Psycho Hill (JP Warner Book 3)

by Derek Ciccone

  That left one loose end to tie up.

  And he would take care of Poca himself.

  Chapter 61

  Carter twisted the gold knob, shutting off the water. He stepped out of the shower into the marble bathroom. He wrapped a towel around his waist, and admired the accommodations—this Indian chief certainly didn’t live in a teepee.

  He wiped the fog from the mirror and took a long look at himself. He then put on a show—flexing his chest, and showing off the “guns.” He grinned—when you got it, you got it.

  He was about to return to Poca for another round of awesome, when he heard a voice—a man’s voice. Things were about to get interesting.

  He reached for his gun, but he was only wearing a towel. It was packed in his knapsack in the other room. He cursed himself for being so harebrained. All he could do was listen through the door.

  “What do you want, Woodrow? Poca asked.

  Hastings is here? The first surprise in what he expected to be many.

  “I just wanted you to know that I figured out who is behind all of this. And I didn’t want to discuss it over the phone.”

  There was nothing but silence, before Poca said, “Well? I don’t have all day.”

  “You know exactly who it is, so let’s stop playing games.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Then let me refresh your memory—you and my brother teaming up behind my back, and using JP Warner to do your dirty work.”

  Poca snickered. “JP Warner? You can’t be serious.”

  “Don’t play dumb with me!” Hastings’ voice rose to a threatening level. Carter gripped the door handle, ready to make his move.

  “First of all, Joe Jr. is the one who killed Archie, so he’d be the last person to try to bring that subject back to life,” Poca said.

  Carter removed his hand from the handle as if it were on fire. Hastings’ brother murdered Archibald? And Poca knew this the whole time?

  “I’m not a fool—you two are the only ones who knew certain things … the gristmill, the location of the car on the estate. I also know that Joe Jr. was in town this weekend, and he had access to the property. Come to think of it, the golf course made for the perfect place to dump the car in the river.”

  “Why would we want to do that?”

  “It’s my brother’s chance to remove the burden that has hung over his head all these years. Eventually someone is going to put the pieces together that he killed Archibald, so by pinning it on me, he’s keeping ahead of the posse.”

  “Maybe so, but what would I have to gain?”

  “By getting rid of me you’ll have nobody standing in your way around here, and the casino is just the tip of the iceberg. Your agendas lined up perfectly.”

  She laughed. “I’m still not sure how JP Warner fits into this devious plot of ours.”

  “You’re trying to rewrite history, and who better at that than the media. They’ve certainly changed your people from the savages that you are, into the poor little victims trampled by the big mean European settlers. I’m sure you have Warner strung around your little finger, just like I was, and he’s so eager to believe all your lies.”

  Carter could hear footsteps—Hastings had begun to pace. He was getting ready to do something. Carter wanted to bust into the room, but he knew he needed to hold back a little bit longer.

  “And I’m sure the security tape from Warner’s house will be properly altered to make it fit your story.”

  “I was assured that the surveillance tape had been turned off. It wouldn’t be good for either of us for that past to be made public. I’m not exactly innocent in this—I was an accomplice to Archie’s murder!”

  Carter took a step back, and thought for a second—he wasn’t buying it. He was also sure that the security was off, because he’d taken care of it himself. Something was fishy here.

  “It wasn’t Archibald’s car in the river. It’s a fake, but I’m sure you already know this,” Woodrow said.

  “I had nothing to do with that car ending up in the river.”

  “Next thing you’ll tell me is, that it wasn’t your purpose to reopen the case, to frame me. I guess the only surprise is that it took you two this long—I should have gotten rid of you years ago!”

  “You’re insane.”

  “And you love every second of it, don’t you? Now you want me to take the bait again, so I can look even guiltier. Well, this time you’re going to get your wish.”

  “You need to leave right now.”

  Woodrow let out an evil laugh. “Isn’t it ironic that Archie was supposed to be kidnapped, but ended up dead.”

  “Only because you took it upon yourself to ensure that he did. That just means you’re a sociopath—nothing ironic about it.”

  “His kidnapping became a murder. Then all these years later, my son was kidnapped, which led to yours being murdered. You really don’t see the irony?”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Then tell me where Lewis is.”

  “I have no idea … Lewis was kidnapped?”

  “Stop the lies!”

  Her voice trembled, “I admit that your brother and I are working together, but it’s not what you think. I don’t have anything to do with what happened to your son … please don’t hurt Chayton.”

  “It’s too late—in fact, it’s long overdue.”

  Poca let out a scream.

  That was Carter’s signal. He opened the door enough to see that the psycho was holding a hatchet at her head. History seemed to be repeating itself in more ways than one.

  There was no dress to rip off this time, but he used the hatchet to open her silk bathrobe. He then pushed her down hard on the bed. He climbed on top of her, holding her down with one hand, with the hatchet in the other.

  “Don’t worry, you won’t have to die alone. Not only will Chayton and Joe Jr. be joining you, but so will JP Warner and Gwen Delaney.”

  Carter didn’t know what to think of Poca at the moment, but he did his best work when he wasn’t thinking. He stepped into the bedroom. There was a fireplace in one corner of the room, and since Hastings was so into irony, Carter thought he might enjoy getting whacked again with a fire poker. He also thought to make a move for the knapsack, which held his gun. But Carter preferred a more natural ass kicking, with his fists.

  “First I’m going to take what’s mine, before I give you what you deserve,” Woodrow said, and released his hand from Poca so that he could unzip his trousers. She screamed and squirmed to try to avoid his clutches, but the hatchet served as insurance.

  Woodrow was so caught up in his sick fantasy that he didn’t hear Carter come up behind him, and tap him on the shoulder. He turned around, just in time to see the fist heading straight for his nose.

  It was a direct hit. He fell off Poca like he’d been shot, and careened off the bed. Carter picked him up by his white hair, and then slung him over his shoulder into a “body slam” position. He was about to send him face first to the hardwood floor when everything went dark.

  Chapter 62

  The electronic gates opened and we followed the beat-up pickup truck onto the grounds of the winery. We drove up an unpaved driveway until we came to a contemporary house, hidden behind a thick row of Douglas Firs and tangled ferns. The woman parked her truck and got out. We did the same.

  “Mr. Seifert is waiting inside,” was all she said, before leading us into the house. The house was stylish in a lived-in sort of way, but it didn’t give off the sleek, glamorous vibe that one might expect from the home of one of the world’s top winemakers. It had a certain grittiness to it.

  We entered a rustic kitchen and the first thing I saw was Joe Hastings Jr. sitting at a wood table, sipping on a bottle of water. He looked more relaxed than when we’d interviewed him earlier.

  The man next to him rose to his feet. “Welcome to Ward Seifert Winery, I’m Ward.”

  Gwen looked confused, and I understood why. He didn�
�t look anything like the man on the website, or any of the other Internet photos she’d showed me while we waited in the car. That man was shorter with more rounded body type, and was sporting a thick, salt and pepper beard. This version was tall with broad shoulders, and clean cut with a healthy head of gray hair. He looked like the personification of the “distinguished older gentleman.”

  Gwen continued peering at him. “No you’re not.”

  He chuckled. “I love wine, and making wine, but I’m not a big fan of the business side or making appearances. So I hired someone to play me in public.”

  “Why should we believe that?” Gwen was not convinced.

  He shrugged. “I guess I could show you my driver’s license.”

  That wouldn’t help, I thought, because it wouldn’t provide his true identity. I knew who he was, and why he wasn’t so keen on going out in public.

  He looked to the woman who had escorted us in. “I see you’ve met Darcy.”

  “Not officially,” I said, and shook hands with the woman. She wore denim overalls, and she could be best described as a pretty tomboy. Gwen did the same, but grudgingly.

  “Darcy is the brains behind the business. She thought she was going to Stanford Law School ten years ago, but I stole her away.”

  “Saved me is more like it,” she added.

  “We’ve taken up enough of Darcy’s time—she’s been here since four this morning, preparing for harvest. So I don’t want to keep her away any longer from her husband and adorable children.”

  She smiled pleasantly, and gave the group a “nice to meet you” wave, before she was off.

  Once the door shut behind her, the man calling himself Ward Seifert motioned us to sit at the kitchen table. I looked to Joe Jr. and gave him an apologetic nod. The apology was for accusing him of killing Thomas Archibald, even though I never came out and said it. The evidence was now overwhelming that he hadn’t.

  I took a seat, but Gwen still appeared unsure. I wanted to nudge her—look closer! It highlighted one of the big challenges of this story—participants who were teenagers at the time were now passed retirement age. So you had to perform a computer age-progression program in your head. Gwen’s was looking a little slower than mine, but then it hit her.

  “Oh my God,” she said, still staring at Ward Seifert.

  “I am no deity, but I did die once and came back to life,” he replied.

  Gwen remained standing, so I lightly tugged at her sleeve, and she took a seat. If we looked like we’d seen a ghost, it was because we had.

  Before Thomas Archibald sat, he grabbed three wine glasses off the kitchen counter and a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. He brought them to the table and began pouring. As he did, he mentioned that when he first bought the winery his preference was to make Zinfandel, his favorite wine, but was informed that Napa Valley is “Cab Country,” and that was what he’d produce. Not that we were listening at this point.

  He pushed glasses in front of Gwen and me, and smiled. “With what you’re about to hear, I think you might need a drink. I know I do.”

  He then raised his glass. “From what I’ve been told, my body was discovered in Rockfield this week,” he said, before toasting, “To my death.”

  We clanked glasses, celebrating the death of the man who stood before us.

  Chapter 63

  Mark Twain was famously quoted in the NY Journal in June of 1897, saying: The report of my death was an exaggeration. But as I looked across the table at Thomas Archibald, I thought that Mr. Twain didn’t know the half of it.

  Joe Jr. smirked at me. “You must be exhausted, following me around all afternoon.”

  He also didn’t know the half of it. “I actually started this morning when you visited your sister. I thought you’d go Zycko Hill, but I guess you took the roundabout way to Main Street.”

  The smirk grew. “I never drive Zycko Hill—they don’t call it Psycho Hill for nothing.”

  “If you’ve gotten this far, then you must be aware of the curse of the Samerauk Indians,” Archie said, getting down to business.

  Gwen and I nodded.

  “It turned out that curse was more effective than those who created it could have ever imagined,” Joe said.

  “Not just for the Samerauks, but for the Hastings family as well. It helped to clear the area, leaving the valuable land for the two parties to split. And that’s why they went into the curse business together.”

  Gwen and I looked at each other. “Hold on—I thought they hated each other?” she said.

  “Oh, they do,” Archie said. “But business has always made for strange partners when money is at stake.”

  Joe added, “The Samerauk royal family, the Dohasans, and my family have been compared to the Hatfields and the McCoys, but it’s really more like the Democrats and Republicans. They might differ in ideology, but together they control 100% of the market, and they have a common interest in maintaining the status quo.”

  “The curse industry grew throughout the 1800s, and into the 20th Century. When the children reached a certain age, they were indoctrinated into the family business. It became a rite of passage, which included everything from hoaxes to murder,” Archie continued the history lesson, although, not one that we learned in school.

  “It makes sense if you think about it,” I said. “If one is part of a crime, they are unlikely to blow the whistle on it.”

  “The 1930 agreement briefly halted the curse, but by that point both sides had achieved their goals, and driven away the competition.” Archie continued.

  “But not all the competition. Your family was the last holdout, stopping the lucrative land deal, which would transform the north side of Rockfield,” I said.

  Archie nodded. “Things were definitely tense between our families during those negotiations, but that never came between Joe and me.”

  I thought this was a good time to show the photo from the fair, of the two of them. When I slid it across the table, they smiled.

  “We were in that time of transitioning from teenagers to men, and discovering about ourselves, understanding who we were,” Joe began to ramble.

  Archie got to the point, “What we discovered is that we were in love. Not that it took a lot of discovery to figure that out.”

  I thought of what Poca said about Archie being different from his jock image. The all-American high school football star being gay certainly didn’t play to type.

  “Times were different back then, and some things just weren’t accepted like they are today,” Joe said.

  “Public affection was not a possibility, so we were forced to sneak around. But we must not have been as discreet as we thought, because we were caught … by my parents,” Archie added.

  Gwen was hanging on every word. “What did they do?”

  “Well, they certainly weren’t supportive. I went from being their pride and joy, and them living vicariously through me with my sports exploits to being, to use their words, dead to them.”

  Gwen cringed. “That’s horrible.”

  “It would have been okay if they just left it at that, but instead, my parents tried to use their newly found information as a bargaining chip in the negotiations. They threatened to ‘out’ Joe if their price wasn’t met.”

  “Image was everything to my father, and back then having a gay son would have been considered an embarrassment for him. Like I said, it was a different time. But what the Archibalds didn’t count on was the protectiveness my father had for our family—mess with one of his and he was going to take out two of yours. And when I denied the allegations, he grew convinced that the Archibalds made it up in an attempt to extort money from him. My father considered it an act of war against our family.”

  “Up until then, my generation knew little of the Samerauk Curse, other than popular myth,” Joe went on. “But that all changed when we were summoned to a meeting led by my father. He spelled out to us the true history of our family, and outlined our obligation to protect it.
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  “Perhaps an even bigger surprise was that Chief Vayo, and his daughter, Poca, were present. We had always been warned to keep our distance from the Dohasans, so it was quite shocking to learn of the connection between our families.”

  Joe took a sip of water, even though he probably could have used some wine, before continuing, “It was all made to sound honorable and noble … up until the point that our mission was outlined—we were to kidnap Thomas Archibald, and hold him until his family gave in to our terms. My father claimed it was a response to the tactics the Archibald family was using in negotiations for the land deal, but I knew it was connected to the claims about me and Archie.”

  “So what did you do?” Gwen asked.

  “I couldn’t be involved, so I went to my father and made up an excuse. Outwardly he was understanding, but days later I was told that I would be sent to prep school in Maine. It felt like a punishment.”

  “Poca and I had become close friends over the summer, and she was the only one I had shared my secret with. I also shared a secret of hers—that our relationship was a fabrication that she created to push Woodrow’s buttons. I had no idea how deadly that could be at the time,” Archie said.

  “Poca didn’t want to be involved anymore than I did, and she had an out,” Joe picked up. “Her father was not in favor of bringing back the curse. He rightfully believed it was driven by ego and revenge, not business. They had already achieved all their objectives, and were on the verge of a lucrative land deal that would provide riches for generations.”

  “But both you and Poca did become involved,” Gwen said.

  “You can blame my brother for that,” Joe answered. “He told Poca that kidnapping Archie wasn’t enough. That our fathers had gone soft, and that the history of the curse dictated that Archie was to be killed. It was upon us to take a leadership role.”

  Even all these years later, I could see the anguish in the faces of the two men. But Archie tried to cover it with a smile. “You can imagine this didn’t make my day when Poca told me.”

  “If Woodrow knew that you and Poca were close, why would he tell her that? It would get back to you,” Gwen said.