Phantom Quartz: A Stacy Justice Witch Mystery Book 6 (Stacy Justice Magical Mysteries) (12 page)

Chapter 23

A few minutes later we were standing in front of a gaping hole beneath the front yard of Evelyn Leary, Chance’s mother’s friend who owned the nut shop—the one who had hired Chance’s team to rebuild her crumbling rock wall. She hovered near her front porch, a fiftyish woman with chin-length salt and pepper hair and huge doll eyes, who looked as if she had just been told there was no Santa Claus. As Leo and his deputy, Gus, spoke with her, a gust of wind swept through the yard, and she wrapped a red cardigan tighter around her body like armor. Her eyes darted around as if any moment someone might jump out and say ‘boo!’.

Chance had wandered over to his crew to collect details on the situation, and Derek and I were left near the hole, staring at its contents in disbelief.

To better grasp what we were viewing, it’s best to first understand the topography and history of the town.

Amethyst was incredibly hilly. San Francisco steep. To give an idea, a staircase numbering two hundred and fifty-three steps led from Main Street to the top of the hill in the neighborhood where the Geraghty Girls house was situated.

The beauty of the landscape and the centuries old buildings were just a few of the reasons the area was such a popular hotspot for tourists. There’s a ski lodge, hiking and biking trails, entertainment, shopping, luscious waterfalls and rivers, even wineries all around the county. It’s also steeped in history with ties to Native American tribes, civil war generals and a few United States presidents.

But there’s a dark side to this gothic town. A shadowy history you won’t find in any of the brochures. Of course a place as old as Amethyst is bound to harbor her share of secrets. A few are the stuff of horror films.

This was one of them.

In the early 1800s, Amethyst was a booming lead-mining town. Like the folks following the California Gold Rush, many a poor family flocked here seeking opportunity and prosperity, but it was a brutal existence. The men lived and worked under horrendous conditions for slave wages and many died by tragic accident, disease, and even murder. It was whispered in shameful hushes that there was no telling how many remains of those who worked the mine had never been never recovered. And when the lead dried up, so did the town. The population deflated as wealthier residents abandoned the area in search of the next boom. Those left behind didn’t have the money or the means to take care of what was once a thriving city. Because much of the maze of derelict shafts had never been filled in, Amethyst was left sitting atop what equated to a carved up jack-o-lantern. Some mines were simply left open like festering wounds. Others were plugged up by lazy landowners with whatever discarded materials they could find in order to dump the properties cheap and fast. Which meant they weren’t always filled properly or safely. It wasn’t until a group of teenagers were crushed to death while joyriding through an unsealed mine over thirty years ago that the townspeople united and actually did something about the problem. Of course that didn’t mean the holes that had been boarded up or covered over decades before didn’t get overlooked in the restructuring. Holes like this one.

Evelyn Leary’s house was newer than a lot of the homes on this side of town. It was a rambling Queen Anne, probably built in the 1900s, where many of the homes were federal brick style, circa mid-1800s. Over time, deeds exchanged hands, and land owners divided and sold off parcels, bit by bit, with some owners never realizing their houses were sitting on hollow ground. Like Evelyn.

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.