Witch Way to Murder

by Shirley Damsgaard

  “I’ve heard this before,” I said, clearing my throat.

  “I know, I know,” she said, stroking the back of my hand. “And you know your mother’s happy with her life, living with your father in Florida. Her path was the right one for her. But you—even as a small child I could see your gift. And I’m worried that if you don’t accept the gift and follow your path, you’ll never find true happiness.”

  “I’m sorry, Abby. I really am. But I can’t follow that path. I don’t believe in magick or in the old ways anymore. The magick failed Brian, and it failed Grandpa. I see it as nothing more than parlor tricks.”

  A look of pain crossed Abby’s face. I hated hurting her, but I couldn’t lie about my feelings. We sat in silence for a moment and I felt the distance caused by our differing beliefs.

  “You weren’t responsible for Brian’s death, Ophelia,” she said almost in a whisper, breaking the silence.

  “Yes, I was. If the magick would’ve worked, or if I’d gone with Brian when he wanted me to, he would’ve been with me, at the bar. Not out on the street where the killer found him.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Yes, I do. When my friend needed me most, I wasn’t there. I failed, and I’ve lived with the guilt of that failure for four years.” Another tear seeped out of the corner of my eye. I swiped it away.

  “Maybe it’s time you dealt with the guilt. And the grief. The grief you feel over losing not only Brian, but your grandfather, too.” The love and concern in her voice seemed to span the distance between us, closing it.

  “I have dealt with it,” I answered.

  “How? By living your life alone? Not forming an attachment to anyone?” She shook her head sadly. “That’s not a good way to live.”

  “It’s the only way I know how to live,” I said, pulling my hand away. “What if I did allow someone other than you in my life, and I let them down, like I did Brian? I couldn’t handle it, I’d be right back where I was after Brian died.”

  “You wouldn’t. You’re stronger now.”

  “No—I’m not. It’s a big bluff. Most of the time, I’m scared,” I said, staring off into space. “When I think about how I felt after Brian died, I had no control over my life, my emotions. It was such a dark place to be.” I shuddered and returned my gaze to Abby’s face. “I can’t do it. I can’t go back to that darkness.”

  “So you hide behind your wall and don’t let anyone in?” she asked calmly.

  I sniffed and wiped the rest of the tears off my face. “Pretty much. It’s too painful to be involved in someone’s life. I can’t even bear anyone—other than you—to touch me.”

  Abby squeezed my hand. “You underestimate yourself, my dear. In the time ahead, I think you’re going to learn exactly how strong you really are.”

  “We’re back to the ‘evil circle’ stuff again, aren’t we?” I asked, feeling a tightness build around my heart.

  She nodded in agreement. “I may not know exactly what’s going to happen, but I do know one thing for certain—your life is about to change, whether you want it to or not.”

  I thought about what she said for a minute. “Is Rick Davis involved in the change I’ll experience?”

  “I think so.”

  “Okay, all I have to do is stay away from him and my life won’t change. Right?”

  Abby chuckled, and the tightness in my chest eased. “Wrong. It’s not as simple as that. You’re not going to be able to dodge, or hide, from what’s coming. But I’ll be here to help you.”

  The tightness eased a little more.

  She took my hand and squeezed it. “And quit worrying about Rick Davis. He won’t learn anything I don’t want him to.”

  “I’m telling you, the guy’s a walking question mark. I don’t trust anyone who asks that many questions.”

  An idea popped into my head. To get her mind off Rick Davis, I’d let her do her magick. She’d be so busy thinking up spells, she’d forget about talking to him. And what harm could one little spell do? I didn’t believe in them, but she did.

  “Tell you what, if it’ll make you feel better, go ahead and do your thing with the candle and stuff. Just don’t do it while I’m here. Okay?” I said, and smiled a weak smile.

  “I’m not so old, young lady, that I don’t know what you’re doing.” Abby leaned forward, her eyes narrowed. “You’re trying to distract me. I’ll do the spell because I’m worried about you, but I haven’t given up the idea of meeting this Rick. You aren’t the only stubborn one in this family.”

  I had just lost the battle.

  Three

  After Abby left, I was glad it was Saturday and my day off. I felt out of sorts. In spite of how I’d acted around her, I believed her. Something was wrong. I might not use the same words as she did to describe my uneasiness, but it didn’t make the feeling any less threatening.

  Pacing back and forth in the kitchen, I hugged my arms to my chest and thought.

  I didn’t want to be involved in whatever was wrong. I didn’t want my life to change. Stopping, I looked out the window and stared at the trees that ringed my empty backyard. Okay, so maybe my life was a little lonely sometimes, but I had my books, my pets. And I was safe. Safe from the demons that had haunted me four years ago. How hard would I fight to keep my life the same? Pretty damn hard.

  But Abby said I didn’t have a choice. I would be involved and my life would change. I resumed my pacing.

  Poor Abby. I knew how much she regretted my decision not to learn the old ways. The knowledge wasn’t passed down to every woman in the family. Only the chosen. And the chosen had to possess a gift, a gift to see beyond the world around us. That talent ran strong in our family living in the mountains of Appalachia; in a line, mother to daughter, grandmother to granddaughter, stretching back for over a hundred years.

  It was a line of granny women, herb doctors, healers, white witches—women in my family had been called by many different names—but whatever the name, the training was the same. Each young woman, when her time came, would be taught about herbs, charms, potions, crystals, and the energy that vibrates all around us. She would learn how to use them as tools to heal and help, but never for her own profit, and never without the permission of the one she sought to heal or help.

  The gift did occasionally skip a generation. It had skipped my mother and landed on me. No brothers, no sisters. An only child of an only child. I was the last of the line, the last of the chosen.

  And I had walked away.

  Chewing on my lip, I thought about my options. Could I use the gift to protect Abby from Rick? No, I’d made my choice. No turning back. So how could I keep Abby away from him? If he stayed in Summerset, he’d be sure to meet her. Could she keep her secrets and our family’s past from someone as nosy as Rick without my help?

  I stopped suddenly. What if, somehow, he found out about what happened to me after Brian’s death? About the doctors? My name was never mentioned in the news articles written about Brian. And no one in Summerset, other than Abby, knew. But this was the age of the Internet. All kinds of information floated in cyberspace. What if he came across something about Brian and it led him to me? Then everyone in town would know. I wouldn’t be able to stand the stares, the whispers, if the town learned my secret.

  All the thoughts spun in my head like a hamster on a treadmill, around and around in an endless circle leading nowhere. The muscles in the back of my neck felt like rubber bands stretched taut. My stomach churned with anxiety and I felt the walls close in. I had to get out of the house. A walk in the woods with Lady would help me think, help me plan. I looked out the window; the sun was shining and the snow melting. The woods would be quiet and peaceful.

  I’d changed from my bathrobe to a thick sweater and jeans. After combing my fingers through my hair and pulling it back, I was fastening a scrunchy around the loose ponytail when a strange car appeared in the drive. For a person who valued her privacy, I certainly was getting a lot of visitors
. I watched from the window while the driver got out. Damn it all to hell—it was Rick Davis.

  He knocked on the door. Today he was dressed again in jeans, with a red turtleneck sweater under the same leather jacket. From where I was standing, he couldn’t see me unless he glanced at the window. If I refused to answer the door, maybe he would assume no one was home and go away. He took one step back and Lady started barking. Rick turned toward the sound, and I jerked back from the window. Too late, he spotted me. I had no choice but to open the door.

  “Hi. I hope you don’t mind me dropping in like this. I would’ve called, but your number wasn’t in the book. I found this lying in the street,” he said, handing me my billfold. “I thought you might be looking for it.”

  “Oh gosh,” I answered, taking the wallet from him. “Thanks. It must’ve fallen out of my backpack.”

  I flipped the billfold opened and searched for my driver’s license and credit card. Whew, they were still there. Frowning, I tapped the billfold in my hand. What do I do now? The man had just helped me out.

  “Something wrong?” Rick asked, interrupting my thoughts. “Is something missing?”

  “Ahh, no, no. It’s all here,” I said with a pained look, watching Rick linger on my porch.

  Abby always said there was no excuse for bad manners. But if I could have thought of a reason to leave him standing there, I would’ve used it. But now I owed him, and I couldn’t shut the door in his face. So I had to invite him in.

  When I did, Lady, the shameless hussy, was all over him like a rash.

  He squatted down and ran his hands over Lady’s head. “Great dog,” he said, admiring Lady’s face. “What’s her name?”

  No, he wasn’t going to worm his way past my defenses by winning over my dog.

  I frowned. “Lady. But you’d better be careful. She may act friendly, but she can get mean.”

  Lady, of course, made it obvious I lied by looking at him with total adoration, while Rick scratched her favorite spot under her chin. If a dog could have smiled, she would’ve.

  Queenie meandered in from the general location of the living room. She rubbed against his leg, and when he reached down to pet her, she rolled on her back, paws waving. Rick raised his head, his eyes gleaming.

  “I suppose your cat is mean, too?”

  Even from where I stood, her purr sounded like a refrigerator humming. Thanks to my unfaithful pets, Rick was laughing at me. I did not dignify his remark by answering.

  “Please, come into the living room,” I said, showing him the way, while Lady and Queenie padded silently beside us.

  He stopped at the door and surveyed the room. It was my favorite room in the house. Littered around it were books from the many bookcases lining the wall. My latest needlepoint lay on top of the old afghan on the couch, my treasures clustered about on the tables. The room looked cluttered and lived in. It was all very personal. I knew immediately it had been a mistake to bring him in here.

  Rick wandered over to my books. “You have an eclectic taste in reading, don’t you?”

  “I’m a librarian. It’s my job to know what’s being published.”

  “True. Have you read all of these?”

  Remember, Jensen. The man did you a favor. Be nice.

  Trying to look composed, I smiled. “Other than dropping off my billfold, I’m sure you didn’t drive over here to discuss my reading habits.” I sat down on the couch and picked up my needlepoint. “Is there something else I can do for you?”

  “No. I know we just met, but I was concerned about you yesterday. You were so upset when you left. I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He watched me intently, the way he had the previous day.

  What lie could I tell him now? I’d heard the best lies always contain a grain of truth. “I don’t like talking about this, but I guess I do owe you an explanation for my behavior,” I said, stalling for time. What explanation could I give him? I plucked at my needlepoint while I searched for a reason. Nothing. Suddenly, I had a flash of inspiration. “Umm, I suffer from panic attacks.”

  “Really?” he asked, tilting his head to one side.

  “Yes, and I’m a little afraid of storms, so this one was worse,” I said, nodding rapidly while I stared at the needlepoint in my hand.

  Did that sound believable? Best stop before I made a mess of it. I plucked the needlepoint harder. Rick sat down facing me, and I felt like a bug under a microscope.

  “Are you feeling better today?”

  “Yes, much.”

  “Great,” he said, shifting his eyes away from me and scanning the living room again. “This is a nice house. Have you lived here long?”

  “Umm…about four years.”

  “Yesterday, you didn’t mention you have family in Summerset. Your grandmother lives here, right? Is that why you took this particular job?”

  Uh-uh, I wouldn’t let the conversation go down that road. Abby was not a topic I cared to discuss with him. The less he learned about her, the better.

  “Not really,” I said, lying again. “It was a coincidence.”

  The look on his face said he didn’t believe me, but when he didn’t call me on it, I continued.

  “Are you from a small town?” I asked, trying to look interested. Maybe my question would lead him away from asking me about Abby.

  “No, I grew up in Minneapolis. Now about your grandmother—”

  “Why are you so interested in my grandmother?” I interrupted.

  “When I was playing pool at Stumpy’s Bar and Billiards last night, your grandmother’s name came up,” he said, shrugging a shoulder.

  “They were talking about my grandmother in a bar?” My eyebrows shot up.

  Rick chuckled. “No, it wasn’t like that. Stumpy mentioned her during our conversation. She sounds like a nice lady.”

  “She is. She’s the best,” I said, daring him to argue.

  “He said she runs a greenhouse, and I thought some of our products might appeal to her. Several greenhouses do use our fertilizer.”

  Duh, he’s a chemical salesman. Of course he’d assume Abby might buy something from him. But he assumed wrong. Abby didn’t believe in chemicals. She used other methods to get her plants to grow. Hey, wait a second, narrowing my eyes and watching him, I didn’t believe he was a chemical salesman.

  “So what do you do for fun?”

  “Me? Fun?” The sudden shift in conversation caught me off guard and my eyes widened in surprise.

  Rick laughed. “Yeah. Fun. You do have fun, don’t you?”

  “Well, yes, I have fun,” I stammered.

  “Doing what?” he asked, tilting his head to one side.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never thought much about it. Watching old movies.” I pursed my lips while I thought about the question. “Reading, naturally.”

  “Yeah,” he said, nodding. “I enjoy reading, too.” He gave a quick smile. “But you know that, since I begged you to give me a library card. What do you have about the French and Indian War? It’s one of my favorite subjects.”

  “We have a few,” I said while I ran through the titles in my head.

  “Terrific. Maybe Monday I’ll stop by and you can show me what the library has.”

  Showing him books on the French and Indian War sounded like a job for Darci. I’d pawn him off on her. But instead of telling him my thoughts, I gave him a tight smile. “Sure, no problem.”

  Having exhausted the things we had in common, the room settled into silence. But sounds from the outside world drifted in. In the distance, I heard the train as it rumbled through town. A car drove by my house with the base on its radio loud enough to make the decorative plates on the wall vibrate. Down the street my neighbor’s dog barked a series of staccato yips.

  With my hand, I smoothed the needlepoint I’d been plucking and stole looks at Rick. When he caught me looking at him, he’d give me a friendly smile, but say nothing. Evidently, he didn’t feel the need to end the silence.

  My lo
oks became bolder, till I was downright staring at him, trying to figure him out. But my stares didn’t seem to bother him. He was too busy looking around the room, picking a piece of lint off his pant leg or petting Lady, who had taken a position by him, to notice me.

  He sat in the chair, the ankle of his right leg resting carelessly on top of his other knee. Just a guy hanging out, at ease with himself and his surroundings. His eyes were bright, and I noticed they had little gold flecks in the irises. My eyes wandered down to his mouth. Lips—not too thin, not too fat. He should’ve looked arrogant, but instead he managed to appear both boyish and sexy at the same time. I should’ve felt comfortable; there wasn’t anything about his attitude that was threatening. But while I watched him, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was missing something about him. But what?

  “You’re an unusual person, Ophelia Jensen.”

  At the sound of his voice, my eyes snapped back to his. “Huh?”

  “I said you’re unusual. Most people can’t tolerate silence, and they’ll do anything, say anything, to fill it.”

  “And you wanted to see if I started chattering to fill the void?” I asked, not knowing whether to feel angry or flattered.

  Rick gave me a wide smile. “I doubt if you’ve ever chattered in your life. That doesn’t fit my image of you.”

  The words tumbled out before I could stop them.

  “What is your image of me?” I asked.

  “You don’t fit the mold and you’re something of a puzzle.” He stopped briefly, thinking. “But I’m a salesman. Part of my job is studying people, so I’ll figure it out sooner or later.”

  I squirmed a little at the idea of Rick Davis studying me.

  “Well,” he said, slapping his leg and standing. “I’d better go. I’m sure you have a lot to do. But I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

  “Thanks. And thank you again for finding my wallet,” I said, standing and walking him to the door.