Witch Way to Murder

by Shirley Damsgaard

  “I’m sorry, Ophelia. I didn’t mean to run Benny off. It seemed you two were having quite the conversation, if one can have a conversation with Benny, considering how slow he is.”

  My temper flared and I took a small step toward him, trying to ignore the disgusting smell surrounding him. “Benny may be slow,” I said frowning, “but he’s a hard worker. You should know that. Doesn’t Benny rent your farm?”

  Adam placed his hands behind his back and rocked back on his heels. “Yes, he does. He does tolerably well, always on time with the rent, takes good care of the livestock, but I’ve never sought any conversation with him. But, apparently you do.”

  I decided to let that one pass and retreated a step.

  “Was there something else you wanted, or did you come here to discuss Benny?”

  “Funny. I simply wanted to stop by and express our—Nina’s and mine—concern for you.”

  “Your concern for me? Why are you concerned?”

  “That unfortunate incident, of course. It must have been terrible for you, finding the dead man. It would be enough to shake anyone’s sanity.”

  “I assure you, it would take more than a dead body to shake my sanity.” How’s that for bravado? Why had he said that? He didn’t know about my breakdown.

  “Please, Ophelia, don’t take offense,” he said, spreading his hands wide. “I merely wanted to offer you our support should you need it. I know we haven’t always seen eye-to-eye on matters concerning the town, but you have done an excellent job with the library. I would hate to see you leave.”

  “Adam, what are you talking about?”

  “A lesser person might wish to move after finding something like that.”

  “I have no intention of moving. Did someone indicate to you that I might?”

  “Well, Ned did comment how unsettling it had been for you. It led me to believe you might be thinking about leaving.”

  “Well, I’m not. Good day.”

  Adam stared at me, his smile still locked in place. I turned on my heel and left. The talk of me leaving—was it wishful thinking on his part, or had Ned said something? A phone call would answer the question. But before I reached the phone, Ned came up the basement stairs.

  “I hoped you were here, Ophelia. When you weren’t in your office, I thought maybe you hadn’t arrived yet. We need to talk.”

  “We certainly do. Here or downstairs?” I said, putting one hand on my hip.

  “How about Joe’s? I’ll buy.”

  “No thanks. Here’s good.” I stepped forward till I was right in front of him. “What are you doing telling people I’m moving?”

  Ned moved back. “Hey, I didn’t say you were moving. Adam Hoffman asked me if I thought you might. I said I didn’t know, I’ve always thought you were overqualified for this job, so it wouldn’t surprise me if you did. Most people don’t like finding dead bodies lying around. That’s all. If Adam said anything different, then he misunderstood me.”

  Even though I wasn’t convinced, I backed off.

  “I’m very sorry about the other day. I shouldn’t have blown up at you. Can you forgive me?”

  “Fine, consider yourself forgiven.” I crossed to the desk with Ned right behind me.

  “I have only one explanation for my behavior—I’m worried about you and Davis.”

  “There is no ‘me and Davis.’”

  “Ophelia, how can you say that? After all we’ve been to each other?”

  I spun around to see Rick lounging by one of the bookshelves, observing us with a casual air. A slight grin lingered at one corner of his mouth. The grin broadened into a smile when he wandered toward the counter.

  “I take it you and Ned had a little tiff?”

  “Oh, stow it, Rick.”

  “She really likes me, but hides it well, don’t you think?” Rick whispered loudly to Ned.

  By the expression on Ned’s face, he didn’t find Rick funny.

  “I can see we won’t have a private conversation here,” Ned said. “I’ll give you a call. Maybe we can have dinner. ’Bye, Ophelia, Rick.”

  Ned nodded stiffly and walked away.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt,” Rick said.

  “Yes, you did. Now, where have you been? I haven’t seen you since that day at Roseman.”

  “I thought you didn’t want to see me. You’ve told me to get lost often enough. Now you’re upset that I did?”

  “No, I’m not upset. I wanted you to be the one to deal with the snoopy little old ladies, instead of me.”

  “I’m touched you wanted me around for any reason. Really, I’m surprised you noticed I was gone. From what I heard, Ned’s been doing a good job at keeping you entertained.”

  “Oh, where did you hear that?”

  “Somewhere, I forget now.” Rick leaned against the counter. He picked up a pencil and began to doodle on a piece of paper. “One question: How long have you lived here? Three years?”

  “Almost four. Why?”

  “Oh, no reason. Doesn’t it seem odd you’ve lived here this long, and now, all of a sudden, Ned’s your new best friend.”

  “Ned is not my new best friend.”

  He dropped the pencil and straightened. “That’s right. Your new best friend would be Darci, wouldn’t it? See you later.” He strolled away from the counter.

  I picked up the piece of paper with the doodles on it. Rick had drawn a glove.

  I was still staring at the paper when Claire showed up.

  “Hi, Claire,” I said, sticking the paper in my pocket before she noticed it.

  “Ophelia.” Claire grabbed the glasses dangling from the chain around her neck and shoved them on her nose. Pulling out a notebook from her purse, she flipped it open. “I need to talk to you about the next meeting of the library board. As president, I think we should put on the agenda—”

  “Sorry, Claire,” Darci interrupted.

  Claire turned and peered at Darci from over the top of her glasses, but Darci ignored her.

  “Ophelia, there’s something wrong with the computer in your office. I tried to get it to boot up, but it won’t. Would you show me what I did wrong?”

  I hadn’t noticed Darci approach.

  “Claire, would you mind watching the counter?” I asked.

  “No, but I do need to talk to you before I leave,” she said, pushing her glasses back on her nose.

  I followed Darci to my office.

  “What’s wrong with the computer?”

  “Nothing. I haven’t had a chance to talk to you all morning, so when I saw Claire come in, I decided now would be perfect. Claire can watch the counter while we talk.”

  Darci amazed me. She was so good at getting people to do what she wanted. And they never even suspected. I wondered how many times I had fallen for her carefully planned schemes.

  I shut the door to the office, while Darci rearranged the books and magazines and pulled the chair closer to the desk.

  “Okay, before you start, I want you to look at this.” I handed her the paper from my pocket.

  Darci looked at it, then at me. “So? It’s a doodle of a glove. I told you to quit worrying about it. If you’re drawing stuff like this, you’re thinking way too much about Rick finding those gloves.”

  “I didn’t draw it. Rick did.”

  “Oh. I guess he found the gloves and figured it out. Shoot,” she said, stomping her foot. “I’d hoped he’d think Georgia dropped them. I bet he knows the matchbook’s gone, too.” She stopped and chewed her bottom lip. Finally, she shrugged and said, “He can’t prove anything. He can’t tell Alan or Bill about it without telling them about the matchbook. We’re safe. And you could always do a spell.”

  I groaned. “Darci, I’m not a witch. I have a precognitive ability, that’s all. That doesn’t make me a witch.”

  “What about Abby?”

  “What Abby does with her abilities is her choice. Her mother, who was a healer in the mountains, taught her the traditions. I�
��ve chosen a different path.”

  Darci leaned forward. “This is so cool. Tell me, can you predict the future, read minds, or what?”

  How could I explain this? Should I tell her about what could happen when I touched someone? I retreated to sarcasm.

  “No, I can’t predict the future, and I haven’t found a mind worth reading yet.”

  “Very funny. What can you do?”

  “There are different kinds of precognitive ability. I have flashes, sometimes of the future, sometimes of the past. And I seem to be good at finding things.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Believe me, it’s enough. When I was a child, it was fun. I was a whiz at hide and seek, and there was no such thing as a pop quiz for me. I knew when the teacher had one planned. After I grew up, it wasn’t fun anymore.”

  “Brian?”

  “Yes,” I said, and closed my eyes at the memory. “The first time I ever needed my gift, and it betrayed me—my friend died. I saw his murder, but I couldn’t stop it. I tried. I ran to the bar where we were supposed to meet, but he wasn’t there. Even now I don’t know if what I saw had already happened or was about to happen. Either way, I was too late to change Brian’s fate. It’s haunted me ever since.”

  “Did you tell the police that?”

  “Part of it. When I couldn’t find him, I went to the police and told them I was afraid something had happened to Brian. They blew me off, said a missing persons report couldn’t be filed for forty-eight hours. The next four days were pure hell, waiting for Brian’s body to be found. After some garbage collectors found the body in a Dumpster, the police remembered my report.”

  “They wanted to talk to you, I suppose?”

  “Oh yeah, they wanted to talk to me, all right. Why did I suspect something had happened to Brian? When was the last time I saw him? Did anyone see him leave my apartment? Did I talk to anyone else after I talked to Brian? Question after question. I couldn’t tell them the truth—that I knew about the murder because I’d ‘seen’ it. They knew I was hiding something. It put me at the top of their suspect list, but they had no proof and couldn’t hold me.”

  “And the reporter?”

  “He could tell something was not quite right, but he had no proof, either. His solution was to dog my every step. Question people at the library, my other friends, anyone who was connected to me at all. I lived in fear the whole time, but I’ve already told you how it ended.”

  “In the hospital.”

  “Yeah, and there I dreamed, over and over again, about Brian’s murder. I saw it all. Everything the monster did to him, everything—except the monster’s face.”

  Darci reached across the desk for my hand, and a piece of paper fluttered to the floor. It was an envelope. It must have been on the corner by the pile of books. I hadn’t noticed it before. I picked it up and turned it over. My name was on the front, made from letters cut out of a magazine. I didn’t have to open it to know what it was.

  Nineteen

  My fingers tingled as I drew the single sheet of paper out of the envelope. The letters, cut from a magazine and pasted to the paper, were crude. The words they made, seemingly harmless:

  But it was the rough drawing that caused my heart to jump. Rough maybe, but there wasn’t any doubt what it depicted—an old-fashioned headstone, the kind in every old cemetery. Only this one had my name chipped into it.

  Darci watched over my shoulder while I read the note. Her gasp sounded in my ear.

  “Oh, my God, this is awful. We need to call Bill or Alan.”

  I continued to stare at the note. “We can’t. The first question will be: Why do I think I received it? Then, who do I think sent it? What do I tell them? Maybe Rick Davis? He knew we were snooping in his room and this is a warning?”

  “Do you really think Rick was the one who left it here?”

  “Who knows? This has been a popular place today. Benny, Adam Hoffman, Ned, Rick, and God only knows who else, has been down here today. It could’ve been anyone, but Rick is the only one who might want to warn me off. His little doodle of the glove proves he can draw.”

  Darci sighed. “Can you pick up any vibrations from this? You know, residual energy? I’ve seen psychics on TV shows do that.”

  “What, hold it up to my forehead and say, ‘I think I see, I think I see a…a…’? Those are pretend psychics. I have flashes of insight, which is why I’m good at finding things. Sometimes, I pick up images from people when I touch them.”

  “That explains why you avoid touching and being touched. You see things when you touch people, don’t you?”

  “Once in a while. Depends on the person, how open they are. It always disturbs me, and I hate it. Abby’s the one who receives visions from objects.”

  “Call her—now. I’ll ask Claire to stay.”

  Abby must have broken the speed laws driving to the library. She rushed in the door, with Darci right behind her. They both sat down in chairs by my desk. Abby, instead of wasting time with words, took both of my hands in hers and closed her eyes.

  “Where is it?” she said, opening her eyes.

  “Right here.” I motioned to the paper on the desk.

  She picked it up and placed it between her palms. Her shoulders and head drooped while she rubbed the paper. All at once she jerked her head and the paper dropped. Her hands clenched and unclenched, twice. Then she ground her palms together as if she were trying to remove a stain. Abby looked first at me, then Darci.

  “My goodness.”

  “That’s it, ‘my goodness’?”

  “No, that’s not it. You girls seem to be causing someone a lot of problems. And they don’t like it.”

  “Who? Could it be Rick Davis?” I asked.

  “I couldn’t see the face, but they are very angry. They wear a mask to hide the evil in their soul. Hate is driving them. Hate, loss, and betrayal.”

  I slapped the desk. “See, Darci? You can never get a straight answer with this stuff. Everything is always couched in mystery that tells you nothing.”

  Abby stared at me. “I understand your frustration, but—”

  “My frustration? My frustration?” I jumped up and started to prowl the small room. “Yeah, I guess you could say I’m frustrated. Some jerk is threatening me, and all you can say is ‘they wear a mask.’ Well, who the hell doesn’t wear a mask?”

  “Calm down—”

  “I will not calm down.” I stopped directly in front of Abby. “I want answers, and I want them now.”

  Tension seemed to crowd even the air from the room. Abby’s face flushed red. I knew I’d made her angry. Well, I was angry, too. Poor Darci sat with her hands clasped in her lap, not looking at either Abby or me. Welcome, Darci, to the wonderful world of psychics.

  “I wanted to teach you, guide you, the way my mother taught me. But no, you wouldn’t allow it. You were so bitter about your grandfather’s death,” Abby said, her body stiff and straight. “You were so sure you could deal with your abilities in your own way. Well, maybe if you had let me help you, your understanding would be greater now.”

  “Would greater understanding have saved Brian?” I asked through clenched teeth. “It didn’t save Grandpa.”

  She seemed to sag and tears gathered in her eyes. “Some things can’t be changed, but sometimes understanding can help the pain.”

  I’d made my grandmother cry. How low is that? Ashamed of my outburst, I touched Abby’s hand. “I’m sorry, I—”

  “I know, dear,” she said softly, and squeezed my hand. “I’m a psychic, remember?”

  Abby’s gentle reply seemed to drive the tension from the room.

  “And remember, so are you, Ophelia. No, wait,” she said, holding up her hand. “Before you start arguing, listen to me. I said some things couldn’t be changed. You can’t change who and what you are. You are born of a line of women who were blessed with a talent, a talent you share. Use that talent. Let it lead you to your answers.”

  “I don�
��t know how.”

  “Yes, you do. It’s there waiting for you. All you have to do is accept it, open yourself, your mind. You’ll find the way.”

  “I’ve got it.” Darci brightened. “All she has to do is touch everyone who was here today. She’ll pick up their vibes and know who the bad guy is.”

  “She watches too much TV,” I explained to Abby.

  “Darci, I can’t go around grabbing all the people here today. I told you it doesn’t work that way.”

  “I don’t see why not,” Darci said with a pout.

  “Because—”

  A sharp knock at the door stopped me. The door swung open and Claire leaned against the door frame. Her glasses hung uselessly on their chain. Her face was pale and her eyes were puffed from crying.

  “Claire, what is it?” Darci asked.

  “Georgia was here looking for you, Darci. She heard it over the police scanner and called Alan. Doug Jones was killed when his car went off the bridge on Highway 6.”

  Darci gasped, and then a thick, heavy blanket of silence dropped over the room. We were stunned, and no words could describe our feelings—too private, too personal to share.

  “He was only sixteen,” Darci whispered. But even her whisper sounded loud in the quiet room. “Does anyone know what happened?”

  Claire straightened and cleared her throat. “Georgia said they found meth in the car. They won’t know if that caused the accident until they do the autopsy.”

  “Ophelia, I’d better go back upstairs with Claire,” Darci said, walking to her and placing an arm around her shoulders.

  Not speaking, I nodded in agreement and watched them walk away, leaning into each other.

  From my position by the desk, I thought about Abby’s reaction when she heard the news of the Jones boy’s death. No glimmer of surprise crossed her face, no sudden gasp. She knew, she had seen it. I shook my head in bewilderment. Abby had called this talent blessed, but was it a blessing, this knowing of the pain that waited ahead?