The Trouble with Witches

by Shirley Damsgaard

  “Ahh, one of the rental cabins.” He looked over at Tink. “I apologize for rushing off, but I’d better get this young lady home before her aunt calls the sheriff.”

  “I understand. Nice to meet you, Jason, Tink.”

  With her eyes downcast, Tink walked past me to follow her uncle. Her shoulders slumped as she climbed the steep path, and around her seemed to hang a feeling of dejection, of defeat.

  The wood sprite, the singing girl with a cocky attitude, was gone.

  When I returned to the cabin, Abby had everything cleaned and arranged to her liking. She listened intently while I told her of my meeting with Jason and Tink.

  “What did you say the necklace looked like?” she asked with a funny expression on her face.

  “A spider’s web,” I said impatiently. Fives times she’d asked me about the stupid necklace. “Now do you think—”

  “You said the necklace had a stone in the center?” she broke in.

  “Yeah, a red stone. Now what I want to know is, do you think—”

  She interrupted me again. “I’m not so sure the necklace isn’t important.”

  “Enough about the dumb necklace. It’s not that big of a deal,” I informed her in an exasperated tone. “I’ve seen a lot of teenagers at the library with them on. They seem to be popular. I want to know—” I held up my hand, stopping her when she opened her mouth. “—if you think Jason and Juliet Finch could be mistreating the girl?”

  Her mouth closed and she frowned. “I don’t know. Did you see any bruises?”

  I thought about Tink’s pale arms and legs. Any marks would’ve definitely shown against her fair skin.

  “No, but there are many ways to mistreat a child. Often the marks don’t show.”

  Abby nodded sadly. “I wonder if there’ve been any rumors. Rick would’ve mentioned them, I think. And wouldn’t Brandi have said something to her mother if she’d noticed abuse?”

  I sighed. “Maybe, but what if Brandi didn’t know about it?”

  “I don’t know.” Abby pursed her lips. “I would think living that closely together, it would be hard to keep the mistreatment a secret.”

  “Well all I know is the kid changed the instant the uncle showed up.”

  “And when he placed the spider’s web around her neck.”

  “Oh for Pete’s sake,” I exclaimed. “Would you forget about the necklace?”

  A thoughtful look crossed Abby’s face. “No, Ophelia, I don’t think we should.”

  With that, Abby rose and left the room. The discussion was tabled for now.

  Eight

  We easily found the town park holding the spaghetti dinner. Abby and I pulled in to the parking lot, and after turning the SUV off, we sat and surveyed the park.

  A large poster with a graph, tacked to a post, indicated how much money had been raised for the new ball field. Bright balloons hung around the sign, drawing attention to it. Banners advertising a drawing for free gifts donated by local business hung from the trees.

  Parents sat in lawn chairs sprinkled across the green grass, while small children played on the merry-go-round and slid down the slide. Older children, spiffed out in baseball uniforms, circulated through the crowd selling chances for the drawing.

  I turned and looked at Abby. “Okay, Ace, what do we do now?” I asked.

  “We mingle. Get acquainted with people,” she replied with a slight shrug.

  My lips twisted into a frown. “And I’m so good at that,” I answered with a note of sarcasm.

  “It’s not hard.”

  Easy for her to say. Abby had a grace, a style, that drew people to her. I may have inherited some of her talents, but whatever gene was responsible for Abby’s natural charm had definitely passed me by. Crowds made me nervous and ill at ease. When confronted with strangers, words would freeze in my mouth like a warm tongue on a cold pump handle. The only remedy that worked was a fast retreat into sarcasm.

  While I thought about my lack of social skills, I continued to watch the groups clustered around the park. Several people were standing in line by the picnic tables. The tables were covered with pots of spaghetti, bowls of salads, and trays of desserts. Behind the table, several people stood serving the food to the waiting line. And they were dressed all in white. They must have been the “shadows,” the elusive group members Rick had referred to.

  “Abby,” I said, motioning toward the tables. “Suppose those are members of PSI?”

  “Yes,” she said, her eyes narrowing as she watched them.

  I shook my head. “How can someone serve spaghetti dressed in white?”

  “Very carefully?” she replied, arching an eyebrow.

  “Funny.” My words were accompanied by a slow roll of my eyes. I pushed the SUV door open. “We’re not going to accomplish anything sitting here. Let’s go mingle.”

  “Wait,” she said, laying a hand on my arm. “Do you see the man you met in the woods today?”

  Scanning the group in white, I shook my head. “No, I don’t.”

  I exited the SUV, and grabbing the lawn chairs out of the back, followed Abby across the park.

  Tonight, Abby wore one of her flowing skirts and matching tops. The skirt drifted around her ankles as she walked, and gave her an appearance of almost floating across the grass. Strangers stopped to greet her with a smile and a shake of the hand. Me, I stood at her side, silent, and received nods and half smiles.

  Nope, I did not inherit the charm gene.

  As we walked on, Abby stole a glance my way. “You know, Ophelia, you need to work on your people skills.”

  “What people skills?”

  “Exactly my point,” she said in a sardonic tone.

  I stopped. “See that shade tree over there?” I said, pointing to an unoccupied space. “You mingle. I’m parking myself over there.”

  After striding over to the tree, I planted myself in the lawn chair and did what I do best. Watch and observe. It’s amazing what you can learn about people if you pay attention.

  It didn’t take long for my attention to be drawn to a short woman dressed in white. Short and dumpy—no doubt the one Rick said they called Winnie, exactly as he had described her.

  And white was definitely not a good color for her. It made her wide hips look even wider. So did the tunic and long pants she wore. They highlighted every roll, every bump. Her dark hair with gray strands was twisted around the top of her head in a tight bun, and straggly strands hung around her plump face. Small eyes peered out from behind heavy black glasses. Her hands flitted nervously about her while she talked to another woman also dressed in white.

  The other woman was Winnie’s antithesis. She was as tall and rangy as Winnie was short and squat. And on her, the tunic and pants looked good. They complemented her slim frame, and the dark amulet she wore around her neck shone against the all-white background.

  Her manner was also the opposite of Winnie’s. Where Winnie seemed to vibrate with nervous energy, the other woman radiated calm. She listened with a patient look on her face as Winnie flung her hands about, talking.

  I was so busy watching the tall woman that I quit paying attention to Winnie. Big mistake. If I’d been watching her, I might have caught her edgy glances. I didn’t, not until it was too late.

  When I finally turned my attention from the tall woman back to Winnie, I saw her looking my way with an anxious expression on her face. I watched the tall woman’s eyes follow Winnie’s. Looking quickly over my shoulder, I checked to see what the two women stared at so intently. Nope, nothing behind me. Crap. Me—they stared at me.

  With a quick pat on Winnie’s plump arm, the tall woman turned away from her and purposely walked straight toward me.

  I lowered my head and slouched in my chair. If I shrank myself small enough, maybe she’d pass me by. I glanced up quickly at the woman. Nope. She still headed my way, her long strides eating up the ground between us. Looking back down, I studied my hand lying passively in my lap. When I felt
her presence in my space, I raised my eyes to her face.

  “Hi,” she said while she bent slightly at the waist and extended a hand, “I’m Juliet Finch.”

  A striking woman, she possessed an angular face with hazel eyes. Hazel eyes that probed mine.

  Standing, I took a deep breath. Juliet seemed to tower over my five-foot-four height, and I needed to tip my head back a bit in order to maintain eye contact. “My pleasure,” I replied, shaking her hand. “I’m Ophelia Jensen.”

  “Are you new to the community, or vacationing here?” she asked in a friendly voice.

  That’s funny. Evidently her husband didn’t tell her about running into me at the lake. I decided not to enlighten Juliet about my meeting with Jason. And Tink.

  “Vacationing.”

  Juliet gave me a brilliant smile. “This is a wonderful place for relaxing. There are so many beautiful lakes around here. Where are you staying?”

  “At Gunhammer Lake.”

  A look of surprise crossed her face. “We live on Gunhammer Lake. You must be renting one of Arnie’s cabins?”

  Arnie? Arnie who? Rick had neglected to tell me who owned the cabin we were staying in. At a loss how to respond, I smiled like an idiot and wobbled my head in way that could be taken as either a no or a yes.

  Taking my wishy-washy nod as an affirmative answer, a bright smile lit Juliet’s face. “That Arnie’s quite a character. He’s lived on the lake forever, but he’s a little on the reclusive side.”

  I thought of the man Abby and I had seen in the twilight last night. He looked pretty reclusive to me. “Does Arnie have red hair?” I asked, giving it a shot.

  “Oh no.” Juliet’s smile faded to a slight frown. “Arnie’s about eighty-four and quite bald. Why?”

  “Last night we almost ran into a man with red hair. Literally. He was standing in the middle of the road as we neared the cabin.”

  Her hands, which had been hanging loosely at her sides, clenched, and her frown deepened. “Duane Hobbs.”

  “Who’s Duane Hobbs?”

  With effort, she seemed to concentrate on relaxing her fingers. An uncomfortable silence hung in the air while she slowly smoothed imaginary creases from her tunic before she spoke. “Duane’s a so-called handy-man around the lake, but I wouldn’t let him do any work for me if I were you.”

  A thousand questions bounced around in my head, but only one came rolling off my tongue. “Why?”

  “He’s…” She paused. “…strange.”

  The one word I’d heard so much lately popped into my head. “Spooky?”

  “Yes,” she said with a sigh. “That’s a good word to describe him. He wanders around the woods at all hours, doing God knows what. I guess he wasn’t always like this. At one time, he was the pride of the community. A high school hero. But then he went off to Vietnam and has never been the same since.”

  Hmm. I wondered why Rick hadn’t mentioned Duane Hobbs. Had he already checked into the man’s background and found nothing? I scuffed the ground in front of my chair with my toe. It would’ve been nice if Rick had informed of us of some strange guy wandering around.

  “Is he dangerous?”

  “No. I don’t think so. I guess there was a problem a few years ago when some developers were looking into building a public boat ramp on the north side of the lake. Rumors of vandalism, that kind of thing. But no one was hurt and they never proved Duane was the one responsible.”

  “Did they build the boat ramp?”

  “No, it turned out to be too expensive. Since then, the lake has remained untouched by developers.”

  “And that’s the way Duane likes it?”

  “Yes, he resents outsiders.”

  “Like your group?” I asked pointedly.

  Juliet looked at me in surprise. “Yes,” she replied. As she flipped a strand of hair over her shoulder, her eyes narrowed and her gaze drifted toward the children playing nearby. “Outsiders. Ha. If anyone—”

  But before she could finish, a soccer ball careened across the grass toward us, with a small boy following it in fast pursuit, oblivious to everything around him. Both the ball and the boy came to a sudden stop near her foot. Crouching down eye level to the little boy, Juliet picked up the ball and handed it to him. Tousling his hair, she grinned warmly at the child. “Here you are, Matthew. Try and keep it over on the playground.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, returning her grin with a gap-toothed smile of his own.

  Straightening, Juliet watched the little boy scamper back to his playmates.

  “Do you have children?” I asked, pretending not to know about Tink. I wanted to see what she’d say.

  Still watching the children play, a wistful look crossed Juliet’s face before she turned to me.

  “In a way. Jason and I are raising my sister’s child.”

  “Oh,” I said, scanning the children at play. “Which one is she?”

  Once again she ran her hands nervously over her tunic. “Tink, my niece, isn’t here. She’s…” Her voice trailed off while her attention shifted to the children. “…rather frail, and these things tend to be too much excitement for her to handle.”

  Frail? The girl I’d met at the lake didn’t seem frail to me. Thin, yes, but not frail. I remembered how she scampered up the hill after Jason. Maybe she had some kind of illness, not evident when one first met her. Maybe that’s why they worried about her.

  Shifting forward in my chair, I looked up at her with sympathy. “That’s too bad. It must be difficult for her not to play with other children.”

  “Yes, yes, it is,” she said abruptly. Looking down at me, she grasped my hand and gave it a quick shake. “It was nice meeting you, Ophelia. I hope you enjoy your stay at Gunhammer.”

  Before I could reply, she pivoted and walked with long strides back to where Winnie still stood serving spaghetti.

  I shook my head in disbelief. Usually, parents were more than happy to talk about their offspring, but the mention of Juliet’s niece had brought a sudden end to our conversation. Only one thought came to mind.

  Why?

  Nine

  The rest of the evening passed uneventfully. I sat calmly under my tree, watching, and left my place only long enough to stand in line with Abby for a plate of spaghetti. While we ate, I filled her in on my conversation with Juliet.

  “So does the name Duane Hobbs jangle any psychic bells for you, Abby?” I asked as I reached over and took her empty plate.

  Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. A moment later she opened them. “No, sorry, not even a jingle. What about you? Did you sense anything when Juliet mentioned his name?”

  “Nope, but I’m not as good as you are at picking up stuff quickly,” I said with a shrug, and stood to dispose of our empty plates. When I returned, Abby sat staring off into space. A light touch on her arm brought her attention back to me.

  “Where do we go from here?” I asked.

  A frown marred her face while she looked at me. “I don’t know, but it’s almost as if I can feel a clock ticking.”

  A similar frown now wrinkled my face. “I know. I feel it, too.” Sitting down again in the lawn chair, I watched the crowd as people began to gather up belongings and call for their children. The event at the park had almost ended and we’d learned nothing. Only that Duane Hobbs liked wandering around the woods.

  Standing, I folded up my lawn chair and extended a hand to Abby. “Come on, we might as well leave.”

  Abby grasped my hand and rose gracefully to her feet.

  She picked up her lawn chair and folded it, and we began our trek back to the SUV. We were almost to the car when I heard the sound of hurrying feet in the grass behind us. Looking over my shoulder, I saw the woman named Winnie rushing up to us.

  “Oh my. I was afraid I wouldn’t catch you and I wanted to introduce myself,” she said while she gasped for breath and stuck out her hand. “I’m Winnie Donner.”

  The sound of Winnie’s voice startled me. T
here was no doubt in my mind that the woman had to be at least in her late fifties, but her voice sounded like that of a girl, high-pitched and a little breathless.

  Abby stepped forward and took Winnie’s hand in hers. “Abigail McDonald and my granddaughter, Ophelia Jensen,” she said, waving her other hand in my direction.

  “Hi, Ophelia,” Winnie replied, releasing Abby’s hand and grasping mine. “Juliet told me you’re our neighbors, well sort of neighbors. We’re right down the lake from your cabin, on the other side, of course. Great to have you at the lake. I hope you enjoy your stay here. So nice of you to come tonight.”

  Her words ran on and on, and with each one, Winnie pumped my hand vigorously. My arm felt like it was coming loose in the socket. I gave my hand a slight tug and she released me.

  Fighting the urge to rub my shoulder, I gave Winnie a small smile. “Nice to meet you, Winnie.”

  She took a step closer to me. “I saw you both today in the grocery store,” she said, and waved a finger in front of my face.

  I took a step back, but she closed the distance with another step of her own, and it set my nerves on edge.

  Hadn’t this woman ever heard about personal space?

  I gritted my teeth and held my ground.

  Abby, aware of how I felt about strangers standing too close to me, took Winnie’s arm and gently turned her around until Winnie faced her, allowing me to take another step back. “Really, I didn’t notice you,” Abby said.

  A sly look crossed Winnie’s face. “Well, I noticed you. I was standing down the aisle from you when those boys tripped Walks Quietly—”

  “Walks Quietly?” I cut in.

  “Yes, the Native American, the one the boys tripped,” she repeated. “I noticed they acted rather odd after you spoke to them, Abigail.”

  Great, this fluttery little woman had witnessed Abby zapping that kid. Eyebrows raised, I looked at Abby. Okay, how are you going to get yourself out of this one? I thought.

  Seeing my look, Abby lifted her chin a fraction and turned her head back to Winnie. “Oh, the young man only felt embarrassed. I’m sure he didn’t expect to be reprimanded for what he did.”