“That sounds like more of a question than an answer.” He held up a hand when I opened my mouth to reply. “Never mind.” Bill paused and rubbed his bald head absentmindedly. “I’m sure I already know the answer. Did you read it?”
Lowering my head, I stared at a spot on the floor. “Yes.”
Based on his reaction when he learned I had the book, I wondered what he’d say if he knew I not only read it, but copied it. The thought gave me a chill.
Seconds ticked by in silence. Raising my head, I turned toward him. “There’s not much in there. Just Stephen’s schedule and some phone numbers.” I stopped. “One thing I noticed—I think he either did, or planned to, talk to Antonio Vargas.”
“Vargas? The family that lives on the old Murphy place?”
Since Bill’s handcuffs still hung on his belt after my confession, I felt more at ease.
“Yes.” I crossed my legs and laid an arm across the back of the love seat. “Isn’t that odd? I mean…why would Stephen want to talk to Mr. Vargas? How did Stephen even learn of the Vargas family in the first place? Why—”
Bill shook a finger, stopping me. “That’s enough, Ophelia,” he said in a stern voice. “We’ve been through this before. Stay out of it.”
Dropping my arm, I leaned forward. “But Bill, I could help,” I argued. “Haven’t my talents—”
He cut me off before I could finish. “Stop right there. I haven’t decided what’s up with this ‘talent’ of yours.” He rubbed his head again. “I don’t know if you really do have some kind of gift, or if it’s just blind luck. You do seem to have the uncanny ability to—”
“But—” I tried interrupting him.
“I mean it, Ophelia. I won’t have you blundering around in this investigation like you have in the past.” He shoved his handkerchief in his pocket. “You’re only going to put yourself in more danger.”
More danger? I didn’t like the sound of that.
“Stephen’s the one in danger,” I said. “Unless you think the shooting was an accident, someone tried to kill him,” I pointed out reasonably.
“Maybe.”
“What do you mean, ‘maybe’? Stephen and I were alone—no one else was in the area when the shooting occurred.”
“If this was attempted murder, some forethought had to go into it. If it was premeditated, the victim was selected and a plan set in motion.” Bill sat forward, his book clutched in his hand. “You follow me so far?”
“Yes.”
Looking down, he trailed a finger over the pages of his notebook. “You were facing away from the woods with your back toward the shooter. Larsen stepped around you right before you heard the shot.”
“But—”
He snapped his notebook shut and stood. “I checked with Claire. Larsen was a surprise guest.” Bill watched me with concern written on his face. “You weren’t. Everyone expected you to be there.”
Seven
Driving back to Summerset, I stewed over Bill’s words. Me? Did I have enemies? Well…yeah. Over the last couple of years I’d been pulled into several police investigations, but as far as I knew, all guilty parties were now safely locked away as guests of the prison system. Enough time hadn’t elapsed for anyone to be paroled.
My mind flew back to Tink’s kidnapping. It had been perpetrated by a woman who was a follower of Tink’s crazy, and homicidal, Aunt Juliet. Winnie had totally bought into Juliet’s fractured view of the world and of magick. Her plan had been to nab Tink, spring Juliet from the mental facility holding her, and resume their happy cult. Not very realistic on her part.
Were there any other former cult members carrying a grudge against me? I didn’t know. They’d all seemed to fade into the shadows prior to the night Juliet tried to raise a demon. And the truth was, except for Winnie, I hadn’t met any of them. If they were lurking about, I wouldn’t have recognized them.
Anyone else? I ticked off the names of people I’d helped put in jail. Did they have families or friends looking for revenge? Maybe…anything’s possible.
My thoughts brought me no comfort. In fact, if I didn’t watch it, paranoia would become my new best friend.
The ringing of my cell phone broke into my unpleasant thoughts, and grateful for the distraction, I flipped it open.
“Hello.”
“Jensen, sounds like you came close to losing your grip on that broom yesterday.”
I almost dropped the phone in surprise. “Ethan…how did you—”
His low chuckle sounded in my ear. “I heard a news report about the shooting of some author near Summerset, Iowa. Knowing you, I figured you’d be involved, so I called Bill and he filled me in.”
“Where are you? Are you going to be popping up in Summerset again?” I crossed my fingers as I asked the question. In spite of all our disagreements, Ethan believed in my talent—he’d help me figure out what was happening.
“The answer to your first question is, ‘I can’t tell you.’”
“Right. The undercover thing. My second question?”
“No.” I heard the regret in his voice. “Not this time. I’m right in the middle of something.”
A surprising pang of anxiety hit me. “Something dangerous?”
“Hey, Jensen, you almost sound like you care.”
“Ah, well, I owe you. You helped me find Tink—”
Ethan laughed. “And almost received a reprimand as a result of our less than ‘by the book’ tactics.”
“See what I mean…I owe you.”
His voice grew serious. “No, I’m safe. This assignment is more tedious than dangerous, but that’s all I can say about it. How about you? Are you going to stay out of trouble?”
His question hit too close to home. “I suppose Bill told you his crazy theory?”
“Yup. You don’t agree?”
“No, it’s nuts,” I blustered. “I’m just a librarian. Who’d want to shoot me?”
“You mean other than Bill every now and again?” he asked with a laugh.
“Very funny.” I frowned and gave a long sigh. “This is serious. Stephen might die.” My words sounded bleak.
Silence at the other end lengthened, and for a moment I thought I’d lost our connection. When Ethan spoke, the teasing tone had disappeared from his voice. “I know you don’t want to think someone took a bullet meant for you, but you need to consider the possibility.”
“I have, and everyone who might hold a grudge is still in jail.”
“Look, Ophelia, Bill’s a good cop. If he thinks you might have been the target, you should listen to him—”
“It doesn’t feel right,” I said, cutting him off. “There’s more to this. I sense Stephen was the shooter’s quarry, and I was there for a reason…” I paused. “…but I haven’t figured that part out yet.”
Ethan’s voice took on a hard edge. “Don’t be stupid, Jensen. Don’t rely on your talent to keep you safe.”
“If I can’t count on myself, who can I count on?” I shot back.
“I told you—Bill,” he replied curtly.
My eyes narrowed and I felt my mouth settle into a stubborn line. It was pointless to argue. Regardless of Ethan’s teasing, he was still a cop, and cops stick together.
“Is delivering a lecture the only reason you called?” I asked finally.
“I wanted to make sure you didn’t do anything dumb.”
“Well, thank you so much for your faith in my ability to take care of myself,” I said sarcastically, and snapped the phone shut, disconnecting us.
I was still fuming when I reached the library twenty minutes later. Marching up the steps, I flung the door open.
The library was empty except for Darci. She took one look at my face and stepped away from the counter. “Forget that question. I was going to ask how you were, but I can see.”
I slung my purse on the shelf under the counter and gave her a scathing look. “How am I? I’m tired of everyone treating me like I’m some kind of idiot. I’m tired of everyone hovering
over me as if I can’t take care of myself. I’m tired of no one listening to me.”
“All righty then,” she said with a bright smile, and scooped up a pile of books. “I think I’ll just return these to the shelves now.”
“I’m sorry,” I said with a shake of my head. “It’s been a frustrating morning.”
“No sweat,” she replied, placing the books back on the counter. “Do I dare ask who’s not listening to you?”
With a deep breath, I tried to compose myself as my eyes traveled around the room that had been my home away from home for the last several years. A mobile that local students had made during National Library Week spun gently, while the new air conditioner hummed quietly in the background. Rows and rows of neatly arranged books filled the old building, and I felt a sense of pride at what I’d accomplished since moving to Summerset.
The place had been falling apart. The roof leaked. The beautiful wood plank floors were covered with ugly rust carpeting. It was drafty in the wintertime and roasting in the summer.
I’d worked hard, and so had the community, to restore the character of the old building. We now had a library everyone could be proud of, and every year we had more and more books checked out.
Contrary to what Bill and Ethan might think—I wasn’t an idiot. I’m good at a lot of things, and being a psychic was one of them, I told myself.
Feeling better, I turned to Darci and quickly related the morning’s events.
“Wow,” she said thoughtfully when I was finished. “You don’t think there’s a chance—”
“No,” I interrupted, “Bill and Ethan are both wrong. I know it. Whoever pulled that trigger wanted Stephen dead. I just don’t know why or who yet.”
Darci didn’t answer, and I saw the doubt in her eyes. Disheartened, my short-lived confidence faded and my shoulders sagged. “You don’t believe me either.”
“It’s not that,” she replied kindly, “but let’s be honest…your visions haven’t always been on target.”
“I read the signs wrong.”
“Are you sure you’re reading them right this time?”
“Yes, and I’ll prove it.” I clenched my hands at my sides. “There’s some kind of connection between Stephen and me. And whatever that connection is, it’s going to lead me to who shot him and why.”
Darci leaned against the counter. “How do you intend to do that? Use the runes? They won’t convince Bill and Ethan.”
“I know. I’m going back to the vineyard after work. After school, Tink’s helping Abby at the greenhouse. I’ll have time to run out there then.” I snapped my fingers. “I’ll call Claire and ask her for a copy of the guest list. See if someone had a connection to Stephen.”
“She’ll tell Bill.”
I flounced away from behind the counter and headed for the stairs leading to my office. “So? I don’t care. He can’t arrest me for asking for a list.”
“Humph,” Darci snorted. “Bill said last time he had a jail cell with your name on it. What if he decides to put you in protective custody?”
I turned at the top of the stairs and faced her. “He can’t without just cause.”
Darci rolled her eyes and glanced up at the ceiling. “You need to be careful.”
I laughed. Darci telling me to be careful? What a switch. Thanks to some of her brilliant ideas, we’d rifled files, snooped through offices, been chased by killers, and been locked in a magician’s box at gunpoint.
Her cheeks turned a faint pink as if she read my mind. “You know what I mean,” she defended herself. “You’ve had a rough time of it lately. What if your abilities are a little off-track as a result?”
My eyes widened in surprise. Her words mirrored the same thoughts I’d had last night.
Sensing an advantage, Darci took a step toward me. “I want you to think about something before you rush off to prove that you’re right. You’re willing to risk your own safety, but are you willing to risk Tink’s and Abby’s?”
Darci stayed at the counter while I caught up on paperwork in my basement office. Alone with my thoughts, I tried to concentrate on ordering books. The words and cover pictures swam before my eyes, and a task I normally enjoyed failed to hold my attention.
My gaze caught the photo of Abby and Tink, smiling at me from the corner of my desk, and my mind wandered to Darci’s question. My answer was no. I’d do whatever necessary to protect them. If I pursued my “hunch,” would my actions place them in danger? Possibly. But if Bill’s theory was correct, and someone wanted me dead, they might be at risk under those circumstances, too. What was it called? Oh yeah, collateral damage. Inadvertent casualties. The thought was unacceptable to me.
Pushing myself back in my chair, I gave up reading the catalogs. Maybe it would be better if I took a vacation and left town. Could Abby hunt me down using her psychic talents? Nope. Remote tracking hadn’t worked that well when we were trying to find Tink, but knowing Abby, she’d give it her best shot. I’d already mentioned to Abby that I wanted to know why Stephen.
What if I changed my tactics? Went back to acting like the “old” Ophelia—the one who had to be dragged into a mess like this kicking and screaming. I’d pretend that I had no intention of being involved, keep them in the dark about any potential danger to me. Say nothing about any dreams, premonitions, rune warnings, etc. Neither one of them knew I felt a strong connection with Stephen. It might work.
I slapped my forehead. Darci—I’d already shot my mouth off to her about what I intended to do, and she knew about my dreams. If she thought I was up to something, she’d go straight to Abby with her concerns. I’d have to fix that. I’d use the same approach with her as I planned with Abby. I’d tell her she was right, that I’d reacted out of stress.
Come on, Jensen, Darci’s no dummy. I scratched my head. Okay, so I’d wing it when the time came.
I leaned forward, picked up a pen and doodled on my order form. Exactly what were my options? I felt deep inside that staying out of the investigation wasn’t one of them. If my instincts were correct, I was being led down some preordained path to, at this time, a murky conclusion. One choice would be to pursue what few leads I had and get in trouble. I wrote the word trouble and underlined it.
Or, if Bill was right and I was the intended victim, unless he put me in protective custody, he couldn’t watch me 24/7. I’d be waiting for the killer to come after me and be in trouble. I wrote trouble again.
I stared down at the order form. Hmm, trouble versus trouble. Either way I was screwed. So which approach did I take? Offensive or defensive? The answer hinged on how much faith I had in my ability to find a solution. Bill blew off my ideas, Ethan doubted me, and even Darci was skeptical. I wouldn’t be getting any support from them, and I couldn’t risk asking Abby or Tink for help. I’d be on my own.
Did I have enough strength to see me through?
Yes.
I picked up the phone and dialed Claire.
Eight
Claire picked up on the second ring. “Hi, Claire—Ophelia.”
“Ophelia.” She sounded pleased. “I’ve been meaning to call you today. How are you?”
“I’m fine.” I picked up my pen and began to draw little stars around the first trouble written on the order form.
“Have you heard anything about Stephen Larsen’s condition?” Claire asked.
“I drove to the hospital this morning before work—” I hesitated, remembering the pat line the receptionist had given me. “He’s in critical but stable condition.”
Claire sighed deeply. “I feel terrible about what happened, and I’m worried about how this will affect our fundraising efforts.”
“Claire,” I replied in a shocked voice. “A man’s lying in the hospital, and you’re worried about bad press?”
“Yes, I’m concerned about bad press. Recently, a new employee kidnapped your daughter, now an author is shot at our fund-raiser,” she chided. “Let’s be honest…that’s not the kind of attention we
want for our library.”
“No, of course not, but the two incidents were unrelated,” I argued as I moved to the second trouble and continued making stars. “The shooting could have been an accident. And with Tink’s kidnapping, it was a case of something out of the past coming back to haunt us. No one had control over either situation.”
“True,” she replied cautiously.
“I really wouldn’t worry about it, Claire. You know how small towns are,” I said, my pen flying over the paper as I scribbled more and more stars. “People will forget about what happened as soon as the next scandal comes along.”
Here’s hoping I’m right.
I could almost hear Claire turning my words over in her mind.
“That’s a valid statement. No sense in anticipating trouble,” she finally replied.
I looked down at the words trouble, with stars circling around them, and stifled a snort.
Nope…no sense looking for it when it seems to come looking for you. I cleared my throat. Time to cut to the chase, Jensen.
Shoving out of my chair, I stood and walked around the corner of my desk. “The reason I called—may I have a copy of the guest list?”
Claire hesitated. “Why?”
“Um, well…” My voice trailed away as I began to pace the floor. Dang, I hadn’t thought this through. Why did I want the guest list? Inspiration flashed and I froze. “Thank-you notes,” I blurted out as I crossed my fingers.
“Thank-you notes?”
“Yes,” I answered, and resumed my pacing. “Even though the day ended badly, shouldn’t we still thank everyone who attended?”
“Well, yes…” She paused. “But how are you going to address the shooting?”
“I won’t. Everyone knows what happened. I’ll simply say something like. ‘Thank you so much for your support.’” I talked faster. “It will be a good project for me. Help distract me.”
“Okay,” she said reluctantly. “A handwritten note is always a nice touch…but I’ll take care of the note to Chuck Krause. He came at my specific invitation. Hmm, good idea,” she murmured more to herself than me. “A personal note from me will show there are no hard feelings.”
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