The Witch Is Dead

by Shirley Damsgaard

  Nope, no one looked like a killer to me. But then again, I knew from experience, they never do. Even the most innocent face can hide a monster willing to take another’s life. In fact, in the past I’d even sat down to dinner with a murderer, never knowing that he’d killed my best friend. So much for being a psychic, and I knew under these circumstances, if I tried using my talent now, all I’d pick up would be a bunch of jumbled emotions and thoughts. There were too many people in the room to home in on just one person.

  Turning my head, I checked on Tink. She sat with her head lowered, staring at Abby’s hand holding hers. Abby caught my eye over the top of Tink’s head and gave me a reassuring smile. I wondered if she remembered the young man from the airport. I’d ask her after this ordeal was over.

  “Psst, Ophelia,” hissed a voice from my right.

  I was shocked to see Christopher Mason standing in the aisle next to our row.

  My brow wrinkled in a frown. What was he doing here? He knew Buchanan? What a coincidence.

  He motioned for me to join him in the back of the room. Mumbling my apologies, I carefully made my way over to where he stood.

  “Hi,” I said, keeping my voice low.

  “I’m surprised to see you under these circumstances,” he whispered back.

  Not wanting to explain that the reason we were there was based on my great-aunt’s half-baked notion that she’d be able to spot Buchanan’s killer, I ignored his remark. “You knew Mr. Buchanan?” I asked.

  “Yes. I was his mother’s physician before she passed away…and we’ve had some business dealings.” His gaze darted to the front of the room. “This is such a tragedy. Raymond was a very nice man, and I don’t know what Kevin’s going to do now.”

  “Kevin?”

  “His assistant. Raymond took him under his wing after Kevin flunked out of medical school. And the last time I spoke with Raymond, he said he was trying to get Kevin into mortuary school.”

  “Really?” I eyed the young man with interest.

  Christopher noticed my expression. “Yes. Nothing unusual about that; many former medical students wind up in the funeral business.”

  “And now he’s out of a job?”

  “Yes, unless he can find another funeral home that will take him on.”

  Before I could ask more questions—like what kind of “business dealings” would a doctor have with a funeral director—the organ music began and the family made their way quietly into the room.

  “I’ll talk to you later,” Christopher said softly, laying a hand on my arm.

  I returned to my seat and watched the family. It was obvious who the widow was. She clung tightly to Kevin’s arm as he escorted her to her seat in the front row.

  To call her flamboyant would be an understatement. She was obviously several years younger than what Buchanan had been, and even from my chair in the back row, I could see the sparklers on both hands. And I would have bet they weren’t cubic zirconia. Those diamonds had to be several carats each.

  In addition to the diamonds, she wore a black suit and black hat. Appropriate attire for a widow, except her hat, suit, and shoes were trimmed with leopard print.

  I shook my head. Darci would have a conniption over an outfit like that. Even I, with my lack of fashion sense, thought the widow’s dress was cheesy beyond belief.

  Abby cleared her throat and drew my attention away from the grieving widow. Her eyes widened as she flashed a look that said she shared my opinion.

  Two men followed Mrs. Buchanan at a respectful distance. From their resemblance to Mr. Buchanan, I guessed them to be his grown children, and based on their obvious age, the widow was not their mother. Everything about them told me they were glad she wasn’t. They held their bodies stiffly, and with every move, I sensed their disapproval of their father’s wife.

  Hmm. I wondered whose name was on the life insurance policy. Maybe Aunt Dot’s insistence at attending the funeral wasn’t so half-baked after all.

  Aunt Dot wasn’t satisfied just going to the funeral. Oh no, we had to go to the graveside service, too. Abby marshaled her over the rough ground of the cemetery while Tink and I brought up the rear. Even though the weather had been dry and hot, the spikes of my low heels sunk into the sod as I followed Abby.

  We were hanging at the back of the gathering when Kevin spotted Aunt Dot. He made his way to her and offered her his arm, and before Abby or I could protest, he led her to the folding chairs lined up by the open grave. I suppose he thought, because of her age, she should be seated during the service.

  And she was—right next to Buchanan’s widow.

  I observed her bright eyes taking in the grieving family. Peachy. Aunt Dot was out of our sphere of influence, and we had no way of controlling what she might decide to do. Hopefully, she wouldn’t pull out the camera I still suspected she carried and start snapping away.

  From where I stood, I saw her lean to the side until her shoulder was touching the widow’s. She said something, but I was too far away to catch her words.

  The widow sniffed delicately into a white handkerchief as she listened intently to Aunt Dot. Well, at least the cloth wasn’t trimmed in leopard, I thought unkindly.

  I shifted uneasily throughout the service, nervous over what Tink’s reaction to the cemetery might be and waiting for the opportunity to get Aunt Dot away from the family. Finally it was over, but before I could make my move, Kevin walked down the line of chairs, shaking each person’s hand and murmuring what I presumed were words of condolence. When he reached Aunt Dot, again he offered her his arm and brought her back to where Abby, Tink, and I stood.

  Smiling, he extended his hand to Abby. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. McDonald, but I’m sorry it’s under such sad circumstances. I’m Kevin Roth.”

  Shock registered on my face. How did he know Abby’s name?

  Catching my surprise, he explained, “Ray told me all about his plane ride with Miss Cameron.” His blue eyes twinkled as he glanced at Aunt Dot.

  I dropped my chin and stared at a spot on the ground. Gee, wonder if Mr. Buchanan shared Aunt Dot’s tales of her fairies, too? This kid had to think we were all nuts.

  “And this must be Titania,” he said, shifting his attention to Tink.

  He even knew Tink’s real name. I raised my head and saw Tink preen with pleasure. She suddenly had more color in her face than I’d seen all day. My eyes narrowed, gauging her reaction to Kevin, and I felt an instinct that I didn’t know I had. I went on alert.

  A good-looking guy and a young girl just beginning to notice the opposite sex. Not a good combination. And no doubt about it—Kevin was cute. Blond hair, blue eyes, a little short, but built well. If he were taller, he could be a model. How many years separated them? Six? Seven? Not many if you’re an adult, but for a teenager it was too wide a gulf as far as I was concerned. I resisted the urge to tug Tink to my side.

  Kevin’s eyes moved to me. “And you’re Ophelia.”

  “You have a very good memory, Kevin. To remember all our names,” I replied.

  Kevin’s smile brightened. “It’s easy. Ray was thoroughly entertained by your aunt’s stories. He talked of nothing else on the way home from the airport.”

  I just bet he was, but before I could make a polite reply to Kevin’s remark, Christopher came up from behind and clapped a hand on Kevin’s shoulder.

  “How are you doing?” he asked.

  The smile left Kevin’s face. “Okay,” he answered with hesitation. “I’m going to miss Mr. Buchanan, and I’m—I’m worried about what Mrs. Buchanan will eventually do with the business. For now, another director from Taylor is going to take care of things, but I don’t know how long that will last.” He sighed. “I feel guilty for thinking of it at a time like this, but…”

  “You need the job,” Christopher finished for him.

  “Yeah.” He picked at his sleeve. “I’ve got all those school loans to pay off, and then there’s the money I send Mom.”

 
“Would you like me to ask around at a couple of places in Des Moines? See if they have any openings?”

  Kevin’s face brightened. “Would you? That would be terrific, Dr. Mason. Mrs. Buchanan said I could stay in the apartment at the funeral home for at least a month.” He cast a nervous look over one shoulder. “I’d rather not if I can help it.”

  Christopher’s eyes followed Kevin’s and came to rest on the grieving widow. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said shortly.

  We’d turned and begun to walk to our cars when Tink tugged on my sleeve. “There’s that guy that runs the crematorium.”

  “Where?” I asked, scanning the departing crowd.

  I was busy searching for Silas Green and didn’t see what happened next. All I knew was one minute Aunt Dot was digging in her purse, and the next she was falling. Maybe she stepped in a gopher hole. Maybe she tripped on a fallen branch. As she pitched forward, she struck her wrist on a headstone. Christopher managed to grab her and keep her on her feet, but the damage was done. Her wrist was bent at an unnatural angle.

  Thirteen

  As I walked into the library Tuesday morning, Darci hurried toward me, leaving Gert standing by one of the bookshelves with a perplexed look on her face.

  “What happened to Aunt Dot?” she asked, twisting her hands.

  I rolled my eyes. “How did you know anything happened?”

  “It’s all over town. One story has her breaking a hip, another her arm.” She dropped her hands and gave me a sly glance. “It’s also been said you were accompanied to the hospital by a doctor.”

  “Jeez,” I said, marching to the counter and stowing my backpack underneath. “Are there no secrets in this town?”

  “Not many. The doctor was Christopher, right?” She tossed her head. “I can’t figure why you picked a funeral as your first date—”

  I grasped the edge of the counter. “It wasn’t a date,” I exclaimed. “Christopher knew Mr. Buchanan, so he came to his funeral. It was a coincidence that we ran into each other—”

  “Abby says there’s no such a thing as coincidence,” she replied in a smug voice, interrupting me.

  “Well, this time it was,” I said, shoving back from the counter. “And, before you say it, there’s no mystery brewing, either, Darce. Aunt Dot tripped as we were leaving the cemetery and hit her arm on a headstone. Her wrist broke.”

  She opened her mouth, but I held up a finger, stopping her.

  “Christopher specializes in geriatrics, so he helped the emergency room doctor treat Aunt Dot. End of story.”

  Darci cocked her hip and watched me with a speculative gleam in her eye. “Did you get a date?”

  I tipped my head back and stared at the ceiling. “You are impossible. My ninety-one-year-old aunt was in the emergency room, for Pete’s sake…not exactly a time for romance,” I finished and busied myself with the stack of books sitting on the counter.

  Darci strolled over, took the books away from me, and walking over to Gert, handed them to her. “Here,” she said, “why don’t you place these on the shelves, Gert? I’ve showed you how.” She wagged a finger at her. “Remember, we can’t let them pile up.”

  I snickered. Like that ever mattered to Darci in the past. She hated putting books away and was notorious about letting them sit gathering dust on the counter.

  She returned to where I stood, leaned back and crossed her arms. “Okay, so if he didn’t ask you out while you were at the hospital, when did he?”

  “Ahh…” I felt the heat creep up my neck and into my face. “Last night, after we returned home, he called,” I muttered.

  “I knew it,” she said, smacking her hand on the countertop. “Good. You need to get out.”

  Frowning, I picked up the pens lying scattered about and returned them to the cup holder. “I don’t know…there’s a lot of stuff going on right now.”

  She quickly checked over her shoulder to see if Gert was still occupied filing the books. Satisfied, she pulled me off to the side, out of Gert’s line of vision.

  At the same time, I noticed Edna Walters lurking near the counter. She pretended to study the back cover of a paperback, but even from where I stood, I saw she held the book upside down.

  Darci spotted Edna, too, and tugged me back to the far corner.

  “What happened Saturday night?” she asked in a hushed tone.

  “You know about that, too?”

  With a jerk of her head, she motioned toward Edna. “She’s here now, and Agnes was in earlier. All morning the town gossips have been circling the library, waiting to pounce on you.” Her eyes traveled to Edna, who was easing her way closer to where we stood. “If I were you, I’d spend most of the day in your office.”

  “What’s the rumor going around?” I asked with a grimace.

  “A skull was found at your campsite. Georgia tried pumping Alan about it, but for once he won’t talk.”

  “I wonder if Bill knows he’s got a major leak in his office, thanks to Alan?”

  “Who cares—tell me what happened,” Darci insisted.

  I pulled a hand through my hair. “T.P. fetched a skull out of the woods. That’s it.”

  “What does the skull have to do with Buchanan’s murder?” she asked with eyes narrowed, as if she thought I was holding out on her.

  “Nothing,” I said, spreading my hands wide. “It’s probably the remains of some poor soul who died in the woods. And the death doesn’t have to be something sinister. Maybe it’s a hunter who died in a hunting accident. Maybe an elderly person wandered off. Maybe an indigent died from the elements.”

  “But no one’s been reported missing,” she argued.

  “Got me, Darce. All I know is we’re staying out of the investigation.”

  “Why did you go to Buchanan’s funeral if you’re staying out of it?”

  “We were trying to placate Aunt Dot. It was her brilliant idea.” I gave Darci a narrow look. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear the two of you were related. You both like to go looking for trouble.”

  “Very funny,” she said with a pout. “Why does Tink think the skull has something to do with Buchanan’s death?”

  “What?” I exclaimed.

  “Shh,” she whispered, glancing past me to Edna. “Keep your voice down. Edna’s soaking in our conversation.”

  I stepped closer to Darci.

  “The story’s going around town that Tink must know something about Buchanan’s murder,” she said.

  I groaned, remembering Tink’s remarks at the campground. She’d mentioned Buchanan when T.P. dropped the skull at her feet. And thanks to the way people embellished rumors, it now sounded like she was some kind of material witness. Not good.

  “What else are they saying?” I asked in a tired voice.

  Darci shrugged. “That your family sure has a knack for turning up dead people.”

  I gave a soft moan, but before I could speak, the door of the library swung open and Bill marched in. He didn’t look happy.

  He walked with purposeful strides toward the counter, and without preamble said, “Ophelia, may I talk to you in your office?”

  “Sure,” I replied, trying to hide my trepidation.

  I reluctantly led Bill down the stairs and into my office. After shutting the door, I took my place behind my desk and gestured to the chair across from me.

  “What’s this about, Bill?”

  Removing his hat, he got right to the point. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  “Absolutely not,” I replied heatedly.

  “I heard you went to Buchanan’s funeral.”

  I decided the best defense was a strong offense. “Last time I checked, it’s a free country and I can go where I want.”

  “Why did you want to attend the funeral?” Bill asked, not giving up.

  “Aunt Dot had met Mr. Buchanan on the plane and they hit it off. When she learned he’d passed away, she wanted to go to his funeral to pay her respects.”

 
I wasn’t lying—she had wanted to go. I didn’t need to mention the main reason was that she thought she could spot his killer.

  “Why didn’t you mention that Miss Cameron knew Buchanan?”

  “You never asked.”

  From across the desk, Bill glowered at me.

  “Honestly, I never thought about it.” I picked up a pen and tapped it on the desk. “And what’s to tell? My elderly aunt met a man on a plane and they talked. That’s it.”

  “He might have said something to Miss Cameron on the plane.” Bill wiped his bald head. “Did he act afraid, worried, distracted?”

  I tossed the pen down. “I don’t know. As far as I know, they had a pleasant trip, he helped her off the plane when it landed. It’s happenstance that someone Aunt Dot met wound up a victim of a violent crime.”

  “Your family seems to attract these ‘happenstances,’” he muttered. “Let’s talk about the skull—”

  “Hey,” I interjected. “I can’t help that Tink’s dog found a skull.”

  Bill spun his hat in his hands. “No, but Tink said—”

  “Come on, Bill,” I said, interrupting him again. “She’s a teenager and it freaked her out. She can’t be held responsible for her babbling.”

  “I know that, you know that, but this is a small town, and stories change as they make their rounds.”

  Something in Bill’s eyes frightened me.

  “Tink’s a good kid, and I hate to see anything happen to her because of a rumor,” he continued.

  My hand flew to my throat. “Is she in danger?”

  “I don’t think so, but Buchanan didn’t hook himself up to the embalming machine. A killer’s still out there, and I don’t want a rumor causing him to think Tink’s a risk to him.”

  I grabbed the phone and, in a panic, began to punch in Abby’s number. I’d dropped Tink at the greenhouse before work. Abby had to know about this. She had to make sure Tink stayed safe.

  “Hold on,” Bill said, taking the receiver from my hand and placing it back on its base. “I said she’s not in imminent danger—”