The Witch On Twisted Oak

by Muller, Susan C.

  “If he’s the guy who did this, and keep in mind that we don’t know that for certain, it sure explains why he went after me in that picture you painted.” Uh oh. Had she realized he knew that was him in her painting? He cut a glance at her flushed face. Apparently not.

  If that broken leg gave Jacinto a funny, rolling walk, that would be sweet irony and another brick in the case against him. Ruben sighed. He needed to solve this case as soon as possible and get back to real life. Before he started to believe all the craziness swirling around him.

  Visions of his apartment with its leather sofa and big-screen TV played in his head. Oh for a beer, a football game, and quiet solitude.

  Ruben Jacinto had watched the small-frame house for over an hour before the front door opened and four people came out. Parked by the gas station around the corner, he’d pulled an exercise ball from his glove compartment and squeezed it—once every second—for four minutes. Then switched it to his other hand and started again. He’d worked up a sweat when he dropped the ball and sat forward for a better view.

  Ruben and the girl he recognized right away.

  So they’re together. Good. That made everything easier.

  He recognized Mamacita, too.

  She was the bitch who discovered someone had made a video of the play when he broke his leg so badly. His late hit, after the flag went down, was obvious. There went the lawsuit his father had threatened. He ended up in the hospital, broke, and Marquez got a scholarship.

  He got even with the witch, now he’d take out the bitch. After that, the girl. He’d save Marquez for last. Let him suffer.

  The other woman was a looker, but she had to be six feet tall. Marquez’s sister? Probably.

  He’d follow the two women for now. He knew where Marquez worked. He could always find him.

  An hour later, he circled back. Wherever they were headed, they’d have to come home some time, and he’d be waiting.

  He should have followed Marquez and the baby witch. Everything had gone downhill after that day. Almost like that witch had put a curse on him.

  He should have guessed it would be Marquez coming after him. Whenever his life hit a speed bump, Marquez was behind it. First, the witch, then football, and twice he’d found a girl that was interested in him, only to discover Marquez had been there first. Turned his stomach and made him want to clean his dick with gasoline. Now, because of Marquez, his whole operation was in danger.

  By the time he got back to Houston, it would be dark. The perfect time to leave Marquez a little gift.

  Wouldn’t matter if Marquez lived long enough to find it. He would know it was there. Right under the cop’s nose.

  Then all he had to do was find that appointment book and he’d be home free on the murders.

  Once she saw everyone around her dead, the baby witch wouldn’t dare refuse to help him.

  Chapter 27

  Tessa watched as a pink glow tinged the sky. There wasn’t enough light left to paint, but maybe she could draw. Even tramping through the leaves would help sooth her mind. She almost missed Molly. She would have been a good excuse for a walk.

  Ruben came back from hiding the car five minutes ago and the air in the cabin was already thick with tension. How were they going to make it through this night?

  She grasped for something to say. A safe subject to break the ice forming in the room. “Would it be alright if we went back to that hill we visited this morning and I could finish my sketch?”

  “Sure, I have something I want to show you.” Ruben was on his feet in a flash. He must have felt the strain as much as she did.

  They walked in a companionable silence and she breathed in the pine-scented air. This was nice. She could almost forget why she was here.

  Ruben put his hand on her arm as she started up the hill. “I know I promised to let you finish your drawing, but I have something more important I need to show you.”

  Heat built up in her chest. Where did he get off acting like her sketches weren’t as important as his business? All her life people had treated her painting as a sweet little hobby, of no real consequence.

  She twisted to tell him off and dropped her sketchbook. She stumble backward, her hand to her mouth.

  He had pulled a gun from the top of his boot. Was he going to shoot her? Was he in league with that Jacinto fellow? Had he just been waiting to get her alone to finish her off?

  “I truly believe this place is safe, or I wouldn’t have bought you here. But it is in my name, and if someone tried hard enough, they could find it. We need to have a plan in case of emergency. Can you fire a gun?”

  What? He wanted her to shoot someone?

  “No, I’ve never touched one.” Had that gun been in his boot the whole time? Was he concealing it when they took Molly for a walk or as she sketched? Did he have it at his brother’s?

  “This is my back-up piece. It’s smaller and lighter than my Glock. Here, I’ve unloaded it. Hold it and see how it feels.”

  The handle was warm from his touch, not cold as she’d imagined. He was right. It wasn’t heavy.

  “When you’re studying a painting, which eye do you close?”

  She thought for a moment. “The left one.”

  “Good, you’re right handed and right eye dominant. That makes it easier. Now, hold the gun in your right hand and cup your left like this.”

  She tried to copy his move.

  “No, never put your finger on the trigger unless you’re ready to shoot. And never shoot unless you absolutely, positively have to. Hitting something, someone, is much harder than you think, especially if you’re frightened. Bullets travel a long way and can end up in the wrong place.”

  “Then why show me?” This was all too much. So many different thoughts and emotions swirling through her head. How was she supposed to know what was right?

  “This would only be in case of emergency. If I’m not around to protect you.”

  But he’d promised he wouldn’t leave her alone.

  He stared into her eyes while she thought about what he’d just said. Oh, he means if he’s already down. If he’s hurt, or worse.

  Her breath caught in her throat. If the sight of her kicked in back door and the destruction in her bedroom had unnerved her, the feel of a gun in her hand and the realization that Ruben had placed himself between her and some unknown danger, shook her to the core.

  No one had ever done anything like that for her before. A sense of warmth surged through her heart.

  They practiced for the next half hour. First, dry firing, then shooting into the hillside. The tension from earlier disappeared and having him stand so close felt natural.

  “You’re a pretty good shot for an amateur. I think painting helped you develop a steady hand and a good eye. Still, don’t fire until your target is close, but not within arm’s reach. And for Heaven’s sake, make sure it’s not me you’re shooting at.”

  As if she could mistake his silhouette. And not just because of his height. Everything about him had become familiar, like an old and trusted friend.

  Ruben’s arms were tight around her and his breath felt warm against her face.

  “Stop. Stop. Wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”

  She opened her eyes and the face she saw was the same as the dragon with steam coming from his mouth and black slashes under his eyes that had been chasing her moments before. She cried out and pushed as hard as she could.

  “Are you awake? Do you need me to get you some water?” He leaned back, his eyes full of concern.

  She reached up to wipe the tears from her face, but couldn’t control her trembling. Her breath came in short gasps.

  The room settled into place. The lamp, the dresser, her cat at the end of the bed. They were familiar to her. So was the man leaning over her, his hands stroking her arms.

  “I can’t . . . I can’t breathe,” she gasped.

  He jumped off the bed and ran from the room. Was she going to die there? Alone?


  The mattress sagged and he was back, pressing a paper bag to her mouth. “Here, breathe into this.”

  Whatever it was, it worked. After a few breaths, her head stopped spinning. Her chest still ached, but air seemed to be inching its way into her lungs.

  Her heart slowed from a full out gallop to a controlled canter.

  “I’m sorry. I thought I was finished having bad dreams.” She ought to be embarrassed, having a meltdown in front of him like this, but remembering all the years, and all the nightmares, when she’d woken alone and frightened, made her clutch his arm and refuse to let go.

  He shook his head. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I shouldn’t have made you fire a gun. I wanted to help you feel safer, more in control. But I’m afraid it had the opposite result. Guns have that effect on some people.”

  She could smell the gunpowder in her hair. Had that sparked the dream? No.

  “It wasn’t the shooting. I think that did help. It’s the memories. They’ve started coming back.”

  He leaned against the headboard and pulled her closer. Her head rested on his chest. Listening to his heart beat, slow and steady, helped her relax.

  “Mine are coming back, too. Tell me what you remember and maybe I can fill in any blank spots.” He stroked his hand down her hair.

  “That’s just it. I only get images all jumbled together. Screaming, yelling, my mother throwing her crystal ball on the floor and the pain in my leg.” Her breathing had almost returned to normal. The vision of her mother clutching the crystal ball with her face contorted in fury sent it racing again.

  “But your mother wasn’t the one who broke the crystal ball. You were hiding in the corner and had your hands over your eyes. I was standing in the door and saw everything.”

  Chapter 28

  Ding

  The bell on the microwave sounded and Ruben removed the cup of boiling water. He stirred it into the powdered chocolate and sat the steaming mug in front of Tessa.

  A shiver ran down her body and she clutched the mug in both hands, breathing in the chocolaty aroma.

  Damn. He should have realized how cold she was. She’d slipped on the muddy flannel pajama bottoms, but still wore only an oversized tee and had nothing on her feet.

  He was well aware of the chilling aftereffects of nightmares. He’d had a few of them himself. When he woke, he might not have told anyone, but he knew Vincente was asleep in the next bed and his parents were down the hall. He couldn’t imagine facing them alone.

  He reached for his hunting jacket, hanging on a peg in the corner, and draped it over her shoulders.

  Setting the mug down, she shoved her arms through the sleeves and snapped the jacket closed.

  Good. He was in danger of becoming distracted by the view.

  The microwave dinged again and he mixed his own mug of hot chocolate. He’d have rather had something stronger, but he was definitely on duty and needed a clear head.

  Standing next to her, knowing how little she had on under his hunting jacket, wasn’t helping. He’d never be able to wear that jacket again without picturing her in it. He didn’t even want to think about trying to sleep in that bed.

  He pulled out a chair and sat facing her.

  “My journal is still at Mamacita’s, and I haven’t finished reading it yet, but here’s what I remember so far. Ruben Jacinto was the one who convinced the boys in school to visit your mother. He thought he should be first in line, but he was late getting there and several boys had already gone in. They were laughing and talking, excited about the novelty of visiting a fortuneteller. The fact that she was beautiful and sexy, well, that just made it all the more exotic.”

  He watched Tessa take a sip of hot chocolate. She didn’t seem upset that he’d referred to her mother as sexy.

  “Jacinto was already angry that no one had waited for him. He shoved me and cut in line ahead of me. I was bigger than him, but he was a year older and had a bad reputation for pulling dirty tricks to get even. I may have been naïve, but I wasn’t stupid. I stepped back and let him in line without complaining.”

  Here came the hard part. Would she remember?

  “You took the money from his hand and your eyes got big as saucers. You opened your mouth, but only a squeak came out. I thought he had hurt you. Squeezed your hand too hard, or something.”

  Tessa looked over her rim of her mug. “No, his hand was icy and an inky blackness overtook me. The blood in my veins sizzled, like someone had injected me with boiling water. I tried to warn Mother, but nothing came out. I watched in horror as he strutted toward her. I saw it all unfold and knew it would be bad, but I couldn’t stop it.”

  Still with the witch mumbo-jumbo. She was right about one thing. It was about to get bad. But he had to tell it.

  “She dealt the cards, but frowned and scooped them up. I guess she shuffled, I don’t know, but she dealt them again, then picked them up without a word and set them beside her. He didn’t like it and started raising his voice. She ignored him and pulled that crystal ball thingy off a shelf and placed it in the center of the table.”

  Tessa gave a slight nod. “She preferred using the cards. She saved the crystal ball for special readings. I don’t know why, except that it was expensive. Probably a thousand dollars or more.”

  “When she pushed her chair back and told him it was time to leave, that she was finished for the day, he lost it. Said she was disrespecting him, that he’d paid for a reading and she owed it to him. He grabbed her hand and held on, still yelling that she should tell him what she saw.”

  “I can remember her screaming and yelling at him. That’s when my life went to hell.”

  “No, you’re mistaken. Her face went pale and she slapped her hand to the base of her throat as if she had trouble breathing, but she kept her voice calm. She tapped one finger against his shoulder and told him to get out before she called the police. Two of his friends pulled him out the door. She put her hand on my chest and pushed me back a step and shut the door in my face.”

  Ruben rubbed the spot on his chest where Yolanda Garza had placed her hand. He could still feel the fear and panic that had surged through her touch into his spine.

  He took a gulp of the hot chocolate. All this witch nonsense was getting to him. He’d seen the fear in her eyes, or projected his own. There wasn’t any magic to her touch.

  Tessa’s voice brought him back. “But I remember her screaming and the ball shattering on the floor. Are you saying that didn’t happen?” She reached down and touched her leg where he’d seen her scar.

  He’d rather wrestle a bear than go through all this emotional shit. A week had passed since he’d had a decent night’s sleep and he couldn’t keep it up any longer. Would Adam cover for him if he slipped into one of the bunkrooms and copped an hour’s nap?

  “Why don’t I fix us both some toast and we’ll talk over breakfast.”

  He needed a break to gather his wits, and putzing around in the kitchen was about as much of one as he was going to get.

  The bread sprung out of the toaster, golden brown and filling the cabin with its heavenly aroma. Ruben set a paper plate in front of Tessa and got out a jar of Mamacita’s homemade grape jelly.

  Tessa watched him expectantly.

  Now was the time. He couldn’t put it off any longer.

  “As soon as your mother closed the door, all the kids scattered for home. Jacinto was definitely angry. His voice was raised but I couldn’t hear what he said. After a minute, his friends coaxed him out of it and they all laughed. I headed the other direction, toward my house, and tried to put it out of my mind.”

  He could still feel the relief that had washed over him when he thought everything was cool.

  “The closer I got to home, the slower I walked. My feet were dragging like they had ten pound weights attached. I got close enough to see my front door, but couldn’t go any farther. I’d be in trouble if I didn’t get inside soon, but I stopped and sat on an old stump. After about, I d
on’t know, five minutes? Maybe ten, I turned and ran back to your place.”

  The kitchen chair squealed on the old linoleum as Tessa shifted to watch him. “If your mother is so full of bull-hockey, how did you know to go back?”

  Ruben almost smiled. “Bull-hockey? Are you sure you want to use such strong language?”

  He saw her lips twitch, but she didn’t let the smile break through. “You know what I mean. You haven’t believed a word your mother or I said, so how do you explain your actions?”

  She wasn’t going to let him get by with a thing, was she? If it wasn’t so aggravating, he’d admire the way she stood up to him.

  “With Jacinto’s reputation, it didn’t take a genius to figure out he wouldn’t let it drop. Besides, it hadn’t been more than a day since my big decision to become a policeman and dedicate my life to helping people.”

  Boy, was he full of shit.

  “Yeah, and the fact that all the girls were drooling over the guys in uniform didn’t hurt any.”

  Crap. Maybe she was psychic.

  Why did he always lose control of any conversation with her? Maybe he should concentrate on making more toast for a few minutes. See if he could get things back on track by then.

  “Go ahead. You might as well finish it. I won’t interrupt you again.” She squared her shoulders and faced him, her hands twisting in her lap.

  “Let me get the story out, then you can ask all the questions you want.” He wasn’t leaving this half done, only to have another unpleasant session waiting for him tonight.

  “The door to her office, shop, facility, whatever she called it—”

  “Studio.” Tessa clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry.”

  Ruben glanced at her and tried not to roll his eyes. “. . . was standing open maybe two inches. I heard loud voices, but couldn’t see anything. I pushed and it swung open about half way. Jacinto was yelling at your mother, telling her she was a thief, a scam artist, she didn’t know anything. Give him his money back. No, all the money she’d taken in. Or he was the one who would call the police.”