Janine took over the tale. “Jake the Snake didn’t even flinch. He just looked right at the Masked Bandit and said his famous line...”
Then the three of us ladies spoke in unison. “You think you’re gonna take our gold, then you don’t know the miners of Hillcrest. Get out of this town, Masked Bandit, before I count down from ten.”
“This Jake guy said that, even though the bandit had a gun?” Max asked.
I smiled at Max and nodded. “The people of Hillcrest have always had a very adventurous spirit. It took a lot of guts to live here back in the day. If you think it’s remote here now, just imagine what it was like back before snowplows and paved roads. It used to take people days to get into town, and days to get out. “
“Did the Masked Bandit leave?” Max asked,
“Nope,” I said. “He aimed his gun right at Jake the Snake.”
Penny twitched with excitement. “I love this part! Can I tell it?”
We all looked to her.
“Jake the Snake started counting down,” she said. “During the reenactment, we all count down with him. You know... ten, nine, eight...”
“It’s real fun,” Janine said happily.
Penny went on. “And then when he said ‘one’ he reached into his pocket, whipped out a real live snake, and threw it at the Masked Bandit! Now, it was just a little old ground snake, but the Masked Bandit didn't know that. The guy must’ve thought it was a rattler coming at him, because he dropped his gun and turned right around and steered his stallion out through the doors, and then right on out of Hillcrest!”
“The Historical Society still has the gun,” Janine explained. “A Colt Model 1855 single-action, six-shooter revolver! I hear that sometimes they even keep it loaded, and take it out to shoot with it. It still works and everything. They lend it out once a year for the reenactment, but then it goes right back into the display case. It’s one of the town’s most cherished pieces of memorabilia.”
I laughed, thinking about how silly it all must have sounded to Max. I knew that we locals often took way too much pride in our town’s history.
I picked up where Janine had left off. “And now every year, the town acts out the whole bit. One of the actors from the drama club plays the part of Jake the Snake, and one of them plays the Masked Bandit. We all do the countdown bit, and then Jake the Snake even throws a rubber snake at the guy! It always gets a standing ovation.”
“Probably that’s because everyone’s kinda tipsy at that point,” Penny said.
“It starts at five,” I said. I pulled out my phone and checked the time. “Twenty minutes to go!”
Janine finished filling the pitcher and handed it to me.
“I can’t wait to see this,” Max said.
“You’re going to love it,” Penny promised him.
I left Max and Penny at the bar and picked up the pitcher of ale and my glass of wine. I deposited the pitcher in the middle of the table where The Miser and one other guest were sitting. The other guest was an elderly woman who wore a wreath of greenery on her head and a flowing brown gown. She and The Miser were having an intense discussion about the appropriate amount to save for retirement.
I returned to the bar for a few beer mugs, which I distributed amongst the guests. When I got back to The Miser’s table, I poured out a beer for him and the wreath-wearing woman. “Cheers!” I said, holding up my own glass. “I’m very glad that you are here in Hillcrest. I hope you have a wonderful time.”
“I’m very excited,” the woman said. “I’ve studied magic for most of my adult life, and I’ve heard wonderful things about King Midas' workshops. A member of my coven heard him speak once at a Wiccan Witches Business Conference in the Fire Realm, and she raved about it for months afterwards. And I must say, she’s been very well off in the years since that conference She recently bought herself an in-ground pool! The lucky witch.”
The Miser furrowed his gray brows. “Now, now, an in-ground pool isn't all that wonderful. In fact, I absolutely advise against them. They’re unnecessary, frivolous things. And very expensive to put in, but that’s just the beginning. Then you have the upkeep, the maintenance, the chemicals to purchase... all of it adds up, and very quickly.”
“But it gives her hours of pleasure,” the woman countered.
The Miser opened his mouth to protest, but the woman looked at me and spoke before he could. “What do you think, Marley? Is a pool a frivolous expense?”
I sipped my wine to buy myself some time as I tried to form an opinion on the matter.
However, I was drawing a blank.
In-ground pool... frivolous? I hadn’t thought about it before.
Thankfully, one of the town locals, Old Two-Cats, joined us at our table before I swallowed, and I was saved from having to form an opinion on the matter.
“Well, well... Marley Greene, is that right? You’re Felix’s granddaughter,” Two-Cats said.
Old Two-Cats was well into his seventies. He had gray hair, and was about as tall as The Miser. He was dressed in a faded brown jacket and tweed slacks with thick patches at the knees. He earned his nickname, which was all anyone ever called him by, because he had two cats that he liked to walk on leashes. Once in a while, when a tourist happened to come to town (which was rare, before I opened my center) he’d prompt his cats to do tricks. They knew how to stand on each other’s backs (well, the little one stood on the big one’s back), and... well... that was about it. He put out his cowboy hat to collect a few bills. Along the way, he also collected his nick name—Old Two-Cats.
He eyed the pitcher of beer. “Heard you opened up some hippy dippy, new age center up at your grampa’s old mine,” he said to me. He was carrying an empty pint glass. He set it down on the table.
I saw my chance to earn some good will for the center with locals, right in front of me. Well, one local at least.
“I guess you could call it that,” I said. “It’s called the Greene Center for Magical Living. You should come check it out sometime.” I poured some beer into his glass, and he grinned. The beer was clearly what he was after.
He took a healthy swig, and then scoffed. “Magic, hm? Well, don’t know about that.” He eyed The Miser. “Nice hat you have there,” he said.
“And same to you,” The Miser said, eyeing Old Two-Cats' battered black cowboy hat. “Looks like it’d keep the sun off of you real nice.”
“Sure does,” Old Two-Cat’s said. “And I like the way yours looks real dignified.”
“Dignified” was not the word I’d choose to use for The Miser’s beat up old top hat, but Old Two-Cats had his own sense of fashion, I supposed.
Old Two-Cats pulled his cowboy hat off. “Could I try yours on?” he asked.
The Miser nodded and pulled off his top hat. He handed it over to Old Two-Cats, who stuffed it over his gray hair. “Ah... nice fit. You’ve worn it in well. I can tell.”
The Miser nodded. “I’ve had that hat for most of my life. Wear it everyday. My brother tells me I should get a new one, but I don’t agree. This one’s soft and fits me perfectly.”
Old Two-Cats nodded. “Why get a new one, when this one’s workin’ so good for ya?”
I heard the bar door open. I looked past The Miser and Two-Cats to the bar’s front entrance, which was swinging open. As I watched, a horse clip-clopped into the bar. A person wearing the usual Masked Bandit costume was on the horse’s back. Though the horse was the same black stallion that always played the part, and the rider’s costume was familiar to me because I’d seen the full face mask, hat, jacket, gloves, pants and boots before, something struck me as off.
It was the same horse, and the same costume, but something was different.
The horse was twitchy and erratic, barely controlled by the rider on top of him. I could see the whites of his eyes. He looked scared, and usually this steady, reliable horse, Midnight, was calm during the reenactment.
No one else seemed to notice the subtle cues that I was picking up.
>
“It’s starting!” I heard Penny, who was up at the bar, say.
“Everyone, be quiet!” someone else shouted out.
I waited for the rider to say his line: “Give me your gold!” But the Masked Bandit was silent.
“Come on, Joy! What, you got stage fright or somethin’?” a local called out. This clued me in to the fact that Joy Dupont, a woman who had been part of the local drama club for years, was playing the part of the Masked Bandit.
That’s weird, I thought. The figure on that horse doesn’t look like Joy. Maybe it’s because she’s all dressed up and sitting down.
The Hillcrest Player who was behind the bar playing the part of Jake the Snake strutted forward in his white button-up shirt and leather suspenders. The fake handlebar mustache attached to his upper lip waggled as he started to improvise. “You got something to say to us, you thief? Come on, out with it!”
The crowd hushed, waiting with anticipation for the skit to begin.
My heart fluttered with panic, because the more I watched the rider, the more I knew: something wasn’t right. That’s not Joy, I thought. So who is it?
The Masked Bandit pulled the usual gun from its holster. It was the same gun that the Hillcrest Players used every year: The same exact Colt revolver that the Masked Bandit had dropped when he fled, all those years ago.
The gun wobbled in the rider’s hand as whoever it was behind that mask swiveled it around, right past Jake the Snake, and then toward the interior of the bar.
Bang! The sound of gunshot erupted, shattering the hushed and confused silence.
Chapter Four
The bullet zoomed toward our table and hit Old Two-Cats in the back. He jolted forward in his seat.
For a moment, it seemed that everything froze. I watched in horror as Old Two-Cats eyes opened wide with shock. They stayed open, stuck in a vacant stare as he slumped forward onto the table, knocking over his beer in the process. He barely had time to reach for his heart before his body went limp. I knew that he was dead.
What followed was a flurry of activity, all carried out to the soundtrack of screaming. Most people in the bar ducked down under tables. Some, like Penny and Max, rushed to Old Two-Cats' side. I heard Max say to Penny, “Call 9-1-1!”
While this was going on, my eyes swiveled to the horse and the Masked Bandit.
The horse reared up, the whites of his eyes showing and his nostrils flared. I could see he had been terrified by the sound of the gunshot. The rider did not seem very experienced. They flailed as the horse reared up, and for a moment I thought they might fall off altogether. But as the horse landed, the rider was still on. The horse turned in a wild circle, knocking over two tables and almost trampling over a few customers—but narrowly missing them—before stampeding out of the bar.
I leapt out of my seat and dashed to the door in pursuit.
Outside, I looked left and then right. I saw the big rump of the horse disappear around the corner at the end of the block.
I took off running. My heart thudded against my ribcage with adrenaline. Mentally, I tried to prepare for what I might do if I managed to catch the rider.
I’ll use magic, I thought. Maybe knock them off the horse, and then stun them, and try to detain them until—
I rounded the corner, but the horse and rider weren’t in sight.
I cursed under my breath but kept running. I wished Skili was with me instead of back at the center. She’d be able to track that rider, I thought. I could hear a faint sound of horse hooves on pavement in the distance, and it sounded like it was coming from the alley one block down. I ran to the intersection and looked toward the sound. It was getting fainter. There was no way I could run as fast as a terrified horse.
Unless I hop on a broom, I thought. But where can I get one?
I eyed the alley again, this time with a new goal in mind. I quickly figured out which shops I was behind. Because I’d taken three rights, I was back behind The O.P. I could see the bar’s dumpster, and the back door, which I was pretty sure led to the kitchen. There’s got to be a broom in their kitchen, I thought. I’ll just borrow it, fly over the town, spot the horse from above, and then apprehend the rider.
I ran toward the kitchen’s back door.
But just as soon as I passed by the dumpster, I heard a muffled sound. “Mmmm! Mhum mee!”
I stopped and listened.
“Mmimmm Mmmeeem!”
It was coming from behind the dumpster.
I abandoned my idea of grabbing a broom. I had a new priority, suddenly. It seemed that there was someone behind the dumpster, and that could not be good.
I hurried around the dumpster so I could peer into the shadowy space between the dumpster and the brick wall behind it.
I saw a figure sitting on the ground, with her knees up to her chest. I recognized her immediately—it was Joy Dupont, the woman who was supposed to be playing the role of the Masked Bandit in the skit. There was duct tape around her, pinning her arms down and her knees to her chest. There was also a silver strip of tape over her mouth. Her eyes were about as wide as the frightened horses—I could see white all around her blue-green pupils, and her face was pale.
Mmmm! She made another muffled sound.
“It’s okay,” I said calmly. I felt my natural tendency to heal begin pouring through me. Joy was clearly terrified, so I began to change my own energy so that I could help her. I made a conscious switch between being all hyped up, anxious, and afraid, to being a grounding and calm force for Joy.
“It’s okay,” I said again. “Joy, hang on. I’m going to take that tape off of your mouth so that you can talk and tell me what happened, okay? Just hold still.” I closed my eyes and murmured a quick spell under my breath.
“Magic, magic, within my veins, help me remove this tape, without stress or strain.” I opened my eyes and reached for the tape.
“Mmmm!” she let out a panicked sound and shook her head. Her eyes got even wider as I reached for the tape. I think she was scared about me ripping it off.
“It’s okay, Joy,” I said as I reached for the tape and then gently peeled it off. It came off easily, and she looked incredibly relieved.
“Oh,” she said. “That didn’t hurt at all!”
I intuitively scanned her body and noted that her shoulder was in pain. I placed my hand there for a moment, and felt it heat up. The dreamcatcher charm that I wear around my neck was also getting warmer. It often did that when I was engaged in healing of some kind. As my hand rested on Joy’s shoulder she visibly calmed down. Some color returned to her face. Her breathing evened out.
She reached for my hand and squeezed it. “It was awful!” she said. “Someone stole my Midnight! And then—” She met my eye. “I heard the gunshot. What happened?” Her eyes searched mine.
“Old Two-Cats is dead,” I said softly. “Someone—maybe the same person who stole Midnight and taped you up behind the dumpster—they rode into the bar, wearing the Masked Bandit costume. They shot Old Two-Cats.”
Joy reached up and covered her mouth with her hand. She gasped. “Dead! Dead... that dear old man!”
I’d never heard anyone call Old Two-Cats a dear old man before. He was known around town for his questionable treatment of his cats, because we were all pretty sure that the two weren’t that fond of performing tricks for their owner. He also complained when children played too loud, and delighted in charging tourists too much for watching his strange cat show.
“Why would someone kill him?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. I stood, and then held out my hand to Joy. After helping her up I said, “I’m sure the police are going to try to figure it out.” I could hear sirens, and judging by the proximity of the sound, they were on the other side of the O.P., out on Main Street.
“I’m guessing they’re going to want to hear from you, too,” I said. “Come on, let’s go talk to them.”
We started walking down the alley. I’m not sure why we didn’t c
ut through the building, but it struck me as we walked that I was glad to have some time alone with Joy.
Because something was bothering me.
It was the fact that Two-Cats had been wearing The Miser’s top hat. At the same time, The Miser had put on Two-Cats' old cowboy hat. The Masked Bandit shot Two-Cats from behind. From the back, the two men must have looked very similar. Both had about the same build, and both wore brown jackets.
Except they’d traded hats.
So The Miser would have looked like Old Two-Cats.
And more importantly, Old Two-Cats looked like The Miser.
Was it possible that the killer had barged into the O.P. with the intention of killing The Miser?
It seemed to me that it was.
More than possible—it was likely. Very likely. And in that case, the police probably wouldn’t understand the case at all. The Hillcrest PD resisted the idea of magic about as much as a toddler resists a trip to the dentist.
I eyed Joy. She did seem much calmer, and in less pain. “Joy, tell me about what happened back there,” I said. “Who taped you up behind the dumpster?”
She hesitated. “I—I don’t know!” she said. “It’s like... like I blacked out or something. I can’t quite remember. But I didn’t hit my head.. I just... my memory of it is just gone. Maybe because it was all so frightening.”
We rounded another corner, and the scene out in front of The O.P. came into view.
I saw two cop cars with lights flashing, an ambulance with the back doors thrown open, and a handful of uniformed policemen and medics. A fire engine was racing up the road, heading for the O.P., too.
I slowed down. I wanted to hear the rest of Joy’s story before we reached the very official scene ahead, especially if it involved magic, which I was starting to suspect it did.
“Joy, what's the last thing you remember doing....You know, before everything got crazy.”
“I was... let’s see... I was in the alley with Midnight. That’s the horse, you know. Oh, I hope he’s okay! We’ve put on the show with Midnight now for ten years straight, and nothing like this has ever happened.”
King Midas' Magic Page 3
