Page 65 of Into the Dark, We Go
The door opened just a crack, enough for the witch to peek out and see who was disturbing her peace. She looked more disheveled than before, her face etched with worry, hair twisted into a messy bun.
"Ain’t nothing to discuss with you," she said, looking up at him as she blew her fringe off her forehead. "Folks ‘round here didn’t just up and die till you showed up."
I winced at hearing the same thing twice in one day.
"At all?" Nick didn’t try to conceal the skepticism in his voice.
"Not like this," Tilly retorted.
"Wanna chat about how exactly he died?" Mitch suggested, pushing the door open and stepping inside. Mathilda moved reluctantly, letting us all in, then locked the door behind us.
"You jump into somethin’ without knowin’ what it is, then try to figure it out? Bless your heart, sugar." Her condescending tone didn’t match her stern expression. "Listen up. You’re strangers here. You don’t know our ways or our land. I’m gonna give you some advice: get on outta here. Leave before things get any worse and somebody else gets hurt."
"Miss Blackwood… Tilly, we’re not going anywhere until you tell us what you know. Someone has made negative comments about you. We think it would be in your best interest to talk to us." Mitchell sounded very formal.
She stubbornly shook her head. "Like I said, I don’t know nothin’."
"How about we tell you what we know first?" Mitch offered, setting his backpack on one of the display tables and pulling out the photos from Duane’s place. "Look at this. Who are thesepeople? Why are all the dates during Harvest Moons? What was this doing at Duane’s place?"
Mathilda folded her arms. "Seems like you’re more full of questions than answers. But like I said, I ain’t got nothin’ for you. Whatever notion you got in your heads, I want no part of it."
"My mother was from around here." To my surprise, Nick stepped forward. He hadn’t mentioned his mother to anyone before.
Tilly waited a second, as though deciding how to react. Then her eyes softened."I knew her."
Her response caught us all, including Nick, off guard.
"You did?" he asked in disbelief.
"Uh-huh."
"What happened to her?"
"I don’t know. I’m sorry. She was a good person, just a might hot-headed at times."
"Help us. Please," he said, holding her cat-like gaze.
Mathilda hesitated.
"We just need to know what Duane and Lucas were asking you about. We know you talked to both of them," I said.
She tsked. "They were plumb foolish. Huntin’ for that dadburn grimoire?—"
"What does it have to do with anything? Isn’t it just a tourist trap story?" Mitch still struggled to make sense of it.
Mathilda rolled her eyes. "I’m tellin’ you what I know. Don’t like it, then leave."
"No, please, continue," Mitchell pleaded.
"Like I said, whoever owns the grimoire has the power. And what to do with that power—well, that’s up to each person."
June had had enough. "Cut the crap. What’s up with the symbols? We saw one in Amanda’s photos, that little punk Sammy carved one into a tree, and we saw some in Duane’shouse, but apparently, he decided to paint over them before someone offed him!"
Mathilda raised an eyebrow. "He painted over them?" She chewed on this. "Or perhaps someone didn’t want him snoopin’ around? Didn’t want whoever else came to talk to him seeing anythin’?"
Until that moment, we had never seriously discussed the possibility that our publicly seeking Duane might be the reason he was dead. As much as I hated to admit it, it added up.
"What did you tell Duane and Lucas? Where did they go?" Mitchell wasn’t playing games.
