“Hey, would you mind plugging this in for me?” Stephen asked as he handed me the electrical cord from his laptop.
I did as he requested while he opened it and booted it up.
“I have a question for you,” I said, sitting back down in the chair. “Did you ever meet with Ben Jessup?”
“No,” he replied, his eyes never leaving the computer screen. “We were going to meet Monday.”
I leaned forward in the chair. “What about Karen? Do you think she’s okay?”
Stephen’s eyes stayed on his computer. “She’s fine. I called her last night. She’s staying at her sister’s in Idaho.”
“Good.” I clasped my hands around my knees. “I was afraid something else had happened when I couldn’t reach her.”
“Left her cell phone in St. Louis,” he murmured as he began to type on the keyboard. “She didn’t want to risk being tracked. She’ll be back to work next week.”
I was shocked. “She’s still working for you?”
“Yeah, we’ve always known something like this could happen.” He typed faster. “She waited around too long to leave St. Louis. Next time we’ll know better.”
We sat not speaking, the only sound in the room Stephen’s fingers flying across the keyboard.
“Well,” I said slapping my legs. “I’d better go—it’s my first day back at work.”
“Hey, wait a minute,” he said, finally looking at me. “I’d like to see you again. Our first meeting didn’t go so well.” He smiled ruefully. “But I promise the next one will be better.”
As I returned his smile, I thought about Madeleine and Henrick. Although he’d loved her and avenged her death by sacrificing his own life, he was unwilling to make room in his life for her. She’d been “on the side.” Watching Stephen, I knew he would be the same way. Anyone in his life would only be needed between books. They would never be let into the life that existed for him in the room that overlooked the river.
No, the wheel of fate had turned. Madeleine and Henrick’s circle was closed. And I didn’t want to be a part of whatever new challenges, new circles, Stephen faced in this lifetime. I had my own to face.
Standing, I stepped close to the bed and laid a hand on his arm. He stopped typing and looked up at me.
“Thank you, but I don’t think there’s room in your life for a small-town librarian like me.”
His eyes widened in surprise. “But—”
“I’m glad you’re going to be okay, Stephen.” I gave his arm a little squeeze. “And you can bet I’ll be anxiously waiting to read the next Stephen Larsen book, but for now, I want to get back to my own little world.”
Before I left the room, I paused at the door and glanced over my shoulder. Stephen’s face wrinkled in a frown as he read something on his laptop, and then his fingers once again flew across the keyboard.
With a smile, I turned and walked down the hall.
I skipped up the steps to the library. It felt good to be back where I belonged. It was a feeling tinged with a sense of sadness whenever I thought of the Gaspards, but tonight Tink would be home and all would be right with the world.
I stopped just inside the door and let my eyes travel the room. Darci stood hanging over the counter, gossiping with Georgia. An elderly woman, dressed in linen pants and a summer weight cardigan, browsed the history section. I didn’t recognize her. Hmm, she must be new to Summerset.
My gaze landed on someone I did know. Evita stood looking over the latest young adult books.
Striding over to the counter, I scooped up a handful of candy and strolled up behind her.
Bending close, I whispered in her ear, “Finding any books about smiling dogs?”
With a squeal, she twirled around and clasped my waist. “Miss Jensen, you’re back!” she exclaimed.
“So are you,” I said, patting her head with my empty hand. “Here, hold out your hands.”
When she did, I dropped the candy into them.
“So many,” she whispered, wide-eyed.
“They’re for all the books you would have returned over the past couple of weeks,” I said, chuckling.
“Thank you.”
I crouched down in front of her. “Are you doing okay?”
She nodded, her black curls bobbing up and down. “Papa had to talk to the police,” she answered in a low voice.
“I know.”
Before Bill arrived that night, I’d insisted that Antonio say nothing about why he had come to the church. He hadn’t shot anyone, and in the end he helped save us by tackling Enrico. Why bring any more trouble to his house?
“Papa is sad about his sister,” Evita continued, “but he said to give you a message from him.”
“He did?” I asked, smiling at her.
Again she nodded and leaned close to whisper in my ear. “He said to tell you you’re a pretty good bruja.”
My laughter rang out. “Tell him thank you, okay?” I said, straightening.
“I will…Mama’s waiting,” she said, dancing around me and toward the door. When she was at the doorway she turned back and called out, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yes, you will,” I replied in a confident voice.
I took a step toward the counter when the elderly woman wearing the sweater approached me.
“Yes? May I help you?” I asked.
“Oh, no,” she replied in a heavily accented voice. “I’m just looking around while my son and daughter-in-law shop at the antiques store.”
“Well, we’re very proud of our library,” I said with a grin. “Are you just passing through?”
“Yes, we’re from St. Louis and on our way to Minnesota.”
“To one of the lakes?”
“Yes, I hope it’ll remind me of Sweden, where I spent most of my childhood with my parents,” she said, her dark eyes watching me intently.
I shifted a bit uncomfortably under her close scrutiny.
She noticed and chuckled softly. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to stare, but you remind me of someone.”
“That’s okay—I’ve got one of those average faces. People always think they know me from somewhere,” I replied with a nervous little laugh as I crossed to the reading table and picked up a pile of magazines.
“No, this is someone I knew long ago, but I think of her often. In fact, you really don’t resemble her.” She pointed back toward the young adult section. “I couldn’t help eavesdropping on your conversation with that little girl, and the way you spoke to her reminded me of the woman I once knew.”
“Oh, that was Evita.” I grinned and fanned the magazines out on the table. “She’s a real charmer.”
“You gave her sweets. The woman I knew gave me candy, too. It was the best I’ve ever tasted,” she said as her eyes took on a faraway look. “And the last time I saw her…I was so cold that night and she gave me her stocking c—”
She didn’t finish. A woman came rushing in the door and over to her. “There you are—we were worried.”
The woman’s eyes refocused, and she looked at the younger woman with a frown. “I told Jack where I was going.”
“Oh,” the younger woman replied with a flap of her hand, “you know how he is—he never listens. Are you ready? He’s waiting in the car.”
“Yes.” The elderly woman turned to me and took both of my hands in hers. “Thank you for listening to an old woman’s reminiscing.”
“My pleasure,” I said, squeezing her hands. “Stop by again.”
I watched as the two women headed for the door. The younger woman suddenly halted. “Rosey, aren’t you hot in that sweater?”
With a roll of her dark eyes, she allowed her daughter-in-law to help her out of the cardigan. She turned and looked at me from across the room. “Thank you again,” she called as her daughter-in-law took her arm and escorted her out the door.
My mouth went dry and I couldn’t speak. My legs felt like lead. All I could do was lift a numb hand in good-bye as the door closed beh
ind them.
My eyes filled with tears as I stood staring at the closed door.
When Rosey had turned, I saw the amulet that had been hidden by her sweater, hanging from her neck. It gleamed in the light with a fire all its own.
Four petals surrounded by a golden circle.
Acknowledgments
Serendipity is the effect by which one accidentally discovers something fortunate, especially while looking for something else entirely.
With every book, I’ve been fortunate to experiene a certain amount of serendipity, but this one has had more than its share! And I would be remiss not to thank those who took the time to ferret out information for me, answered my endless questions, and basically held my hand through the whole process!
Sarah Durand—it’s been a real pleasure working with you on this series, and you’ve had a tremendous impact on who Ophelia and Abby have become. You truly have the patience of Job when it comes to working with your authors! Best of luck always!
Stacey Glick—you’re the greatest! Your support has meant so much to me, and I thank my lucky stars that I have you in my corner!
Joanna Campbell Slan—your friendship means the world to me, J.! Your words of wisdom and no nonsense advice always pull me through. Thanks for helping me keep things in perspective, and, yes, I’ll remember to “quit worrying about it and just write the dang story!”
The Grasset family—Luc-Olivier, Barbara, and Fiona.
Many, many thanks for being my “eyes” on Paris! Barbara, I still can’t believe you went to the town archives and researched garbage collection circa 1941 for me! And Fiona and Luc-Olivier, the information you provided for me on the Catacombs, points of interest, and places where the characters might have lived in Paris were invaluable.
Armando Villareal, Administrator for the Division of Latino Affairs—thanks, Armando, for taking the time out of your busy schedule to give e a perspective on what it’s like for undocumented workers in this country.
Ron and Linda Mark—thanks for letting me use your name, Ron! And thanks to both of you for all the background into the Iowa wine industry! I’ll look forward to opening a bottle of your wine when this book is released!
My friends—Cheryl, Cindy, June, and Theresa. I know murder and mayhem isn’t always your favorite topic of discussion, but thanks for listening to me anyway!
And as always, my family—Eric, Christine, Scott, and Sara. It isn’t easy having a writer for a mom, but thanks for respecting my work and understanding how important it is to me.
Oh, and one last thing—any mistakes in this book are strictly mine!
All the best,
Shirley
About the Author
Take a life-long interest in the paranormal and mix it with a vivid imagination. Let the potion simmer in a small Iowa town, and the result is the Ophelia and Abby mystery series written by SHIRLEY DAMSGAARD.
Shirley, author of numerous published short stories, resides with her family in small-town Iowa, where she has served as Postmaster for the last twenty years. An Agatha Award nominee for Witch Way to Murder, she is currently working on the next Ophelia and Abby mystery, which again touches delightfully on the paranormal.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
The Ophelia and Abby Mysteries by Shirley Damsgaard
THE WITCH’S GRAVE
THE WITCH IS DEAD
WITCH HUNT
THE TROUBLE WITH WITCHES
CHARMED TO DEATH
WITCH WAY TO MURDER
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
THE WITCH’S GRAVE. Copyright © 2009 by Shirley Damsgaard. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub © Edition DECEMBER 2008 ISBN: 9780061977916
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