Witch Way to Murder

by Shirley Damsgaard

  When I opened it, he started to leave, but turned at the last moment. He looked down at me and grinned. We were only inches apart, and it made my senses vibrate like strings on a harp. Rick made a move to touch my hand holding the door. When I drew back, his grin faded.

  “Did I mention I like puzzles?” he said casually.

  Not waiting for my answer, he strolled out the door and down the steps. At the bottom, he turned and waved at me.

  I smacked myself on the forehead. Like I don’t have enough problems? Great. Now I’m a puzzle. I’d never get rid of him.

  Four

  Monday morning when I arrived at the library, who should be waiting patiently on the top step but Rick? He removed his sunglasses and grinned at me as I hurried up the steps. I slowed my pace and sighed. So much for pawning him off on Darci. She wouldn’t be arriving for another hour.

  “Hi,” he said when I reached the top step.

  “Good morning,” I replied, shifting the books I carried and rummaging in my bag for the keys to the door. “You’re up early.”

  Not paying attention to his response, I dug deeper in my bag. Dang, where were those keys? I hadn’t left them at home, had I?

  Rick noticed my struggle and held out his hands. “Here, let me hold those for you.”

  “No. I got it,” I said as my fingers curled around the keys in the bottom of my bag. Pulling the keys out, I dangled them in front of my face.

  After unlocking the door, I turned the knob and pushed the door open with my hip. Not waiting for Rick, I shifted the weight again, hitting the light switches on my way to the counter. Once there, I stowed my bag and grabbed the card files, setting them on top of the chipped Formica.

  “You look nice today,” he said, observing me from the other side of the counter.

  I looked down at my clothes—linen jacket, tailored blouse, and navy Dockers. My hair was pulled back in a neat twist and I actually had on makeup. “More like a librarian?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

  He gave me a sheepish grin. “Yeah.”

  “Thanks.” Passing from behind the counter, I walked over to the alphabetical card file. “Is there a particular book about the French and Indian War you’re looking for?”

  “Yes, there is,” he said relaxing against the ledge. “America’s First, First World War—the French and Indian War, 1754–1763, by Timothy Todish. I haven’t been able to find it anywhere.”

  “Hmm,” I said, and pulled out the first drawer. “That title doesn’t sound familiar.” I quickly leafed through the A’s, and not finding it, pulled out the drawer marked S–T and did the same thing. “Nope. Sorry, we don’t have it. Any others?”

  Rick straightened. “I don’t know,” he said with a twitch of his shoulder. “What do you have?”

  Tugging on my jacket, I made my way past Rick to the shelves containing books on military engagements. “Right here,” I said, pointing to the middle two shelves. Pulling out one of the books, I handed it to him. “This one is about the Fort William Henry massacre.”

  “I had breakfast at Joe’s Café this morning,” he said absentmindedly while he read the table of contents. He gave a slight shake of his head and returned the book to the shelf.

  I guess reading a book about a massacre and talking about breakfast didn’t go together.

  “Well, it’s a good place to hang out if you want to learn about Summerset. A lot of the older farmers eat there.” I pulled out another book and gave it to him.

  “Yeah. The talk was all about the anhydrous thefts,” he said while he studied the title.

  I moved down the row to a different section. “For now, maybe.”

  He placed the book in the empty spot on the shelf. “What do you mean?” he asked, his brows knitting together.

  “Oh, until something else unexpected comes along,” I said nonchalantly.

  “Like what?” he quizzed.

  “Someone dying suddenly, news leaking out of a couple’s affair, whatever.” I shrugged while I ran my finger along the spines of the books. “It’s the way small towns are—everyone knows, or thinks they know, their neighbors’ business.”

  “But no one knows, not even the sheriff, who’s stealing the anhydrous.”

  “According to Darci, they think it’s someone from Des Moines.” I tilted my head and read the word “French” on one of the spines.

  “Do you agree? You don’t think it could be a local?”

  “I guess, maybe,” I said, grabbing the book and opening the cover. “I don’t know. I don’t waste a lot of my time thinking about these things.”

  “You’re not interested in the rumors?”

  “Not really,” I said, snapping the cover shut. “Here, what about this one? It’s been checked out a lot.” I held it out so he could see the title.

  Rick glanced at the cover. “I’ve read that one,” he said.

  Okay.

  I shoved the book back before reaching for the one beside it. “This one?” I said aloud.

  “Read it.”

  Silently, I held out the next book.

  He shook his head no. “What are you interested in?” he asked, following me as I made my way down the row.

  “Finding books for hard to please customers?” I replied, offering him the last book in the row.

  “Okay, I get your point,” he said, his eyes twinkling as he took the book from my outstretched hand. “I haven’t read this one.”

  Thank goodness. I’d exhausted our supply of military books, and to say nothing of how tired I was at playing twenty questions.

  “I’d still like to read the Todish book,” he said when we reached the counter. “Is there any way you could get it for me?”

  “I can try,” I said, flipping the cover open, pulling out the card, and stamping the due date inside. Maybe a little harder than I should have. Smiling, I slid the book toward Rick. “There. All set.”

  “This is great.” He picked up the book and weighed it in his hand. “I appreciate your help this morning. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

  “No, not necessary,” I said, and filed his card. Scooping up the pile of returned books from the shelf, I laid them on the counter. Holding the first one open, I stuck its card inside the jacket, and then scooted it to the side.

  “Dinner?”

  I stopped, my hand hovering over the next cover. “Really, it’s my job to help customers, Rick.”

  “But I’d like to show my appreciation. I—”

  The chime on the library door interrupted him.

  “Hi guys,” Darci said, bouncing in.

  Yes. Literally saved by the bell.

  By mid-afternoon I felt like pounding my head on the wall. I’d called every library in neighboring towns, went through every book catalogue we owned, and had been to every book vendor on the Web, but could not locate the Todish book. My last hope was WorldCat, the national and international listing of books owned by specific libraries.

  “Wouldn’t you know, the book Rick wanted had to have one of the longest titles I’d ever seen?” I muttered while I hunched over the computer keyboard and typed in America’s First, First World War—the French and Indian War, 1754–1763 for the hundredth time. I was rewarded with a hit—a library in Massachusetts had a copy. “Hurray,” I said, and spun my chair around.

  “Are you talking to yourself, dear?”

  I stopped mid-spin to see my grandmother standing in the doorway. “Jeez, Abby. You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”

  She grinned and took a chair at the corner of my desk. “Sorry, but you looked busy.”

  I turned back to the screen. “Yeah, Rick Davis asked me to find a book for him, and now, three hours later, I have. Give me a minute to copy this information and send the Regional Library in Council Bluffs a request to borrow it.”

  I quickly wrote down what I needed and sent the library an e-mail request. Finished, I turned my chair toward Abby. “Now. What’s up?”

  “Nothing—really. I cam
e to town to have lunch with Edna Walters, so I thought I’d stop by and see my favorite granddaughter.”

  “Your only grandchild,” I said, and laughed.

  “Be that as it may, you’re still my favorite.” Abby winked at me.

  A little bubble of skepticism formed in my mind. Why was Abby acting so nice? She’d been here at least two minutes and hadn’t teased me or brought up performing a spell once. I narrowed my eyes and studied her. Dressed in a flowing skirt, its folds floated over her legs and down to the floor. She sat on the edge of her chair, her feet tucked to the side and her hands resting in her lap. Her face wore a look of total innocence.

  That look of wide-eyed ingenuousness gave her away—my sweet grandmother was getting ready to scam me.

  “Okay, what have you been up to?” I asked, watching her with wary eyes.

  Abby’s eyes widened. “Whatever do you mean?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Abby, you’re buttering me up before you drop your bomb.”

  “Oh all right,” she said, settling back in her chair. “I did some scrying yesterday.”

  Great. She’d been at it again. Scrying was the ability to receive images or impressions by staring at an object—a bowl of water, a mirror, a crystal, or a candle. The ritual performed was lengthy and required both the witch and the room to be purified first, usually by smudging. And since her zodiac sign belonged to the element of fire, Abby always used a candle.

  “And what did you see?” I asked, shaking my head.

  “I didn’t really ‘see’ anything. But I did receive impressions. Impressions of you and Rick Davis sitting in your living room.”

  “No surprise there,” I said, throwing up my hand. “We sat in my living room Saturday, after you’d left. I’d dropped my billfold and he returned it.”

  “I didn’t get the feeling it was something that had already happened.” Abby paused and tapped her chin. “The impression was very strong that the event lies in the future.”

  “Can’t be. I have no intention of ever inviting him to my house. The guy makes me nervous.” I frowned. “He’s hiding something. I know he is.”

  “But—”

  A rap on the door stopped her from finishing.

  Darci opened the door and stuck her head in. “Excuse me, Ophelia. Didn’t you want me to go to the post office and mail back the books from the traveling library?”

  “Oh gosh, yes. What time is it?” I looked at the clock on the computer. “They close in twenty minutes. I’ll be right up to watch the counter, then you can leave.”

  Darci started to pull the door shut, but Abby stopped her.

  “Darci, wait, come in,” Abby said, waving her into the room. “I have a question for you. You’re a pretty astute judge of character. What do you think of Rick Davis?”

  Darci astute? I looked at Abby in surprise, but she was watching Darci’s reaction.

  Darci smiled shyly at Abby’s compliment. “He’s very good-looking. Smart,” she said, pondering Abby’s question. “Umm—I think he’s one of those people who seem to sail through life without a lot of problems. So he hasn’t had to spend much time in self-examination.”

  My eyebrows shot up. Wow, I was surprised at Darci’s response. But Abby wasn’t. She nodded thoughtfully at her description of Rick.

  “Because of his looks and intelligence, he’s used to getting what he wants,” Darci continued. “But I don’t think he’s a jerk. He just expects life to be easy, without even being aware of how he feels.” She paused again. “And I think he asks too many questions to be a chemical salesman.”

  I gave Abby a knowing look. “See what did I tell you? Darci thinks he’s lying, too.”

  Darci grinned like she’d just passed a test. “No one’s at the counter, so I’d better get back upstairs. I’m ready to go to the post office whenever you want, Ophelia. I’ll see you later, Abby.” Wiggling her fingers in a wave, she sauntered out of the room.

  When I was sure Darci couldn’t hear me, I said to Abby, “I didn’t think Darci paid that much attention to people.”

  “I think you underestimate the girl. But back to what I was about to say—”

  “Please,” I said interrupting her this time. Sighing, I massaged my eyes with my fingertips. “I’m tired of thinking about spells, evil circles, and Rick Davis.” I dropped my hands and looked at her. “You know he asked me what I did for fun and I had a problem thinking of something? Isn’t that sad?” I leaned forward and placed my hand on her knee. “Do you think we could table all of this for now? Let’s do something fun. I read in the paper that the Cinemax in Des Moines is running a special old movie series. One of the movies is The Thin Man. And I’ve never watched it in a movie theater. I thought about driving into Des Moines to see it. Would you like to go?”

  Abby patted my hand. “Yes, dear, I’d love to.”

  “Great,” I said, sitting back in the chair. “Maybe we can go to dinner first? We haven’t done that in a long time.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” she said, standing and smoothing her skirt. She leaned over and kissed the top of my head, squeezing my shoulder as she did. “Be careful, dear,” she murmured against my hair. “I don’t want to lose you. And I know you don’t want to hear this, but I have to warn you. The reason I knew the impression I received hasn’t happened yet—you and Rick were surrounded by an aura of danger.”

  She squeezed my shoulder and left.

  Five

  Rick Davis had been in town less than a week, but by Tuesday everyone thought he was wonderful. He’d met people at Stumpy’s, Joe’s Café, the post office. Everywhere people gathered, Rick Davis—and his questions—was there. His curiosity seemed to be admired. “Isn’t it nice he’s taking such an interest in the town?” they were all saying. The ladies in town were talking about him—both young and old. “What a nice young man.” “Isn’t he charming?” “Such nice manners.” “Those brown eyes are to die for.”

  Either I was hearing about him or the man himself was haunting the basement of the library. He spent so much time in the archives, I thought about charging him rent. It was no surprise to me when I found him once again in the basement on the computer.

  “Back again, huh?”

  Rick shut off the computer, making it revert to the original settings and clearing the history. He raised his head and looked at me. “Yeah, just reading about all of the thefts. I can’t believe the sheriff doesn’t have any clues.”

  He gazed up at me like I knew something he didn’t.

  “Bill? How would I know? I’m not in his confidence. You’re staying at the bed and breakfast, aren’t you? Why don’t you ask Georgia? She dates Alan, one of Bill’s deputies.”

  Rick gave me a lopsided grin. “Georgia does seem to know everything that’s going on in town, doesn’t she?”

  I straightened the magazines on the table. “Georgia has a reputation for two things: cooking and being one of the biggest gossips in town. Be careful what you say to her. She repeats everything.”

  “I’ve already figured that one out.” Rick leaned back in the chair and watched me. “Darci said your grandmother knows a lot about the town, too.”

  Placing both hands on the table, I slanted forward. “Darci’s wrong. Abby minds her own business, just like I do. What do you care who knows what about this town?” I said, with too much force. I took a deep breath and started again, this time with my voice under control. “I thought you’re here to sell fertilizer, not to do a history of Summerset.”

  Rick lifted his shoulders in a careless shrug. “It helps my sales pitch if I understand the community. And I find all these thefts fascinating. How can someone manage to steal all this anhydrous and not get caught? Aren’t you curious about it?”

  “No, it’s Bill’s job to figure that stuff out, not mine. And speaking of your sales pitch, exactly when are you giving this pitch? It seems to me that you’re either here or busy ingratiating yourself with the townspeople. Mrs. Walters can’t say enough about you
after you helped her to the car with her groceries.” I crossed my arms and stared at him.

  “Come on, she’s had hip surgery.”

  I rolled my eyes. “The hip surgery was two years ago and she’s as strong as a horse. She played you for a sucker.”

  Rick cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t mind. It got me an invitation to dinner.”

  “You should go. That is, if you don’t mind hearing all the gruesome details of her surgery over the mashed potatoes and gravy. By the way, how much longer do you plan on staying in Summerset?”

  “I don’t know. It all depends,” he said, fiddling with a pencil lying beside the computer.

  “Depends on what?”

  “Oh, this and that,” he said as he watched me with a slight grin on his face.

  Silence. Picking up the magazines again, I gave them one final tap to straighten them and glanced at the clock. “Well, as fun as this may be, I have work to do. Don’t you have someplace you should be?”

  “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

  “Not only ingratiating, but quick, too,” I said, walking past him into my office.

  “Wait a second, I have one more question. And then I’ll leave, I promise.” Rick followed me.

  I sighed. “What is it?”

  He leaned casually against the door frame while I sat down at my desk.

  “Who’s Jake Jenkins?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “I was reading the letter to the editor he wrote about gun control.”

  “You mean his diatribe?” I frowned, picked up some papers lying on my desk and studied them. “Umm—Jake works at the co-op.”

  “And you don’t like him.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Even from here, I can see the page you’re reading is upside down.”

  Putting the papers down, I looked over at Rick. “Okay, you’re right, I don’t like him. I think he’s an idiot.”

  Rick laughed. “Why don’t you tell me how you really feel, Ophelia?”

  I grimaced. “Yeah, well he is. Lady doesn’t like him, either. She goes nuts whenever she sees him. And she’s an excellent judge of character.”