Witch Hunt (2 page)

Chapter One

Summer Solstice

Montvue, Colorado

Thirty-one-year-old Leigh Hawthorne had left behind the horror of the past and created the perfect life for herself. But, as the Boeing 747 chased the sun across the sky, she fought a growing fear that her fairy-tale existence was coming to an end.

It started with what her five-year-old son Adrian saw. Then the telegram reporting the deaths of her husband’s father and brother — the mysterious relatives about whom Craig never spoke. And now they were traveling from their home in New York City toward his old hometown in Colorado, a place that held the secret of the Hawthornes. Even though Leigh had spent ten years wanting to know more about Craig’s past, the impending knowledge filled her with inexplicable dread.

To relieve her anxiety, Leigh listened to the score of the musical
Razzmatazz
on her iPod. The music was dynamic and would work well with her acrobatic style of choreography, the uniqueness of which had been responsible for landing her the plum job with the Broadway show.

Against the backdrop of her closed eyelids, Leigh imagined the athletic poetry in motion that was her trademark — dramatic leaps and kicks, flashy pirouettes, and what Craig called her hot-to-trot T-and-A sexery — and was pleased with the progress of her work on the opening number. However, she was dismayed to see the form of Crista Corrigan change into her own and had a momentary struggle to change the image. Crista was the star of
Razzmatazz
. She didn’t have the incapacitating stage fright that cut short Leigh’s own career as a performer.

Leigh opened her eyes, turned off the music, and studied Craig, who sat across the aisle from her with their nine-year-old daughter Kamelia; both pored over a batch of medical journals. Like father, like daughter. The daughter was definitely not going to follow in her mother’s dance steps. From the progress Kamelia was making, Leigh guessed that she would probably be awarded the Nobel prize for medicine after performing the first successful brain transplant by the time she was eighteen years old. She grinned at the thought.

Adrian said something to her.

Leigh pulled off the headphones. “What?”

Her son sighed. “I’m mighty bored.”

“You could take a nap.”

Adrian crossed his arms and shook his head.

“I’ll rub your back.”

That served to weaken his resolve.

They lifted up the arm of the seat that divided them. Adrian lay down with his head in her lap, and Leigh gave him a gentle back rub.

“Can we tell Daddy ’bout our secret now?” Adrian asked.

Leigh’s stomach tensed. “We must never tell him, Adrian. Okay?”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Oh.”

Someday she’d have to offer him some real answers, but for now
because
would have to do.

Leigh’s thoughts turned to her other major concern — the Montvue Hawthornes. Craig had not contacted his family in twenty years. However, from the telegram that arrived it was evident the Hawthornes knew exactly where to find him.

Craig glanced up at her. “What’s going on inside that pretty blond head?”

“I was thinking about your family. What are they like?”

“Capitalistic slimeballs.”

“Mmmm. Sorry I asked.”

“Don’t waste energy worrying about it. We’re in there for the funerals and then, like the wind, we’re gone.” He blew her a kiss and turned back to his reading.

Leigh liked Craig’s style. It was … well, it was weird. Upon their first meeting, after he had inserted the speculum, he looked into her and said, “Far out.” She chose a new gynecologist, but found a husband.

“It’s a mighty long ride,” Adrian said.
Mighty
was his newest word.

Leigh looked down into his face and resisted the urge to smother it with kisses. She thought him terribly cute. Just like his father. Kamelia, on the other hand, had inherited Leigh’s grace and classic beauty. Somehow, in the baby-making, the genes had become strangely spliced. Kamelia had Leigh’s looks and Craig’s mind, and Adrian had Craig’s looks and her creativity. It was that imagination that caused Adrian to see what he had seen, she told herself for the umpteenth time. That’s all there was to it. What else could it have been? She replaced the headphones and once again became lost in
Razzmatazz
.

It was nearing dark when the small plane they chartered at Denver International Airport finally landed in Montvue. A man with graying temples and troubled eyes met them at the airport’s tiny terminal. He did a double take when he first saw Craig; the shaggy collar-length hair, wire-rimmed glasses, baggy pants, and oversized shirt — Leigh called it Craig’s mad professor look — obviously weren’t what the man in the expensive tailored suit had expected. However, he quickly offered Craig his hand. “My condolences.”

Craig shook his hand. “Ray.” He nodded toward Leigh and the children. “My ball and chain and the two little anchors.”

Ray looked uncomfortable.

Leigh smiled. “We keep him from floating away. I’m Leigh. Our children, Kamelia and Adrian.”

“Ray Hunter. Partner in Craig’s father’s law firm.”

“You’re some kinda family, too. Right?” Craig asked.

“Some kind.” Ray chuckled. “Whatever have you become, Craig?”

“Free.”

Ray shook his head, took two suitcases in hand, and led them to his Cadillac.

Montvue was a town of twenty-five thousand people, built where the foothills of the Rocky Mountains met the rich farmlands of the eastern prairie in northern Colorado. Even in twilight, Leigh was impressed with its picturesque beauty. On the outskirts of town, sprawling farms stood against a backdrop of blue snowcapped mountains. As they entered Montvue itself, they were greeted by wide, clean streets lined with a variety of shade trees; old, mostly Victorian-style homes; spacious, well-kept lawns; colorful flowers and bird baths dotting the landscape; and old-fashioned lemonade stands abandoned for the day. Leigh’s stomach ached. This was the kind of hometown she had longed for in her childhood. An unwelcome mixture of emotions welled up as she compared Craig’s comfortable, upper-class roots to her own seedy background. Leigh looked at her husband with surprise. She would never have imagined him in such a wholesome, all-American setting. Did she really know him at all? She felt her insecurities surge, and her face became hot.

Without looking at her, Craig reached across the seat and took her hand. “Boring towns breed boring people,” he said.

Did he know what I was feeling?
she wondered. “You’re not boring.”

“Yeah, well, I did a lot of drugs after I split.”

Leigh at least knew him well enough to know that wasn’t true. From Ray’s sidelong glance in Craig’s direction, it seemed he wasn’t so sure.

“So, how’s the old witch doin’?” Craig asked.

“If you’re referring to your mother, as well as might be expected,” Ray said. “You certainly seem to be taking this tragedy quite well.”

Craig took off his glasses and cleaned them with his rainbow-colored tie. “I loved Dad and Curt. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here. I’m sorry my grief isn’t evident enough to please you.”

The car pulled into a cobblestone driveway, and they passed through an open wrought-iron gate. A gold-lettered sign on the tall, spiked fence said
HAWTHORNE MANOR.
Leigh gawked open-mouthed at the grounds through which they drove. Beneath the ancient beauty of several towering oak and maple trees, was an expanse of formal Roman gardens. A large fountain flowed lazily, the water dark in the dim light. Statues of Roman gods and goddesses dressed in green ivy were scattered throughout the yard. Carved sandstone benches were set among the multitude of flower beds, and blazing torches perched on a variety of stands.

When they turned a bend in the drive and Leigh caught her first sight of the mansion, she gasped. It was a three-story Queen Anne style house with steep-pitched gabled bays, ornate wooden balconies, and prism-cut leaded glass windows. Ray parked at the foot of the stairs, which led to a large porch that curved around the house, encircling half of the first floor. The front door was open, and, as Ray unloaded suitcases from the trunk, Craig led his family into his childhood home.

The foyer was overflowing with sympathy wreaths and flower bouquets, but the room itself was dominated by a large statue of winged Mercury. In front of it, a lit brass oil lamp hung from the ceiling by three delicate chains. The oak parquet floor, polished to a dazzling sheen, reflected the flickering of the flame.

They walked into the parlor, which was brightly furnished with antique rugs and furniture and colorful Tiffany lamps. An elegant fireplace and a baby grand piano dominated the room.

“Wow,” Kamelia said.

“Pretentious, isn’t it?” Craig said.

Leigh shook her head. “It’s wonderful.”

A woman appeared beneath an arched doorway that opened into the depths of the house. Her strawberry-blond hair, streaked with gray, was stylish, and her face, beautiful. However, her voice — which had a cultured English accent — was hard. “Craig.”

“Mother.”

“Thank you for coming.”

“Sorry I had to.”

“Of course.”

Leigh, embarrassed by the coldness of their exchange, tuned it out and studied the older woman. Her fair coloring indicated that Craig inherited his dark looks from his father’s side of the family. She glanced around, hoping to see a picture of Alan Hawthorne.

There was a loud commotion, and the room filled with people.

A bent, elderly woman shuffled over to Craig and threw her arms around him. “Oh, Craig.”

He didn’t hesitate to return her embrace. “It’ll be okay, Aunt Glynis.”

An electric wheelchair rolled toward Craig, and the old man in it extended his hand. “My boy.”

Craig grasped his hand. “Uncle Dori.”

A teenage boy and girl stood in the corner and regarded the visitors with cool expressions.

Ray deposited his load of suitcases in front of the fireplace. “Don’t know where you want these.”

“I’ll take care of them,” Craig said.

There was an awkward silence as everyone studied one another.

“It seems there’re a lot of people here who don’t know each other,” Glynis said at last.

Craig cleared his throat. “The big beautiful blonde is Leigh. The little beautiful blonde is Kammi … Kamelia. The one who looks like me, only neater, is Adrian. I call him Slugger.”

No one said anything. Leigh took a deep breath to steady herself.

“From the fond hellos, I’m sure you’ve figured out that Glynis and Dorian are my aunt and uncle.”

“How do you do?” Leigh said politely, and then felt an instant regret. She knew how they were doing, and it wasn’t very well. She wished she had just said hello. Besides, she found herself worrying that her Brooklyn accent was still too pronounced despite all her years of trying to rid herself of it.

No one responded to her anyway.

Adrian scrutinized his grandmother carefully. “Are you the old witch?”

A slight smile played at the woman’s lips. “I imagine so.”

“Mighty big hi,” he said.

Vivian studied Adrian for a few moments with a bittersweet expression — Leigh wondered if she were recalling another little boy whom he resembled — before responding. “Hi.”

Glynis pointed to the teenagers. “That’s Jason and Melanie, Curtis’s children. He’s seventeen. She’s sixteen. They’re orphans now. Did you know that Julia passed over when Melanie was born?”

“I didn’t know,” Craig said. “I’m sorry. Julia was special.” He looked at the teenagers. “I’m your wayward uncle.”

“We’ve heard about you,” Jason said.

“Yeah, I’m sure you have.”

“Is Leigh … well, you know?” Melanie asked.

“Nope,” Craig said, and six pairs of stony eyes turned to stare at her.

She didn’t know what she wasn’t, but Leigh suddenly wished she were somewhere else.

“And the children?” Vivian asked.