A Hillcrest Witch Mystery Collection

by Amorette Anderson

  I’m glad I’m wearing them today. Along with my glasses, they’re making me feel very equipped for this impromptu meeting with a banker.

  “Thank you, Mike,” I say, hoping that I sound at ease. “I’m very happy to be here.”

  “Good, good,” Mike says. “So. What can I do for you? Let’s start by pulling up your account.” He turns to the monitor on his desk. In addition to the desktop, I also see a laptop. It’s closed and sits off to the side. Two computers! This guy’s really made it to the big leagues.

  He clicks his mouse a few times. Before I can redirect him, he speaks again.

  “Very nice, Penny,” he says. “I see the deposits you’ve been making recently. Here’s one for four thousand, and another for six thousand... yes... I can see why you wanted to meet with me.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “In the banking industry, we call it ‘income jumping’. You’ve leveled up, Penny. It’s natural when you reach a new level of income to start to explore your options.”

  “Options?” I repeat. What kind of options are we talking about here? I wonder.

  “Indeed,” Mike says. “When you start to bring in more money, doors open to you. You qualify for higher loans with lower interest rates. This is a very good thing.”

  I nod, dumbfounded. I barely know what he’s talking about. The thing is, I didn’t learn about money in high school. Interest rates weren’t in the Hillcrest High curriculum.

  Mike looks at the computer screen and starts clicking around. “Let me pull up some numbers to go over with you... let’s see... hmmm... here we are... so tell me, is your PI business doing well? It sure looks like it is.”

  I’m too dumbfounded to come up with a lie. Instead I say, “It’s doing fine,” I say. “But that’s not where this money is coming from.”

  “Oh. Another line of work?”

  I nod. “Consulting,” I say. “For advertising companies.” I don’t mention the fact that it’s my cat who has technically been doing the consulting.

  “Excellent,” Mike says with a smile. Then he turns his monitor so that I can see it too. “Now, let me show you what kind of loan you might be able to qualify for. But before I start, I’d love to know what the loan money will go towards. Are you interested in real estate? Or—“

  I cut him off before he can go on. “Mike,” I say. “I appreciate this. Really. Thank you. I’m the kind of person who would store my money under my mattress if I could. The world of loans and interest rates is a new frontier for me. I’d love to learn more about it, but that’s not why I asked you to meet with me today.”

  “It’s not?” he says.

  I shake my head. Then I lean down to my messenger bag and pull out my Book of Shadows. I flip open to a page where I’ve jotted down some notes.

  ‘11 million dollars in Victoria and Rich’s account?’ I had noted.

  “I’m actually here because I was hoping to ask you a few questions,” I say to Mike. “It’s about a case I’m working on.”

  “Oh...” Mike clicks the computer mouse a few times and my account disappears from the monitor. “Penny, you should know, Miner’s Bank has very strict rules about client confidentiality.”

  “Of course,” I say. “I don’t expect you to break any rules.” As I speak, I’m going over the facial cues that Turkey taught me this morning. I’m having trouble remembering them, at this exact moment. There was something about the size of the pupils... but what?

  I look up from my notes and directly at Mike as I state, “Twenty-nine years ago Rich and Victoria Dempsey sold a very large gold nugget that was worth eleven million dollars.”

  Mike blinks a few times. I think it’s kind of fast blinking. Turkey told me that people usually blink once every ten to twelve seconds. Darn, I wish this Minnie Mouse watch worked, I could time him.

  I think I’m staring, because Mike gives me a strange look.

  Then he says, “I cannot comment on Rich and Victoria Dempsey’s account with Miner’s Bank.”

  “Come on,” I say. “I really want to know more about this money.” I have to admit, ‘I really want to know,’ is not a very convincing argument.

  He just keeps looking at me. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Does your case involve them? It’s such a shame about Rich’s passing.”

  He starts to rotate his computer monitor so that it’s no longer facing me, but before he can I notice a yellow note stuck to the bottom. Maybe it’s because I’m in a noticing state of mind, given my search for facial cues. The paper has two words on it, kind of clumped together into one word: ‘PinkPanther’.

  “Hey!” I say, pointing. “Those are Annie’s favorite movies. Are they yours, too?”

  Mike reaches for the note and pulls it off of the monitor. He sticks it into his desk drawer as he says, “We used to watch those films as kids,” he says. Then, “Penny, I’m happy to talk about your banking options. And that’s about all I’m at liberty to discuss with you.”

  “I understand,” I say. “Just tell me one thing. I can’t figure it out... if Rich and Victoria made eleven million dollars nearly thirty years ago, what in the world did they do with it? I mean, they live in a small one story house, they share a car, and both of them worked, if I’m not mistaken, until they were in their mid-sixties. If they came into eleven million dollars, wouldn’t we see some evidence of it? Is it still in their account?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t discuss that with you,” Mike says.

  I watch his eyes carefully, but seeing as I can’t quite remember what I’m supposed to be watching for, it doesn’t do much good. “Where did it go?” I ask, while staring awkwardly into Mike’s eyes. “The money I mean. Did they do something with it?”

  “I wish I could tell you,” Mike says. “Really, I do. My sister Annie adores you. You’re practically a part of our family. But company policy...”

  “I know, I know,” I say. “It’s against the rules. But can’t you just give me a hint?”

  Mike seems to think about this. For a moment, he looks almost tempted. This gives me the idea that I’m on the right track. Victoria and Rich did do something with the money. I have no idea what, but Mike does know. It’s in the banking records.

  After a pause, he shakes his head. “No, I’d better not. That’s strictly against company policy. What am I thinking?”

  He stands. I realize he’s about to show me out of his office.

  “You’re thinking about helping me get to the bottom of what might be a murder case,” I say, standing also.

  “Murder?” he says.

  I nod solemnly. “I believe that Rich didn’t die a natural death. If I can just trace that money, I feel like I could get a better understanding of the reason for his death. I was about to question Rich, you see. Someone didn’t want me talking to him.”

  Mike seems to think this over. Then he eyes me. “Did I hear that you put Jim in handcuffs a while back?” he asks.

  I frown. “Jim... at the post office. Yes. I thought he might be stealing my mail. I wasn’t entirely wrong.”

  “You weren’t?”

  “He was holding my mail. Sure, it was because I hadn't paid my yearly post office dues, but how was I supposed to know that?”

  “You get a notice way before they start holding your mail,” Mike says with a laugh. Then he says. “It’s all right. So, you’re not the best investigator in the world. At least you’ve found an area that you really shine in! I’m glad that your advertising consulting is off to a great start.”

  He’s practically pushing me towards the door.

  Wait! I’ve forgotten my bag!

  I side step, avoiding Mike as I back-track towards my messenger bag, which is lying on the floor. As I lean down to pick it up, I spot a similar one next to Mike’s desk. It’s the same brand as mine!

  “Did Cora give you that?” I ask, pointing to his bag while I shove my Book of Shadows back into my own. “Cora has great taste. She gave me my messenger bag a few years back for my bi
rthday.”

  Mike shakes his head. “Nope. Annie did. For Christmas. Great bag. I keep my laptop in it during my commute. I’ve been riding my bike to work you know. Lost fifteen pounds since last November.” He pats his stomach.

  I pull my bag over my shoulder. “I never thought of keeping my laptop in here,” I say. “I mostly use it for my handgun.”

  There’s an uncomfortable silence. I step towards the door. “Well! I’ll see you around,” I say.

  “Wish I could have been more help to you,” Mike says. “Are you going to be at Rich’s funeral this Saturday?”

  “Has a date been set?” I ask.

  Mike chuckles. “For a PI investigating Rich’s death, you don’t seem to know much about it,” he says.

  Before I can defend myself, he speaks again. “Saturday at the church at two pm.” He grins. “Maybe I’ll see you there.”

  With that he closes his office door.

  I walk back to the lobby.

  Monique calls out as I cross the floor. “How did it go?”

  “Great,” I say flatly, even though it didn’t.

  “Congratulations!” Monique says happily. “I’m going to take my lunch break in about twenty minutes. Want to meet me at The Place and tell me all about it?”

  I shake my head. “Can’t,” I say. “I’m meeting Chris for coffee at eleven.”

  “Oh! Girl!” Monique exclaims. “First I see you all around town with that sexy professor guy, Max, and now you’re meeting up with Chris, too? All the guys are interested in you these days. You must be doing something right.” She smiles.

  “Well, I am,” I say matter-of-factly. I think of my study of magic. It does seem to make me more attractive to Max, after all. “But this is just a work meeting,” I say. “Chris and I aren’t seeing each other... romantically... anymore.”

  “I knew that,” Monique says. “That’s old news. But he’s not seeing anyone else, is he? I heard that Diana Potter asked him out and he said no. You know what that means.”

  “That he didn’t want to go out with Diana Potter?” I say.

  Monique shakes her head. “It means he’s too hung up on you to even think about seeing another woman. Girl! You’re on fire.” She beams at me. “And what are you doing with your hair?”

  “It’s all about my conditioning,” I say, recalling Max’s words from our date two nights before.

  Monique nods. “Of course,” she says. “Should have known that.” She gives me a little wave. “Well, have fun on your little date with Captain Wagner!” she says.

  “Work meeting,” I correct her, though she’s no longer listening. She’s gone back to fiddling with the radio dial.

  “Work meeting,” I mutter to myself, as I push the bank doors open and step out under the overcast skies.

  Chapter Nine

  I pull open the door to the Death Café and step inside. It’s busy in here! There’s a line about a dozen deep at the register. I see Annie, along with her nephew Tom, working their tails off behind the counter.

  Well, Annie did mention to me recently that she’s been using the Desire Spell to manifest more customers in her café. It seems to be working! Which is great for her, but bad for me since it means I might have to stand in line for twenty minutes if I want my drink.

  I scan the room, looking for Chris.

  I spot him at a table in the far corner of the room, right below a large painting of a bright bouquet of Zinnias.

  Even though Annie gave her café a somber name, the interior decor is bright and cheery. The walls are sunshine-yellow. White lace curtains hang in the windows, and white linen cloths cover all of the little round tables scattered throughout the place. Annie washes them every night (I swear, the woman must work fourteen-hour days) so they’re clean and spotless.

  Pretty fresh flowers from Day-Zee’s floral shop crowd every surface, and oil paintings of flower close-ups, à la Georgia O’Keefe line the walls. If I didn’t know the name of this place, I’d guess it was ‘The Spring Café’ or ‘The Happiness Café’ or something like that.

  Maybe that’s the point.

  Maybe Annie wants people to think of sunshine and a field of flowers when they think of the word death.

  Chris is reading the paper. He hasn’t seen me yet. I notice that he has a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. Shoot. He already got his drink.

  I can’t decide if I want to wait in line for my iced Americano with soy, or skip it and soldier on with something like water from the pitcher by the bus bin. That would save time, but... ugh. How boring is water?

  I glance over at the line again.

  Annie is a whirlwind of activity, but as I watch to gauge whether that freaking line is moving at all, she looks right at me. She raises a hand and waves. Then she reaches over to the counter for a drink. She holds it up with a smile and a wink.

  I sidle over to the edge of the counter, bypassing the line. Boy, do I feel like a VIP! I guess this is the service you get when you’re in the same coven as the café owner.

  Annie holds the drink out to me. “Iced Americano with an inch of soy, just the way you like it,” she says, and gives me a wink.

  “You’re the best,” I say.

  Luckily, no one in the line is glaring at me. Annie and I have been pretty subtle so far.

  “Chris said you were meeting him here at eleven.” Annie eyes Chris. “Are things going alright with Max?” she asks me, in a low voice.

  I take a pull of my drink before answering. Ah! So much better than water.

  “Things are going great with Max. Like out-of-this-universe awesome. The guy is...” I smile. There are no words to describe how I feel about Max.

  “Enough said,” Annie says. Annie and I understand each other. We’re on the same page. That’s one of the things I love most about her.

  “Then what’s up with...?” she motions with her head towards Christopher, who is now looking up at us.

  I speak in a low voice to Annie. “This is just a work meeting—between a cop and a PI,” I say.

  “That used to date,” Annie says.

  “That used to date,” I repeat, looking at Chris.

  He waves.

  I nod. To Annie I say, “I’d better get over there. Our meeting was supposed to start at eleven.”

  “Good luck dear. Be careful,” Annie says. “Old habits die hard, you know. It can be tricky to spend time with an ex.” Then before hurrying off she adds, “My watch didn’t go off last night.” She holds up her wrist. “Did yours?”

  “Nope,” I say.

  “Thanks for being on call,” she says. “I’ll take over today. I’ll text the ladies to let them know. You have enough on your hands.” She looks pointedly at Chris before rushing off to catch up on the drink orders she was quickly falling behind on.

  I walk over to Chris and plop down into the wooden chair across from him.

  “That was fast,” Chris says, pointing to my drink. “I had to wait half an hour.”

  “Annie made it for me before I even got here,” I say. “Maybe it’s one of the perks of being in her knitting circle.” And witch coven, I think, smiling to myself as I take a sip.

  Chris has a manila folder in front of him. He flips it open as he says, “This place has been so busy lately. I mean, it was always somewhat busy, but lately I feel like whenever I come in there’s a line almost to the door.”

  I shrug. “Her coffee is good,” I say.

  “I guess...” Chris says.

  I feel myself smirking. One thing I’ve found about working magic is that once you can do it, you feel like you’re on a whole other level.

  Chris pulls out a sheet of paper. “I typed up some notes on Rich Dempsey,” he says. He slides the paper over to me. “I thought if we collaborated, maybe we could get a better idea about what we’re working with. We sent Rich’s body to the morgue in Melrose for an autopsy. It’ll be back by Saturday for the funeral. Victoria insisted on that.”

  “When will we hav
e the results from the autopsy?” I ask.

  “They said to give it 48 to 72 hours. That was as fast as they could manage. Some of the blood tests take quite a while to run.”

  “48 to 72 hours from last night...” I say, trying to run the numbers in my head. I slurp my drink. “So that’s, what.... Friday or Saturday night that we’re going to know the results?”

  Chris shakes his head.

  Shoot. Did I do my math wrong? I adjust my glasses. Work, darn intellect-boosting fake glasses! Do your job. Help me do accurate math!

  Chris speaks. “They didn’t actually get the body until early this morning. Our ambulance broke down on the way out of town. Melrose had to send their guys out to meet it, and the whole fiasco took quite a while. Plus, it’s 48 to 72 business hours. We’re coming up on a weekend. We might not get the results ‘til Monday”

  “That ambulance is a piece of junk,” I say. “Monday’s too late. The trail’s going to be cold by then.”

  “A new ambulance is in the works,” Chris said. “The Life Saver’s Ball last July made over three thousand dollars. Now we just have about sixty grand to go, and we can replace the engine with a new one.”

  “Hunh,” I say. I don’t want to talk about the ball that celebrates Hillcrest’s first responders. I boycott that particular town event every year since being failed out of police academy.

  Mature? Not really.

  I may be becoming wiser and more powerful, but sometimes a girl’s got grudges to hold on to. I’m not ready to let go of my grudge against the Hillcrest PD. Thinking of my failure at academy, I ask, “How is Chief Holcomb handling all this?”

  Then I start letting my eyes wander over the notes that Chris has typed up.

  Richard Dempsey.

  90 years old at time of death

  Occupation: Miner