Charmed to Death

by Shirley Damsgaard

  There, in the street, near the large elm tree. A figure, a man? I pressed my nose to the glass, searching the dark for what I thought I’d seen.

  When the lightning cracked again, the rune, Hagalaz—the symbol for the destroyer, for the crisis at hand—slipped from my numb fingers. And all I saw was the empty street.

  Eighteen

  The next morning the first thing I did was call Claire and set up my vacation time. She agreed to it immediately. Along with Darci, the library board members would cover my absence. The second thing I did was make lots and lots of strong, dark coffee. I stood impatiently by the coffeemaker with my coffee cup in my hand, waiting.

  “Oh come on, will you? Hurry up.”

  “Do you always talk to the coffeemaker?”

  I jumped, almost dropping my cup. “Jeez, Abby. You startled me. What are you doing here so early?”

  “I wanted to see how you weathered the storm last night. I hope you don’t mind. I used my key to let myself in,” she said, setting a grocery bag on the counter. “I had hoped to surprise you with breakfast, but since you’re up, you can help me.”

  She emptied the sack, setting orange juice, eggs, and bacon out on the counter.

  “Thanks, but I don’t know if I can handle a big breakfast right now,” I said and gave her a hug.

  Maybe the hug was a little too tight or maybe she picked up on my distress. Either way she stepped back and, placing her hands on my shoulders, scanned my face.

  “What happened?”

  “I had an interesting rune reading,” I said, taking my coffee and sitting down at the table.

  “And?”

  “The rune’s advice was Hagalaz—hail, destruction, through crisis will come transformation. I’m to be prepared.”

  “A warning. What was the outcome?” Abby asked while she put away the groceries and filled her own cup with coffee.

  “Berkano—growth, new beginnings.”

  “Well, the outcome’s promising, at least,” she said, joining me at the table.

  I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands, trying to scrub away the images of last night. “Yeah, but ‘Be prepared’ doesn’t tell me a whole heck of a lot, does it?” Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly. “Umm—I don’t want you to freak out, but I’m sure the killer was watching the house last night.”

  Abby didn’t comment. Instead she clicked her nail on the side of her cup, thinking.

  “You’re not surprised, are you?”

  “No,” she said and took a drink of her coffee. “I was afraid this would happen. You had a connection to Gus and, as I told you, the killer knows who you are. Did you have any dreams last night?”

  “Not a dream, but I saw something in my mind. The killer’s eyes.”

  “But not the rest of his face?”

  “No, just the eyes. In the vision I was staring into his eyes while he tried to pull me toward him.” I shuddered, remembering the madness shining in those eyes. “The guy’s seriously crazy, Abby.”

  “He’d have to be, dear, to do what he’s done. How do you know he was watching the house?”

  “After the vision, I ran to the window. When the lightning flashed, I thought I saw someone standing in the street, near the old elm tree. It was only for an instant. The next moment he was gone.”

  “Maybe it would be better if you came and stayed with me for a while.”

  “No, absolutely not. He could follow me and you’d be in danger too. I wish I could figure out some way to let Bill know what’s happening. But I can’t. Not without telling him how I know these things.”

  “I think the situation might come to that.”

  “No. I’m not going to tell Bill I’m psychic. He’d share the information with Comacho, and things are bad enough right now without that. Some people are treating me as if I’m a pariah. Last night at Joe’s, I had dinner with Charles—”

  “The photographer?”

  “Yes. And when I walked in, the room got quiet. I don’t need everyone in town knowing about my little talent. They’d think I’m nuts.”

  “I see your point, but—”

  She was interrupted by a knock at the front door. I got up and went to the door. Opening it, I found Charles, with a sheepish grin on his face, standing on the porch. In his hand he held a box of doughnuts. Their sweet, yeasty smell set my empty stomach rumbling. Maybe it couldn’t handle eggs and bacon right now, but baked goods were a different story.

  “I’m sorry. I know it’s early and I don’t want to intrude, but I had such a good time with you last night.” Charles picked nervously at the corner of the doughnut box. “I can’t remember the last time I talked about my mother with anyone. It was, ah, ah, nice.” He gave a little shrug. “I wanted to do something nice for you, so when I saw these at the bakery…Here,” he said, shoving the box toward me, and turned to leave.

  “No. Wait, Charles,” I said, placing my hand on his arm and stopping him. I looked down at what I was wearing. Sweats and an old T-shirt. Not the best look for entertaining, but oh well. “Why don’t you join us? I’m just having coffee with my grandmother.”

  “Are you sure I’m not interrupting?” he asked skeptically.

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” I said with a grin.

  “Okay. I’d love to. Thank you.”

  Charles followed me into the kitchen where Abby still sat at the table.

  “Abby, I’d like you to meet Charles Thornton. Charles, this is my grandmother, Abigail McDonald.”

  Charles shook Abby’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.”

  “Thank you. It’s nice meeting you. Please sit down.”

  “Look, Abby, Charles brought doughnuts—fresh from the bakery,” I said, setting the box in the middle of the table.

  “How nice,” she replied, ignoring the doughnuts.

  I shrugged and picked out one from the box. The sugary dough seemed to melt in my mouth when I took a bite. “Delicious,” I mumbled to Charles.

  With a bob of his head, Charles acknowledged my remark while he pulled out a chair and sat down.

  I poured him a cup of coffee and joined them at the table.

  “Thanks, Ophelia.” Turning away from me, he faced Abby. “You know, Mrs. McDonald, you’re something of a legend in Summerset.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “Really, you are. I admire how you’re taking a stand against PP International.”

  “I’m not the only one taking a stand.”

  “No, but you’re the one leading the opposition. I’ve a feeling the group wouldn’t be nearly as successful without you.”

  “No one is indispensable, Mr. Thornton,” Abby said, swirling her coffee around in her cup.

  This conversation isn’t going well, I thought while I picked at the edge of the doughnut. For some reason, Abby seemed to resent Charles’s presence.

  “Please call me Charles. I’ve always been interested in environmental issues myself. I don’t know if Ophelia told you, but I’m also a writer and I’d love to do a story on your group.”

  “I don’t know if that would be possible, Mr. Thornton,” Abby replied. “Everyone’s distracted right now, and I don’t know who would have the time to give you an interview.”

  What? Abby turning down free publicity for her cause? What’s up with that? I gave her a perplexed look.

  She met my look with a slight shake of her head.

  Charles squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. “I’d hoped you would have the time, Mrs. McDonald.”

  “I’m sorry I don’t. I also own a greenhouse and my busy season is beginning.”

  “I understand. Well, I must be going,” Charles said, standing. “Thank you for the coffee, Ophelia. Mrs. McDonald, again, it was nice to meet you.”

  “You too, Mr. Thornton,” Abby said, looking down at her cup.

  “I’ll walk you to the door, Charles,” I said and stood.

  At the door Charles said in a slight whisper, “I don’t think your g
randmother likes me.”

  “It’s not that, Charles,” I responded, shaking my head. “She has a lot on her mind right now. The murder has upset her and she’s worried about PP International. Don’t take her attitude personally.”

  “If you’re sure?”

  “I’m sure. Thank you for the box of doughnuts. It was very thoughtful of you.”

  He took my hand in his. “My pleasure. I’d really like to see you again, Ophelia. May I call you later?”

  “I think I’d like that, Charles,” I said, nodding my head.

  While I stood in the doorway and watched Charles pull away in his car, I thought about the way Abby had acted. What was the matter with her? I’d never seen her treat someone as coldly as she had Charles. Shutting the door, I marched back into the kitchen.

  “Hey, what’s up with the way you treated Charles? He thinks you don’t like him.”

  “I don’t know him well enough to make that kind of a judgment,” Abby said, picking up her cup and walking to the sink with it.

  “You know what I mean. I’ve never seen you be so distant with someone. You weren’t very gracious.”

  Abby relaxed against the counter. “Did you see that young man’s aura?”

  “No, I didn’t look at his aura. You said not to do that without the person’s permission. You said it was rude. And what’s his aura got to do with anything?”

  “It has holes in it.”

  “So? Didn’t you tell me holes can indicate someone’s upset? And I’m sure he was upset. You weren’t very friendly. Anyway, doesn’t an aura change from day to day?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, maybe something else is bothering him. Something we don’t know about.”

  “Are you going to continue to see him?”

  Before I answered her, I heard another knock at the front door.

  “God, doesn’t anyone around here ever look at a clock?” I said, striding to the door. Fuming, I looked out the window to see Edna Walters standing on the porch.

  Her eyes darted back and forth while she gripped her purse tightly in her hand.

  I opened the door as she was raising one hand to knock again.

  “Ophelia, I was driving by and saw Abby’s truck. Is she here? I need to talk to her,” Edna said and walked through the door, her eyes searching for Abby.

  I stood to the side with my hand still on the door. “Come right in, Edna,” I said to her retreating back.

  From the doorway to the kitchen, I watched while Edna crumpled onto a chair and began to sob. What now?

  “I don’t know what to do, Abby. I’m afraid Harley’s done it this time,” she said, her voice catching as she spoke.

  Abby stood next to Edna’s chair, patting her shoulder and making comforting sounds.

  “Okay,” I said, walking into the kitchen, “what has Harley done?”

  Edna lifted her tear-stained face and looked at me. “Last night the storm knocked out the electricity.”

  “Yes, I know, Edna.”

  “It did at PP International’s farrowing operation too. Gladys Simpson called me this morning to tell me.” Edna spoke rapidly, making her false teeth click.

  “Tell you what, Edna?” I asked.

  “That someone had monkeyed around with PP International’s emergency generator. It’s supposed to kick on when the power’s out, so the ventilation system stays in operation. But it didn’t ’cause someone fiddled with it.”

  “And you think that someone is Harley?”

  “Y-y-yes,” she stuttered. “That many animals in a confined space without ventilation, they started dying right off. Gladys said she heard PP International’s lost as many as twenty sows.”

  “Doesn’t Bill still have a deputy stationed at PP International?” I asked.

  “Yes, but Gladys said the generator could’ve been tampered with days ago, before you found the body, Ophelia. And whoever did it was waiting for a storm to knock out the power. I know they’ll blame Harley. Oh, I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to do,” she said, wringing her hands. “They’ll put him in jail for sure.”

  “Edna, calm down,” Abby said, rubbing between her shoulders.

  Edna grabbed Abby’s other hand. “Would you please talk to him? He might listen to you.”

  “No, she won’t.”

  They both looked at me, surprised.

  “I’ll go.”

  I walked out of the kitchen to go change. If I was going to have a showdown with a redneck, I might as well dress the part.

  Nineteen

  Harley Walter’s farm was located about three miles from Abby’s, not far from the proposed PP International building site. I understood why Harley didn’t want eight thousand pigs for neighbors, but the dope was going about it the wrong way. And Edna was right to be afraid for him. Bill had already warned him once.

  As I pulled into Harley’s driveway, I tugged my baseball cap lower on my head and pushed my sunglasses higher up my nose. The sunglasses had been a last-minute thought. Comacho hid behind his in order to intimidate me, why couldn’t I do the same to Harley?

  Getting out of my car, I noticed two abandoned cars. Their wheels had been removed and they were setting on concrete blocks. An old green truck was parked next to them. Its hood was off and made the truck look as if it had been scalped. The windshield was a spiderweb of cracks and weeds hid the tires from sight. The whole place had a junkyard look.

  Harley puttered around in the garage, working on yet another old truck. He stopped and watched me.

  “What do you want? Your witch of a grandmother send you?” he called to me as I strolled up the weed-infested yard.

  Witch? Why witch? I was sure he meant the remark as an insult. I felt a flutter of irritation, but tamped it down. My job was to reason with Harley, and I couldn’t do it if I were angry.

  A tight smile stretched my lips. “Your grandmother asked me to talk to you. She’s worried about you, Harley. Thinks maybe you’re taking this PP International thing too far.”

  “Ha. The old biddy. I told her to keep her nose out of my business. She doesn’t understand.” He whirled around, putting his back to me. “She thinks by saying, ‘Please, oh, please, Mr. Kyle, don’t build your building,’” he said, wiggling his head and mincing his words, “Kyle will stop. Well, they won’t, not until somebody stands up to them. Make them feel a little pain.”

  He slammed his hands down on the hood of the truck, startling me. Man, did this guy have a lot of rage inside of him. I felt sorry for Edna.

  “Look, Harley,” I said, trying to calm him down. “I know you’re upset, but violence never solves anything.”

  He spun to face me, glaring. “You don’t know nothing. Sometimes it takes extreme measures to solve a problem. Kyle and his buddies have to be hurt where it counts, in their pockets. They lose enough money, they’ll pull up stakes and go. And it takes a man to make that happen, not a bunch of little old ladies who ought to be in some nursing home instead of running the show.”

  He’d already tried to insult Abby by calling her a witch. And now he said she should be in a nursing home? I felt my blood pressure do a steady rise.

  “Listen, buster, one of those little old ladies happens to be my grandmother.” I whipped my sunglasses off. “You’ve shot your mouth off about Abby twice. Don’t try it again. You may not respect yours, but you’ll bloody well show respect to mine. You got that?”

  “Yeah, I got it,” he said, his voice carrying a sneer.

  “Good,” I said, standing with my hands on my hips and giving him what I hoped was my toughest look. “Your grandmother, for some strange reason, wants to keep your sorry butt out of jail and she sent me out here. You’d better straighten up or I’ll help them put you in jail myself.”

  Harley smirked. “I’m not going to jail. I haven’t done nothing.”

  “You might want to practice saying that, Harley, because I imagine the next person you’re going to be talking to will be Bill. And he’ll
cut right through your load of crap.”

  “Maybe. But he can’t prove anything. Anyway, my cause is just.”

  “You’re willing to go to jail for your cause; be a martyr?”

  I saw his eyes gleam while he thought of all the attention that would bring him.

  “If I have to,” he said and picked up a spray can. He started to walk over to the truck. As he did, he snapped some kind of mask over his mouth and nose. After shaking the can a couple of times, he sprayed the contents of the can on the engine.

  “Jeez, what is that stuff? It stinks,” I said, holding my nose.

  He pulled the mask down. “Ether. And if you don’t want to pass out, I suggest you get out of here,” he said and pushed the mask back over his mouth.

  When I reached my car, I looked back toward the garage. Harley stood by the truck with the can of ether in one hand. And even with twenty feet between us, I felt the anger in his eyes, staring at me from underneath the bill of his baseball cap.

  I decided to drive to Abby’s and give her an update on my conversation with Harley, but when I rounded the corner of her lane, I saw Bill’s patrol car parked by the greenhouse. My heart jumped and I skidded the car to a halt.

  “What is it? What’s happened?” I said, running inside.

  Abby and Bill were standing by some of Abby’s plants. I detected a strange odor in the air.

  “What’s that smell?” I said, wrinkling my nose.

  “Herbicide. Someone gave Abby’s plants a good dose of it last night.”

  My eyes scanned the greenhouse. All of Abby’s plants looked brown, as if they’d been burned. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw her maidenhair fern. Its fronds were drooping and the floor beneath the fern was covered with its leaves.

  “Oh, Abby, your fern. They got it too?”

  “Yes, they did,” she said, her eyes filling with tears.

  Abby’s fern had been a wedding gift from her mother. She had carted it all the way from Appalachia when she married my grandfather and settled in Iowa. In the spring, when the temperature warmed, the fern was moved from the house to the greenhouse. The fern had sat proudly on its stand behind Abby’s old-fashioned cash register every spring and summer since I was a child.