t talk to her.”
“I couldn’t stop myself. I went into her store to ask if she wanted to run the same ad as last year.”
“You were understandably curious,” Thistle said. “How was she?”
“Honestly? She seems fine. It’s as if nothing ever happened to her.”
“Why aren’t you happy about that?”
“Because I can’t help but feel it was too easy. What if she regresses?”
“What if she doesn’t?”
I made a face. “Since when are you the optimist?”
“I’m not optimistic. I can tell by the look on your face that we have more to worry about than just the Feds.”
I bounced Calvin on my knee as I geared up to tell them the rest. “The victims were from the Detroit area. Supposedly they were up here camping.”
“Why do you say ‘supposedly’ like that?” Clove asked.
“It’s early in the season,” I replied. “There’s not much to hunt this time of year.”
“So, they weren’t hunting,” Thistle said.
“They could’ve been hunting morels,” I said, “but it’s early for that.”
“Morels won’t be popping hardcore for three weeks,” Thistle agreed. “By the way, we’re going morel hunting this year. I want to freeze some to get through the winter, and that means I need a big haul. Our Moms will want enough for at least two dinners, too.”
I made a face. “I hate morel hunting.”
“That’s because you can’t see them,” Clove said. “They’re yummy.”
“I don’t mind eating them. They’re not my favorite, but they’re fine.”
“Well, we’re going.” There was no give to Thistle’s tone. “Go back to the dead guys. Why do you think it’s out of the realm of possibility that they were camping?”
“It’s not warm enough to have fun camping yet.”
“You can’t have fun camping regardless of the weather,” Clove sniffed. “Maybe they were trying to save money. Sometimes the snowmobile routes last into April.”
“The snow is gone early this year. There are no trails.”
“Maybe they couldn’t get their deposit back and decided to come up here and drink for a week.”
“I’m trying to figure out why they were targeted. It’s possible they were in the wrong place at the wrong time, but that doesn’t feel right.”
Thistle and Clove were silent, letting me finish.
“This morning, when I was outside with Winchester, I found the same print we saw near the bodies.”
“I didn’t know you found prints.” Thistle straightened. “I’m guessing they weren’t human.”
“They kind of looked human. The toes are too long, though, and the feet were bare.”
“Well, it’s too cold—especially at night—for a human to be walking around without shoes.”
I nodded. “I was thinking that myself. Whatever it was positioned itself to stare into our bedroom.”
“Creepy,” Clove muttered.
“Steve and Spencer are staying at the inn. They decided it was smarter to be close to the action.”
“Ugh.” Thistle wrinkled her nose. “‘The Man’ is invading.”
“They’re not the ones we need to worry about. Cam, Hodgins, and Patrice are bigger threats. I don’t believe they’re staying in town—at least not yet—but I expect them to stop in regularly and poke their noses into our business.”
“You don’t like Cam,” Thistle noted.
“I don’t trust her.”
“She’s in love with Landon,” Clove argued. “Of course Bay doesn’t want her around.”
“It’s not that,” I countered. “In fact, I don’t think she really likes Landon. I think she pretends to like him as a way to gauge how I react.
“Patrice was taken over by a changeling,” I continued. “We fixed her memory, but that doesn’t always work. I’m afraid she’ll remember the wrong thing … and then what’s going to happen?”
“You can’t control that.” Thistle was firm. “As much as you would like to—and we would all prefer that outcome—there’s nothing we can do at this point until we know. It’s something we’re going to have to feel out.”
I hated when Thistle was the rational one in our group.
“There’s one more thing,” I started.
“Geez. You’ve had quite the morning.” Clove didn’t look happy. “And here I thought I was the one who had the rough night.”
“You mean Aunt Tillie dancing on the ship? Yeah, I heard about that. She says it wasn’t her.”
“I think I know what Aunt Tillie looks like.” Clove’s expression turned dark. “She’s not fooling anyone. I want to know what she was doing.”
“She was probably coming up with a spell to hex us,” Thistle volunteered. “We’re all on her list right now.”
“Oh, don’t even.” I wagged a finger, grinning when Calvin tried to grab it. “You’re the one on her list right now. She’s not happy with me, but she’s focused on you. Clove shouldn’t even be on her radar. Well, other than being a tattletale.”
Clove bristled. “I am not a tattletale!”
“Maybe she needed water for whatever spell she’s about to cast,” Thistle mused, ignoring Clove’s outburst. “I can see her going there for privacy.”
It was something I hadn’t considered. “Maybe. She’s going to be a handful, though.”
“When isn’t she?”
“I need her to rein it in. Whatever killed those men isn’t working alone.” I launched into the tale of the arachnids.
“Human-sized spiders?” Clove screeched, clutching the front of her shirt as if she was about to shake it and remove any bugs that might’ve crawled in. “What the hell, Bay?”
Was she really blaming me for this? “Um, I didn’t bring them here.”
“You need to get rid of them.” Clove was firm. “I don’t want them here. I just … no!” Her eyes were wild.
“You should’ve said it was Bigfoot,” Thistle offered. “Now we’re going to hear about spiders for the rest of our lives.”
“They’re easy enough to kill,” I argued.