The Witch's Daughter

By Ron D. Voigts

Investigative reporter and recent widower, Cavendish Brown, is unemployed and floundering. Coerced into returning to his childhood home by the town's eccentric matriarch, Cavendish finds himself involved in murder, deceit, and a not-so-subtle attempt at matchmaking. Joined by Jane, a disturbed psychic, and Alexandra, a young Goth woman with uncanny abilities, they follow leads into the hills of West Virginia to catch the killer.

 

A sheriff who shoots first and asks questions later makes solving the case difficult for the trio. Adding further complications is an ex-girlfriend with a mob hitman on her trail who seeks Cavendish's help.

 

Immersed in a never-ending spiral of clues and secrets, he must unlock the darkness that surrounds the enigmatic Jane, stay ahead of the law, and come to terms with his own grief.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Champagne Book Group
• Release date: Mar 2, 2015
• ISBN: 9781771551762

Book preview

One

According to the police records, you assaulted a man at the After Hours Bar approximately 11:15 p.m. Saturday night. The lawyer, a gray haired man wearing an Armani suit, custom-made shirt and gold cufflinks the size of golf balls, ran his finger down the page. You broke Frederick Richards’ jaw, requiring it to be wired shut. He received six stitches for a laceration above his left eye, and you broke his nose. Would you like to see the photos?

We sat at a table in the county jail room reserved for meetings between prisoners and lawyers and whoever else they’d let in. Metal brackets held the wood table and chairs to the floor. A mirror across one wall most assuredly had someone behind it, watching everything. The guard standing by the door wore no gun, but the one outside did.

The lawyer leaned forward and spread the photos in front of me. I had to admit it. Freddy looked like a train had hit him. I should have broken his arms while I was at it.

I glanced at my reflection in the mirror and mused how the night’s brawling had left few traces of the fight on me. My short sandy colored hair seemed as it always did. My face was without a mark. Except for needing a shave, my appearance was as it would be on any day of the week. The bruises on my knuckles revealed the only clue that I’d been in a fight.

The lawyer restacked the photos and papers. Mr. Brown, or may I call you Cavendish?

Suit yourself.

Cavendish, this is a serious situation.

Fifteen minutes ago, the guard came to my cell, telling me my lawyer was here. The only problem was, I hadn’t hired a lawyer. I asked you a question when I first came in here, and I’m asking it again. Who in the hell are you?

Anthony Jacobs. He flashed a grin like a car salesman getting ready to unload a clunker on some unsuspecting customer. I practice law in a small town in West Virginia called Maiden Falls. Do you recognize the name?

Yeah, I know it.

"Of course you do, Cavendish. It’s your home town. You roughed up a kid in a barroom much like you did here. The sheriff came looking for you, and you hightailed out of town. As I understand, you joined the army and spent some time in Afghanistan. Later you met a nice girl named Emma and married. You went back to school and became a reporter on the Charleston Gazette. Jacobs pushed the papers and photos back into his briefcase and snapped the latch shut. Here you are thirteen years later back where you started, except not in your home town."

Jacobs omitted one detail. Emma died a year ago. If she were alive, I would not have been in a bar, shooting pool with a loud-mouthed drunk who refused to pay his losses. I didn’t hit the guy for welching on a bet. I stepped in when he got verbally abusive with his girlfriend and slapped her for talking back to him. I told him to stop, and he told me to make him. I took his dare as an open invitation.

The guard pointed to his wristwatch.

Five more minutes. Jacobs folded his hands and leaned forward. You’re not going to run away easily this time. You’ll have jail time. I’m sure a civil suit will come out of this. Your job as a reporter is history. Pretty much, your life will suck.

It already does. Screw the job. I don’t have much more to lose. As for jail, well, it’ll give me time to think. I turned in the chair and prepared to stand.

Hear me, Cavendish. I can get you out of this jam. Mr. Richards will get his medical bills paid with something thrown in for his pain. I’m sure charges could be dropped with certain stipulations. Jacobs leaned back and flashed a grin.

Now I knew this guy was a salesman with something to sell. No such thing as a free ride. A creepy feeling told me I was about to make a deal with the devil.

I’m listening.

You return to Maiden Falls for one year. During the year you work at the town newspaper. Keep your nose out of trouble. That’s all there is to it. Jacobs folded his hands on the table and flashed his eyes, as if he were ready to close the deal on the lemon he was selling.

Who’s going to pay the money and get the charges dropped? My fairy godmother?

Jacobs chuckled. Close. Try Marbella Wellingway.

The witch?

The lawyer shook his head. I don’t think she’d appreciate being called by such a name.

She resembles one, for sure. Growing up in Maiden Falls, all the kids figured she was a witch. Though most of my friends believed her hooked nose and prominent forehead made her appear to be a cauldron-stirring hag, some believed she was the real deal. Stories circulated about strange happenings at the Wellingway mansion. Until I was eleven, around Halloween, I really expected to see her ride by on a broomstick. Why is she interested in me? I barely know her.

My father worked most of his life at Wellingway Ice Cream and probably never came within twenty feet of Marbella Wellingway. He worked as a line foreman—one guy among two hundred fifty other employees. When he received his twenty-five year service award, he was sure he’d meet her at the dinner. Instead, her husband Edgar presented him with the plaque and shook his hand.

You’re from Maiden Falls, Cavendish. Mrs. Wellingway looks out for the town’s residents, even those who have strayed.

Strayed? You make it sound as if I’m a dog that got off its leash.

Poor choice of words. I assure you, Mrs. Wellingway has the best intentions. The town newspaper has been out of business for almost a year. She needs someone who can pull it back together. She wants you to do it. Jacobs folded his hands and smiled, displaying one of the most perfect sets of teeth I had ever seen. What do you say?

I felt chilled, and the hairs prickled on the back of my neck. Here I was, talking to someone who was ready to give my soul to a witch.

I’ll have to think it over.

What’s to think over? I’m offering you a chance at a fresh start and letting you put the past behind you.

Emma was part of the past, and I didn’t want to lose that. I’d fight a million more people if it would bring her back for one more minute. I folded my hands and stared at them, hoping Jacobs didn’t see the tears in my eyes.

He grabbed his briefcase. You’re scheduled to come before the judge tomorrow morning. I will act as your attorney. Give me your decision at that time. If you say no, I will excuse myself and ask that you get new counsel. Say yes, Cavendish, and magic will happen.

Jacob’s statement gave me a shiver. He said the word magic as if he really meant it.

The guard opened the door.

Think about it.

Two

Jane sat on the edge of the bathtub, spreading peanut butter on a slice of white bread. She laid the knife on the toilet tank cover next to the loaf of bread and put the jar of peanut butter in the medicine cabinet. The bathroom was the only place where she could avoid the smell.

Five days had passed since Mama stopped moving. She smelled okay then, and Jane would talk to her, even if she didn’t talk back. But now Mama stank worse than the bottom of the garbage pail.

Outside the bathroom, Jane heard voices. She took a bite of her sandwich, moved closer to the door and pressed her ear against it.

Nobody has seen Mrs. Jones for almost a week.

The voice belonged to the landlady. Jane didn’t like her. She always complained to Mama. You’re late with the rent. Don’t leave bags of garbage in the hall. Jane is scaring the other tenants.

You mentioned she had a twenty-year-old daughter living with her?

Jane didn’t recognize the voice. It was deep and scratchy, like a man with a sore throat.

She must be out if she isn’t here. Probably begging, the landlady said.

Something smells bad. The man sniffed a few times.

Probably the garbage needs to be taken out. They are lazy people, you know.

I’ll check the bedroom. You check the bathroom.

Jane stepped into the bathtub. She grabbed the shower curtain and yanked it, thinking she could hide. The plastic ripped away from the rings. The metal rod came loose and crashed next to the tub.

The bathroom door opened, and the landlady jumped back. I found her.

Across from the bathroom, the door to Mama’s room was open. It wasn’t a good idea. She’d stopped going in there three days ago.

The man ran out the bedroom. Oh, dear God.

He was a policeman. That was good because Mama said they’re our friends. He ran into the bathroom, leaned over the toilet and threw up. When he’d finished, he wiped his mouth with toilet paper.

I’ve never smelled anything so bad. The policeman grimaced.

The throw up smelled bad, too.

Another policeman arrived. Men wearing white coveralls came, pushing a cart like they used in hospitals to move people. Would they put Mama on it?

Is the medical examiner coming? one of the men in coveralls asked.

He’s on his way, the second policeman said.

Jane wondered what the words meant. What’s a magical slammer?

The first policeman who got sick earlier laughed. He’s a special doctor.

She figured it would be impossible to do anything for Mama, but if a doctor was coming, maybe he could help her. That’s good, she told the policeman.

He shook his head and walked back into the bedroom.

Jane listened to them talk.

I’ve seen ripe ones, and this is the worst ever.

First time for me and, man, she stinks.

The girl must be crazy.

Ugly too.

They meant her.

Soon, a gray-haired man wearing a nice suit came. He carried a bag and walked with his head held high, as if he were important. Jane tried to follow him into the bedroom. The second policeman stopped her and ordered her to stay outside. He pushed the door partially shut so she couldn’t see anything.

Jane took her peanut butter jar, knife and bread to the kitchen where she made another sandwich. She put her gloves on now because too many people brought too many things into the apartment, and she might touch something. The gloves made it more difficult to eat and do other things, but it was safer for her. She took her sandwich, returned to the hallway and waited.

The bedroom door opened, and the doctor came out. Jane wiped peanut butter off her mouth with the back of her gloved hand. Are you going to make Mama better?

No, that’s impossible. He frowned and wrinkles appeared on his face.

You’re a doctor.

I’m sorry. He left.

The men in the coveralls came out the bedroom, rolling the cart with a large black plastic bag on it. She knew Mama was inside it, and when she was gone, Jane would be alone.

No. No. No. She ran to the front door and blocked their path. Don’t take my mama.

We got to, kid, the man at the front of the cart said.

No. Jane meant to shove him back but punched his face by mistake, sending him stumbling backwards.

Hey! He rubbed his cheek. She’s a wild one.

I told you she was crazy. The other man in coveralls took a step back.

A policeman came from the bedroom. What’s going on?

The first man in coveralls rubbed his cheek where she had hit him. The daughter won’t let us pass.

They got to take her, the policeman said. Your mother’s dead.

Jane launched herself onto the man she had struck, and they both fell to the floor. She wanted to hurt him real bad, so he’d understand they couldn’t take Mama.

The other man in coveralls seized her shoulders to pull her off. She twisted around and bit his hand.

Cripes! He jumped back, holding his wrist. I’m going to get rabies.

She pounded her fist against the first man’s face while sitting on his chest and screaming, Don’t take my mama.

The policeman shouted, Nick, give me a hand.

The other policeman, the one who threw up, came from the bedroom. They caught Jane’s arms and pulled her off. She fought to get loose and thrashed like a captured snake, but they were too strong. They pinned her to the floor. Grit and dust pressed against her face. One policeman twisted her arm behind her back, while the other one grabbed her free arm. Soon they had her in handcuffs.

Why is she wearing those gloves? the policeman named Nick asked.

Hearing his words, she twisted away and rolled onto her back to guard her hands. No touch my gloves.

The other policeman waved a finger in her face. Calm down. You can keep your gloves if you behave yourself. Okay?

She agreed.

The men in coveralls rolled the cart out the door. The one with the bruised cheek stared at her. She didn’t know what he was thinking and figured it was something bad about her. Jane really didn’t want the men to take Mama away. She feared more that they’d take her gloves.

Nick eyed Jane and shook his head. What do we do with you, huh?

The other policeman shrugged. Best thing is to take her to the county hospital and toss her in with the other whack jobs. Let the docs figure it out.

~ * ~

Dr. Denton must be an important man. He had lots of papers with big words in frames hanging on the walls. The bookcase behind him had so many books she didn’t think anyone could read all of them. She also didn’t understand why, if he were a real doctor, he didn’t have an examining table, like they did at the free clinic, or charts on the walls showing people’s insides. Why didn’t he have one of those heart-listening things hanging around his neck?

The doctor leaned back in his chair, tapped his fingertips together and stared at Jane. She didn’t like the way he eyed her. His eyes reminded her of a lizard she’d once seen in a pet store. Maybe he was just thinking, only it seemed as if he was trying to see through her.

Do you understand your mother was dead?

Jane fidgeted on the hard chair. It was a stupid question. Of course, she knew Mama was dead. She didn’t move, she didn’t breathe, and she didn’t glow. Yes.

He glanced away and watched something outside the window. You didn’t tell anyone.

Jane recalled when Mama died. She was afraid she might get in trouble. She didn’t understand why, but it seemed like a bad thing. I talked to Mrs. Gibbons from down the hall. I asked her, if Mama died, what should I do? Mrs. Gibbons told her Mama would need a funeral, where they put her in box and bury her in the ground. That costs a lot of money. She said I would need to invite my family and a minister would come and say prayers for Mama. Jane gazed at her feet. I don’t have any money or family. I don’t know any ministers.

So you did nothing.

I dressed Mama in her best nightgown and covered her with a blanket and prayed. Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I die before I wake, I pray for God my soul to take. Amen.

Dr. Denton frowned at Jane while she recited her prayer. Maybe he didn’t say prayers, or he didn’t like God. His gaze shifted to her hands. Do you always wear gloves?

Jane didn’t like people asking about her gloves. They would ask her to take them off. Sometimes they’d try to pull them off her, like when she first came to this place. She fought real hard to keep her gloves. Now she was afraid Dr. Denton would want her to remove them, so she folded her arms across her chest, tucked her hands under her arms and stared at the floor.

He groaned and wrote something on a pad of paper. Maybe I should have you tested. Check your cognitive skills. Perhaps have a social worker evaluate you.

She didn’t understand everything he said, and she didn’t like the tests doctors did. Someone would poke her with a needle and make her hurt. No, no, no.

The doctor let out a deep sigh and rubbed his eyes. Jane, I’m trying to determine if, when you’re released, you can function without supervision.

His words didn’t make total sense to her. Maybe he meant if she could take care of herself. After mama died, she made money. With money she could buy food. She even bought an ice cream cone one day. I can take care of myself.

How?

Doing the trick.

For the first time, Dr. Denton seemed interested in her. The trick?

She nodded. I can show you. It’ll cost you a dollar.

A dollar?

When she nodded again, he rummaged in his pocket, took out a bill and laid it on the desk. Do the trick for me.

~ * ~

Jane sat in the day room with the crazies. Some talked funny. Others howled like dogs. One woman kept touching Jane’s hair. None of this bothered her much. Only one thing made her mad. They’d buried Mama and didn’t let her go to the funeral. She cried and screamed until they gave her a shot, making her sleepy and too tired to fight back. All she wanted was to say another prayer.

Across the room, a fat man with a beard talked to the woman called the Day Mother. There was a Night Mother, too. The man had a red glow around him with shimmers of yellow around the edges. People who shined like him always did bad things. The landlady of the apartment building where Jane and Mama lived had the same glow. The Day Mother and the fat man talked, but Jane was too far away to hear them. The Day Mother pointed at Jane. The man said something back, and the Day Mother laughed. Then the man walked toward her.

He took a few deep breaths. Hello, Jane. I’m Benson Briggs. My friend Dr. Denton, who’s been working with you, mentioned you can do a trick. He told me it was very impressive. Would you mind showing me?

Closer to her now, the man’s glow seemed to be stronger. Something gave her a bad feeling, like she should get away from him. She thought about death and wondered if he had ever killed anyone.

Jane stood and took a step back. Maybe. It’ll cost you a dollar.

Briggs laughed. His teeth showed in his beard like white stones on a dirty road.

Denton told me to bring a dollar. But first you do the trick.

Let me hold something. She slipped off a glove, held out her hand, palm up, and wiggled her fingers. That always made people give her something.

He slipped a ring off his finger and dropped it in her palm. Will this work?

She nodded and folded her fingers around it. The object grew warm in her hand. Her ears rang like bees had gotten into her head. For a moment, she felt like she’d fall over, and then it happened.

Jane sees the Day Mother.

She hears the voice of Briggs. I’m a friend of Dr. Denton. He told me about a patient who’s here. Her name is Jane Jones.

She’s a strange one. Ugly as a squashed roach. She wears those damn gardener gloves. The Day Mother laughs and points across the room. The freak’s over there.

Jane sees herself sitting at a table with a checkerboard and some magazines.

She picks up something Briggs is thinking about. The woman is crass. Jane doesn’t understand the word, but it probably means nasty or mean.

Enough for dollar. She opens her hand and drops the ring.

Briggs retrieved it from the floor and slipped it back onto his finger. Well?

You talked to the Day Mother, and she pointed at me.

Briggs raised an eyebrow. You could tell that by watching me when I arrived.

She called me a freak.

He laughed, took out his wallet and laid a dollar on the table near her. Would you like to get five dollars?

She nodded and Briggs reached into his jacket pocket. He removed a bag with a red stripe across the top and a label with a word. She didn’t understand what it meant though she’d seen the letters before. E-V-I-D-E-N-C-E. It had some other writing too small for her to see. He unzipped it and peeled back the plastic until a handle poked out.

Take it and tell me what you see.

She hesitated. People dropped things in her hand. She never had to take something. Leaning closer she could tell it was a hairbrush. Something like that couldn’t hurt her. Five bucks was a lot of money. She took the handle and pulled it out. The room swayed, and she was somewhere else.

The voice of a woman singing comes from a CD player atop a dresser. Jane doesn’t recognize the song.