Gilt Hollow (26 page)

W
illow studied the figure at the other end of the veranda, from his dark pants tucked into knee-high boots, to his billowing black shirt, to the silken mask that covered half his face and tied at the back of his head. His features were concealed, but Willow knew the line of his jaw, the tilt of his head. And yet she hesitated.

Was Ashton the villain everyone believed him to be or the boy she'd fallen in love with? She took a step forward, her breath misting the air, as images layered one over the other in her mind: Ashton climbing the house to save her brother, his sweet voice as he talked her down from her panic attack, his unguarded plea for forgiveness after his accident, and finally, his tortured gaze as he told her what had happened that day at the falls. Warmth flooded her soul, and before she knew it, she was halfway across the balcony.

Impatient as always, Ashton straightened and closed the distance between them in three strides. As he neared, Willow saw the sword swinging at his hip and her earlier chill melted into delicious tingles. The summer she'd turned twelve, they'd watched
The Princess Bride
so many times they could quote every line. Her eyes moved to his face. Stubble covered his jaw and upper lip, and his dark hair hooked behind both of his ears. The black of the mask contrasted with the blue of his eyes, making them appear to glow. Was he
trying
to make her swoon?

He stopped and crossed his arms in front of his chest, a smile hovering around his lips. The costume was perfect—the
villain who's really a hero in disguise. But even better, she knew he'd worn it for her.

Willow arched a brow. “The Dread Pirate Roberts?”

“I saw no reason to change my costume just because Princess Buttercup canceled our date.”

Her chest gave a squeeze. “Touché.”

Ashton stepped closer and raised a finger to trace the crystals near her temples. “You're beautiful.” His eyes held hers. “But you always are.”

“Ash . . .” Willow's gaze flickered to his mouth, and she wished, despite everything, that he would kiss her—kiss her until she didn't care that he was leaving, until she forgot that her heart was breaking. She bit her lip to stop the plea from slipping out. “When are you leaving?”

“In the morning.”

“Oh.” She'd known it would be soon but had hoped for a little more time. “Why are you here?”

He stared at her, and for several long moments he didn't speak. His jaw hardened and she could tell he was clenching his teeth. A brisk wind tugged at her hair and the tails on Ashton's mask as the sounds of the party faded away.

“Willow, you not talking to me the last few days . . .” His voice broke off as he settled his hands on her shoulders, his thumbs brushing softly against her exposed collarbones. “You're wrecking me, you know that? I'm trying to do the right thing to keep you safe, but I can't think about anything but you.”

Willow shivered hard and focused on his throat, watching the muscles contract as he swallowed.

“But that's exactly why I have to go. My judgment is totally clouded and I can't . . . I can't protect you when I don't even know
who
to protect you from.”

“I don't need your protection,” Willow snapped. But when she raised her eyes, his deep blue gaze seemed to drink her in, and her control shattered, her next words a plea. “Stay. Just tell me you'll stay.”

He searched her face and after a long pause, whispered, “I will
never
make promises to you that I can't keep.”

His words gouged at Willow's heart. How could she have thought for one second that he'd been lying to her? He was hot-tempered and sometimes impulsive, but he was good. So good and honorable that it made her feel like a selfish child. But she couldn't seem to help herself; she wanted him more than she'd wanted anything her entire life. Tears burned her eyes and clogged her throat.

“Please, don't cry.” Ashton took her hand. “It's not like we'll never see each other again. We can Skype. You can come visit me in the city.”

“That's not the point!” Willow jerked away from him and pivoted to face the lawn. “If you're willing to leave, then you don't feel the same way I feel about you.”

He leaned close, and his next words brushed like a caress against her neck. “How do you feel?”

Willow didn't want to bare her soul, but maybe the truth would be the one thing that would change his mind. She turned into him and placed her palms against his chest. “Like I don't want to spend a day without you. Like together we can accomplish anything.” Her throat tightened, but she pushed on. “Ashton, I'm in love with you. I think I've loved you half my life.”

His chest expanded as he drew a shaky breath, his eyes softening just before he tore his gaze away. Willow searched his profile for some sign that he returned her feelings, but as he exhaled his mouth hardened, and when he looked back
at her, his expression closed her out. “I love you too. But it doesn't change anything. I wish it did.” Then he turned on his heel and strode away.

Stunned, Willow stared after him. Ever since the first time they'd kissed, she'd dreamed about Ashton confessing his love to her, but never like that—like it was a burden he had to bear, a mountain he had to climb. Hot tears spilled onto her cheeks. All the stories her father had read to her when she was a child had ended with the villain's defeat and true love's kiss. But they never told what followed the happily ever after. Or what would happen if you fell in love with a pirate and not a prince.

Willow dabbed under her eyes, purple and silver glitter coming off on her fingers. Clearly this was no fairy tale or her makeup would still look perfect—and the killer would be behind bars. Reining in her tears, she squared her shoulders and reentered the ballroom. A slow, romantic song played, and a disco ball spun overhead, flecks of light blanketing couples glued together at the hip. The sight made Willow want to scream. Maybe she should head home where she could lick her wounds in peace.

“Is that you, Willow Lamott?”

Willow looked down to find Mrs. M, wearing her ever-present cowboy boots, but this time with a black witch's frock and a pointy hat pinned to her gray hair. She patted the empty folding chair beside her. “Come sit with a lonely old woman for a moment.”

Who could say no to that? Willow sat, and they watched the dancers. Lisa twirled in the arms of Reggie the linebacker, who'd removed his grotesque alien mask. The music transitioned into a slow, creepy tune, but that didn't seem to put a damper on the making out. An uncomfortable feeling
in her hands caused Willow to loosen her grip on the edge of the metal chair.

Searching for a distraction, she turned to Mrs. M. “So, how have you been?”

“Right as rain.” Her wrinkled cheeks stretched into a grin. “Every day not in the grave is a good one, I say.” She chuckled and then looked around. “Would you happen to know the time?”

Willow grabbed her purse to check her phone, but the chain caught on her bodice, and half the contents spilled out before she unhooked the bag from her laces. She tucked her lip gloss back inside as Mrs. M bent down in slow motion and reached for an object on the floor.

“I'll get it.” Willow swooped down and picked up the large metal key she'd taken from Colin's room.

Faster than Willow thought her capable of moving, Mrs. M snatched it out of Willow's hand. “Where did you find this?”

“Well . . . I . . . er . . .” Willow searched for some kind of lie, but so many possibilities entered her mind that she couldn't settle on one.

“It looks like part of a gift I brought back from England for Colin and Cory.”

Willow reached for it, but Mrs. M deftly switched it to her other hand. “Handcrafted boxes with their names engraved on them.”

Listening now, Willow lowered her hand. “You got a box for both brothers?”

Mrs. M stared at the key as if it could unlock the past. “Mr. McMenamin and I found the boxes at a quaint little shop in Somerset. They had all shapes and sizes, carved with hundreds of different names. We found Colin's, but we had
to have Cory's specially made. So there was only one key.” She turned tearful eyes to Willow.

“I'm sorry about your nephew, ma'am. It was a terrible tragedy. But this is just an old key I found at Keller House.” She took it from Mrs. M's limp hand. “Tons of antiques in that place.”

Willow slipped the key back into her bag. Perhaps there was a reason she'd held on to it after all. An insane idea began to form in her mind. “Mrs. M, have you seen the Martins here tonight?”

“Bill and Caroline? Why, yes.” She pointed to a couple dressed like ketchup and mustard bottles out on the dance floor.

Perfect.

Willow stood. “I need to run. I just remembered I'm supposed to meet someone.”

Mrs. M gave her a wave. “Have a good evening, dear.”

Willow raced out the back doors and down the stairs into the garden. The Martins' house was just on the other side of the trees and through the graveyard. If she hurried, she could be back before the headless horseman's ride and sparkling cider toast.

If she found evidence that identified the real killer, then no one else would get hurt, and Ashton could stay. She flew down the lantern-lit path and patted the bag at her waist. Maybe the key
could
unlock the past.

A
shton leaned against a Grecian pillar, sipping witch's brew and watching the ridiculousness on the dance floor. If his soul hadn't been a jumble of barbed wire and molten rock, he might find it hilarious that a man in a pink bunny suit was dancing with a woman dressed as a lamp—fishnet stockings and all. Willow would have laughed and suggested they steal the idea for next year.

His spine stiffened. Willow actually
loved
him. It was beyond his wildest hopes, but it felt like she'd carved his heart out with a spoon. Love wasn't something he knew how to deal with. Hate, anger, indifference—all those he could process. Even so, he knew what he felt for her was real because it was transformative. It made him want to be the person she deserved. And that person was willing to give her up to save her life.

Not in the mood for a party, Ashton hung back and enjoyed the relative anonymity of wearing a mask. He would stay as long as Willow was here, just to make sure she was safe. He drained his cup and tossed it in a wastebasket, then searched the room for a glimpse of the purple and silver sparkles of his enchanting fairy girl. In the middle of the dance floor, he spied Lisa with Reggie and Yolanda, but he didn't see Willow. He scanned the nearby refreshment tables, and not two feet away stood a boy in a checkered suit with an enormous top hat perched on his dreads. Something inside Ashton snapped, and without another thought, he grabbed Isaiah around the shoulders and forced him into a dark hallway. “We need to talk.”

“Dude, let go!”

Isaiah and his crooked cop father had been at the root of every evil in Ashton's life. Red clouding his vision, Ashton shoved Isaiah through an open doorway and slammed him up against the wall. His voice a low growl, he demanded, “You pushed Daniel because he caught you dealing. Didn't you?” Isaiah struggled, and Ashton jabbed an elbow into his diaphragm. “Tell me now!”

Isaiah let out a grunt, his eyes watering as he fought to breathe. He shook his head, his hat toppling to the floor.

Ashton read the fear in his eyes. Good. “Did you lie to the police about it or did your daddy cover it up just like the drugs?”

When he didn't get an answer, Ashton pressed his forearm against Isaiah's windpipe. “Spill, or I swear I won't be responsible for what I do to you in the next two minutes.”

“Okay.” He croaked. “I lied. I lied!”

Ashton eased off Isaiah's throat but kept him pinned against the wall. “About what?”

“About . . . about you . . . pushing Daniel. I didn't see it.”

“Yeah, you lied. Because
you
pushed him!” Ashton gave Isaiah another slam, his head snapping back.

“No, Ashton, I swear on my mother's life, I didn't do it. The Martins . . .” His throat convulsed. “The Martins gave their testimonies, and then my dad . . . my dad said it would go better for me if I just agreed with them.” The tension left his body as if he'd been waiting to say those words for a lifetime.

“But Daniel saw you dealing drugs.”

“Yes, but after Daniel talked to my dad, he agreed to keep quiet if I promised to stop. And I did. I never touched the stuff again.”

Ashton searched Isaiah's face. “But why would one of the Martins push him?”

Fear flickered across Isaiah's gaze, and this time it wasn't because of Ashton. That had to change. Ashton moved back, kicked the door shut, and then unsheathed the sword at his hip. Isaiah froze as Ashton pressed the tip to his throat. The sword had been his grandfather's, and although dull, it was very real. “I have nothing to lose by stabbing you. The chief already thinks I tried to kill Penelope. It's only a matter of time before he has me thrown in prison.” Ashton twisted the sword, pressing the tip into Isaiah's skin.

“Stop! Please! I'll tell you everything!”

“You have sixty seconds.”

Isaiah started talking in a rush. “I've been trying to help you guys. You and Willow. The threatening SnapMail messages were from me.”

Ashton's heart skipped and he jerked forward, clenching a fist.

“No! I was trying to warn Willow. To protect her!”

“Go on.”

“I've been . . . been following her since you got back to town. Afraid something might happen to her. But I knew she would never trust me, so I stayed hidden.”

The tension in Ashton's spine released a fraction. “Why? Who did you think would hurt her?”

“I wasn't sure. But after I cleaned up my dad's flyers and my locker got—”

“
Chief Kagawa
put up the wanted posters of my face?” Ashton was floored.

Isaiah nodded. “He paid some kids to do it. He's terrified you'll learn that he covered up our lies.”

Ashton shook his head in shock. All this time he'd
thought the chief believed him a danger to the public, when really he was just covering his own butt. “So you took down the flyers?”

“Yes, I . . . I felt guilty. You'd already paid with four years of your life for something I was pretty sure you didn't do.”

“Pretty sure?”

Isaiah met his gaze and then looked away. “I never actually saw who pushed Daniel. I just knew it wasn't me.”

“Funny, I knew it wasn't me too, but that didn't stop me from going to jail for it.”

Isaiah ignored his comment. “Anyway, after my locker was vandalized, I started receiving threats. Notes tucked into my locker or my binder. I even found one in my bedroom.”

“What did they say?”

“That if I didn't stop helping you, they would rat on me and my dad.”

“Who were they from?” Ashton realized he'd lowered his sword to the carpet.

Isaiah swallowed hard and stared into the dark shadows of the room. “I had my theories, but I couldn't be sure until the day of your accident.” He gathered his dreads behind his head and then let them go and glanced at the door. He looked back at Ashton, his voice a whisper. “Brayden and Colin asked to borrow my car after school that day.”

Ashton blinked, sprang forward, and raised his sword to Isaiah's chest. “You better not be lying to me!”

Isaiah raised his hands. “Dude, the Martins are crazy. I'm serious. I caught them sneaking out of the school wearing ski masks the night before my locker was trashed.”

A vandalized locker didn't mean anything except they were punks trying to get Ashton kicked out of school. “But why would one of them push Daniel? What else do you know about their trouble with the law?”

“I don't know anything for sure.” Isaiah was talking fast. “But both sets of parents met at Cory's house to talk to Colin and Brayden about it. Cory'd been sent to his room and couldn't hear it all.”

“He had to have heard
something
. What was his theory?”

“Colin had all kinds of money suddenly. He bought a dirt bike and a huge flatscreen for his room. Cory thought he might have stolen something valuable and then sold it.”

“And where does Daniel fit in to all of this?”

“Maybe he knew their secret, just like he knew mine.”

Ashton thought for a minute. Daniel's parents were crazy rich. They were the ones who sponsored the Sleepy Hollow Ball every year. “Maybe Brayden and Colin stole from Daniel's family.”

Ashton realized he'd lowered the sword again. He searched Isaiah's face for several long seconds. The guy appeared calm, almost relieved, his gaze clear. Over the last few years, Ashton had learned to trust his gut, and his gut was telling him that Isaiah was telling the truth—finally. But he had to be sure. “How do I know any of what you're saying is true?”

“I guess you don't. But I can tell you this. The day the Martins used my car to run you off the road, the moment I got it back, I went to find Willow.”

Isaiah had brought Willow home that day in the rain. “Why? Why risk angering the Martins if you're so scared of them?”

A flush crept into Isaiah's cheeks, turning his tawny skin a reddish pink. He liked her. Not that Ashton could blame him. “One more question. What do you think happened to Cory Martin?”

Isaiah's jaw flexed and something dark flitted across his
face. “I think he knew who pushed Daniel, and I think that person shut him up permanently.”

Ashton sheathed his sword. If Isaiah wasn't the killer, then one of the Martins was, and Willow had no idea. He grabbed his phone and hit speed dial. After several rings, her phone went to voice mail. “Willow, call me immediately. Do not leave the party!”

Willow thanked the trusting culture of small towns as she slid open the unlocked back door of the Martin house. She'd determined that if she wanted her happily ever after, she'd have to slay the dragon herself. Adrenaline pumping through her veins, she sprinted across the basement and up the stairs, and then paused at the top to press her ear against the closed door. She'd seen all the Martins at the ball, but trespassing in their house still scared the fairy dust out of her.

When she didn't hear anything, she slipped into the dimly lit kitchen and jogged down the hallway to Cory's old room. For some reason, Colin didn't want her to have his key, and she was going to find out why.

She eased open the door and stepped inside, shutting it behind her. Even before her eyes could adjust, she knew something had changed. The shadows were off. Afraid to chance turning on a lamp, she took two steps toward the blinds and her knee slammed into something. She bent down and felt the outline of a box.

Navigating the gloom to the window, she cracked the blinds and turned around. The entire room was in boxes. The closet had been emptied out, all the books were off the
shelves, and even the bed was stripped down. Surely they hadn't done this because of her . . . But what if they had? She had left her Solo cup on the dresser the night of the party.

Willow knelt by the first set of boxes and began to dig. She made quick work of the search because she knew exactly what she was looking for—a wooden box with Cory's name engraved on the top, one that opened with the key in her purse.

After going through several boxes full of clothes and books, she came across a plastic tub containing folders and desk items. She opened a blue folder labeled “English” and sat back on her heels. Cory had scrawled his name across the top of a paper on
To Kill a Mockingbird
. Willow's hands began to shake. She'd done the same assignment in seventh grade. These papers and books and old clothes were all that was left of a human life. And it took only one careless act to end that life forever.

Someone had killed this boy in cold blood, and it stood to reason they'd kill again to protect their secret. Willow returned the desk supplies to the box and sprang to her feet. Maybe Ashton was right—the truth wasn't worth their lives.

Turning in a quick circle, she made sure nothing looked out of place and fled into the hallway. But the half open door of Colin's room stopped her. What if Cory's box was right there? She slipped a hand into her bag and pulled out the key, gripping it in her fist like a weapon as she crept forward.

The door gave a loud creak as she pushed it open. Chaos greeted her, but this time makeup tins littered the desk and colorful costume remnants draped the bed and floor. She stepped inside. A wooden box sat on the desk, and she rushed forward. But the name on top was Colin. She blew out her disappointment in a huff.

Quickly she unlocked the box and sifted through the articles but didn't find anything incriminating. She relocked the lid as a revelation hit her—if there had been a similar box in Cory's room, whoever packed up his stuff would have found it. And based on the disorganization of Colin's room, that hadn't been him. Willow rushed into the hallway. If Mrs. Martin had packed up Cory's stuff, she would have kept anything of importance.

A soft bang sounded somewhere deep in the house. Willow froze. Could it be the heat kicking on or someone returning home? She counted to ten in her head and when she didn't hear anything else, continued on. But with every step she took across the house, her conviction wavered. She'd been wrong so many times. Maybe she should just get out of there before someone caught her and called the police.

Willow paused outside the double doors to the master bedroom. A gut-level instinct that had nothing to do with logic or facts urged her to press on. She knew she would find what she was looking for on the other side of those doors. Pulse racing, she pushed them open and slipped inside.

She spotted it the moment she entered the room, sitting on top of a low dresser. Within seconds she'd fit the key in the lock and lifted the lid. What she found was beyond her wildest dreams. A journal. Her heart thudding in her ears, she leafed through to find the last entry.

Saturday, May 12

Leaving for Heartford Forest in the morning. I hope I'll gather the courage to talk to Dad about what I've learned.