He whirled around at my footsteps. “Young woman, what are you doing here?”
“I’ve got some questions and I think you’ve got some answers,” I said, my eyes narrowed.
“I told you I know nothing.” He turned away.
“Oh yes you do.” I moved around in front of him. “Someone or something is targeting me. And I don’t like it.”
He blew out a breath in disgust. “You’ve brought it on yourself by interfering with things you don’t understand.”
“Yeah, well, make me understand.” I stood my ground.
He glared at me for a moment, then turned and walked away. “I’m not concerned with your problems.”
“Wait,” I called after him. “Just what and who are you?”
Spinning around, his eyes bore into mine. “I could ask the same of you?”
Standing tall, my eyes never left his. “I’m a psychic and I am one of the chosen. I belong to a line of wise women, healers.” I paused. “Witches.” Squinting my eyes, I took a step toward him. “So don’t mess with me.”
Emotions played across his face during my little speech—anger, disbelief, and finally humor.
His sudden laughter startled me, and I took a step back.
“You’re either very brave or very foolish to confront me this way.”
I refused to back down. “I’m not worried. If I’m not back in thirty minutes, those authorities that you’re so fond of, they’ll be showing up.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I continued to stare at him. “You’d better start talking.”
Walks Quietly looked down at the ground and shook his head. With heavy steps he walked to the chopping block and sat.
I heard him mutter something about disrespectful women as he did.
Pacing over to where he sat, I stood in front of him. “I don’t have time to be respectful. A young woman is missing and a man is dead. I—”
“What man?” he asked, looking up at me.
“Duane Hobbs.”
A look of bitterness crossed his face. “I have nothing to say.” He rose slowly.
“Wait a second.” I laid a hand on his arm, stopping him.
Two eyes as hard as stone drilled into mine, and the air around us seemed to sizzle with energy. I felt the power inside the man push against me.
I focused and pushed back.
Silence dropped over the clearing around his cabin, while we stood engaged in our mental shoving match. Our combined energy churned around us, but neither one of us gave an inch.
I felt myself starting to weaken against the constant force pressing against me.
No, I would not let him win.
With a deep breath, I concentrated all my energy against his in one final push.
Walks Quietly took a step back, and the power around us trickled away like water slowly running down a drain.
“You have courage, Ophelia Jensen,” he said in a tired voice, and returned to his seat on the block.
Pressing a hand to my forehead, I inhaled long and slow. “You pack quite a wallop, too.” Sinking to the ground at his feet, I drew up my knees and rested my head for a moment. Lifting it, I looked at him. “Who are you? Or should I say, what are you?”
His mouth twisted in a humorless smile. “There’s no word in your language for what I am.” His chin rose and he stared at the trees behind me. “I am Dakota Sioux,” he said with pride. “My father, and his father before him, guided our people on their spiritual path. When I was a young man, your government asked me to fight. And I did, but when I came home, there was no warrior’s welcome for me. There was no respect. People called us names and heaped dishonor on us.” He looked down at me. “I became lost in the white man’s world, so when my daughter was grown, my wife and I came to this place. I returned to the ways of my people.” His eyes softened at the mention of his wife. “Life was good…” His jaw clenched and his eyes lost their softness. “Until my wife was found dead, lying on the shoulder of the road like some dead animal.”
I glanced down at my hands, clutched tightly in my lap. I had memories of Brian and how he, too, had been cast away in death, his body found among the garbage in a Dumpster. I understood Walks Quietly’s bitterness.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said gently, and raised my eyes to meet his.
“What do you know of loss?” he asked harshly.
“I know the sorrow from losing someone you love can drive you inside yourself, so far inside you don’t know if you can ever find your way out.” Unshed tears blurred my vision. I swiped both eyes, wiping them away.
He looked at the ground in front of him.
I cleared my voice. “What do you know about Brandi Peters?”
“Nothing. And I speak the truth,” he said in a soft voice. “I’d overheard people talking about her wildness, but I didn’t know she left the lake until you told me.”
Her wildness, huh? That confirmed what Juliet had told us about Brandi sneaking off the compound.
“What about Juliet and Jason Finch? What about Tink? You know she’s psychic, don’t you?”
“Yes.” His voice was terse.
“Does Tink know?”
He rubbed a hand over his knee, like his joint ached. “She knows she’s different, but she doesn’t understand why. They keep her isolated and seek to control her through their medicine.”
I had a feeling he wasn’t talking about the pills.
“The necklace?”
He nodded. “I do what I can to help her, but her gift is something I don’t understand.”
“The cabin in the woods—”
Walks Quietly surged to his feet. “That is an evil place. Stay away from it.”
“No kidding.” I jumped up. “Did you lay a spell around it?”
“We don’t call them spells.” He took a step away from me. “But yes, I put medicine around the cabin.”
“I know some places hold ancient evil. Is the clearing one of those places? Have there been legends about that spot?”
“No.” He moved toward his cabin, and I followed. “The stories say a white man died in the cabin, a man possessed by bad spirits.”
The ghost lights.
I hurried around him to stand in front of him. “Violet Butler’s brother?”
“I don’t know who the man was.” He stepped to the side to go by me.
“Have you ever looked inside the cabin?”
His eyes shot wide. “No,” he replied, his voice hard. “It is not safe. Only someone with very strong medicine would be able to go there unharmed.”
“Isn’t that funny? I happen to know someone who has strong medicine.” I turned and walked away from him. “About a hundred years’ worth of medicine,” I called over my shoulder as I headed down the path and back to Abby.
I was almost to the cabin when a streak of white came flying out of the woods and stopped on the path.
Tink.
Standing in front of me, she shifted her weight from foot to foot, and every line of her body echoed her distress.
I hurried over to her. “Tink, what’s wrong?” I asked, laying a hand on her shoulder.
She turned her face up to me, and I saw her violet eyes wide with fear.
“Ophelia, I need your help.”
“What? What is it?”
“I killed Duane Hobbs.”
Twenty-six
“You what?” I gave her shoulder a small shake.
“I killed Duane Hobbs. I—I didn’t mean to. It…just happened.” Her eyes filled with tears. “He tried to hurt me.”
I released Tink and pulled both hands through my hair.
I didn’t know how to handle this admission. Do I march her back to the Finches and call the sheriff, or what? I was in over my head.
“Come on.” I grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the cabin.
Once there, I flung the door open and yelled, “Abby?”
“Out here,” she replied from the deck.
I hurried Tink across the room, o
ut the doors, and onto the deck.
Abby sat at the patio table with several old books spread before her. Her reading glasses were perched on her nose. She took one look at Tink and shoved the books aside. “Tink. What is it, my dear?” she asked, her face alarmed.
“Where’s Darci?” I asked, propelling Tink toward the table.
Abby’s eyes traveled to me. “Melcher. She went to the grocery store.”
I pulled out a chair. “Sit,” I said to Tink, pointing at it. Turning my attention to Abby, I joined them at the table. “Abby, Tink has a confession.” My eyes slid over to the girl. “Go ahead; tell Abby what you told me.”
Tink looked first at Abby and then at me. “I killed Duane Hobbs,” she said in a small voice.
Abby’s hand flew to her face. “Oh, my dear,” she exclaimed. “I think you’d better start at the beginning.”
Tink’s gaze fell to her lap. “I was down by the lake when Duane found me. He started yelling at me, told me I’d better quit spying on him.” Fear flitted across her face. “I was so scared. He grabbed me and shook me…” Her voice became hushed. “And then I killed him.”
Oh brother, I thought, sitting back in my chair. This kid was lying through her teeth. But why?
Crossing my arms, I fixed my eyes on her. “How did you kill him?”
She looked up quickly. “I don’t remember,” she said as she raised her hand to her mouth and began to chew on her thumbnail.
“Tink, how can you not remember how you killed someone?” I asked.
She dropped her hand and glared at me. “I can’t, okay? I must have gone kind of crazy when he started shaking me. Next thing I know, he’s dead.”
“What did you do after that?”
She lowered her eyes. “I pushed him in the water.”
Cocking my head, I watched her. “That’s it? You killed him and dumped him in the lake?”
“Yeah,” she replied, her voice defiant. “Now are you going to turn me in, or what?”
I leaned forward in surprise. “You want us to call the sheriff?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Did you tell Jason or Juliet about Duane?” I asked.
“No.” She picked at her thumbnail. “They would try and hide it. But that’s not right. I deserve to be punished.”
My eyes met Abby’s from across the table.
Tink lifted her head and saw the look. She shoved back the chair and sprang to her feet. “You don’t believe me, do you?”
I shook my head. “No, I don’t.”
“I don’t know why not.” She hugged herself tightly. “If I said I killed him, I killed him.”
“No, Tink.” I let out a long breath. “The sheriff is going to want to know where, how, and why. And you say you don’t remember.”
“I don’t remember.” She paced away from the table. “I don’t remember killing my mother, either, but everyone believes that I did, so—”
“Wait a second,” I broke in. “Did someone tell you that you killed your mother?”
She clenched her hands at her side. “No. But I’m not stupid. I’ve heard them talking about my mother. I know what they think.”
“Who did you hear talking?”
She gave me an angry look. “Everybody. Jason, Juliet, Winnie. They all think I’m crazy.”
“Come over here, Tink,” Abby said, holding out her hand.
Silently, Tink went to Abby and took her hand.
“Now please sit down, and let’s talk about this,” she said without releasing Tink’s hand as the girl sat next to her. She leaned forward, her eyes never leaving Tink’s face. “We don’t think you’re crazy, Tink. We think you’re a remarkable young lady, and a very brave one,” she added gently. “You’re so brave that you’re willing to take the blame for something you didn’t do. You’re trying to protect someone.” She paused. “Who is it, Tink?”
Tink dropped her head and studied Abby’s hand, holding hers. Tears rolled down her face. “Walks Quietly,” she said in a hushed voice. “I know he didn’t kill Duane, but the sheriff’s going to think he did.” She lifted her head. “I heard Winnie talking to Juliet about it. Everybody knows he hated Duane ’cause Duane killed his wife.”
Abby reached over and wiped Tink’s tears away. “But if Walks Quietly is innocent?”
Tink sniffed. “It won’t matter. They’re all scared of him and they’re going to use this to send him away.”
“So you thought if you confessed, you could save him?” Abby reached in her pocket and handed Tink a handkerchief.
“Yeah. I figured I’m a kid,” she said, taking the handkerchief and wiping her face. “And if the sheriff thought it was in self-defense, they wouldn’t send me to prison, or anything.”
“But Tink, if your plan worked, it would mean a killer would go free.” Abby squeezed her hand.
Tink shook her head. “I don’t care. I don’t want Walks Quietly to pay for something he didn’t do.”
“Maybe we can help you,” I said.
Her eyes darted to me and she looked skeptical. “How? You’re here on vacation. What do you know about finding a murderer?”
“Ahh,” I stammered. “In the past, I’ve had a little experience catching killers.”
Tink’s head jerked back. “Yeah? Like what?” she said, disbelief in her voice.
“Never mind,” I said. “The truth is we’re not on vacation, we’re here to find out what happened to Brandi Peters.”
Tink’s face twisted in disgust. “I didn’t like her. I was glad when she left.”
I leaned forward. “Why didn’t you like her?”
“She was always flouncing around, acting like she was better than everyone else. And she never wanted to do her chores,” she said, her tone derisive. “Winnie hated her. I heard Winnie complaining to Juliet about Brandi.”
“What did Winnie say?”
Tink shrugged. “Not much. She was tattling on Brandi for sneaking out.” She released Abby’s hand and sat back. “How does Brandi leaving have anything to do with Duane Hobbs?”
“I don’t know. But I think Duane might have known something about Brandi. Maybe that’s why he was killed.”
She looked at me carefully. “Does Winnie know why you’re here?”
“Probably. We told Juliet yesterday.”
Tink nodded. “Then she knows. Juliet tells Winnie everything.” She gave a little snort. “Guess they won’t be trying to convince you to join the group after all.”
“What do you mean?”
“They wanted you to help them with the research Jason’s always talking about. I heard them say you were psychics.” Tink scooted her chair closer to the table. “Are you?”
“Ahh.” I looked at Abby.
She gave me a slight nod.
“Yes.”
“Ha, I bet Juliet and Jason are so jealous of you.” Her face took on a satisfied smirk.
“Why would they be jealous?”
“They want to be psychic so bad. They practice all the time.”
“What about you? Do you want to be psychic?”
Tink picked at her thumbnail again. “No.”
Abby looked at Tink sympathetically. “Sometimes we don’t get a choice. We are what we are. And we’re given the gift for a reason.”
Tink stood up. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Why not?”
Her pale face screwed up in a frown. “I don’t like all this psychic stuff, that’s why. Hearing voices, feeling cold spots, seeing shadows that aren’t there. It’s crazy.”
Tink was a medium. Astonished, I glanced at Abby, but she ignored me.
“Do you see shadow people, Tink?” Abby asked, her face serious.
Tink squirmed under Abby’s watchful eye and lowered her head. Her hair fell like a curtain around her face, masking her expression. “No,” she mumbled.
The hum of a passing boat floated up from the lake. A squirrel rustled the pine boughs next to the deck. No one spoke,
and the minutes ticked by.
Tink finally cracked under the weight of Abby’s gaze and began pacing back and forth. Abruptly stopping, she cast an angry look at Abby. “What if I do? It doesn’t mean they’re right, it doesn’t mean I’m crazy.”
Unruffled by Tink’s outburst, Abby motioned for her to resume her place at the table. “You’re right, you’re not crazy. You’ve been given a gift few people have. You have the ability to help lost souls.”
“You mean like Duane?” Tink made a face. “Gross. I didn’t like him.”
Abby chuckled. “We’ll talk about helping people we don’t like later, all right?” Her voice dropped to a gentle, reassuring pitch. “Tink, do you have your necklace?”
“Yeah.”
“May I see it?” Abby asked quietly.
“I suppose.” Tink leaned back in her chair and reached in her pocket. Drawing out a small pouch, she laid it on the table.
Leaning forward, but not touching the pouch, Abby slipped on her reading glasses and studied it. “Interesting.” She pointed to the quill design on the flap. “Did Walks Quietly make this for you?” she asked, taking Tink’s hand.
Tink nodded.
“Do you know what the design means?”
“No.”
“Would you mind slipping it out of the pouch for me, Tink?”
Tink picked up the pouch and shook the necklace out onto the table. The silver web with its dark red stone sparkled in the sunlight.
Without releasing Tink’s hand, Abby closed her eyes and passed her other hand over it several times. “Just as I thought,” she said with a shudder. “How do you feel when you wear the necklace, Tink?”
Her mouth tightened in a frown. “Like I’m walking around in some kind of fog. It gives me the creeps.”
“Would you like me to change that for you?”
A wary look crossed Tink’s face. “How?”
Abby winked. “I have my ways,” she said, and squeezed Tink’s hand.
Tink rolled her eyes.
“You don’t have a lot of trust, do you, kid?” I asked.
“Why should I?” Tink shot back. “I don’t know you and your grandmother.”
“You’re right. You don’t. But when you look at Abby, what do you see? What do you feel?”
Tink tilted her head and gazed at Abby with a speculative look, all the time holding tight to Abby’s hand. “I see mountains. Women in log houses. People asking the women for help. A garden with lots and lots of plants.” She narrowed her eyes. “Peace. And the air around her kind of sparkles.”
The Trouble with Witches Page 18