He curses under his breath, and then says, “I didn’t think of that.”
He looks down at his boots. Then he looks up at me, narrowing his eyes. “But why would I?” he asks. “I had no idea there was any reason to suspect murder. Rich is ninety for Pete’s sake. And I didn’t know you were investigating him. Why don’t you tell me these things?”
“I didn’t know I was supposed to report to you,” I say. Then, catching my tone, I try again. “I’m sorry. It’s a small town. We need to work together. I guess it’s better late than never. I’ll tell you now: I was investigating Rich.”
Chris rolls his eyes. “Great. Good to know, Penny.” His tone is sarcastic.
“Hey,” I say. “I’m trying to be nice, here. Don’t you think you could do the same?”
Chris presses his lips together and then takes a deep breath through his nostrils. He exhales. Then he speaks. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll try.”
“Thanks,” I say. “We’re on the same team here.”
“Right,” he says. “So—what kind of investigation are you working on that involved Rich Dempsey?”
I glance back at the van. I can see the ladies looking out at me, including Marley. I need to get some answers and head back to my friends.
I turn back to Chris. “It involves Marley’s grandfather ... Felix Greene. The signature on his will doesn’t actually look like his real signature. I think it was forged. I’m trying to figure out why.”
“And Rich is involved?”
“The will—with the forged signature—named Rich as a benefactor. Rich inherited the Hillcrest Mine. Rich is the one that Felix saved in that accident all those years back. I thought he’d be a good place to start. I was here just this morning, questioning Rich and Victoria about Felix’s death.”
Chris sighs, and then mutters another obscenity. I’ll spare you the details.
He reaches up and rubs his forehead. “I’m going to have to go in there and tell Victoria that this is a crime scene now, aren’t I? And then I’ll need to go talk to the medics and the coroner...”
I nod. “Yes,” I say. “Definitely. And be careful around Victoria, Chris. She might seem like a sweet old lady but I think she’s hiding something. She might have killed Rich in order to keep whatever she’s hiding a secret.”
“You think Victoria killed Rich?” Chris asks in a serious tone.
“It’s just an idea,” I say. “I don’t know. This is all so sudden. I need to think things over.”
“All right,” Chris says heavily. “Thanks Penny.” He looks over at the van. “You ladies on your way somewhere?”
“Marley’s dropping us off. We were up—” I stop short before saying we were up on Hillcrest Pass. That will lead to too many questions. “We were... knitting.”
“Oh,” Chris says. “Of course. It’s Wednesday. Forgot about your knitting group. Well, I guess I’d better get on with this. Why don’t we meet for coffee tomorrow? I can fill you in on how tonight goes and you can tell me more about your case.”
I want to tell Chris that I don’t have much more to tell him, but I swallow my words. A real PI would just say yes. I’m a real PI. “Sure,” I say. “That sounds good. We’ll trade info.”
I’d better get some info by then, I think to myself.
I head back to the van. I can feel Chris’s eyes on me as I walk away.
To say that Chris and I used to date sounds way too tame for what we actually did together. We were hot and heavy is more like it. Things were extra steamy between us, but when I started practicing witchcraft, Chris just couldn’t wrap his head around it.
I knew it was time for us to part ways.
These days I am totally over Chris Wagner. I can thank my study of magic for that.
However, sometimes I get the strange feeling that Chris isn’t quite over me.
Like just now, for example. Yes, he was annoyed that I was challenging the way he handled Rich’s death. Yet underneath his annoyance, I could sense something else. He was pleased to see me. He was glad I was speaking to him. He misses me.
It’s only been about six months since we broke up after all.
Oh crap. Does Chris have ulterior motives for inviting me to coffee? Does he think that if we work together we might get back together?
Not going to happen, Buddy, I think, as I reach for the van’s passenger door handle and yank it open. I make sure not to look back at Chris. I don’t want him to get any ideas that I’m missing him, too.
I settle into my seat.
My coven sisters are eager to get an update.
“What happened?” Cora asks from the back seat.
“Didn’t look good,” Annie says. “That sheet and all...”
“Is Rich okay?” Marley asks. “How about Victoria?”
I turn sideways so that I’m facing my friends. “Victoria is fine,” I say. Might as well start with the good news. “She’s safe and sound. Rich, on the other hand...”
I meet Marley’s eyes. Out of all of my friends, she had the closest relationship with Rich. She raises her brows, questioning me.
I clear my throat. “Ahem. Rich is—I’m sorry Marley—Rich is dead. Chris said it was a heart attack.”
Marley’s jaw drops. “A heart attack? But he’s been doing so well! He was just telling me about a month ago that his heart is doing great. I can’t even remember the last time he had a-fib. They had him on medicine for that and it was totally working.”
I bite my lip. Then I say, “I have a feeling that it wasn’t a natural heart attack.”
Annie is on the edge of the seat in the back. She inches forward even more. “What do you mean?” she asks.
“I think it might have been induced.” I push my glasses up on my nose. “By poison maybe. That happens all the time. I learned about it in my online program.”
Marley fires up the van and pulls away from the curb. “This is crazy,” she says. “I feel so bad that I haven’t made time to visit them this month. I mean, sure, our regular day changed, but couldn’t I have gone over there on Sundays instead?”
“He asked me to say hello,” I say “When I saw him today. He really was fond of you Marley.”
We ride in silence until we reach Annie’s house. After we drop her off, Marley cruises towards Cora’s place.
“Well, that night took a turn for the worse,” Cora says, as she gathers up her knitting tote and Blueberry’s carrier, readying to depart.
I nod. So does Marley.
“Good night ladies,” Cora says as she reaches for the door. “I’m exhausted. Thanks for the ride, Marley.” She pulls the door open.
Blueberry Muffin gives a few little yips.
Cora pauses, as if she’s listening. “Oh!” she says after a minute. “Blueberry just reminded me! We never decided what we’ll do when our watches go off. I mean—if we have a visitor. Does someone want to be on call tonight?”
“I’ll do it,” I say, looking down at my Minnie Mouse watch.
“Thanks,” Cora says.
“Sure.” My voice is dreamy and absent minded. I’m too caught up in thinking over Rich’s death to really pay much attention to our Watch Spell.
Marley doesn't even answer. I know she’s trying to process Rich’s sudden death as well.
Once Cora and Blueberry safely disappear inside Cora’s house, Marley and I head for my apartment. The drive is quiet, but as we turn onto Blackbear Street, Marley’s phone beeps.
“Will you grab that out of my bag and see what the beeping is about?” she asks me.
I reach for it and glance at the screen. “New voicemail,” I say. I look at the clock on the dash of Marley’s van. It’s quarter to eight, which is past hours that I’d expect a massage client to call.
“Who’s calling you so late?” I ask. “Things going well with Ryan?” I grin. Marley’s had a crush on the lead singer from Hillcrest’s most popular band, The Hillcrest Funk Collective, for the last year, but it never seems to lead to anyth
ing serious.
Marley laughs. “I wish,” she says. “I don’t think it’s him though. I bet it was a call from earlier, and it’s just coming in now because we were out of service. My phone is always slow to deliver messages after I’ve been out of range.”
“You don’t get service up on Hillcrest Pass?” I ask.
Marley shakes her head. “Only for about the first mile. After that it’s spotty, and then at the portal gate I get nothing.”
We reach my apartment. She pulls to a stop on the curb in front of my place, and then motions for her phone. I hand it over.
She punches in her voicemail password and then holds the phone to her ear.
I wait while she listens.
Her jaw drops. Her brows lift.
Then she hangs up and looks at me
“You will not believe who that message was from,” she says.
“Who?” I ask. “Ryan?”
Marley shakes her head. “No. It was Rich.”
Now it’s my turn to raise my brows. “But he’s dead!” I say.
“He must have left me this message before he died,” says Marley. “Here. Listen.”
We both hunch over her phone as she replays the message.
“Marley... this is Rich. I’m calling because your friend visited me today... your friend Penny Banks. She didn’t give me her phone number.”
“I’ve got to order business cards,” I mutter.
Rich’s voice continues to float through the phone speakers. “I want to talk to her though. She was here, asking some questions about the old days—the old days with your grandfather, Marley, up at the mine.”
He pauses. Then he says, “I thought after all these years it was all behind us. I thought the secrets would stay buried forever. Your grandfather would have wanted it that way. But it has to stop. The secrets and the lies. You should know about the gold—the gold that we found. Such a big golden nugget!”
I let out a gasp.
The message continues to play. “It was a nugget the size of a softball. It was... beautiful. I need to tell your friend. She was asking. I need to come clean—about all of it. Tell her—” Beep! The phone message is cut off.
“It must have been too long,” Marley says. “He ran out of time.”
“In more ways than one,” I say. I flop back against the seat, leaning against the headrest.
“Holy crap!” I say after a few minutes of processing. “What do you think it means?”
Marley and I are both silent. It’s like we think if we’re quiet enough, someone else will tell us the answer. Of course, we’re alone in the van, and no third party magically offers up a suggestion.
So after about five minutes of thinking, I speak. “He wanted to tell me something... Rich did. When did he leave that message?”
Marley thinks this over. “Must have been while we were up at the portal,” she says. “So between six-fifteen and seven... something like that.”
“And when we reached his house, Chris said the ambulance was called at seven-thirty. So he left you that message right before he died.”
We sit with this for another moment. My mind is going a mile a minute. Could this be another indication that Rich was killed? I think so.
Silence stretches on. I can tell Marley has something on her mind.
“What?” I ask after a little while. “You want to say something, but you’re not saying it.”
“How do you know that?” she asks.
“Marley, I’ve known you my whole life. I can just tell. Spill.”
Marley sighs. “In the message, he said my grandfather would have wanted the secrets—whatever they are—to stay buried. I wonder why.”
I pause, thinking it over.
I don’t have an answer, so I don’t speak.
After a few minutes, Marley sighs heavily again.
“I wish you told me you were going to investigate my grandfather’s will,” she says. “I mean, a phone call or a text would have been nice. When did you start?”
“Last night,” I say. “I’m sorry. I should have. It’s just—I thought it would just be a quick little investigation that I could finish up in a few hours. I didn’t want to worry you.”
Marley twists a piece of her long, dark hair between her fingers. “I never met my Grandpa Felix,” she says thoughtfully. “But my dad said that he and Rich were like brothers. I always kind of thought of Rich as like a grandpa. You know ... sometimes I imagined that he and Victoria were my grandparents.”
“I know,” I say. “And if my nosing around caused any of this to happen, I’m really sorry. But Marley—don’t you want to know the truth? What if your grandfather didn’t really die in a mining accident? What if he was murdered? And if Victoria and Rich were involved, isn’t it best to know the truth?”
Marley’s shoulders slump. She places her hands on the wheel of her van as if for support. “It’s exhausting,” she says. “Sometimes. Knowing the truth. I’d rather just think that my grandpa died in a mining accident. I’d rather just think of Rich and Victoria as a sweet old couple.”
“I know,” I say. I lean towards Marley and open my arms. Thankfully, Marley leans in too and accepts my hug. She’s upset about the situation, but I don't think she’s exactly upset at me.
I squeeze her tight. “I know,” I say again. “And I know Rich’s death might change things with the property you’re living on. If you ever have to leave your spot at the mine, you know you could come live with me, right? We could even get you a parking spot in the Blackbear lot. I think it’s only like fifty extra dollars a month or something. I’ll pay for it, no problem. It would be fun.”
“Thanks,” Marley murmurs. “I’m going to try to stay up at the mine for as long as I can though. It’s special up there. I don’t know how to describe it. I know my grandfather was a brave man. Living where he spent most of his days makes me feel... I don’t know how to describe it... good. Connected. Strong.”
Our hug ends, and I lift my tote bag and hook it over my shoulder. Then I do the same with my messenger bag. “Want to come up for some ice cream?” I ask. “We could try to figure out what that message was all about.”
Marley shakes her head. “I think I need to go back up to the mine. I might put out my magical invisible hot tub and soak under the stars.”
“You won’t be lonely?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I’ll have my owl stalker to keep me company, remember?”
I laugh. Then I step out of the van and into the cool fresh air. Speaking of company... I have to get home to my own familiar. It will help a great deal to talk over the events of the evening with Turkey.
“Talk to you tomorrow?” I say, as I push the door open. She nods. I close the door and head towards my own apartment to talk with my favorite calico cat in the whole wide world.
Chapter Seven
I spend the next hour and a half eating Chunky Monkey ice cream and filling Turkey in on the developments in the case.
Turkey is upset that Rich is dead, and agrees with me that the heart attack was likely not natural. “Could be potassium chloride,” he says. “Or wolfsbane.”
“That’s what I told Chris!” I say happily as I place my empty ice cream bowl into the sink. We move to the bathroom and Turkey hops up on the edge of the bathtub and sits while I reach for a facecloth. “Chris hadn’t even thought of that.”
“Good,” says Turkey. “Our morning study sessions are paying off, then. I think we need to increase them. If I set your alarm for a half an hour earlier, we could—”
“Don’t!” I say. I’ve wet the cloth and I scrub it against my face, rubbing away the grime of the day. “I think six o’clock is early enough, thank you very much.”
“But there are so many facts to learn,” Turkey says. “And if we start earlier, we can finish the Speedy’s material by March. That will have us moving on to works of more depth, like the text book your instructor mentioned: ‘The Private Investigators Handbook’. Or perhaps an
other reference book, like ‘Crime Scene Analysis’.”
I finish scrubbing and move blindly for the towel that I know is hanging on the rack behind the door. With my eyes squeezed closed I stick my face towards it and pat off the dripping water.
“How about something by Jumper Strongheart?” I transmit. “He has a new book out. I think it’s called ‘Make Stress your Superpower’ or something like that. Sounds good, doesn’t it? I’m not getting up earlier, but maybe we could find a way to add that into our study routine.”
“Just a half hour—” Turkey says.
“No,” I say. I’ve already brushed my teeth. I swipe on some chapstick and then scoop up my cat. Together we move towards the bedroom.
“Chris must have been impressed,” Turkey transmits. “By your knowledge.”
“I think he was,” I respond. “He wants to meet for coffee tomorrow to trade information. Not that I really have any information to share...”
“You do, though,” Turkey says. “The bit about the gold is huge.”
“It is?” I say.
“Of course,” Turkey responds. “My guess is that the whole case hinges on it. A gold nugget that’s the size of a softball is very significant, Penny. Only a few nuggets that size have ever been found in the history of gold mining.”
“How do you know things like that?” I ask. I’ve laid down on my side and Turkey is now curled up next to my pillow, in his favorite spot. I place a hand on him and start petting.
“I read,” Turkey says. “I read everything I come across.”
“Oh,” I murmur. The events of the day are catching up with me. I feel myself getting sleepy. “If a nugget of gold that size is so rare, why haven’t I heard of it before?” I ask. “This town makes a big deal out of everything. We’d probably have a museum all about that gold nugget, or a town dance named after it or something.” I nestle my head into my down pillow.
“It sounds like Rich was keeping it a secret,” Turkey says. “But how? If he wanted to get money for the nugget, he would need to register the gold in order to sell it. He must have done that...”
My cat’s telepathic voice fades as I snuggle even more into my pillow, and fall into a deep sleep.
A Hillcrest Witch Mystery Collection Page 75
