“That’s wise, miss. The woods aren’t a good place to be come nightfall.”
I paused and gave him a puzzled look.
“The mosquitoes. Once the breeze goes down at night, they come out. They’ll eat you alive if you don’t watch it.” With a tip of his hat, he turned and walked off in the other direction.
I watched in the growing dusk until he was out of sight. Dragging Tink behind me, I hurried us to my parked car.
We made it in record time.
Six
Since Darci’s classes started in two weeks, I struggled to come up with a schedule for the library that worked around her. But it was Claire Canyon, our library board president, who saved the situation. While talking causally with a woman who’d recently moved to Summerset, she learned the newcomer needed a part-time job. Claire had been impressed enough with to offer her an interview.
“This is pointless,” I said to Darci as I stared at the blank piece of paper lying on the counter.
Darci paused while checking in books. “What’s pointless?”
“Trying to come up with questions for the interview this afternoon.” I tapped the counter with my pen. “Claire’s vote of confidence is good enough for me.”
“But you have to at least go through the motions.” Darci flipped the book shut.
“I suppose. Hmm, how about ‘What are your favorite authors?’” I said, scribbling it on the blank sheet.
Are you familiar with the best-seller lists? came next. “Hey, I’m on a roll here,” I said as I started to write the next question. A nudge from Darci interrupted me.
I turned my head to see Abby escorting Aunt Dot through the door. As soon as Aunt Dot cleared the doorway, she shook off Abby’s hand and proceeded across the room like a steamroller, her head whipping from side to side as she took in the library.
“She’s so sweet,” Darci murmured next to me.
“Yeah? Well, just don’t mention murder or fairies, okay?”
“Huh?”
“Trust me on this one, Darce.” I plastered a smile on my face. “Hi, Aunt Dot,” I said loud enough for her to hear me.
“This is where you work, eh?” Aunt Dot trooped up to the counter, her walking stick thudding with each step.
“Yup. What do you think?”
“You have a lot of books,” she replied in a matter-of-fact voice.
My eyes traveled around the room. She was right—we had thousands of books in our circa 1920 library. Its heating and cooling system might leave something to be desired, and the blinds covering the arched windows were ancient, but I loved the old place. Our library had character. Crown molding ran around the high ceilings, and light from the antique light fixtures reflected off the soft gold walls, warming the room even on the darkest day. The floors had recently been redone. Wonderful pegged planks had been discovered underneath the worn carpet and restored to their original beauty. The whole building smelled of old leather and lemon oil polish.
My gaze settled on Abby, standing directly behind Aunt Dot.
The skin around her eyes looked pinched, and I noticed a faint twitch in one eyelid. Her normally immaculate braid had tendrils of silver escaping this way and that. And the aura of calm that usually floated around her was missing.
But before I could open my mouth to say anything, Darci stepped from around the counter to greet Aunt Dot.
“Hi, I’m Darci, Ophelia’s assistant,” she said, holding out her hand.
Aunt Dot took her hand in both of hers and studied Darci closely. “My, she’s a smart one, isn’t she?” she said over her shoulder to Abby.
Darci’s eyes widened in surprise at Aunt Dot’s remark.
Boy, I would have to explain that one later, I thought. Oh well, by now, Darci was well-acquainted with our family’s talents.
Abby smiled. “Yes, she is,” she replied with affection. “Ophelia told me you’re starting college in a couple of weeks,”
Darci gave a hesitant nod. “Um-hum. I’m a little nervous.”
Abby stepped forward and gave Darci’s arm a squeeze. “You’ll do fine,” she said, her voice reassuring. “I’ll miss seeing you around the library.”
“Oh, I’ll still be here on the weekends.” She shot me a look. “Someone has to keep Ophelia out of trouble.”
Ha! Since Darci had done more than her share to get me in trouble, I thought her remark very inappropriate.
“Aunt Dot,” Darci said, her eyes returning to my diminutive aunt. “Would you like me to give you a tour of the library?”
Uh-oh. I didn’t like that idea at all. Darci had her own fascination with our “adventures,” and I didn’t think it wise for her to spend unsupervised time with Aunt Dot. I shuddered to think of what kind of trouble two excitement junkies like Aunt Dot and Darci could get into.
I stepped quickly around the counter. “I’ll take her.”
“No.” Darci’s eyes sparked with wry humor. “I’d be happy to show her around. You have to finish the questions for the interview.” She extended her arm to Aunt Dot. “Would you like to see the children’s section and Ophelia’s office?” She took a worried glance at the stairs leading to the basement. “But maybe the stairs might be a problem.”
“Ack, these old legs still work,” Aunt Dot said, setting off at her usual pace, pulling Darci with her.
I couldn’t help but grin. “She’s something else, isn’t she?”
My grin fell away when I saw the expression on Abby’s face. The pinched features warned me of problems brewing.
“You have no idea.” Abby’s voice rose on an exasperated note. “She’s only been here four days and she’s wearing me out!” She blew a stray strand out of her face. “If she isn’t up until all hours trying to make contact with the fairies she’s convinced live in my flower garden, she’s messing with the plants in my greenhouse. She quizzes every customer that comes in. And—and…” Abby was on a roll, “she’s decided, since she’s on vacation, it’s okay to have wine time every night. I’m going to be glad when that damn wine’s gone,” she muttered. “I swear—I’ve never known such a meddler.”
I had to drop my head to hide my smile. Abby was a fine one to talk about meddling; in my opinion, she was the expert. Maybe it ran in the family, along with our psychic gifts. But if that were the case, it meant that I—
I didn’t get to pursue that line of thinking. Abby’s next statement broke into my thoughts.
“Have you had a chance to speak to an attorney about the letter from Minnesota?”
“Yes, I talked to Warren.” I scrunched my face, thinking back over the last couple of days. “Today’s Wednesday, so yeah, Tuesday. I met with him over my lunch hour. He said it might be a little more complicated since Jason is in Minnesota, but Tink lives in Iowa, so the proceedings will be in this county.”
“Will Jason have to appear?”
“Gosh, I hope not. I don’t think it would be good for Tink to see him again. We’ll have to deal with it as it comes up. Right now, Warren is drafting a response to Jason’s attorney.”
“Don’t worry, dear, you have to have faith it will all work out.”
I exhaled. “That’s exactly what I told Tink. Do you think she’s doing okay?”
“She seems fine. I think it was a good idea to let her spend the night at Nell’s. They were going to the beach at Saylorville today with Nell’s parents. And there’s the campout this weekend.”
I slapped my forehead. “That’s right—we’re supposed to join Nell and her family out at Rosemen State Park on Saturday night.” I grimaced. “Spending the night in a tent isn’t exactly my idea of fun.”
Abby chuckled. “You’ll have a good time, and it will be a nice distraction for Tink—” She stopped abruptly. “She hasn’t had any more nightmares, has she?”
“No, or any ‘icky’ feelings.”
Abby nodded wisely. “That’s good. It wouldn’t do for her to wake the whole campground because of a bad dream.”
I shive
red at the thought. “No.”
“Have you done a rune reading? One might shed some light on what’s going on with her.”
“No, but I will, if it happens again.” I shook my head. “I’m not sensing anything, so I just don’t—”
I broke off when Georgia, owner of the local bed and breakfast—and Darci’s source of all gossip concerning the citizens of Summerset—came striding in the door.
Her red ponytail bounced as she hurried over to the counter where Abby and I stood. She plunked down the stack of books in her arms and turned to me. “Where’s Darci?” she asked in an agitated voice.
“Down in the basement, giving Aunt Dot a tour? Why?”
“Haven’t you heard—” Georgia stopped at the sound of Aunt Dot and Darci coming up the stairs. She waited, fidgeting back and forth, until they reached us.
“What’s up, Georgia?” Darci asked, reading her excitement.
“Did you guys hear about what happened over in Aiken?”
Bill had mentioned Aiken at lunch on Monday. I felt my stomach clench with apprehension.
“No,” Darci replied, her eyes widening with curiosity.
From where she stood next to Darci, I noticed Aunt Dot go on alert, too.
“A man was embalmed alive!”
Everyone’s jaws dropped as the gruesome image lodged in our minds. No one spoke.
Abby was the first one to break the silence. “Georgia, that has to be a rumor. A body isn’t embalmed until a doctor has examined it to make sure the person has passed. It’s impossible for someone to still be a—”
Georgia didn’t let Abby finish. “Not if it was murder.”
“Murder?” Aunt Dot quivered with anticipation.
I stifled the groan rising in my throat as Georgia continued.
“Alan said the victim was hooked up to the embalming machine via an IV.” She held out her right arm and pointed to a vein. “Then another IV was placed in the other arm,” she said, holding out her left arm. “As the fluid was pumped in on one side, the blood was forced out on the other side, and—”
I held up a hand, stopping her. “That’s enough. We get the picture.”
“Wait a second,” Darci said. “You just can’t grab somebody, break into the nearest funeral home, and embalm them.”
“The victim was already in the funeral home. No one had to snatch him,” Georgia explained breathlessly. “His name was Bu—”
I finished for her. “Buchanan.”
Georgia pivoted in surprise. “How did you know?”
Aunt Dot gasped. “I know him. I met him on my plane ride from North Carolina. I sat right next to him!” Her eyes glowing with fervor darted first to me, then to Abby. “It’s a sign. We’re destined to solve his murder!”
Claire’s candidate was late for her interview. Not a good way to impress the interviewer. But it was just as well. Her delay would give me some time to recoup from Georgia’s news. And deal with the headache nagging behind my left eye. One not caused this time by Aunt Dot’s wine. No, the cause of this headache was the tension in the back of my neck. What was causing it? Simple: How did I explain Mr. Buchanan’s murder to Tink?
Tink had already voiced a concern that her “icky” feeling at meeting Mr. Buchanan had been a warning. Once she learned that he’d been murdered, I knew she would feel guilty. She would think that she had somehow failed to avert a tragedy.
And boy, oh boy, did I know all about that feeling—when my best friend, Brian, had been murdered several years ago, and my vision had failed to stop his death. The event sent me into a tailspin that took me years to recover from. I’d shut myself off from everyone except Abby, fearful of getting close to anyone again, turning my back on my gift and my heritage. It wasn’t until I was pulled kicking and screaming into a murder investigation that the walls I’d built around my life began to crumble. My involvement made me realize that I couldn’t hide from who and what I was.
I couldn’t let the same thing to happen to Tink.
Rubbing my forehead, I wished the headache away.
It didn’t work.
Frustrated, I began to pace my small office. From the shelves, pictures of Abby, Tink, my parents, stared down at me. As in my office at home, several crystals lay scattered about my desk. Pausing, I picked up a disk made of moonstone. Moonstone—calmness and awareness—did I need that. I rubbed the milky white disk between my fingers and tried to let its energy seep into my mind while I resumed my trip around the room.
Why hadn’t either Abby or I picked up on Mr. Buchanan’s approaching death? We both were psychics.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
If Bill had known about Buchanan’s death on Monday, and we met him on Saturday, the murder had to have happened either Saturday night or Sunday. Had Buchanan’s killer been waiting for him when he returned to the funeral home? The idea made the tension in my neck squeeze harder.
How could we not have sensed the tragedy waiting to happen? Especially Abby. I’d been standing with Tink, away from Aunt Dot and Abby. Maybe I was too far away to get a read on him, but Abby? She’d stood next to him, even shook his hand when Aunt Dot made the introductions. And Abby was very, very good at reading people she touched.
I grasped the moonstone tighter.
These thoughts and pacing around weren’t getting me anywhere. The only way to find answers would be to discuss the situation with Abby, preferably without Aunt Dot around.
I sighed deeply. Abby was going to have her hands full with Aunt Dot. She’d hustled Dot out of the library right after Georgia’s announcement, but it was too late. Even as they left, I overheard Aunt Dot asking how we were going to help the sheriff solve Buchanan’s murder. I didn’t envy Abby the job of keeping her out of this. Long ago, I decided another trait the women in our family shared was persistence. And I had a feeling Aunt Dot possessed that quality in spades.
But Abby would have to handle it on her own. I had Tink to worry about.
A sharp knock on my door interrupted my musings.
“Come in,” I called out as I placed the moonstone back on my desk.
The door swung open to reveal Darci standing there. “Your interview is here.” She stepped aside and allowed a woman to cross the threshold.
With a deep breath, I looked at the person who might replace Darci.
Seven
“Ophelia,” Darci said, “this is Gertrude Duncan.”
The woman Darci ushered in was tiny. Dressed completely and immaculately in black, she wore understated pearl studs in her ears and a carved silver pendant. Her age was hard to judge—she could’ve been anywhere from her late forties to mid-fifties. Her demeanor was both refined and assured. She could have looked dowdy, but she’d added a little “funk” to her appearance by wearing her dark red hair in short spikes. From behind burgundy framed glasses, brown eyes studied me expectantly.
“It’s wonderful meeting you, Ms. Jensen,” she said, extending her hand. “Claire speaks very highly of you.”
Her voice was low and well-modulated. Her words carried a faint southern drawl, but different from Aunt Dot’s.
“Have a seat, and please call me Ophelia,” I said, motioning to a chair at the corner of my desk. Turning to the door, I caught Darci’s questioning look and gave my head a slight shake. Smiling, she wiggled her eyebrows and mouthed Good luck as she quietly shut the door.
“From your accent, Ms. Duncan, I take it you’re not from the Midwest?” I said as I seated myself behind my desk.
She chuckled. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? All I have to do is open my mouth. And call me Gert.” She inched back in her chair, demurely crossed her legs at the ankles and folded her hands in her lap. Her posture was impeccable.
Wow, I thought, this woman could almost outlady Abby.
“I was born in St. Tammany Parish in New Orleans,” she replied softly, “but Mama grew up here in Iowa. We moved back to help with my grandma. Even though Grandma’s passed, Mama wants to stay. We
were living in the city, but Mama didn’t like it.” She lowered her eyes. “Mama’s not well—her nerves. She still mourns Grandma, you know, and all the noise in the city bothered her something terrible. Now we’re renting a sweet little farmhouse south of town. The old Blunt place.”
“I know that place. I didn’t realize the Blunts were renting it out,” I commented, leaning back in my chair. “Your mother won’t mind being alone while you’re at the library?”
“Oh no, Mama loves to cook. She keeps herself busy in the kitchen all day long. I’m the one who has the problem.” Gert lifted her chin. “And if I may be forthright, though I love my mama to death, being out in the country day in and day out is driving me a mite stir crazy.” She smiled broadly as she rubbed her pendant. “That’s why I rushed right in and applied for this job. It would suit me to a T. I could still spend time with Mama but get out once in a while, too.”
“I see. As Claire told you, we only need help two or three afternoons a week.”
“Like I said, Ms. Jen—er, Ophelia, this would be perfect for my situation.” Gert removed an envelope from her purse and handed it to me. “Here’s my job résumé. I’m afraid my most recent employer is no longer in business. I would have to call friends in New Orleans to obtain his current phone number. I’d be happy to do so, but I was in a bit of a hurry to meet with you today.”
I had a strong feeling Gert knew how to conduct an interview better than I did. Jeez, Jensen, you should be writing stuff down. At least look like you know what you’re doing!
Placing the envelope to one side, I picked up a pen.
“Ahh…do you enjoy reading, Gert?”
Her face beamed “’Course I do. I adore mysteries—Rebecca is my favorite.”
I made a note. “What about the current best-sellers?”
“Oh yes,” she exclaimed, and rattled off a list of titles and authors, some of whom I’d never even heard of.
“Romance? Do you read any romance?”
A faint tinge of pink bloomed on her fair cheeks. “Yes, but Mama thinks they’re unseemly.”
The Witch Is Dead Page 5
