Chapter 33

Chapter 33 of 56 · 8-minute read

“Woah, there!”

Everett and Emmett stand in the doorway, palms up, supposedly to calm me down. It’s not working.

Everett’s hand slides to his holster though he doesn’t draw yet. “Put down that there knife,” he growls.

I place the dagger replica carefully back on the journal, which thankfully hasn’t closed and ruined the ink. “It’s not a knife: it’s a letter opener. And you shouldn’t have been sneaking up behind me.”

“Looked like a weapon to me. And we ain’t got to sneak nowhere.”

Chest still heaving, I study the twins. I can’t tell them apart except that Everett likes to play bad cop, and Emmett likes to play good cop, literally. If there’s anything that distinguishes the brothers, it’s Everett’s persistent sense of antagonism and the amount of blond stubble on his cheeks and chin, indistinguishable from a full goatee.

“Virgil’s not here.” My voice trembles. I hate it when that happens. Not that I let it stop me anymore. “I have no idea when he’ll be back, but I was to meet him here.”

“Yeah,” the other twin says. “We know. We were told we’d find you here, though.”

“My mom. Is something wrong?”

The twins exchange glances. Finally, Emmett says, “I reckon you could say that, yeah, something’s wrong. We really need to talk to her about the situation on her farm. The problem is, her doctors won’t let us question her as long as she’s in the ICU. We’ve heard that they’re going to move her tomorrow to a semi-private or private room? Is that true?”

“You would have to ask her doctors.”

Everett scowls. “We’ve already had this discussion, but it ain’t exactly got us nowhere. As soon as they move her out of the ICU, we’ll have a chat with her ourselves. But we figure you might as well just go ahead and let us hear what y’all got to say now and save us some time later.”

“You want to talk to me? What about?”

His scowl deepens. “It’s been pourin’ down rain so hard we can’t get out to the swamps at your mama’s place.”

“It’s downright peculiar,” the other brother drawls. He scratches at his clean-shaven chin. “Record rain for this time a’ year, but only at your mama’s place? Ain’t been no rain in town or anywhere else in the county for danged near a month! Almost like there’s some kinda black cloud just stallin’ right over her farm. We cain’t even get close enough to pull out Robert Hartford’s car all the way outta the mud, let alone see if his body might be near it.”

“I promise you, deputy, I didn’t have anything to do with the constant rain.”

It’s the truth, though now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure it was Virgil’s handiwork. But is that what they’re asking? Have they heard the rumors that I’m a witch?

“We just wanna ask you some questions, Laurie.”

“You can call me Lauren. That’s my name. ‘Laurie’ is for those who know me well, and you don’t.”

“Mrs. Hartford, then.”

“Ms.”

Everett sighs his disapproval and side-eyes his brother as if to say, “One of those.”

Emmett rolls his eyes. Both men’s jaws drop at the same time as they realize that I’m using my surname from birth, which obviously makes me even more of a rebel than they can imagine in this little town.

“Wh-what was your other name?” Emmett, playing good cop.

“I’ve never had another name.” Unless he’s asking about my craft name, Lady RavenHart. Rumors about my magickal life may have drifted back to my hometown, but other than Virgil, no one here can truthfully accuse me of anything. Best case, they see me as eccentric, which is a nice euphemism for the word weird. If I’m lucky, they’ll simply think I’m an aging hippy who favors bare feet and flowy dresses.

“Your first husband’s last name, then.”

“That was never my name.”

They exchange knowing glances.

“Were you actually married to him? What was his name? Quentin something.”

Damn. They’ve been doing their homework on me. Not good. The longer this investigation draws out, the deeper they’ll dig into my private life. Small town curiosity precedes small town gossip, which precedes small town curiosity. A vicious circle.

“I was married to Quent for many years, but I never surrendered my name to take his and I didn’t force him to take mine.” I squirm where I stand. I’m out of my element here, just as I was growing up here. These two good ol’ boys could make life even more difficult for me. I’ve had enough tragedy in my life that I avoid a spotlight. “I didn’t have to change my name again when we divorced.”

Twisting his mouth into an ugly grin, Everett nods knowingly. “No wonder he divorced you.”

I gasp, but it catches in my throat. “My marriage to Quent has nothing to do with anything here or the vehicle you found on my mom’s property.”

“Hmmm. Yeah, that’s what Quentin was tellin’ us.”

Rage fills me like a flame, hot and bright. My skin crawls as my fingers curl into fists. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, trying to swallow the bile rising in my throat. “You talked to my ex? Are you kidding me? You had no business talking to him!”

I’m half-surprised that Quent hasn’t already called me to boast that he’s done me some kind of favor by not saying something incriminating about me when he doesn’t know anything incriminating. He’s pulled that kind of shit more than once in the past. Worse. He’s an extroverted charmer, and I’m an introvert, and people typically get pulled into his charismatic glow before they even notice I’m alive.

“Ooooh, sounds like we touched a nerve. Hey, Emmett, ain’t it curious why she’d be worried about us talking to her husband?”

“Ex-husband. I’m not worried about you talking to him. I just don’t want you dragging him back into my life. He’s an ex for a reason.”

Both brothers move their jaws in an odd backwards motion. I recognize it from their dad’s favorite gesture of contemplation.

“What exactly do you do for a living, Lauren?” Emmett. Nice cop, preparing me for his brother to move in for the kill.

“I teach. I create business models for spiritual organizations.” Not that I’ve had much time for it lately, and my funds are dwindling without a steady focus on new work. “I develop courses for seekers of enlightenment. I⁠—”

Emmett makes a circle next to his temple with his index finger and laughs. “Enlightenment. Yeah, right. Sounds like hippie-dippie shit to me.”

I don’t answer. I suppose being summarized as half-cuckoo is better in this town than being accused of witchcraft.

Everett plants his fists on his narrow hips and scowls down at me. “Your second fella. Jesse Matthews. The doctor. He done cut you loose, too, huh?”

My face is hot. They’ve got it backwards, but I don’t answer. Jesse is still a sore subject, and this is nothing but a fishing expedition to verify local gossip.

Emmett nods and, thumbs looped through his belt, mimics his twin. “Drugs, wasn’t it? Lost his marbles?”

“Yup,” Everett chimes in. “Where’d he get off to now? Mexico?”

I don’t answer. I can’t. I both don’t know and can’t make any sound come out of my throat. I’ve heard reports that Jesse was in California or maybe living on an island somewhere in the Caribbean, still out of his mind and wanted for a slew of charges, beginning with fraud. It’s taken me almost three years to untangle myself legally from the dried-up and stinking three-day-old spaghetti mess he’d left me with, and I now make it through most days without thinking of him—something I never dreamed possible.

“Uh-huh.” The deputies pick apart my life without even directing questions at me anymore. “You reckon that’s why she lost the baby? I heard⁠—”

“Boys!” Virgil whacks his cane against the door frame with a loud crack. His face is as red and angry as mine feels. “That’s enough!”

Oddly, neither is willing to argue with him. Maybe it’s the fact that Virgil is a small town’s war hero or maybe it has more to do with the fact that he “walks home” so many of the town’s dying. Maybe it’s a magickal power of his to hold that kind of sway over them when they ignore me at best and bully me at worst. I’m still, after all this time, a misfit in small town life. Whatever the reason, he’s revered, and no one will mess with him.

Emmett holds up his palms in surrender. “Just a last question or two, Mr. Virgil. I swear to you.”

“Fine, but you’re on my turf now. Keep your questions relevant, or I’ll have to have a talk with your daddy.”

“Yes, sir,” one of them mumbles.

“So, um… ma’am, if it’s all right with you, I’m just gonna ask you about your uncle, Robert Hartford, and the last time you saw him.” Everett pauses but never formulates a question. “Well?”

I shrug. “The last time I saw Uncle Bobby, he asked my dad if he could camp on our land before heading home the next day. My dad said yes. Bobby liked to camp out.”

“Aight. We found camping gear in his car but no Bobby. Where is he now?”

Buried in the swamp? I assume his body is still there since I’ve witnessed his spirit walking along the boggy ground. Sometimes, energy lingers, especially if the person died violently.

And Bobby had violently.

“Deputies, the last time I saw Uncle Bobby, I was a child, and he was planning to camp in the woods overnight.”

“You reckon your folks had anything to do with his vanishin’?”

“I kinda doubt that, deputy, but you’d have to ask them. Daddy’s in the Baptist cemetery. And my mama’s curled up in a fetal position, thanks to the two of you. So, ask them.”

“We’re asking you.”

“Guys? The last time I saw my uncle, he was an old man who drank too much, and I was literally a child of twelve.”

From behind them, Virgil watches me carefully. He knows everything, doesn’t he?

Emmett glances back at Virgil. “Ain’t but one more question for her, aight?” Then he spins around to face me. “Did Robert Hartford lay hands on you when you were still a young’un?”

“Enough!” Virgil shoulders his way through them to stand between them and me. “She’s done.”

“Legit question, Mr. Virgil! That ol’ man had four outstanding warrants two counties over. Then he plum disappeared around the time his car ended up in the swamp. Sheriff over there said Robert Hartford must’ve flown the coop. Nobody’s seen hide nor hair of the old coot in years. His bank account hasn’t been touched since he wrote a check for tents and sleeping bags at a sporting goods store twenty miles from here.”

I finally find my voice. “Warrants for what?”

Emmett starts to ignore me. When Virgil raises an eyebrow, Emmett answers reluctantly. “Attempted rape mostly. All girls from eleven to thirteen. Y’all didn’t know? They were all nieces of his on the other side of his family.”

My jaws are so tight, they ache. Other girls’ parents had run him off, filed charges, protected their daughters. Mine hadn’t.

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