Witch Way to Murder

by Shirley Damsgaard

  “My idea’s still good. Rule number one, always follow the money. But I need help.”

  “So who’s going to help you? You said you don’t trust anyone except—”

  What a dumb question. I knew what his next words would be.

  “You. You and Darci. I want you both to help me.”

  Twenty-two

  The dreams continued to trouble my sleep. They came unbidden now, and I never knew when they would happen. Every night new scenes would be added. The scenes would fly by in my mind faster and faster. Sometimes she would be standing with the soldier next to a red convertible, outside of the bar. Sometimes they would be driving down the road in the red car. Sometimes she would be making out with him in her car. But the rage I’d felt from someone, or something, never returned. Thank God.

  And the song from those dreams haunted my waking hours. Abby could make no sense of it, and neither could I.

  The community was still reeling from the tragedy of Doug Jones’s death. Rumors and innuendos circulated endlessly. Several people blamed Bill and Alan for not being more aggressive. Talk of a new police force ran rampant. If Adam Hoffman chose that as a running platform, the job of mayor would be his.

  I tried to function normally, but my nerves were stretched and ready to snap. Rick and Darci’s big plan didn’t help. At least, the plan didn’t involve burglary.

  So here I was, in Darci’s car, looking at myself in the mirror.

  “Darci, I’ve lived here four years, and I’ve never been in this bar. What will Mrs. Abernathy say if she hears I’m hanging out at Stumpy’s Bar and Billiards?”

  It was time to launch the plan—Darci and I were meeting Rick at Stumpy’s. It was stupid, and I shouldn’t have let her and Rick talk me into it.

  Darci tossed her head. “Oh, who cares about Mrs. Abernathy? She gossips about everyone. Believe me, nobody listens to her.”

  She found the idea of helping Rick with his investigation thrilling. I think she fancied herself a midwestern Mata Hari. Certainly, she dressed the part in black leather pants, black turtleneck, and black boots. All she needed was a trench coat and a fedora and she would have looked the perfect spy. She tried to convince me to dress in a similar fashion, but I drew the line at the leather pants. I felt exotic enough after Darci finished with me. I allowed her to do my face. Darci said I looked great. I thought I looked like a hooker. But it was too late now to wipe it off, so I followed Darci when she sailed in the door.

  The first thing I noticed was the number of people in the bar. Even though it was Monday night, the place was full, the air thick from smoke. Several men in the back were playing pool. I heard the crack when the balls struck. Darci found us a table in back and ordered two beers. I fought the desire to clean the tabletop with a napkin. It appeared to be moist, almost sweaty. I tried to find a place to put my hands but finally gave up and stuck them in my coat pockets. A TV, with the sound turned down and a pro football game playing, hung on the wall to the right of the bar. The bar itself was scarred and scratched from too many beers sliding across its surface. The decor was completed by several pairs of antlers positioned around the aged mirror behind the bar. I had never really understood the term “joint” when referring to a drinking establishment, but now I did. There certainly wasn’t anything upscale about this place. And where was Rick? He was supposed to meet us there.

  Darci busied herself noticing men noticing her. I prayed none of them would decide to make our acquaintance. However, Darci already knew most of them; her dating record was phenomenal. My prayer went unanswered when Jake Jenkins swaggered over. He spun an empty chair around so the back was facing the table and sat down.

  It was apparent Jake wasn’t on the subscription list of GQ. He wore boots and jeans with a work shirt, as did most of the patrons, but Jake’s was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, revealing a thick mat of hair. Nestled in the hair was a gold chain. It was not a good look for Jake.

  He eyed us both thoughtfully while he sipped his beer, holding the bottle with thumb and forefinger.

  “Darci, how’s it going?” he asked, resting his arms on the back of the chair.

  “Okay.” Darci leaned back in her chair.

  Jake, having apparently exhausted his supply of snappy dialogue, was silent for a moment. He smiled, with what I’m sure he considered great charm, but a sneer would have been a better description. “You know, you really should go out with me, Darci. I could show a girl like you a real good time, if you know what I mean.”

  I knew what he meant, and so did Darci.

  “Sorry, Jake. I already told you I’m not interested.”

  “What, you too good for me?” Jake’s sneer became ugly.

  The tension between Jake and Darci shot up a notch. She dropped her head. It was obvious she wasn’t going to respond to him. The desire to defend Darci became overwhelming. I had to put my two cents in.

  “Jake, Darci has already said no. Not meaning to sound trite, but what part of that don’t you understand?”

  Jake, tight-lipped, turned to me. “You got a thing for her or what?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Everyone in town knows you don’t date, so you must be queer,” he said, leering at me.

  My temper flared. And I fought the desire to pick up the beer bottle and bop him on the head.

  Ignoring the sweaty tabletop and whatever else might be lying on the filmy surface, I placed both hands on the table and gave him an icy stare. “Tell me, Jake, does it take practice to be that stupid?”

  He leaned toward me from across the table. “Listen, sister, what you need is a real man to straighten you out.”

  “Gee, Jake,” I said sweetly, sitting back and crossing my arms, “know where I can find one?”

  He looked quickly to his right to see if the next table heard my insult to his manhood. They did, and were snickering. A red flush spread up his thick neck to his face. He drained his beer and jerked to his feet, slamming the bottle down. He didn’t exactly slink away, but he wasn’t swaggering, either.

  Darci watched him leave. “I appreciate you defending me, but you shouldn’t have said that to Jake.”

  “You’re right,” I said with a quick nod. “Instead, I should have told him extreme homophobia sometimes indicates closet homosexuality in males. But I imagine those words are too long for him to understand.”

  Darci paled at the thought of me insinuating to Jake that he was gay.

  “Jake is a bully. People who insult him always pay some kind of price. You remember Matt Wilson? He got into a disagreement with Jake and later his dog was found dead. Poisoned. Matt never did prove it was Jake, but…”

  I got her point, but I wasn’t going to let Jake Jenkins bully me.

  When Rick finally walked in, every woman in the place went on point. He was that good-looking. A calculating look flickered across several of their faces, but he didn’t seem to notice. His first stop was at the bar to pick up a beer. While he made his way through the crowded room with an easy grace, I noticed several of the men spoke to him. He certainly had made himself at home in Summerset, and he appeared to fit right in with the good ol’ boy set. He would’ve made a good actor.

  “So, how long have you been here?” Rick said when he slid onto the chair next to me. No spinning the chair around and sitting in it backward for him.

  “Long enough for Darci to get hit on by a creep. Where were you? I thought you were going be here at seven.” I have a low tolerance for people being late.

  “Sorry, I was held up. Who hit on you, Darci?”

  “Oh, Jake Jenkins, but Ophelia took care of him.”

  I wasn’t paying attention to their conversation. I was still thinking about the “Sorry, I was held up.” In my opinion, it was not a legitimate explanation. I looked at Rick and saw him staring at me.

  “Hmm?” I was caught wool gathering.

  “Ophelia, I said, ‘How did you take care of him?’” Rick asked.

  “Oh, I j
ust cast aspersions on his masculinity and he left.” I shrugged.

  Rick sputtered his beer. “That’ll do it. Most men tend to be rather sensitive about that.”

  Darci rushed to my defense. “He told Ophelia she needed a real man. Of course, that was after she called him ignorant and he called her—”

  I smiled and held up my hand, interrupting her. “That’s okay, Darci, I think Rick gets the picture.”

  I didn’t want to have that conversation again, especially with Rick. A conversation that included what I might or might not need from a man.

  “Who’s that guy over there by the pool table?” Rick asked abruptly. “The stringy one, with the ponytail?”

  Rick was talking about Larry Durbin, and he was right. Everything about Larry was stringy. His hair, worn in a long, thin ponytail, and his body, resplendent with tattoos. And there was a whiteness about him, like he never spent time in the sun. It was amazing that the same small town produced both a Larry Durbin and a Jake Jenkins. They were opposites on the human spectrum.

  “Oh, that’s Larry Durbin, a friend of Darci’s.”

  Darci frowned. “Larry’s not so bad. Maybe if his parents hadn’t pushed him so hard, if they hadn’t sheltered him so much, maybe he wouldn’t have gone so wild in college. He sure made up for lost time. There wasn’t anything he didn’t try. He got sucked into drugs and kicked out of college his freshman year. After that he bounced around from school to school, burning up his parents’ money. When it ran out, he drifted around the country. Three years ago he came home to Summerset. He lives in a run-down trailer outside of town. It’s a regular stop for Bill and Alan.”

  “Hey, aren’t we here for a purpose?” I asked.

  Rick twirled his beer bottle. “Yeah, you’re right.”

  I leaned over and whispered, “Well, you’re the expert, Mr. Investigative Reporter. What do we do?”

  “Let’s go play pool.”

  “Pool.”

  “Yeah, pool. Come on, Darci.”

  I failed to see how playing pool was going to help bust a drug ring, but what do I know? I’m just a librarian. The three of us walked to the back, picking up more beer on the way. The pool tables were all in use, so we waited until a table opened. After the balls were racked, we started to play.

  Rick and Darci both knew their way around a pool cue, unlike me. Rick gave me pointers, which I found most annoying. After the fourth such helpful tip, I glanced up at him as I was lining up my shot. “If this is where you say, ‘See the ball, be the ball,’ I’m going to use this cue on you.”

  Rick laughed. “I wouldn’t think of it, Ophelia.”

  I took my shot, and the ball almost made it in the pocket. I was very pleased with myself.

  It was Rick’s turn. He ran the table, game over. His shots earned the attention of the guys milling around.

  “Hey man, you’re pretty good.” The praise came from Larry Durbin. He looked at Rick with anticipation. “Wanna play some eight ball? Five bucks a piece, winner take all?”

  “Sure. Rack ’em up.”

  Personally, I thought Larry had made a sucker’s bet. Rick had just finished running the table. He would have been better off challenging me. Maybe this was some guy thing I didn’t understand.

  Darci and I leaned against the wall and watched the contest. Rick sank the first ball, a solid color, so I assumed his job was to hit all of those in. Larry got the striped ones. Darci, being the expert, gave me a play-by-play report. They seemed fairly well matched to me. First Rick would hit a few in, then miss. Larry would do the same. Eventually it was down to one of the little striped ones, the eight ball, and the cue ball. It was Rick’s turn. Darci said he had to hit the black one with the white one and call which pocket it was going in.

  “Eight ball in the corner pocket,” Rick said, and lined up the cue stick.

  By this time everyone was standing around, engrossed in the game. The black ball went in the corner pocket, followed by the white ball. I thought he won and we could leave. But everyone groaned, and Larry scooped up the money. I didn’t understand, so I turned to question Darci.

  “Rick scratched,” she said before I could ask.

  Scratched? What’s scratched? Darci very patiently explained that it wasn’t a good thing if the white ball goes in, too. Oh well, we’d still get to leave. Wrong.

  “Wanna try again?” Larry said smugly. “Double or nothing?”

  “Okay.”

  Now I groaned. One hour and four games later, Rick was several dollars poorer, and I had decided investigating drug rings wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Rick and Larry seemed best buds. I was relieved when Rick suggested to Darci and me that we leave. Finally. I couldn’t conceive why Rick was so pleased with himself while he walked Darci and me to the car.

  “So, what did you accomplish? Other than you have a new friend named Larry?”

  “I may not be the smartest person in the world, Ophelia,” Darci said, “but even I know a setup when I see one. Didn’t you figure that out?”

  “What?”

  “Yeah.” Rick smiled. “Not only do I have a new friend, but I’ve got one who’s in on the drug scene in Summerset.”

  Twenty-three

  “Do you think Larry’s going to tell you anything?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  The night was cold. I lifted my chin and took a deep breath. The smell of snow was in the air. It was refreshing after so many hours in the crowded, smoky bar.

  Darci looked at Rick. “I told Georgia I’d stop by tonight, and I know Ophelia doesn’t want to go. Would you mind giving her a ride home?”

  This request was accompanied by a dazzling smile, not leaving him much room to say no.

  “Sure, no problem.”

  “Really, Rick, it isn’t necessary,” I said. “I can go with Darci to Georgia’s.” I elbowed Darci in the side.

  “Now, Ophelia, don’t you remember saying how tired you were?” Darci said. “I don’t want to keep you out any longer, but I did promise Georgia.” She opened her car door and slipped inside.

  Rick shut the door for her and looked at me. “I guess you’re stuck with me.”

  Lowering my eyes and walking a couple of steps behind Rick, I thought about what he’d said. There were worse things than being stuck with Rick Delaney. And plenty of women would love to have been in my size seven shoes right then.

  I raised my eyes to the sky and tried to see the stars beyond the streetlamps. But those women weren’t me. They didn’t have strange dreams at night, they didn’t shrink from human touch, and they couldn’t see the future. The night sky blurred for a moment, but I shook the tears away. Quit feeling sorry for yourself, Jensen, said a voice inside my head. You are who you are and you can’t change it.

  Rick gave me a puzzled look as he opened the passenger door for me, but I responded with a slight shake of my head and slid in the car. Within seconds we were on our way.

  “You really think Larry’s going to confide in you?” I asked.

  “Yup, most people trust me.”

  “Must be the Boy Scout in you.”

  “How did you know?”

  I looked over at him, surprised. “You really were a Boy Scout?”

  “Yes.” Rick’s glance met mine. “You find that hard to believe?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I’m tired and I’m not making much sense. This whole thing gives me the creeps,” I said, rolling my shoulders.

  Rick started to reach for my hand but stopped and put his hand back on the steering wheel.

  “What do you know about Larry Durbin?”

  “Just what Darci told you tonight. She doesn’t think he’s a bad person, just misguided,” I said while I stared out the windshield. “It’s too bad when someone gets into drugs like that. Larry had potential and he blew it. I feel sorry for him.”

  “I don’t. Larry made his choices. His life doesn’t have to be this way.”

  “Really? That’s kind of cold, isn’t it?”
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  “No, I don’t think so. Sooner or later everyone has to take responsibility for themselves. You can only blame society, parents, or even fate, for your misfortune for so long.”

  I thought for a moment. “Do you believe in fate, or do you believe people have choices?”

  “Hmm, I don’t know. I suppose I believe they have choices. Most everyone chooses their own destiny.”

  “You don’t believe you were meant to be a journalist?”

  Rick smiled. “No, that I believe. I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

  “Then you do believe in destiny.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t believe there’s some big plan for all of us. I probably could have been happy doing something else, but I like my job so much, it’s hard to imagine it. Does that make sense?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What about you, do you believe in fate and destiny?”

  “I think I’m starting to. I have it on the best authority some things are meant to be.”

  “I don’t believe this.” Rick slapped the steering wheel.

  “Believe what? What’s wrong?” I sat forward in the seat.

  We were almost at my house. Was there something up ahead?

  “We’ve actually had a real conversation and haven’t insulted each other for, oh, at least five minutes. That’s got to be a record for us.” Rick smiled while he pulled into my driveway.

  I grinned. “Jeez, I hate to let you down, Rick, but I can’t seem to think of anything insulting to say to you right now.”

  Rick turned and put his arm across the back of the seat.

  “You know, I do like you, Ophelia. I always have, from that first day, when you caught me staring at you. You’re an interesting woman, and you make me laugh.” Rick leaned forward. “I hope, after this is all over, we can—”

  He suddenly turned his head and looked down the street.

  “Is that truck always parked there?”

  I looked out the rear window. “No. And I don’t recognize it. Is someone in it?”

  “I think so. Put your seat belt back on. I’m going to double back and come up behind him.”