Witch Way to Murder

by Shirley Damsgaard

  Abby’s voice stopped me. “Ophelia, the circle grows smaller—you don’t have a few days.”

  Twenty-six

  I don’t know if it was my imagination or if what Abby said about the circle was true. But I felt it shrinking around me while I worked at the computer in my office on Monday. Typing in Army patches, I got a listing of over 133,000 Web sites. One site alone had over one hundred pages.

  Discouraged, I picked up a pen and rolled it around in my hands. Okay. No patch. What about military bases? Tossing the pen down, I typed Army bases in the search field. Oh good, only 249,000 listings.

  I was losing my focus. My mind kept churning over everything that happened since the day Rick Delaney showed up at the library. The song from the dream began to play in my mind along with Rick’s words about staying out of trouble. How was I supposed to stay out of trouble when the trouble was looking for me?

  Giving up on the Internet, I stared at the phone on my desk, willing it to ring.

  Yeah, yeah, it was only Monday, and he said he’d be gone a few days. But he could at least call me from Minneapolis and tell me what he’d learned.

  “A watched pot never boils,” said a voice from the doorway.

  “Rick,” I said, startled to see him. “You’re back.”

  He moved a stack of books and sat down. He studied me a moment before he answered.

  “Just got back and I came straight here.” He gazed at his hands. “Ophelia, I want you to stay out of this. There’s more going on than we thought.”

  “Did you find out who the dead man was?”

  He looked up, his face grim. “Yes, my friend pulled some strings with the Justice Department. Seems they’ve been looking for the dead man, too. They were notified he’d been murdered when the lab ID’d him through dental records. He was a former Army sergeant, Raymond ‘Butch’ Fisher.”

  A soldier? I tuned Rick out. The man in my dream was a soldier. Could it be the same man?

  “Ophelia—”

  “What? I’m listening,” I said carefully.

  “No, you weren’t. Is there something you want to tell me?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “No. Go ahead with your story.”

  With a doubtful look, Rick continued, “He lost his stripes five years ago for getting in a fight with a local police officer when he was stationed in Texas. Shortly after that he went AWOL. The Army’s been looking for him ever since.”

  “I understand why the Army wanted to find him, but why the Justice Department?”

  “After going AWOL, Fisher found a new home with a militia group operating in Montana. The department suspected he’s been using connections he made while in the Army to supply the militia with illegal weapons. And they really wanted to talk to him. They’re not happy he’s dead.”

  “That still doesn’t answer why he was in Summerset.”

  “Well, the logical assumption would be there’s a militia cell here.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “No, it’s not, these people draw recruits from all over the country. It’s possible one of their cells operates here. It would also explain what you found in the woods. My guess—they were using Abby’s woods to play a few war games.”

  Boy, oh boy, Abby wasn’t going to like that one.

  “Didn’t you say hardly anyone goes into those woods? Local gossip says they’re haunted? It would be a perfect place for them. They could play army without worrying about anyone seeing them.”

  “Yes, but war games? Come on,” I said, picking up a pen and fiddling with it.

  “Those casings you found? I checked with a ballistics expert. He said they could have come from an AR-15, looks like an Army M-16. Perfect for the militia.”

  “But how does that figure into the drugs? I thought those right-wing extremists didn’t like druggies.”

  “You’re right, they don’t. We have two separate things happening.”

  “Are you sure about all of this?” I asked while I drew tiny little question marks across a piece of paper.

  “Yes, my friend at the bureau talked with the agent in charge of searching for Fisher.”

  “How did you manage to get him to do that?”

  “I told my friend I had some information that might help with the drug bust they made in Minnesota but that I wouldn’t tell him unless he promised to share what he learned. After threatening me a few times with aiding and abetting, he agreed and called the Justice Department. Then he called Bill, and Bill confirmed the information about Fisher. But they decided the two—the drugs and the possible militia cell—weren’t connected.”

  “Did Bill tell your friend anything about Larry? Has he talked?” I asked.

  “No,” Rick replied.

  “Georgia told Darci that Alan and Bill searched Larry’s place. He has been making meth, but on a small scale. Not enough to sell out of state.”

  “Damn. Now we’re really back where we started. Any ideas? How about Abby? She’s psychic. Does she see anything?”

  “You believe in psychics?” I asked, tapping the pencil on my drawings and not looking at him.

  “Hey, anything’s possible,” Rick said, his voice noncommittal. “As I told you, the police in Minneapolis sometimes use them, and it’s not like we’re learning a lot from ‘normal’ sources. So why not try a psychic?”

  “Well,” I said drawing X’s through the question marks. “She has received vague images. A man hiding behind a mask, the danger growing—that kind of stupid stuff.”

  “You don’t have a very high opinion of Abby’s gift, do you?”

  “What gift?” I pouted and threw the pencil down. “It seems more like a curse to me. She always has a premonition something’s going to happen, but can never seem to change the outcome.” I shook my head. “But back to the sergeant and the drugs, I don’t know if I agree with your friend and Bill. A favorite saying of Abby’s, ‘There’s no such thing as a coincidence.’ What if she’s right, what if the two are connected but we can’t see it right now?”

  “If we only had Ned’s pictures of the Korn Karnival, maybe we could find the sergeant in them.”

  I suddenly remembered Darci’s remark about Agnes McPhearson. “Do you know what he looked like?”

  “No, but I can have my friend fax me a picture. Why?”

  “You need to talk to Agnes McPhearson.” I smiled, thinking of all the fun Rick would have spending the afternoon with her.

  “Who’s she?” Rick cocked an eyebrow.

  “Oh, you’re in for such a treat. Agnes is this small, rather plain woman—reminds me of a partridge—who sees herself as the town’s historian. And she loves taking pictures. At every event, there’s Agnes with her camera. I bet she’s got a ton of pictures from the Korn Karnival. All you have to do is talk her into showing them to you.”

  “Will that be hard?”

  “Not for you, Slick, just turn on the charm.”

  “Okay.” Rick grinned. “I’ll call my friend and have him fax me a picture, then I’ll contact Agnes and ask to see her photographs.”

  “Oh, Rick,” I said, stopping him, “you’re not allergic to cats are you?”

  “No, why?”

  “Well, in addition to her love of photography, Agnes also loves cats. In fact, she has about fifteen of them—all in the house. So don’t wear black, okay?”

  Rick groaned. “Thanks, thanks a lot. I’ll be back after I talk to Agnes.”

  I turned back to the computer, but my concentration had gone from bad to worse. I couldn’t get our conversation out of my mind. Blaming Abby for my conviction that somehow the drugs and the dead sergeant were tied together was a dodge. I knew they were tied together, and somewhere in this convoluted mess, the girl from my dream was involved. It was the key, the beginning. Even after talking to Rick, the song still played in my mind, still evaded recognition.

  Rick said Sergeant Fisher had been stationed in Texas. Parts of Texas were hot and dry, weren’t they? I typed in Army bases
and Texas. Wow, 54,000 Web sites. Well, at least the field was narrowing. I selected the first one, Fort Arnold.

  I tapped my fingers on my desk while I waited for the site to download. A photograph appearing in the center of the screen caught my attention. It flashed off and another photo took its place. Dang, I recalled the first one, tapping my fingers faster, waiting for it to appear again.

  There on the left side of the Fort Arnold sign—did I see a rectangle with gold and red wavy lines? I quickly scrolled down to Units and Organizations. Opening that page, I counted fourteen listed. I got lucky on the fourth one.

  Pictured on the screen was the same patch worn by the soldier in my dream. It was the insignia of the Fifteenth Artillery Brigade. The soldier had been stationed in Texas, just like Sergeant Fisher. The connection Abby talked about? Was the soldier from my dream Fisher? But what about the girl?

  The base was located near Riley a small Texas town. The soldier would’ve been charged, maybe not with first degree murder, but at least with manslaughter. I tried searching for a story about a trial in Riley. Nothing. Maybe they would have moved the trial location to a bigger city. I tried El Paso. Nothing. Houston, Dallas, San Antonio. Nothing, not a word about a young girl dying at the hands of a soldier.

  Frustrated, I shut off the computer. I needed to talk to Darci.

  I found her putting jackets on our new book order.

  “Darci, do you know if anyone from Summerset ever lived in Texas. Or if someone has family in Texas?”

  “I don’t know.” She thought for a moment. “Mr. Carroll has a daughter who lives in Texas.”

  Mr. Carroll, drugs, and the militia? It didn’t compute.

  “Does, or did, he have a granddaughter there?” I asked.

  “No. Grandsons. Why?”

  “The girl from my dream. She lived in Texas.”

  Darci looked confused. “How do you know?”

  “Long story—but I dreamed about her last night. And in the dream, she was killed after having sex with a soldier—”

  “Oh my gosh,” Darci exclaimed.

  “Yes.” I shuddered. “What I saw was terrible. But I think her death was an accident. And I’ve found where the soldier was stationed. Fort Arnold. It’s near Riley, Texas. So I thought maybe if someone around here had a connection to Texas…”

  “The connection would be the reason you’re dreaming about her,” Darci finished for me. “No. And I think if anyone around here was connected to a tragedy like that, we’d all know about it. But I could ask Georgia, she might know something.”

  “Okay, but don’t tell her why.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t, I’ll make something up. What did Rick have to say?”

  I watched Darci’s jaw drop farther and farther while I related what Rick had learned in Minneapolis.

  “Sergeant Fisher was stationed in Texas? Same place as the guy from your dream?”

  “Rick didn’t know where Fisher lived while he was in Texas.”

  “But maybe Fisher is the soldier in your dream.”

  “No. The soldier in the dream’s name is Smith. I saw it on his pocket.”

  “And a militia cell.” Darci looked dumbfounded. “That can’t be. I know we have a lot of people around here who lean to the right, but none of them lean that far.”

  “I don’t know, Rick is convinced there’s a cell operating here and that they’re using Abby’s woods to practice.”

  “You’re not going to tell her, are you?” Darci asked, her eyes full of concern.

  “Are you kidding? She’d go marching out there and try and hex them or something. No, I need to find out who that girl is.”

  Darci thought for a moment. “You know, there are a lot of guys running around with guns, but I always figured it was just a guy thing. But Rick’s information makes me wonder.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I know for a fact that Alan’s brother, Ted, has three guns in his truck. A handgun under the seat, one above the visor, and a shotgun in the gun rack.”

  “You’re kidding. What does he think he’s going to shoot with all those guns?”

  “I guess he believes in being prepared. Oh, he’s a John Wayne wannabe, anyway. He tried to get into law enforcement, but they wouldn’t take him. He reminds me of Jake that way. Jake tried to enlist in the Marines, but they wouldn’t take him, either. And talk about John Wayne wannabes, ha. Have you ever noticed the way Jake tries to imitate that walk John Wayne had?”

  “Darci.” I cringed at the thought of Jake walking like John Wayne. “I try not to notice Jake any more than I have to.”

  When I glanced over at Darci, she was waving her hands frantically.

  “What?” I jumped when Benny spoke from behind me.

  “Sorry, Miss Ophelia, but where did you say you wanted them empty boxes put?”

  How much had Benny heard? I knew he’d run right to Jake and tell him.

  “Ahh, in the basement, Benny. We’ll put them in the recycle bin later.”

  After Benny left, I spun around to Darci.

  “How much did he hear?” I asked, grasping her arm.

  “Just what you said about Jake. I saw him coming and tried to warn you. You know, for a psychic, you can be kind of dense sometimes, Ophelia.”

  “I really hope that was all he heard. I don’t need any more trouble.”

  The rest of the day seemed spent in futile pursuits. I searched the Internet, looking again in news archives for any mention of a girl dying in or around Riley, Texas, but found nothing. A dead end. Darci had called Georgia and learned nothing. Another dead end. At the end of the day we were no closer to the truth, and I felt as though I’d been in a fog all day.

  When Rick and Darci showed up at closing time, they found me sitting at the computer, staring blankly at the screen. I looked at Rick and the fog lifted a little.

  “Well, did you have a good time with Agnes and her cats? They didn’t use your leg for a scratching post, did they?” I asked, leaning back and smiling.

  Rick grinned. “Sorry to disappoint you. I know you were looking forward to me spending the afternoon with Agnes and her cats, but she wasn’t home. I did get my fax from Minneapolis, though,” he said, handing me a picture. “Do you recognize him?”

  I looked at the photograph. Staring at me from the grainy surface of the fax was a grim, bald man. His nose was slightly off center, as if it had been broken one too many times. And a thick neck was visible above the collar of his shirt. He reminded me of a bulldog. It gave me the chills to think this was the body we found by the river.

  “Definitely not him. He’s old enough to be her father,” I murmured.

  “What?” Rick looked puzzled.

  “Nothing,” I said, handing the picture to Darci. “I don’t remember him, do you, Darci?”

  “No, but I think I would if I’d ever seen him. He looks nasty.” Darci wrinkled her nose.

  “He was,” Rick said. “My friend checked up on him. His military record was full of reprimands for fighting, and his former commanding officer said he was a real loose cannon. It didn’t surprise him the guy was found murdered.”

  “Where was Fisher stationed?” I asked.

  “Fort Arnold, Texas,” Rick answered.

  Darci’s eyebrows shot up and she opened her mouth to say something. But when her eyes met mine, her jaw clamped shut.

  “What’s next?” I asked, turning back to Rick.

  “First, you leave your car here and I’ll take you home. You’re spending the night again at Abby’s. Tomorrow, I run the elusive Agnes down and look at the photographs from the Korn Karnival. Darci, I want you to stay with Georgia tonight. We’re not taking any chances. You both have been asking too many questions, and as of today you’re both staying out of this. I’m going to Bill and telling him everything I know. We’re in over our heads.”

  “But Rick, I planned to stay at my house tonight. Abby took Lady and Queenie back there this morning. And what about my c
ar? I can’t leave it here all night.”

  “I don’t care what you planned. Darci can come back with Georgia and pick up the car.”

  The look on his face told me it would be pointless to argue.

  “But what about the girl?” Darci asked, still studying the picture.

  “Shh, Darci,” I said, shaking my head frantically.

  “What girl?” Rick asked.

  “The dead girl Ophelia keeps seeing in her dreams. She’s sure this all started with her.”

  I stifled a groan.

  Rick pulled his hand through his hair, “Great, well, that explains a lot. You’re clairvoyant, too.”

  “Let me explain—”

  “Later, first I want to get you to Abby’s. Darci, promise me you’ll stay with Georgia.”

  “Okay,” Darci piped up.

  Once in the car, Rick turned to me. “Does anyone else in town know about you and Abby?”

  “No. We’ve always been very careful. This talent isn’t exactly one a person advertises. Especially not in a small town.”

  “Good,” he said, pulling away from the curb. “We don’t need anyone coming after you because they think you see something.”

  “Rick, I hate to tell you, but I think they’re already after me. I didn’t want to tell you this earlier, but someone has been in my house.”

  The tires squealed when Rick hit the brakes. I grabbed the dash to stop myself from hitting the windshield.

  “Jeez, Rick.”

  “How do you know someone was in your house? Did you tell Bill?”

  “I felt it, okay? I walked in the door and there it was—someone else’s energy, and hate, and anger. It was strongest in the bedroom, but nothing was taken. And no, I didn’t tell Bill. It would’ve been kind of hard to explain, now wouldn’t it?”

  “I don’t suppose you picked up who it might have been?”

  “No, of course not. The powers don’t want to make it too easy for people like me. Most of the time it’s like looking at something through a cloudy mirror. The shapes and the feelings are there, but obscured. I hate it.”