wicked witches 07.5 - christmas witch by Amanda M. Lee Page A
Authors: Amanda M. Lee
agreed.
“Come with me,” Evelyn said, gesturing for us to follow her down the hallway. “Don’t ever tell anyone I did this for you.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” I said. I let Thistle and Clove follow Evelyn, but snagged Bay by the back of her coat and pulled her back so we were out of earshot. “I thought I told you to let me do the talking.”
“I thought I told you I didn’t want you locked up in this place for Christmas,” Bay countered.
“I … good job.”
“I know,” Bay said. “Come on. Let’s find out if Santa is crazy and then get out of here. This place gives me the creeps.”
She wasn’t the only one.
Evelyn led us to the end of the hallway before hanging a right. There, at the second door down, she stopped. “Do you want me to go in with you?”
“That won’t be necessary,” I replied hurriedly. “I want the reunion to be conducted in private in case Bernard cries at the sight of his favorite girls. He wouldn’t like anyone else seeing him cry.”
“That’s very sensitive of you.”
Evelyn left us, her mind probably back on whatever magazine she was leafing through when we entered the building. She’d already moved on from our sad plight.
“Now that was a better lie,” Bay said.
“I’m self-taught,” I quipped. When I realized Bay didn’t get the joke, I wiped the smile off my face. “Okay, you definitely need to let me do the talking this time.”
“Because you understand crazy?” Bay teased.
“I … well … yes.” I pushed open the door to Bernard’s room, surprised to find it looked more like a regular bedroom than anything out of a horror movie asylum. There were no padded walls and there were enough sharp edges for Bernard to kill himself twenty times over should the desire arise. This didn’t seem right.
“Tillie?” Bernard sat at the small table at the edge of the room, a deck of cards spread before him in a game of solitaire. He was dressed in jogging pants and a T-shirt, and despite what I expected, he looked healthier and relaxed.
“What the heck is going on here?” I asked. “I expected to find you strapped to the bed.”
Bernard furrowed his brow, his white eyebrows knitting together as confusion washed over his face. “What are you doing here?”
“We came to rescue Santa,” Clove announced.
I flicked her ear. “I said I would do all the talking.”
Clove scowled and crossed her arms over her chest, miffed.
“You came to rescue Santa, huh?” Bernard’s face was conflicted. “I … you guys know I’m not the real Santa, right?”
“We know,” Bay replied. “It’s just … you’re our Santa. We need you to come home for the Christmas party.”
“Well, Bay, I don’t really think that’s going to be possible.” Bernard looked genuinely upset. “I … can’t leave here.”
“Because you’re crazy?” Thistle asked.
“Why do you think I’m crazy?”
“I … .” Thistle bit her lip and then pointed at me.
“I didn’t say you were crazy,” I protested. Well, I kind of did. He didn’t need to know that, though. “It’s just … well … you’re in a mental hospital. We weren’t even sure you were alive.”
“How did you find me?”
“I … .” Crud. How could I answer him?
“We’re private investigators on the side,” Thistle answered smoothly.
That kid really needs to stop watching so much television.
“It’s not important how we found you,” I said. “We were worried. The girls wanted to see you. I … I’m really sorry you’re … struggling.”
“I am struggling,” Bernard agreed. “I’m not crazy, though.”
“I didn’t say you were crazy.”
“Yes, you did,” Clove said.
“Shut up, Clove.”
Bernard chuckled, the sound taking me by surprise. “You’ve always been a pip, Tillie,” he said. “You’re one of my favorite people. Do you know that?”
“It doesn’t surprise me,” I said. “Most people who know me love me.”
Thistle rolled her eyes.
“Come with me,” Evelyn said, gesturing for us to follow her down the hallway. “Don’t ever tell anyone I did this for you.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” I said. I let Thistle and Clove follow Evelyn, but snagged Bay by the back of her coat and pulled her back so we were out of earshot. “I thought I told you to let me do the talking.”
“I thought I told you I didn’t want you locked up in this place for Christmas,” Bay countered.
“I … good job.”
“I know,” Bay said. “Come on. Let’s find out if Santa is crazy and then get out of here. This place gives me the creeps.”
She wasn’t the only one.
Evelyn led us to the end of the hallway before hanging a right. There, at the second door down, she stopped. “Do you want me to go in with you?”
“That won’t be necessary,” I replied hurriedly. “I want the reunion to be conducted in private in case Bernard cries at the sight of his favorite girls. He wouldn’t like anyone else seeing him cry.”
“That’s very sensitive of you.”
Evelyn left us, her mind probably back on whatever magazine she was leafing through when we entered the building. She’d already moved on from our sad plight.
“Now that was a better lie,” Bay said.
“I’m self-taught,” I quipped. When I realized Bay didn’t get the joke, I wiped the smile off my face. “Okay, you definitely need to let me do the talking this time.”
“Because you understand crazy?” Bay teased.
“I … well … yes.” I pushed open the door to Bernard’s room, surprised to find it looked more like a regular bedroom than anything out of a horror movie asylum. There were no padded walls and there were enough sharp edges for Bernard to kill himself twenty times over should the desire arise. This didn’t seem right.
“Tillie?” Bernard sat at the small table at the edge of the room, a deck of cards spread before him in a game of solitaire. He was dressed in jogging pants and a T-shirt, and despite what I expected, he looked healthier and relaxed.
“What the heck is going on here?” I asked. “I expected to find you strapped to the bed.”
Bernard furrowed his brow, his white eyebrows knitting together as confusion washed over his face. “What are you doing here?”
“We came to rescue Santa,” Clove announced.
I flicked her ear. “I said I would do all the talking.”
Clove scowled and crossed her arms over her chest, miffed.
“You came to rescue Santa, huh?” Bernard’s face was conflicted. “I … you guys know I’m not the real Santa, right?”
“We know,” Bay replied. “It’s just … you’re our Santa. We need you to come home for the Christmas party.”
“Well, Bay, I don’t really think that’s going to be possible.” Bernard looked genuinely upset. “I … can’t leave here.”
“Because you’re crazy?” Thistle asked.
“Why do you think I’m crazy?”
“I … .” Thistle bit her lip and then pointed at me.
“I didn’t say you were crazy,” I protested. Well, I kind of did. He didn’t need to know that, though. “It’s just … well … you’re in a mental hospital. We weren’t even sure you were alive.”
“How did you find me?”
“I … .” Crud. How could I answer him?
“We’re private investigators on the side,” Thistle answered smoothly.
That kid really needs to stop watching so much television.
“It’s not important how we found you,” I said. “We were worried. The girls wanted to see you. I … I’m really sorry you’re … struggling.”
“I am struggling,” Bernard agreed. “I’m not crazy, though.”
“I didn’t say you were crazy.”
“Yes, you did,” Clove said.
“Shut up, Clove.”
Bernard chuckled, the sound taking me by surprise. “You’ve always been a pip, Tillie,” he said. “You’re one of my favorite people. Do you know that?”
“It doesn’t surprise me,” I said. “Most people who know me love me.”
Thistle rolled her eyes.