Free Somebody Tell Aunt Tillie We're In Trouble! (The Toad Witch Mysteries Book 2) by Christiana Miller

like he was ready to strangle me. “I am not going to be stuck supporting a baby with birth defects, genetic mutations or three heads. So you’d better do something. Or I will.” He said, his voice thick with threat.
    *     *     *
    I jumped in the SUV and turned the radio up to an ear-splitting volume. I tore off so fast, the tires squealed. The oldsters and staff who were out enjoying the mild weather, shot me such dirty looks, I felt like I was going to be single-handedly responsible for a run on blood pressure meds.
    By the time I left the grounds, the seat belt warning was screaming and I was starting to get a headache.
    Aunt Tillie’s voice yelled above the din. “Pull over and buckle your seat belt, young lady. Stop acting like a petulant child.”
    She waved her hand and the car promptly lost power.
    I turned the key in the ignition, but got nowhere.
    I glared at her. Damn ghosts. Once she found out she could control electronics, there was no stopping her.
    “I’m not a child!” I protested, buckling up.
    “And you’re not going to live long enough to have one, if you keep driving like that. I can tell you from experience, the trees are not very forgiving.”
    “I’m just mad.” I grumbled.
    “So, do what other pissed-off pregnant women do. Go shopping. Don’t you have a baby to buy for?”
    She blinked out and the car started up again. I turned the radio down and thought about it. Aunt Tillie was right. Maybe I could channel my anger into a productive shopping trip. There were still a lot of things I needed. Especially since I didn’t have family to turn to for hand-me-downs.
    I drove over to the mall in Oldfield and blew a hole in my bank account, making the idea of the baby as permanent as I possibly could. Then I went home to cry on Gus’s shoulder, but of course, he was out with Forrest.
    So I loaded the Dobies in the car and we drove around Devil’s Point to check out Christmas decorations. Between the businesses and cheerily-decorated houses, the town’s collective light bill had to be astronomical.
    Oddly enough, as much as I had complained about the winter weather, I missed the snow, now that it was gone. It wasn’t the same, looking at Christmas decorations in grassy yards. Now that it was warm enough to wear shorts and tank tops, it didn’t feel like Christmas anymore.
     

Chapter 17
    T he next morning, I heard Gus banging around in the kitchen when I woke up. He must have put the Dobies out in the run, since they weren’t milling around my feet like they usually did. Most people think Dobies need a lot of space, but they’re the perfect apartment dog. All they need is the three square feet of space around their owner.
    I should get a tee-shirt made: “Owning a Dobe means never going to the bathroom alone—no matter how much you might want to.” Not that I got much privacy with Gus either, but at least I could beat him to the door and lock him out.
     I brushed my teeth and wandered downstairs in my pajamas.
    *     *     *
    “Hey, whatever you’re doing in there, I hope it culminates in food hitting my stomach. I’m starving!” I said, walking into the kitchen.
    The Dobes were on the floor by the stove, their eyes following Gus’s every move. He was in crazy chef mode. The counter and kitchen table were cluttered with ingredients and cooking tools, the stovetop crammed with skillets and bubbling pots.
    “A feast can’t just be pulled out of thin air, Sleeping Beauty. It takes preparation,” he said, stirring a pot.
    A feast? Then I remembered. Gus had decided we needed to celebrate Misrule early this year and he was going to kick it off with a Supper for the Dead.
    “But that’s not until tonight.” 
    “You’ll ruin your appetite by eating now.” He grabbed a pan of melted butter off the stove and brushed it onto layers of thin phyllo dough .
    “Can I get a corner of space for a tiny bowl of cereal?”
    “You’re out of cereal.”
    “What? I still