Chapter Twelve
"I hate drunks," June muttered, disgust written all over her face. Her brother gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder.
We stood on Duane’s lawn, shaken but not ready to throw in the towel.
"What about those ‘trees with eyes’? You think it means anything?" Mitch asked June.
When they talked to each other, it sometimes felt like Nick and I weren’t even there.
"I’m more concerned about the symbols he had on the walls," Nick said.
"What symbols?" Mitch turned to him. "I thought those were just kids’ drawings."
"Maybe. Maybe not."
To me, they looked more deliberate than a child’s scribbles, and I regretted not taking pictures. But we were too distracted by Duane, especially once he started aiming at us.
"I can go back and snap some photos," I offered, ready to take the bullet—figuratively—if it helped us move forward in our search.
A curtain twitched in the neighbor’s window. The woman from before peered out, her eyes tracking us like we didn’t belong. Mitch noticed her too and hurried us toward the car.
"What’s the point? He’s dead drunk. We’ll come back when he’s sober and compare them to Amanda’s photo."
I nearly rolled my eyes. Mitch only cared about Amanda.
But as much as I hated to admit it, he was right. There was no reason to go back now. With that, we loaded up and headed back to the downtown area.
"They were best friends with Lucas. Duane should know something," I said once we were on the road, leaning forward so Nick and Mitchell could hear me. "I’m still not sure how it relates to Amanda or Mary, though."
"And we should definitely look into these ‘trees with eyes,’" Nick agreed, making eye contact with me in the rearview mirror before focusing on the road again. "I want to know what it is."
"We should show him Lucas’s scribbles. Maybe this is what he meant? Maybe it’s the same thing?" I suggested.
"Uh, hello? How about you include everyone in the conversation?" June interrupted, sounding offended, even though she’d done the exact same thing not even ten minutes ago.
"Sorry, thought you were listening," I said, turning to her. "Do you have a suggestion?"
"Yes." June pointed to a two-story building.
The sign read, "Arcane Blackwood: Tarot, Divination, don’t go running off. That’s just good sense. "
"Is that all?" Mitch asked, sounding slightly deflated.
"She bought an amulet from me," Mathilda said, pointing to a bundle of obsidian stones on leather straps on the table to her left. "This one."
"What is it for?"
"It has many uses: protection from negativity, cleansing, transformation, and working with the shadow aspects of the self..."
"She was here a year ago. How do you remember all that?" June asked skeptically.
Mathilda gently plucked the charred remains of the incense stick from the holder and replaced it with a new one.
She struck a match and held it to the end of the stick until it caught flame.
Then, she softly blew on it, her pursed, glossy red lips forming a little "O".
The flame subsided, allowing the end of the stick to glow orange, and finally, scented smoke wafted up.
"Sweetheart, I have an excellent memory. In my profession," she made another grand gesture, sweeping her arm across the store behind her, leaving ambiguous whether she meant running a business or practicing witchcraft, "it’s a necessity. And if you like, I can even find the receipt."