“I can’t run anymore, Rick.”
Another pop sent chips of stone flying.
“Come on.” Rick shoved me forward.
We ran deeper into the old cemetery. Wind began to gust again, sending the light snow swirling into the air. Thick clouds of it obscured the light from the moon. Another pop from the gun broke the silence, and an owl hooted in the distance.
First, I felt a burning in my side as if someone had stabbed me with a hot poker. Then the pain came, waves and waves of agonizing pain. It drove all the fear from me, until nothing was left except the pain. My legs buckled and I fell, pulling Rick down with me.
“Ophelia, Ophelia. Answer me.”
The wind suddenly died and I could see the ground where I lay on my side.
“Look, Rick, the snow’s red.”
Another shot muffled his answer and a dark shape loomed a few feet from us. Adam Hoffman. With a yell, Rick launched himself at Adam. They both went down. The gun Adam held flew from his hand when Rick tackled him. It sank in the soft snow. Too far away for me to reach.
I struggled to prop myself up against a headstone, but the effort was too much. The pain in my side was fierce, and I felt a wetness seep through my coat. I didn’t know if it was melting snow or—blood.
Adam and Rick rolled in the snow a few feet away. Rick was the first to his feet. Adam soon followed. I heard the dull thuds of fists striking flesh. From where I sat, I could see Adam’s face. His lips were pulled back from his teeth in a feral snarl. Rage and hate seethed around him. One blow knocked Rick to the ground, and Adam kicked him repeatedly. Rick grabbed Adam’s ankle and jerked, sending Adam toppling backward. Rick was on him in an instant. He pinned Adam to the ground and hit Adam’s exposed face again and again.
While I lay there, the pain receded, replaced by a numbness that slowly crept up my body. In the distance I saw lights bobbing up and down in the night, closer and closer, but I couldn’t focus on them.
“There they are,” said one of the bobbing lights.
The cold snow felt so good against my face. Maybe if I just closed my eyes—
Thirty-two
“I think she’s awake.”
I opened one eye and Rick’s face swam into focus. I felt his hand brush the strands of hair back from my forehead.
“Did the good guys win?” I asked. My voice cracked and my throat felt scratchy.
Rick laughed. “Yes, the good guys won. How do you feel?”
“Like I’ve been shot. That is what happened, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” He stroked my cheek. “You were hit in the side. It may not seem like this to you right now, but you were lucky. The snow stopped you from bleeding to death.”
“Right, lucky. It hurts like hell, and my head feels like it’s wrapped in cotton.”
“It’s the drugs. They have you doped up on pain meds.”
Must have been some pretty good stuff. Rick’s face faded away as my eyes closed.
The next time my eyes opened, my vision was clear. Sunlight came through the open blinds. Rick stood near the window, looking out. He still wore the same clothes and a dark shadow of a beard covered his lower face. His hair was rumpled, as if he had repeatedly combed his fingers through it. Had he been here all night?
Abby sat in the chair near the window, crocheting. Her face wore a half smile while her hook flashed in the sunlight. She was an island of calm, just as she had been all my life. The tears gathered in my eyes while I watched her. She lifted her head and smiled at me. After she put down her crocheting, she crossed the room to my bed. She leaned over and kissed my forehead.
“Good morning. Or afternoon, I should say. How are you feeling?”
“Not too bad, I guess, all things considered.”
“Do you feel well enough to talk to Bill? He can always come back later.”
“No, I’ll talk to him.”
“I’ll go get him,” Rick said, and headed for the door.
“No, you stay here. I’ll get Bill,” Abby said.
Rick walked to the bedside. “Are you sure you feel up to this?”
“Yeah, might as well get the lecture over with.”
“Don’t worry, he’ll be nice to you. Me—he threatened to arrest about a hundred times. Seems we blundered into a DEA investigation,” Rick said, running his hands back and forth across the bed railing.
“You sure as hell did,” Bill said as he walked into the room. “You’re lucky they were watching the farm and moved in when they heard gunshots. Too bad Hoffman got away from them and shot Ophelia. He’s not going anywhere now, though. We’ve got all three of them locked up tighter than ticks.”
“What about Nina?” I asked.
Bill stood by my bed twirling his hat. “Her sister from Fairfield came and took her home with her. Had a real interesting conversation with her. Seems Adam went off the deep end when their daughter died. He started acting weird and shut himself in the girl’s room for hours and wouldn’t talk to anyone. Became obsessed with her car.” Bill paused, frowning as if Adam’s obsession didn’t make sense to him. He gave a slight shrug and continued. “Finally, Adam seemed to snap out of it. Quit the Army and they moved back to Fairfield. Her family didn’t know about Adam’s involvement in the militia, but they were asking Nina a lot of questions. Too many to suit Adam, so he packed up Nina and came here. Wouldn’t let her have any contact with her family. They’ve been worried about her but didn’t know what to do about it.”
“Will Nina be okay?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Bill said, and leaned closer to the bed. “So, how are you feeling?”
“I don’t know.” I winced as I scooted my hip over. “Rick told me I was lucky. I guess I am.”
“Yes, you are, young lady. I hope you’ve learned your lesson and in the future won’t be getting mixed up in things that don’t concern you. I guess I really don’t have any questions for you. Main reason I stopped was to see how you were doing. Delaney here has told me everything, haven’t you, Delaney?”
“Of course, Sheriff.”
Rick wouldn’t meet Bill’s eyes. Instead he seemed fascinated with the IV pole.
“Only question I’ve got is how you got loose. Nobody’s explained that one. Adam’s refusing to talk, Jake’s blaming everything on Adam, and Benny—well, poor Benny’s a blubbering mass of flesh. Keeps mumbling about hexes and the sight,” Bill said, scratching his head. “Can’t make heads or tails out of it.”
I glanced at Rick. Now he was staring at the blinds.
“Umm, ahh. Benny loosened the ropes before Adam and Jake got there,” I said. “He was going to let us go, but Jake stopped him. Rick managed to finish the job Benny started.”
Bill settled his hat on his head. “Okay, that’s what I’ll put in the report. Sure sounds more reasonable than Benny’s explanation. I’ll come back later to check on you, Ophelia. I would say it was nice meeting you, Delaney, but you caused me a lot of trouble.” He smiled and shook Rick’s hand. “I hope if you ever visit Summerset again, it’s not on business.”
“Don’t worry, Bill, I think I’ve learned my lesson, too.” Rick smiled.
Rick and I watched Bill leave. Silent minutes stretched while I plucked at the blanket. I was the first to break it.
“What did you tell him?”
“Pretty much everything—except for the part about you being a witch.”
“I’m—”
“It’s okay, Ophelia, your secret’s safe with me. I don’t know exactly what you did out there, but whatever it was, it saved our lives. I’m just sorry you got hurt.”
Rick picked up my hand and brought it up to his mouth. He turned it over and kissed the inside of my wrist, like the night in the car. I felt the regret in his touch.
“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” I said, not looking at him.
“Yeah, the DEA was pretty upset with us, too. They called my editor to complain, but he managed to talk them into me going to Montana with them. They’re going after the group
Hoffman sent the money. He worked out a deal with them that if they take me and give the paper an exclusive, then he’ll put a lid on the story till the investigation is over. He also pointed out it would be in their best interest to know where I was.”
“He must be even more persuasive than you are.”
Rick grinned. “That’s why he’s the editor. Don’t worry about you and Abby—you won’t be part of the story. I figure I owe you at least that much.”
“Thanks.”
“You know, Ophelia Jensen, you’re okay.”
“Even if I’m prissy and tight-lipped.” I lifted an eyebrow.
“I wondered if you overheard that.” Rick laughed. “Yeah, for a prickly librarian, you’re all right. I’m really glad I met you.”
“You’re not so bad yourself, Delaney.”
“For an arrogant, self-absorbed jerk?”
“Right. But you forgot the thick-headed part.”
“Listen, can I call you sometime, you know, just to talk?” A hot blush covered Rick’s face.
What’s this, Rick Delaney shy? I couldn’t believe it.
“Sure, I’d like that.”
Our eyes locked and my lips parted in anticipation as Rick leaned closer to the bed. A knock at the door suddenly yanked him back. A nurse stuck her head in the room.
“Mr. Delaney, Bill called the desk and said they’re leaving now.”
“Okay, thanks. I’ll be there in a minute,” Rick said over his shoulder to the nurse, his eyes never leaving my face.
“Well, you’d better get going—”
Rick cut off my words with a kiss. Everything was in that kiss—sadness, regret at what might have been. Warm tears gathered beneath my closed eyelids. Would our paths ever cross again?
“I want out, and I want out now.” I sat on the bed, dressed and ready to leave, but the damn doctor hadn’t signed the release orders yet.
Darci and Abby exchanged looks.
“As soon as the doctor comes and releases you. Being impatient won’t make him come any sooner.”
“Honestly, Ophelia, you have to be the worst patient in the world. I bet the nurses will be glad to see the last of you,” Darci said, fussing with the flowers. “You know, I might have been able to help you at the farm. I’m still mad you didn’t take me with you.”
“Why? So you could have been shot, too?”
Darci smiled at Abby. “She must be feeling better, she’s getting sarcastic. Say, these are lovely flowers Ned sent you. He’s been here several times, hasn’t he?”
“Yeah,” I said, trying to look noncommittal. “He wants to take me out to dinner when I’m feeling better.”
“That’s great. You know, if we cut about two inches off your hair and plucked your eyebrows a little, it would give you a whole different look,” she said as she scrutinized my face.
I groaned. “You can keep your scissors and your tweezers to yourself, Darci. I’ve already been a victim of one of your makeovers. And if Ned doesn’t like the way I look—tough.”
My words had no effect—Darci still looked at me with a speculative gleam in her eye.
“Darci, would you mind checking with the nurse to see if they have the release orders yet? I would like to talk to Ophelia.”
“Sure thing, Abby,” Darci said, and left.
Abby watched her leave and then turned to me. “You’re fighting a losing battle, you know. She won’t give up. I imagine she’ll make you buy clothes for the occasion, too.”
I winced at the thought of what Darci would consider the right outfit for a date with Ned. “I know.”
Abby took my hand. “Did he break your heart?”
“No, just cracked it a little.” I smiled. “I knew it wasn’t meant to be. Our paths are in different directions, but…”
Abby didn’t say anything, but stroked my hand. I could feel the healing power flow from her touch.
“I’ve had a lot of time to think about things, lying here. Grief made Adam what he was—”
“Well, I think the sickness was already there, but the grief pushed it out.”
“My grief over Brian pushed me, too, didn’t it? Pushed me inside myself.”
“Yes,” she said, and squeezed my hand lightly.
“I don’t want to be inside myself anymore, retreat inside my wall. I think I’d miss Darci.” I cringed. “God, never thought I’d say that one.”
Abby laughed.
“Anyway, I’ve thought a lot about what happened that night in the machine shed. I’m sorry I’ve scoffed at your magick all these years.”
“It’s not my magick. The world is full of magick, whether we see it or not. You are one of the chosen. You have been given the gift to see the magick if you want.”
“Could you show me how?”
A slow smile crossed Abby’s face.
“Yes, dear, I can show you how.”
“Abby, there is one thing that still bothers me.” I fiddled with the blanket. “Do you remember when this all started—the night I dreamt about the cemetery?”
Abby nodded.
“Well, at the beginning of the dream, I drank a glass of water at the kitchen sink and I placed the glass on the counter. The next morning the glass was there. How could that be? If it was a dream? Was I sleepwalking?”
“I don’t know, maybe. Or it could be you have talents we don’t know about yet.”
“Yeah, like what?”
She shrugged. “My mother always said Great-aunt Mary was an expert at astral projection. You might have inherited that talent, too.”
My mouth dropped open. Great. Being a psychic wasn’t enough?
“Oh, don’t worry, Ophelia. We’ll figure it out.” She paused. “You’ve made a wise choice. There are circles in your life that must be closed. It will be up to you to close them. You will need all your talents to do so, but we have time.”
My hackles stood up and my skin tingled. She couldn’t possibly mean…
Oh no, here we go again.
Acknowledgments
Writing is a journey, and I’ve met so many people along the way who’ve helped my steps down this road and who deserve my thanks:
Andy Entwistle—another writer and the first to help with the art of writing a short story.
John Tigges—my teacher and literary guru, who taught me the importance of a well-placed exclamation point, and much, much more.
The Saturday Afternoon Writing Class—Patsy, Martha, David, Dennis, and Bob. Always poised, with red pen in hand, to find the mistakes I’d missed.
Nadine Avey, former librarian and my comma catcher, for all the tips on operating a library, and for the free proofreading.
Paul Steinbach of the Iowa State Medical Examiner’s Office, for the crash course he gave me in decomposition.
Carol Rayburn and the Stuart Police Department, for answering endless questions about meth labs, and the most pertinent one—“Really, how does it feel to be shot?”
Photographer Kevin McCubbin, for the time he spent to make his subject look good.
Stacey Glick of Dystel and Goderich Literary Management, for making a dream come true.
Sarah Durand and Jeremy Cesarec, my excellent editor and her equally excellent assistant, for putting up with all my questions, and for their faith in Ophelia and Abby.
My friends, who have listened to me rattle on about plot lines but like me anyway.
The Damsgaard connection—Arnie, Betty, Dot, and, especially, Maggie. You showed me the importance of persistence, which some might call old-fashioned Danish stubbornness.
And most important, my children—Eric and Cathleen, Shane and Christine, Scott, and Sara. Thank you for thinking maybe Mom’s not crazy after all!
About the Author
Take a life-long interest in the paranormal and mix it with a vivid imagination. Let the potion simmer in a small Iowa town, and the result is the Ophelia and Abby mystery series written by Shirley Damsgaard. The popular series debuted in August of 2005 with Witch W
ay To Murder, and went on to receive an Agatha nomination for Best First Novel.
Shirley resides with her family in a small Iowa town where she has served as Postmaster for the last twenty years. She is currently working on the next book of the series, which again touches delightfully on the paranormal.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
WITCH WAY TO MURDER. Copyright © 2005 by Shirley Damsgaard. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
ePub edition May 2007 ISBN 9780061758591
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