by Angela Zeman
“Meteor shower? What could that do?” asked Rachel.
Mrs. Risk gazed at the Mayor, her black eyes gleaming. With a mischievously taunting voice, she answered, “Any atmospheric disturbance further agitates spirits that, in this case, would already be restless because of the advent of Halloween.”
“Not true,” scoffed Harper in an oddly high voice. Mrs. Risk shrugged. Harper blustered, “I hereby go on record to say I disapprove of your promoting these dangerous ideas.”
Mrs. Risk’s eyebrows rose. “Herbalism?”
“All of your nonsense. My people don’t need this kind of upsetting occult influence.”
“Your people?” Rachel asked in a voice tinged with sarcasm. “Occult influence?”
“Yes. Things have happened already because of you!”
The ‘you,’ Rachel realized with consternation, was aimed at Mrs. Risk.
The mayor resumed, “Like the desecration that occurred in one of our historical cemeteries last night. I don’t know if you read your paper this morning but—”
“I read it,” Rachel stated flatly. Mrs. Risk insisted she read newspapers every morning as part of her ‘education’, but she didn’t tell this to the mayor. “The old Van Schull cemetery. Two old tombstones were shifted around and—” she broke off and gazed suspiciously at Daniel. His face suddenly became angelic with innocence as he gazed back. She suppressed an urge to laugh. There had to be a girl behind this.
Mrs. Risk made an inelegant noise. “A few old tombstones budged mere inches does not amount to desecration, Mayor. A little harmless excitement.” A flicked wink at Daniel spurred him into a flurry of sweeping. “And pray God the quest for thrills precipitates nothing more harmful than THAT.”
Mayor Harper curled his lips into a snarl. “It upsets my people. I intend to put a stop to it and make sure the perpetrator is severely punished. This is a Christian community. Occultism is an abomination!”
With a second abrupt change of mood, Mayor Harper beamed a cheery farewell to Rachel, sidling out past Mrs. Risk without acknowledging her any further.
The moment he was out of earshot, Rachel turned on the witch—who stood deep in thought—in a fury. “That old actor. He’s up to something, and he thought of it the second he spotted those herbs. And YOU! I told you you’d get into trouble with your hammy ‘Witch of Wyndham’ black dresses and the way you butt into people’s business. Few people realize that you’re actually nice. You’ve flim-flammed them too much.”
Mrs. Risk examined her in surprise. “Why Rachel, you’re upset. I’m in no trouble. I live as I please and do as I like, and I always will. If you’re worried on my behalf, don’t be. I’ve done more good for these villagers than even you know, and the mayor less harm than he deserves. I’ve never asked them for gratitude—”
“And they’ve never given you any, either,” hissed Rachel.
“No matter. Surely they’d never side against me for such an obviously self-interested windbag. Public servant, tchah! He obviously considers me an obstruction to his re-election. Since I’ve done nothing up to now, I can’t imagine why he’s so paranoid, except from having to conceal and deny so much of his true nature, which is hardly my fault.” She shrugged.
Rachel frowned. “Just don’t goad him, like you did about that stupid meteor shower. You’re asking for trouble.”
“I ask for nothing,” insisted Mrs. Risk. “Now, Daniel, what are your questions?”
After a nervous glance at Rachel, Daniel launched with reborn enthusiasm his quest for information about witches, which Mrs. Risk greatly enjoyed supplying.
Two days later, Mayor Harper stormed into Rachel’s shop again, this time shouting as he entered, “Where’s that witch? I warned her! Where’s—” He started as he nearly collided with the object of his quest, Mrs. Risk.
Rachel gazed from face to face worriedly. Daniel came rushing in from the back alley where he’d been unloading pumpkins from a truck. He moved close to Rachel’s side, wiping his hands on a towel and staring wide-eyed.
“What are you howling about?” Mrs. Risk asked calmly. “Are you referring to the events that occurred last night in the cemetery again? That’s certainly no—”
“You’ll promote no more witchcraft shenanigans, or we’ll be having an event occur,” he sneered the words in sarcastic mockery, “in the District Attorney’s office. Or maybe in the lock-up, if you don’t feel like cooperating.”
Rachel was shocked.
Mrs. Risk looked incredulous. “It’s only youngsters. Didn’t you ever cavort in a graveyard on Halloween with a pretty girl when you were young, Harry?”
Harper seethed with anger. “Cavort? This is no cavorting, although maybe you’d think so. This is disgusting.”
“What did they do?” asked Rachel.
“Devil worship,” he spat out in a rage. “Drawing diagrams on the ground, disturbing graves, crazy music, girls doing—God only knows. Under the influence of hallucinatory drugs, probably.”
“Meaning you don’t know, you’re only guessing,” insisted Rachel furiously. “No, you’re hoping. You’re trying to smear Mrs. Risk because without her support, you’re losing your campaign. She’s done nothing at all but tell people she’s going to vote for Ms. Green and people respect her opinion. I’m voting for Ms. Green. We need less scum on our waterfront.”
Mayor Harper turned to Rachel. “You’d better re-read your lease before you start talking to me like that.”
Rachel paled. What did her lease have to do with Mayor Harper? “Get out of my shop!” She started towards him, but he gave her a look which somehow stopped her.
He glanced around the flower-crammed store with exaggerated care. “I always thought this place would make a great liquor store. These plants, too damp. Probably rotting the floor with all your watering. And bugs. Unhealthy. I’ll bet a good inspection could reveal this place of business to be dangerous to customers.
“And that picture of you—open to an obscenity charge.” He contemplated Rachel’s large nude portrait of her reclining among strategically placed colorful blossoms. A famous local artist had painted it, and she’d hung it on the wall behind the counter and used it as her logo. Daniel often could be caught mooning over that painting, to Mrs. Risk’s distress.
Harper tore his gaze away from the painting. He gave her lush figure a lascivious inspection. “Well, it could just be that you’re too much under the influence of this woman, here. You’re young, you could reform. After she’s gone.”
A growl begin in Daniel’s throat. Rachel elbowed him in the stomach.
Harper returned his attention to Mrs. Risk, evidently considering Rachel dealt with. “We find out who’s doing these outrages, they’re going to jail. And you with ’em—as instigator. The villagers are terrified, so I’m here on their behalf to stop you. Halloween is in two days—”
“Two nights,” corrected Mrs. Risk in a droll tone.
Mayor Harper’s face deepened in color. He pointed a stubby finger at her. “No one but me has the guts to confront you, you’ve intimidated the entire village!”
“Uh, Mayor,” began Daniel hesitantly, his face pale. “Mrs. Risk didn’t have anything—”
Rachel elbowed him harder.
Mrs. Risk looked amused. “Is this a new plank in your sagging platform?” And giving a startlingly good imitation of the mayor’s speech-making voice, she boomed, “‘After I inflate this ordinary situation into a problem, watch me solve it by running the evil witch out of town—never mind the truth is that she’s only a threat to my reelection! I’m your man to get things done!’” She laughed. “I suppose it has as much merit as the rest of your rhetoric.”
This enraged the Mayor into speechlessness, but as soon as he recovered his breath, he said in a menacing voice, “We don’t like creepy things happening in our village. Get out. Leave town now, today, before you’re made to go in a veeerrry uncomfortable way.” He turned on his heel and left.
Daniel turned to Mr
s. Risk with an agonized expression. “I’ve got to tell you. You don’t understand, I’m—”
“Daniel,” said Rachel through clenched teeth. “We understand very well. Don’t worry about it. You’re not the problem.” He stopped talking, but his eyes looked bruised.
Rachel’s breath came in gasps as she paced, alternately tossing empty baskets about and ripping fingers through her long curly hair. “Throwing you out of town! It’s our village, too. I knew he was a snake, but this—” She stopped. “What’s that about my lease?”
Mrs. Risk grimaced. “He obviously thinks he has the power to get you evicted, dear. I’ll call Bob Blume, the attorney. He’ll look into it for you.”
“All of a sudden now I need a lawyer?” Rachel sank down onto a stool behind the counter. “I can’t afford a lawyer.”
“Bob is a dear, he’d never charge you.”
In the ensuing silence Daniel returned to his unloading job, pausing on the way to give Rachel’s shoulder a companionable bump with his fist. He looked miserable.
After he left, Rachel’s and Mrs. Risk’s eyes met.
Mrs. Risk said, “It’s not like Daniel to pull pranks, but these are thoroughly harmless, regardless of what Mayor Harper has stimulated the more gullible villagers into believing. It’s Halloween, dear. He’s young, his hormones are in a constant uproar.” She flicked a dismayed glance at Rachel’s portrait and sighed. “He’s an admirable young man, and daily withstands formidable pressures. We can’t allow Daniel to become a victim of Harper’s re-election campaign.”
“I’ll warn him,” said Rachel.
Mrs. Risk shook her head. “I think you may consider him warned. He needs no further embarrassment.”
Rachel looked around her shop, suddenly exhausted. Then she frowned at Mrs. Risk. “Are you going to let Harper get away with this?”
“With what?”
“With making you the—the scapegoat. Like you’re a bad influence or something, making people want to get rid of you. You’re going to defend yourself, aren’t you?”
Mrs. Risk flipped a hand negligently. “Ignore his ravings. He’s trying to nullify the effect of my support for Ms. Green. I have no intention of paying him the compliment of taking him seriously.”
“Your nasty remarks made everything worse, you know. You deliberately made him madder.”
“It would be more precise to say that my stating of my opinion aggravated him beyond what tiny reason he possesses…but so what?”
“So what? He ordered you to leave Wyndham!” Rachel cried in frustration, which brought Daniel running in again from the alley.
“Never mind, dear,” said Mrs. Risk soothingly to Daniel. “She’s fine, although a bit flustered at the moment. I must run.” And she left.
Early the next morning, Mrs. Risk and Rachel were sharing herbal tea and the New York Times and other newspapers in Mrs. Risk’s cottage—a morning ritual—when two visitors arrived unexpectedly at her door. Mrs. Risk admitted them out of the drizzling rain and offered them tea.
Mayor Harper curtly refused, and held out his umbrella to drip on her stone floor.
He’d brought with him a Trustee of the Village Board, Dr. Villas, who glowered, but mostly at the mayor, it seemed to Rachel. Knowing him, she guessed he resented having been dragged away from his patients at St. Boniface Hospital.
“Come sit by the fire, dry off,” Rachel invited.
Dr. Villas waved a hand. “Thank you, no. Last night two corpses were found—”
“I read it in this morning’s paper,” interrupted Mrs. Risk. “Any identification made?”
Mayor Harper cleared his throat loudly and at great length, disliking the way matters had leaped forward without his control. He intoned sonorously, “They had been slit up the middle, drained of all blood, and then crudely sewn back up.”
Mrs. Risk gave him a cool glance. “Yes. I found that aspect fascinating.”
“You would,” Mayor Harper sneered. “You go too far, Mrs. Risk.”
Her expression said she found this statement incomprehensible.
He continued. “You know what the villagers fear?”
“What now?”
“Vampirism!”
Dr. Villas closed his eyes and turned away.
Rachel said scathingly, “Vampires are a fairy tale, Mayor. Do you believe in leprechauns, too?”
“This is no fiction, young lady. If you’d seen the two unfortunate beings, as I did, their bodies—”
Dr. Villas interrupted sharply. “That’s enough. No one forced you to view the bodies, Harold. So don’t shove the image down their throats.”
The Mayor gave him an impatient glance, then added, “They say you’re not only a witch, but a blood drinker.”
“That’s ridiculous!” exclaimed Rachel. She turned angrily to Mrs. Risk. “Can’t we sue or something? Isn’t this libel or—or slander? Call Bob Blume!”
“Calm yourself, Rachel. No one would possibly believe such a flagrant—”
The mayor cut in loudly. “The villagers cower in their beds, fearing who you’ll choose next as victim!”
Dr. Villas winced. “Harold,” he began, but was cut off.
Mrs. Risk said, smiling sweetly, “You should cower in your bed, Harry, afraid the villagers might realize your contempt for their intelligence. If you leave my house swiftly, I’ll consider not telling them. Otherwise,” she shrugged. “I can’t be held responsible.”
Mayor Harper took a deep, contented breath that confounded Rachel. “You’ll see.” He chuckled. “C’mon, Doc.”
Dr. Villas glanced uncertainly at Mrs. Risk, then followed him out.
After she shut the door on them, Rachel turned to Mrs. Risk and said, “He’s too happy to suit me. You must see now, you have to do something.”
“Don’t be silly.” Mrs. Risk laughed. “The villagers might be foolishly going along with this outrageous theory, but not in their hearts. They’ll soon recall that in all the years I’ve lived here, I’ve done them only good. They’ll throw this idiot out on his ear at the election.” She walked calmly back to her chair, sat, and picked up her tea cup.
Rachel watched her sadly. “In the last two years, you have opened my eyes to so much. Why are your eyes now closed?”
“He’s stirring up a false crisis, Rachel. Then ‘solving’ it to make himself look effective.”
“Yes!” said Rachel. “But the villagers—maybe they don’t really think you drink blood or anything stupid like that, but some are jealous of you. See, most work hard for a living, but still only just hang on. It’s expensive to live on Long Island. And here you sit on your fanny, doing whatever you feel like—as you keep telling me—not working a day in your life as far as any of us can see. Nobody, not even me, knows how you can afford it.”
“That’s no one’s business but my own,” said the witch distinctly.
“I’m not denying it. And I’m not denying jealousy is petty and wrong, too, but people feel it. And most are scared of you. You’re an intimidating person. You’ve gotten some out of scrapes, sure, but some of them you’ve caught doing wrong.”
Mrs. Risk said softly, “Rachel, some people are content to merely live. I am one of those who needs something to live for. A mission, you might call it. And since my peculiar bent of mind has been found to be of use to others, that’s what I live for—to be of use. Life is hard. I have much to give, so I give it.”
After a long silence, Rachel said, “But that doesn’t change the fact that Harper’s harvesting all those old resentments, offended egos, and fears. And you’re letting him.”
Mrs. Risk stared into the fire.
Rachel took a deep, ragged breath. “Maybe this meteor shower has done a lot worse than stir up imaginary spirits. Maybe it’s robbed you of your common sense. I’ve got to go.” Fighting back tears, she grabbed up her jacket and fled.
Later that morning, when the rain stopped and the sun again lit the colorful fall landscape, Mrs. Risk took up her bask
et. Her cat, Jezebel, hopped inside, and they went for a stroll through the village. Through Mayor Harper’s village—his possessive words returned to her mind, but she shook the thought away. Her village.
Instead of choosing the short route along the strip of beach that edged Wyndham Bay, she took the longer way, the road that fronted her neighbors’ houses, so she could greet them, and gossip. Be friendly.
The first person she saw was Vinnie the mailman. As she approached, she noticed his expression becoming anxious. Before she could arrive within speaking distance, he baffled her by hopping into his truck and rapidly driving away, the small engine straining to navigate the hill.
Nearer the village proper, the road became edged with boardwalks. She strolled down the boardwalk, and as she progressed, people crossed to the opposite side of the road when she came into sight. Jezebel poked her head through the flap opening of the basket and yowled, almost as if she could feel the tension mounting around her. When Mrs. Risk crossed the road to the side opposite the bay, people disappeared into this shop doorway or that, melting out of her path.
Abruptly, Mrs. Risk stopped and stared down the oddly empty boardwalk. She stood for a moment, stroking Jezebel’s sleek head, then whirled and returned home, this time taking the shortcut, the more deserted beach path. When she finally arrived at her cottage, she phoned a few friends. “It’s Halloween Eve. I have a Bordeaux that wants sampling,” she invited. She tried not to be, but was still surprised when only two would come. Aisa Garret and Ernie Block.
After dinner, having sampled and judged two Burgundies of varying pedigree and vintage, along with the star Bordeaux, the three friends gathered in front of her fireplace with coffee. The evening had passed uneasily.
A smile creased old Aisa’s thin face as he rocked back in his chair. “Excellent dinner. Two of those wines are real finds, I compliment you. Now. What’re you going to do about this mess Harper has created around you, my dear?” He asked the question offhandedly, and seemed preoccupied with the label of a bottle of cognac twice his age and almost too bulky for his small hands to grasp. From his perch on a large padded stool, Ernie fiddled restlessly with his coffee cup which he had balanced on the apex of his pot belly. He nodded his approval of Aisa’s question and watched Mrs. Risk sharply out of the corner of his eye.