A Hillcrest Witch Mystery Collection

by Amorette Anderson

  In fact, once Marley dared me to go into it. I saw a spider with thick furry legs that still gives me the shivers when I think of it. To this day, when Marley and I play truth or dare I always opt for truth. I don’t want to risk having to go back into that creepy outhouse.

  Victoria continues. “Well, Felix was holed up in his office drinking. He needed a pee break. Went outside to the outhouse. The thing was, he was already more drunk than he should have been. Stumbled on his way out—I suppose he hadn't pulled his pants up all the way. They were down around his ankles when we found him. He hit his head on a rock.”

  She purses her lips together and shakes her head. “Poor, poor Felix.”

  “You mean that’s the way he died? Falling out of an outhouse?” I ask.

  Victoria nods. “He was mortified. He couldn’t stand, but he managed to call Rich. We drove up together, Rich and I. By the time we got to the mine parking lot, he was barely conscious. We helped him inside. We wanted to call 911, but Felix wouldn’t let us. He knew it was the end. His last words were: ‘don’t let them remember me this way’.”

  “Who?” I ask.

  “The town,” Victoria says. “His friends. His family. Future generations. It was his dying wish that we give him a death he could be proud of. He suggested that we stage a mining accident. And then he passed away, right there on his office floor, with Rich and I as the only witnesses.”

  She’s silent for a minute. Just then, the church doors open. Marley sticks her head out. “Penny! There you are. We’ve been looking for you!” She looks over to Victoria. “Victoria! Are you two alright?”

  I nod. “We’re just fine!” I say. For some reason, I try to sound cheery. The thing is, suddenly I feel like I’m in on it. I’m a part of carrying out Felix’s dying wish. Felix surely wouldn’t want his granddaughter to know that he tripped on his way out of the outhouse.

  It’s not until Marley ducks back inside that another thought hits me. Wait a minute! This story of Victoria’s could be the truth. It’s not up to me to decide what the truth is, but it is up to me to honor it.

  It’s important not to lie. And that’s all this crazy mess is—one stinking pile of lies.

  “Well,” Victoria says. “It’s good to get that off of my chest. I know you’ll keep it to yourself, Penny. Now, we’d better—”

  “Hang on,” I say. “Wait a second. If Felix passed away peacefully on his office floor, with you and Rich as his only witnesses, why is the signature on his will forged? Wouldn’t he have had plenty of time to make his wishes known, and then sign a will?”

  “Yes... yes... that’s right. Of course he had plenty of time,” Victoria says. As she speaks, I notice that her pupils dilate. It happens very quickly, and in a flash they’re back to normal. But I saw it.

  If I’m not mistaken, that’s an indication that she’s lying!

  She continues. “He told us how he wanted his assets allocated. Rich typed up the document. Felix was barely holding onto consciousness by then... drifting in and out. He could speak, but he couldn’t grip the pen. He asked me to sign it for him. So I did.”

  “You signed the will?” I ask.

  “Look,” Victoria says. “I know it wasn’t completely by the books. Not completely legal. But that’s what friends do for each other.”

  “But why is the will dated six months before Felix died?”

  “We wanted to make it look realistic,” Victoria says. “If Felix really died in a tragic, unexpected accident he wouldn’t have had the foresight to make a will on that very day. Felix was so good to Rich and I over the years. I wanted to help him. We didn’t have time to think of anything else. Felix’s life was slipping away from him. He was struggling for each and every breath.”

  “I understand,” I say. To myself, I think, I understand what you’re saying, but that doesn’t mean I believe you.

  “Now,” Victoria says. “It’s cold out here. I’m going to go back in there to eat apple pie and tell stories to honor my late husband. I hope you won’t find it appropriate to bring up this topic of conversation again.”

  I nod.

  Victoria turns and begins climbing the steps. I follow her. As she reaches the door I call out. “Wait, Victoria. Before we go back in there, I have one more question. What about the gold?”

  “What about it?” Victoria says.

  “Why was it such a secret? I learned that you and Rich sold a hunk of gold the size of a softball.”

  “We did,” Victoria says. “We actually found it shortly after Felix died. It was ironic; Felix Greene worked his whole life with the hopes of becoming wealthy from gold. On the night he died, the tunnel we dug to fake an accident actually led us to that nugget.”

  “So you discovered the gold just after Felix died?” I repeat.

  “That’s right,” Victoria says.

  “Why didn’t you tell anyone? I’ve never heard anyone talk about gold that was discovered in that mine.”

  Victoria pulls open the door. “It’s a small town,” she says. “We didn’t want people’s opinion of us to change.” With that, she disappears back into the church.

  I follow her.

  Once the gathering ends, I barely have time to go home, pop in to say a quick hello to Max, and feed my favorite feline before it’s time to head out to The Place to meet Marley and Owen for dinner.

  The thing is, I don’t have much of an appetite.

  I’ve never kept a secret from Marley. We tell each other everything. The way I see it, secrets aren’t healthy. And they sure as heck aren’t good for a friendship.

  I spot Owen and Marley at a high-top near the windows that look onto Main Street. The table top is crowded with water glasses, a beer mug, a wine glass, and a large basket of nachos. It looks like they may have gotten here early. I weave through the boisterous crowd, towards their table.

  My thoughts get more urgent as I near them. Felix didn’t want to be remembered that way. Just leave it alone. You’re just going to make things worse if you keep harping on this.

  “Penny!” Owen says, standing as I approach. “Thanks for joining us. I see you’re still riding the bike you had in high school?”

  He gives me a hug. I hug him back. Marley stands up and we exchange hugs too. Then we all settle onto stools.

  “Yep,” I say. “Still riding my trusty pink cruiser.”

  “You know,” Owen says, lifting his mug of beer. “There are some very affordable cars out these days. I was just telling Marley about my new Honda Sport. You wouldn't believe the mileage I can...”

  He chatters on as I remove my coat, hat and scarf, and contemplate the nachos.

  Usually, I love The Place’s nachos. They’re piled high with black beans, melted cheese, sour cream, and best of all little slices of black olives.

  However, this evening my appetite is lacking. My stomach feels like it’s constricted in one big knot. How can I bring up what I’ve learned from Victoria without totally upsetting Marley and Owen?

  How can I tell the truth without ruining the evening—or even Owen’s visit altogether?

  We make small talk as Marley and Owen polish off the nachos. Our waitress takes our orders, and within half an hour we each have an entrée in front of us.

  But I’m still not hungry.

  “Are you feeling okay Penny?” Marley asks. She’s on her second glass of wine. She lifts it and takes a sip.

  I’m on glass number two as well. Even though I can’t manage eating, it seems I’m feeling just fine about drinking. In fact, my anxious state is making me drink even faster than usual.

  “Um.... yeah,” I say to answer Marley. Really, though, I’m not feeling okay at all.

  Inside, I’m battling out the pros and cons of speaking up about what I’ve learned.

  Tell them the truth. You know something about Felix Greene. You have to tell them.

  No! I shouldn’t. It will only upset them. This will change the way they remember him.

  But Marley deser
ves to know the truth. So does Owen.

  Owen is still carrying on about his fabulous new, eco-friendly car. “So I said to the lady—why wouldn’t I want tan seats? Tan is the perfect color for an interior. Especially in California, on the coast, because—”

  “You guys,” I say abruptly, cutting Owen off mid-sentence.

  His mouth is open. He snaps it closed, and looks at me.

  Well, here goes nothing! “I have something to say,” I announce. “Felix didn’t die in a mining accident.”

  Owen raises his brows. He looks at me, and then at Marley.

  Marley’s eyes are wide.

  “Penny....?” she says. “What are you talking about?”

  Oh crap. There’s really no turning back now. I guess I’m doing this. Right here and now, I’m going to ruin the carefully crafted legacy that Felix designed for himself.

  At least I’ll be telling the truth—the truth as I know it, that is.

  “He didn’t die in a mining accident.” I repeat. “He died from a bump on the head. He fell out of an outhouse with his pants down.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Marley and her dad stare at me.

  I squirm in my seat.

  I feel my cheeks heating up. “It’s true,” I say meekly. “At least, that’s what Victoria told me today, at the memorial service. I wasn’t sure if I should say anything, but...”

  I look at my friend—my best friend, since kindergarten. Her eyes are wide.

  “Really?” she says. “He fell out of an outhouse? How?”

  I’m about to tell her that alcohol was involved. Instead, I hear Owen’s voice provide Marley with an answer. “He was drinking,” Owen says softly.

  I swivel my head towards him and raise my brows. “Wait a minute. You knew?”

  Owen nods. “Of course,” he says. Then to Marley he says, “I’m sorry Sweetie. Your grandfather was a very proud man. He didn’t want anyone to know.”

  Marley sets down her wine glass. “You’re saying that the story of the mining accident that killed Grandpa Felix is totally made up? I’ve heard about that accident a thousand times! I’ve seen pictures of it! He—he saved Rich’s life when the tunnel caved in.” Marley’s voice tremors with upset.

  Owen reaches out for Marley’s hand, which is resting on the table top. Marley pulls it back, and hides it in her lap. “What else have you been lying about, Dad?” she asks, narrowing her dark eyes at her father.

  Of course, it’s at that moment that our waitress decides to swing by to ask if any of us needs a drink refill.

  All three of us shake our heads. It seems maybe we’re not so much in a celebratory mood any more.

  The waitress senses the tension at the table. “Okay then...” she says. “Is the food all right?”

  “It’s fine,” Owen says curtly.

  I flash a smile in the waitress’s direction. She nods and then moves on.

  Marley’s nostrils are flaring out as she looks at her father. I know my friend. If we’re in flaring-nostrils-territory, things are not going well.

  Marley turns to me. “When did you learn about this?” she asks.

  “Just today,” I say. “At the church. Victoria told me. I was asking her questions about Rich’s death.”

  This seems to satisfy her a bit. I’m glad I didn’t keep the secret any longer than I did.

  “So there was no collapsing tunnel...” she says. “That was all a lie... so what happened?”

  I wait for Owen to speak. I want to hear his version of the story.

  After a brief pause, he does. “Honey... I know we always talk about your Grandpa Felix as if he was flawless. That’s the image he wanted to portray. But he wasn’t flawless. He was just human... like the rest of us.”

  Marley and I share a quick look at this point. We both know that we’re not entirely human any more. We’re becoming witches. But that’s not the point.

  Owen continues. “My dad wanted to be seen as perfect. He didn’t want anyone to know he had weaknesses. The first time I saw him drunk was after my mom died—your grandmother.”

  He pauses and sips his beer. Then he goes on. “He was ashamed of his drinking. He kept it hidden. But I knew. I saw the empty whisky bottles... I saw the flush on his face... I smelled it on his breath. I heard him crashing around once in a while—you know—he’d stumble around a bit. When I moved out at age twenty I think it got worse. I think he started drinking more. He didn’t talk about it though. As far as outward appearances went, he was still the Felix that the whole town knew and loved—the man who had it all figured out.”

  Marley frowns. “So really... you’re saying he was a drunk?”

  Owen shakes his head. “That’s not what I’m saying. Not at all, Marley. Your grandpa was a wonderful man. A good father. A good leader. A good business owner. He was many things, to many people. And... he happened to like alcohol a little too much for his own good.”

  Owen picks up his beer. He stares at it, lost in thought. Finally, he takes a sip.

  When he swallows, he wipes his mouth with a napkin. Then he says, “I wasn’t surprised, actually, when Rich told me what happened. Dad was upset that the equipment had to be returned. He was drinking—heavily. He hit his head. He didn’t want anyone to know.”

  “Were you there?” I ask.

  Owen shakes his head. “Only afterwards. Rich called me—said Dad was in rough shape. By the time I got up there, he was already dead. Had a cut on his head, and he smelled like booze.”

  “Was Victoria there too?” I ask.

  “I think so. I was pretty much in shock. I was vaguely aware that Victoria was there, kind of tidying things up in the background. I remember that I sort of fainted at first, and Victoria had to catch me and help me sit down.”

  Marley speaks. “But Dad—why the cover-up? Why the story of the mining accident?”

  “Your Grandpa Felix cared more about his reputation than anything in the world. He wanted to leave a legacy. He’d worked hard his whole life to be someone that others could look up to and admire. He didn’t want one little incident to overshadow all that.”

  “How do you know that?” I ask.

  Owen fixes his gaze on his napkin, which he’s now shredding into little pieces. It seems hard for him to talk about this, and I’m not surprised. It must have been a very traumatic experience. “Rich told me about my dad’s last words. We all decided that it would be the last thing we could ever do for Dad. We could protect his reputation. He’d done so much, over the years, for us.”

  “So you all decided to cover up his real death, and fake the mining accident instead?” I ask.

  Owen nods. “It was easy. Rich knew his way around the tunnels. He weakened one of the walls, and then got out of there before it caved in. Dad already had a head wound, so we just positioned his body up by the tunnel. We didn’t really even have to lie. We just left out one vital fact—Dad was already dead when the collapse occurred. But who would guess?”

  “No one,” Marley says. “Not me. I thought grandpa was working late... looking for gold. I thought he never gave up. I thought he was brave. I wanted to be like him.”

  Owen won’t meet Marley’s eye. Instead he keeps shredding his napkin into the pile of confetti. “Maybe I should have told you,” he says.

  “You think?” Marley asks.

  Then she stands up. She starts pulling her coat on. “I’ve looked up at that mine so many times... I’ve walked out to the tunnel where the collapse happened. I’ve imagined what it was like for him... working late into the night, and pulling Rich out of the wreckage. All that was just fiction. A story.”

  “A story I had to tell you,” Owen says.

  Marley frowns.

  My friend is not the dramatic type. She’s not just arguing with her dad for the sake of arguing. I know she’s upset. I see it in her eyes. I feel her energy. We’re witch sisters, after all.

  She’s hurting.

  “I’ve always loved living up at the mine,”
Marley says. “I felt so connected to Grandma and Grandpa's spirits. Even though I didn’t know them, it felt like by living in that place, and learning their stories, that I did know them.”

  “You did,” Owen says. “You’re so much like your grandmother, Marley. You look just like her. You have her spirit. Grandpa Felix would have loved you very much.”

  “And I would have loved him,” Marley said. “If I ever had the chance to meet him. But I never did. All I had was his story.”

  She pulls her purse over her shoulder. “Now I find out that wasn’t the real him at all. So who have I been looking up to this whole time? Who have I been respecting? Who have I been loving? A character. A character that you made up.”

  She shakes her head at her father.

  “I didn’t know it would upset you this much,” Owen says. He stands too. I wonder if he’s going to hug Marley. I think that would be a bad idea. Marley’s in one of those don’t-touch-me moods.

  “Yeah, well, Dad, there’s a lot you don’t know about me,” she says.

  I pinch my lips together and look down at my hands. Uh oh. This evening really isn’t going well. And I don’t see signs of improvement on the horizon.

  Marley continues. “Maybe if you hadn’t jetted off to California the instant I graduated high school, you’d know me a little better. But you couldn’t stand it here. You couldn’t wait to get out.”

  “I asked you if you wanted to come with me,” Owen says weakly. This is a losing battle and he knows it.

  Marley doesn’t answer. Instead she just shakes her head. “I need some fresh air,” she says. “Good night.”

  “You want me to go with you?” I ask. I get to my feet.

  Marley backs up. I knew it. The don’t-touch-me vibe is up in full force. She just needs to cool down. I’ve learned that while I respond well to being smothered in hugs, when Marley’s truly upset she just needs time alone. It really doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it’s serious.