A Hillcrest Witch Mystery Collection

by Amorette Anderson

  Boris juts out his chin. “I am very tired,” he says. “I just played the best match of my life. You give me water, and I will drink it. You give me food for recovery, I will eat. You ask for autographs...” he shrugs. “Maybe I will sign them. I like to sign. But questions? I have no time for your questions.”

  He lifts his racket case up and loops it over his shoulder. “Now I go to find my wife, Boleslava,” he says. “And get a drink and food.”

  “Not so fast,” I say, stepping directly into his path.

  He stops short.

  It worked! I almost didn’t expect him to stop. I look over at Marley and raise my brows with surprise. She widens her eyes. She’s just as surprised as I am.

  She mouths something at me.

  “What?” I whisper back.

  “Turn on your headlight,’” she mouths again, motioning to the little light on my head.

  Oh! She’s right. It would add an extra element of intimidation if I was to shine a spotlight on Boris. Don’t they do that in the movies? I reach up with my mittened hand and switch on my light. Then I focus my eyes on Borris. As I look in his direction, the light on my forehead shines right in his eyes.

  “Arg!” he says, shielding his eyes.

  “Why did you take the trophy out of Beth’s bag, when you entered Cora’s house?” I ask. I’m pleased with how demanding my voice sounds.

  I look over at Marley. She gives me a thumbs up.

  Her encouragement spurs me on. “I know you took the trophy from Beth’s bag,” I say. “Did you kill Janice with it?” I ask.

  Then, because I’m on a roll, I throw in, “Were you having an affair with Janice?” I step forward, so I’m just a foot from Boris. The guy is tall. I stand on my tip toes so that my face is right in his.

  “You must now quit shining that light in my eyes! Girl—stop!”

  “I will not stop!” I say. “And I’m not a girl! I’m a woman!”

  “Woman!” Boris says. “I am sorry. English is my second language! I ask you please woman, to stop!”

  Marley leans in and whispers to me, “Maybe you should stop.”

  It’s true. We’re not making very much progress. Boris has both arms up now, over his eyes. He’s dropped his racket onto the snow.

  “Sorry,” I say, lowering my head and then switching off the light. “I may have gotten a little carried away.”

  Boris lowers his arms. “Yah. You think so? You act like police, on crime show.”

  “That’s kind of what I was going for,” I say. “So you guys watch crime shows too? In the Spirit Realm? Cool!”

  Look at me, learning about spirit culture! I can’t wait to report this to Turkey.

  Marley nudges me.

  Right. I need to continue with the interrogation. “Boris,” I say. “Did you take the trophy out of Beth’s bag, or not?”

  “I did not take the trophy,” Boris says, shaking his head. “I did not kill the judge.”

  “Beth saw you on the stairs,” I say. “And another informant of ours saw you take the trophy out of Beth’s bag.”

  “Really?” Boris asks. Then as if to himself, he mutters. “He said no one would know.” He seems to remember we are listening. “I was on the stairs,” he says. “I was going to use the restroom. Then, I heard my wife. I decided I did not have to go to the bathroom so bad. When my wife calls, I go to her. She was telling me that the food was ready to eat. She is a very good wife—always worried that I do not eat enough. She likes to see that I am healthy.”

  Indeed, I see Boleslava approaching. She has her hands piled high with baked goods. “Boris!” she calls. “Boris! It is time to eat. Now!”

  Boris smiles. “You see?” he says. “A very good wife.”

  “So you started to go up the stairs,” I say. “Then you stopped and turned around. And you say that you didn’t take the trophy out of Beth’s suitcase?”

  “I did not,” he says.

  “Alright then,” I say. I look over at Marley.

  “What about me?” she mouths.

  I wave my hands. “Go ahead,” I say. “Ask away.”

  Marley clears her throat. “Boris. We’re going to need to ask you a few more questions.”

  Boris looks over Marley’s head, towards his wife. I look over and see that Boleslava is still heading our way with the food.

  “I’m done talking,” Boris says. “It is time to eat.”

  “Not so fast,” Marley says.

  Boris ignores her. He picks up his racket and towel off of the snow. He steps to the side, working his way around us towards his wife.

  Marley leaps to the side too, so that she’s planted in Boris’s path.

  He moves forward anyway.

  Marley holds her ground valiantly, but then at the last minute, as Boris walks steadily forwards, she gets out of the way.

  I don’t blame her. These ghosts— I mean spirits — look like they’re made of thick smoke. Chances are, Boris could walk right through Marley if he wanted to. And who would want that?

  I shiver at the thought of it.

  I wish there’d been a module in my online PI program about interrogating spirit beings. Unfortunately, there wasn’t. We’re going to have to make up our strategies as we go along.

  Chapter Eight

  As the night continues, the temperature keeps dropping. Hillcrest’s visiting athletes seem to enjoy the cold temperatures. As they play game after game on the lit-up court, their breath puffs out in little bubbles, looking just as smoky and effervescent as they are.

  It’s fascinating to watch them hit the ball.

  For a few hours, I have to admit, I get totally lost in the hypnotic thunk thunk thunk of the ball being passed back and forth.

  I’m also a bit mesmerized by my hunk-of-a-vampire boyfriend, who is standing center stage by the net. He looks so official out there. So darn manly. I love it when he calls out the score or says ‘Out!’ with such authority. What it is about his judging that I find so attractive, I’m not sure. All I know is that I’m more than a tiny bit distracted from my PI duties for the rest of the night.

  Of course, I mean to interview Fred and Marve. But between my fascination with Max, eating lots and lots of Annie’s refreshments, and becoming captivated by the games, the night somehow gets away from me. Soon the final of our four-match stretch has ended, and I find myself heading for my apartment with Pat and Camille in tow.

  “You’re going to like my place,” I promise. ‘I mean, it’s on the small side. And the windows are sort of drafty. And yes, sometimes the hot water in my shower isn’t exactly hot. But I inherited it from my mother. She passed away ten years ago when I was seventeen, you know. I don’t pay rent. So who am I to complain?”

  I’m babbling, I know. I’m so tired that I feel like I’ve had a few glasses of wine to drink. It’s not unpleasant.

  The sky is so crisp and clear. The stars are out in the thousands.

  Millions, maybe. I take a deep inhale and then let my breath puff out in front of me in a little cloud.

  Here I am, I think as I walk, strolling along with two spirits. A year ago, I never even knew spirits existed. Now I’m walking along the streets of Hillcrest with them!

  This is my new normal, and I have to say, I’m glad. My world has opened up—to the good and the bad—and I’m falling in love with the expansion.

  I let my mind wander over the evening as we walk. Though it wasn’t as productive of a night as I hoped, I did still pick up a few great clues. I can’t wait to talk them over with Turkey.

  I settle into giving Pat and Camille a few little facts about each building we pass.

  “That’s the bank,” I say, pointing across the street to a giant brick building. “Have you heard of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid?”

  The two tennis players shake their heads.

  Of course they haven’t heard of America’s most famous outlaws! These ladies aren’t merely international visitors—they come from another realm altoget
her!

  “Well, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid were a pair of outlaws in the old west,” I say. “And that was the first bank they ever robbed.”

  “Maybe Marve should put that in his documentary,” murmurs Camille. “Instead of always sticking that camera in my face and trying to get me to talk.”

  “What’s that?” I say. Camille speaks so softly, I can barely hear her voice above the crunch crunch of our boots on the snow.

  Camille raises her voice as she speaks again, “I said, Marve should put that in his documentary.”

  “He’s filming the tennis games, isn’t he?” I ask.

  Pat answers. “Yes. We have lots of fans back in the Spirit Realm. Tennis is very popular there.”

  “So I’ve heard,” I say.

  Pat continues. “And games in the Earth Realm are so much more interesting to watch, too. The ball moves three times as fast.”

  “I actually heard that too,” I say. “The last tournament you had in the Earth Realm was twenty years ago. Is that right?”

  Camille and Pat nod. “We were in our twenties, then,” she says. “All of us athletes were younger.”

  “And the tournament was filmed then too, wasn’t it?” I ask.

  “Yes,” Pat says.

  “And Beth and Henry won?”

  Both women nod again. As usual, Pat is the first to speak up.

  “It was in a close game against Camille and I. Beth and Henry had the advantage. Henry hit a ball into the back corner of the court. Cam couldn’t return it.”

  “I was too far in the front,” Camille says, sorrowfully.

  “No,” Pat argues. “You were right where you should have been. You did great, Cam. I was proud of how we played in that game.”

  “The ball sailed right past me,” Camille admits.

  “Must have been a good shot,” I say.

  Camille nods. “Very,” she says.

  “I don’t know about that,” Pat says. “To me, it looked like that ball went out.”

  Camille shrugs. “Well, Janice made the call that the ball was in,” she says.

  “Could that have been due to the fact that she was having ‘intimate relations’ with Henry?” I ask. “I mean, I know that Henry and Beth were a couple at the time, but I’ve also heard that Janice was accused of being biased in her judging because of her feelings for Henry.”

  Pat speaks up. “That was a popular rumor at the time. The public said that Janice was favoring Henry. Then, there were also all sorts of rumors going around about Janice and Boris. I think it was all just that—rumors. Someone wanted to stir up the rumor mill, draw attention to the tournament. You know how the public loves scandal. What’s more scandalous than a judge sleeping with the competitors in a tournament?”

  “It does add a whole new level of intrigue to the event,” I say.

  “Personally,” Camille says, “I think that people should enjoy watching the games because they love the sport of tennis. Not because of some dirty rumors about love affairs.”

  “People will be people,” I say. Then, thinking twice I add—“And spirits will be spirits.”

  “Well put,” says Pat. “The general public wants it all—romance, drama, and competition.”

  “So who would have wanted to draw attention to the tournament?” I ask. “Could it have been Janice herself? I hear that she liked being in the spotlight.”

  Pat nods. “She did love attention,” she says.

  “Or it could have been the television station,” Camille says softly. “Our games are always broadcast on the same station, W-SPORT. They’re always trying to spice up sporting events with a splash of personal drama.”

  “Oh really?” I ask.

  “Yes,” Camille says. “There’s only a few channels in the spirit realm. W-SPORT tries to win viewers over from the other popular channels.”

  “What are the other popular channels?” I ask

  “One plays all reality shows,” Pat answers. “The other plays soap operas twenty-four seven.”

  “Huh,” I say. “That’s interesting.”

  “Is it?” Pat asks.

  I nod.

  Camille speaks softly. ”I think your options are much more interesting. I mean, you have music videos.” She sounds as though she’s totally in awe as she says this.

  “Music videos are alright,” I say. “But I have to admit I like soap operas the best. There’s always so much drama. I like to see some conflict.” We turn the corner onto Blackbear Street, and I see my apartment complex up ahead.

  “Does Marve work for W-SPORT?” I ask. “I mean, it’s kind of weird that he’s in charge of filming the tournament and he’s a participant. I would think that the television station would send a little crew or something.”

  Pat answers. “Marve has always worked for the television station. I think that’s how he got started playing tennis in the first place. He was asked to cover the events, and all that time around the tennis courts, balls, rackets, players... he developed a love for the game. Started hitting around some balls and discovered he was good at it.”

  “Really good,” says Camille. “Fred noticed it too. One day, Fred’s tennis partner got sick. Some kind of violent stomach thing. He died the day before a qualifying championship for the last Earth Realm tournament was going to start. The timing was just awful.”

  “Bizarre, even,” Pat adds.

  “Fred had seen Marve hitting balls around when he wasn’t filming the games,” Camille says. “Fred asked Marve to fill in, and they’ve been a team ever since.”

  “And they’ve done well?” I ask.

  “Very well,” Pat says. “Even though he and Fred are older than the rest of us, they’re really good.”

  Camille adds softly. “It’s a very real possibility that they’ll take home the trophy this year.”

  “Cam!” says Pat. “Don’t say that!”

  “What?” says Camille. “I’m just telling our nice host here the truth. Fred and Marve are very strong this year. They really might—”

  Pat interjects. “Penny,” she says. “What my dear friend and teammate Camille is trying to say is that any one of the teams could win. We have just as good a shot of it as the rest of them.”

  “My backhand isn’t very strong,” Camille says.

  “I think it’s top-notch,” Pat says. “I mean really, Cam, you’ve improved so much over the last five years. I think your backhand is just as strong as....”

  The two begin bantering back and forth about tennis, and I tune them out. My mind is on other things as we begin to climb the stairs to my apartment. A violent stomach bug—with bizarre timing. Those words caught my attention, and I’ve been turning them over in my mind since Pat and Camille uttered them.

  Is it just a coincidence that Fred’s tennis partner croaked right before the last Earth Realm tournament?

  I’m tempted to think not.

  Now, that might just be my overactive imagination kicking into gear. I’m a Private Investigator, for goodness sake. I’m trained to investigate crimes, and that tends to make me see criminal activity everywhere I turn.

  There was that time last month that I thought for sure someone was stealing my mail right out of my mailbox, at the post office.

  Yes, I did some overnight surveillance.

  Yes, I spent hours making mind maps of who might be after my precious mail.

  Yes, I was sure that I must have received a large check, and that it had gone missing.

  Sure, I accused the post-master, a man named Jim. Yes, I may have put Jim into handcuffs and demanded that he return my check.

  Okay, fine. I definitely did.

  I’m not going to lie to you.

  This was when Jim informed me, rather patiently, I must say, despite the circumstances, that I hadn’t paid my PO box rental fee which was why I’d stopped receiving mail.

  I admit it. I’ve made mistakes in the past. Just a few minor mistakes. That’s to be expected. Everyone does. It’s a part
of learning.

  This time, however, I feel that my instincts are spot on. Fred’s tennis partner’s death is a red flag, and I’d best look into it.

  How? I’m not sure, but by the time we reach my apartment door, I’ve made a mental note to do some digging.

  The two players are tired from the events of the evening, and I’m wiped out too. I settle them into the living room. Pat takes the couch, while I set Camille up on a cozy sleeping pad and sleeping bag combo on the floor.

  Then I brush my teeth, change into PJ’s, and crawl into bed.

  Turkey snuggles in next to me, and I drape my hand over him as I let out a sigh.

  “Oh ... It feels so good to be warm under the covers,” I transmit sleepily to Turkey.

  “I’m glad you’re home,” Turkey responds. His eyelids are a bit droopy too, but I can tell he’s fighting to stay awake. “How did it go?” he asks. “Did you uncover more clues?”

  “I think so,” I say. I let my eyes close as I think over the evening. “I talked to Beth. She lied to me about what she was doing upstairs when Janice was killed. And I talked to Boris. I have a feeling he was lying too. He said that he didn’t take the trophy out of Beth’s bag, but Blueberry Muffin saw him do it.”

  “So many lies,” Turkey says sleepily.

  “And that’s not the half of it,” I say. “I also found out that before the last Earth tournament, Fred’s partner died somewhat mysteriously.”

  I open my eyes and look at my cat. His eyes open too. His little whisker-spiked eyebrows raise up. “And you think that’s connected to the judge's death?”

  I nod solemnly. “I do,” I say. “The timing is a red flag. It happened at the qualifying match before the last earth tournament. That can’t be a coincidence. Pat said that Fred’s partner had a violent stomach bug. That could have been the effects of poison.”

  “Or, it could just be that he was sick,” Turkey says. “Remember the time I was throwing up and you had to take me to the vet?”

  “How could I forget?” I ask, stroking his soft fur a few times. “I was so afraid I was going to lose you!”

  “But I wasn’t poisoned,” Turkey says. “I was just sick.”