Chapter Twelve #2
The brief pause that followed was my opportunity. I couldn’t afford to miss it. I stepped closer to her, handing over my phone with photos of Lucas.
"And what about him?"
She began scrolling through photos, pausing at images of him in his football uniform, and snapshots of us smiling at the camera after a match.
"Definitely seen him before. A good-looking boy. He came in here with a friend and bought a rabbit’s foot for good luck," she said, smiling and rolling her eyes to the ceiling, as if condemning his naivety. "Is he local?"
"Yes. Who was his friend?"
She looked at me with a sad smile and shook her head. "Sorry, dear. That’s all I can tell you. He showed interest in occult literature, asked questions, but that’s about it. What happened to him?"
"He went missing two years ago. We can’t find him."
"The Whitmans’ son?"
"Yes. Do you know them?" I asked, hopeful.
"Of course. It was a huge case, what with their son disappearin’ and all. The Whitmans own the sawmill, and some of the folks from town work for ‘em. When their boy vanished, the whole town was turned upside down. But it didn’t happen here, did it?"
"No. He disappeared in Minnesota," I confirmed.
"That’s right," she clicked her tongue, "Now I remember."
"Did she mention where she was headed?" Mitchell interrupted, steering the conversation back on track. I suppressed a sigh.
The store owner pondered for a moment, straightening out the figurines that June’s hand had misplaced. "She asked me about the old cemetery," Mathilda said finally.
"Cemetery?" June looked up as though she’d been summoned by name.
"Our old settlers are buried there, God rest them. And there’s this tale going ‘round about some witch graves hiding in those woods, but honest to goodness, nobody can say for sure which ones are the real McCoy."
"Why would Amanda be interested in the old cemetery? What’s up there?" Mitch asked, brow furrowed.
"Maybe she was fixing’ to leave an offerin’ for the witches," Mathilda said.
We all stared at the woman, trying to absorb her words. I was still processing what she had just said. An offering for the witches.
She continued, "In exchange for somethin’. People do that. You just have to find a witch’s grave, leave what you’re offering there, and make a wish. Tourists eat that stuff up. Locals too. And some of ‘em, bless their hearts, think they might just dig out the grimoire."
"What?" June said, blinking, mouth agape.
"Do you know the town’s story? Some believe the grimoire was buried with one of the witches."
"Why would they need it?" I asked, startled that someone would indulge in grave robbery over a local legend.
The woman lifted her chin. "Power. The kind people would do anythin’ for. The witches used it for generations. It’s said to hold all the secrets of the universe. And that it drives people insane."
I couldn’t tell if she was being serious or joking. June and Mitchell exchanged skeptical glances.
"I’m having a hard time picturing Amanda doing something like that," Mitchell said, his voice doubtful as he looked to June for agreement. She nodded without hesitation.
"Yeah, she wasn’t into this voodoo stuff."
"This ain’t voodoo, sweetheart," Mathilda responded. "Sometimes, the closer we are to people, the less we truly know them. Blood ties don’t preclude secrets."
The shopkeeper then approached Nick, smoothing the lace on her neckline, her hand seemingly brushing against her breasts by accident.
"And you? What are you lookin’ for?"
"I’m not looking for anything," Nick replied with haste, but I noticed his gaze wavered and briefly dropped.
"Oh, everyone is lookin’ for somethin’." Tilly stepped closer to him, her stilettos elevating her a good three inches off the floor, but she was still a head shorter than Nick, so she tilted her face up to meet his eyes.
"Either you don’t know what it is yet, or.
.." She paused dramatically and smiled." You’re hidin’ it. "
"And what exactly am I looking for?" Nick closed the distance between them, his eyes locking onto hers, and from the outside, they looked like they were about to kiss.
Mitchell and I watched them in muted surprise. The air between them was practically crackling, and the reason was... Nick. His energy shifted, his presence becoming more commanding, almost possessive, as if requesting something from the woman who was nearly pressed against him.
Watching them felt awkward, like we were intruding on a private moment. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought they were former lovers who had suddenly crossed paths again, with old passions reignited. A flicker of jealousy hit me, seemingly out of nowhere.
Tilly held the pause. "I don’t know." She stepped back slightly and swept her hand in front of her, as if brushing away an invisible thread connecting them. "I ain’t no mind reader. Only tarot."
Nick frowned, apparently expecting a different answer.
Mitchell showed her another photo—the carving in the tree. "What about this? Have you seen anything like this around?"
"No," she said too quickly. "I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful. But I’ll give you some advice, and I want you to listen good. Them woods around here can be treacherous. Best you be careful."
"What do you mean?" I was tired of her vague warnings and theatrics.
She was a textbook scam artist of a psychic—all mystery and warnings, with no real substance.
Whatever mystical presence had mesmerized us earlier now looked like a costume, stitched together from scraps of charm and carefully crafted ambiance.
"I’ll give you the same warnin’s I gave your sister," Mathilda said, her expression grave. "If you hear or see somethin’ strange, just let it be and get on outta there. If you stumble upon any symbols or objects that don’t rightly belong in the woods, you best leave ‘em be and get gone."
We thanked her awkwardly and headed for the door. Mitchell signaled June, who was still lingering near the shelves of trinkets.
"Take this, sweetheart." I didn’t hear her approach, but Tilly was right in front of me, holding something in her closed hand. Caught off guard, I allowed her to place a small red stone into my palm. She continued with the same teasing tone, "It’s a gift. It’ll help clear out your sacral chakra. It’s all blocked up, honey."
Whatever she meant by ‘sacral’ sounded suspiciously like something obscene, coming from her glossy plum lips.
Unfortunately, my low levels of melanin, which gave my hair its natural red color, also meant that I had fair, sensitive skin that flushed easily when I was embarrassed.
I felt the heat rise to my cheeks and forehead, and of course, everyone else saw it.
I bolted out of the store, shoving the ridiculous stone into my jeans pocket. June, laughing, caught up to me.
"She must not have liked me too much," I said, pressing the backs of my hands to my cheeks in a futile attempt to cool down and return to my normal color.
"But she sure liked you, Nick. I wonder why." June wagged her finger at him. He pretended not to notice.
"Yeah, man, what was that about?" Mitchell asked, almost admiringly. "Elvira, Mistress of the Dark, practically threw herself at you!"
"How would I know?" Nick’s face tightened briefly. "Strange woman."
"Felt like you knew her," Mitchell added, eyeing Nick curiously.
"Never seen her before." Nick walked ahead, cutting the debrief short.
"Or perhaps she knew him," June concluded.
Mitchell gave me an odd look I couldn’t quite interpret, but I just shrugged in response.
"At least we know Amanda was definitely here," he said, "We’re in the right place."