Every Witch Way But Wicked (A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Mystery) by Amanda M. Lee Page B

seated, the conversation became decidedly stilted.
    “So, this murder mystery must be big business for both the store and the inn,” Landon said finally. I think the uncomfortable pall that had descended on the table thanks to the return of the omnipresent Aunt Tillie had forced him to act as a mediator. It was another interesting new facet of his personality. It was weird seeing him interact with normal people. Well, people that weren’t drug dealers and murders, I amended myself.
    “We’re generally pretty busy,” my mom replied. “When we have an town event, we usually book up pretty quickly, but we have 75 percent occupancy just about every week.”
    Landon looked impressed. “This town manages to sustain its tourism business year round?”
    “Pretty much,” Marnie said distractedly.
    “How is that possible?”
    “It’s the rebranding,” I supplied.
    Landon slid a sideways look in my direction. “The rebranding? You mean making it a witch town?”
    “It’s not a witch town,” Thistle interjected. “Just think of it like Salem, Massachusetts. People love the paranormal, and we’re just giving them what they love. It’s a niche town, not a witch town.”
    I furrowed my brow at her sudden explanation. It seemed a little out of place given the circumstances. We were just a family sitting around the dinner table, after all. A normal family, for all Landon and the guests knew. We didn’t want to pique Landon’s suspicion.
    “I think of Salem as a witch town,” Landon said dubiously. “They have actual history, though. This is just a bunch of people playing witch.”
    Thistle and I exchanged a wary glance. We needed to change the subject pretty quickly – before Aunt Tillie decided to impart her knowledge on the assembled guests.
    “So what’s if feel like to be shot?”
    I cast a flabbergasted look in Thistle’s direction. She shrugged helplessly. It was probably the first thing that crossed her mind. We’re not great under pressure.
    If Landon was surprised by the question, he didn’t convey it. “It hurts,” he admitted.
    “I bet,” Twila said. “Is it like a sharp, continuous pain, or does it only hurt at first?”
    I don’t know why Thistle says she’s nothing like her mother. Right now, aside from the shades of their hair, I couldn’t see a difference between the two of them.
    “I don’t know,” Landon said truthfully. “I was unconscious for most of it. By the time I was awake, I was on a morphine drip.”
    “Oh, yeah, I forgot about that,” Twila said, biting her lip and fidgeting.
    “So, there’s no witch history here in Hemlock Cove?” Brian asked. He looked disappointed.
    “None that’s ever been documented,” I lied smoothly.
    “Really? Because my grandfather said that it was common knowledge that your family dances naked under the full moon to increase your power base and cast spells.”
    I’m going to kill William – I don’t care that he’s already dead.
    “That’s not witch stuff, that’s Aunt Tillie’s special wine,” Thistle said quickly. “She brews it herself.”
    Landon smiled lazily in my direction. “You dance naked under the full moon?” I could tell the thought intrigued him.
    “I do not,” I said.
    “Thistle, Clove and Bay are embarrassed of their bodies,” Marnie said. “They just watch while we do it.”
    I swear, in Marnie’s mind that probably sounded better than it actually came out.
    “You watch?” I could tell Landon was fighting to keep from laughing.
    Did being forced to watch count? “We don’t watch . . . “
    “So you participate?”
    “No.”
    “So you just watch?”
    “No.”
    Crap! This conversation had taken an obnoxious turn.
    “Well, which is it?”
    “Anyone ready for pie?” I pushed my chair away from the table. Thankfully, the guests at the far end of the table raised their hands. “I’ll go get it.”
    “I’ll help,” Clove offered, jumping to her feet.
    “Me, too,” Thistle added.
    “We’ll