Bait and Witch

by Angela M. Sanders

  Even if I wanted to use my magic now, I didn’t have time to release the spell. There had to be another way. I’d untangled Darla and Duke’s lies tonight. Surely I could handle this. I leapt to my feet and grabbed the briefcase and stood hidden by a bookshelf just as Richard ran into the room. You can do it, Josie, I told myself. Your own power is enough.

  I swung the briefcase. And missed him. It bounced off the wall and dropped with a thud.

  Just then, siren screaming, a car spun gravel up the driveway.

  Richard leveled the gun at me, his finger on the trigger. The slam of a car door seemed to change his mind, and he ran toward the kitchen.

  The sheriff burst into the atrium. “Josie! Are you all right?”

  “The back door. He went through the kitchen,” I gasped.

  The sheriff said something into his radio while running for the kitchen.

  Richard White got away. He got away, and I could have stopped him. But I hadn’t.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  A deputy sheriff sat with me for the next hour, and I walked her through the story, from encountering Richard on the river trail to his attempt to force a confession and fake my suicide. The entire time, words ran across my brain like a storm-warning banner on TV: You could have stopped it. Richard White could be in custody right now. You had the power, and you refused to use it.

  The deputy didn’t seem to think it was odd that Richard had escaped. She was gratified that I was okay and even surprised that I’d tried the briefcase maneuver.

  The adrenaline that had torpedoed through my body had now evaporated, leaving me limp with exhaustion.

  Her phone beeped. A text.

  “It’s from Sam Wilfred,” the deputy said. “He says to pack a bag. You’re spending the night with him.”

  * * *

  At Big House, Sam opened a bedroom door. “This was my parents’ room.”

  A four-poster bed was pushed against the wall in a large room decorated country-style, circa 1980s, complete with flowered wallpaper and ruffled everything. A vase of dusty silk roses reflected in the dresser’s mirror. It had to be the house’s grandest bedroom.

  “You don’t sleep here?” I asked.

  “I stay in my old room. I’m comfortable there. Plus, it faces the library, so I could keep an eye on you.”

  Of course. He didn’t have to know I’d kept an eye on him, too, hearing his faraway arias and taking comfort in his lit window.

  He fetched a bundle of sheets from the hall closet, and together we made up the bed. I stole a few glances while he tucked in the bottom sheet.

  “Come on,” he said once the pillows were fluffed. “You’ve had a tough evening. I’ll make you some chamomile tea.”

  I followed him down to the kitchen that was beginning to feel so comfortable to me now. Sam filled the kettle and sneezed. Rodney was curled up in his chair. He stretched his front legs, then leapt down and into my lap. I was grateful for his silky purring body. He’d been so remote since I gave up my magic. The magic that could have caught Richard White.

  “I’m so sorry Richard got away.”

  “He had a car on a side road just west of here. We figure he waited until we’d headed toward Forest Grove before taking off.”

  “So he might still return?”

  “Maybe. That’s why you’re here. My bedroom is right down the hall. Leave your door open.” He had a tiny mole—just a raised bump, really—near his jaw that I hadn’t noticed before. I was getting more attached to him than I wanted to. Darla was right. He really wasn’t that much older than I. He’d simply lived more life.

  “You’ll fall asleep instantly, anyway. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to be safer than I would be at home.”

  He laughed. “I wake up instantly, too. Remember?”

  I did. I remembered standing in the library’s old drawing room in the kids’ section in my nightgown and seeing Sam for the first time, an open Hardy Boys book in his lap. If I were a blusher, this is where my skin would fire pink.

  “Don’t worry,” Sam said. “We’ll catch up with him. We’re monitoring every airport within five hundred miles. It’s not Richard I’m worried about so much.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Remember, the sheriff still hasn’t nailed the person who killed January Stephens, Bondwell’s first envoy. He says he has a couple of strong leads, but something doesn’t add up.”

  “He cleared Craig Burdock,” I pointed out.

  “True. But—”

  His phone pinged, then pinged again a different tone.

  “Two messages. Maybe they found Richard.” He touched his phone and scrolled down, then down some more. Must have been a long message.

  The kettle was boiling. I set Rodney on the floor and filled the teapot. “Anything good?”

  He set his phone face down on the table. His expression alarmed me. It wasn’t a smile or a frown, but something sadder, more hesitant.

  “What?” I asked. “You don’t want to tell me, do you?”

  “It’s from Ilona.” His voice was soft. “She’s seen the judge’s decision. He’s dismissing the case against the library trustees.”

  My heart sank. Somehow I’d been holding out hope against hope that the library would be saved, even if I wasn’t around to appreciate it. I’d wanted a surprise happy ending, just as in the novels I loved so much.

  “Is it for sure?” I asked.

  “It goes public tomorrow.” He sank to a chair. “I told her and Duke I’d withdrawn my support. I guess they didn’t pass the message along.”

  “Then it’s not too late,” I said quickly.

  “It is now.” He drummed his fingers thoughtfully. “If I go public about it, it looks like I don’t care about Wilfred’s future. After all, the judge decided the library’s sale is for the town’s best.”

  I felt like an ashen hologram, and a breeze would dissolve me. How one day could hold so much emotion, I had no idea.

  “The second text?” I said. Maybe there would be some good news this evening.

  “Oh,” Sam said. “That was my wife.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Of course Sam was married. Of course he wasn’t interested in me. The strange thing is that until that moment, I’d never consciously considered the fact that he might hold any romantic fascination with me at all.

  He pushed the phone to the side and handed me a mug of tea. “I’ll call her tomorrow.”

  Why did I even care? I’d be leaving Wilfred soon. The library would be demolished—probably sooner than later now. I had a homicidal financial fraudster on my tail. And, if tonight’s events were any indication, I’d struggle with being a witch the rest of my life.

  “I guess we won’t be going out to dinner tonight.”

  “Ha. No.” He absently poured himself some tea, then set the teapot down abruptly. “I hope you didn’t get the wrong idea about that. I’d told you I was married, didn’t I?”

  “I don’t remember you mentioning a wife.”

  He looked at his mug, then a nonexistent spot on the table. Anywhere but at me. “It’s complicated.”

  “I bet.” I forced a smile.

  “I hope you don’t think I was misleading you. It never crossed my mind you’d have any sort of, you know . . .”

  “No. No, not at all. Ha-ha-ha.” I stood and lifted my mug. “It’s been a long day. How about if I take this upstairs?”

  * * *

  I barely slept. From time to time throughout the night, I heard a door creak or the sound of feet on the stairs. Sam. Rain drummed on the eaves, and the sun took its time rising.

  Had I done right by not using my magic? Maybe I could have stopped Richard White before he’d escaped. I turned in bed and tossed a pillow aside. It was also possible that thanks to my power I could accomplish the library’s demolition without the help of a wrecking ball.

  By morning, only the scent of strong coffee had lured me downstairs. I’d dallied with the idea of forgoing
lipstick or even rassling my hair into a ponytail, but in the end pride won out. Big deal, since it looked like it could well be another day of house arrest, at least until Richard White was found.

  Sam looked as if he’d been up for hours, but, unlike me, he wasn’t the worse for it. I wondered if he’d called his wife yet.

  “Good news.” He handed me a mug of coffee. “Do you take milk?”

  “If you have it.”

  “We might have located Richard White. He’s not in custody yet, but reports have him nearing Seattle. He probably plans to fly out from there.”

  “So I can get back to work.” Bittersweet. “It’s going to take a while to pack up the library. A few weeks, at least.”

  “You still shouldn’t be left alone. Until White is under arrest, and we’re sure there aren’t any more surprises—”

  “Like last time.”

  Sam chose to ignore me. “—I’ll stay here.”

  Despite its size, Big House oppressed me. I didn’t want to be here, alone, with my complicated emotions. The library would hardly be better. “Can I go to Darla’s for breakfast?”

  “Yes, but stick to the main road and take this.” He set a smartphone on the table. I greedily reached for it. I’d spent ten days with nothing but the library’s rotary phones. “It’s GPS-monitored. Text me every hour and every time you’re at a new location until I tell you it’s okay to stop. I’m the only number saved in the contacts.”

  I woke up the phone. No password. Sure enough, in contacts “Ghost” was the only entry.

  “If you don’t arrest Richard before tonight, then what?” I asked.

  “Text before you go to bed, then again when you awake. If you sleep more than nine hours, you’ll hear from me. Here’s the charger. Keep the phone with you at all times. The timer starts now.”

  I slid the phone into my cardigan’s pocket and gulped down half the mug of coffee before setting it on the table. “I need to feed Rodney—” I looked up. “No problem with that, I hope?”

  “That’s fine.”

  “I’ll text you from Darla’s.”

  I was out the back door before he could change his mind. It was too early for the library’s furnace to have kicked in, and the house’s damp air pierced to the bone. Rodney was nowhere to be found, but his dish was empty. I remedied that situation. I didn’t make the trip upstairs, but pulled an umbrella from the lost and found box and hit the trail for Darla’s.

  Despite the early hour, the diner was full and its windows steamed with conversation from a dozen tables. Talk stopped when I pushed open the door. I stood still a moment, unsure of what to do.

  “Right over here.” Darla came from behind the counter. The lines under her eyes showed she hadn’t slept any better than I had. “Biscuits and gravy on the house for you this morning.” She sat me on a stool swiveled to face the dining room.

  “Why is everyone here?” I said, suspecting the answer.

  “We got final word from the judge.” She forced a smile. I had the feeling she was working hard to channel Southern gentility. “Our suit to block the library’s demolition has been thrown out.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Darla raised a hand. “He was very complimentary about your report, Josie, and he said he wished there was a way to replace the library sooner. But his decision was that the retreat center is the best option for Wilfred at this time.”

  Everyone watched me as if this were a reality television show. If only.

  “Honey, you had a tough day yesterday. You know we have your back. Care to tell us about it?” Darla asked.

  I surveyed the room. A friendly crowd. Roz sat near the front, although she glanced away when I tried to catch her eye. I winced when I thought of her failed declaration to Lyndon. Lalena had roused herself from bed. She hadn’t changed into street clothes and wore a pink kimono with drippy sleeves. Mrs. Garlington and her son, the postman, sat in their corner booth. The Tohlers had arrived en masse, Dylan standing out in his natty suit. Craig Burdock was even here, alone against the wall.

  No Duke or Ilona.

  “Just a sec.” I texted Sam. I’m at Darla’s. Okay here. “The FBI gave me this to keep in touch.”

  “No kidding,” Craig Burdock said.

  “Well,” I said. “You all know Sam works for the FBI, right?”

  “Speak up,” Mrs. Garlington said.

  I cleared my throat and raised my voice. Darla pressed a tumbler of ice water into my hands. “Sam Wilfred works for the FBI. It turns out he’s not here for old times’ sake, after all, but for work. To keep an eye on me, in case someone arrived to shut me up. You all heard about the Washington Post article, right?”

  “The what?” someone asked.

  “Never mind,” Darla said. “Most of us are up-to-date. Go on.”

  “The article was meant to signal where I was and to draw out anyone who might want to silence me.”

  “A trap,” Ruth Littlewood said with appreciation.

  “Exactly. And it worked. The FBI caught up with an operative hired by Bondwell. They had him in Portland, and I was pretty sure I was safe. I was spending the night with Lalena, just in case. Anyway, I dashed up to the library to make sure the cat was all right, and the senator’s aide was waiting for me on the river trail.”

  Gasps arose across the room.

  “What happened?” Mrs. Garlington’s son asked. He was in his post office uniform, and his mail pouch sagged on the bench beside him.

  “He marched me into the library and forced me to write a confession that I’d lied about him. Then his plan was to kill me and make it look like suicide. But Sheriff Dolby got there just in time.”

  The room cheered. I noticed the sheriff engulfed by the knitting club on the opposite side of the room from Craig Burdock.

  “Speak! Speak!” Mrs. Garlington chanted, and soon everyone had joined in.

  The sheriff reluctantly stood next to me. I was getting hungry and knew a platter of biscuits and gravy congealed behind me, but I wouldn’t turn away.

  “As Josie said, my sister, Lalena, was hosting her for the night. When Josie didn’t come back right away, Lalena did what anyone should do when they suspect trouble is afoot—she called the sheriff.”

  “She called her brother,” Roz said. “Big whoop.”

  “I tried phoning Josie first, but no one picked up,” Lalena said, delicately pushing her kimono’s sleeve aside to reach her coffee.

  “It was lucky. I got there just in time.”

  In the warm diner with so many friendly people around and the aroma of french toast and bacon in the air, I could almost forget last night’s terror. The look in the sheriff’s eyes when his gaze met mine brought it all back.

  “Richard White got away, but at least Josie was safe,” he said.

  “I stayed at Sam’s to be sure.”

  “Ooh la la,” Lalena said.

  “Then I heard about the library.”

  Forks dropped to plates. The air grew windy with sighs.

  “When . . .” Mrs. Garlington couldn’t finish her sentence.

  “When does it close for good?” Count on Roz to hustle out the bad news.

  “The day after tomorrow. After that, we’ll spend a few weeks packing up.”

  “We’ll have a new library someday,” Ruth Littlewood said.

  “Someday? Ha. More like some year,” a bald man added.

  My throat thickened. I thought of all those shelves of books, their voices stifled, going into storage for goodness knew how long. Meanwhile, all the memories and knowledge that had imprinted within the library’s walls would be destroyed. All the joy from story hours, the thrill of discovery, the pleasure of a well-told story—all that energy—would be locked away.

  “But we’re not going to let this keep us down,” Darla continued. She wiped her hands on a bar towel and came around the counter. “Maybe we couldn’t keep the library alive, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be grateful for what it’s meant to our c
ommunity over the years. We all have special memories attached to it.”

  “Definitely,” one person said.

  “Hell, yeah,” another person added.

  “So, tomorrow night after the library closes, we’re going to hold the biggest party Wilfred has ever seen. I’ve already started making pies. I expect every one of you to be there.”

  Tears pricked the backs of my eyes. I turned toward the counter and poked my fork at a biscuit.

  “Eat up,” Darla said. “We have lots of work ahead of us.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Before I left the diner, Mrs. Garlington’s son gave me the library’s mail. I flipped through it as I made my way up the hill and over the Kirby River. Most of it was the usual—flyers, ads, an invoice.

  We did receive something official-looking from the Western Oregon Library Association. I leaned against the bridge’s rail and lifted the envelope’s flap. It was an invitation to join. I refolded the letter and returned it to its envelope with a sigh. Maybe the trustees would want to look into it someday, if the library was ever rebuilt.

  Among the letters was a padded envelope from my old boss at the Library of Congress. I felt a small, hard object—a flash drive—inside.

  I passed Big House, knowing Sam was somewhere inside despite the lack of signs of life. The library wasn’t due to open for another half hour. I tossed my purse and the mail in my office and wandered the library’s rooms, so soon to become history. I flipped light switches as the old furnace groaned and kicked in for the day.

  The mirror above the fireplace in the old drawing room reflected shelves of books waiting to release their stories. I breathed the rich scent of old paper and binding glue. I ran my hands over Thurston Wilfred’s desk. Maybe Sam would take it now, if his wife approved, that is. Even the drawing room where I’d been held hostage welcomed me.

  Maybe my senses had dimmed thanks to suppressing my magic, but I felt something I never had before: a rich love of place. I had to return to D.C., but Wilfred had changed me for good.

  Roz was waiting for me in the library’s kitchen. I paused, unsure whether she wanted to talk.

  “Bad news, huh?” This time Roz looked me in the eyes.