The Witch's Eyes

by Iris Kincaid

  “If that’s the way he wanted it, then I guess I just have to accept it, with gratitude,” Keith enthused.

  “Why would he leave that money for you?” the stepfather demanded.

  “We were partners, planning on creating an investment business together. We were going to pool our resources. And it’s pretty clear he wanted me to go forward with our dream by giving me the funds to carry through our plan. Of course, I’m sorry everyone couldn’t benefit. But we gotta respect his final wishes, right?”

  Abby couldn’t contain herself. “That money didn’t belong to Keith,” she shouted. “It’s not his to give away. It belongs to her. It belongs to Gillian Swann. You’d better believe we’re going to contest this will.”

  Gillian pulled her cousin back down into her seat. “I don’t think there’s anything we can do. Let’s get out of here.” This infuriating turn of events was giving her a headache.

  But their exit was blocked by the persistent cops.

  “What are you doing here?” Gillian asked. Now that the killer had been caught, she hadn’t expected to see them again anytime soon. “Did Ezra Yates confess?”

  “No, ma’am, he did not. And that’s not going to be happening. Ezra Yates is not a killer. He’s a bowler.”

  “A what? A bowler?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Belongs to a bowling team over in Falmouth. They’re pretty hard-core and meet twice a week. Anyway, the night when we thought he was killing Byron Curtiss, turns out he spent five hours bowling. I know, kind of hard to believe, but some people are really into it. He got a 169, which is pretty respectable. The thing is, they’ve got security cameras there. And they shut down the place at two in the morning. Video proof of his whereabouts. So, while grave robbing is not something we can really condone, he’s not a killer. The case is still wide open.”

  That was unsettling news. It meant that the murderer was still out there. And so many questions remained.

  “Why did he want to cut out Byron’s heart?”

  Officer Cochran shrugged. “That’s a good question. Personally, I think he’s a nut job. But frankly, I’m a lot more interested in who wanted to put a hole in Mr. Curtiss’s skull.”

  “Is that what you came to tell us? About Ezra? Or did you need to talk to someone here?” Gillian asked.

  Instead of answering, Finn Cochran turned to Abby “Why did you say that? Why did you say that the money belonged to Gillian?”

  “Because it did. He stole it from Gillian. They had a joint bank account. He refinanced her house. It was her house, not his. And he pulled out $160,000 cash and never told her about it. That’s her money. You can’t give it away to someone else.”

  “Hold on.” Officer Cochran turned to Gillian. “I don’t think that’s possible without your knowledge. How could he possibly refinance your house?”

  “I gave him power of attorney. I had a . . . disability . . . for the last two years, and I couldn’t handle my own affairs. So, I gave him power of attorney over everything. And then, after we broke up, I found out about everything he did. All the money he took. My house. I’m not even going to be able to stay in my own house. He did that.”

  “And that’s not all,” Abby chimed in. “He opened up credit card accounts and put her in some serious debt. He bought cars for himself and that girlfriend of his using Gillian’s money. And he was paying for the car notes with Gillian’s disability income. Can you believe that?”

  Having seen the worst of human behavior, these cops had absolutely no trouble believing it. Finn Cochran examined Gillian with renewed interest. “So, he really screwed you over. Some people would call that motive. No, actually, all people. All people would call that motive.”

  Abby’s mouth dropped in outrage. The two officers made a wise exit. They could see that she was about to blow. Gillian had never mentioned to Abby that she had been a suspect, but now the spotlight was undeniably back on herself. Great.

  She looked over at Simone, expecting to see the other woman in a gloating mood. Instead, Simone was neither gloating nor grieving. She was cosying up to Keith Nettle, newly flush and newly attractive. Gillian had to admire the woman’s adaptability. She had thought long and hard about her own lack of genuine grief. But Simone’s resilience was almost as chilling as the thought of a heart hungry grave robber.

  CHAPTER NINE

  What was Gillian supposed to do? The circumstantial evidence was mounting against her. Was she going to need a lawyer? Those were expensive, and her bank account was empty. She really needed for Café Au Lait to provide some funds.

  As she entered the coffeehouse, she noticed that it was as busy as ever. That was great news. Without Byron siphoning off the profit, there’s no telling how much the café was pulling in. Julie was surprised that Cara was not at the cash register. Instead, there was one of the newest employees.

  “Where’s Cara?” Gillian asked.

  “We thought it was best to have her work in the back today. She’s been crying all week. And it just makes the customers a little anxious,” he said.

  Crying? “Why is she crying?”

  “You know, because of Byron. The guy who died. I think they were pretty close.”

  Gillian scoffed and shook her head. She should have known. “Pretty close, where they?”

  The young fella looked like a deer caught in headlights. He hadn’t realized that Byron had a multitude of close female friends.

  “Why don’t I go back there and give her a shoulder to cry on?” Gillian added.

  Cara was not in the tiny back prep kitchen but in the small adjoining back office. Gillian could see the shape of her clearly through the door, shoulders heaving in sobs. How strange. Here was someone who was actually suffering over the loss of Byron.

  Cara gasped with fright when Gillian entered. “Oh, my God, you scared me. I’m sorry to be just hanging back here. It must look so lazy. I just . . . I’m just so sad, so depressed. You know. Byron. He was one-of-a-kind, right?”

  “Yeah, he was something else,” Gillian agreed. Although she knew they were far from agreement. “I just came in to count the safe and to pick up this week’s log. Where is it?”

  “Oh, I–I was so embarrassed because my writing can get so sloppy. So, I put it in my book bag to go over it more carefully so that you can read it better. Why don’t I go get it right now?”

  Cara’s neck was throbbing, there were the slightest traces of sweat gathering at her temples, and her eyes were darting around, searching for a safe spot to rest. Even before her blindness, Gillian probably would have missed most of these irrefutable markers of lying. Now, they served as a reliable roadmap. If sleeping with Byron were her only transgression, Cara should not be anywhere near this nervous. Perhaps her lack of ease had something to do with the stack of $20 bills concealed in her jeans pocket.

  Cara hastily left to retrieve the log. Gillian wondered what to do. She didn’t have any proof. There was no evidence of whatever Byron had given to her, although it was pretty clear that they must have split the money. He would have needed to assure her silence. Plus, it’s just the thing to do when you’re sleeping with someone.

  But if Cara had continued to steal on her own, she was going to have to be fired. Maybe even taken the court. Again, evidence required. Cara entered carrying a folder that was dripping wet—completely soaked.

  “This is horrible. You’re not gonna believe what just happened. I was coming back through the kitchen, right? And someone had left a bucket of water on the floor. And I wanted to get a glass of water for myself because I’m parched. Must be from the crying. So, I put the folder on the edge of the counter and then I knocked it into the bucket of water and look . . . it’s ruined. I am so sorry. This would be the record of all the money we took in this week. It’s unreadable.”

  Unfortunately for Cara, the book was still very readable for someone with a witch’s extraordinary sight. Gillian had no doubt that she would be able to extract all the information she needed from the ruined l
edger. She took the book away from her soon-to-be ex-employee.

  “Don’t you worry about it. These things happen. Why don’t you go prep for the evening shift while I get the money ready for the bank?”

  “Absolutely. Just let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

  “You’ve already done plenty,” Gillian muttered under her breath. The money that Cara had on her person could be explained away by a wide variety of falsehoods. No, Cara would have to be caught in the act. Gillian opened up the safe and brought out the pile of money. All she knew was that it should be more and that she was going to use some of it to buy security cameras. Pronto.

  *****

  On her way home, Gillian glanced casually across the main street to one of the local gyms, Marvin’s Muscles. There were dozens of people inside working hard on their fitness. Ezra Yates was among them. He was pounding away hard on a punching bag with the fervor of some anger management issues to work at. So, he had wanted Byron’s heart, had he? Gillian needed to know why.

  She was standing right outside the gym waiting for him when he made his exit thirty minutes later.

  “Ezra Yates?”

  “That’s me. Who are you?”

  Gillian ignored his question. “The police say that you didn’t kill Byron Curtiss.”

  Ezra looked at her suspiciously. “That’s right. I didn’t. Although I probably should have.”

  “Why were you digging up his grave? And why did you say that you were going to cut out his heart?”

  Ezra’s face clouded in confusion. “I know this sounds stupid, but I just don’t know. I don’t know why I wanted to cut out his heart. I mean, I know why I hated him. But he was already dead, so what else was there to do?”

  “Why did you hate him?”

  “Because he ruined my life. He slept with my wife. He broke up our marriage. And instead of looking forward to a life together with the woman I love, I’m just a shmuck with no one to hug except a bowling ball.”

  From out of nowhere, an ominous tall figure dressed in black appeared at their side. It was a woman identical to the witch who had been at Byron’s funeral. Identical, but not the same woman. She looked from Ezra to Gillian and back. “Go home, Ezra. I’ll let you know when you can next be of service.”

  Obediently, Ezra made an about-face and started marching away from them.

  “Who are you?” Gillian demanded. “What just happened with Ezra? How do you know him?”

  “Aren’t you the curious one?” She stopped for a moment, gazing intently at Gillian’s eyes. “But I’ll be asking the questions here. What have you to do with that man?”

  “He tried to dig up Byron Curtiss’s body. And he wanted to cut out his heart.”

  “Sounds like a matter that doesn’t really concern you, dear. Perhaps you ought to mind your own business.”

  “Byron was my business. He was my ex-boyfriend.”

  “Ex-boyfriend. You are well rid of him. He wasn’t very nice, was he?”

  Gillian was confused. “Are you . . . friends with Ezra Yates?”

  “Hardly.”

  Just as this mysterious alarming witch had seemed to come out of nowhere, so did Delphine.

  “Ezra Yates was compelled to dig up that grave by Minerva here. And she was the one who ordered him to cut out Byron’s heart. He was entirely under her control and cannot be blamed for doing her bidding.”

  Minerva grimaced. “Delphine. Always a pleasure.”

  “Minerva Hatch, what exactly did you intend to do with that young man’s heart?”

  Minerva cocked her head smugly. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Sometimes, it’s just good to keep a few extra hearts on standby. Just in case. Now, I really must be going.” She gave Gillian one last long stare. “Nice eyes,” she said sharply. And then she was gone.

  Delphine turned to Gillian with concern.

  “I was hoping that you would avoid that encounter. That was Minerva Hatch. Sister to Michaela and Mallory. They’re rather dangerous, or at least they can be. As triplets, their individual power was diluted, which rather infuriates them. Not one of them is a strong as your average witch. But united, their powers are formidable. They have to be in close proximity though. The further away they get from one another, the more their capacity for collective strength weakens.”

  “Why do they want Byron’s heart?”

  “Undoubtedly, to engage in the dark arts. But I’m afraid I cannot tell you their precise scheme. A fresh heart is a spell ingredient. But if you were to see me buying ginger or cilantro at the grocery store, you still wouldn’t know exactly what I was going to make. I couldn’t even venture a guess at their plans.”

  “So, that’s really a thing? That’s what witches do? They take out people’s hearts?”

  “I’m afraid so, my dear. The Oyster Cove Cemetery is most certainly missing a few hearts. Now, you have made your thoughts very clear on delving too deeply into the whole witch scene. But now that you’ve come to the attention of the Hatch sisters, I should very much like to see you more capable of protecting yourself.”

  “Am I in danger?”

  “Yes! Tell her yes. She needs to be properly motivated.” Lilith made her presence known.

  “Lilith. I don’t want to frighten her unnecessarily. We still don’t know what the Hatch Trio are up to. Nothing good, I’m sure. But we don’t know that it will involve Gillian.”

  “What if it involves me? I had more than a few nasty encounters with that family. They resented my powers. Understandable, since each of them is so pitiably weak on their own. But if they had a grudge against me . . . and they united their powers . . . and if they had the dark tools at hand . . . perhaps they were behind my demise. It cannot be ruled out. She’ll need protection. You can see that Minerva recognized my eyes.

  Delphine turned back to Gillian. Was she in danger?

  “No harm in taking precautions. Like a self-defense course. It’s difficult for commoners to protect themselves against witches. It is nearly impossible. I think you would be well advised to strengthen yourself. Entirely your decision, of course.”

  Gillian took a deep breath. She was grateful to Delphine for helping her out. She was grateful to the cat for being her bodyguard. But she really did need to be able to rely on herself. Protect yourself. Depend on no one. That had always been her goal. And perhaps, there was only one way to unequivocally achieve that self-reliance. She was going to have to become a witch.

  *****

  Gillian felt a flutter of nerves at the prospect of showing Vaughn the book cover. It was the first thing that she had worked on in years. That would have been enough to arouse a little anxiety. But there was also the fact that if he didn’t like it, then their deal would probably be off, and she wouldn’t have a fake husband to help her with the FSBO. And lastly, he was just such a darn good guy, such a principled man, trying to save lives and protect so many people from harm. Gee, he was kind of like a superhero. She just wanted to give him the artwork that his story deserved.

  At first, they were going to meet at the library. There were plenty of study rooms. It would have been easy and convenient. But instead, they were meeting for fish and chips at lunch. Why not? It wasn’t a date or anything, just a business lunch.

  She thought that she’d be the first to arrive. But from half a mile away, she could see him waiting for her. This boded well for his reliability. She needed someone she could count on for the FSBO plan, in all its outlandish glory.

  He stood up to meet her. “There you are. You’ve had me on pins and needles, you know. Getting a new cover, a fake wife . . . this is a big week for me.”

  Gillian smiled shyly. “You don’t have to use it. Because it’s pretty dramatic, and maybe, that’s not what you had in mind. But it’s a pretty dramatic story, and I thought you needed something that would really grab people by the gut. So . . . lunch first and then cover, or cover first and then lunch?”

  “Oh, definitely cover first. I’m not letting you o
rder till I see this cover.”

  Gillian pulled out her computer and set it up facing him “Ready?”

  On his nod, she pulled up the picture. She had been worried that she wouldn’t be able to read his impassive reaction. But the stunned look on his face was precisely what she had hoped for.

  “Are there . . . are there twenty-three of them?”

  She nodded. “Yes. Twenty-three gravestones.” She got up and peered over his shoulder to have another look herself. Some people might have found it eerie or creepy, but it was her best effort to convey the loss of life caused by this car company’s cold calculation.

  It was a graveyard, with twenty-three headstones, each with a price tag hanging from it—the cost that each family had received in settlement. The cost that had seemed like such an attractive alternative to the loss of profit that would be endured with a recall and ceasing production. The bottom line formula was, after all, a calculation about the economy of death.

  “I never imagined it like this. But it’s perfect, absolutely perfect. It’s exactly how I feel about this story. I don’t even know how to thank you.”

  “You’re going to marry me, remember? Open house is tomorrow. Can you come by an hour early? We’re going to need to get our story straight.”

  “It’s a date.”

  They both chuckled nervously. Not a date. Not a date.

  *****

  It was finally time for the open house. Abby was making herself scarce, all the more to make Gillian and Vaughn look like a couple. He came an hour early, just as Gillian had requested. He was in casual business attire, in another regulation FSBO tactic designed to elicit the highest offers. And he had gotten a haircut. Gillian appreciated the effort on her behalf, but he looked pretty great either way.

  He inhaled deeply as he entered. “What is that delicious smell?”