Psycho Hill (JP Warner Book 3)

by Derek Ciccone

  And when I realized who it was, I wanted to put an end to him, once and for all.

  Chapter 41

  Gwen had been to the Hastings estate a few times as a young girl, tagging along with her father when he worked a job there. The thing she remembered most was the fountains that lined the long driveway. When she asked her father why they didn’t have fountains in their front yard, he told her that they were real people, and real people don’t have fountains in their front yard.

  The fountains were still present, as she pulled Allison’s Audi up to the ten-thousand-square-foot mansion. She’d swapped the Gazette van with Allison, who was doing yeoman’s work today, filling in for her on her biggest day of the week at the paper. And it wasn’t any old Sunday—today’s paper would be a historic edition with a photo of the Studebaker Lark being pulled out of the river, accompanied by the headline “Founders Day.” Gwen couldn’t believe she was missing it, but the story was just beginning, and this interview might go a long way toward finding the truth.

  A manservant met her just as she stepped out of the car. “Mr. Hastings is waiting for you by the stables,” he said, and Gwen followed.

  The house was the center point of Hastings Farm, which had been in the family since the late 1700s, and this past century had become world renowned for breeding Arabian horses. The farm was just down the street from the Hastings Inn, and the golf course. Basically, the north end of Rockfield could have been renamed Hastingsville.

  They passed quickly through the mansion, and exited a back door. The servant then led her through the glistening pool area. Gwen recalled Hastings’ then wife, model Monique Diaw, sunbathing here during her childhood visit. This time, it was Jill Leezy in the chaise lounge.

  If it weren’t for the local gossip about her relationship with Hastings, Gwen would never have recognized her former classmate. She remembered her as a quiet, mousy girl who spent most of her time away from school working in her father’s store, until she showed up for the first day of high school decked out like a vamp from a heavy-metal video, and eventually earned herself the nickname “Easy Leezy” from the senior boys.

  It seemed as if she was still attracting the seniors—in this case a certain wealthy senior citizen. Just shows where there’s a will … and a good plastic surgeon … there’s always a way. But Gwen didn’t like to be judgmental, and she figured that Jill ultimately became what she wanted to be. More power to her.

  Jill looked up from her magazine, lowering her Gucci sunglasses to get a glimpse at the woman entering her territory. “Gwen Delaney?” she asked, as if pleasantly surprised by her presence.

  She rose off the chair and strutted to Gwen. Her teeny-weeny bikini defied the laws of physics by somehow remaining attached, and the layer of tanning oil on her bronzed skin was practically glowing. Before Gwen could make a run for it, she was wrapped in a hug.

  “It’s so good to see you,” Jill said, upon releasing the unwanted embrace.

  “We missed you at the reunion,” Gwen lied.

  “I know—I wanted to see everyone so bad,” Jill replied, and flashed a smile as fake as her new body parts. “But Woody and I were traveling to Aspen … or maybe it was Dubai. I get confused—we travel so much.”

  “Well, it was good seeing you again,” Gwen attempted an exit strategy. “I have an interview with your … Mr. Hastings, and don’t want to keep him waiting.”

  Jill shot a competitive glare her way. Gwen wanted to assure her she had nothing to worry about, but thought it would be more fun if she didn’t.

  “Just don’t keep him too long—he has to prepare for the movie premiere tonight in the city, and he’s always running late.”

  Probably because he’s working hard so his trophy girlfriend could lie by the pool all day, Gwen thought. There went the judgmental thing.

  Woodrow was waiting for her by the main training barn. He looked like he was preparing to play polo with the royals, dressed in a short-sleeve collared shirt, along with riding pants and boots.

  “Thank you for agreeing to talk to me on such short notice, Mr. Hastings,” Gwen began.

  He flashed a charming smile, as he continued to brush a chestnut-colored horse. He informed her that Mr. Hastings was his father, and insisted that she call him Woody. She thought that nobody should refer to a grown man as Woody, and they settled on Woodrow.

  “I’m not being generous at all—I’m hoping to use our time to help persuade your boyfriend to finally commit to running for first selectman,” he said.

  “Then I guess I’ve wasted your time, since we both know that JP makes his own decisions, and in his own time-frame.”

  “Unfortunately, I think he’s already made that decision. You were my last hope.”

  She thought of her father as she viewed the vast property, and it looked as big and enchanting as the time she’d come here with him. “I was here once as a little girl,” she said.

  “Yes, I remember. Your father tore down a couple of the dilapidated cottages, and built new ones. He did a fine job—they’re still standing as firm as the day he finished.”

  “The place looks almost the same—just a different girl by the pool.”

  Did she just say that? Talk about sabotaging her own interview before it even got started.

  Luckily, Hastings appeared amused. “Jill tells me you went to high school together.”

  “Yes—it was great to see her again,” she replied, struggling to maintain a straight face.

  “That’s funny—because when I mentioned our interview, she told me that she remembered you as a stuck-up snob who thought she was better than everyone.”

  “Does that mean I won’t be invited to the wedding?”

  Hastings’ smile turned to laughter. “I’ve already been down that road twice—I think that’s my limit.”

  “Does Jill know that?”

  “She’s on a need-to-know basis—I think relationships work best that way.”

  Not what you’d read on your average Valentine’s Day card, but after her marriage fell apart Gwen decided to leave the relationship advice to others.

  “I think we have an interview to do, and since you have a premiere to attend tonight, we don’t have much time. Plus, I don’t want to add to your reputation as being late for everything.”

  He continued laughing, seemingly relaxed, and Gwen knew that relaxed subjects usually made the best interviews.

  A stable boy came into their sights, walking a horse toward them. It was pure white, and easily recognizable as an Arabian with its distinctive head and high tail carriage. “She’s all set, Mr. Hastings.”

  Hastings looked to Gwen. “I’m afraid I’ve been rude—I haven’t even offered to show you the property. No guest of mine leaves without a complete tour of Hastings Farm.”

  “I’m not sure we have time for tours,” she said, feeling like she’d already lost control of the interview … and it hadn’t started yet! Or had it?

  “There’s no reason we can’t do both,” he said. “Do you ride?”

  “Like a horse?”

  “It’s the best way to see the property—and since I’m going for a ride, it’s the only way I’ll be able to answer your questions.”

  “I took lessons when I was young. But I haven’t ridden in years.”

  She had risked bodily harm before for an interview. So she thought hard to remember back to her lessons. She bounced gently into the stirrup, and swung her right leg over the beautiful chestnut, and sat in the saddle. It was just like riding a bike … except this bike was alive and could take off at any second, or throw her off.

  She was up on the horse, and really glad she chose to wear a T-shirt and jeans, along with her new cross-trainers, instead of the professional business suit she’d originally planned. Hastings began to trot away on the white horse—did that mean he was the good guy?—and she had no choice but to follow. She squeezed her calves tightly to the side of her horse and he started to move, eventually falling in line behind Has
tings.

  She was moving, but felt wobbly, like those toys when she was growing up—weebles wobble but they don’t fall down … yet.

  Chapter 42

  Once Gwen got used to the rocking motion, and how the seat naturally moved, she felt confident to walk the horse up beside Hastings and start the interview.

  He looked impressed, as they clip-clopped side by side.

  “Don’t be shy—ask away. Anything you choose. No lawyers. No PR people. Just you and me, one on one.”

  “I appreciate your openness. To be honest, I was a little surprised you were so eager to do this interview.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Your family took a lot of bad press upon Thomas Archibald’s disappearance, and some even accused you of being behind it. So I thought his potential discovery might bring back some bad memories.”

  “Which is exactly why I wanted to do this interview. I’m thrilled that Archie has finally been found.” He caught himself, likely visualizing how those words might read back in the article. “I mean, of course I would have preferred that he was still alive, but I am at least pleased that we can finally clear up the misconceptions that my family has been forced to deal with.”

  “So for the record, your family wasn’t involved in any way in the disappearance and possible death of Thomas Archibald?”

  “People wanted to make us the bad guy, and took no pity when my sister ended up brain damaged in a similar attack. They wanted to point a finger our way, when we had alibis, yet they give Poca Dohasan a pass, when she was the last one to be alone with him. They say my family ran away to California, when we did nothing of the sort. Nobody has invested more into this town in the last fifty years than the Hastings family. But having said all that, I feel we are responsible for Archie’s disappearance.”

  If he was trying to get her attention, the last statement did the trick. They headed down a riding path, getting further and further away from the barn. For the first time, Gwen was starting to feel nervous. Spending alone time with potential murderers was becoming a bad habit that she really needed to break.

  “And why do you feel responsible?” she asked with hesitation.

  “I guess it would be better said, that all of us who were in Rockfield at the time are responsible. By allowing the Samerauks to get away with their bad behavior over the years, especially this so-called curse. And how were they punished? They were granted federal recognition, and will get a new shiny casino. What a country!”

  “You condemn the Samerauks now, but you didn’t always feel that way … at least with one of them. Reports indicate that you and Poca Dohasan had a romance at one time. Up until you attacked her and Archibald just prior to his disappearance.”

  He grinned. “I took her bait, but I didn’t bite the hook.”

  They arrived at a barbed wire fence that marked the end of the property, and Hastings’ horse came to a smooth stop. Gwen yanked back her reins and gave a loud, “Whoa!” and her horse did the same, just not as smoothly.

  Hastings sat still, staring out at the land beyond his fence—Samerauk Nation—the faraway look in his eyes making her feel anything but comfortable.

  “We’ve lived beside the Samerauks for two hundred years. Nobody knows each other like we do,” he finally said.

  “Is that why you didn’t bite this hook?”

  Hastings held his gaze. “I’m going to tell you what happened that night, but it’s off the record.”

  As the old saying goes, you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink. But luckily for Gwen, Woodrow Hastings appeared to be very thirsty.

  Chapter 43

  “I was to be the fall guy,” Hastings said.

  “You’re saying that you were set up by the Samerauks?”

  “Specifically by Chief Vayo, but I was too smart for them. They knew I’d take the bait to follow Poca—I admit I was obsessed with her—but I never let myself be hooked.”

  Well, that clears it up … not really.

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Because I understood how Vayo thought. He saw an opportunity to take us both out, but he was only able to get Archie.”

  “What was it about his mindset that led you to this conclusion?”

  “For him, we were at war. You were either with the Samerauks, or you were with the enemy who stole their land. No middle ground. He was about protecting his kingdom, which had brought him power and wealth over the years.”

  “And you were a threat to this kingdom?”

  “No, but his daughter was. Vayo’s worst-case scenario was integration. If the Samerauks merged into the Rockfield culture, then he no longer had a kingdom to oversee.”

  “Yet one of his first acts as chief was to sign the 1930 agreement, which basically merged Samerauk Nation into Rockfield.”

  “He was against it—despite it being the deal of the century for his people—until there was an uprising in the ranks. He was also the youngest chief ever at that point and lacked the credibility of some of the elders in the community, so he was forced to give in. But his philosophy never wavered—he didn’t want to help his people, he wanted to be in charge of them.”

  “I’m still not sure how this made Poca a threat?”

  “Because nothing would be more symbolic of integration than his own daughter dating a Hastings. Take it a few steps further … imagine if we had ever married.”

  “You’d be the second coming of John Rolfe and Pocahontas.”

  “Which scared Vayo. Not long after word of our relationship got out, he sent a group of Samerauk goons after me. They threw me into a pickup truck, took me up into Zycko Hill, and threatened to skin me alive if they caught me with Poca again.”

  “According to Poca, you viewed your own family as the true threat to the relationship. That you wouldn’t acknowledge her publicly, and treated her like a second-class citizen, despite your obsession with her, as you called it.” Thanks to JP for the tip on that one.

  “The reason I was forced to keep our relationship secret was because after that night I was threatened, I was worried for her safety.”

  Gwen twitched an eyebrow.

  “Okay, I was worried about my own ass as well, I admit that. But my family had no issue with my relationship with Poca, other than they believed she was using me—that her loyalties would always lie with her father.”

  “And were they right?”

  He nodded. “When we broke it off, Poca began seeing Archie. Or as her father saw it, she continued to enable the enemy. He needed to send a swift message. He couldn’t physically harm his daughter—the heir to his throne—so he chose to punish Poca by taking out any ‘enemy combatant’ she became involved with. The night Archie disappeared was nothing more than an opportunity to kill two birds with one arrowhead.”

  “Just to be clear, you’re saying that to punish his daughter, and protect his power, he was going to have you and Thomas Archibald killed?”

  “No—he was going to have Archibald killed and frame me for it. And the ultimate punishment for Poca was that she would have to be the one to lead him to his death. To participate in a ‘curse killing’ was a rite of passage for her family. Her choice was between saving me and Archie, or loyalty to the tribe … and she chose blood.”

  “And how did they plan to do this?”

  “Poca knew she could get me and Archie to follow her, and create a conflict between us. That was the bait. But the hook would occur when I chased them down as they tried to run away. At that point, I would have become the obvious suspect when Archie turns up dead a few days later, floating in the river.”

  “Seems unlikely that someone could transfer from maniacal rage to thoughtful logic so quickly, as you claim to have done.”

  “It was like I had an epiphany. The moment I started to run after them I understood that I was playing right into their trap. So I stopped, and I made sure enough people at the party saw me, making it impossible to frame me. Having an alibi was no
coincidence.”

  “So you knew what they were going to do to Thomas Archibald, yet you did or said nothing?”

  “I felt bad for Archie, I really did, but he was a dead man the second he ran off with her. I couldn’t do anything about it, but I did mess up their plan, as they no longer had someone to pin it on. That’s why Archie and the car remained buried … until the Samerauks found a way to exploit the situation these last few days.”

  “What do you mean buried?”

  “It’s always been my belief that Archie’s body, and car, were located in the ancient burial grounds in Samerauk Nation. It was a safe haven, since nobody would be willing to ‘desecrate’ such sacred grounds without overwhelming evidence. It would have come off as disrespectful to their culture and religion.”

  “But what was different about the casino? Why was it worth the risk?”

  “The casino represents complete independence from Rockfield. It would mean that Poca had achieved her father’s vision of keeping Samerauk Nation from integrating, and in doing so, fortified her power. At that point she would be untouchable—if there are no consequences, then there is no risk.”

  On the surface, the story seemed incredible, but underneath the theater, it resembled the closing arguments of a skilled defense attorney—he denied involvement, made himself into the victim, sent subtle jabs at his opponents, all while providing an alternative theory of what happened that night. And no matter how crazy the story sounded, somehow Hastings came off as sane and believable. But then again, so did Grady Benson when she first met him—crazy can often be charming and intelligent.

  Gwen felt like she’d gotten all she could out of this interview, even if much of it was off the record. He had brought her here to plant the seeds of doubt, and now that he’d made his case, he wouldn’t be offering up any more useful information about that night. And leaving while she was ahead would help her get a second interview, when she had gathered enough ammunition to shoot back.