Witch Way to Murder

by Shirley Damsgaard

  I took a deep breath. “I don’t know anything, except what he’s told me, Ned, that he’s a chemical salesman. The only thing that struck me as different was his interest in the archives. That’s it.”

  “Archives, huh? Do you trust him?”

  “I don’t know him well enough to trust him, nor do I plan to know him that well.”

  “Well, I don’t trust him. The guy is asking a lot of questions. And don’t you think it’s odd, he shows up, we have another anhydrous theft, and the paper gets trashed? All in the space of a few days?”

  “It could be a coincidence,” I reasoned. “We had thefts before he came to town.”

  Ned traced the rim of his coffee cup. “I don’t think it is. The last one was a couple of months ago. My source in the sheriff’s department said they knew who was responsible for those thefts—they were sloppy—but there wasn’t enough proof to make the charges stick. Still, this last one was different. It wasn’t sloppy. Someone knew exactly what he was doing.”

  “But that doesn’t mean Rick Davis did it,” I said, shifting in my seat.

  “No, I suppose not, but I still think the whole thing is pretty fishy. I don’t want to frighten you, but I think you should be careful around this guy. For all we know, he could be involved. If he is, he’s dangerous.”

  Ned’s warning sounded too much like Abby’s for my peace of mind. Too bad for me, Ned wasn’t finished yet.

  “Another thing, Ophelia,” he said, his voice low and intense. “If you learn something about him, don’t do anything rash. Come to me first, and I’ll help you.”

  Wonderful. What was happening to the nice little organized life I had carved out for myself? Warnings of impending doom from my grandmother, warnings of danger from Ned, and a stranger asking questions. I didn’t need any of it. I wanted to go home, pull the covers over my head, and wish this whole situation away, and that was exactly what I planned to do.

  Eight

  My plan didn’t work. First, I couldn’t find the right spot on my pillow, and then I couldn’t find the right place to put my left arm. I finally fell asleep, but woke up hours later with a powerful thirst. I managed to get out of bed and stumble to the kitchen for a glass of water.

  I gazed at the woods beyond the window while I stood drinking the water. The moon was waning—half dark, half light. Endings and beginnings, Abby had said. It was a “witching” moon. I could imagine broomstick riders flying across its face.

  Lost in my fantasies, I didn’t notice the shape at first. It caught my attention when it drifted toward the back of the yard near the trees. The figure was dressed in a white cowled robe like Abby sometimes wore. Damn it. Abby? She was out in the yard doing one of her goofy spells. I should’ve known she wouldn’t leave magick alone. I wouldn’t have that. Warnings of danger be damned. I was going to put a stop to that nonsense.

  Grabbing a jacket and slipping it on over my flannel nightgown, I shoved my bare feet into an old pair of boots and stormed out the back door. The hem of my gown flapped against my ankles while I marched across my backyard.

  But when I reached the stand of trees at the edge of the yard, she was gone. She probably went into the woods. Yes, there, I could see a faint glimmer of white ahead. I rushed after her. The branches and weeds tore at my hair and nightgown while I ran. The wind penetrated my gown and chilled my flesh. In the distance an owl hooted, once, twice. I still ran on, deeper and deeper into the woods. My side began to ache and my breath was coming in short, quick gasps, but I couldn’t stop. I had to keep her in sight.

  Suddenly, I heard a crash and the sound of running behind me. Someone else. In the woods chasing me? Instead of running toward something, something or someone was after me. I pumped my legs harder, but my nightgown tangled around them. Whoever chased me was slowly gaining. My foot caught on an exposed root and I sprawled facedown in the dry leaves and twigs. The pounding footsteps were coming closer and closer.

  I scrambled to my feet and took off again, trying to put distance between us. I had never ventured this far into the woods, and I was lost. I looked around and could no longer see a white figure ahead.

  I continued running. A stitch in my side ached every time my legs pumped. My breath burned my chest. I couldn’t run much farther, but the footsteps remained right behind me.

  Just when I didn’t think I could go on, I saw a gate to my right. I ran for it. Maybe I could hide inside the fence. I grabbed the gate with both hands and pulled. It wouldn’t open, as the hinges had rusted shut. I rattled the gate in frustration, wasting precious seconds. Who-ever was pursuing me closed in. I could hear ragged breathing, but I couldn’t get the old gate loose. I yanked at it once more. The hinges gave way, and I hurled myself through the opening. Then I fell, feeling a soft blow on the side of my head. Then nothing.

  When I came to, I found myself lying faceup on the ground. The dry grass prickled my naked back.

  Naked? What happened to my nightgown? And where the hell was I?

  I sat up and looked around. Stones were tumbled among the dead weeds. Like soldiers fallen in battle, they lay at odd angles to one another. My nightgown? Nowhere to be seen. Nor was the person who’d chased me. I crawled over slowly to one of the stones. In the light of the half-moon, I could make out a name and date on its moss-covered face. It was a headstone, and I was in an old cemetery. Everywhere the stench of decay—dead leaves, rotting vegetation, and only God knows what else—floated in the night air. From deep inside, I felt my fear bubbling to the surface. What sounded like the scraping of sharp toenails against stone caught my attention. I looked up—into the hot red eyes of the biggest rat in the world. A scream tore from my throat when the howl of a timber wolf erupted from the woods. Our voices mingled in the night air until they were one—an endless sound that went on and on.

  I bolted upright. My throat was raw from screaming. Lady sat at my side, her head tilted back. It was her howl that penetrated my dream.

  Dream? Had it been only a dream? My body trembled while I brushed sweat-soaked hair from my face. Reality came into focus. No one had been chasing me. There was no white lady, no cemetery, and most important, no rat. I was in my own bed with my nightgown twisted around me like a mummy’s wrappings.

  The dreams were starting again. Last time that happened, it almost destroyed my sanity. I couldn’t bear to go through that again. My sore throat became tight with unshed tears as my body shook again, not with fear this time, but because I was sobbing.

  Lost in my misery, I jumped when my bedroom door burst open. Abby stood in the doorway, looking like an avenging angel. She rushed to the bed and gathered me in her arms the way she had when I was a child. I felt her cool hand stroke my hair.

  “Why are you here?” I mumbled, my head resting on Abby’s shoulder.

  “I was half-asleep when I thought I heard your voice calling me. You sounded so lost and alone, and without thinking, I went in your old room to comfort you. You weren’t there, of course, but I knew I wouldn’t sleep until I made sure you were okay. I got in the truck and drove here.” She hugged me closer. “You had a dream, didn’t you?”

  I nodded, and the scent of the baby powder Abby used every night before bed filled my senses. It took me back to a time when life was simple—before Brian’s murder.

  “Abby, I can’t stand…” My voice cracked.

  “There, there. It’s all right, Ophelia. Go ahead and have a good cry.”

  I wrapped my arms tightly around the one person in the world I could touch without fear and cried.

  The face peering at me from the mirror the next morning was not a pretty sight. Its owner looked like she had been on a three-day binge. My eyes were puffy and bloodshot, with bags underneath big enough to pack. My nose was the color of a ripe tomato. All in all, I looked bad, so bad I would scare small children if they saw me. How could I pull myself together for work? I had two choices—call in sick, leaving Darci to fend for herself, or wear sunglasses and a ton of makeup. I stood pon
dering my choices when Abby knocked at the bathroom door.

  “May I come in?”

  “Sure. You can help me figure out what to do about my face,” I said while I patted the swelling around my eyes.

  “Oh, my,” Abby said after she took stock of my face. “Well, cotton soaked in witch hazel might help the swelling around the eyes. But the nose…there isn’t much you can do for it. The redness will eventually go away.”

  “Great. Oh well, I guess my face is the least of my worries, isn’t it?” I turned my attention from the mirror to Abby.

  She didn’t say anything. She calmly set a cup of coffee on the vanity next to the wash bowl and rubbed my shoulders.

  “I’m afraid so, dear,” Abby finally said, sitting down on the vanity bench.

  I turned back to the mirror. My face was a mask of bitterness. The corners of my mouth turned down and deep lines of worry etched my forehead.

  “It’s not fair. It’s starting all over again, isn’t it?”

  Abby didn’t answer me.

  I slammed my hand against the sink. “Damn. I don’t want anything to do with this.”

  Angry tears welled in my eyes. I wouldn’t allow myself to cry. I’d done enough of that the previous night. Crying wouldn’t solve anything.

  “I know you’ve only seen vague images and you aren’t clear on who, what, or when, but can you at least tell me why I’m involved? And don’t give me a bunch of ‘it’s my destiny’ stuff.”

  “I’m sorry. I truly am. I know how you feel about all of this, but things happen for a reason. Whether we can see the reason or not. There’s a cosmic justice, you know. You don’t believe it, but not believing won’t change the truth. It must be you and you must accept it. Why you and not someone else?” Abby shrugged. “I don’t have an answer for you.”

  “Well, that’s just peachy, isn’t it? What exactly is it I’m supposed to do?”

  “Fight the evil, of course.”

  I groaned. “And how am I supposed to fight this evil?”

  She smiled.

  “Oh, no you don’t. Not with any of that hocus-pocus stuff. I absolutely refuse to get involved in that. I’ll figure out something else.”

  The next question lingered in the corner of my mind. I knew I had to ask it, but her answer might be frightening.

  After several long minutes I said, “You said evil. Does that mean someone’s going to die?”

  Abby’s face was full of compassion when she looked up at me, silently answering my question. My knees wobbled and I slowly sank to the floor in front of the sink. Throwing my arms around my knees, I hugged them to my chest.

  “It’s already happened, hasn’t it?” I asked, resting my forehead on my knees.

  “Yes,” Abby said softly.

  “Who?” I asked, looking up at her.

  “I don’t know. I got a fleeting image of a man—a dangerous man—lying faceup near water. He hasn’t been found yet, but he’s somehow tied to what’s happening here. I think you need to tell me about your dream, Ophelia. Dreams aren’t hocus-pocus. Everyone has them, and it might answer some questions.”

  Abby put a lot of stock in dreams. She didn’t believe they were random thoughts of the subconscious released in sleep. It was pointless to argue with her.

  “Okay.” I closed my eyes and willed myself to remember. “I got out of bed for a glass of water. When I was standing at the window, I saw someone in white in the backyard. I thought it was you doing some kind of spell, so I went out to stop you. But you went into the woods.”

  “Someone in white? White would represent someone you felt you could rely on. What happened next?”

  “I followed you into the woods, but someone started chasing me.” I opened my eyes and looked at Abby. “I can figure that one out on my own. Running means escape. I’d like to escape what’s happening right now.”

  “Anything happen while you were running?”

  “Just stumbling, panting, that kind of thing. No, wait, an owl hooted.”

  “Were you running toward the owl or away from it?”

  “What difference does that make? I was running away from it.”

  Abby frowned. “That’s not good. Running away from a hooting owl means disappointment, reversals.”

  “Abby, this is stupid,” I said, and scrambled to my feet. “Do you know how ridiculous this all sounds? Hooting owls, white figures. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

  I walked from the bathroom to my bedroom, intending to dress for work, but Abby had other ideas.

  “Ophelia,” she said from the doorway, “this is important. I need to know what happened in your dream.”

  “Oh, all right,” I said, flopping on the bed. “In the dream, right before whoever was chasing me could catch me, I came to a gate. It wouldn’t open. I struggled with it. My pursuer was right behind me. Then the gate opened. I fell. The next thing I knew, I was lying in the grass. Naked. And yes, I know what that represents, too. Vulnerability. I looked around and found myself in an old, abandoned cemetery. The stones were broken and toppled. And there was a huge rat sitting on top of one,” I said, feeling goose bumps march up and down my spine.

  “A rat? You poor thing,” Abby said. “You’ve always been so terrified of them. Did you wake up then?”

  “Yes, I think so. No, I heard a howl right before I started to scream, then I woke up.”

  Abby crossed over to the bed and sat beside me. She took both of my hands in hers.

  “Ophelia, I want you to listen to me very carefully. I know what I’m about to say will be very hard for you to accept. Especially after what happened four years ago. You are in danger. This dream was a bad one. The symbol of the rat and the cemetery were bad signs. It meant danger, opposition, adversity. There wasn’t any resolution at the end of the dream. It showed the end hasn’t been determined yet. If you’re going to win, you have to quit running from your past. Use what’s been given to you.”

  “No.” I jumped to my feet and looked down at her. “I’m not joining the ‘family firm.’ I refuse to practice magick. It’s okay for you and the others in the family, but not me. I’ve chosen a different road. If I have to, I’ll go to the sheriff, let them solve this whole mess.”

  Abby smiled. “And tell them what, dear? You had a bad dream and your grandmother told you there’s a dead man somewhere near water? That the stranger in town, Rick Davis, makes you nervous?”

  “Okay, so I can’t go to the sheriff, but I can snoop around, ask some questions. If I find anything out, then I’ll go to the police.” Satisfied with myself, I walked to the closet and began rummaging for something to wear. Abby sat on the bed and watched me while I pulled a pair of linen pants and a sweater off the hangers.

  “Who are you going to ask these questions? Rick Davis? Do you expect him to tell you the truth? Can you trust him?”

  Not answering her question, I tossed my clothes on the bed. “I’m going to be late for work,” I said, glancing in the dresser mirror. “I’ve got to do something about my face and get dressed. And I need more coffee. I know you’re worried, but we’ll talk about this later.”

  Abby got to her feet and placed both hands on my shoulders. “You’re going to be fine, Ophelia,” she said, and kissed my cheek. “I’ve got to get back to the greenhouse. If you need me, call.”

  “I will,” I said, nodding.

  With a quick squeeze, Abby left.

  While I dressed, I thought about Abby’s question. It was the second time in less than twenty-four hours someone had asked me if I trusted Rick Davis—it all came back to him. I’d start there, with Rick. I’d find out about him and what he was doing in Summerset. How? I asked myself, pulling on my pants. And the answer came to me: I’d open the conversation by thanking him for the tickets and gift certificate.

  I grabbed the tickets off the top of the dresser and shoved them in my pocket.

  I could handle it. I could be polite. As long as he didn’t tease me. After thanking him for
the tickets, I’d lead him around to talking about his “job.” A rotten liar myself, I should be able to tell when someone else was lying, shouldn’t I? Ned said I was observant, so how hard could it be?

  After I’d finished getting ready, I marched into the kitchen, and the smell of fresh brewed coffee tickled my nose. Pouring a cup, I silently blessed Abby for making it before she left. I felt good, I decided, while I sipped my coffee. Better than I had in days. I had a plan, one that didn’t include magick. If Abby were right and I had no choice, fine, then I’d be involved. It would, however, be on my terms.

  My confidence was short-lived. My stomach knotted. And the taste of coffee turned bitter in my mouth. Dizziness swept over me when I saw it. The water glass was beside the sink just where I’d left it last night, in my dream.

  Nine

  By the time I finally made it to work, my face looked like I had taken makeup lessons from a clown. My eyes were the worst, and no amount of makeup would help them. I resorted to wearing sunglasses. A little odd for November, but what the hell, I wasn’t in the mood for curious looks. The water glass by the sink had shaken me. When I called Abby and asked her if she had used the glass, she said no. She used the coffeemaker and the two cups. Unwilling to start another discussion about magick, I let the subject drop. I would worry about what it meant later. There had to be a logical explanation.

  My mind churned when I entered the library. I needed time to plan my strategy, but I wouldn’t get it today. A pile of returned books sat neglected on the desk. Darci was in front of the self-help books, helping Nina Hoffman, who read at least two of those a month; in my opinion, with little result. I opened the first book and began the tedious job of checking it in.

  “Umm—excuse me, Ophelia,” a timid voice said.

  I looked up from the book to see Nina and Darci standing there. Nina was pale and wan. I had understood what Adam meant when he described her as fragile. She looked like a wraith. Her pale blue eyes darted back and forth nervously, as if she were afraid.