Charmed to Death

by Shirley Damsgaard

  With a deep breath, I emptied my mind and imagined a circle, above and below me, protecting me. Tilting my head back and with arms opened wide, I focused on the sky and called to the spirit of the hawk, wheeling on the currents above me. Inside the circle, I heard the breeze stir the weeds and felt it lift my hair. I watched the hawk dip lower and lower till I could almost see the feathers on his wing.

  I shut my eyes and imagined the strength of those wings. The muscles as they moved the wings down in a graceful arc. The heart as it pumped blood to power the muscles. I saw, I felt, the freedom the hawk had always known. I envied him.

  All at once, I was with him, one with his spirit, and together we rode the air currents high above the earth. We swooped and dipped, without effort, through the clouds, across the sky in a graceful dance.

  We spiraled lower and lower, and again I stood in my circle. I heard the breeze stir the weeds. I felt it lift my hair. Looking up, I saw the hawk moving away in the distance.

  Mentally, I withdrew my circle and the breeze died. Turning, I looked at Comacho.

  He was where I’d left him, but his expression had changed. His sunglasses hung from his limp fingers and his jaw had dropped. With an effort, he closed his mouth and shook his head, as if to clear his mind.

  “Well?” I asked, moving toward him.

  “That was the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, shaking his head again. “How did you get the hawk to land on your arm?”

  “He landed on my arm?” I asked, frowning.

  He grabbed my wrist and pulled my arm out in front of me. “See, on your coat sleeve, you can still see the marks of his talons. Don’t you remember?”

  “Not exactly,” I said, pulling my arm back.

  “The hawk came down and landed on your outstretched arm. He perched there for a couple of minutes while you stared into the hawk’s eyes.”

  “Ah, must’ve been when I thought I was flying,” I said softly while I moved down the ditch.

  “What did you say?”

  “Nothing. You wouldn’t believe me,” I said over my shoulder.

  Comacho caught up with me. “I do believe anyone seeing you pull a trick like that—”

  “It wasn’t a trick,” I broke in.

  “Whatever it was,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Might’ve freaked someone out bad enough to think you’re a witch.” He hesitated, twirling his sunglasses in his hand. “Any suspects?”

  “Not really. Abby and I don’t do tricks and I can’t think of anyone who would fear us. The only enemy I can think of is Harley Walters. He hates my family and it’s possible he was in Iowa City five years ago. It’s where his boys live with his ex-wife.”

  “I’ll check into it,” he said, settling his sunglasses back on his face.

  The breath I didn’t know I’d been holding escaped in a long sigh. Finally Comacho was beginning to believe me. I decided to make the most of his cooperation and tell him why I wanted him to meet me here.

  “I want to take a look around—if you don’t mind?”

  “Why?”

  “I want to see if I can pick anything up. Maybe my fear the day of the demonstration prevented me from seeing the whole thing.”

  “You want to…” He stopped and hung his head. “Oh well, what the hell. Like I said, right now you’re the only game in town, Jensen.” Shoving his hands in his jacket pockets, he faced me. “What do you want me to do?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never done this before. Walk with me, I guess. If I feel anything, I’ll let you know.”

  “Okay.”

  We tromped slowly through the weeds to the spot where I’d found Gus. While we did, the air around me hummed, getting louder when we reached the section where Gus had been buried.

  I paused, trying to see the killer’s face. No good. The energy I’d felt the day of the demonstration was only a faint whisper now. Too many people had been here, leaving remnants of their energy behind, diluting what had been.

  I moved on, in a way, relieved. I hadn’t looked forward to repeating my experience. But the killer. I clenched my fists. I had to find him, had to protect the people I cared about.

  A different sound caught my attention and I walked toward it, Comacho following behind me. The sound became louder as I walked.

  Then it hit me: the energy I’d felt at Abby’s meeting. Striking against me with such force that I staggered and would’ve fallen, but Comacho reached out and steadied me.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice concerned.

  Shaking my head and not speaking, I pointed toward a spot thirty yards away.

  Comacho left me, taking careful steps through the weeds. But he veered too far to his left.

  “No,” I called out in a shaky voice. “To your right.”

  He moved to the left.

  “No, your other right.”

  He stopped and fisted his hands on his hips. “What are we doing? Playing hot and cold?”

  “Just follow my directions.”

  “Give me directions I can follow. How far to my right?”

  “About five feet,” I called out again.

  “There, right there,” I yelled when he moved five feet away.

  Comacho squatted and brushed back the weeds. Shaking his head, he grabbed a rag from his pocket. Using the rag, he reached down and picked something up. Standing, he walked back toward me. He carried what looked to be an old wine bottle.

  With every step he took, the force assaulting me got stronger and stronger. I couldn’t get near whatever was in that wine bottle without getting the psychic crap knocked out of me. I hustled back.

  “Wait,” I said, holding up my hand to stop him. “Give me a minute.”

  I had an idea. I removed the talisman, which was made from a fire agate that I’d worn for five years, from around my neck. Holding it in my left hand, I let the stone’s protection wrap around me. As it did, the force hitting me subsided. Satisfied I was safe, I waved Comacho forward.

  “I’m not even going to ask what that was all about,” he said, holding the dirty bottle away from him.

  Comacho shook the bottle gently from side to side and I heard liquid sloshing. I also heard something rattling against the glass.

  Removing the cork with the edge of the rag, Comacho took a sniff. His face puckered and his eyes watered. “My God,” he said in disgust.

  “What is it?”

  “Urine, I think. What do you think?” he asked, holding the bottle toward me.

  I took a step back, waving my hands. “Ah, no thanks.

  I’ll take your word for it.”

  He corked the bottle. “I bet some kids, out drinking, chucked this in the ditch. Too lazy to get out of the car, they used what was handy.”

  “But what’s rattling?”

  “Don’t know—don’t care,” he said and made a move to toss it.

  “No,” I yelled.

  Comacho dropped his arm, holding the bottle.

  “You can’t throw it away,” I said in a rush. “It’s from a crime scene.”

  “The team from the crime lab didn’t think the bottle was important. They would’ve taken it if they did.”

  “Maybe they didn’t see it.”

  “I doubt it. Those guys don’t miss a thing.”

  “Please,” I pleaded, “take the bottle to the lab and have it tested.”

  Comacho looked at the bottle, thinking. Finally he made his decision. “What the hell. We don’t have any other evidence to test. Might as well waste the taxpayers’ money on this.”

  “It won’t be a waste,” I said, walking toward our cars.

  When we reached the cars, Comacho opened his back door and wrapping the bottle in a towel, put it on the floor. “This sucker better not spill on the way to Des Moines. Or you’re cleaning out my car.”

  “Can the lab test the bottle right away?”

  “Why is this bottle so important to you?”

  Turning, I narrowed my eyes at him. “I d
on’t care if you believe me or not, Comacho, but I’m telling you, without a doubt, this bottle is a message from the killer. You have to figure out what the message says.”

  Twenty-Seven

  My weary steps faltered at the door to Abby’s room. Mother and Arthur sat by Abby’s bedside, quietly talking. She took one look at me and insisted I go home. She assured me she was more than capable of handling anything that might come up. Hadn’t I left her to deal with Bill? Hadn’t she convinced him to post a guard without giving out too much information? She had, indeed, so after one final check on Abby, I headed home.

  Kicking my shoes off by the door, I went to the kitchen and made sure Lady and Queenie were fed and watered. I struggled up the stairs and into my bedroom. My unmade bed looked so inviting that I fell, still dressed, across it.

  When I opened my eyes again, the early morning sunshine was spilling through the window onto the bedroom floor. Rubbing my gritty eyes, I looked at the clock: 7 A.M. I’d slept for over twelve hours. I rolled over and thought about yesterday.

  I’d had two major psychic experiences and been almost arrested twice. Not bad for one day, but too many more like it would probably kill me. I needed a shower, coffee, and to make a call to the hospital before I tried to figure out yesterday’s events.

  After my shower, I dressed in comfortable sweats and piled my wet hair on top of my head. Securing it with a clip, I made the call to the hospital on the phone in my bedroom and talked to my mother.

  Abby’s condition was much the same, except she was moving more. Her brain scans were normal and the doctors were optimistic. Mother pointed out my time would be better put to use trying to help Comacho.

  I thought about calling him to find out if the contents of the wine bottle had been tested. A quick look at the clock told me the lab wouldn’t have had enough time to complete the test.

  Too early to call Comacho. Not needed at the hospital. Hmm, what next? I thought while I walked down the stairs. Oh yeah, coffee. And a lot of it.

  I drummed my fingers on the kitchen counter while I waited for the coffeemaker to finish. Too anxious to wait, I pulled the pot and poured what was brewed in a mug.

  Well, half a cup’s better than none. I’ll fill my mug once the coffeemaker finishes.

  Lady and Queenie followed while I padded on bare feet to the living room. The aroma of the steaming coffee almost made me salivate. I swirled it around in my mug, enjoying the anticipation of the first sip. Lifting the cup to my lips, I closed my eyes and started to take a cautious drink, but I stopped before the coffee hit my lips. I wrinkled my nose. There was another scent in the room—cloying, almost overpowering. Opening my eyes, I scanned the living room and saw a huge vase of red and white roses.

  They were beautiful. The red was so dark that it was almost burgundy. The difference in colors was such a contrast, the white roses seemed to glow. Yes, they were beautiful, but for some reason, they also made a slow chill creep up my spine. Why?

  My thoughts were interrupted by a knock on my front door. From the window I saw Darci’s car in my driveway.

  “Who sent the flowers?” I said without preamble when I opened the door.

  “Good morning to you too,” she said. “I wondered what you’d think when you saw them.”

  “They’re lovely, but…” I paused, rubbing my arm. “They kind of creep me out for some reason.” I shook my head. “I guess I just don’t like red and white flowers together. Do you want coffee?” I asked, changing the subject.

  “No thanks,” she said as she walked past me to the kitchen. She stopped and took a deep breath. “Whew, the smell’s strong, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. It’s nice out. Let’s go out back and sit in the sun.”

  “Good idea,” she said, moving through the kitchen and out the back door.

  Grabbing my cell phone in case the hospital called, I joined her.

  Once outside, we sat in my lawn chairs. The warm April sun felt good on my face. I took a deep breath of the clean fresh air while I watched Queenie stalk an un-suspecting bird and Lady roll in the grass.

  Darci laughed, watching her. “I bet she’s trying to get rid of the smell of those flowers.”

  “No doubt. I wish I could join her,” I replied.

  She laughed again.

  “Okay, who sent them?” I asked.

  “Who do you think?” Darci gave me a quizzical look.

  “Charles?”

  “Yup. And I took the liberty to read the poem he sent too. You must’ve made quite an impression on him.”

  I rolled my eyes. “He’s just lonely and I’m someone he can talk to. But how did the florist deliver them? I was gone all day?”

  “She called the library. I was coming over here to take care of Lady and Queenie anyway—”

  I patted her arm, interrupting her. “By the way, thanks.”

  “No problem,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I unlocked the house with the key you gave me and let her in.”

  I tucked a strand of wet hair behind my ear. “Darci, do you think the roses and the poem are a little over the top? I’ve been out with the man once.”

  “I don’t know,” she replied with a slight shrug. “Like you said, he’s lonely and you’re someone he relates to. Maybe he treats every woman he’s interested in this way. Who knows?”

  “That’s the problem. I don’t know,” I said thoughtfully. “I just met him, but it’s like he’s courting me.”

  Darci laughed. “I guess you have to decide if you want to be courted.”

  Frowning, I took my cell phone from my pocket and scrolled down through the received calls.

  “I don’t think I do. He’s going too fast for me and I need to tell him that.”

  Finding the phone number I wanted, I hit SEND. It rang twice before he answered.

  “Hello.” Charles sounded sleepy.

  “I’m sorry, did I wake you, Charles?” I asked.

  “No. I’m feeling a little under the weather.”

  “You’re sick?”

  Dang, now I couldn’t tell him to cool all the attention. I had to be nice.

  “Yes, I think I have a mild case of food poisoning, but it’s passing. I heard about your grandmother. Did you get my flowers?”

  “Umm, yes I did. Umm, very thoughtful of you,” I said, stumbling over my words. “But we’ll talk about them later, when you’re over the food poisoning. Hope you’re feeling better soon.” Without waiting for his good-bye, I hit the END button.

  “Well, that was smooth,” Darci remarked sarcastically.

  “He’s sick. You can’t tell someone to back off when they’re sick.” I hesitated, then sighed. “I can’t worry about Charles now. I’ve got too many other things to think about.”

  “I wouldn’t be too hasty about writing off Charles. You did enjoy your date and he is a successful man. A very respected writer. Maybe later, when everything’s resolved, you can take your time to get to know him better.”

  “Hey, how do you know Charles is successful?” I asked suspiciously.

  Darci shrugged. “I looked him up on the Internet.”

  “You checked up on him?”

  She nodded her head firmly. “You bet I did. This guy blows into town, starts putting the rush on you. I wanted to know as much about him as I could.” She hesitated. “He’s rich, old money. His family owns factories in Massachusetts.”

  “I know. Charles mentioned his family and so did Beasley.”

  “You talked to Beasley?” she exclaimed.

  I scowled. “Yeah, unfortunately.”

  Drinking the last of my coffee in one gulp, I took a deep breath and told her everything that had happened the day before.

  When I finished, Darci’s face wore a stunned expression.

  “Oh my gosh,” she whispered. “Oh my gosh,” she whispered again. “Oh my—”

  I broke in, “Darci, you’ve said ‘Oh my gosh’ twice now.”

  “I know, but…oh my gosh,” she s
aid her voice hushed.

  I shook my head back. “I had hoped for something a little more helpful than that.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Darci drummed the arms of her chair. “I know. Let me think a minute.”

  Patiently I waited while a parade of expressions crossed Darci’s face. Finally, her lips tightened in a determined line, she looked at me.

  “When you felt the negative energy attacking you in the ditch, you held your talisman and it helped?”

  “Yes. It’s a fire agate.”

  “What does that mean?”

  I lifted my eyebrows, thinking. “Abby gave it to me after Brian’s death five years ago. A fire agate is for protection. Its energy helps insulate the wearer—like a shield. In fact, Abby says any ill wishing bounces off the shield and back at the one who wished you harm.”

  “The person seeking to harm gets a dose of what they wanted for you?”

  “Sort of. But at the meeting, I don’t think it was directed at me. Maybe Gus? He was standing near me when I felt it. Or even Charles. I’m sure he was close to me too, but I hadn’t noticed him yet.” I thought about what I’d felt at the end of the meeting. “It did seem to follow Charles out the door.”

  “What about when you found Gus’s body and when Comacho picked up the bottle? Was the energy directed at you?”

  I nodded vigorously. “Oh yeah.”

  “Hmm,” she said, tapping her chin, “I don’t understand why there’d be a difference, but I’ll think about it. Now back to Brian.”

  There’s a leap in conversation. We hadn’t talked about Brian, but I didn’t point it out to her.

  “Brian was alive when the incident with the student happened in the library?” Darci asked.

  “Yes,” I answered.

  “How soon after the incident was he killed?”

  “I think about two weeks later. Why?” I asked, not understanding where she was headed with her questions.

  “Were there a lot of people in the library when the girl went into convulsions?”

  “Yes. Quite a crowd gathered, I think. I was too busy trying to help the girl to notice.”

  “You were the one closest to her when the convulsions started?”

  “Yes.” I squinted, trying to remember. “She was standing at the counter, trying to check out a book for a research assignment. I remember now,” I said. “We were having an argument. The book she wanted wasn’t allowed out of the library and she didn’t think it was fair. She’d started to raise her voice, when all of a sudden her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed in a grand mal seizure. I rushed to the other side of the counter to help her while someone called the paramedics.”