Page 23 of Last Witch Attempt
“No. I want to be at the inn before your boss shows up so I can talk to Mom and the aunts.”
“Because you want to warn them about what they say in front of Steve?”
“That and I want them to keep a firm eye on Aunt Tillie.”
Landon snorted, then caught himself. “Sorry. I was just … um … I had a nose itch.”
I glared at him. “Mom is the only one who can even pretend to control Aunt Tillie. We need her to at least try not to be … well … her.”
“You do realize that when you tell Aunt Tillie to not do something it only makes her want to do it more?”
That was one of the reasons she was so frustrating. One on a very long list. “What’s your suggestion then?” I challenged.
“I say let her do what she’s going to do. If you make a fuss about it, she’ll double her efforts. If she’s not getting the response she wants, she’ll stop.”
“She won’t stop,” I countered. “She’ll try something new.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Bay.” Landon used his most rational voice, which always served to set my teeth on edge. “I can’t make Aunt Tillie do what you want her to do. Nobody can.”
“Blah, blah, blah.” Briefly, I shut my eyes and burrowed into the hollow between his neck and shoulder. “It’s going to be a long day.”
“We’ll get through it. Maybe this is the start of our grandest adventure yet.”
How he could be so happy so early in the morning—no coffee or bacon in his system yet—was beyond me. I nodded all thesame. He was right. I was being a royal pain in the ass. I was being worse than Aunt Tillie. He didn’t deserve that.
“It will be fine,” I said. “I’m just in a weird mood.”
“Well, get over it. Our game faces have to be on for the big boss this morning. You’ll feel better after breakfast.”
“I think you’re getting me confused with you.”
“Yes, well, at least I’ll feel better after breakfast. That’s the most important thing.”
I SHOWERED, PULLED MY HAIR BACK IN Aponytail, and headed outside to allow Winchester to do his business while Landon got ready. Winchester was picky when choosing his spots, spending a good five minutes sniffing every bush. I allowed him to take his time. Near the tree line on the south side of the property, something caught my attention, and I stopped watching him and dropped to my knees.
There were footprints under the trees. There were no boot treads. It was as if bare feet had been planted in the spot so someone or something could stare at the guesthouse. Whatever it was, if it had been watching, it would’ve been looking directly at our bedroom.
I looked in that direction for several seconds, then back down at the footprint. Before I realized what I was doing, I was on the ground pulling off my shoe. That’s how Landon found me, one foot out and placed directly next to the print.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
I didn’t immediately answer. When I removed my foot from the spot, I cocked my head.
“What are you doing?” Landon repeated, nudging me with his shoulder and staring down at the spot that had garnered my attention. “Why did you do that?”
“Because these were here.” I pointed to the two prints that I had found. “I wanted to see what my footprint looked like next to them.”
“It’s a little different,” Landon said. “The toes are longer and the foot is narrower.” He lifted his chin. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. It just made me think.”
“Of the print we found last night,” he assumed.
“Yeah.”
“Did whatever killed those men follow us home last night?”
That was one possibility. There was another. “Perhaps whatever did the killing knew exactly where to find us.”
