Phantom Quartz: A Stacy Justice Witch Mystery Book 6 (Stacy Justice Magical Mysteries)

Home > Mystery > Phantom Quartz: A Stacy Justice Witch Mystery Book 6 (Stacy Justice Magical Mysteries) > Page 11
Phantom Quartz: A Stacy Justice Witch Mystery Book 6 (Stacy Justice Magical Mysteries) Page 11

by Barbra Annino


  Her house was perched high on a hill with a trail of steps leading to the front door and a flat street below. The front yard reached a solid six feet into the air with the rock retaining wall desperately trying to secure its borders.

  Except it wasn’t. And where the crew thought all they were dealing with was a few weather-beaten stones, it turned out it was a far more disturbing scenario than anyone imagined.

  “I can honestly say I’ve never seen anything like this,” Derek said.

  We stared into an abyss of damp black earth that reached from the street all the way to the tip of the lot. Rocks and boulders lay scattered at our feet as if a giant monster had yawned and spit out all its teeth. The pungent stink of stale river water, decay, and gasoline enveloped us, and somewhere the haunting melody of Tender Years played.

  “Whoa, whoa, tender years / Won’t you wash away my tears / How I wish you were near / Please don’t go, tender years.” I knew the soundtrack—an 80s rock opera movie called Eddie and the Cruisers.

  I looked at Derek. He didn’t seem to be hearing any music. Was it residual energy left behind by the occupants of the accident? Had the tune been playing when the truck and its inhabitants met their demise?

  “Neither have I,” I said.

  The car jutting out of the earth was an old GMC pickup truck straight out of the fifties. Other than the paint, which was once red but now had faded and rusted to the color of congealed blood, it was remarkably intact.

  So were the two skeletons inside.

  Chapter 24

  I inched forward for a closer look and one of the boulders rolled over my toe. “Ow, ow, ow.” I hopped on one foot, shaking out the other, thankful there was no ice on the sidewalk yet. I could hardly stay upright on two spiked heels, let alone one. As if on cue, I stumbled and skidded across the pavement, tearing open both knees.

  Derek helped me to my feet and I rubbed the wounds, searching for mistletoe in my bag. The fishnets looked like they’d been shredded by a meat grinder.

  “I should really tape you up in bubble wrap, you know that?” Derek said.

  I ignored that and asked him if he’d spoken to Leo.

  “Not yet. Heard the call come in on the scanner. I tried to call you, then I stopped by your house and your grandma’s. Are they hosting a party or something? There were a lot of people there.”

  Hmm. Maybe Fiona invited the boys over for football after all. “I think so. Cin’s family is in town.”

  I watched as Leo walked over to talk to Chance. He caught my eye on the way. There was a notebook in his hand and he pointed it at me as if to say, step away from the giant sinkhole, dummy. Judging from his expression, I surmised he could only see the top half of my body and not the torn hose and deadly pumps. Thank the goddess for small favors.

  Chance followed Leo’s gaze and raised a hands in agreement.

  “Maybe this isn’t the safest place to be loitering,” I admitted. “Why don’t you take some shots and we’ll get out of here. We can get the rest of the story from Chance and Leo later.”.

  Derek got busy with the camera, and I sifted through my senses to find any indication of what may have happened here. Another joyride through the mines? Trapped like the group of teenagers who died decades ago? How long had the truck been down here?

  Derek said, “Do you want to run with this tomorrow?”

  “Yes. At least an initial report. We may need to run follow-ups once we learn the whole story.”

  Our paper only ran four days a week, Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and a special Saturday edition filled with fluff pieces for tourists staying at the hotels and B&Bs.

  I asked Derek for a notebook, and I jotted down the details of what, when, and where, but I had no who or why. Evelyn Leary looked distraught beyond belief, as if she were personally responsible, but of course that was ridiculous. How was she to know there was a sixty-five year old car buried beneath her property?

  I felt sorry for her as the grief leapt off her in waves and clung to me. I trained my thoughts on her—Lolly’s gift—grateful I’d had those two shots of Jameson. She was thinking of the holidays. Christmas lights, decorations, presents. The gifts were dusty, the paper worn and tattered. So not this holiday, but one long ago. One that never happened? And now, another one marred by this unexpected discovery.

  I was still honed on Evelyn’s thoughts, shielded from all else, when Chance approached me from behind. He said, “Hey baby.” And I jumped.

  “Oh, you scared me.” I said, turning into him.

  “Sorry about that. Listen this might take a while, so why don’t you drive my truck home and I’ll catch a ride with one of the guys.”

  “I don’t mind waiting.”

  He said, “It’s freezing out here and you’re not exactly dress—” His eyes trailed to my bloody knees. “Jesus, what happened?”

  I looked down. “It’s nothing. I fell is all. Just a scrape.”

  Derek walked over. “Yeah she fell because she’s wearing those Single White Female shoes.”

  I punched him in the arm. “One more crack and you can walk home.”

  “Actually, my mom texted me. I’m going to meet her at Muddy Waters for hot chocolate. Introduce her to Iris.”

  Iris Merriweather was the gossip columnist for the newspaper. Her cafe was right on Main Street, up a few blocks from Cinnamon’s and walking distance from where we stood.

  “Oh, okay.”

  “I’ll shoot you an email with the pics. Send me the copy as soon as you can.”

  “Sure.”

  Derek shook Chance’s hand and said, “Good luck, buddy.”

  Chance glanced at the fallen rocks and gaping hole. “Easy job once we get the car out.”

  Derek said, “I wasn’t talking about the job.”

  Slowly, they both turned to look at me.

  I said, “Very funny. Don’t forget your Hello Kitty purse, Derek.”

  Derek straightened his hat and said, “Hey, at least I’m warm.”

  He had a point.

  Chance handed me the keys to his truck just as Leo jogged down the steps. He stopped short when he saw me.

  “Did you get attacked by wolves? And Monique?”

  I blew out a sigh. “Can’t a girl try a new look on without everyone making a federal case out of it?”

  “Hey, it’s okay with me if it’s okay with Bob the Builder,” Leo said.

  Chance pivoted slowly and I could tell I was in for a junior high showdown.

  “Well if Andy Griffith approves, why wouldn’t I?”

  I stepped in between them, hating these little displays, yet somehow, sensing they enjoyed it. I touched both of their chests to distance them from each other and Leo squirmed. “Ouch. You shocked me again.”

  Chance raised an eyebrow at me. “Again?”

  Leo grinned. “Yep, last night. Same thing happened when she handed me my coffee.”

  Chance stared at me, tilted his head. “Really?” His eyes darkened to storm clouds.

  “It’s a long story,” I said.

  Leo said, “Not that long. Her house was wide open so I stopped by to check on her. Found her in the woods.”

  Chance’s jaw tensed.

  “It was no big deal.” I wished I could be standing on a sinkhole right about now.

  Leo chucked Chance in the arm. “Come on, Toolman Tim, Evelyn’s making hot cider. Let’s finish up.”

  Chance said, “As you wish, Officer Keystone.”

  They made their way up the steps and I watched, but my man didn’t look back.

  The truck was parked a block over and I climbed into it, as graceful as a foal trying to walk for the first time, hating this day already.

  I hated it even worse, however, when a voice from the back seat said, “Sweet ride!”

  Chapter 25

  I screamed and lost control of the truck as it careened up and over a curb, slamming into a plastic nativity scene. I whipped my head around to see who was in the back seat, but
there was no one.

  What the hell?

  Bea Plough, the old woman who lived across the street from Birdie and whose lawn decoration I’d just obliterated, came storming out of her house in a fit of rage.

  Her hair was as tightly wound as she was, in a bun on top of her head that looked like a ball of rubber bands bound together. Her skirt was long and plaid, her sweater long and drab like her personality.

  She was yelling at me, which was her specialty. That and cracking a ruler over unsuspecting children’s knuckles. Bea was a Sunday school teacher and a pious woman, although I use that term loosely. She spewed hate like other people spray fertilizer, but with more precision. Naturally, she abhorred everything about the Geraghtys, and that included me. I suppose it didn’t help that Lolly had once dated her husband Stan, who happened to be Gramps’ best friend. Nor did it help when Cinnamon and I stole her baby Jesus the year she tried to ruin my grandmother’s business by taking out a full page ad in the newspaper declaring that the Geraghty Girls House was not an inn, but a front for Satan worshipers. I should have spray painted a pentagram on her lawn then. Anyway, Birdie insisted we return the savior to the Ploughs and apologize. Bea slapped me clean across the face and Cinnamon kicked her in the shin. We were eleven and nine.

  So much for amends.

  Before I rolled down the window, I checked her hands for a ruler. It was all clear. Bea shouted, “You are a despicable human being, Stacy Justice! How dare you destroy my manger!”

  “Bea, it was an accident. I’m very sorry.”

  “Bah! It was no accident! You and your family always hated my Christmas display.”

  “That’s true, but mostly because it’s cheap and tacky and screams Made in China. You know most of those folks are Buddhist, right?”

  That confused her for a moment. Then she said, “I’m going to sue you!”

  That was Bea’s other favorite pastime besides making coats out of puppies. She’s sued just about everyone for everything in this town, or tried to. Luckily Stan was a reasonable, peaceful man who knew his wife was as trigger happy as a blind gunslinger.

  “I’ll be happy to buy you a new one, Bea. I’m tired of looking at those cows who replaced the three wise men after that blizzard five years ago. And just a tip? I’m pretty sure Mary would be appalled at being represented by a Barbie doll.”

  Bea scrunched her face up and said, “I’d never put anything that you’d touched on my property.”

  Stan came out of the house then and ambled over as Bea continued to berate me. He tugged his wife’s shoulders, whispered something in her ear and she backed away, playing the submissive bride.

  Stan looked at the damage then looked at me. “$30 bucks outta do it.”

  “Done.”

  “Say hi to your grandfather.” Stan tapped the hood of the truck and I carefully backed up and over the curb. I waved wildly at Bea and she shot me a dose of stink-eye.

  When I pulled into my own driveway, Thor was sitting on the porch, a white rabbit identical to the one I had seen at the hospital sitting next to him. I exited the truck, checked the back seat again for the owner of the voice, grabbed the keys from the ignition, and locked the doors.

  What was that voice? Had I imagined it?

  There was no damage to Chance’s vehicle except a flattened cow embedded in the front left tire. I peeled the cow off the tire, did a sign of the cross for no good reason, and stuffed it in my jacket pocket.

  Thor’s tail was thumping on the porch, and the rabbit’s ears were so erect I could have used them as an antenna.

  I hobbled over to Thor, my knees still sore and caked with blood and gravel, and scratched his ears. “Did you eat?”

  An image of a bowl of Cheetos and deli meats flashed through my mind. “Tell me you were offered that meal choice and that you didn’t raid the buffet table.”

  The dog blinked at me, stoic, refusing to reveal his source.

  I aimed a key at the rabbit. “Who’s your friend?”

  Baby, baby, baby.

  “Your baby.”

  Thor rolled his eyes and grumbled at me in that growly-howly way he did when he felt I was being obtuse.

  “Cinnamon’s baby,” I guessed.

  He reached his paw up for a high five. We slapped and I said, “A present from you?”

  Thor looked at the rabbit as if considering how to answer the question. He sent me an image of himself and me, then a picture of Cinnamon’s protruding belly and the rabbit. Thor sprawled out on the porch, satisfied with himself and the rabbit hopped onto the huge dog’s back.

  I reached up to pet the fuzzy little guy, but he shied away from me.

  Thor cocked his head as if to say, Really, Stacy, have you no manners?

  If I was understanding this correctly, it meant that my hunch about the baby was correct. Somehow she had broken through the Geraghty barrier. She was a witch after all, and this was her familiar. But how?

  This piqued my curiosity about the rabbit and I bent down to get a closer look at him. I tugged at Fiona’s trait, trying to read the little guy. Or girl. Rabbits symbolized fertility and birth, abundance and luck. They’re also associated with caution and fear.

  The bunny was timid and shy, but all I could gleam from it was the same, baby, baby, baby.

  I sighed, stood. “Did your friend eat?”

  Thor gave a soft, affirmative woof. Then he shot me a color. Pink.

  “Thank you. I was wondering if it was a girl or boy.”

  I let myself into the cottage, holding the door open for Thor, but the sun was shining now, warming the air, and he declined.

  I gave him a pat on the head and entered my home.

  The first order of business was to wash and heal my knees and then burn these clothes.

  After my wounds were cleaned and scrapes covered in salve, I discarded the fishnets and decided to write the article before changing. My work laptop was in the desk in the living room, so I pulled that out and sat at the counter.

  I tapped my brain for an enticing lead-in and decided to go with one of the oldest legends in town. Anyone who ever attended a town picnic, an ice cream social, or just grew up in Amethyst knew of it.

  It is whispered—around campfires, in smoky bars, and throughout the hallowed halls of Amethyst High—that there are treasures buried deep beneath the town’s soil. Legend has it that the Irish miners who broke their backs to build this town also harbored her secrets. What else was hidden in the caverns below White Hope Road besides precious metals? What of the Steamboat captain whose auspicious display of wealth still sits atop the street that bears his name? Captain Gearson was rumored to have discovered a chest of riches within the bowels of the Mississippi only to have it stolen from him. Was the chest stowed in the mines beneath Ruby Lane as some versions of the tale have it—placed there by a heartbroken miner whose pregnant wife had run off with the captain? And what of their demise? Drowned in a boating accident on a frosty December morning. Was it murder? Or simply poor luck? These questions circulate among treasure hunters who for years have risked their lives exploring the tunnels beneath the city, only to meet the unimaginable fate of being swallowed up by the earth herself. Because surely, there is no truth to the rumor that the mines are still guarded by the men—and boys—who worked them.

  I finished up the piece and emailed it to Derek. Next stop, fresh clothes.

  The bedroom was cold, and I made a note to turn the heat up as I discarded my skirt. I had just removed my blouse when I heard, “Whoa! Nice rack!”

  After I yelped, spun around, and toppled over a bench, I grabbed my taser from the dresser. All the while thinking, I really need to find a new place to live.

  Chapter 26

  I was lying on my stomach, the taser trained at what appeared to be a teenage boy. “Who are you?”

  “Show me your boobies and I’ll tell you.” He grinned.

  Oh, you have got to be kidding me. “I’m not—are you—?” I thought of the shifter and
realized it didn’t have to be a woman. Could have been a man. Or Ferris Bueller.

  I fired the taser, and the charge launched into the air and straight through him.

  He completely spun around and said. “Holy shit! Are you some sort of spy?”

  Terrific. A ghost. Just what I needed. As if I wasn’t already jumpy as a cat in a fireworks factory. I climbed to my feet and set the taser on the nightstand. My robe was hanging from a hook on the door and I slipped into it.

  “What do you want? And make it quick. I’ve got a lot on my plate.” I tied the robe tight.

  As Tisiphone had said, I was sort of a guardian of souls. My Geraghty gift was guiding them to the Summerland where they could rest. They often came at the most inconvenient times in the most unexpected places, but most of them at least respected my privacy. I couldn’t recall a single one off them demanding a peep show.

  “I could go for a cheeseburger. I’m starving.” With that, he passed by me, a chilly breeze in his wake like a blast from a freezer, and walked out through my bedroom door. I shut and locked it behind him. I sealed my will that he stay the hell out of my bedroom by hanging a sprig of holly on the knob.

  I quickly shoved myself into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, pulled on thick wool socks and sturdy boots. Then I went to address the uninvited guest.

  He was about my height, maybe an inch or two taller, with a dark mullet, torn Levis and a Bon Jovi tee shirt. He was staring at the tablet lying on the counter.

  “Dude, you are a spy!” He said when he saw me. He swiveled his head back to the tablet, picked it up and shook it. He held it to his ear as if any minute it would deliver a self-destruct message.

  I yanked the tablet from his hands and said, “This is not a toy.”

  He grinned at me, revealing straight white teeth and a crooked smile that reminded me of a young Charlie Sheen.

 

‹ Prev