The Witch Is Dead

by Shirley Damsgaard

  No, thank you.

  The second guy described his sense of humor as slapstick. He went on to relate his favorite Three Stooges’ movie complete with the “nyuck, nyuck, nyuck.”

  I like the Three Stooges as well as the next person, but that didn’t mean I wanted to date Curly.

  Next.

  When the third guy arrived, my first remark was, “Hi, how are you?” He told me. During the following six minutes, I learned about his recent breakup, in minute and boring detail. It was her fault of course, and he had done nothing to precipitate the split. He couldn’t help all those women coming onto him.

  Hmm—read between the lines—this one has a problem with monogamy. Don’t call me, I’ll call you.

  The fourth guy? I smelled him before he even made it to the table. The scent of English Leather, the same cologne my dad wore, swirled around him in a toxic cloud, announcing his arrival. I tried the ol’ “smile and lean forward” thing to cover my discomfort, but the strength of his cologne had me inching my chair back in an attempt to get away from the overpowering aroma.

  The fifth guy had a comb-over that started about an inch above his left ear. Not a good look for him.

  The bell rang. I spent the seconds between candidates by staring at my blank score sheet. So far I hadn’t been impressed, but I had a hunch none of the men that I’d met were exactly swept away by me, either. It was an even wash.

  “You’re not having fun, are you?” said a deep voice to my right.

  My eyes traveled from the sheet of paper to the man taking his seat across the table from me.

  He looked sharp. The way he wore his dark hair, cropped fairly short, suited his strong features and high cheekbones. His soft brown eyes held a hint of humor. He was dressed in a white shirt, open at the neck. No gold glittered from around his throat. A definite plus as far as I was concerned.

  “What makes you say that?” I tilted my head.

  He gave me a big grin and a conspiratorial wink. “You have this tight look around your mouth.”

  I instinctively touched my fingertips to my lips. “It’s that obvious?”

  He chuckled. “No. I’m just good at reading people. It’s a hobby of mine,” he said with confidence.

  Darci was good at reading people, too. My eyes darted over to her. This man was her type. I wondered if she’d zeroed in on him yet.

  His eyes followed mine. “Is she your friend?” he asked, jerking his head in her direction.

  “Yeah. She was the one who convinced me to come tonight.”

  “Pretty.” He returned his attention to me as if he were dismissing Darci. “I’m glad she did. I’m Christopher,” he said, extending his hand.

  “I’m Ophelia,” I replied as I pointed to my name tag and shook his hand.

  His grip was warm and firm. I felt a tingle of interest.

  “As in Hamlet?” he inquired, releasing my hand and folding his on the table. “You don’t look like an Ophelia.”

  “Really?” I relaxed against the back of my chair. “How’s an Ophelia supposed to look?”

  “Wispy.” His smile widened. “There’s nothing wispy about you. You strike me as a woman who’s independent and knows what she wants. I like that.”

  Christopher laughed at my shocked expression.

  “I also think you don’t take compliments easily.”

  My eyebrows scrunched together as I fiddled with my pen. “You know that how?”

  “You have a transparent face. Hope you don’t play poker,” he teased.

  I smiled. “No. You’d be more likely to find me curled up with a book than sitting at a card table.”

  “Another thing I like. What do you read?”

  “Everything.”

  “Same here. I suppose you’ve read The Da Vinci Code like everyone else?”

  “Of course,” I answered with a self-satisfied grin.

  Talking about books—we were on my turf now. Much better than football, comedies, and past relationships.

  “Have you read Angels and Demons, too?” he asked.

  I nodded. “I enjoyed it more.”

  “Me, too,” he answered, leaning closer. “What else do you do for fun, Ophelia?”

  Ooh, tough question. What did I do for fun?

  A thought occurred to me. “Hiking in the woods with my dog—”

  “I love animals,” he said. “What kind of dog do you have?”

  “She’s a German shepherd and wolf mix. Do you have pets?”

  “No, I wish I did. With my work schedule, I’m not home a lot, and I don’t think it would be fair to leave a pet alone for long periods of time.”

  Compassion toward animals. Christopher’s stock went up another notch.

  I was so wrapped up in my conversation with him that the next few minutes flew. And when the bell rang, I watched with reluctance as he stood to leave.

  “It was really nice meeting you. I hope we can talk again,” he said, looking down at me.

  “I would like that,” I replied honestly.

  Quickly, before the next candidate arrived, I scribbled Christopher’s name on my sheet. Well, at least I had one, I thought. Maybe this wasn’t a total bust.

  I met two more nice men and added their names to my list, and soon the event was finished.

  It took time to leave the building. Several guys stopped Darci on the way out the door. While she chatted and flirted, I hung back and scanned the room for Christopher. No luck. Evidently he’d left.

  A little disappointed that I didn’t get the opportunity to speak with him again, I followed Darci to the car. We were almost there when a voice called my name. I turned to see Christopher hurrying toward us.

  “I’ll wait for you in the car,” Darci said with a smirk.

  I shifted nervously from one foot to the other until he reached me.

  “Thanks for waiting,” he said in a rush. “I know we’re not supposed to do this.” He reached into his pocket, drawing out a small card. “I got the impression the only reason you were here tonight was to humor your friend, and I was afraid you’d handed in a blank list.” He flipped the card over and over in his fingers. “I really did enjoy talking to you, so if it’s not too presumptuous on my part, I’d like to give you my business card.”

  Taking it from his hand, I read his name in the dim light of the parking lot:

  DR. CHRISTOPHER MASON.

  “You’re a doctor?”

  “Yes,” he said with a shy smile. “I hope I’m on your list. If I am, the dating service will send me your email address. But if I’m not, please call me. I really would like to get to know you better, Ophelia.”

  “Ahh—”

  He held up a hand, stopping me. “No, you don’t have to say anything. Just call me and we’ll get together.” With that he turned and walked away.

  Ten

  “Tink, I think the pole goes in that pocket,” I said as I surveyed the mess littering the ground at our campsite.

  “No, it doesn’t,” she replied. “It goes in this one.”

  I narrowed my eyes and watched as she tried inching the flexible pole into the nylon holder. “You’re sure?”

  She grunted. “Yes.”

  Tink ran the pole all the way in. It was six inches short of coming out the other end. “Well, maybe not.” She grinned sheepishly.

  “Here.” I picked up a longer pole. “Let’s try this one,” I said, handing it to her.

  “Shoot,” Tink exclaimed, and dropped the pole.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “The pole caught on the bracelet Nell gave me for my birthday,” she said, holding up her wrist.

  The gold heart, suspended on a thin chain around Tink’s wrist, danced in the sunlight as she held up her arm.

  I bent down to grab another pole. “You’d better slip it in your pocket for now. You don’t want to break it.”

  With a sigh, Tink removed her bracelet before picking up the pole.

  Finally, the tent lay on the ground in
a big square. The poles made a big X in the center. Now all we had to do was lift the sucker and shove the poles into the soft dirt. A piece of cake.

  Wrong. We raised the tent so the dome was off the ground, but the whole thing leaned dangerously to one side. And before we could straighten it, two of the poles popped out of the dirt and with a whoosh the tent sank to the ground.

  Perspiration trickled down my back, and pieces of freshly mowed grass clung to my sweaty legs. For the umpteenth time I wondered at the wisdom of agreeing to this camping excursion. Frustrated, I felt like shoving the tent, the poles, the air mattresses, and all, back into the car and heading to town.

  Lady and T.P. agreed with me. They had soon tired of chasing around the campsite, sniffing all the equipment as Tink and I hauled it from the car, and now lay out of the sun under one of the picnic tables.

  I looked at the fallen tent, then at Tink. This overnight camping trip with Nell’s family was important to her. We hadn’t not spoken again of Buchanan’s murder, but I knew it still lurked in the back of her mind. She needed this time to forget about her talents as a medium and just be a kid for a while.

  Nell’s family, the Johnsons, had been at Roseman State Park since last night. A fishing tournament brought many of the locals out for the weekend, and the campground was full. From a distance I heard the sound of a radio playing the latest country western hits. Wet bathing suits and towels dangled from lines stretched between trees at many of the sites, and the smell of wood smoke hung in the air.

  Nell’s site was neat and orderly, and reflected her mother’s fondness for yard ornaments. A whirligig hung from a nearby branch, clacking away as the slight breeze spun it. The base of their tent was ringed with rope lights, and Tiki torches circled the fire pit.

  Nell’s father, Carl, had volunteered to help erect our tent before the family left for a late afternoon swim in the river, but I refused. I was an independent, self-sufficient woman, wasn’t I? How hard could setting up one little tent be? Now I wished I’d taken him up on his offer.

  By the time we finished raising the tent, Nell and her family were back from the river.

  Now the campground came to life. Families lit grills and campfires, bustling about, preparing their evening meal. And the sound of children’s laughter from the playground carried across the campground.

  Carl lit the Tiki torches and started our fire in the pit. We didn’t need a fire for warmth, but the smoke from the burning logs and the torches would keep bugs at bay once the sun went down.

  Taking the dogs with them, Nell and Tink left to join Nell’s little brother at the playground. While Carl grilled hot dogs and hamburgers, Chris busied herself by setting out paper plates, ketchup, mustard, and potato chips. I fetched my contribution to the evening’s supper—Abby’s homemade baked beans.

  Soon all was ready, and Chris rang a huge cowbell to summon the three kids. After everyone loaded their plates with food, we gathered around the table to eat.

  “Tink,” I said between bites of baked beans. “Where’s T.P.?”

  “Over there with Lady,” she replied, concentrating on her meal.

  I turned to where Lady lay sprawled in the shade underneath a tree. “No, he isn’t.” Craning my neck, I glanced around our campsite for the puppy. “I don’t see him.”

  With a groan, Tink set her hot dog on her plate and made a move to rise. “I’d better go find him.”

  Placing a hand on her arm, I stopped her. “No, eat your supper first.”

  Both she and Nell finished in record time, and left the table to find the errant puppy while Nell’s mom and I cleaned up the campsite. Twenty minutes later they were back.

  Concern etched lines on Tink’s face. “We couldn’t find him, and we looked all over the campground.”

  “Has anyone seen him?” I asked, shading my eyes against the setting sun.

  “No,” she replied as she scuffed the ground with the toe of her tennis shoe. “What are we going to do? Suppose he’s lost in the woods?”

  “Don’t worry, Tink,” Carl said as he got to his feet. “We’ll all help look for him.”

  A sudden gust of wind sent the whirligig spinning, and with it came an awful smell.

  “What is that?” I asked, wrinkling my nose. I turned to see T.P. gamboling across the field next to the playground, carrying a large ball in his mouth.

  Great. He’d snitched some kid’s toy. Irritated, I marched toward the puppy, with Tink right behind me. The closer we got to the dog, the stronger the odor became.

  “Yuck.” I covered my nose. “He’s rolled in something rotten, Tink,” I said over my shoulder. “You’ll need to take him to the bathhouse and hose him off. We can’t have him stinking up the tent tonight.”

  The words were hardly out of my mouth when T.P. ran past me to Tink and proudly dropped the ball at her feet.

  I heard Nell’s mother gasp, and I watched as Tink’s face lost all its color.

  “I knew it, I knew it,” she said in a voice that carried over the campgrounds. “I should’ve warned Mr. Buchanan, and now I’m being punished.”

  Walking swiftly to her, I grabbed her arm and gave it a little shake. “Shh, everyone can hear you.”

  In horror I stared down at the ball at Tink’s feet. Only it wasn’t a ball. Two empty eye sockets gazed up at the summer sky, and crooked teeth protruded from what was left of the upper jaw.

  T.P. hadn’t fetched some kid’s ball—he’d brought us a human skull.

  When Bill and his deputy, Alan, arrived, they quickly dispersed the crowd gathered around the skull. T.P. was now safely tied to a tree, downwind, where he sat whimpering. Lady watched from a safe distance away. T.P. seemed perplexed as to why he was in trouble.

  I’d insisted that even though it was hot, Tink go inside the tent, away from the curious stares of the other campers.

  “So, Ophelia, now the bodies come looking for you?” Bill said as he strolled over to where I stood guarding the entrance to our tent.

  I didn’t appreciate his macabre sense of humor.

  “That’s not funny, Bill,” I replied, stepping away from the tent. “Tink’s had quite a shock.”

  “That’s what I heard.” He removed his hat and mopped his head with his handkerchief. “Someone told us she made a remark about ‘being punished’? What did she mean by that?”

  I gave a nervous laugh and walked farther away from the tent. “Oh, you know how teenagers are. It’s always about them.” I shoved my hands in my pockets and turned. “I suppose she feels guilty because it was her dog that found the skull.”

  His eyes grew thoughtful as he scanned the woods beyond the playground. “Any idea where the dog found it?”

  Breathing a sigh of relief that he hadn’t pursued his line of questioning about Tink, I said, “T.P. disappeared while we were eating supper.” I gestured toward the other campsites. “The girls searched for him with no luck. Nell’s parents and I were ready to join the hunt when he came running up with the skull.”

  “From what direction?”

  “Over there,” I said, and pointed.

  He wiped his head again and shoved the handkerchief in his back pocket. “Lotta acres out there.”

  “Did you notice the way he smelled?”

  Bill grimaced. “Kinda hard to miss, Ophelia. Wherever he went, he rolled in something foul.”

  He didn’t need to spell out what “something” foul meant.

  Bill glanced over his shoulder at the dog. “The medical examiner might want to check him over and take some hair samples.” His eyes traveled back to me. “I need to talk to the girls while we’re waiting for the M.E. to show up.”

  “Right now?”

  “Yes.”

  Bill joined Nell, Chris, and Carl at the picnic table. I fetched Tink. Once we were all seated, he smiled kindly at Tink and Nell. “Did you girls go for a walk earlier?”

  Nell spoke up. “Just over to the playground.”

  “The dogs went with you
?”

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “Then Lady came back to the campground, but not T.P.?”

  “I guess.” Nell lifted a shoulder. “Ophelia noticed her under the tree.”

  “But the puppy wasn’t with Lady?”

  They shook their heads.

  “Did either one of you see T.P. run off into the woods?”

  “No,” they replied in unison.

  Tink raised her head. “It’s all my fault, Sheriff Wilson…”

  “How’s that, Tink?” he asked in a soft voice.

  I held my breath waiting for her reply.

  “We were playing on the swings, and I forgot all about the dogs.” She dropped her head again, as I sighed in relief at her answer. “I didn’t think about T.P. until Ophelia said he was missing.”

  Bill’s eyes darted to me, then returned to Tink. “That’s okay,” he said. “In a way, your dog did us a favor—”

  I doubted that, but let the comment pass.

  “How?” Tink cut in.

  “We can’t have any poor souls lying around in the woods. This way, hopefully, we can find him and give him a proper burial.”

  Bill didn’t mention they might also learn if the person in question had met with foul play.

  Straightening his hat, he watched the sun sinking lower on the horizon. “It’s going to be dark soon. Too late to start a search tonight, but we will in the morning.”

  The sound of a car slowly approaching had us all turning toward the lane. We watched as it stopped and the medical examiner, carrying a bag, got out.

  Bill rose and approached the M.E. The two men talked for a few moments as Bill gestured toward the tree where T.P. was exiled.

  The puppy immediately perked up and stopped his whimpering. As the two men approached, T.P., sensing liberation at hand, began to wag his tail. He was disappointed when the M.E. opened his bag, removed four plastic sacks, and systematically scraped the dirt off each paw into a bag. T.P. was further distressed when he noticed a pair of scissors headed his way. He tried to scramble out of the M.E.’s reach, but he was grabbed by the scruff of his neck. Snip, snip, and clippings of his black and white fur fell into the fifth evidence bag.