Witch Way to Murder

by Shirley Damsgaard

  “I agree. Did you notice how much she liked me?” Rick said, grinning.

  “Ha, you’re the exception to the rule. Just because—”

  “Excuse me, Miss Ophelia,” someone behind Rick said. “Don’t mean to bother you, but Miss Darci said to ask you if there’s anything else for me to do.”

  Damn! Benny. Jake’s brother. Poor guy—almost as wide as he was tall—he had one speed, slow and ponderous. Darci told me it had taken him six years to complete high school. And now, in addition to farming rented land with his brother, he did odd jobs around town to supplement his income. How long had he been standing there? Had he heard what I said about Jake? I might not have cared about Jake, but Benny did. He worshiped his brother, and I wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings.

  “Benny, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were still here. No, there isn’t anything else. But the shingles on my garage need to be repaired. Would you have time to look at them?”

  “Sure thing, Miss Ophelia, but not today. Maybe Friday.” Benny’s round, earnest face stared back at me.

  “That would be fine, Benny.”

  After Benny waddled off, I covered my face with my hands.

  “I don’t think he heard you,” Rick said.

  “Jeez, I hope not. Benny thinks Jake can do no wrong, and I wouldn’t want to hurt Benny. He’s harmless.”

  “But his brother isn’t?”

  “Look, I’ve already said enough about Jake Jenkins. And I really do have work to do.”

  “Okay, last thing—thank you for ordering the Todish book for me.”

  “No problem,” I said, booting up the computer on my desk.

  “Darci said it was. She told me you spent a couple of hours tracking it down.”

  Staring at the computer screen, I wished Darci hadn’t told him that.

  “No big deal. It’s part of my job,” I said, waving my hand in dismissal.

  “I appreciate you ordering the book. I really would like to take you to dinner as a thank-you.”

  “It’s not necessary,” I said, not taking my eyes off the screen.

  “Why don’t you want to have dinner with me?” he asked abruptly.

  I tore my eyes away from the screen and looked at Rick, the doorway framing him. “Okay, Rick, let me be direct. I’m not your type and I don’t think it would be a good idea to have dinner with you.”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and nodded. “That’s pretty direct.”

  “You asked,” I said, and started to type on the keyboard. “I need to have this report done today, so—”

  “One more second,” he said, interrupting me. You said you weren’t my type. What kind of woman do you think is my type?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, squinting at the screen. “For a man who looks like you, a beauty queen, maybe a model. Someone cute.”

  “And you’re not cute?”

  “Oh, hell no.” I clapped my hand over my mouth, but it was too late. The words were out.

  Rick grinned. “I didn’t think librarians swore.”

  “They don’t. I don’t. Well, maybe sometimes. But not a lot.” I could feel the heat building in my face. My God, the man had me stammering. And he stood in the open doorway, watching me, with a big grin on his face. He had to leave before I said something else stupid.

  Embarrassed, I looked up at him. “Please, I really do have things to do.”

  Rick gave a big sigh and said, “Okay, I guess my only option is to have dinner with Mrs. Walters, but I want you to know, I have a weak constitution. And listening to tales of her hip surgery…aaah.” He groaned and grabbed his stomach. “The dinner could end badly. Don’t you feel just a tiny bit sorry for me?”

  Honestly, he was putting on such an act, sounding so pitiful, that I chuckled.

  “Nope,” I said, still smiling.

  “Okay,” he said dropping the “Oh, I’m sick” act. “See you around.” And after a quick wink, he was gone.

  But by the afternoon my mood matched the gray weather. The low hanging clouds had dumped big fat drops of rain on the ground all day. From the high basement windows, I could see the flashes of lightning. They were followed instantly by the rolling thunder. First a snowstorm. Now this. It seemed Mother Nature couldn’t make up her mind what season it was. Or was the order of nature disturbed the way Abby had said? Thinking about it gave me a headache.

  Tired of staring blankly at the computer screen, I wandered upstairs. Darci stood simpering at the counter. Across from her stood Larry Durbin. He wore a ripped T-shirt under his denim jacket. His blond greasy hair was pulled back from his pallid face in a tight ponytail. A pair of dirty red tennis shoes—no socks—completed his outfit. A look of disgust crossed my face.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Larry saw me. With his head down, he mumbled something to Darci and left.

  Darci was still smiling when I reached the counter.

  I frowned. “Honestly, Darci. Why is he hanging around here?”

  “Oh, Larry’s not so bad. He wasn’t always like this. He used to be pretty hot, but the drugs have really screwed him up. I feel kind of sorry for him.”

  “Not that it’s any of my business, but you don’t go out with him, do you?”

  “No, not now. We dated a little in high school, before he messed up. He knows I don’t approve of his lifestyle, but he stops by here every now and again to talk.”

  “I don’t like drug users hanging out at the library. It gives us a bad image. Tell him if he wants to talk to you, to meet you somewhere else, not here.”

  Darci’s smile faded. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting a bit, Ophelia? Larry and me were just talking.”

  I blew out a shaky breath. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so harsh or be unkind. I have a lot of things to think about right now.”

  Darci scowled. “Did Rick upset you?”

  “Rick? Why do ask?” I said, rubbing my temple.

  “I saw you talking with him earlier. And he’s been asking me a lot of questions about you. Wanted to know where you worked before moving to Summerset, where you’d lived, who your friends are. All sorts of questions.”

  “Really? And you told him what?” I stretched my neck, trying to loosen the muscles that cramped tighter with each word Darci said.

  “That you spent summers here with Abby when you were a kid, but you grew up in Iowa City and worked there before moving here. And you’ve been in Summerset about three or four years. That was okay, wasn’t it?” she asked, sounding worried.

  “That’s fine. It’s okay,” I said, dismissing her answers with a wave. “He’s asked me a lot of the same questions. But I do resenting him questioning you.”

  Turning on my heel so Darci wouldn’t see the irritation in my face, I stomped down the stairs to my office.

  The rain stopped by closing time, but the damp it left behind seemed to sneak under my coat while I closed the door. It made me shiver.

  “Ophelia.”

  I whipped around, almost losing my balance on the top step.

  “Rick, what do you want now?”

  “I stopped by to ask you if you’d have a beer with me at Stumpy’s. It might help me handle Mrs. Walters’s stories,” Rick said while he watched me with a cheeky grin on his face. “And you didn’t say no beer, just no dinner.”

  “No,” I said, hurrying past him.

  The ground squished under my shoes as I marched to my car. Suddenly, I wasn’t cold anymore. The anger that had simmered all afternoon after talking to Darci erupted. Snooping into my life, asking questions about Abby, asking me to dinner after I’d said no once. This guy really pissed me off.

  Rick ran down the steps and followed me to the car.

  “Hey, it’s just a beer,” he said quickly.

  I whirled around. “We’ve already been through this—I’m not your type—so, no, I won’t have beer with you. Thanks anyway.”

  “That’s right. I forgot. You’re not cute,” he said, gr
inning.

  “Ha ha, very funny. Take your charm and go have dinner with Mrs. Walters,” I said, yanking open the car door.

  “Wait, why are you so angry?” he asked.

  I glared at him. “I don’t like people snooping around in my personal life. Asking people I work with questions about me.”

  “Darci—”

  “Yeah, Darci. My life isn’t any of your business,” I said sternly, and made a move to get in the car.

  “Hold on,” he said, and raised his hand to stop me. “I’m sorry if I crossed any lines. I told you, I’m a curious kind of a guy and you interest me, Ophelia Jensen.”

  I gave him a skeptical look, but before I could comment, he held up his hand again.

  “No, listen. I know you think you’re not my type, but I swear,” he said, placing his hand over his heart, “I’ve only dated one beauty queen my entire life. And she was kind of nasty.”

  I felt a smile tug at the corner of my mouth. As Abby would say, “This guy could charm the socks right off a person, without even taking off their shoes.” But I couldn’t afford to be charmed. There were too many things going on in my life, and I didn’t have the time or the energy to deal with Rick Davis. And I still didn’t trust him.

  “Rick—”

  He took a step closer to me. “Yeah?”

  I backed up against the open car door, and when I did, Rick stepped back. I looked at him then, really looked at him. My gosh, Darci was right, he was an incredibly handsome guy. And my heart stuttered in my chest a little. Most women would rush to accept an invitation from him. But I wasn’t “most women.” Too many secrets and too much pain.

  I shook my head sadly. “I’m sorry, Rick. I can’t.”

  He took another step backward, away from me. “All right. Well then,” he said slowly, “I guess it’s Mrs. Walters and tales of hip surgeries. Have a good evening, Ophelia, okay?”

  “Thanks. I will,” I said as Rick turned and walked away.

  Six

  The cupboard was bare. I was out of dog food, and I hated being out of dog food. The best place to buy it was the co-op, and I hated going to the co-op—it’s one of the last good ol’ boy clubs in town. Everytime I went there, I felt as if I had entered a time warp and it was 1955 again. The farmers, in coveralls and boots with manure clinging to the soles, hung out at the co-op. They sat around, drank coffee, and gossiped about the latest rumor, the weather, and what was wrong with the country. All the steel-corrugated building lacked was a big potbellied stove to prop their dirty boots on while they passed around the gossip. Since it was too wet to work in the fields, everyone would be there today.

  The parking lot was full when I drove in. About every truck in town was there, and I had to pull into a space at the opposite end of the building. After exiting my car, I walked up the sidewalk and through the door.

  The smell hit me immediately and I stopped. The aroma of the sweet, dry feed mixed with the stink of the manure-caked boots in the air, enveloping me. It would cling to my hair and my clothes. It would haunt my senses for the rest of the day. While I scanned the room, I saw Jake Jenkins standing at the counter holding court. I had never met a man who liked the sound of his own voice as much as Jake.

  “So, Jake, what do you think the co-op should do about all these anhydrous ammonia thefts?” one of the farmers was saying. “The sheriff don’t seem to be able to stop them. Ed wasn’t happy this weekend when he found his tank had been siphoned off.”

  “If we had a sheriff with any balls, he could’ve stopped them,” Jake replied. “Those damned druggies are ruining this country. Someone ought to take ’em out and shoot ’em. That’d make those scum think twice about making meth.”

  To call Jake a Neanderthal was to insult that extinct species. But I noticed that all the men were nodding sagely at his sentiments. All but one, that is. Rick Davis stood against the wall, arms folded, listening and observing. He saw me hesitate at the door and arched an eyebrow.

  “I heard they cut the line going from the tank to the applicator.”

  “Yeah, they must have drained it into something.”

  “Must have been something pretty sturdy, not like that guy up North who used a plastic milk jug. Jug exploded and the anhydrous hit him in the pants. Heard it really did some damage, if you know what I mean,” the farmer said with a wink.

  “Ouch, that’d hurt.”

  They all laughed except Rick. I felt as if I were in the middle of the boys’ high school locker room. The testosterone hung in the air like ozone. It was too much for me. I strode over to the counter where Jake stood.

  “Well, honey, what can I do for you?” Jake asked with a smirk.

  “I need a forty pound bag of dog food, please,” I said, frowning at the “honey” and ignoring the smirk.

  “Sure thing, honey. That dog of yours sure eats a lot,” Jake said, and looked around to make sure his audience was paying attention. “Must ‘wolf’ down her food.”

  Was that a joke? I didn’t laugh, and neither did anyone else. The tension I felt whenever I was near Jake began to gnaw at the back of my neck. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Couldn’t he hurry up and give me the dog food, instead of making stupid jokes?

  “Get it? Wolfs downs her food?” Jake’s smirk slowly faded.

  “I got it,” I said. “You’re referring to the fact that Lady is a wolf mix and that she consumes large quantities of food. You were making a play on words.”

  He looked disappointed. “It’s not funny when you say it that way.”

  “Trust me, Jake, it wasn’t funny the way you said it, either,” I said, not looking at him as I signed the ticket.

  A farmer chuckled. Jake heard him and gave me a stony look before he plopped the bag on the floor at my feet.

  “Do you need help with the bag or can you get it yourself—honey?”

  “I’ll manage. Put it on my bill,” I said, grabbing the heavy sack and lifting with all my strength.

  Another farmer opened the door for me. “Are you sure you don’t need help?” he asked, watching me lug the heavy bag out the door while he held it open.

  He grinned when I boosted the bag higher with my knee and shook my head no. Jake wasn’t popular with many people, and the farmer had enjoyed our little ex-change. I knew the story would be told and retold over coffee at Joe’s that afternoon.

  “You sure?” the farmer asked.

  “No, really, I can carry it. Thanks anyway.”

  I got the sack as far as my car and propped it against the bumper. Wiping my forehead, I looked at the heavy bag. How would I hoist it into the trunk? After my “I’m a capable woman” routine, I’d leave the bag in the parking lot before I’d go back inside and ask for help.

  “So how are you going to lift it into the trunk?”

  I jumped. Rick was standing behind me.

  “I can manage,” I said, tugging on the sack.

  “No, you can’t. That sack’s almost as big as you are. If you let me help you, I promise I won’t call you ‘honey.’”

  “Be my guest.” I stepped back and watched him easily lift the heavy bag into the trunk.

  “Thanks,” I said, closing the lid. “I could’ve done it myself, you know.”

  “You are stubborn, aren’t you?” Rick crossed his arms and slouched against the car. “I know you don’t like Jake, but you were pretty abrupt in there. What’s the story?”

  “You know, Rick, your questions are getting old.”

  “I did get the dog food in the trunk for you and saved you from the humiliation of asking one of those farmers—or even Jake—to help. I figure you owe me at least the answer to one question.”

  “Oh, okay.” I paused. “Jake tried to hurt Lady.”

  “How?” Rick jerked out of his slouch.

  “He tried to hit her with his truck. She had chased a squirrel out of the yard. And she was running back across the street as he came around the corner. I watched him speed up and swerve to hit her. He
missed her by this much,” I said, holding up my thumb and forefinger about an inch apart.

  “What did you do?”

  “Jumped in my car and chased him till he stopped. Then I got out told him what I thought of him.”

  Rick chuckled. “I bet he didn’t like that.”

  “No, he didn’t. Jake is not used to anyone standing up to him.” I gave Rick a steely look. “But nobody messes with my dog and gets away with it.”

  “No wonder Lady doesn’t like him.”

  “Yeah. So now, every time I run into him, he tries to annoy me.”

  “He succeeds, too.”

  “Yes, he does. I told you, he’s an idiot. See that truck over there? It’s the one he drove when he tried to hit Lady.”

  Rick looked at the beat-up old pickup in the parking lot. It had deer antlers attached to the hood, a gun rack in the back window, and a bumper sticker that said, YOU CAN TAKE MY GUN WHEN YOU PRY IT FROM MY COLD, DEAD HANDS.

  “That belongs to Jake? He is a member of the NRA, isn’t he?”

  “What was your first clue? He also likes to play war games with paint balls. Jake’s only redeeming virtue is his loyalty to Benny. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Benny’s kind of slow. Jake protects him. If Jake’s not around, the kids in town call Benny names.”

  “What do the kids call him?”

  “Oh, no,” I said, trying hard not to smile while I fished for my keys. “You said one question, and now you’re over your limit.”

  “Come on, be a sport.”

  I walked to the driver’s side of the car and looked across at Rick.

  “They call him Dickey-Do.”

  “Why Dickey-Do?”

  “You’ve seen how round Benny is. His stomach sticks out farther than his—well, you figure it out.”

  I glanced at my watch as I ran up the steps of the library. Damn. I was late. When I walked in the door, Darci hit me with it.

  “Ophelia, did you—”

  “Save it, Darci,” I said, hurrying to the counter. “I was just at the co-op, buying dog food from Jake Jenkins.”