A Hillcrest Witch Mystery Collection

by Amorette Anderson

  “How did you do this?” I ask. “I saw something like this in Azure’s room last night...”

  “It was the Looking Glass Spell,” Turkey says, swishing his tail back and forth proudly. “I found it towards the back of the book; there was a small note about it in cycle 12, I think. I know that you’re supposed to do the book in order, but as the saying goes, ‘desperate times call for desperate measures.’”

  I think about the fact that Silas is in jail, and that my coven might be falling apart. “These times sure are desperate,” I say. “Thanks, Turkey. What are we watching for?”

  “You’ll know it when we see it,” Turkey says.

  Just then, the scene in the mirror is covered over by a cloud of neon green smoke. It looks totally toxic. As the smoke almost obscures our view of the road, a bolt of bright green lightning cracks down just a few feet from the gate. Rocks and dirt spew upwards from the road, and then rain back down. As the rocks and dirt settle, and the dust clears, the green smoke starts to dissipate.

  “What the heck was that?” I ask.

  “I don’t know,” Turkey says. “But it’s been happening since I’ve been watching the portal.”

  “Every few minutes?” I ask.

  “Every few minutes,” Turkey confirms.

  “And every time is the same?” I ask.

  “No,” Turkey says. “It’s been getting worse. This lightning strike was the biggest one I’ve seen. The first few times it was just the green, smoky cloud. Then I saw sparks appearing. Then, little bolts of lightning. That was the biggest bolt I’ve witnessed.”

  “Hunh,” I say, deep in thought. “Someone must be doing that,” I say.

  “Indeed,” Turkey agrees.

  “I need more coffee,” I say.

  I stand up. I walk to the living room and swoop up my coffee cup, which is sitting on the coffee table.

  I sip my coffee slowly, turning the few clues I have over and over in my mind. Suddenly, I have an idea.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Turkey,” I say. “If the killer is someone who is magical who is pretending to be normal, then it could be anyone.”

  “You said that already,” Turkey says.

  “But—I think I have a way to narrow it down. If the killer stole all of our books, that means that they went into all of our homes. My apartment, Cora’s house, Annie’s house, and Marley’s van.”

  “Right,” Turkey says.

  “And you know what that means?” I ask.

  “What?” Turkey asks.

  It feels good to be the one with a great idea for once. I love how smart my cat is, but sometimes it’s nice to feel like I’m actually adding something to our little dynamic detective duo instead of relying on him all the time.

  “It means, they might have left tracks.” If I had a tail, I’d be swishing it back and forth right now.

  “Tracks!” Turkey says. “Brilliant!” His eyes are shiny with excitement. After a second, though, the corners of his little black lips turn downwards. “But Penny, that was days ago. The tracks would have faded by now.”

  “It hasn’t rained or snowed,” I say. I’m rushing towards my bedroom. I need to get some clothes on! “Annie’s house is surrounded by grass,” I say. “And her front walkway is concrete. That won’t do us any good. Cora’s place is surrounded by lawn too. But Marley —Turkey!—Marley’s van is parked in a muddy parking lot, up by the old mine!”

  With my left hand, I pull black leggings from my dresser drawer. I pull them on with my left hand, shimmying my hips to get them up. It’s hard with one hand, but eventually the waist band is in place. I reach for a bra. “It was above freezing on Tuesday, the day our books went missing, but then it got so much colder in on Wednesday, and it’s been freezing ever since. Maybe a print got cemented into the mud.”

  “It’s a good possibility,” agrees Turkey.

  I manage to fasten my bra, barely, and then I pull out a striped black and grey shirt from my drawer.

  Turkey continues. “The Hillcrest Town Crier said that a cold front moved in.”

  “I don’t have to read the paper every day to know that,” I say, happily. “My hands have been going numb when I ride my bike!” I carefully push my tender wrist through the sleeve of my shirt.

  “That doesn’t sound pleasant,” Turkey says.

  “It’s not!” I say, happily. “But Turkey, that means the tracks could really still be there! Come on! We have to go!”

  “We?” Turkey asks.

  “You want to come, don’t you?” I ask.

  Turkey gives a happy meow. I laugh. It’s funny to actually hear him meow after communicating telepathically with him all morning.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” I say.

  “Indeed,” he says.

  Within 15 minutes, I’ve jammed a knit hat over my messy hair, slammed down the rest of my coffee, and donned my fake glasses. I’m ready for action, baby!

  Turkey is nestled safely in my cross-body bag.

  Steering my bike with one hand is a challenge. Yep—that’s right. A challenge—not impossible.

  Though I’m wobbly and nearly ride right into the curb every few minutes, I manage to keep moving forward. Fifteen minutes later, I’m huffing and puffing as Marley’s van comes into view.

  She’s sitting in a camp chair outside of her red and white VW van. There’s a camp stove set up next to her, and she’s holding a tin mug in her hands. Reggae music plays through a little set of speakers by the camp stove. She’s bundled up head to toe, and tapping her feet to the beat of the music.

  “Penny!” She says, waving. “Hi! Did you see the lights?”

  “What lights?” I ask.

  Her chair is facing towards Hillcrest Pass. She points. “Over there—near the pass. This eerie green light keeps flashing, every few minutes. I think it must be some kind of solar flares or something. Maybe it’s something like the Northern Lights. It’s cool! Want some coffee?”

  “I did see those lights,” I say. “But I’m not here to watch them. Turkey and I want to do some investigating around your van. It’s important.”

  “It must be important, if you’re passing up on coffee.”

  Hm... on second thoughts. “I guess I could have some while I investigate,” I say.

  “That’s my girl,” Marley says. She hops up out of her chair and walks towards her French press. It’s wrapped in a cloth napkin. That’s because everything in Marley’s kitchen is stored in a rubber bin that lives under the bed in the back of her van. How cool is that?

  She pours coffee into a tin mug. “So what’s the deal?” she asks, while bobbing her head to Bob Marley’s ‘Stir It Up’.

  “Well, you know how your copy of ASBW is missing?” I ask loudly, so that she can hear me over the music.

  “Sure,” Marley says. She hands me the mug.

  I accept it with my left hand. When she eyes my swollen wrist with a question in her eyes, I shake my head. “It’s a long story,” I say, before she can ask.

  Then I say, “Your photocopies are missing, and that means that someone was here—creeping around your van. Do you keep your doors locked when you’re not home?”

  “Always,” Marley says.

  “What about the windows? Do you keep them closed?”

  “Most of the time,” Marley says. “Except...”

  Turkey, nestled in my bag, reaches a paw out and gives my side a little pat. Well, it’s more of a nudge.

  He wants me to get this show on the road.

  I begin walking around the van. Marley follows. As we round the hood, a flash of light in the distance catches my eye. It’s that green, smoky light coming from Hillcrest Pass.

  I pause and turn to watch it. We all do.

  “It’s kind of creepy,” I say. “That pea green color... it looks toxic.”

  “I wonder what it is,” Marley says. “There’s that lightning, too!”

  The abandoned mine parking lot where Marley lives is right at the base o
f the long dirt road that is Hillcrest Pass. The road extends past the parking lot and then switchbacks up the mountain. About a mile up the road, a large, white house called the Terra Mansion stands like a guardian. It’s just past the mansion where the green, smoky cloud of air is hovering. That’s where the lightning bolt is, too.

  After about three minutes, the whole display fades away.

  “It’s been happening every so often,” Marley says. “Sometimes it’s five minutes between the flares, sometimes twenty. They keep getting stronger.”

  I have an unpleasant feeling in the pit of my stomach. A nervous sort of anxiety is bubbling up inside of me. “Someone is doing something to the pass road,” I say. “I wonder if it has anything to do with the fact that I closed the portal. Maybe someone is trying to break in. Or... maybe they’re trying to break out.”

  Now that the green-lights show is over, we continue around the van.

  The ground is bumpy with frozen mud. Looking down at all of the little bumps and divots is overwhelming.

  “Marley, you said that you usually close your windows. Except...?”

  “Well, a few days ago I left one of them open. I cooked hard boiled eggs outside, but it was too cold to eat them outside. So I ate them in the van, and then the whole place smelled. I had to light some incense. Then, it smelled like eggs and incense.”

  “Delightful,” I say, sarcastically.

  “Yeah, it was pretty gross,” Marley says. “So when I went into town, I just left the back window open to air the place out. When I got home it was freezing cold, but at least it smelled okay.”

  “Let me guess,” I say. “That was Tuesday?”

  I’m already heading for the area near the back window of her van.

  Marley sips her coffee. She wiggles her hips to the tune of the song that’s playing, as if that is going to help her remember.

  Apparently, it does, because after a minute of swaying to the beat, she says, “Yes! Yes, it was Tuesday.”

  “I thought so,” I say. I crouch down near the patch of dirt right below the back window of Marley’s van.

  As soon as I’m squatting down, I set down my coffee cup and open the flap of my messenger bag. Turkey leaps out.

  “What do we have, Detective Banks?” He asks.

  “Hmmm...” I say, studying the bumpy mud. “It’s not as clear as I hoped.”

  Honestly, I hoped for a smooth, pristine patch of ground, with a pair of perfectly preserved footsteps leading right up to the van. That would have been ideal.

  Instead, the ground is uneven and rocky. There are little clumps of crumbled, piled up mud here and there, and markings all over the place. I don’t see any clear footprints. I lean in closer. Wait a minute...

  “Look over here!” I say to Turkey. “I think this must be a fox print. Or maybe a coyote... but I’m going to go with fox.”

  “There is a fox that trots by every morning and evening,” Marley says.

  “I don’t think our thief is a fox,” Turkey transmits to me, telepathically.

  “Right. No opposable thumbs,” I transmit back. Aloud, I say, “We better keep looking.”

  Marley squats down next to me. Turkey is pacing all around the little area, staring at the ground intently.

  A few minutes pass like this, until finally something catches my eye. It’s a faint outline, stamped in the mud in a triangular shape. “That kind of looks like the pointy toe of a shoe, doesn’t it?” I ask. I pick up a stick with my left hand and use it as a pointer. As I outline the shape, Marley and Turkey agree, heartily.

  “Yes, I see it!” Marley says, clapping with excitement.

  “Nice work, Penelope!” Turkey transmits.

  “And there,” I say, pointing a few inches away from the triangular imprint. “That could be the heel. It’s in the right spot.”

  “Indeed,” Turkey transmits. “Good eye.”

  “Okay... so a woman in heels,” Marley says. “This is great! I feel like we’re in the movies.”

  “It’s not good enough,” I say. “But it’s a start. Look how it’s right below the window. The person wearing this heel was standing close enough to reach right into your van, Marley.”

  I inch in closer to the print, and stick my face way down towards the dirt. My glasses slide down my nose. I push them up.

  Marley and Turkey crowd in next to me.

  “Guys,” I say, in a whisper. “Look at that!” I point with my stick towards the middle of the imprint.

  “I don’t see anything,” Marley says.

  “It’s in the middle, there,” I say. “There’s a letter there. It must have been a marking, carved into the sole of the heel. It’s an A, inside a little circle.”

  “Whoever was wearing this shoe was in a secret cult!” Marley says, triumphantly. “The cult of the A circles! The inner circle of As... Anarchists United!”

  “Marley,” I say, as I reach into my bag and pull out my phone. “I like your enthusiasm, but that’s not what I’m thinking.”

  “What are you thinking?” She asks.

  “I’m thinking that it’s like a little logo. A symbol for a brand, you know, stamped into the bottom of the shoe.” I position my phone over the print and snap a picture.

  “Yes!” Marley says, happily. “Penny, you are on fire today!”

  “What brand?” Turkey transmits to me.

  “I have no idea,” I transmit back. “But I think I know how we can find out.”

  Aloud, I say, “I’m going to send a picture of the symbol to Cora. Maybe she’ll recognize it.”

  “She is more on top of designer brands than the two of us are,” Marley says.

  “I just hope she answers,” I say, as I type out the message. I’m pleasantly surprised to find that my wrist is feeling better and I can type with my right hand. “She might not answer, though.” I add after I press send. “We kind of got into a little tiff this morning.”

  “About what?” Asks Marley.

  “She says that it’s my fault Silas is in jail.”

  “Silas is in jail?” Marley says.

  “Yeah. Chris took him in on suspicion of murder. I think Chris is under a lot of pressure to make an arrest, because Hiroku’s daughter is coming into town today. I saw Chris two nights ago and I kind of started talking about all of the reasons that Silas might have been the murderer. I guess I made a kind of convincing argument. Apparently, Chris thought it was enough to make the arrest.”

  “Oh, Penny,” Marley says.

  “I know,” I say, hanging my head. “If I could do it all over, I would have kept my lips sealed. But Chris was being so nice to me—giving me a ride home and everything—and I just started blabbing. You know how I can be.”

  “I know.” Marley stands up.

  I look down at my phone. No response. “I think she must still be mad at me,” I say. I pick up my coffee cup and stand too.

  “Maybe we can figure it out without her,” Marley says. “Maybe... let’s see. An ‘A’ with a little circle around it. Heels...”

  Together we walk over towards her little kitchen set up. Turkey follows us. Marley reaches for a second camp chair, and unfolds it. Then she unwraps a blueberry muffin and hands it over to me. I recognize it as a day-old from Annie’s cafe, but I don’t mind at all. I never did get to those cheese puffs this morning, and the muffin tastes delicious.

  We both sit in silence, looking up towards Terra Mansion for a little while. I polish off the muffin and lick my fingers. Turkey is pacing back and forth in front of us.

  “An ‘A’ with a circle...” Marley mutters, occasionally.

  After about 15 minutes of this, I’m about to give up. “It’s no use,” I say. “I am not a designer shoe kind of girl. I have two pairs of shoes: An old beat up pair of Converse that I’ve had for like five years, and a pair of used cowboy boots. Could you try Cora? Maybe she’ll answer you.”

  “Sure. Forward the picture to me,” Marley says.

  I set my tin mug down on t
he dirt near a leg of my camp chair, pull out my phone, and am about to send the picture to Marley when a text message arrives. It’s Cora! Yes! I smile ear to ear.

  “She answered!” I say.

  “Woo hoo!” Marley exclaims, doing a happy dance in her chair.

  Turkey hops up onto my lap and gives a happy meow.

  I open the text message. I read aloud so that Marley and Turkey get the info along with me.

  “I recognize that symbol,” I read. “Those shoes were hot about five years ago. That was back when Melrose had that great designer shoe emporium on 5th Street. I got a pair of white ankle boots. The brand is out of Italy, I believe. It’s called Alphonso’s... named after the designer.”

  “She’s a fountain of knowledge,” Marley says.

  “Alphonso’s...” I say. “Why does that sound familiar?”

  “Maybe Cora and you have talked about them before?” Marley asks.

  “No... I don’t think so,” I say, shaking my head. I feel the ticklish wriggle of a memory, somewhere in the back of my mind. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so eager to not talk to Max about his ancient Roman Method of Locusts memory technique—or whatever it was called.

  “Alphonso... Alphonso...” I murmur.

  “I’m going to make more coffee,” Marley says. “You in?”

  I’m too deep in thought to answer. “Alphonso... Alphonso... someone was wearing them... someone annoying, that I didn’t like very much. I remember feeling kind of anxious... kind of upset... was it Sherry? Collecting rent?”

  “I’ll make enough for both of us,” Marley says.

  “No, it wasn’t Sherry. It was someone else. Someone kind of professional looking. A dentist? I haven’t been to the dentist for almost a year... that wouldn’t make sense. Was it Hiroku? No...”

  “Look! The lights are going off again!” Marley exclaims.

  I look over. The green smoke is thicker this time. It rises up higher in the sky. It gets thicker and thicker, and I know that soon the bolt of lightning will strike.

  Alphonso... Alphonso...

  The lightning bolt strikes. As the sky lights up over the pass, neon green, a thought hits me.

  “Nadia!” I shout.

  Turkey jumps off of my lap with shock. I know that he doesn't like loud noises, but I’m too excited to apologize for my lack of volume control. “Nadia Thomas!” I say. “My instructor, from Speedy’s Online Licensure Program. She was wearing suede ankle boots, and she said they were Alphonso’s!”