The Witch Is Dead

by Shirley Damsgaard

  Did Kenaz mean Tink would be lost to the Finches because I adopted her? Given the way the legal system worked, an adoption was bound to be full of delays, as indicated by Isa. And I would experience anxiety, another element shown by Kenaz, until the whole process was finished. Frustration? Well, if Juliet were sane enough to realize what was going on, losing Tink would certainly vex her. All in all, bad news for the Finches—good news for me.

  My apprehension lightened.

  Wait a second—my question hadn’t been about the adoption. It had been: How can I protect her?

  I felt dread come crashing down as the answer stared up at me.

  Strife, stress, and loss relating to the family. And in the end, any efforts to prevent them would be frozen. I wouldn’t be able to protect Tink. Whatever the Fates had planned, the course was set, and I was powerless to change it.

  The next morning, I stood staring out the window over the kitchen sink as I finished my bowl of cereal. I’d tossed and turned all night while my brain searched for another interpretation of the runes. I didn’t like what they told me. There had to be a way to keep Tink safe, and I wouldn’t quit searching until I’d found it. I had no intention of letting a little thing like Fate stop me.

  I turned as Tink walked into the kitchen. She was dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, as if she were ready to spend the day working at the greenhouse, but her eyes were shadowed.

  “Feeling okay?” I tried to keep my tone light.

  She lifted a shoulder. “Yeah. I guess,” she replied after getting a bowl out of the cupboard and pouring cereal. She picked up one of the puffed balls and popped it in her mouth.

  “Don’t you want milk on that?” I asked, opening the door to the fridge and handing her the jug.

  “Whatever.”

  “Wait a second.” I took her arm and pulled her toward me. Laying a hand on her forehead, I studied her face. “Are you sick?”

  She shrugged me off and walked over to the table. “I dreamed about Walks Quietly last night.”

  We’d met Walks Quietly, a Native American shaman, at the same time we’d had our run-in with the Finches. He’d been Tink’s protector and friend. I never did quite figure out exactly what kind of gift he possessed, but whatever it was, it was powerful. Dang, why hadn’t I thought of calling him for advice? It would be difficult to reach him—he didn’t have a phone in his cabin. But I could call the sheriff and ask him to contact Walks Quietly for me. I filed the idea away in my memory banks.

  “Really?” I said, following her. “You haven’t dreamed about him for a long time, have you?”

  Sitting at the table, she poured the milk over her cereal. “No.” She took a spoonful and chewed it thoughtfully. “In the dream, we were in the woods. Walks Quietly was ahead of me, and I was running after him.” Staring off into space, she took another spoonful. “I never reached him,” she mumbled with her mouth full. “He disappeared into the woods. I was afraid to go any farther along the path…”

  “Same place as in the dream with the corpses?”

  She nodded without speaking. “I remember thinking in the dream that the path led to them.” Placing her spoon in the bowl, she rose and carried it to the sink. “Next thing I know, I was awake. The woods and Walks Quietly were gone,” she said, dumping the cereal down the garbage disposal.

  I watched her with concern. If Tink didn’t start eating more, she’d lose weight. And she didn’t have it to lose. I needed ways to improve her appetite.

  “Hey,” I said throwing an arm around her shoulders. “Isn’t the Farmer’s Market tonight?”

  “Yeah, Nell’s coming to the greenhouse this afternoon to help pick sweet corn and fresh tomatoes. She’ll set up the stand with us.”

  I noticed her pink shoulders. “If you’re working outside all day, you girls make sure you wear sunscreen.”

  “Okay,” she answered, rolling her eyes.

  A thought suddenly occurred to me. “How much does Nell know about Aunt Dot?”

  Tink gave a small snort. “Don’t worry, I told her Aunt Dot was kind of eccentric.”

  I guess that was one way to describe her.

  “Nell thinks it’s cool. Said she wished she had someone in her family who was different.” Tink chuckled. “She said all her aunts do is crochet.”

  Darci joined me after work at the Farmer’s Market, and as we strolled around before joining Abby at her stand, she peppered me with questions.

  “How did you like Gertrude Duncan?” she asked.

  “I think she’ll be okay,” I said, picking up a muskmelon and sniffing it. Not as good as Abby’s, I thought, setting it down and moving to the next table. “I feel kind of sorry for her. Sounds to me like the salary isn’t important to her. She sees the job as her chance to get away from her mother for a couple of afternoons a week.”

  Darci tapped her chin. “Hmm, I haven’t heard anything about her mother.”

  “From what Gert said, I got the impression that they haven’t lived in the area very long.”

  “I’ll have to check Gert and her mother out with Georgia.”

  I laughed. “It doesn’t make a difference what Georgia thinks, Darce. I’m sure the library board will be calling her tonight and offering her the job.” I turned to Darci and gave her a questioning look. “Do you think you’ll be able to work with her?”

  “I guess,” she replied in a neutral voice.

  “Hey, what’s the deal? Don’t you like her?”

  “I don’t know. There seemed to be something familiar about her. Like I’ve met her before.” She stepped away from me and over to the next stand.

  I hurried after her. “Like what?”

  “Hard to say,” she replied, shrugging off my question. “Oh well, I’m not the psychic. Maybe it was just some kind of déjà vu. I read somewhere when you have that kind of reaction to a person it means you knew them in a past life.”

  I laughed. “So you think you knew Gert in a previous incarnation?”

  “Maybe,” she said, grinning. “It could have happened.”

  “Darci, you’ve been hanging around Abby too long!” I exclaimed with a smile.

  “No more about Gert…let’s talk about something important. What are you wearing tomorrow night?”

  “Tomorrow night?” I asked perplexed.

  “Yeah, silly, the speed dating—”

  “Wait a second,” I interrupted. “I told you I wasn’t going.”

  “Oh sure you are,” she replied with a careless flip of her hand. “I’ve already paid the fee. And no, you don’t have to thank me—”

  I stopped in my tracks and cut her off again. “I wasn’t planning on thanking you because I’m not going.”

  Darci tossed her blond hair and said, “You wouldn’t want a struggling college student to waste her money, would you?”

  “That’s the struggling college student’s choice. And you’re not going to use money to guilt me into going,” I replied heatedly.

  She ignored my objections as she strolled over to a table with fresh baked pies lined up in a neat row.

  “Yum, these look good, don’t they?” she asked, holding one up. With a smile at Mrs. Simpson sitting behind the table, she dug a couple of dollars out of her pocket and handed them to her. Pleased with her purchase, Darci sauntered over to me.

  “I don’t understand why you’re so dead set on doing this,” I commented with a frown. “I would’ve thought after what happened with Danny, the last thing you’d want right now is to get involved with someone else.”

  “You mean because he lied and played me for a sucker?” she asked in a light voice.

  “Well…yeah,” I replied with a tinge of sarcasm.

  She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Just because one relationship was with a louse, it doesn’t mean the next one will be. I learned from my experience with Danny that I’m okay alone, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to find someone special.” The corner of her mouth lifted in a grin. “After all,
you know what they say. ‘Men are like buses, if you miss the first one, there’s always another one coming along.’”

  “Ha! I’ve heard that’s what men say about women.”

  “So? The same applies to men.”

  I thought for a moment. “That may be fine for a woman your age, but at mine, the next ‘bus’ usually has a few parts missing.”

  “Very funny,” she said over her shoulder. “You’re not that much older than I am.” She stopped and faced me. “I can tell you this—if you don’t ever step out of the nice comfortable little rut that you’re in, you’re never going to know if any parts are missing or not, ’cause every single ‘bus’ is going to drive right by.”

  “I’m not in a rut,” I said defensively.

  Darci gave me a knowing glance.

  “Okay, maybe a little—”

  She walked up and threw an arm around my shoulder. “It’ll be a new experience for you,” she said with a shake. “We’ll have fun, even if we don’t meet anyone interesting.”

  Maybe she was right. Lately it had been one thing after another—and most of it not too pleasant. Murder and mayhem were like that. Maybe if I focused on something positive, like a little fun, it would draw more positive things into my life. Help me deal with whatever situation I might be facing with Tink.

  Darci sensed my hesitation and pressed home her advantage. “Seize the day, Ophelia. Step out of the rut—”

  “Okay, okay, I’ll do it,” I said, finally giving in.

  “Good,” she said with a squeeze. “I’ll come over early to help you. I’ll do your makeup and hair; I’ll pick out something for you to wear…” She paused, and I could almost see her going over my wardrobe in her mind. “On second thought, I’ll bring clothes from my closet.”

  “I’m not your dress-up doll, you know,” I grumbled, stepping away from her grasp.

  Darci opened her mouth to reply but was cut short by Tink and Nell tearing over to where we stood.

  “That creepy guy we saw in the woods is here,” Tink said, her eyes wide.

  My eyes traveled the crowd searching for him as Darci said, “What guy?”

  “We were letting the dogs go for a run at Roseman State Park when this man startled us,” Tink explained excitedly.

  “What was his name?” Darci asked.

  “Silas—” She broke off and pointed. “There, he’s over at the table next to Abby’s.”

  Darci’s eyes narrowed when she saw the man in the slouched hat buying fresh-picked green beans. Her nose wrinkled.

  “You know him?” I asked, watching her expression.

  “Yes,” she replied, her lips tightening. “He runs Green’s Crematorium.”

  “I didn’t know there was a crematorium around here,” I said in a shocked voice.

  “It’s not really in Summerset, and it’s a small one. He only does business with a few funeral homes in the area.” Darci stared at him as she spoke. “He also owns land over by the state park. One of the guys I dated a couple of years ago rented it from him.”

  I nodded. “He said he was checking fence—” I stopped abruptly as Silas Green, feeling our eyes on him, turned and caught us staring at him.

  With a smile, he tugged on his hat, acknowledging us, and then moved away.

  As he’d stretched his mouth back from his crooked teeth, I noticed the way the late afternoon sun seemed to glint off his long incisors, and a chill ran through me.

  Nine

  Friday night Darci had arrived as early as promised. As I sat in her car hurtling toward Des Moines, I wondered for the millionth time why I had agreed to do this. Even preparing for the event had been a strain. I’d been curled, powdered, and primped until I barely recognized the face staring at me from the bathroom mirror.

  Tink had gotten into the act, too, by giving her opinion on the different outfits Darci had brought from her own closet. Darci’s pants were all too long, so it was a struggle matching my slacks with her blouses. Once she and Tink came up with the coordinating ensembles, they insisted that I model each combination of shoes, tops, and dress pants while they picked apart how the clothes looked.

  As a result, I learned that my favorite pair of linen slacks made my hips look too big, I did not own a decent bra and really, really needed to shop at Victoria’s Secret. I also learned that three-inch heels, even though they pinched, gave me the stature my five-foot four-inch frame was lacking. Finally, my stylists decided on pants the shade of dark chocolate—darker hues are slenderizing, don’t you know—and a camisole with a matching ivory top of georgette that draped softly over my shoulders and tied at the waist. The clothes, according to my personal fashion consultants, “rocked” and I looked “awesome.”

  In my opinion, it was Darci who was amazing. She didn’t have to worry about clothes adding too many pounds. Her fitted black slacks hugged in all the right places, and her shirt was exactly the right shade of blue to bring out her eyes. She wore her hair in a tousled twist that gave her a “come hither” look without being obvious. I didn’t doubt that every man there would be fighting for her phone number.

  It was good to see Tink smiling and laughing. And it was one of the reasons that I allowed them, with as much graciousness as I could muster, to treat me like a life-size Barbie doll. I still feared what the runes had predicted.

  Abby pointed out that maybe the course had been set, but it didn’t mean that I couldn’t alter the degree of negativity. If I stayed sharp and kept my senses alert, I could still do damage control. Worry would only cloud my judgment and make me ineffective, so I buried my concerns in the back of my mind.

  A jab in the ribs brought me out of my reverie.

  “Quit stewing about this,” Darci chided.

  “I’m not. I’m only doing this to humor you,” I replied empathically.

  Darci shot me a glance. “No butterflies?”

  “Of course not,” I lied, ignoring the knots in my stomach and the cold sweat threatening to break out at any minute.

  “How bad can it be?” she asked, lifting her chin a notch. “What did the handout say? Six minutes talking with each guy. What’s six minutes?”

  A lifetime if you’re sitting across the table from a complete stranger, with your mind a mass of jelly and your mouth feeling like it’s stuffed with cotton.

  I kept my sarcasm to myself. Instead, I asked, “What do I talk about?”

  In the dim light of the dashboard, I saw Darci roll her eyes. “Here’s a flash—how about Ophelia Jensen?”

  “Uh-huh,” I answered wryly. “Do I tell them at the beginning of the six minutes about the witch thing, or leave it until the end?”

  She chuckled. “Ahh. I think it would be wise not to mention you’re a psychic.” Tapping the steering wheel she thought for a moment. “Everyone likes talking about themselves, surely—”

  “I don’t,” I answered quickly.

  “Let me rephrase that—most people enjoy it. But if you don’t want to tell them about yourself, try asking questions.”

  “Like what?”

  “Jeez, I don’t know. Try, ‘What’s your idea of a perfect date?’ Or, ‘What hobbies do you enjoy?’ And there’s always, ‘Describe your sense of humor.’”

  “Wait a second.” I grabbed my purse and began to rummage.

  She took her eyes off the road for a second. “What are you doing?”

  “Looking for a pen,” I answered, my hand digging around in the bag.

  “Why?”

  “I’m going to write what you just said on my palm. You know, like when you were a kid at school?” I said, pleased at my cleverness. “If I get stuck, I can subtly glance at my hand—”

  Darci reached over and yanked my purse away.

  “What?” I asked in an injured voice.

  “You’re not going to write stuff on your hand,” she huffed. “It would be the same as hanging a sign around your neck, ‘I haven’t had a date in five years.’”

  I crossed my arms over my chest an
d sank back in the seat. “Have, too—I went out with Ned a year ago.”

  I heard a snort.

  “Right. The only reason you went out with him was because he was safe. You knew it wouldn’t go anywhere,” she said, whipping her car into the parking lot.

  Gosh, we were here already. The knots tightened.

  Seeing the expression on my face, Darci gave me a wink. “Enough about Ned. Come on, let’s go.”

  I exited the car with about as much enthusiasm as a prisoner facing the hangman.

  Darci noticed. With a sigh, she grabbed my arm and hurried me across the parking lot. Inside the building, an equal number of men and women milled around excitedly. All appeared eager and happy to be there. Next to me, Darci twitched with anticipation.

  Panic hit. “I can’t remember those questions,” I hissed. “You should’ve let me write them down.”

  “You’ll be fine,” she assured me. “If all else fails, just smile and lean forward—”

  “What! Why?”

  “Trust me…works every time.” She walked up to the registration table and signed us in. Handing me my name tag and score sheet, she pointed me toward my table. “Go get ’em, killer,” she said with a slight shove. “Oh, and if you do remember the questions, try not to ask them like you’re a prosecutor grilling a hostile witness.”

  “Funny,” I replied over my shoulder as I tottered on my three-inch heels over to my assigned seat. Once there, I glanced back at Darci. She gave me a thumbs-up.

  Yeah, right. Tiny beads of sweat broke out on my forehead. Peachy. How would I wipe them away without appearing nervous? I pretended to fluff my hair and at the same time brushed away the moisture.

  Get a grip, Jensen. Think—how important is this? One—you didn’t want to come. Two—you’re not looking for Mr. Right. Three—you’re simply here to have fun. What do you care what these guys might think?

  The bell rang.

  I watched as the first man took his seat across the table from me. The pep talk worked. I shoved away my anxiety.

  What the hell? I smiled and leaned forward.

  The first guy’s idea of a perfect date was watching Green Bay play the Vikings.