Truth

I'd never thought about how our characters were shaped by what we'd suffered, but Mrs. Moore was right. We were stronger for what we'd endured. 

"The deaths of Beth and Herb shattered Delia," continued Mrs. Moore. "And she never could make all those jagged pieces fit together again. Until she met your father. David was good for her." She sighed heavily. "Then he died, too. A car accident of all things. I think Delia felt cursed losing her parents and her husband the same way."

"She was devastated when Dad died," I said. "We all were."

"Yes. But Delia wrapped her grief around her like a protective cloak. She withdrew into a world only she could occupy. There wasn't any room for you girls."

"No," I said softly. "There wasn't."

I rocked back in the chair. I'd cried into my pillow many nights, unable to rely on my mother to hug me and tell me everything would be okay. I'd done that for the twins, though. They were young, just toddlers, but they felt Dad's loss, too. "I can't help but think how things would be now if my father was still here."

"You shouldn't waste time thinking about what could be. Focus on what is." She paused then she pinned me with a narrowed gaze. "And you should ignore those idiots in the coven. Only fools and sycophants would allow Dorianna Miller to lead their ranks."

I agreed whole-heartedly. But that didn't negate our need to be recognized by the coven as legitimate witches.

Our whole lives in this town hinged on acceptance. And with the new evidence of Mom's innocence—it was more important than ever that I get back into the coven.

It would be easier to find out what really happened the night Mom and Doug died with the support of Garden Grove's witches. 

I reached behind me and touched the letter. "What if… Mom didn't kill herself or Doug?"

Mrs. Moore lifted her head and stared at me. "What?"

I took the letter from my pocket and handed it to her. She grabbed her glasses from the nightstand and put them on. As she read the note, I saw the blood drain from her face. "Oh, dear Goddess." She glanced at me, her face as white as a sheet. "How did you get hold of this?"

"I found it tucked inside a paperback on Mom's nightstand."

Mrs. Moore gripped the letter so hard, I thought she might accidentally tear it. But then she relaxed her fingers and pressed the paper down against her lap.

"If I present the note to the coven, they'll lift the ban on me and my sisters." I felt giddy with renewed hope. "My sisters will get into the Garden Grove Witch College. I'll open the apothecary again. We'll be welcome in town." Everything I'd been working toward for the last eight years could come to fruition tonight. 

"You should leave the past alone, Cassie." Color had returned to her face, but her expression held seven kinds of worry.

"How can you say that?" I shook my head. "I have to know what happened, Mrs. Moore. If Mom and Doug planned to combine their magic…" Another idea struck me. "Maybe it was an accident. Maybe they'd tried to integrate their powers and instead, the spells ended up killing them."

"Possibly," said Mrs. Moore. She sighed. "Sheriff Cooper wasn't a witch, but he knew enough about the craft to recognize black magic spells. Mate-bonding magic draws from the love of the couple. Even if it didn't work, it's not the kind of sorcery that would end life."

She was right. Besides, if it had been a mate-bonding spell gone awry, Sheriff Cooper would've told me. That was a much better story than a black-magic murder-suicide. "Why would the Sheriff think Mom did the deed?" I asked. 

"Doug died first, so he didn't enact the spell. Since only two bodies were found in the grove—and there wasn't any trace of anyone else, he made the obvious conclusions. Especially after interviewing Carol. She told him Doug had ended things with Fiona, and your mother had been angry about it."

I frowned. "How do you know?"

"I talked to Sheriff Cooper. I wanted to be sure he had it right. I knew it would devastate you girls knowing that Delia had killed herself and Doug. Believe me, child. I would've done anything for it to be different. He showed me pictures of the…um, crime scene." She shivered. Then she looked at me. "And he gave me a copy of the report. Murder-suicide was the only conclusion."

"But he didn't know about the letter."

"That might change things. If Delia isn't the killer, then someone else in this town is. And they won't be happy you're kicking over hornet nests."

Grumbler had said the same thing. The real killer would be put on notice. Humans couldn't use magic, much less black magic.

So the killer was probably a witch.

And all witches in this town, aside from the Willowstones, belonged to the coven. By presenting the evidence tonight, I would also be letting a potential murderer know that the jig was up. 

But who knew for sure? 

"You think anything's going to change because of this note?" Mrs. Moore held up the paper and shook it. "Dorianna and Tilda Miller don't want you or your sisters anywhere near the coven. Everyone in town would rather spit at you than risk the wrath of the Millers." 

"They can't deny us," I insisted. "I don't care what Tilda or Dorianna says—the truth is the truth."

"You have one small piece of a puzzle, Cassandra. What you don't have is the truth." She looked at me, her gaze filled with sorrow. "People create their own stories about their pasts. This town's narrative about your Mom gives them a reason not to look deeper into their own guilty hearts. You think they're gonna give up their sacrificial goats that easily? Better to aim their fear and anger toward you and your sisters than face their own sins."

Her words held a veracity I didn't want to acknowledge. "We're legacies. We belong there."

"I know that's what you believe." 

She handed the letter back to me. I folded it and tucked it into my back pocket. "I have to try, Mrs. Moore."