WILLEM (The Witches of Wimberley Book 1) (29 page)

The first part was a history of Wimberley. It was reported that it was founded by an English couple about the same time Sam Houston was fighting the Battle of San Jacinto. It was rumored that the husband had been a highwayman in England and that they’d fled with stolen money to a new life one step ahead of the law.

I turned the book over and looked at the cover again. The story seemed so familiar to me, I was thinking I must have read the book before and forgotten about it. Reading on through Deck Durbin’s history with the Texas Rangers and Pleasant Wimberley’s determination to keep the ranch and tavern going on her own, the story continued to feel overly familiar.

Sometime during the night I woke with the book on my chest and the bedside lamp on. I turned off the light, put the book down, and tried to go back to sleep, but a nagging feeling of emptiness clawed at me, like a hunger that couldn’t be satisfied.

The next morning light poured in between the white shutter louvers that covered the windows in my room. I brushed my teeth, threw water in my face and hair, smoothed it into submission, pulled on a pair of jeans and padded into the kitchen.

“There you are beautiful boy,” came my mom’s cheerful voice. “How about some coffee?”

“Yes,” I croaked. “Sorry. Morning voice.”

“Sit yourself down right there and let me bring it. I’m not always gonna want to wait on you, but you’ve been gone a long time and I feel like fussin’ over you a little.”

I did as I was told and sat down at the big kitchen booth built in the shape of a crescent moon. “Dad already gone?”

“Long time ago. He’s still an early riser.” She set a cup of coffee in front of me. That was followed by cream and sweeteners. “What are you doing with your day?”

I stared into the cup of coffee. “Not sure. Matter of fact, I was wondering if I can just have a few days to do nothing? I won’t stay long. I just need to kind of check out for a little. Would that be okay?”

She scoffed. “Of course, Will. If you’re still here in six months, we’re going to have a talk, but you’re welcome to sanctuary for a few days.”

It was such a relief to hear that, it felt like a reprieve. I waited for the brick in my stomach to feel lighter, but nothing happened.

The first day I sat on the side of my bed spinning the black American Express end over end in my hand. When Mom called me for dinner, I said I wasn’t feeling up to snuff and asked if I could just eat in my room. She agreed, but looked worried.

The next day I went out, bought myself a laptop at Best Buy, had the geekoids set it up for me, ate tacos at Jack in the Box, and drove home.

I got my folks’ wifi password and found out that I could withdraw fifteen thousand dollars in cash before the card expired in fifteen days. But I could buy condos, cars, and all manner of things that could be sold so that I could matriculate through a degree without having to work.

It seemed like a good plan, but I would have to get busy if I wanted to close real estate transactions and buy tons of resalable stuff in two weeks. And that was the rub. I didn’t feel motivated to get busy. I didn’t feel motivated to do anything except sit in my childhood room and wonder what I’d forgotten.

After four days of this behavior, my mother knocked on my door. I opened it.

“You could use a shave,” she said.

I palmed my face and rubbed. “Yeah.”

“And you look awful.”

“Yeah.”

“Come have an iced tea with me.”

“Mom…”

“Now.”

“Okay.”

I trudged behind her to the kitchen. She’d cut a few fresh canna lilies from the garden and set them on the table.

Dutifully, I sat at the table and waited. She set an ice tea in front of me.

“What’s the problem, Will? You’ve spent four days in your room doing something that looks a lot like hiding. You’re thirty. Too old for that nonsense. What’s going on?”

There were only two choices. Lie or tell the truth. If I lied, she’d know. If I told the truth, she might think I’m crazy.

“Heart to heart? If I tell you the truth, it has to be confidential. You have to promise.”

“You know I’m good at keepin’ stuff to myself when I want to. What’s the problem?”

“It’s big.”

She blew out a breath. “Am I going to need an Arnold Lit?”

“It’s ten in the morning.”

“Answer the question.”

“Maybe.”

She got up, and set an ice tea glass on the counter. She pulled the gallon jar of sweet tea out of the fridge and poured until the glass was a third full. She then pulled out the gallon jar of lemonade and filled the glass another third full. Stepping out the back door, she pulled a sprig of mint from the plants she kept by the back steps, ran tap water over it and threw it in the glass. Next went in enough ice cubes to fill it almost all the way up. The last step was the part that caused my mother to rename her favorite concoction Arnold ‘Lit’. She added three ‘splashes’ of vodka to the Arnold Palmer and stirred. Satisfied that she was ready for anything, she sat down again.

“Okay. Hit me,” she said.

I blew out a breath. “Okay. Here goes. I don’t know any other way to explain this. I woke up behind the wheel of that car to find that I was being pulled over by highway patrol on I10 the other side of Houston. He said I was doing eighty seven in a seventy five. Anyway, disoriented doesn’t begin to cover it. I thought he was gonna say it was grand theft auto. ‘Cause I have no idea where that car came from or how or why I was heading east on I10 with a black American Express card and six pairs of cowboy boots.”

The smile left my mother’s face. I had her one hundred percent attention. She took a drink of Arnold Lit without taking her eyes away from me.

“He asked me for proof of insurance and my driver’s license. What I pulled out of my wallet was an Alabama license with this address on it. Same for insurance. My name. This address. So he gave me a speeding ticket and let me go. I don’t have to tell you that doesn’t make any sense because I haven’t used this address for more than a decade.”

I took a drink of tea and a deep breath before continuing.

“So I have five thousand dollars cash in my wallet in addition to the black American Express card that expires the end of this month. In ten days. I have no idea where any of that came from either. What’s more? I’ve lost a whole year. Last thing I remember I was planning to quit acting and come home, but that was October of
last
year.”

“Do you think you’re mixed up in organized crime? Drugs?”

There was a stack of cold biscuits sitting on a plate. I grabbed one and took a bite out of it more because of nervousness than being hungry.

I raised my hands. “How do I know? I can’t say no because I just don’t know.” And the Voice was being obstinately silent. Deadly silent. “That’s not the worst of it. The worst of it is that I feel like I’ve done something horrible, something wrong. As in
really
wrong. I just don’t know what it is. I’ve lost something I need. Something I don’t think I can live without. And I don’t know what it is.”

She stared at me a long time.

“Say something,” I finally said.

She stood and put her hand to my forehead like she was checking for a fever.

“I’m not running a temperature, Mom.”

“I didn’t think you were. That’s not what I’m checking for.”

“Well, what…?”

“What else?” She sat down again. “Have you left anything out?”

I thought about it. “Like what?”

“Visions? Strange feelings about things?”

“Visions?” Like the woman in the car? “Well, when I was driving Pass Christian by the water, for a second I thought I saw a woman in the car with me. Long black hair. I didn’t see her face. It was just for a second.”

She nodded. “What else?”

“There was a book in my luggage and, speaking of that, the first time I’ve seen those clothes was last night when I stopped at a hotel and opened those bags. I’ve got seven pairs of cowboy boots. Apparently I love them. When the hell did that happen? And how?”

“What’s the book?”

“It’s about a ghost, of all things. I started reading it last night. I have a strong feeling that I’ve read it before or know the story somehow.”

“Show me.”

I got up, retrieved the book, and set it down on the kitchen table. She made a face. “Wimberley, huh? Figures.”

“What? What figures?”

“I’m gonna take you to see somebody.”

I slumped down in my chair. “You think I’m crazy.”

She frowned. “No. Not that kinda somebody. But you’re gonna have to turn loose of some of that green in your wallet, because she ain’t cheap.”

“So you don’t think I’m crazy.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy.”

I took a minute to absorb that. After hearing my story, my mother came to the conclusion that I’m not crazy. “Who is it you’re taking me to see?”

She shook her head. “Just trust me. We’ll get to the bottom of this. Let me ask you something. Do you remember calling just about this time last year? I remember it was late October because I was putting out gourds and mums on the front porch in between trying to control your dad’s mad gardening ideas.”

I was shaking my head. “No. I don’t remember that.”

“You told me you had a live-in girlfriend.”

“I did?”

“Wow. That doesn’t sound like me. What else did I say?”

“That her name was Rave. That you were moving to Wimberley, Texas and going back to school. Does that jog any memories?”

I grabbed my head. “It doesn’t jog memories, exactly, but something you said just gave me one hell of a piercing headache. And maybe heartburn, too.” I squinted at her between my fingers. “What else?”

“I haven’t talked to you since then. Whenever I tried to call, I just got static. Couldn’t even leave a message. Sent a lot of texts, but they were never delivered. Failed to send.”

“Wow.”

“You’re repeating yourself.” She rose. “Just relax. Have some breakfast. Watch some TV. Let me see what I can set up.”

“Okay.”

Fifteen minutes later she came back in the kitchen. “Go get ready. We have an appointment in two hours and it’s an hour and a half journey from here.”

I didn’t question her further. I showered, shaved, pulled on a pair of jeans and tee so soft they were as comfortable as pajamas, picked a pair of brown snakeskin boots and I was ready to go. I made the bed, put my wallet and phone in my pockets, and grabbed the car keys.

“You want to take my car?”

Mom grinned. “Don’t be silly. You think I get the chance to ride in a car like that every day? Of course we’re taking your car.”

I smiled at her. “You navigate.”

“You’re in good hands.”

“Where we goin’?”

“I know somebody who lives on a little island off Heron Bay. Don’t worry. You’ll like her. Probably. You got cash?”

“Yes. I heard you say green.”

She nodded. “Just bring that and an
open
mind. You’ll be fine.”

The rag top stayed on the Boxster because of a probability of rain. It was just as well. My mother probably didn’t want to get blown around for a couple of hours, although it was hard to predict with her.

When we got to Heron Bay, she directed me to a tiny marina then walked into the office like she owned the place. “We need a ride over to the island and back. Means waitin’ around a couple of hours or so. How much for that?”

An old guy with white hair and beard sat behind stacks of papers including mail that probably hadn’t been opened for years.

“Well,” he said, “I might have somebody who could take you over.” He rubbed his beard, looked my mother over, did the same with me, and when his eyes got to the boots I knew we were screwed. He looked from the boots up at me with a smile that said he’d taken my rich boy measure.