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

people there were townspeople and tourists. It will make the news by tonight, for sure,” I replied.
    “Are you going to call Chief Terry?”
    “I’ll just stop in at the department on my way into work.”
    Clove brewed a pot of coffee and slid the first cup towards me. She tossed a few slices of bread into the toaster for breakfast, and then sat down next to me to eat them. “Who do you think would kill Myron?”
    “I don’t know,” I sipped my coffee and shrugged.
    “Someone killed Myron?”
    Clove and I looked up to see Thistle and Marcus walking into the room. Neither one of us had heard the door open, so we were surprised by their sudden appearance. Sadly, Marcus was completely dressed.
    “You didn’t know that?”
    “No. When?” Thistle directed Marcus towards the stool on my left and poured two cups of coffee. She slid one across the counter towards Marcus and then fixed a hard gaze on me. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
    “I assumed you knew,” I replied. Marcus’ presence – even though he was now fully clothed – was something of a distraction. “It happened at the bonfire last night. You were there.”
    “We never actually made it,” Thistle shifted uncomfortably.
    “Really?” I smiled slyly in Thistle’s direction. “Where did you go?”
    “We went for a moonlight horse ride, if you must know,” Thistle shot back. I heard her grumble “busybody” under her breath.
    “There’s nothing like the smell of horse crap in the moonlight to entice you to drop your panties,” I smirked.
    If Marcus were any redder, he’d spontaneously combust. “I should get to work,” he said uncomfortably.
    “Don’t let Bay chase you off,” Clove chided me. “We’re teasing Thistle, not you.”
    “It’s not that,” Marcus lied. “I just have to get back to work.”
    Clove and I wisely held our tongues as we watched Thistle walk Marcus to the door and say goodbye. When she came back to the kitchen, she didn’t look happy. “Both of you are dead to me. You’re such . . . witches.”
    “How were we supposed to know that you brought him home,” I complained. “We never saw you last night and we just assumed you came home after us. We didn’t realize you were already home – and otherwise engaged – before we got here.” I sipped my coffee and watched Thistle carefully. She looked pissed.
    “You love this, don’t you?”
    “I don’t hate it,” I admitted.
    Thistle narrowed her eyes as she regarded me. “If I were you, I’d forget what you saw.”
    “I don’t think I can do that,” I said carefully. “It’s not that often that you see a washboard on a man and not at the river or in a museum.”
    Clove giggled appreciatively.
    “I can’t wait until your mom finds out you had sex on the first date.”
    That did it. Thistle practically flew over the counter and tackled me backwards. We both hit the ground hard. I could feel her tugging my hair as she tried to pin me to the ground. “You’re not telling anyone about this,” she seethed.
    Thistle had taken me by surprise, and she had the leverage. I couldn’t manage to buck her off me; no matter how hard I tried. “I can’t breathe,” I complained.
    “Promise you’re not going to say anything,” Thistle growled.
    “I won’t say anything,” I promised. I couldn’t guarantee the aunts wouldn’t find out some other way, though. It was eerie how they managed to know things we went out of our way to lie to them about.
    Thistle had managed to successfully pin me to the ground – and she didn’t look like she was going to get off my chest anytime soon. “I’m not joking,” she warned me.
    “I won’t tell,” I grunted, shifting my midriff so she tumbled off to the side. I knew I wouldn’t be able to do it if she didn’t let me.
    We both got up and returned to our cups of coffee silently. After a few minutes, Thistle broke the silence. “So Myron is really dead?”
    “Yeah, someone stabbed him behind the town square,