That was a fair question. “I don’t know,” I said. “I know that you were making plans with Clove and Thistle. You were supposed to meet us for coffee. You never made it. We assumed something came up and you left the camp early.
“We went to the camp and asked the other counselors if that was true,” I continued. “We talked to a young woman with red hair and green eyes. She told us people assumed you’d left early because Gertie came through with payment and there was only one day left ... a day without any campers. Do you remember that?”
Vicky looked as if she was thinking hard. “I vaguely remember that,” she said after a beat. “I mean ... I remember we were supposed to have coffee. I don’t remember dying.”
“Your sister said that you disliked one of the male counselors,” I prodded. “Can you remember which one you didn’t like?”
“Oh, that one I can remember without any problem.” Vicky’s lips curved down at whatever memory bombarded her. “There were two of them, in fact. Both were jerks ... and perverts. I even caught one of them peeping through the bathroom window when I was trying to shower one day.”
Now we were getting somewhere. “Who was that?”
“Lance Saxon.” She grimaced when uttering the name. “He wasn’t alone. He had another counselor with him. They were both laughing and leering. I was mortified.”
I didn’t blame her. “Who was the other guy?”
“Joey Morgan. He was filling in that summer because one of the other counselors didn’t show up. Gertie tapped him because she said he was her only option, but I never got the feeling she was happy about hiring him.”
“Because Joey was a poor worker?”
“And a pervert,” Vicky replied. “He was peeping at all the counselors that summer. It wasn’t just me.”
“And he wasn’t alone?” I wanted to make absolutely certain that she was remembering correctly so I didn’t track down the wrong potential suspect. “He had someone else with him. That’s what you said.”
“Lance Saxon. They were thick as thieves.”
“I don’t suppose you know where Lance Saxon lived? I don’t remember that name and I’m pretty sure he’s not a Hemlock Cove local.”
“I think he lived in Bellaire,” Vicky said. “I’m not a hundred percent sure, but I think that’s right.”
“Then that’s where we’ll start looking.” I was grim. “Thank you for finding me. I finally have hope we’re starting to look in the right direction. We’ll make sure whoever did this to you pays.”
Vicky shrugged. “That won’t help me.”
“No, but it’s better than nothing.”
“I guess.”
Twenty-One
I considered calling Landon, but I knew he had his hands full with tracking down Randy. Vicky disappeared not long after unloading the names of two counselors she felt uncomfortable with. One was dead. The other was a man I didn’t know.
Without a doubt, I recognized Landon would be frustrated (and most likely furious) if I tracked down Saxon on my own. Still, I wanted to talk to him. I was trying to get a feeling for Vicky’s movements that last summer. If Saxon wasn’t a suspect, he might know something. That didn’t mean Landon would whistle a jaunty tune and smile like a moron when I told him I questioned a possible murderer.
That meant I couldn’t go alone.
Clove and Thistle were tied up with tourists at Hypnotic thanks to the large group that had hit town the previous day. Clove wasn’t keen on questioning suspects anyway. Thistle was more game, but she couldn’t leave Clove to handle the store herself.
Sam and Marcus had jobs of their own, so we rarely took them along for adventures. If they happened to be with the group when the curse hit the cauldron, that was one thing. They didn’t appreciate being dragged into things out of the blue, though.
Mom, Marnie and Twila weren’t high on my list of cohorts. They were busy with guests … and whatever else they did during the day, which I suspected revolved around baking. That left one person with an opening in her schedule ... and I realized just how far I’d fallen when I called Aunt Tillie and told her what I had planned.
“That’s a fabulous idea,” she said over the phone. “I love grilling perps. Pick me up at The Overlook in an hour. I’m looking forward to meeting this guy. I’ll bring my cuffs.”
Her enthusiasm gave me pause, but there was very little I could do about it. Landon was busy with other things and I couldn’t simply ignore the name once Vicky provided it. Because I had time, I browbeat Thistle into driving me home so I could shower. She groused the whole way, but it was only a five-minute ride. She completed her taxiing duty and disappeared.
My car was parked in front of the guesthouse, per usual, so I hopped inside once I’d finished cleaning up and drove to the inn. I felt ten times better once I was in fresh clothes, hair washed, and I didn’t even cringe when I found Aunt Tillie scowling as she waited for me. She carried a large bag slung over her shoulder and wore combat boots and a blue jacket that oddly looked like something a police officer would wear.
“What is that?” I was instantly suspicious when she climbed into the passenger seat.
“What?” She looked around the car, as if genuinely searching for a point of interest. “Do you see something?”
“I see you.”
“Then it’s going to be a good day for you.” She clapped my arm. “Let’s find a murderer.”
I couldn’t stop frowning at the jacket. It wasn’t until she moved her arm that I finally managed to see the left breast panel. There, in big letters, was WBI. Her name was embroidered above that and she had what looked to be a badge affixed to the coat.
“Where did you get that jacket?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“Oh, this old thing?” She feigned being perplexed. “I stumbled across it somewhere. I really can’t remember where.”
“Uh-huh.” I didn’t believe her for a second. She had a shopping addiction, which meant she enjoyed buying things that drove the rest of us crazy. That included leggings, scorpions, guns and a set of drums that mysteriously disappeared from the inn less than a week after they appeared and Aunt Tillie announced she was going to be the next Tommy Lee. “What does WBI stand for?”
She shot me a “well, duh” look. “I would think that’s rather obvious.”
“Witch Bureau of Investigations?”
“Oh, don’t be a ninny. I don’t want to announce to the perps that I’m a witch. That will make them more nervous than necessary. It stands for Winchester. Winchester Bureau of Instigations.”
In my book, that wasn’t any better. “Investigations,” I automatically corrected.
Her eyes flashed. “I know what I said.”
We lapsed into silence as I navigated toward the highway. The more I thought about our trip, the more I realized it was a bad idea. Still, I couldn’t force myself to turn around. I wanted to see Saxon for myself. It somehow felt important, even though I couldn’t put my finger on why.
“Do you have anything else in that bag I should worry about?” I asked after a few minutes.
“Of course not. I just have my necessities in here.”
“Like what?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
That’s exactly what I was afraid of. “If you have a weapon in there, tell me now. We need to leave it in the car when we question this guy.”
“I am a walking weapon,” she reminded me. “I don’t need anything other than my wits and magic.”
She sounded full of herself, which was always a warning signal. “Aunt Tillie ... .”
She cut me off with a shake of her head. “Bay, you came to me because you wanted backup when it came time to question this guy. I’m here to help even though you’re a big, fat whiner and absolutely no fun sometimes. I mean ... seriously. How can you not be fun after all the valuable lessons I gave you as a kid?”
Even though I understood what she was doing, I was agitated by the remark. “I’m tons of fun.”
> She blew a disdainful raspberry. “Please. You’re nowhere near as much fun as you should be. You’re a powerful necromancer who picks up on the emotions of ghosts. You should be a laugh riot every minute.”
“And you think I’m not?”
“I think you’re a good girl who wants to help the world and do great things. I get the ‘doing great things’ part. I really do. I want to do great things, too. The other part is what gives me indigestion.”
“First, there’s nothing wrong with being a good girl.”
“If you say so.”
“There’s not.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
Her flippant response and refusal to meet my gaze was beyond annoying. “Second, I’m not a good girl. I’m bad to the bone.”
“Right.”
“I am.”
“Yes, you’re the terror of Hemlock Cove in your Ford ... with your FBI boyfriend ... with your doting police chief father figure following close behind. You’re the worst witch of us all.”
Oh, now she was just trying to irritate me. “I think I’m done talking to you for the day.”
“That’s too bad. You’re a witty conversationalist.”
I frowned. “I’m not a good girl.”
“Sure, sure, sure.”
“I’m not.”
“If you say so.”
It took everything I had not to blow up. “I’m not.”
“Keep your eyes on the road, Bay.”
LANCE SAXON WASN’T HARD TO track down. He worked as a clerk at Bellaire City Hall — something I found through a simple Google search, complete with photograph — and he was leaving to go on a break when Aunt Tillie and I entered the building.
“Is that him?” she asked, her eyes narrowing as she looked him over. “He looks like a murderer.”
I frowned. “How can you say that?” I studied the man in question as he spoke quietly to the woman taking his place at the window. He wore khaki pants, a plaid button-down shirt, and combed his hair in such a manner that I had to wonder if he was prematurely balding. “He looks like a normal guy to me.”
“Ugh. You’re such a rube. He’s clearly a killer.”
“Did your training at the WBI teach you that?”
“It did. But I didn’t have to train because I was naturally gifted in that department. I do the training because I am bursting with wisdom that needs to be imparted to others.”
She was clearly feeling full of herself today. The spell she cast to conjure the storm that saved the records cabin was puffing her out a bit. “Yes. Your academy helped me beyond words when I was a child.”
“It certainly did,” she agreed. “Now, come on.” She tugged me toward the door we’d just walked through. “We need to head outside.”
“Why? The guy we need to talk to is inside ... and he’s going on break. This is perfect timing.”
“He won’t be taking his break inside.”
“How do you know that?”
“He’s a smoker.”
I was confused when I turned back to Saxon. “He’s not holding a cigarette.”
“No, but his fingers are twitching and he looks like a smoker.”
“What does a smoker look like?”
“You know.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Oh, don’t be daft, Bay.” Aunt Tillie’s eyes flashed with annoyance. “You’re purposely being difficult. I hate it when you’re difficult.”
“Right back at you.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
SURE ENOUGH, SAXON WAS indeed a smoker. Aunt Tillie was right. Not only that, she seemed to know where the county workers went to smoke when they were on break. It was a small enclosure behind the building, close to the dumpster — which smelled picturesque, let me tell you — and there were benches and those tall ashtrays spread about when we crossed into the area.
“You’re not supposed to be back here,” Saxon announced, his eyes going wide when he saw us. “This is a restricted area.”
“No, it’s not,” I countered, shaking my head. “There are no signs and this is government property. Outdoor government property at that. You can’t restrict the general public from crossing into this area.”
Aunt Tillie shot me an appraising look. “That was excellent. Maybe you’re not a lost cause after all.”
I ignored her. “You’re Lance Saxon, right?”
He raised an eyebrow, surprised. “I guess that depends on who wants to know. I don’t believe I recognize you.”
I saw no reason to lie. “My name is Bay Winchester. I live in Hemlock Cove. Two bodies were discovered in the pool at a local campground the past few days. One of them has been identified as Vicky Carpenter. It’s my understanding that you knew her.”
Saxon blinked several times and then sucked on his cigarette, long and deep. When he exhaled, he was more in control. “I wondered if it was her.”
It was a simple statement, but it conveyed a lot. “Vicky?”
He nodded. “The body discovery has been all over the news. There’s not a lot going on at this time of year, so two bodies being discovered in a small town like Hemlock Cove is a big deal. That’s all any of the stations have been talking about.”
I hadn’t watched much television the past few days, so I would have to take his word for it. “You didn’t know it was Vicky until we told you?”
“I only heard about the second body yesterday. They didn’t release a name.”
That made sense. Landon would’ve wanted to wait until Stephanie was informed. He might not have released the name until today for all I knew. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”
“I suspected it was her,” Saxon countered, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. “She just disappeared that last summer. The other counselors didn’t seem worried, so I pushed it out of my head. I never thought she was the type to take off without saying goodbye.”
“What can you tell me about that time?” I prodded. “I mean ... when was the last time you saw Vicky?”
“I don’t really remember. The last day of camp is always hectic. Besides, I was staying with the boys across the lake. That camp was set up so the boys and girls were separated. It would’ve made more sense for a camp in the fifties – I mean, how weird is it to separate boys and girls like that? – but I wasn’t in charge, so there wasn’t much I could do about it.”
“So ... you didn’t see her the last day of camp?”
“I saw her, but I didn’t really talk to her,” he countered. “She was helping the girls and I was helping the boys. The goal was to search the cabins and make sure nothing was left behind. Gertie was adamant when she stopped by that morning. She didn’t want to pay us extra to contact the parents so they could claim the missing items.”
“Gertie was there?”
“She came every day when camp was in session. She didn’t always stay — she was upset in those days because Earl had died a few months before — but she always stopped in. The morning of that last pack out she was agitated.”
“Did she say why?”
“Just that she wanted to make sure that nothing was left behind because she had other things to worry about besides crazed mothers looking for their kids’ retainers.”
That sounded about right. “You’re sure you saw Vicky?”
“Oh, I’m sure.” Saxon turned rueful as he took another puff, his cheeks coloring. “I had a horrible crush on her. I mean ... it was ridiculous. I swear my tongue tied itself when she was around and I sounded like a blooming idiot.
“That last day with the kids was not our last day,” he continued. “We always had to stay an extra day to clean up the cabins and the campsite. I never minded because those days were more relaxing. In fact, I was looking forward to it that year because I’d planned to ask out Vicky on that last day when there was no one else around to distract her.”
I glanced at Aunt Tillie
and found her watching Saxon with rapt attention.
“Did Vicky know you had a crush on her?” I asked finally.
He shrugged. “I don’t think so. She was always in her own little world. She was one of the few counselors who actually enjoyed spending time with the kids. She legitimately liked her job. The rest of us were doing it for money. I mean ... there’s a reason I don’t have kids. I don’t really like them.”
“Join the club,” Aunt Tillie intoned. “Kids are the absolute worst.”
I shot her a look. “You said you didn’t see her that final day. The other counselors said she left. Do you happen to know if someone packed her things?”
Saxon shrugged. “I’m assuming they did. I mean ... why would they say it if she didn’t pack them herself?”
That was a very good question. I had another. “Vicky mentioned to her sister that you made her nervous,” I supplied. “Why do you think she would say something like that?”
“Probably because I couldn’t stop staring at her.” If he was embarrassed, he didn’t show it. He was more sheepish than guilty. “Like I said, I couldn’t stop salivating over her. I mean ... I was freaking in love with her. She had really long legs and was nice to everyone. I swear my heart hurt whenever I was near her.”
“And you didn’t do anything to her?” The more I talked to Saxon, the less he seemed a suspect. He could’ve been a good actor, though.
“Me?” Saxon’s eyebrows flew up his forehead. “You think I hurt her? I loved her. Er, well, I thought I loved her. I’m older now, so that seems ridiculous in hindsight, but I definitely had a crush on her. Why would I hurt her?”
“Because people are sick and they hurt the people they’re supposed to love,” Aunt Tillie replied, matter-of-fact. “Are you sure you’re not some sicko pervert who killed her because she turned down your advances? I mean ... you look like a pervert. Who wears plaid shirts, for crying out loud? I’ll tell you who. Perverts.”
My mouth dropped open. “Um ... .”
Instead of freaking out, Saxon merely shook his head. “I’m not a pervert. I had a crush on her. I never would’ve done anything to her. I expected her to say no. She had plans to go on a trip. She told me that. I had to ask her anyway. I would’ve always regretted it if I hadn’t.
Wicked Witches of the Midwest Mystery Box Set Page 50
