12. Twelve
TWELVE
E van rode with me to The Overlook. Once there, he headed toward the trees rather than the inn.
“Mom and the others will want to see you,” I called after him. “You’ll hurt their feelings if you take off this way.”
“I’m not interested in hurting their feelings,” Evan replied. “Trust me, that’s not my intention. But I’m not interested in having to explain who I am to the Feds.”
“We could just tell them that you’re a family friend,” I offered. “We don’t have to go into the vampire thing. Trust me, they’re never going to guess what you really are.”
“I haven’t decided how I want to be involved in that whole situation,” Evan admitted. “I’m thinking about it, but right now I don’t really want to be around them, Bay.”
I understood his concern. It was one thing to tell Steve I was a witch. That seemed harmless enough in the grand scheme of things. The whole day-walking vampire with a soul thing was something else entirely.
“I’m not telling him about you guys. There will be no mention that Easton is a gnome from another plane. There will be no mention of Scout being a pixie witch or Gunner a shifter. I would never spill your secrets.”
“I know.” Evan was solemn. “I’m not worried about that. I just prefer keeping my distance at present.”
“Okay.” I forced a smile I didn’t feel, wondering if I’d made a terrible mistake because this would put distance between me and the people I cared about.
“Hey.” Evan took a step in my direction. “I’m not walking away from you and your family. Tillie would punish me until the end of time if I tried. I just don’t want to hang around the Feds. I’ll still be around to help you.”
“That’s good.” Some of the tension that had been building fled. “I’ve been second-guessing myself a lot,” I admitted. “I’m not sure this was a good idea.”
“Do you not trust Landon’s boss?”
“I trust him,” I replied. “I trust him a great deal. I just … it’s always been ingrained in me that I should keep this secret.”
“You can’t put that cat back in the bag. They knew about you before you agreed to work with them. It’s better to control the flow of information. At least you have a modicum of control this way. Otherwise…”
“It feels like everything is changing. I don’t do well with change.”
“If Landon believed this partnership endangered you, he wouldn’t allow it to continue.”
“He loves being an FBI agent more than anything,” I said. “He’s going to try to find a way to make it work regardless.”
“Not more than anything,” Evan countered. “There’s one thing he loves more.”
My cheeks heated under his pointed stare. “I don’t want to be the reason he loses his job. He wouldn’t mean to, but he would be bitter and ultimately blame me.”
“I don’t think you’re giving him enough credit. Either way, you’re nowhere near that place yet. Try to unclench a bit. We have options at our disposal if things go poorly.”
“You mean a memory spell. This has gone too far for that.”
“For one of your little memory spells, yes. Not for a big one.”
“I’ve never cast a big one. At least not under circumstances like this.”
“Luckily, you’re not alone.” Evan tipped an invisible hat and grinned. “It’s going to be fine, Bay. Don’t let the ‘what-ifs’ drive you crazy. Just take a breath and eat whatever wonderful dinner your mother has put together.”
“They have been cooking up a storm.” I glanced at the front door of the inn. “I should probably get inside. If I’m going to argue with Aunt Tillie—and that seems likely—I should get it out of the way before Steve and Spencer arrive.”
“That’s probably for the best,” Evan agreed. “There’s little Tillie loves more than putting on a show. If she believes she’s the center of attention, she’ll play it up for her audience.”
That was exactly what I was afraid of.
THE INN WAS QUIET WHEN I ENTERED through the front door. Peg and Winchester weren’t racing around the lobby, which meant they were likely napping in the family living quarters. My intention was to check on the dog. I got distracted by the argument blowing up in the dining room.
“I’m not saying she’s crazy,” Twila insisted. “I’m saying that maybe she’s going a little cuckoo.” She twirled her finger near her ear to get her point across.
Mom glared at her. “That’s not better than saying she’s nuttier than a Snickers bar,” Mom snapped. “You should try to use your words better.”
“I use my words fine.”
“No, you don’t.” Mom vehemently shook her head. “Besides, Aunt Tillie isn’t cuckoo. She’s just looking for attention.” The expression on my mother’s face suggested that perhaps she didn’t believe what she was saying.
“What’s going on?” I asked, jolting them both. They hadn’t realized I was watching them.
“Nothing,” Mom replied quickly, avoiding eye contact. “Twila is just being Twila.”
“Yes, apparently it’s wrong to be worried about our geriatric aunt.” Sarcasm dripped from Twila’s tongue. “I should be flogged.”
My gaze bounced between them. “Does this have something to do with Aunt Tillie’s little performance downtown this afternoon?”
Mom snapped her gaze in my direction. “What did she do downtown?”
Uh-oh. Apparently, I was the tattletale today. There was little Aunt Tillie hated more than tattletales. I was definitely going to be on her list. “Um…”
“You’d better tell me,” Mom intoned. “I won’t be happy if you keep information from me. In fact, I’ll make sure your husband is the only one who doesn’t get a slice of cake as punishment. I put the raspberries on as garnishes just as he likes, so he’ll be doubly upset.”
I glared at her. “That was quite the effective threat.”
“I learned from the best.” Mom folded her arms across her chest. “Now spill.”
I told them about the four-wheeler and the scooter, about the changing capes and helmets. Mom seemed more confused than anything else when I finished. “Why would she do that?”
I held out my hands and shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“Well, that is just odd.” She shook her head. “That’s not a very good use of her time. Aunt Tillie has always been efficient.”
That’s what she was worked up about? “Um…”
“I’m just saying,” Mom snapped. “Changing capes and hopping from vehicle to vehicle would take too much of her time. It wasn’t very warm today.”
“Plus, how did she get two vehicles downtown?” Twila asked. “She usually drives the four-wheeler and then loads the scooter in her truck. I don’t think there’s room on that four-wheeler for the scooter.”
“That’s really not what I’m worried about,” I said. “I’m more worried about her state of mind. Not to risk getting on your bad side, but that was a bit of a nutty thing to do.”
“Told you.” Twila was triumphant. “I told you it was fine to say that she was nutty.”
Mom ignored her and kept her focus on me. “She’s been fine.”
“She’s been a little off,” I insisted.
“Just because of this thing today? That’s not even the weirdest thing she’s done this week.”
“You said yourself that it wasn’t time efficient,” I pointed out. “Aunt Tillie is lazy. She would just take the four-wheeler one day and stick to it and the scooter the next day.”
“Just because she got a little colorful this afternoon, that’s not a reason to panic in my book.” Mom was firm. “She’s fine.”
Mom needed her to be fine. We all made jokes that Aunt Tillie was going to live forever. She was getting up there, though. Aunt Tillie might claim to be middle-aged, but she was in her eighties. Cognitively, she’d held it together for a really long time.
“Mom.” I adopted my most reasonable tone. “Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to take her in and have her tested.”
Mom balked. “I’m not going to lock her up.”
“I didn’t say lock her up.” Where had she gotten that from? “I said have her tested. If she’s starting to suffer from the beginning stages of dementia—or something else—then at least we’d be aware.”
“And then what?” Mom looked pained. “We can’t lock her in the house. We can’t take her greenhouse away. And don’t get me started on that pot field.”
“I didn’t say we had to take any of that away,” I challenged. “I just think we should have her checked. She claims she wasn’t at Clove’s dancing, but Clove saw her.
“Last night I saw her dancing through the window at Mrs. Little’s house and when I called her on it, told her it wasn’t appropriate to dance given what happened, she told me she hadn’t been dancing,” I continued. “Now, it’s possible she’s lying?—”
“She likes to lie,” Twila agreed.
“She has no qualms about lying,” I confirmed. “Normally, she owns her crap, though. That’s simply who she is. She’s denying it now. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t remember.”
“She can’t go from remembering to not remembering overnight,” Mom argued. She was digging her heels in, which wasn’t a good sign. “That’s not how it works.”
“That’s how it can seem, because older individuals get good at covering for their deficiencies.
” I wasn’t trying to be mean. I did think, if this was happening, we should get ahead of it.
Aunt Tillie wasn’t a normal woman. If her mind was starting to slip, her magic was going to become an issue.
She was powerful, so if she threw a tantrum and lost control, people could die.
It was our responsibility to make sure that didn’t happen.
“So what?” Mom placed her hands on her hips and stared me down. Somehow this had turned into a me-versus-her thing. “You think Aunt Tillie has suddenly lost her marbles and doesn’t know where she is from moment to moment? Is that what you’re saying?”
Before I could respond, the swinging door that separated the dining room from the kitchen flew open and Aunt Tillie appeared. She had a soda in her hand—a full sugar one, which she wasn’t allowed to have because Mom couldn’t stand it when she got all sugared up—and she seemed to be lost in thought.
Mom’s voice was unnaturally high as she addressed Aunt Tillie. “Do you need something?”
Aunt Tillie slowly slid her gaze to Mom. “What?”
“I asked if you needed anything.” Mom gripped her hands together in front of her.