Charmed to Death

by Shirley Damsgaard

  I slapped my hand over my mouth. Oh God, I didn’t say that aloud, did I?

  Yes, I did.

  A stunned silence hung over the room and I felt the red creep into my face as I saw the other women staring at me.

  Belinda broke the silence.

  “You think?” she said and chuckled.

  She smiled at the shocked look on my face.

  “Try having him for an older brother,” she said and laughed. The other women laughed too.

  Leaning forward in her chair, she placed her arms on the table. “‘Hardass’?” she said and rolled her eyes. “You should’ve seen him with my boyfriends. It’s a wonder I ever got married.”

  Turning back to the window, I noticed something had changed. The little girls no longer climbed all over Comacho. He stood near a tree with his cell phone to his ear. Snapping it shut, he put on his sunglasses and, after giving Isabella a quick hug, he marched to the house.

  “Come on, Ophelia, we’ve got to go,” he said abruptly. Leaning down, he kissed Belinda on the top of her head. “Sorry, something’s come up.” Pivoting on his heel, he walked out.

  I scrambled out of my chair to follow. “Nice meeting you,” I said over my shoulder and ran to catch up with him.

  He was standing by the driver’s side of the car when I reached him.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, out of breath.

  He rested his arms on the roof of the car, his mouth in a tight line. “Why didn’t you tell me you threatened Beasley at the hospital?”

  “I didn’t threaten him.” I stopped and shoved my hands in my back pockets. “Well, yeah,” I said, remembering my conversation with him. “I told him he’d better not mess with me. But what I meant was I’d complain and file a restraining order if he didn’t leave me alone.”

  “But that’s not what you said, was it?” he questioned, his face grim.

  “No,” I said my voice sullen.

  “Get in the car,” he said, throwing his body into the driver’s seat.

  Acknowledging now was not a good time to argue, I did what he said and shut the door.

  The car was in motion before I got my seat belt buckled. We peeled out of the driveway and down the street.

  “Hey,” I said to his angry profile. “What’s happened?”

  “Bill called. They found a body dumped in the sewage lagoon at PP International. Still had the I.D. in the pocket.” His jaw clenched. “It’s Fletcher Beasley. Someone killed him and threw him in the hog shit.” He glared at me, his face cold. “You wouldn’t know anything about it, would you?”

  Thirty-One

  Comacho’s hand hit the rim of the steering wheel with a thud.

  “You really had me going, you know? I almost believed the psychic BS.” He gave me an ugly sneer. “I was even beginning to wonder about the ‘witch’ thing.”

  He said the word witch as if it were a bad word.

  “How do you know Beasley was murdered? He could’ve been snooping around, fell in, and drowned.”

  His hand gripped the steering wheel. “Right. Not even Beasley was dumb enough to do that. I was the dumb one—for thinking even part of what you told me was the truth.”

  I slumped down in my seat. “I did tell you the truth.”

  “Bullshit!” His anger expanded till it filled the car. “You’ve lied to me since the first day I met you.”

  “You think I killed Brian?” I asked, sitting up.

  “No, the Harvester killed Mitchell. But I think you liked the attention it brought you. Liked the attention you got last fall when you found the dead body in the woods. Maybe you missed the attention, missed playing the hero.”

  “What?” I couldn’t keep the shock out of my voice.

  “Yeah,” Comacho said, warming to the subject. “You found Gus dead and saw the opportunity to play the hero again. Set fire to his body and buried it where you could conveniently find it.” He nodded his head. “And it gave you the chance to annoy PP International and bring attention to your grandmother’s group.”

  “That’s nuts,” I said, staring straight ahead.

  “Well, lady, so are you. Five years ago, they must’ve locked you in the psych ward for a reason.”

  The cruelty in his tone made my head spin and I felt the pain building from deep inside me. A storm of guilt swept through me.

  No! I hit the seat next to me. I will not allow it. Comacho’s words are not going to send me back to that dark place inside me. The dark place I lived in five years ago after Brian’s death. I will not cry in front of him.

  “Why would I kill Beasley?” I asked, struggling to keep my voice calm.

  “He found out what you were doing and threatened to expose you.”

  “The bottle?”

  “You planted it.” A humorless smile stretched his lips. “It will be interesting to see whose hair is in the bottle. We’ll want a sample of yours, by the way.”

  “The envelope in Abby’s room?”

  “Planted that too.”

  “Okay, if you think everything I’ve told you has been a lie. How do you explain what happened with the hawk.”

  He made a derisive sound. “For all I know, it’s a pet you trained. As far as I’m concerned, all that psychic and witch stuff was nothing more than smoke and mirrors. I deal with facts.”

  I stared out the window in misery. Everything he said sounded logical. The events could’ve happened the way he described them—if I were crazy.

  But I’m not crazy. Problem was—how could I convince Comacho? Not enough magick in the world to accomplish that task.

  I shifted in my seat toward Comacho. His body was rigid and I felt waves of freezing energy surrounding him. I had to break through.

  “Henry,” I said, touching his sleeve, “I’ve told you the truth about everything.”

  He glanced over at me and I saw his face soften for an instant. I saw the glimmer of the man I’d watched play with children, but only for a moment.

  His face frosted over and the Iceman was back.

  Well, I thought while I stared at Comacho backing out of my driveway, at least he didn’t pull out his handcuffs. He had insisted I give him a lock of my hair. For DNA testing.

  He’d given me the standard “Don’t leave town” line and told me Bill would want to talk with me. Hopefully, Bill would be easier to convince of my innocence than Comacho.

  Grabbing my keys, I drove to the hospital. I needed to see Abby—even if she couldn’t help me. I still needed to go to her.

  When I walked in her room, I saw Arthur sleeping in the chair. His shiny bald head hung till his chin rested on his chest. His glasses had slid down his nose and a soft snore came from his chest.

  I looked toward the bed and Abby held her finger on her lips, a silent signal for me not to wake him.

  I did a double take. Abby is awake!

  My shriek woke poor Arthur. “What? What?” he said, his head jerking up and his owl eyes peering around the room.

  “She’s awake,” I said, crossing quickly to steady him, before he tumbled off his chair. “She’s awake,” I repeated, the excitement in my voice rising.

  After giving Arthur’s shoulder a quick squeeze, I ran across the room to Abby’s bedside. “Are you okay? Are you really okay?” I asked, my hands stroking her face.

  A lovely smile lit up her face. “Yes, dear, I’m really okay. A little groggy still. But I think I have all my wits about me.”

  “Does your head hurt? What do you remember? Do you want anything? A glass of water? Something to eat?” I asked, the questions tumbling out of my mouth.

  She patted my hand. “Water would be nice.”

  I grabbed the pitcher and began pouring the water, but my hands trembled and I spilled most of it on the floor. While I held the glass close to her lips, using the straw, she took a small sip.

  Arthur had joined me at Abby’s bedside and stood wiping his eyes under the thick glasses with an ancient handkerchief. “You gave us a scare, Abb
y,” he said with a sniff.

  Abby looked at him with a soft smile. “I’m sorry you were worried, Arthur.”

  He lifted her hand to his lips and gave it a light kiss.

  Her smile widened.

  A sudden thought penetrated my excitement. Abby and Arthur’s relationship went beyond friendship. De-ah-duh, I did a mental head slap. They’re having a romance. How did I miss it?

  “Mom,” I said, my mind shifting away from Abby and Arthur, “where’s Mom?”

  “She went to the cafeteria,” Arthur said, his eyes not leaving Abby’s face.

  “I’ve got to find her,” I said, pivoting. “Oh, and a doctor. I’ve got to find a doctor. Don’t leave her alone.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t,” he said, still staring at Abby.

  I ran from the room. Scanning the hall, I saw Abby’s doctor standing at the nurses’ station. “She’s awake,” I said, rushing over to him.

  The doctor hurried toward Abby’s room while I ran toward the elevator. I hit the DOWN button. Shifting from one foot to the other, I hit it again. “Come on,” I said, watching the numbers above the door change as the elevator made its slow progress downward.

  When the door slid open, I took one quick step forward and almost knocked my mother down.

  She grabbed my arms to regain her balance. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Abby’s awake.”

  We wrapped our arms around each other, oblivious to the stares of those getting off the elevator, and hugged each other in relief. After a moment my mother took a step back and then, with our arms linked, we walked to Abby’s room.

  The doctor had finished examining Abby when we walked in.

  Removing his stethoscope, he made notes on Abby’s chart while we waited for his verdict.

  “Well?” asked Mother, her voice impatient.

  “Everything checks out okay,” he said, snapping Abby’s chart shut. “Her lungs sound clear. Heart’s steady. A little weakness in her left hand, but other than that, she’s doing well. Better than I would’ve expected for a woman her age.”

  I watched Abby’s eyebrows arch at the “woman her age” remark.

  Yup, I thought, satisfied. Abby is going to be okay.

  After the doctor left Abby insisted Mother and Arthur go home. The tension of the past few days over, they both wilted before my eyes. Without arguing, they did what Abby insisted and left.

  Alone with Abby, I pulled a chair close to her bed and sat. She didn’t waste any time.

  “What’s been going on?” she asked.

  “We’ll talk about it later. You need to get some rest,” I said with a weak smile.

  “We’ll talk about it now, young lady. I’ve been resting for what?” she asked, her eyes meeting mine.

  I silently held up three fingers.

  “Three days,” she said, frowning. “The last thing I want right now is sleep. Tell me what’s happened?”

  Her statement was all the encouragement I needed.

  About an hour later and a gallon of tears—mine—Abby knew everything.

  “See,” I said, my throat tight. “I’ve made a mess of things.”

  “No, you haven’t.” She stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. “Interesting what happened with the hawk.”

  “Has that ever happened to you?”

  She shook her head. “No. You have talents we didn’t know about. We’ll have to explore what they are once this is all over.”

  Oh great, I thought. At that moment I wasn’t too happy about the talents I knew about. The way I saw it, they’d done nothing but land me in a world of trouble.

  “Your last experience with the runes—did you really see the hammer of Thor?” Abby asked, her eyes bright.

  “Yeah. I think so. I’ve never read much about Mjolnir, the hammer of Thor, but somehow in the vision, I knew that’s what we held.”

  “Ah yes, the dark warrior,” she said with a grin.

  “Hey, I know what you’re thinking. And you’re wrong. Comacho is not the dark warrior. He is not going to help me find the answer. But he is going to arrest me.”

  “Nonsense.” She waved away my concern. “We simply won’t let him.”

  “Ha,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Pretty big talk from a woman in a hospital bed.”

  Abby scooted up in bed. “I’ve no intention of being here much longer.”

  “Abby, may I point out, you’ve been unconscious for three days and you just woke up. Do you think they’re going to let you out just like that?” I said, snapping my fingers.

  She looked at me surprised. “Why, yes, I do.”

  I shook my head. Maybe she was right. Abby was good at persuading people to do what she wanted. Too bad she couldn’t persuade Comacho to believe me.

  Unable to sit still any longer, I began to pace the room. “I don’t know what to do. I’ve done everything I can to get Comacho to believe me,” I said, stopping at the end of her bed. “But if he arrests me, I won’t be able to find the witch hunter, as Darci calls him. I’m afraid if I’m out of the way, he’ll come after you. Maybe he already has.”

  “In the greenhouse?”

  “Yes.” I resumed my pacing. “I thought maybe Harley or the goons from PP International were responsible, but now I’m not sure.”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. The last thing I remember is working in the greenhouse and hearing a noise behind me. The rest is a blank.”

  “Nothing else, no feeling, no sense of who’s responsible?” I asked while I paced.

  “No.”

  “Dang.” I felt like pounding my head on the wall. “I don’t know where to go from here.”

  “Beasley’s room at the motel,” she said in a pragmatic voice. “See what you sense.”

  I came to a sudden stop. “What?” I tugged at my hair in frustration. “Bill or Comacho won’t let me within a hundred yards of Beasley’s room.”

  “Give them a reason to.”

  “What reason? I’ve tried telling the truth. It didn’t work.”

  My sweet, gentle grandmother looked at me with a sly grin and uttered one word.

  “Lie.”

  Thirty-Two

  I felt safe leaving Abby alone. The deputy was still posted at her door and I knew Mother and Arthur would be back soon. My mother required little sleep; she’d want to get back to the hospital as soon as possible so she could start bossing the doctors and nurses around.

  While I drove to the motel, my brain scrambled for an excuse to be in Beasley’s room, but I drew a blank. I’d have to wing it. When I pulled into the parking lot, I noticed Comacho’s car parked next to Bill’s patrol car.

  Wonderful. I’d hoped to find Bill alone. I had a feeling that Bill would be more sympathetic—if Comacho and his ice-cold presence weren’t there. Steeling myself for the inevitable, I got out of the car and walked into the motel.

  As I wandered down the hall, it wasn’t hard to find Beasley’s room; it was the one with CRIME SCENE tape covering the door. And had Deputy Alan Bauer standing at attention, looking official. Maybe Alan didn’t know I was a suspect and I could talk him into letting me in the room.

  “Hi, Alan,” I said, keeping my voice light.

  “Ophelia, what are you doing here?” A frown puckered his brow.

  So much for talking Alan into anything.

  “Is Bill in there?”

  “Yes.” His eyes narrowed.

  “May I go in and talk to him?”

  “No.”

  “Please?”

  “No.”

  The conversation wasn’t going well. I wondered if Alan would let me in if I told him I was here to make a confession.

  Frustrated, I shoved my hands in my back pockets. Rubbing the toe of my shoe across the carpet, I tried to think of a way around Alan. My attention shifted from the carpet to the door when it swung open. Alan lifted the tape and the crime scene team walked out carrying their equipment.

  No one made an effort to shut the do
or, but Alan stood blocking the doorway. I stood on my tiptoes and peered around him, trying to get a glimpse inside.

  I didn’t see Bill or Comacho. Are they in there? Can I make an end run around Alan? Nope. Alan is bigger than me.

  Abruptly Bill and Comacho appeared by the window in Beasley’s room. I caught Bill’s eye with what I hoped was a friendly wave. His brow puckered just like Alan’s had. Comacho, his eyes following Bill’s, glared.

  Gee, no one seems glad to see me today.

  “Bill,” I called out, “can I come in?”

  Wiping his bald head, Bill looked at Alan and nodded. “Let her in, Alan.”

  Alan stepped to the side and I moved past him.

  “What are you doing here, Ophelia?” Bill asked.

  I didn’t answer right away. I was busy searching the room with my psychic radar, trying to pick up something—anything.

  The walls were a putty beige with a piece of motel art hanging over the bed. The bed itself was bare. The team had stripped it of the bedspread and sheets. The surfaces of the fake wood dresser and nightstand were covered with a fine powder from the team lifting prints.

  I sensed energy in the room, but I couldn’t focus on it. The frigid waves coming off Comacho kept blocking the other energy in the room. I needed to concentrate, but I was running out of time.

  “I asked you what you were doing here, Ophelia?” Bill’s voice sounded sharp.

  Time’s up. Nothing. I ground my teeth in irritation. Dang Comacho and his Iceman attitude.

  “Ahh, Abby’s awake.”

  Boy, did that sound lame. I didn’t dare look at Comacho, but I felt the room temperature drop a notch.

  “I know. The deputy at the hospital called,” Bill said.

  “Oh,” I chewed on my lip. “I never thought of that.”

  The temperature dropped again.

  “Umm, are there any questions you want to ask me?” I asked while I tried scanning the room again.

  The room was getting so cold that I almost shivered.

  “One right now—where were you Thursday night?”