“Oh, hi, Edna. Didn’t see you standing there.”
Her forehead wrinkled in a frown. “But—”
“Sorry, can’t chat now,” I cut her off, and tapped on my watch. “I was supposed to meet Abby for lunch fifteen minutes ago. Got to fly,” I said, wiggling my fingers in her direction. “Oh, stop by the library…we just got a new shipment of books.” I spun on my heel and hurried on my way.
Flinging open the door at Stumpy’s, I scanned the room, looking for Abby. I spotted Agnes McPhearson, talking earnestly to Ned, my friend and editor of The Courier, while he tried to eat his lunch. As usual, her dark slacks were covered with cat hair. I grinned. Agnes was a compulsive photographer, and no doubt trying to convince Ned to run some of her pictures in the next edition of the paper. If I had the time, I’d try and rescue him from Agnes’s clutches, but I didn’t want to keep Abby waiting.
Spotting our little group at a table near the back, I joined them.
“Sorry I’m late.” I slid onto a chair and grabbed a menu.
“We already ordered for you.” Abby’s voice was tight with irritation.
Setting the menu down, I tried to get a read on her mood. She didn’t seem happy, but I didn’t know if her attitude was a result of my tardiness or something else. I cocked my head questioningly.
She shook hers slightly, as if to say, I’ll tell you later.
“What have you ladies been up to this morning?” I asked with what I hoped was a sunny smile. “I see you’re still in your work clothes, Abby. Been out in the greenhouse?”
Abby’s lips tightened. “Yes, since five A.M.,” she answered in a low voice. “Aunt Dot got me out of bed so we could try and find the fairies that she’s sure are camping out in my flower beds.”
Next to me, Tink gave a soft chuckle.
I nudged her with my foot.
Aunt Dot’s eyes glowed as she leaned closer to the table and said in a stage whisper, “I caught a glimpse of one last night, hiding in the foxglove. They do love foxglove.” She glanced at Abby before returning her attention to me. “Abigail should put some pots in with her flowers. Set them on their side. Fairies need a place to get out of the rain, you know,” she said a little louder.
I peered quickly over my shoulder to see if anyone at the next table might have overheard Aunt Dot. The last thing we needed was everyone speculating about her and her fairies. Nope, they weren’t paying any attention to us. Whew. But maybe now would be a good time to change the subject.
“Aunt Dot—” I began.
“What about in the winter, Aunt Dot?” Tink piped in. “Do fairies migrate like hummingbirds?”
“Oh no, child. They live in underground tunnels and caves. On a warm winter’s day, they like to sun themselves.” She turned to Abby again. “That’s another thing Abigail needs in her garden—some nice flat rocks. The fairies—”
“Oh, gee,” I said, rudely interrupting her. “I didn’t see Arthur. Is he here today, Abby? Did he—”
I stopped abruptly, sensing a presence to my right. My eyes traveled up to see Sheriff Bill Wilson, bald head gleaming, standing at the corner of our table.
Great. I wondered if he heard our discussion.
“Hi, Bill,” I said in a cheery voice. “Whatever it is, I didn’t do it.”
Instinctively, he made a motion to rub his bald head. Halfway there, however, his hand stopped, and I smiled. Bill liked to joke around and say he hadn’t started losing his hair until I started bungling his investigations. It was a lie—Bill had been bald ever since I’d known him. However, he hadn’t been kidding a couple of months ago when he threatened me with jail time if I didn’t stop my snooping.
“Afternoon, ladies,” he said with a nod.
After Abby had made introductions, Bill eyed me with speculation.
“You haven’t been to Aiken recently, have you, Ophelia?” he asked, wiping his head.
His question caught me off guard, and I stuttered, “N-N-No.”
“Not planning on going there any time soon, are you?” He rubbed his head again.
“No.” Perplexed, I frowned. “Why?”
“No reason,” he replied, and turned his attention to Abby and Aunt Dot.
Aunt Dot sat forward in her chair practically vibrating with excitement. She fixed bright eyes on Bill. “You’re the sheriff?”
“Yes, ma’am, I am.” Bill smiled down benevolently at her.
Ha, I thought. I bet he wouldn’t be smiling if he knew about Aunt Dot’s dreams of adventure.
“And you arrest bad men?” she asked.
Bill shifted his weight to one foot. “Yes, if I find any.”
“Have you found any lately?” Aunt Dot asked, tilting her head and gazing up at him.
Bill gave me a nervous glance before answering Aunt Dot. “Why no, ma’am, I haven’t.”
“Do you need any help finding some?”
I was right—Bill quit smiling as tiny beads of sweat speckled his forehead. He quickly broke eye contact with Aunt Dot. The arrival of our lunch saved him from answering her question.
He said a hasty good-bye, and as he walked away, scrubbing his head, I heard him mutter, “Must run in the family.”
I’d been so interested in the exchange between Bill and Aunt Dot that I hadn’t noticed Tink fall silent. I observed her pale face.
Concerned, I touched her arm gently. “Aren’t you feeling well?”
“I’m just not hungry,” she replied in a small voice.
“Not hungry?” Abby asked in disbelief. “Eating one of Arthur’s hamburgers was all you talked about this morning at the greenhouse.”
“I know.” Tink pushed her plate away. “I changed my mind.”
“Would you like something else?”
Tink shook her head and, shoving her chair back, stood. “I’m going to the restroom.”
Before any of us could respond, she left the table and headed toward the back.
I followed.
I found her standing at the sink, applying a wet paper towel to the back of her neck.
“What is it, Tink?” I asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.
“I don’t know. I got an icky feeling when Sheriff Wilson was talking to Aunt Dot.”
“What kind of an ‘icky’ feeling?”
Tink took a deep breath. “Like the one I had when I saw that man at the airport with her.”
“Mr. Buchanan, the funeral director?”
She nodded. “Only this time the feeling was worse. My skin felt all prickly.”
Resting a hip against the porcelain sink, I pondered what she’d said. “Well, Mr. Buchanan, as a funeral director, deals with death. As a sheriff, Bill does, too. I hate to say this, but maybe Bill had to handle an accident this morning. He did mention Aiken, something might have happened over there.”
“You don’t think it has anything to do with me?”
“No,” I replied with more confidence than I felt. “Aiken is fifteen miles from Summerset. We don’t know anyone there, so what could happen in Aiken that would affect us?”
Later, I’d regret asking that question.
After work that afternoon, I hurried home. I’d promised Tink that we would take the dogs for a run out at Roseman State Park. After whipping into the drive of my Victorian cottage, I ran to the curb and opened my mailbox. I pulled out the mail and thumbed through it.
Gas bill, electric bill, a new credit card offer, Tink’s subscription to Seventeen. Nothing too interesting here. Then a letter with a Minnesota postmark caught my eye. It was from an attorney’s office in St. Paul.
Jason Finch, Tink’s uncle and former guardian, lived in Minnesota.
Her former guardian who still had legal custody.
Five
I noticed my hands were shaking, and I felt icy fingers of fear squeeze my heart.
What if this letter was to notify us that Juliet, Tink’s aunt, had been released from the mental hospital? But a moment later I realized that wasn’t possible.
A year ago Juliet had killed a man and been declared legally insane. I couldn’t see the legal system letting her out anytime soon. Then I wondered if Jason’s attorney was writing us to renege on our agreement that I raise Tink. The thought left a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Tink was such an important part of my life that I couldn’t imagine it without her. And it would kill Abby if we lost her.
Stop it, Jensen, said a little voice inside my head. Open the letter and read it.
Taking a deep breath, I tore open the envelope with trembling fingers. Quickly, I read the letter and let out a whoop of joy. The attorney proposed, on the request of his client, that Jason permanently surrender custody of Tink, clearing the way for me to start adoption proceedings. He also stated that a trust, containing the funds Tink had inherited from her deceased mother, would be set up. Our friend from Minnesota, Rick Delaney, and I would be named as the trustees.
The relief I felt was so strong, I almost dropped to my knees in the middle of the driveway. Clutching the letter, I tore into the house, searching for Tink. I found her in the kitchen making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich while Lady, T.P., and my cat Queenie watched with rapt attention, just waiting for something edible to drop on the floor.
I grabbed her in a fierce hug, causing the knife in her hand to clatter to the floor.
“Ophelia!” she squealed. “What’s gotten into you?”
Releasing her, I quickly explained the contents of the letter. Her reaction disappointed me. She didn’t seem to share my elation.
“This is great news, Tink! Aren’t you happy?”
“Yeah,” she said, bending to pick up the fallen knife, which by then had been licked clean by T.P. Tossing it in the sink, she turned and faced me. “It’s a lot to absorb.”
“I know, but now we can make this arrangement permanent.” Uncertainty hit me. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
“Sure.” Her voice sounded noncommittal. “I thought we were going to Roseman State Park?” she said, changing the subject.
“Umm, yes, we were.” My eyes darted to the clock. “Give me five minutes to change, okay?”
In my room, I quickly changed out of my linen slacks and blazer and into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. As I tied my tennis shoes, I thought about Tink’s reaction. Obviously she didn’t want to tell me her feelings right now. Maybe after we reached the park, I could get to the bottom of what was bothering her.
We drove to Roseman without talking. Lady and T.P. sat in the back. I’d opened the windows a crack, and they both had their noses pressed to the opening, sniffing the air excitedly as the fields of corn, hay, and soybeans went flying by.
At least someone was excited, I thought.
Once we arrived at Roseman, I drove down the quiet lane to the back side of the park, away from the campgrounds. I stopped the car and we let the dogs out. They immediately took off down the path and into the woods. Tink and I followed.
A light summer breeze ruffled the leaves overhead and helped keep the bugs at bay. I took a deep breath and smelled the scent of newly mown hay as we walked.
“Ahh,” I sighed. “I love that smell.”
“What smell?” Tink asked, breaking her silence.
“Hay,” I replied, taking another deep breath. “It reminds me of when I was a kid and spent the summers with Grandpa and Abby.”
“You spent a lot of time with them, didn’t you?”
“Yup, a few weeks every summer until I was eighteen. I think Mother thought it was a good way to keep me out of trouble. It let Abby put me to work in the greenhouse.”
“And you enjoyed it?” Tink stopped to pick up a broken twig and began to strip off the leaves as we continued walking.
“Sure did. I don’t have Abby’s knack with plants, so after I killed several, she thought it wise to keep me busy watering and weeding.” I looked at her. “You like working with Abby, too, don’t you?”
Tink threw the stick into the bush. “Yeah…” Her voice trailed away and she kept her eyes focused ahead. “Ophelia, I’m scared.”
I put my arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, our steps matching. “Why, Tink?”
She scuffed at the leaves on the path. “What if the judge decides to put me in a foster home instead?”
I dropped my arm and stopped in the path. “How did you come up with that idea?”
“Nell. We talked about it the last time I stayed the night at her house.” She kicked a rock. “A judge took Roger Jones away from his family.”
“Tink,” I said in an exasperated voice. “Roger Jones’s parents were mistreating him. I may not be the best mom in the world—I don’t bake you cookies, and home-cooked meals are in short supply—but I don’t think a court would call that mistreatment.”
A small smile played at the corner of her mouth. “I guess you’re right.” She sobered. “But what if the judge says no for some other reason?”
“I won’t let that happen,” I said with determination.
“Could you stop it?”
She had a point. Whatever ruling the court made, I’d be forced to follow it.
“Look, why would a judge say no? Jason is willing to let me adopt you; I want to adopt you; you want to be adopted…” A sudden thought brought back my fear. “You really do want to stay here, don’t you?”
Tink rolled her eyes and snorted. “Duh!” Her shoulders suddenly drooped. “This is my home now.”
T.P. came running over to Tink with a stick in his mouth.
She bent to take it away from him, but not before I saw her eyes fill with tears. She straightened and threw the stick.
The happy puppy scrambled after it.
I put my arm around her shoulder again and gave her a squeeze. “You have to have faith it will all work out—”
“But…” she said, pulling away.
“But what?” I asked when she didn’t continue.
“The past three days have been weird,” she said, rushing her words. “First, I had that dream about the shadows in the woods. Mr. Buchanan at the airport. Sheriff Wilson at lunch. I—I—”
“Hey, slow down. You think all of this means something?”
“Yeah.” She looked at me with worry written all over her face. “What if they’re some kind of premonition? It’s left me feeling bad every time it happened. Isn’t that what premonitions do to you?”
“Tink, first of all—you’re not a psychic, you’re a medium—”
“But what if a spirit is trying to warn me of impending doom?” she asked, cutting me off.
If she hadn’t been so concerned, I would have laughed. “Impending doom” sounded just like Abby.
“Sweetie, if something tragic were about to happen, don’t you think Abby or I would’ve sensed it?” I asked her calmly.
“Yeah.”
“Have you had any more dreams?”
“No,” she mumbled.
“See? It was probably just a random dream,” I said, and squeezed her again. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
I felt Tink’s mood brighten.
“A judge would really let you adopt me?”
“Sure, I’m a fine upstanding citizen,” I said as I tugged on my T-shirt and stood tall. “Aren’t I?”
A cheeky grin washed over her face. “Yeah, but I don’t think I’d ask Aunt Dot to be a character witness. She might start telling the judge about her fairies. Wouldn’t look good for our family. He might think we’re all crazy.”
Now my eyes suddenly filled with tears. That was the first time Tink had ever said “our family.”
Wiping my eyes, I laughed and looked up at the sky.
“It’s going to be dark soon.” I whistled for the dogs. “We’d better get back to the car.” The dogs had just scampered back in response to my whistle when I turned and jumped, startled.
A man stood in the path, blocking our exit from the woods.
I grabbed Tink and shoved her behind me. As T.P. ducked behind Tink’s leg, Lady took a
position in front of me. A low growl rumbled in her throat as the hair along her spine stood straight up. An insane thought popped into my head: Where was my Louisville Slugger when I needed it?
The man took one look at Lady and held his hands out in front of him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, his voice apologetic.
He appeared to be around forty, and from the way he was dressed, I would’ve guessed he was a farmer. His denim overalls, stained with rust, were worn over an old plaid shirt. Bits and pieces of twine hung out of his side pockets, and the center pocket of his bibs appeared stuffed full. He wore an old slouched hat on his head that shadowed the upper part of his face, and it was hard to see his eyes. His stance was relaxed and nonthreatening.
Deciding he was harmless, my heart slowed to its normal rhythm.
“I own the property over yonder,” he said, pointing to the trees behind Tink and me. “I was out checking my fence lines and on my way home.” He dropped his eyes, then suddenly bent down and picked up an object from the path. “Look, a quarter,” he said, holding the shiny coin high in the air. “Not yours, is it?”
I shook my head.
“Just never know what you’re going to find in the woods,” he said as he tucked it in his already full pocket. I’m Silas Green, by the way.”
Silas Green? The name wasn’t familiar to me, but I didn’t know everyone in the area. Darci did. I’d ask her about him tomorrow.
“Nice dog,” he commented, eyeing Lady. Returning his attention to me, he smiled to reveal a set of very crooked front teeth with long incisors. Immediately, he didn’t look so harmless.
Lady now stood glued to my leg. Never taking my eyes off Mr. Green, I reached down and patted her head. “Yes, she is.” Taking Tink’s hand, I started down the path. “Excuse us, we need to get home before dark.”
The Witch Is Dead Page 4
