Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Connor considered himself a pretty decent lie detector, and when Holly had told him Autumn wasn’t a witch, she’d had all the trademark tells of someone speaking the truth.

But not the whole truth.

Their discussion nagged at him. In between consultations with his camera crew and meetings with Charlotte about the next set of interviews, he thought about what Holly had said. Had Autumn murdered the councilman, or was Connor targeting her unfairly? As Holly’s ancestor, it was entirely possible Autumn had also been different, but if she’d been anything like Holly, there was no way she’d been evil. So if Autumn hadn’t been a witch, then what had she been? What was Holly ? Why did he still feel like he was missing something that was right in front of him?

Connor rubbed his eyes and returned his focus to the book he’d finally tracked down at a German antiques dealer two months before. The volume was fragile, at least three hundred years old, and written in Old High German. He’d paid for expedited translation, but even so the book had only arrived with the English notes the day before. The author of the eighteenth-century volume claimed to be an expert on “the devil’s creatures.” So far Connor had read about gigantic spiders and bulls with three eyes. Not exactly helpful for his situation at Wicked Good Apples.

“When are we spending the night in the orchard?” Charlotte asked, snapping her gum and breaking his concentration again. She had her tablet in front of her and was tapping on the screen with brightly colored nails.

“It’s forecasted to rain tonight so I was thinking tomorrow.” Connor closed the book and picked up his phone. He’d sent Erikson a screenshot of the letter Autumn had never sent, and his brother had been feverish with excitement and hadn’t stopped texting him since.

Connor should have been excited too, but there was something bothering him. He couldn’t help but feel he was nosing around where he wasn’t wanted. He’d had that feeling in the past, and it usually meant he was onto something. The supernatural didn’t like to be messed with. So why was it getting under his skin this time?

“Hello, Earth to Connor, did you hear what I said?”

He blinked. “No.”

“Our private detective got back to me about the number that called to warn you away from the Celestes when we first got here.”

Connor was suddenly all ears. “And?”

“He was able to trace it to a trailer park in town. The guy used ‘star’ sixty-seven to disable Caller ID, but he called from his regular phone. You’ll never believe the name associated with the account.” Charlotte paused for dramatic effect. She even stacked her hands behind her head and put her neon-green high-heeled boots on the table between them. His trailer was small, and the table even smaller, so it took some amusing maneuvering before she managed.

Connor tried not to smile. “Don’t keep me in suspense, Char.”

She was slightly out of breath when she answered, “Ryan Miller.”

Connor sat forward. “Don’t tell me …”

“Oh, I’m telling you. We ran his family tree. Descendent of the Councilman Jonathan Miller.”

Connor was already snatching his keys off the counter.

Shady Oaks was a nicely maintained trailer park on the outskirts of town. The roads through the park were dirt, and the trailers ranged from doublewide to 1950s aluminum. As Connor drove along one of the dirt lanes with his window down, his cab was filled with a cacophony of barking. A few kids were playing with a red dodgeball on one of the lawns and didn’t so much as spare them a glance as they passed through.

Number twenty-eight was wedged between two trailers with neat flower beds and freshly painted porch steps, and man how the neighbors must’ve hated twenty-eight because it was the polar opposite. Ryan Miller’s lawn hadn’t been mowed yet that year, and weeds were knee high around his lot. His mailbox looked like a bat had been taken to it and Ryan hadn’t bothered fixing it.

Connor pulled in behind a dented Toyota that was a shade between rust and puce.

“My best friend grew up in a trailer park,” Charlotte said, popping a bubble. “In a place this nice they must hate this dude.”

Connor threw the truck in park and studied the sticker of a middle finger plastered to Ryan’s front door. “It’s a long way from uptight witch-hating councilman.”

They climbed the porch steps and Charlotte said, “I wouldn’t be so sure. I have a feeling this guy hates a lot of things.”

Connor went to ring the doorbell, but it was broken, so he knocked. While they waited, he peeked through the window, but it was completely sealed off by a thick black curtain.

After a minute the door opened halfway, and Ryan Miller stared suspiciously through the gap. He was in his early fifties, with gray-threaded hair and a hooked nose. His eyes were small and close together, and he was so scrawny that Connor instantly pegged him for an addict. The scent of marijuana and litter boxes drifted from inside the trailer, and a cigarette was clasped between his yellowed fingers.

“Are you Ryan Miller?” Connor asked.

Ryan sucked on the cigarette and squinted. “Depends who wants to know.” His gaze darted to Charlotte, and recognition dawned in his eyes. “Holy shit, I know you two. You’re the ghost-hunter people from that show.”

“We are. You and I spoke on the phone a few days ago.”

Ryan’s thin lips curled. “I knew that Caller ID blocking shit didn’t work.”

“We have a few questions for you. Can we come in?”

Ryan took another drag on the cigarette. “I don’t know about that. I ain’t got much to say.”

Connor pulled two twenties from his pocket and held them up. “Still don’t have anything to say?”

Ryan snatched the bills and stuffed them in his pocket. “Come in.”

Inside the trailer dirty clothes were piled on every possible surface. Empty Cheez-It and pizza boxes were stacked on a counter that had more crumbs than the bottom of a chip bag, and everywhere Connor looked there were ashtrays overflowing with cigarette butts and charred roaches. Cat boxes lined an entire wall of the living room—Connor counted six—although he didn’t spot any of the little fur balls.

There was no place to sit, and Ryan didn’t make any effort to shift the junk, so instead they stood awkwardly between the living room and the kitchen. “Why’d you call me, Ryan? You said you knew more about the Celeste family history than most. You told me I was going to have bad luck if I didn’t stay away.”

Ryan shrugged and pulled on the cigarette. He blew the smoke in their direction like a giant asshole. “I was trying to help you out, man. My granddad always said those Celeste bitches were witches. Swore it up and down. Said they stole our future from us when they murdered my great-great-grandfather, except they never had to pay for what they did because bad shit happened to anyone who ever investigated them.”

“Who was your great-great-grandfather?”

“Some rich town founder. He inherited a buttload of money from his father but went into politics like some fucking idiot. When he was murdered, his son spent every last penny trying to prove it was the Celestes, but before he could get justice, he died too. Some shady shit if you ask me. Bastard left the rest of us broke. I coulda been a millionaire if it weren’t for the Celestes.”

Connor shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to relax his posture into easygoing-buddy stance. “Any idea why your ancestors thought the Celestes were responsible? Or why they thought they were witches?”

“They didn’t think they were witches; they knew .”

Charlotte said, “Do you have any proof?”

Ryan laughed. “Proof they’re witches? Gimmie a break, babe.”

Charlotte stiffened beside Connor, but she remained professional when she said, “I meant do you have any letters or diaries—anything that corroborates your grandfather’s stories?”

“Are you calling me a liar? You know, I didn’t have to warn you. I was doing you guys a favor, and then you show up here acting like some fucking movie stars when—”

“She’s not calling you a liar,” Connor interrupted in a soothing voice, “but we have asshole bosses at the network who demand proof of everything so we don’t get sued. Trust me, if it was up to us, this would be in the next show.”

Appeased, Ryan stubbed out his cigarette and said, “I might have something, but it’ll cost you a little extra.”

Connor fished out another twenty and handed it over.

“I’ll be back in a minute.” Ryan stuffed the bill with the rest in his dirty jeans pocket. “Don’t snoop around my shit.”

As soon as he retreated into the bowels of the trailer, Charlotte opened her mouth to say something, but Connor shook his head. She closed it again but mouthed, “He’s an asshole.” She’d get no argument from him there.

Charlotte hitched her purse higher on her shoulder and wandered around the living room, studying the photos on the walls. From where he stood Connor spotted several photos of Ryan holding large fish against icy-white backdrops. Charlotte paused before a framed photo of two men, and her eyes widened as she beckoned Connor over.

Connor glanced at the hallway where Ryan had disappeared, and strode toward her. The photograph was slightly out of focus, but when he saw who was in it, he sucked in a breath.

“What are you gawking at?” Ryan appeared at the entrance to the living room, a worn Bible in one hand. “I thought I told you not to snoop.”

Connor gestured to the photo where Ryan had his arm slung around another man’s shoulders. “We know him. That’s Jeremy O’Toole.”

“So fucking what?”

“You guys friends?”

Ryan squinted. “Cousins. His dad and my dad are brothers.”

“But you don’t have the same last name?” Charlotte asked.

“His dad was already married but fuckin’ around when he got his side chick pregnant, so Jeremy got his mom’s name. Why do you care so much?” he asked, suddenly suspicious.

“We don’t,” Connor answered, but his mind was racing. Ryan claimed to know the Celestes were witches, which meant Jeremy would have heard the story too. Was that one of the strange things about Holly that Jeremy had mentioned to Amy? Had Jeremy dated Holly despite the rumors or because of them? Exactly how much was he like his great-great-grandfather, Councilman Miller? Jeremy wanted to go into politics like his ancestor, but did the similarities end there? Or did he have some ulterior agenda with the Celestes?

Ryan turned away from the photo and peeled open the cover of the centuries-old family Bible. He pointed to the name Jonathan Miller written inside. “That was the guy they murdered. This belonged to my great-great-grandfather.”

Connor pulled his phone from his pocket and asked if he could take photos. Ryan stared him down until he handed over another twenty. Once the money disappeared, Ryan nodded, and Connor started snapping.

Ryan flipped to the back of the Bible, where a few pieces of paper had been tucked away. He took one out, unfolded it, and handed it to Connor. It was faded and yellowed, and the paper was so creased it was barely in one sheet anymore. Connor’s eyes ran over it. It appeared to be a town tax proposal, but it cut out halfway through, and at the bottom someone had jotted a few notes, almost like a modern-day to-do list. Connor recognized the writing from the town records he and Charlotte had already studied. It belonged to Miller.

Ask Mary to write down what she saw through her window that night.

Mail our accounts to the newspaper. Will it be enough? It will be their word against ours.

Cut down the apple tree for proof.

Suggest to Thomas that I may be willing to forget what I saw in exchange for his signature.

Connor took another picture and tried to stifle his excitement. “Would you be willing to sign a release saying we can show these photos on television?”

“Welllll,” Ryan said, rubbing his jaw and drawing out the word, “that would cost you.”

Connor produced another twenty, and Charlotte produced a release form from her giant purse.

A few minutes later they were back in the cab of the truck, and Connor was reversing out of the driveway. “Who is Mary?” Charlotte asked. “What did the councilman see that night? Both he and Autumn have referenced a particular night where he supposedly saw something . Autumn claimed it was a misunderstanding, but now we have this Mary as a witness.”

“Whatever happened that night, it convinced Miller that Autumn Celeste was a witch. He thought exposing her would give him the ammunition he needed to force Thomas’s signature.”

Charlotte blew out a frustrated breath. “What did he need the signature for?”

“I’m guessing it had something to do with the station Autumn mentioned in her letter.” Connor flipped on his blinker and exited the trailer park. “The most intriguing part to me was the note about cutting down the apple tree for proof. What the hell was that about? Proof of what? Was the tree related to what he saw that night?”

Charlotte tugged on one of her pigtails. “I don’t know. We haven’t had a case this mysterious in a long time. When we get back, I’m going to start looking into all the Marys who lived in town in 1820. I’m starting to think the Celeste/Miller mystery is going to take more than one episode to get through.”

Connor was thinking the same thing, and he was pretty sure he knew how Holly was going to feel about that.