“You worked for Marley’s Grandfather, Felix Greene, is that right?” I ask in a loud voice.
Just then, Victoria appears with a tall glass of iced tea. Boy, that sure was fast! She crosses the room. I catch a shadow of concern on her face as she hands it to me.
“I hope I didn’t miss much,” she says. “Penny—maybe you could tell us why you’re here?”
The glass is chock full of ice and it’s cold in my hands. I take a sip and the ice cubes clink against the glass. The bouquet of flavors that is Victoria’s tea bursts across my tastebuds. What is that flavor? Honey? Brown sugar? Stevia?
“Ah!” I say, after I swallow. “Victoria—your tea is so good. What do you put in it?”
She smiles at me, and then takes a seat on the other end of the couch angled so that she’s facing Rich and me. “It’s my secret family recipe,” she says.
Dang. She’s not going to tell me, is she? It was worth a shot. I take another refreshing sip, and then speak in a loud voice that I hope Rich can hear. “I’m hoping that you can help me with something,” I say. “That’s why I’m here. It has to do with Felix Greene’s will.”
“After all these years....” Rich mutters.
Victoria shoots him a wife-to-husband look. I wish I knew what she was saying.
I don’t.
Aloud she says slowly, “What about Felix Greene’s will?”
“The signature,” I say. “It’s not really his signature. Someone else signed it. I was hoping you might have some thoughts on the matter.”
Silence.
I pick up my tea, and take another sip. Clink, clink, clink go the cubes in my glass. The heat in the small room kicks on with a whir.
I hear a garbage truck barrel past us, out on the road.
The minutes stretch on, and neither Victoria or Rich speaks. Maybe they didn’t hear me?
I try again, louder this time. “I was hoping you might have some thoughts! On the matter!” I shout.
Rich groans. “We heard you...” he says. Then he looks at his wife. “Well? Victoria? You have thoughts to share with the girl?”
Victoria purses her lips. “No, I do not,” she says.
I shift on the couch, and then direct my next question to Rich. “Did Felix ever talk about his will with you? It looks like he wrote it himself. I mean, there’s no law firm mentioned in it; no lawyers... it’s just his wishes and then his signature.”
Rich looks confused.
I restate my question. “I mean, did Felix ever bring it up with you? It’s dated about six months before he actually died. Did he ever say anything about it?”
Rich doesn’t answer me. I prompt him again. “You worked up at the mine with him, right?”
“Of course I did!” Rich says. “You know he pulled me out of a tunnel when the tunnel wall collapsed. I was the head foreman. I was in charge of the crews. Felix sat in his office most of the day.”
He pauses, and Victoria jumps in. “Felix Greene was the brains behind Hillcrest Mine,” she says. “My husband was the brawn. Weren’t you, Richard?”
Rich nods. He seems to like his wife’s words. He lifts his grey-stubbled chin. “That’s right,” he says. “That was me. The brawn.”
“And Felix never talked about his will?” I ask.
Rich hesitates. “Not that I can remember,” he says. Then he presses his lips together. His overgrown, gray brows are knit together, as if he’s worried about something.
What?
I decide to attack things from another angle. “What exactly happened on the night that Felix died?” I ask. “In the tunnel?”
Rich’s brow, already furrowed, now becomes even more deeply creased. He doesn’t speak right away.
Victoria does. “We were both there,” she says. “Rich and I. Such a tragedy. Such a terrible accident. My husband still has nightmares about it, after all these years. Don’t you?”
Rich nods. “It was a terrible night,” he says.
Oh boy. I’m about to get some good information. I’ve set my messenger bag down at my feet, and now I bend down, dig into it, and emerge with my Book of Shadows and a pen. I put the pen in my mouth as I flip to a blank page. Then I ready the pen over the paper.
“Tell me about it,” I shout. “Please. I’d like to know all the details.”
I look up at Rich. He’s moving his jaw as if he’s chewing something. I think it’s just more of a nervous tick, though.
“Felix thought we were close to gold,” Rich begins. “Times were tough. We hadn’t found gold in a long time. He was excited.”
“Sure,” I say. I jot down: ‘excited for gold’ in my book.
Rich continues. “Felix had bought some equipment. It was very expensive, and he couldn't make payments on it. They were going to come take it away. We only had one more night with it. Felix wanted to get the most use out of it that he could.”
‘Using equipment’ I write.
“He tried to get the crew to stay overnight. He’d been asking all of us to work long hours. The guys couldn’t do it. Said no. Everyone went home. Felix was the only one left.”
“And you,” I say.
“And me,” Rich agrees. “I called Victoria up there. Good to have a spotter on the outside, you know, when you’re working in the tunnels.”
“Sure, sure,” I say, as if I know all about it. “Why was it risky?”
“Digging takes time,” Rich says. “There’s a lot of calculations involved. You have to plan properly. That night, Felix and I wanted to clear ten feet of tunnel.” He stops to clear his throat. I wait patiently.
He uses a hanky to blow his nose, then continues. “That would usually take six weeks, and we were going to attempt it in six hours. We had to use powerful explosives.”
“Very powerful,” Victoria says. “They used them all the time, but never under such time constraints, with such limited staff.”
“Yikes,” I say. It sounds like a recipe for disaster to me.
Rich stuffs the hanky back in his shirt pocket. “Felix detonated the charge. We both went in. We had to clear the debris out of the way. We made good progress, just the two of us, but then things went bad. One side of the tunnel started to collapse. I didn’t see it happening, but Felix did.”
I’m jotting down notes as fast as I can, but it’s hard to keep up.
Rich continues. “Felix ran over and pushed me out of the way, but a piece of cap rock got the best of him. Hit him right on the head. He kept moving though—don’t know how, really. Maybe adrenaline. I was half buried in debris at that point, but he pulled me out of it. My legs were messed up but he managed to drag me all the way out of the tunnel, which was a miracle. A real miracle.” He scratches his chin. His fingers against stubble makes the sound of sandpaper on wood. He won’t meet my eye.
“Yes,” I say. “Yes, it is. Thank goodness for that.” I jot down a new note. ‘Is Rich lying?’ on my paper.
Rich’s voice is raspy as he goes on. “After we made it out, Felix lost consciousness. The cap rock had delivered a death blow. He never came back to us. We had the funeral a few days after that. Felix’s son found his will in his office. It was in a desk drawer, or something like that.”
“Felix’s son found it?” I ask. “You mean... Marley’s father, Owen Greene?”
“Felix only had one son,” Rich says. “Owen. Surprised the boy bothered going into the office at all. He barely ever visited the mine. He had better things to do.”
“Owen Greene wasn’t really the mining type,” says Victoria.
“I see,” I say. Uh oh. Seeing as Owen found the will, I feel like I have to consider him in this investigation. I jot down his name on my paper, though I’m not happy about it. Marley loves her dad. She’s not going to like the fact that I’m including him in my investigation.
Recently I had to question my friend Cora’s fiancé. I added him to my suspect list, and it did not go well. The poor handsome werewolf, Silas Switchback, was thrown in jail for a short ti
me, for a crime he didn’t even commit. All thanks to me. That experience has made me more than a little bit hesitant to question my friend’s loved ones.
“You’re sure Owen was the one who found the will?” I ask.
“Yes,” Rich says.
I turn to Victoria.
“Yes, Penny. It was Owen,” she confirms.
Shoot. I circle Owen’s name in my notebook, and then underline it three times.
Marley was raised primarily by her dad. Her mom was in and out of the picture for a while when she was young, but then moved out of town before Marley hit kindergarten.
Marley’s dad left Hillcrest, headed to the California coast, the minute Marley graduated high school and moved out of the house. Owen told Marley that he’d wanted to leave the claustrophobic box canyon we call home for a very long time. Marley’s on good terms with her dad. They still talk on the phone. He raised her after all.
Unlike my father, who left my mom—and this claustrophobic box canyon—before I was even born.
My mouth grows parched as I think about the fact that I may actually have to bring Marley’s dad into this.
I don’t think Marley’s going to like it.
I lift my glass of tea and chug the remainder of it.
When I’m done, I look over at Victoria. She watches me set the glass on the table.
It would be rude to ask her for a refill, but I really want one. Her tea is just so good, and my nerves have me all cotton-mouthed.
So I try out that eye-communication thing that she and Rich have been doing all day.
I adjust my glasses and focus my stare at Victoria. Then I cough a little, and touch my throat.
She looks at me. Then at my glass. Then at me again.
I cough some more.
“Would you like another glass of tea?” she asks finally.
Yes! It worked. “That would be amazing!” I say happily.
“That was the end of that batch,” she says. “But I was meaning to whip up some more anyways. I’ll be right back.”
After several attempts she pushes herself up off of the couch. I stand and hand her my empty glass. She shuffles out of the room, and I remain standing.
She’s going to make more of her famous brew, right now?
In the kitchen? While I’m right here?
What if I just happened to catch a glimpse of the ingredients she was adding?
That wouldn’t be wrong. That would just be an accident.
“Sir, I’m going to use the ladies room,” I say to Rich.
He nods. He actually looks relieved that he won’t have to talk with me while his wife is out of the room. She does act as a translator of sorts. It must be tiresome for him to have so much trouble hearing. It would make conversations so much work.
I wander out of the living room in the direction that Victoria moved. I find myself in a hallway. I pass by a room on the left that’s stuffed with craft supplies. I see a sewing machine on a desk, and bags and boxes overflowing with material. Next I pass a bathroom on my right. The potpourri smell is strong here.
I keep walking. I can hear sounds of movement. The hallway ends with a sharp corner. Around the corner, there’s an opening. I think it must be the kitchen. I pause before I reach it. If I move any more, Victoria might see me. That wouldn’t do. She’d be upset that I figured out the ingredients of her tea.
I wish I had a mirror. Then I could work a little magic, and cast a Looking Glass Spell.
Wait a minute! The bathroom... there must be a mirror in the bathroom.
I backtrack a few steps, and then pop into the bathroom. A quick search under the sink results in a hand-held mirror.
It’s perfect. I try to recall the spell as I move towards the kitchen again.
How did it work exactly? I wish my familiar, Turkey was here with me. He’s a wiz at magic. He has a great memory too.
I think it had something to do with coordinates. Oh yes! I have to know the exact coordinates that I want to spy on.
But what are the coordinates of Rich and Victoria’s kitchen? I have no freaking clue.
I could try to figure it out with my phone, but that’s in the living room, in my messenger bag.
As I walk back towards the kitchen, I hear a voice.
It’s Victoria. She seems to be talking to herself.
“This girl is up to no good,” she mutters. “No good. It won’t do. It just won’t do. Now let’s see... what’s next?”
Uh oh. Is she talking about me?
And more importantly ... is she about to add the next ingredient to her tea? And what is it?
Instinctively, I hold the mirror out so that it’s sticking out around the corner and facing into the kitchen. I look at the glass. I can see the reflection of Victoria, bustling around the kitchen. She’s reaching into a cupboard above her kitchen stove.
I guess I didn’t need the Looking Glass Spell after all! Sometimes good old-fashioned detective skills do the trick. I see Victoria pull a bottle off of the cupboard shelf. The problem is, I can’t tell what, exactly, it is.
She keeps muttering to herself as she works on the cap to the dark bottle. The cap seems to be stuck.
“... On here too tight. Darn this arthritis. Makes opening a simple bottle too difficult...” She stops trying to open it and starts rummaging through a drawer instead. “She’d better be on her way soon,” she says. “Before Rich says something. It has to stay a secret.”
What has to stay a secret? I have a feeling now that she’s not talking about her iced tea recipe.
She’s found a plastic floppy disk-shaped piece of rubber in the drawer. She places it over the bottle, and then twists. The cap comes off. She pours a healthy amount of whatever it is inside into the pitcher of tea.
Then, I see her walk over to a photograph.
She touches the center of the frame. “Don’t worry,” she says. Next she picks up the frame, kisses the photo within it, and sets it back down.
“Better get back in there...” she mutters to herself.
I watch her give the pitcher of tea a stir with a long spoon. Then she lifts the pitcher and pours golden tea into my glass. She’s about to turn and head for the hallway, I’m sure. The black and yellow bottle is still out on the counter. I don’t think she’s going to put it away.
I yank the mirror back and tiptoe to the bathroom. I duck inside and start running the water, to make it seem like I’m just doing my thing in here.
I wait a few minutes, and then hear her voice in the living room. I don’t catch her words, but I hear Rich respond. “She’s in the bathroom!”
Next, I flush the toilet, and start up the water in the sink again. While it’s running, I poke my head out of the doorway. I look, right, towards the living room. I’m guessing Victoria and Rich are in there. Then I look left to the kitchen.
The black and yellow bottle is probably just sitting there. What is it? Maple syrup? Agave? Southern Comfort? Mexican vanilla? I have to know! With the water still running, I make a quiet (well, as quiet as I can be in cowboy boots) dash for the kitchen. I reach the countertop and look at the bottle up close.
Molasses.
Blackstrap molasses!
Victory! I can’t wait to tell my knitting circle. They’re going to be so proud of me! Now we can all make tea that’s as delicious as Victoria’s. It’s not fair for her to hog all the deliciousness. It’s depriving us of moments of delight that we deserve. I mean—just think of all the times I could have been sipping a glass of subtly-sweetened iced tea that I wasn’t!
I’m about to dash out of the kitchen when the photograph catches my eye.
I peer down at it.
It’s of a guy in a graduation cape and hat. He’s young—maybe eighteen in the photo. He also looks a bit like Victoria. He has her curly hair. He looks vaguely familiar but I can’t quite place him.
Who is it? As far as I know, Rich and Victoria don’t have any children.
I better get a move on, before Victo
ria decides to check on me.
I dash back out to the bathroom, turn off the water, and then make a big to-do about closing the door behind me.
What was it that Victoria said, right before she kissed that photo?
That’s right. She said, ‘Don’t worry’.
Hmm.
I wonder what that meant!
I make my way back to the living room.
The glass of tea Victoria got for me is on the coffee table. I slide between the table and the couch, nearly knocking the glass over. Thankfully it stays upright.
Victoria and Rich are watching me.
“Thank you Victoria,” I say as I reach for the tea. “Your tea is so good. I really do wish you’d reveal your recipe.”
“Some things are best left secret,” she says.
I sip the tea. Now that I know there’s molasses in it, it’s the only flavor I can taste. Of course it’s molasses! How did we all miss it, before? It’s so obvious now!
I take another gulp.
Rich shifts a little in his recliner, sitting forward slightly. I think he’s about to say something to me, but he surprises me by addressing his wife. “Victoria. We’ve stayed quiet long enough. Don’t you think it’s time for the truth to come out?”
“Yes!” I say, scooting forward so I’m barely still on the couch. I set the glass of tea down. “Yes! Yes. It’s time. Tell me what—”
“Penny,” Victoria says, interrupting me. “I think it’s best if you go now. My husband starts to get confused before meal times.”
I look over at Rich. His eyes are clear. He’s frowning with frustration.
“He doesn’t look confused,” I protest. “Rich, you’re not—”
“Believe me,” Victoria interrupts. “He doesn’t think clearly when his blood sugar gets too low. Besides that, it’s time for him to take his medication. If he doesn’t take his pills regularly his heart beat will get irregular. It’s very important that he gets his medicine on schedule.” She stands, and places her hands on her hips, waiting for me to stand too.
I don’t.
“It’s time for you to go,” she says.
A Hillcrest Witch Mystery Collection Page 72
