A Hillcrest Witch Mystery Collection

by Amorette Anderson

  Relationships: Married to Victoria Dempsey. No children.

  Chris speaks. “Chief is skeptical that there’s foul play involved. He thinks Rich simply died of a heart attack. I think once he sees the results of the autopsy, he’ll be more willing to give it his attention—if the results indicate that poison was in Rich’s system.”

  “You mean he’s not even willing to hear you out on this? What a jerk,” I mutter. I can’t help it. The Chief of Police, in my humble opinion, is a pompous man.

  “He has other things on his plate,” Chris says vaguely.

  “Like what?” I ask. I keep scanning the page.

  Height: 5’8”

  Eye color: Brown

  Hair color: Brown/Grey

  Address: 164 Juniper Street, Hillcrest, Colorado

  “Like...” Chris stalls out. Maybe I’m not the only one that has trouble thinking things up on the fly.

  “Bull crap,” I say, setting the page of paper down. “Chief Holcomb doesn’t have anything else on his plate. He’s just closed-minded, Chris. He doesn’t want to listen to anyone else's ideas. All he’s worried about is getting re-elected in another two years. He wants to appear as if he has everything in this town under control, and another murder is bad press for the PD.”

  “I don’t know about all that,” Chris says.

  “Well I do,” I say. “You’re completely blind to Chief Holcomb’s shortcomings. The guy is a condescending—“

  Chris holds up his hands and stops me. “Whoa. Okay. I know you don’t respect the Chief, but I do. He’s my higher up. I have to, if I want to keep doing my job.”

  “Fine,” I say. “So even if Chief isn’t going to pay attention to Rich’s death, he’s okay with you investigating it?”

  “As long as I keep it quiet,” Chris says. “At least until we have some official evidence.”

  “Quiet...” I say. I look at the page of notes again. “So you can type up miscellaneous information about Rich, but you can’t actually get a warrant to search Victoria’s house?” I look up at Chris. “Because that’s what I think has to happen next. We have to look for some evidence that she poisoned her husband.”

  “Hold on a second...” Chris says.

  “Chris,” I say, waving the paper. “These details about Rich’s life are fine. They might even be helpful. But it’s not enough. We have to take action.”

  Chris studies me.

  I continue. “Did you know 85% of successful cases are solved within the first two days of the death of the victim? If the perp isn’t found in that window, chances that the case remains unsolved goes up to almost 99%. And it’s almost always physical evidence that leads to the perp. After two days, those clues can get displaced. Cases go cold. That’s what could happen here if we don’t act now.”

  Chris leans back in his chair. “You’re different,” he says.

  He picks up his mug of coffee and sips, still studying me. “Are you still studying...” he leans in. “Magic?” he whispers.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “How’s it going?”

  “Great.”

  “Remember when you passed out after seeing a dead body in your office?” Chris asks.

  I feel myself blushing. “Yes,” I say. “I was less experienced then.”

  “Now look at you,” Chris says. “Talking about percentages and evidence. You sound like a real professional.”

  “I am a real professional!” I say.

  Chris sips his coffee again. “Do you think your study of... of magic... might be involved in Rich’s death? I mean, I still don’t know what you’re doing exactly, but I’d like a heads up if you think there’s any occult weirdness involved in this case.”

  “I don’t know if this case involves magic,” I say honestly.

  “Good,” Chris says. “At least you didn’t say yes.”

  “What I do know is that something isn’t right.” I say. “It’s not just Rich’s death. It goes back farther than that. Like I told you last night, Felix Greene’s signature on his will was forged.”

  “And what does that have to do with Rich again?” Chris asks.

  “Rich worked for Felix,” I say. “The will is the document that gave Rich the Hillcrest Mine.”

  “Okay, so Rich inherited the mine because of the will... and the signature on the will was faked. That’s what you were questioning Rich about, yesterday morning, right?” Chris says.

  He places a fresh piece of paper on top of the stack still in his manila folder, and starts jotting down notes. While writing he asks, “Does that mean you think Rich falsified the will? Maybe created it after Felix died in that mining accident?”

  “Maybe Rich—or someone else—killed Felix and faked the will,” I say.

  “Come on Penny. That’s a little too Hollywood-drama for this small town.”

  “I don’t know about that...” I say. “I don’t think it’s unrealistic. Listen to this—“

  I lean my elbows on the table, and take a long sip of my drink. After swallowing I say, “Rich called Marley, right before he died. He left her a voicemail that said that the Hillcrest Mine wasn’t as devoid of gold as we’ve come to believe.”

  “Sure,” Chris says. “Of course they found some veins of gold. They wouldn’t have stayed in business for so long if that wasn’t the case.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Not just veins of gold, Chris. Rich said that the mine produced a softball sized nugget.”

  Chris’s reaction is swift. “No way. That’s impossible.”

  I shake my head. “It’s not,” I say. “My cat—er... I mean, I... found evidence of it. The large nugget is now owned by a collector in South Africa. A hobbyist traced the sale of it back to Rich and Victoria. They sold it to the South African private collector—for eleven million dollars.”

  “Wow,” says Chris, with an exhale. “You’re serious?”

  “Mm hmm.” I say.

  Chris jots down a few notes. “Okay,” he says. “I think we’re really getting somewhere here.”

  “We’d get a lot further if you could get a search warrant for Victoria’s house,” I say.

  “I can’t yet,” Chris says. “We’ll wait until the autopsy results come in and then we’ll really have a case on our hands.”

  “We have a case on our hands now,” I say.

  “They don’t seem like millionaires,” Chris says. “I mean... they live in that little one story house and have for as long as I can remember. They’ve shared their old Cadillac sedan forever.”

  “Maybe they blew all of the money right away on something frivolous. Maybe they didn’t know how to invest properly by leveraging compounding interest.” Ha! Now I’m a brilliant PI and I know how to talk about money. “Or maybe they’re still sitting on it.”

  Chris seems impressed by how many viable possibilities I just presented.

  Actually, I’ve even just impressed myself. I even have one more to add. “Or maybe they gave it to someone,” I say. “What if Rich had a gambling problem or something, and gangsters were pounding down his door, demanding their payback! What if Rich had no choice but to kill! What if those gamblers knew he was about to rat them out and they—” Uh oh. My voice is getting kind of high pitched. I’m waving my arms around like a bird. Those are always signs that I’m getting over-excited.

  “Did Rich have a gambling problem?” Chris asks.

  “Not that I can tell,” I say.

  “Were there ever gangsters living in Hillcrest?” Chris asks.

  “Probably not,” I admit. “But my point is, we have to follow the money. If we figure out what Rich and Victoria did with their gold money, we might be able to understand their motive for killing Felix.”

  “We don't even know that Felix was killed,” Chris says.

  “But we know the will was forged,” I counter.

  “Right.” Chris sighs.

  I sigh too. “We’re not really getting anywhere, are we?” I say. “We need more information.”

>   Chris nods. I hold the paper out to Chris, and he slides it back into his folder. As he closes the folder I say, “I wish you could take out a few search warrants. You could demand that the bank give over Rich and Victoria’s banking records. I already tried and Mike Mitchell wouldn’t share anything with me. You could also search Victoria’s house.”

  “Well, that’s out of the question,” Chris says. “Until we get the autopsy results.” He takes the last sip of his coffee. “We’re just going to have to do the best we can without search warrants,” he says.

  “Okay,” I agree.

  “I’ll see what else I can dig up about Rich,” Chris says. “And I’ll research Victoria too.”

  “Great,” I say. “Don’t forget to note that she has silver hair that’s dyed auburn, wears red lipstick, and likes to read the newspaper and brew up fantastic iced tea.”

  I’m just giving Chris a hard time for his list of random details about Rich, but thinking of Victoria’s tea jogs my memory. “Oh! You know what? When I was at Rich and Victoria’s house I spotted a grocery list. Maybe Victoria wrote it. A sample of her handwriting could be really helpful—we could compare it with the writing on the will!” I jump out of my seat, happy to have a new lead.

  “Good idea,” Chris says. “If we could find a sample that matches the forged signature, that’d really be incriminating.”

  I nod.

  We both bundle up in our jackets and then start walking towards the bus bins. “You know, your investigating skills are getting better,” Chris says. Then he holds his hand out. I hand him my empty cup, and he places it into the bin.

  “I’m impressed,” he says.

  “Just not impressed enough to convince your chief to take some action,” I say.

  “There’s no convincing Chief Holcomb. The guy does what he wants. At least I’m helping, right?”

  We’ve reached the door. Chris opens it, and then stands aside.

  He opened the door for me! He never did that when we were dating. Before stepping through it I turn and look for Annie. She’s ringing someone up at the register.

  “Bye Annie!” I call out.

  “Bye Penny!” she returns. Then she adds, “Oh, Dear! Call Marley when you get a chance. She just texted me. Something about an urgent matter that she needs help with. She needs some advice. My hands are tied with this lunch rush.”

  “Will do!” I say.

  I step through the door and Chris follows me. Once we’re out on the sidewalk, we part ways, promising to share updates as they come about. As I walk away from Chris, I pull my phone from my messenger pocket.

  It’s time to call Marley.

  Chapter Ten

  “Marley?” I say, as soon as I get my friend on the phone. “Annie said you needed some advice—and that it was urgent. Did your watch go off or something? Mine’s been quiet.”

  “Nope. Not my watch. This is something else. I think my dad is going to come into town for Rich’s funeral.”

  “That’s great!” I say. “Your dad hasn’t been back in years. Maybe he’ll take us out to dinner!” It doesn’t matter how much money I come into. A free dinner is always a cause for celebration.

  “He already said he would,” Marley says. “Saturday night after the funeral.” She sounds as happy about it as I feel.

  “So what do you need advice about?” I ask.

  “Well—is it rude of me to get Dad a hotel room?” Marley asks.

  “Marley, you live in a van. It’s February. What else would he do?”

  “He’s family...” Marley says. “I feel like I should host him. Telling him to get a hotel room for the weekend feels really cold. How should I phrase it?” Marley asks.

  “Try this,” I say. “Hey, Dad! Get. A. Hotel. Room.”

  Marley laughs. “Penny you’re so blunt sometimes.”

  I pull my bike out of the rack and then swing a leg over. “He’s your dad, Marley. He’s going to understand. So what? You live in a van. It’s your choice. He raised you to be a free spirit. He knows who you are and what you’re about. He knows your living conditions. This isn’t going to be a shock to him.”

  Marley’s quiet for a minute. I steer over the sidewalk and brace myself while the tires thump thump over the bumpy curb and then onto the road. It hasn’t started snowing yet but the sky is so heavy with the stuff it looks like a piñata that just needs to be smacked for the white confetti to rain down on us.

  I start cruising towards Rich and Victoria’s house, waiting for Marley to speak. I know something’s on her mind.

  Finally, Marley speaks. “I haven’t seen him for five years,” she says. “That’s a long time. I think he’s happier in California than he ever was here.”

  “Marley, your dad loves you. So what if Hillcrest wasn’t the right place for him? Every person is unique. We all want different things. Yes, he moved away. But he still cares about you and supports your choices.”

  “My choice to be homeless,” Marley says.

  “Your choice to live in a van,” I say. “Your van is your home. Maybe it’s not exactly normal living accommodations, but when have you ever been hung up on being normal?”

  Marley laughs. Then she quiets again. “Do you think my dad wishes I was more normal?”

  I hesitate, thinking about the answer.

  The thing is, Owen was always a straight-laced kind of guy. He always did things the way they were supposed to be done. He was always trying to get Marley to hustle out on the soccer field and get straight A’s in school. Does he wish she was more normal? Maybe.

  “I think your Dad loves you just the way you are,” I say. “He’d be crazy not to.”

  I hope my words make my friend feel better. She’s always trying to make me feel better, so it feels nice to get the chance to reciprocate.

  “Are you going to tell him that—” I lower my tone. “That you’re studying witchcraft?”

  “I’m trying to figure that out, too,” Marley says. “If he visits me up here at the van, he’s going to see evidence of it all over the place. I mean, I have all my magic-crafting stuff around—herbs, sage, crystals, candles... should I hide all of it? Plus this owl won’t stop following me around.”

  “Still?” I say.

  “Still,” Marley says.

  “Maybe don’t hide it,” I say, “But just don’t go into too much detail. You know, like if he asks you direct questions answer honestly but with as little info as possible.”

  “Good thinking,” Marley says. I can imagine her, twirling her hair and staring at her new friend, the owl. “Okay. This is starting to feel more manageable. Thanks for talking me down off of my ledge. I was starting to get really freaked out.”

  “No problem,” I say.

  Marley sighs. “I had to cancel all of my massage bookings for tomorrow and through the weekend. Dad will only be here for a few days, so I don’t want to waste time with work.”

  “Nice,” I say. A fat snowflake falls onto my nose. It’s snowing!

  Marley continues. “I’m going to pick him up from the Melrose airport tomorrow at nine.”

  “You’re okay making the trip on your own?” I ask.

  “Yeah. I’ll be fine... hopefully the roads will be cleared up by then. I think the snow is supposed to stop tonight. Besides... you have to stay here and work on the case. Have you found out anything about that gold?”

  “Turkey found it,” I say. “Rich wasn’t lying. They really found gold up there thirty years ago.”

  “Wow,” Marley says. “I always thought that mine was never that profitable. So what happened to the gold?”

  “It’s a long story,” I say. “Want to come over tonight? I can tell you about it.”

  We make plans for Marley’s visit. By the time we get off of the phone, I’m cruising to a stop in front of Rich and Victoria’s bungalow.

  Since Chief Holcomb is apparently afraid of the public image a murder investigation will give the PD, the Dempsey house is devoid of crime scene tape
. There’s no fence to lean my bike against, so I let it flop into the snowbank by the base of the driveway.

  I’m planning on wheedling my way inside somehow, but when I knock and knock and knock and don’t get an answer, I start to suspect that no one will be home to wheedle.

  I sidestep over to the right of the door and peer in the window.

  The little entryway is dark. What if no one is home?

  I back off of the porch and make my way towards the nearby garage. The sliding garage door is down, but a side door is open. I peek inside. The Dempsey’s old soft-top Cadillac is missing.

  Victoria must be out! Now that Rich is gone, she’s the only one who would take the car. That means that the house is empty!

  I step inside the dark garage. My heart starts beating faster. I take a quick look over my shoulder. No one is around. No one’s seen me enter. I pull the door gently shut behind me.

  I’m now in pitch blackness.

  I fumble towards the dim outline of steps that I can see to my left, which lead to the house’s interior.

  Again, the door is unlocked. I push it open and step inside.

  This door leads to a back room that seems to serve as a sort of storage area, pantry, and laundry room combination. I see shelves of boxed and canned food, and piles of clothes in a basket next to a white washer and dryer. I walk through the room, thinking about how sad it will be for Victoria to go through Rich’s clothes. The clothes are freshly laundered, but no longer needed.

  Or perhaps, if Victoria murdered her husband, it will be a satisfying task. Maybe her painted red lips will be curved up in a grin the entire time.

  I make my way through the room, my heart hammering in my chest, and then navigate towards the living room.

  At first I get a fright because the television is on. The volume is low, but it’s still unsettling to hear the noise in a house that I thought was unoccupied. I’m tempted to turn it off, but I stop myself. That would alert Victoria to the fact that someone had been here.

  I spot the grocery list still lying on the coffee table. I reach for it, and am about to slip it into my pocket when I have a better thought.

  I remove my phone and snap a picture of it.