“Thistle!” Mom extended a warning finger. “You cannot talk about your great-aunt that way.”
Thistle was blasé. She was used to Mom scolding her and didn’t care in the least. In fact, now that she was living away from the family property and only visiting the inn our mothers owned a few times a week, her brashness had grown incrementally. “Why not? It’s not as if she hasn’t earned it.”
“She’s still your elder.”
“Oh, did you just call her elderly?” Thistle’s eyes flashed. “She won’t like that.”
“I most certainly didn’t call her elderly,” Mom shot back. She knew very well what Aunt Tillie would think about being called the E-word. To Aunt Tillie, that word was worse than every other word, including the C-word (which would be “crone” in this instance). It was only an option when she tried lying to the cops or getting out of jury duty. “If you even think of … .”
Thistle didn’t care to let Mom finish her threat, instead raising her voice so it would carry into the kitchen. “Did you hear that, Aunt Tillie? Winnie just called you ‘elderly.’ You should get out here and kick her butt.”
Mom’s eyes flashed. “You’re in so much trouble,” she hissed.
Thistle shrugged, unbothered. “She’s also thinking of having T-shirts made up with a reminder that you’re elderly so people won’t forget. We’re looking through the family albums to find a photograph of you now.”
“I will kill you!” Mom was on her feet, her eyes trained on Thistle. “You are going to regret saying that.” Instead of storming into the kitchen to deny the charge, Mom turned in the opposite direction and breezed through the door that separated the dining room from the rest of the inn.
I watched her go with a mixture of amusement and curiosity before turning my attention to a smug-looking Thistle. “That was mean.”
“I’m fine with that.”
“She’ll make you pay.”
“I’m fine with that, too.” Thistle sipped her coffee. “I’m bored, so at least this will serve as a form of entertainment.”
She had a point. “Is it still snowing?” I asked, shifting on my chair. “The weather forecaster is predicting at least a foot of snow overnight.”
Thistle scowled. “Yeah, and it’s getting rough out there. The road between town and the inn hasn’t been plowed. It’s almost impassable.”
We live in northern Lower Michigan, so snow in January shouldn’t be a big thing. That didn’t mean it wasn’t cause for concern occasionally. “Really?” I rolled my neck. “Landon is on his way over here right now. He’s coming from Elk Rapids. Those side roads will be a mess.”
Thistle took pity on me. “Don’t worry about Landon. He’s an FBI agent. He knows what he’s doing. I’m sure he wouldn’t risk the roads if he didn’t think he could make it home.”
In addition to being an FBI agent, Landon Michaels was my boyfriend … and kind of my roommate … and most definitely the person who made me smile the most. He’d moved into the family guesthouse, located on the edge of the property, several weeks before. Now that Thistle was preparing to move out and was spending more time with her boyfriend Marcus at what would soon be their new house, we had the run of the place. It was still a work in progress, but things had been going well.
“I’m sure he’s fine, too.” I forced a weak smile. “What are you doing here tonight? I would’ve thought you’d stick close to town rather than risk the roads.”
“We’re in a bind,” Thistle explained, sobering. “The new furnace Marcus installed went out. He’s not sure why, but he can’t get in there to look at it until it warms up.”
“Which means you’re staying here for the night,” I mused. It was early in the week, so The Overlook wasn’t teeming with guests.
“I would’ve suggested staying with you at the guesthouse, but you’ve already turned my old room into your office,” Thistle said dryly. “I don’t want to return to the place where I’ve been so callously replaced.”
There was no way I was rising to that bait. “You left.”
“And you took over in five minutes flat.”
“I created an office for myself,” I clarified. “Landon took Clove’s old room as his office and I took yours as mine. You knew it was going to happen.”
“I did know it was going to happen. I just didn’t know it was going to happen that quickly.”
“We didn’t really have a choice. With Brian walking around the newspaper office sighing and glaring all the time, I needed a place to work that wasn’t under that roof.”
“I get it.” Thistle held up her hands. “I was just messing with you. What’s Brian’s deal, though? Why can’t he just get out and leave you to it? It’s as if he’s dragging his feet.”
“I think he’s had second thoughts about the sale, but he knows better than to try to back out because he’s afraid of Landon and Chief Terry,” I explained. “Chief Terry kind of arranged for the sale to happen in the first place by rallying the shop owners when Brian tried to fire me. He’s the reason I can buy the newspaper in the first place.”
“He’s a good guy.” Thistle smiled. “I would’ve paid big money to see Brian’s face when Chief Terry took him on. I bet he didn’t even see it coming.”
“I don’t think Chief Terry was happy that day.”
“Oh, I bet he was ticked.” Thistle smiled at the thought. “I bet he made Brian’s knees shake and there was probably a little bit of pee that shook loose. Chief Terry is a big guy, and Brian is a coward.”
I made a face. “Yeah, let’s not focus on the pee, shall we?”
Thistle chuckled. “It was just a thought.” She leaned back in her chair and fixed me with a serious look. “Why do you look as if you’re about to declare war?”
The question caught me off guard. “I’m perfectly calm.”
“No, you’re agitated. What were you doing when I got here?”
“Nothing.”
“Bull. You were doing something.”
“I don’t know why I even bother to answer your questions when I know you’re simply going to call me a liar,” I grumbled. “You only believe what you want to believe.”
“I also happen to know you,” Thistle pointed out. “You’re ticked off about something.” She chewed her bottom lip as she debated. “You’re angry with Aunt Tillie. I know that much. I caught that part of the conversation when I was coming in. What did she do to you?”
Now that was a loaded question. Aunt Tillie had done so many things to me over the course of my life that I’d lost count. “She’s evil.” I returned to my sulking with a glower on my face. “That woman is completely and totally evil.”
Thistle chuckled, legitimately amused. “You’re preaching to the choir, sister. I’ve been singing that particular song since I was six months old and learned how to speak.”
I snorted. “You didn’t learn to speak when you were six months old.”
“I did so.”
“You did not.”
“I did so.” Thistle’s eyes flashed. “I was very advanced for my age.”
“I’m older than you and was there,” I reminded her. “You didn’t start speaking when you were six months old. In fact, if I remember correctly, you didn’t start until you were two, and instead spent an entire year grunting and pointing rather than talking because you were lazy.”
Thistle furrowed her brow. “You take that back.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Take it back anyway,” Thistle barked.
“Fine. I take it back. You started talking at six months. You were a prodigy and we were all in awe.”
“That’s better.” Thistle crossed her arms over her chest and stared me down. “I think you of all people should know that I had no choice but to start speaking early because I needed to protect myself – and therefore all of you as well – against Aunt Tillie.”
“And speaking early did that for you?”