“Naw. I think I’ll go stand by the door. Then I can leave right quick when this shindig’s over.” Gus took my hand again and gave it a small pat. “You’ve been a good friend, Miss Ophelia. You take care now. Bye.”
With that he released my hand and shuffled off.
“You’re a damn liar.”
Heads swiveled to watch Harley, still leaning against the wall and still glaring at Dudley Kyle.
The meeting had been going on for hours. Kyle, Saunders, and the county supervisor had wiggled around every argument and every question that Abby’s group brought up without addressing the issues. Tempers were beginning to rise.
Turning back after Harley’s remark, I observed the men sitting with Kyle at the front table. Saunders, the state representative, wore a tight smile, while the county supervisor passed a hand over his forehead as if he were wiping away perspiration. The other two men seated at the table shuffled the notes that lay on the table in front of them. The only one who met Harley’s look straight on was Kyle.
“Why do you think I’m lying, Harley?” Dudley asked with a smug smile.
“’Cause you are.”
Great answer, Harley, I thought, shaking my head.
I glanced over at Abby. She gave me a slight shrug of her shoulders. She knew as well as I did that Dudley Kyle would make verbal mincemeat of Harley any minute now.
Dudley knew it too. His smile became wider. “Harley, it’s a matter of public record that my house is located near one of our facilities. I couldn’t lie about it.”
“Yeah, well what about the flies?” Harley asked.
“What flies?”
“The flies that swarm around a hog lot in the summer. They’re so bad, I heard people living near one of your lots can’t go outside.”
“Nonsense. My wife and I spend a lot of time outdoors in the summer.”
“But Mr. Kyle, isn’t it true you spend most of the summer in Minnesota and the rest traveling in Europe?” asked a voice from the back of the room. “Away from the hog lots?”
Kyle’s smile slipped a little when he looked at the speaker standing near Gus.
Whoever the man was, he was a stranger to me. About my age, with dark blond hair, and blue eyes pinned directly on Dudley Kyle. The man held a notebook in one hand and a pen in the other. A reporter, maybe? Whoever he was, he wouldn’t be as easy a mark for Kyle as Harley.
“You didn’t answer my question, Mr. Kyle,” the stranger said.
Dudley’s smile slipped a little more. “Well…” He paused and leaned back in his chair. Picking up a pencil, Dudley rolled it back and forth in his palms. “Ahh, yes. We travel in the summer.”
“And isn’t it true that the remainder of the year, you’re at your home in Colorado?” the stranger persisted.
“Ummm—”
“Look,” the supervisor interrupted, rescuing his buddy. “This meeting isn’t about whether Dudley has flies or how much time he spends in Iowa. It’s about the impact this facility will have on our community.”
Abby shot to her feet. “You’re right. We do need to know the impact.” Turning her head, she looked straight at Kyle. “Can you tell us, Mr. Kyle, how you plan to get rid of the twenty million gallons of raw sewage your hogs will produce in a year.”
“We’ll inject the manure into the cropland, enriching the soil,” Kyle said.
“What cropland?” Abby asked, arching an eyebrow.
The smug look returned to Kyle’s face. “You’ve seen the maps, Mrs. McDonald. You know what fields we’ll use.”
Abby squared her shoulders and gave Kyle a piercing look. “Yes, I have, Mr. Kyle, but have you? If you have, you know that those fields are considered at high risk for erosion. Any chemical, natural or synthetic, will wash down into the stream every time it rains, polluting not only the stream but the river it drains into.”
“Yeah,” hollered one of Harley’s boys. “Instead of shit rolling downhill, the shit flows downstream.”
A chorus of “Yeah” and “That’s right” erupted throughout the room.
“Now, now,” said the supervisor, waving his hands at the crowd. “Everybody settle down. Mrs. McDonald here has a valid concern. One I’m sure the Department of Natural Resources will take into consideration before they approve PP International’s permit to build.”
“It’s more than a valid concern,” Abby said, turning her eyes from Kyle to the county supervisor. “We intend to prove PP International’s facility will pollute the water beyond the DNR’s guidelines if they use the fields specified. And without those fields, PP International doesn’t have enough cropland set aside to handle the manure from their facility. The DNR will have to reject their permit.”
The room went silent and a shiver of fear tickled up my spine. Abby had issued a challenge, and from the look on Kyle’s face, he didn’t like it. He was a powerful man, working for a powerful company. Abby was a senior citizen running a greenhouse. And there’d been rumors about what had happened in other towns to people who’d crossed PP International. I didn’t want Abby to be one of those “people.” Worry squeezed at me while I skimmed the faces of Abby’s neighbors. Who would support Abby if trouble came? Or would she face it alone? Was that what Gus meant when he said, “Bad’s coming.”
The stranger in the back of the room caught my eye and winked.
“Excuse me,” he called out, stepping forward. “Will the DNR also take into consideration the Clean Air Bill pending before the state legislature?”
Hmm, maybe Abby had an unknown ally? The pressure in my chest eased.
“Maybe you’d like to answer that question, Mr. Saunders?” the stranger continued.
Saunders shifted his weight from side to side, squirming in his seat. “Ahh, the DNR can’t consider the bill, because it hasn’t passed yet.”
“The bill hasn’t passed because it’s held up in committee. Right, Mr. Saunders?” asked the stranger.
“Ahh, well…” His eyes darted toward Kyle, but Kyle ignored him. Saunders cleared his throat and straightened in his chair. Looking out over the crowd, he folded his hands on the table and tried to look earnest. “I can assure everyone we’ll examine the bill closely. The health of our citizens is of utmost importance. But we must be careful that the bill isn’t so restrictive that our most important resource, the family farm, is put in jeopardy,” he said and gave the crowd a sanctimonious smile.
Nobody cheered at his statement and a look of disappointment crossed Saunders’s face. Too bad, I thought sarcastically, that same line worked so well during his campaign. I dismissed Saunders and turned back to the stranger.
He gave me a slight nod and stepped back into the crowd.
The meeting soon ended after Abby fired her salvo at Kyle. People again gathered in clusters, talking. Dudley Kyle and group beat a hasty retreat out the door without speaking to anyone. Score one for Abby’s side.
Winding my way through the crowd, I made my way to where the stranger stood. By the time I reached him, Gus had left and the stranger stood alone.
“Hi,” I said, extending my hand. “I’m Ophelia Jensen.”
“Charles Thornton,” he said, taking my hand and giving it a firm shake. “Nice to meet you.”
Up close, his eyes were cobalt blue and mesmerizing. Not wanting to stare, I focused on a spot near the toe of my left shoe.
I shoved my hands in my pockets and looked again at Charles. “I’d like to thank you for speaking up, but how did you know about the Clean Air Bill? Are you a reporter?”
Charles gave me a big grin. “No, but the notebook and pen works well to give that impression, don’t you think? It fooled Saunders.”
I smiled back. “Yeah. He squirmed when you mentioned the bill. I think big bold headlines reading ‘Saunders Stalls Clean Air Bill’ flashed through his mind. But if you’re not a reporter, why are you here?”
“I’m a freelance photographer and I’m in the area photographing the covered bridges for an East Coast magazine.
”
“Oh.” I frowned, perplexed at his answer.
He grinned once more. “But that doesn’t answer your question why I’m here does it? Or how I knew about the Clean Air Bill?”
I shook my head. “Not really.”
“I’ve worked for a lot of different environmentalist groups over the years and I have a personal interest in those issues. When I heard about the meeting, I checked with an old friend who’s in an environmental watch group. He was the one who told me about the bill. I thought the meeting would be interesting.” His face grew serious. “Your grandmother has a tough battle ahead, fighting PP International.”
My eyebrows shot up. “How did you know Abby’s my grandmother?”
“It’s a small town, Ophelia. It doesn’t take long to learn about the people who live here. Especially someone as well liked as your grandmother. People enjoy talking.”
Boy, they sure do. Tonight would be hashed and re-hashed over coffee tomorrow at Joe’s Café. Would the talk be for Abby or against her? I looked over my shoulder to where she stood by Stumpy, listening to whatever he was saying. She appeared so somber that the worry I’d felt earlier started to snake around me again. A woman her age shouldn’t be the one to fight a corporation like PP International.
A light touch on my arm brought my attention back to Charles. He watched me with a puzzled expression.
“Excuse me, did you say something?” I asked.
“I said you look troubled. Are you concerned about your grandmother?”
“Yeah,” I said while I absentmindedly tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “A little. We’re very close and I don’t like the stress this puts on her.”
Charles nodded in sympathy. “I understand. I know what it’s like to worry about the people you love.” He hesitated while his eyes traveled to Abby. “And to be powerless to protect them.”
A shadow crossed his face. The conversation we were having was becoming too personal for my comfort zone. And I didn’t want to know what caused the sudden change in Charles. I had enough problems of my own. The trip to Iowa City, Abby, and PP International, sleeping with rocks under my pillow, and oh yeah, finding Brian’s killer. A tiny headache began to pulse and I searched my mind for a polite way to excuse myself.
Charles unexpectedly extended his hand. “It was nice talking with you, Ophelia. It’s late and I’m afraid I’m keeping you.”
“Right,” I replied, quickly shaking his hand. “It was nice meeting you, Charles.”
Baffled by his abrupt good-bye, I watched Charles move through the crowd and out the door. A sudden chill announced its arrival and the energy that had pummeled my defenses earlier flowed around me. But this time the energy wasn’t centered on me.
Charles. It followed him like a vapor trail.
Five
I watched the flat landscape fly by the car windows. In the fields the rich black dirt glistened in the early morning sun. Farmers, up since sunrise, pulled huge disks behind their tractors, breaking up the shiny black clods. But the scene barely registered in my brain. The same nagging headache from last night throbbed behind my left eye, distracting me. A headache probably helped along by sleeping on those damn rocks.
While Darci drove, her constant stream of conversation provided background noise for my thoughts. Her words passed right over my head. As long as I nodded occasionally and grunted once in a while, she didn’t question my inattention. Thoughts of my dream, my conversation with Abby, beat in rhythm with the throb in my head. Why was the dream different this time? Was Brian asking for my help from beyond the grave? I believed what Abby told me about the men, but would I recognize Brian’s killer when I met him? I pressed my closed eyes gently with my fingertips to stop the throbbing.
“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said.” Darci’s eyes darted in my direction. “What’s the matter? Got a headache?”
I continued to massage my tired eyes. “Yes.”
“Hmm—I wondered why you looked crappy this morning.”
“Thanks a lot, Darci.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, smiling. “While we’re on the subject, you’ve been grouchy too. More than usual. What’s up? Is it the headache or is there something else I need to know about? More psychic stuff, another adventure coming up, maybe?”
I groaned, ever since last fall, Darci envisioned herself as a Dr. Watson to my Sherlock Holmes. Should I tell her about Abby’s prophecy? No, since our “adventure” last fall almost led to murder—mine—the risk would be too great. If Darci found out I was searching for a killer, she’d insist on helping me. And I’m not sure I could protect her.
“Darci, you don’t need any more adventures. You were lucky you weren’t with Rick and me that night in the machine shed. You could’ve been killed.”
“But I hated missing out on all the excitement.”
“Trust me, getting shot isn’t all that exciting.”
“Speaking of Rick—”
“I didn’t know we were.”
Darci smiled. “You mentioned him. What’s up with him?”
“Nothing’s up. I haven’t heard from him for a couple of months.”
“That’s too bad.”
“It’s okay. I knew from the beginning that he wasn’t the one for me. He has his life in Minneapolis and he loves it. He told me once he couldn’t imagine doing anything else.” I shook my head. “I don’t see him giving it up, ever. We were two people thrown together under unusual circumstances.”
“Ships passing in the night,” she said thoughtfully.
“Trite, but true.” I replied, my tone noncommittal.
“What about Ned?”
“Dang, Darci, are we going to spend the whole trip discussing my love life?”
“From what I hear, there isn’t much to discuss.”
I laughed. “Yeah, you’re right. Ned and I are only friends. I don’t see it going any further than that. There isn’t the chemistry.”
“Not like with Rick, huh.”
“What did I miss?” I asked, ignoring her question.
“What?” Her eyebrows drew together.
“You said I hadn’t heard a word you said. So what did you say?”
“Oh.” Darci’s face brightened. “I asked you if you’d read that article in People? The one about the skeleton found under the pile of rocks near a small town in Massachusetts?”
“A skeleton?”
Darci gave a long sigh. “I guess you didn’t.”
“Okay, I didn’t read the article. Why don’t you tell me about it?”
She wiggled in her seat and gripped the wheel tighter. “Well, I think the name of the town was Brookton,” she said squinting her eyes. “Anyway, some guy’s dog fetched home a human skull. Can you imagine that?”
It was my turn to sigh. “No, I can’t, and I’m not sure I want to.”
“Come on, it’s a really interesting story.”
Staring at the flat black fields flying by the window, I decided, ever since last fall, Darci’s interests had taken a macabre twist. But she didn’t give me the chance to point it out to her.
“Naturally, a search was conducted. They finally found a woman’s skeleton, without the skull, of course—”
“Of course,” I interrupted, turning to look at Darci. “The dog had it.”
“Right,” she said, nodding her head empathetically. She stopped midnod and pursed her lips in a pout. “Oh, now you’re teasing me. Do you want to hear the story or not?”
“Sorry. I want to hear the story.”
Placated, she continued. “The skeleton was under a pile of rocks clear out in the middle of nowhere, in the woods. The local sheriff believes it’s the remains of a woman who disappeared fifteen years ago.”
“A young woman?”
“No, the woman was in her mid sixties, a recluse who made her living doing laundry. She was single, never married, and lived in an old cabin not too far from where they found the body.”
“But why do th
ey think the skeleton is hers?”
“The missing woman had a limp; she’d been born with one leg shorter than the other. The skeleton’s left femur is shorter than the right and that person would’ve walked with a limp too. Like the missing woman.”
“Was it murder?”
“Of course it was murder,” Darci scoffed.
“Not necessarily. She could’ve died from natural causes and someone buried her out in the woods.”
“No way. The article said the medical examiner thinks she was still alive when the murderer started piling the rocks on her.”
My eyes widened. “You mean she was slowly crushed to death?”
“Yup.”
“That’s horrible!” I said while my stomach knotted at the thought of the poor woman’s death. “What an awful way to die!”
“Yes, it is, but I haven’t told you the most interesting part. The article hinted that it might be a case of pressing.”
“What’s that?”
“Come on, with your heritage, you don’t know what pressing is?”
“No. What’s pressing got to do with me?”
“It was used in Salem.”
I still didn’t get it.
“You know, the Salem Witch Trials?” Darci explained. “They used pressing to kill someone accused of witchcraft. The executioners would continue to pile rocks on the victim until they confessed.” Darci stole a quick look at me. “It took about three days before the accused witch finally died.”
A sick feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. I quickly rolled the window down a crack and took a deep breath of fresh air. “Can we talk about something else?”
Darci gave me a sympathetic look. “Okay, back to Rick—”
I held up my hand, stopping her. “I thought we’d finished with the subject of Rick.”
“Okay. Whatever’s eating on you isn’t Rick and it isn’t Ned. What is bothering you?”
“I guess I’m worried about Abby. She’s upset over this hog confinement issue.” I rubbed my eyes again.
Darci frowned. “We all are.”
“It’s a mess.” I rested the back of my head against the seat. “And Abby’s right in the middle of it.”
Charmed to Death Page 4
