The Witch's Homecoming

by Iris Kincaid

  “Is it?” Beryl asked, trying not to sound so hopeful.

  “Yeah, I was a lot better off drinking it straight.” Whiskey took another swig directly from her flask and then spat out a mouthful of liquor. “That should have been all right. You didn’t put any of that funny stuff into it. I don’t understand what’s going on. Tastes really foul. I don’t understand.”

  “You probably need a good night’s sleep. Why don’t we call your son?”

  Whiskey was finally persuaded to call it a day. But she was becoming increasingly distressed. Her best friend and ever loyal companion, alcohol, was letting her down big-time. Beryl was overjoyed.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The following morning at breakfast, Lucinda was in a somber mood. “I did a printout yesterday of all the properties in Marvel Canyon that have sold this past year and what the selling price was. The news is not good. These houses are selling for well under value. A lot of them are way underwater. That doesn’t even include the property of that teacher who just died. That’s already been snapped up, and because there’s no house on it, they got it for pennies.”

  “Who bought it?” Beryl asked.

  “No one we know. Some guy. I sure didn’t recognize his name. Someone who knows a good bargain when he sees one.”

  “Could I take a look at that list of properties?” Beryl asked.

  Lucinda went up to her room to retrieve the list and returned quickly. “I’ll need this back because it’s my only one. Residential’s in the front, commercial’s in the back. But you can see for yourself, here’s the asking price in this column, and here’s the selling price column. Not good. Not good.”

  Beryl examined the property list. She didn’t recognize any of the names, buyers, or sellers, besides the Harriet Jolly estate. Someone had picked it up for dirt cheap—$15,000. Beryl was vaguely familiar with the home prices in the bay area and she was extremely familiar with the outrageous rental prices there. But this wasn’t just cheap compared to Bay Area, this was crazy dirt-cheap for a prime residential location.

  “The low prices aren’t what’s surprising,” Lucinda said. “There are just not a lot of people moving in, versus a lot moving out. I’m actually amazed that most of these sellers were even able to find buyers at all. Especially so quickly. It shows the day that the properties went on sale and the day they sold. I would have predicted that most of them would have sat on the market for a few months. It is still a beautiful area, just no jobs.”

  “Perfect for retirees,” Mosh piped in.

  “Okay. But what retirees swooped in to scoop up Harriet Jolly’s pile of ashes?” Beryl wondered.

  “There’s a group of property developers that are a lot like ambulance chasers,” Lucinda explained. “They keep their eye out for disasters and property that can be acquired cheaply. That’s probably what happened. In any case, I don’t want you to be shocked if we have to open up negotiations with the Sinclairs. Our café isn’t the kind of property that will have a huge number of potential buyers.”

  “But it sure would be cool if we were going to leave the café in good hands,” Mosh said. “So, Beryl, are you going to take the morning shift again, and I’ll do the afternoon?”

  “Great. I do like to leave the afternoons open, just in case. Sometimes, the sheriff has something scheduled for me to attend. Although nothing has been set for today. It seems all our leads have gone cold.”

  “Maybe this whole matter will just fade away,” Lucinda said hopefully.

  “No. That would just leave Muriel as the prime suspect,” Beryl protested.

  “But there’s no evidence.”

  “Gwynifer told us when it comes to witches, fear and hysteria count a lot more than evidence. This could snowball into something really bad, for Muriel, for the whole community. Can I have that list—make a copy?”

  “Sure. But bring it back. I really ought to get a printer. Even if we have to leave it here for the next owner.”

  As always, mention of the next owner stuck another small dagger in Beryl’s heart. She was starting to be comfortable here. Her grimoire studies inched forward every day. Even if the Shimmer sisters were able to disperse, each carrying a huge pile of cash, the prospect filled her with dread.

  *****

  As Beryl left the coffee shop, she was accosted by Whiskey Hodge.

  “What did you do to me? You did some kind of witchcraft on me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I had a shot of my favorite vodka this morning. It tasted like some combination of horse manure and vinegar.”

  “You had a shot of vodka that early in the morning?”

  “Never you mind that. The point is, why does it taste so awful?”

  “Soured and ruined for all time,” Beryl muttered under her breath.

  “I need you to make it stop. I need my drink. I need it. I need it.”

  “I’m sorry, Whiskey. It can’t be changed,” Beryl said firmly. “But you can always have a free cup of coffee at the café as long as the Shimmer sisters are here. Whenever you need it.”

  She left the frustrated woman fuming. But Beryl wouldn’t change a thing.

  Walking in her direction was a welcome sight—Emerson.

  “What are you doing out here, walking around like a free man? You’re supposed to be working for us from sunup to sundown.”

  “That is pretty much my schedule these days, Shimmers from sunup to sundown. But I did have to run into town to pick up some spices and some tiles.”

  “Oh, have you already done the spice store yet? I need a new mortar and pestle and some strainers.”

  “Sure. Having fun in the kitchen?”

  “My father left a lot of recipes for me to try out.”

  “What do these recipes do?” he asked suspiciously.

  “I’m just learning the easy stuff. The basics.”

  “Who are you testing it on?”

  “Mostly myself. But also Whiskey Hodge.”

  “Okay, she’s a drunk, not a lab rat.”

  “She’s not a drunk anymore. Although she’s not happy about that.”

  “Now this is where you and your father really differ.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oberon made it a point to never—hey, there’s the guy who bought the restaurant I worked in. The restaurant closed five years ago, and he said he’d be opening a new one. I sure would like to have a word with him.”

  “Yeah? Well, you’ll never get a better chance.”

  She was right. Emerson and Beryl made a beeline for the man.

  “Mr. Tenney. You bought a restaurant five years ago and you said that you’d be opening a new one. I was just wondering what happened to your plans about that?”

  “Tenney,” Beryl repeated. “Mason Tenney?”

  “Yes, that’s my name.”

  “Didn’t you just buy Harriet Jolly’s property?”

  “Why, yes, I did,” the man said nervously.

  “What are you going to do with it?”

  Mr. Tenney was caught off guard. “I haven’t really decided. It just seemed like a good investment.”

  “Why didn’t you ever open the restaurant?”

  “Ah, well, I hadn’t completely decided what kind of restaurant I wanted to open. Don’t want to rush into anything.”

  “Do you live in town?” Emerson asked.

  “Um . . . um . . .”

  “Not sure?” Beryl prodded.

  “Um, thinking about moving here. That’s . . . that’s why I bought that property. I’m thinking about putting a new house there. Well, I must be on my way.”

  He scurried down the street.

  Emerson looked after him, puzzled. “He just bought two properties and has no concrete plans to use either one of them. Sounds like a hobby for the super-rich.”

  Beryl showed Emerson the list of properties that have been bought and sold the past year. “You know where most of these places are. Would you mind showing me?”

  �
�I really should be getting back to work—unless I’m ordered to do otherwise by the head of the Shimmer family.”

  Besides Gwynifer, Beryl had never encountered someone so willing to humor her. Another reason to fight to stay in Marvel Canyon.

  They spent the next three hours going from one property to another, mostly residential and a few businesses as well. The sold houses were all vacant. The businesses were all closed up. It would have been one thing if the sellers hadn’t been able to find a buyer and had abandoned their property. But something else was happening here. Why hadn’t the buyers moved in?

  “Again, who has enough money to buy houses and not use them?”

  “Only one person I know of,” Beryl said.

  But why? She needed to know a lot more about the Sinclairs. As it so happened, no witchcraft was required for this tall feat, only a laptop, and in half an hour, she had all the answers she needed.

  Beryl raced back to the café where, of all people, Austin Sinclair was sharing an after-hours cup of coffee with Lucinda. Beryl joined them warily.

  She addressed Austin directly. “You bought Harriet Jolly’s property using a man named Mason Tenney.”

  “You did?” Lucinda asked, surprised.

  “Yes, we used a proxy to buy that property. It’s not uncommon.”

  “You also bought a restaurant through him, five years ago, that’s been sitting empty all this time.”

  “Prime location. I’m sure we’ll eventually find a suitable use for it.”

  “You bought all of these properties, didn’t you?” Beryl said, pointing to the printout.

  Austin Sinclair glanced at the list. “Most of them. Not all of them. Wait. Maybe all of them. Yes, these all do look like ours.”

  This was news to Lucinda. “These are all your proxies? What on earth are you buying up all these houses for? In Marvel Canyon, of all places?”

  “I’ll tell you why,” Beryl said. “Because for the past six or seven years, the Sinclair family has been looking for a location to build the largest waste-processing facility on the East Coast. But everywhere they tried, local governments voted against it. No one wanted the smelly, toxic, dangerous fumes in their town. In the air, in the landfills, in the water.

  “They don’t want their towns to be known as a toxic dump. They don’t want property values to plummet. That’s what you had in mind for Marvel Canyon. You want to build that plant here.”

  Austin shrugged, ready to shift gears. Now that all was being revealed, he didn’t mind bragging a little about the brilliance of his scheme.

  “Shortly after Hurricane Edna, Marvel Canyon came to our attention as the perfect location for our new waste processing plant. We envision it as the largest plant of its kind in the entire country. Of course, it couldn’t be located near a large population center. Marvel Canyon is perfect. The infrastructure is already there. The property is cheap. The population is declining. The closing of the commuter train will provide a convenient isolation. And the freight line can still be made use of.”

  “And the youth hostel?” Beryl said sarcastically.

  “Well, it may resemble something like a youth hostel. We actually intend it to be the custodial home. A place to house all of the custodial workers for the processing plant. Your house will be able to sleep at least thirty workers. And the changes that you’ve made here will actually work to our benefit. The large communal kitchen. This dining and recreation area that everyone will have access to. It will be quite a comfortable little place for them.”

  “And pack them in, six people per bedroom,” Beryl said, disgusted.

  “We also purchased a great number of homes in the town, and those we intend to use for our employees. They’ll be able to rent them or buy them. And we’re going to help streamline their finances. We can simply deduct their rent or mortgage from their paychecks. We’ll probably also be buying some grocery stores, hardware stores, and then we can extend them a line of credit that can also be conveniently deducted from their paychecks. We want to make life as easy as possible for our employees. And then there’s the canyon.”

  “What about it?” Beryl asked.

  “It may prove to be an asset.”

  “For what? Oh, geez. Are you going to be dumping waste in the canyon?”

  “Don’t be silly. Not the entire canyon. But it does have landfill potential.” He turned back to Lucinda. “Our offer is still open. But my father is a contrary man. The next offer will most certainly be for less.”

  “Hmmph. Deal or no deal?” Lucinda asked.

  “That’s about the size of it. I hope to hear from you very soon.”

  He left.

  “We can’t let him get away with this,” Beryl said.

  “I know it sounds shady. But none of it is illegal. Buying property through proxies is not illegal. If he has permission from the local authorities, building a waste processing plant is not illegal. And buying every house in town that was for sale is not illegal. Everyone who sold their house has the right to say no.”

  “Harriet Jolly didn’t.”

  “But her house didn’t sell until after she was—”

  “Murdered,” Beryl filled in.

  “Don’t do anything stupid, Beryl. Making a false accusation could lose us the only offer we have on the table right now. No accusations without hard proof, okay. Promise? Because this changes everything. This property acquisition of the Sinclairs has gone too far for anyone to turn things around.”

  “They want to turn this into a company town.”

  “They’ll probably succeed,” Lucinda said gently.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Beryl went to the park to try and clear her head and think. Austin Sinclair had pounced on Harriet Jolly’s property. Could he have been the one who did away with her? Beryl had long wondered about the extreme and spectacular manner of Harriet Jolly’s death. There are just easier ways to kill someone than burning down their entire house. Unless the house was also an intended victim. It certainly did allow the Sinclairs to acquire property at a rock-bottom price.

  How could Austin Sinclair have gotten the explosive? How could anyone? Exactly what type of explosive had been used anyway? Time for a visit to the sheriff.

  Sheriff Ortega normally would not have allowed anyone to have a look at the investigation file for a case. But it was an exception that he had made on a number of occasions for Oberon Shimmer. And it seemed advisable to make a similar exception for one of his daughters. After all, he was at a dead end and not quite sure where to turn next.

  “I need to see the explosives components. The chemicals used. How it was made.”

  “Not planning on reconstructing this, are you?” the sheriff asked.

  “I’ll be needing a copy of these ingredients,” Beryl said.

  Her next step was to see Henry Colgate, the newly-rehired chemistry teacher.

  She showed him the list of bomb materials.

  “Nitro-methane and ammonium nitrate. Hmm. And a pyrotechnic filler. Yes, this would have packed quite a punch,” Henry noted.

  “Is there going to be any way of tracing or detecting these materials so long after the bomb was created?” Beryl asked.

  “Not a readily available way, no. But these chemicals will leave a trace in the air, in the body. Just like exposure to nicotine, for example. Traces are caught in the body. In the throat, in the lungs. Even a single exposure would leave traces, but from a practical standpoint, untraceable.”

  “I need you to get me these chemicals. No, I’m not going to mix them together. I’m going to mix them with . . . other things.”

  “And why would I want to be involved in such a thing?”

  “Because I talked the sheriff into not making a big stink over your lying to him, and you owe me a big favor.”

  Henry sighed. “Tomorrow, okay? I can have them by tomorrow. But no mixing. Understand? No mixing.”

  Of course, there was going to be mixing. This was undoubtedly a situation that Oberon Shim
mer had never encountered. But perhaps the guidance he left behind would help to point out the way.

  *****

  Beryl couldn’t lie to herself. She was a little nervous. But this case couldn’t be solved without evidence. Scientific evidence. Chemistry. Something that she was good at. Aided by the witch talent that she was getting better at every day. She had surveyed the entire stock of oils, teas, extracts, and herbs and prepared a small amount of over two dozen different potions. Surely, one of them would have the desired effect.

  She also had several ounces of one of the explosive materials, courtesy of Henry Colgate. And she had also located the perfect spot for her experiments. This was not something that could be conducted in the vicinity of other people. She was almost certain that it wasn’t dangerous, but what if she was wrong? She certainly couldn’t expose anyone to any lethal and unforeseen consequences.

  She drove along the highway just outside of town and stopped in a deserted rocky area and walked several minutes away from the highway. There, she took a deep breath and set out all of the potions and methodically started combining them with the explosive bomb material.

  No reaction. No reaction. No reaction. No reaction.

  And then, a plume of purple smoke, smelling a little bit like honeysuckle. Perfect. The big question now was, how was she going to be able to test it on Austin Sinclair’s property? Or body? That was still the fuzzy part of the plan.

  On her way back into town, the sight of Claudia Reyes walking with her kids reminded Beryl of Claudia’s wild accusations against Harriet Jolly. Perhaps Gwynifer could shed some light on that puzzle.

  *****

  “That’s ridiculous,” Gwynifer responded. “Harriet Jolly was no witch. If there’s one thing that we can do, it’s to sense when someone is one of our own. I could feel it in you and in your sisters. Even though you hadn’t been raised here, it was clear that you were Earthborn. Just as it was very clear that Harry Jolly was among the worst of her kind, and most definitely a Mole.”