The Witch Is Dead

by Shirley Damsgaard

  “Do you know if she has an alibi for his time of death?”

  “Supposedly she was home waiting for him. He’d stayed at the funeral home to go over the books.” He shrugged. “From what I’ve heard, the medical examiner has had trouble establishing the exact time due to the way Ray was killed.”

  He didn’t need to say any more. I got the picture, and it was an unpleasant one. Since the body was preserved, there wouldn’t have been any decomposition to indicate how long he’d been dead.

  Pursuing that line of thought, I asked another question. “Would she know how to work the equipment?”

  “Even though she’s always avoided coming there, probably. It’s not that hard. And she’d been a nurse when Ray met her, so she’d have knowledge of anatomy.”

  “I’m sure Sheriff Wilson’s uncovered all of this,” I said distractedly as I went over the possibilities in my mind.

  Motive? A boyfriend and maybe a nice fat life insurance policy with her as the beneficiary. Means? That was obvious—the equipment was on site. But Mrs. Buchanan wasn’t a very large woman. How would she have restrained Mr. Buchanan long enough to hook him up to the machine? Maybe the phantom boyfriend helped her? Maybe she’d knocked him out first? Hmm, but then she’d have to find a way to get him on the table. Opportunity?

  I shook the thoughts away. No, Jensen, I told myself, You are not going to get involved. Plus, you’re beginning to sound just like Aunt Dot—no more TV for you!

  Seventeen

  “Kevin’s nice, isn’t he?” Tink commented when we arrived home later that night.

  “Yes, he is,” I replied, following her into the living room.

  “Abby and Aunt Dot like him, too, don’t they?”

  I thought about our conversation with Kevin, and I remembered Aunt Dot’s reaction when he mentioned Mrs. Buchanan’s possible affair. Her voice had gone cold and she didn’t seem as friendly to him as she had in the beginning. Maybe she didn’t approve of discussing illicit romances in front of a teenager?

  “I don’t know about Aunt Dot, but personally, I feel sorry for him. It sounds like his future is pretty undecided right now.”

  “That would suck,” she said, falling into one of the wing chairs. “Wait until Nell hears that we had dinner with him. She’ll die. Don’t you think he’s hot?”

  Hot? Oh yeah, that meant attractive. Sometimes talking to a teen was like speaking in another language. “Chillin’ with your bros”—spending time with friends. “You’re straight up” is a good thing. “You’re lame” isn’t a good thing. Evidently in Tink’s eyes Kevin was “straight up” and not “lame.”

  “Kevin is a nice-looking young man.” I stressed the word “man.” “And he’s several years older than you.”

  “Duh,” she said with a roll of her eyes, even though her face tinged pink. “It’s not like I have a crush on him, or anything.”

  I chuckled as I sat on the couch. “It’s okay to have crushes, just don’t act on them.” Lifting a shoulder, I grinned. “I had a crush on my girlfriend’s older brother.”

  Surprise registered on her face. “You?”

  “Don’t be so shocked. I was your age once, too. I dated in high school.”

  “Humph,” she said, as if the concept of me having a life as a teenager was new to her.

  My eyes locked on her face. “Enough about Kevin, let’s talk about you and Aunt Dot instead.”

  “You’ve already grounded me,” she groused as she plucked at the arm of the chair.

  Leaning forward, I clasped my hands on my knees. “Tink, what you did was really wrong, and I don’t understand what you hoped to find.”

  “Oh,” she exclaimed, sitting forward. “I found a map.”

  “A map? What kind of map?”

  “Not like a treasure map or anything. It was in with a bunch of stuff about fishing.”

  Fishing? I remembered Buchanan’s funeral, the hat, the lures.

  Tink continued. “The map had little X’s on it, marking streams and rivers. There were also notes with dates and numbers and names of fish.”

  Buchanan not only loved to fish, he sounded organized about his hobby.

  “He’d actually taken the time to write down where he fished and what he’d caught?”

  “Yeah.” Tink chuckled. “Can you believe that? From the map, it looked like he did a lot of fishing around Roseman State Park.”

  “That’s not unusual. Roseman is a popular fishing spot. I think they catch catfish, walleye, and bluegill out at the river.”

  “Mr. Buchanan sure did. From the dates, he went out there two or three times a week.”

  Tink was distracting me from the original subject—a lecture on not snooping in people’s private papers. Maybe I wasn’t the most qualified, given some of the things I’d done, to be the one to deliver such a talking-to, but I wasn’t going to let it stop me. If she brought up any of my experiences, I’d fall back on the old “Do what I say, not what I do.”

  “Forget about the fishing, and let’s get back to what you and Aunt Dot did…” My voice trailed off when I saw the scowl on her face. “Tink, you need to be careful—”

  “We didn’t break any laws,” she said defensively.

  “I’m not too sure about that one, but that’s not what I meant.” I stopped again, uncertain how to continue. I didn’t want to frighten her, but she needed to be aware of the rumors.

  I took a deep breath. “Bill stopped by the library. He told me there are stories going around that you have inside information about Buchanan’s murder—”

  “I don’t,” she exclaimed, interrupting me. “Just those creepy dreams.”

  “I know that, but people in town are saying that you do, whether it’s true or not.”

  She shoved back in the chair. “That’s crazy.”

  “I agree, but it’s not like we can take out an ad in The Courier announcing that you don’t know anything. And your little trick this afternoon, visiting Buchanan’s, isn’t going to help quash the rumors.” I nibbled on my lip. “Someone killed Mr. Buchanan, and if they believed you knew something—”

  “They might come after me,” she said with finality.

  “Yes, that’s why going to the funeral home wasn’t a smart move. We all need to stay as far away from the investigation as we can.”

  “But what about those dreams and the skull T.P. found?”

  “Bill’s going to have to deal with the skull and figure out that one without our help.” I let out a long sigh. “And the dreams…I don’t know what to do. Abby and I have talked about it.” I hesitated. “We might try a séance.”

  Tink’s face blanched. “I don’t like that idea.”

  “Don’t worry, we certainly wouldn’t force you to do one. Abby only brought it up as an option.” I gave her a reassuring smile. “We’ll get to the bottom of it, sweetie.”

  She gave me a doubtful look.

  “Right now, though, my main concern is your safety. I don’t want you going off by yourself—you stick close to Abby or me,” I said, shaking a finger at her. “Be alert to your surroundings, don’t let any strangers approach you—”

  “I know, I know,” she replied in a weary voice. “They talk about this stuff at school.”

  “Then remember what they’ve said.” Satisfied that she took me seriously, I changed the subject. “Did you borrow money from Abby today?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you spend it?” I asked, sitting back against the couch and letting Queenie jump on my lap.

  “Yeah,” she said with a small smile.

  “I’d better give you the money now, so you can pay her back when I drop you off in the morning.” I motioned toward the hallway. “I think my backpack is by the door.”

  She shoved out of her chair and crossed to the hallway.

  I smiled to myself as I stroked Queenie’s black fur. Tink got the message. She was a smart girl. She’d outfoxed her aunt Juliet when Juliet tried to keep her doped up. I scratched
Queenie’s ears. I swear, she and Aunt Dot were quite the pair, and if the situation hadn’t been so serious, one would have to admire their nerve and resourcefulness.

  Looking over my shoulder, I wondered what was taking her so long. My billfold with the money was in the front pocket of the bag.

  “Tink, did you find the money?” I called out.

  No answer.

  “Tink,” I called again.

  Silence.

  I moved Queenie off my lap and went to find her.

  She sat in the hallway with her back against the wall. Her knees were drawn tightly to her chest, and her blond head rested on them. Lady and T.P. lay by the kitchen door, staring at her.

  I looked down to see papers scattered across the floor.

  Taking a step toward her, I reached out my hand. “What’s wrong?”

  She lifted her head. Tears ran down her face and terror filled her eyes. “I’ve got to get out of here,” she shrieked, and scrambled to her feet.

  I grabbed her arm before she could dart up the stairs. “What on earth is wrong?”

  Jerking away, she whirled on me. Anger had replaced the terror in her eyes. “You weren’t going to tell me about the letters, were you?”

  My forehead wrinkled in confusion. “What letters?”

  “Those,” she said, pointing a trembling hand at the papers lying jumbled on the floor. “I found them in your backpack. They’re from Juliet,” she said, her voice frantic. “She’s coming for me.”

  Tink watched, curled up in a tight ball in the wing chair, while I read the typed sheets of paper. Now my hands were trembling as I flipped each page. The messages sounded like they were from Juliet, but it was impossible. She was still locked up in the mental hospital in Minnesota. She couldn’t have planted them in my bag at the library that day.

  But the letters? They mentioned Tink’s childhood, her mother who’d died when Tink was little, and Tink’s special gift. They went on to say my adoption of Tink was wrong, and that she, Juliet, would never allow it. Tink belonged with her and she had no intention of ever letting Tink go.

  Whoever wrote those letters knew a lot about Tink.

  I placed the letters on the coffee table and rubbed my palms on my jeans as if I’d handled something dirty.

  “Have you told anyone about your past?”

  Her eyes refused to meet mine. “Nell. A little.” She swiped at her nose with the back of her hand. “But Nell’s my best friend, and she wouldn’t rat me out to anyone.”

  “Someone knows about your life before you came to Iowa.” I rubbed my forehead trying to organize the thoughts bouncing around in my brain. “I—”

  Tink’s attention turned to the hallway. I glanced over the back of the couch in time to see Abby striding across the room followed by Aunt Dot. I blew out a shaky breath. Abby would be able to make sense of these letters.

  Aunt Dot hobbled over to Tink and tugged her to her feet. “Come, child, let’s make you a cup of nice hot tea.”

  Ah, yes, tea. Our family’s first line of defense when meeting a disaster, I thought sarcastically. A cup of tea wasn’t going to solve this problem.

  Sitting next to me, Abby picked up the papers and swiftly read through them. When she finished, she placed them back on the coffee table.

  “They’re not from Juliet.” Her voice sounded convinced.

  “How do you know? She could have somehow sent someone down here to plant them.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know.” I ran a hand through my hair in frustration. “Maybe she smuggled them to Jason—”

  “Jason’s willing to give up legal custody of Tink.”

  “Okay, so not him. How about one of the other cult members?”

  “First of all, most of the members dispersed before Juliet put on her show at the old cabin, so I doubt if they even know what happened that night,” Abby said, stroking the hair away from my face.

  “Winnie did. And she escaped into the woods as the cabin burnt to the ground.” I felt a prickle of fear. “Winnie was devoted to Juliet. She’d do anything for her.”

  “I imagine Winnie’s too busy avoiding the warrant out for her arrest to worry about Juliet right now.” She took my hand in hers. “And even if she did try and contact Juliet, it would be improbable she could get in to see her. Juliet’s only visitor is Jason.”

  “Maybe Juliet mailed them,” I said, trying to come up with an explanation for the letters.

  Abby shook her head. “All mail is monitored before it’s sent.”

  “You seem awfully convinced Juliet didn’t write these. Did you pick anything up from touching them?”

  “No, I didn’t sense anything, but there are several incorrect statements in them.”

  “Such as?”

  “Tink’s age when her mother died—the reference is off by two years.”

  I frowned. “I missed that.”

  “I’m sure you’d have caught it if you weren’t so upset,” she said, squeezing my hand.

  “What else?”

  “The letters mention Frederick Von Shuler as a great magician—”

  “He was at one time,” I broke in.

  “Yes, and he was also Tink’s great-grandfather. Wouldn’t Juliet have referred to him as such?”

  “I suppose,” I replied. “How did someone learn all of this about Tink?”

  “Has Tink shared her past with anyone at school?”

  “Nell, but she swears Nell wouldn’t divulge her secrets.” I leaned back against the couch and stared at the ceiling. “This information had to be leaked by someone close to us—”

  The doorbell interrupted my next remark.

  “I’ll get it,” Aunt Dot called from the kitchen.

  Minutes later Darci strolled into the living room. “Hey, having a party?” She looked first at me, then at Abby. “Guess not. What’s going on?” she asked, taking the spot where Tink had sat.

  Abby quickly told Darci about the letters.

  Her mouth opened as a strange expression flitted across her face. Closing her mouth, she chewed on her bottom lip.

  “You were at the counter today,” I said. “Did you notice any strangers hanging about?”

  “I don’t know.” Her eyes darted to the side. “We were busy…” Her voice trailed away and her face twisted.

  “You were complaining that you didn’t have anything to do—Gert was taking care of everyone—”

  “Well, ah, I…” Darci squirmed.

  My eyes narrowed as I watched her. She knew something that she wasn’t telling me. For some reason she looked guilty as hell.

  “Spill it, Darce,” I commanded.

  “I don’t know anything, honest. It’s—” She stopped.

  “It’s what?” I persisted.

  She exhaled slowly. “I wasn’t at the counter the whole time. I got bored, so I went to the bathroom and called Georgia on my cell phone.”

  An awful thought occurred to me. Georgia was one of Darci’s closest friends, and I knew they shared information with one another.

  “Did you tell Georgia anything about Tink’s past?” I asked, putting my thoughts into words.

  “No, of course not,” she huffed. “If you must know, I was whining about working with Gert. That woman drives me bonkers.”

  “You’ve never told Georgia about what happened in Minnesota?”

  “Ophelia.” Abby touched my arm in warning.

  “What are you saying?” Darci’s voice tinged with temper.

  “Only someone close to us knows about Tink’s past—”

  Darci jumped to her feet. “Are you accusing me of writing these letters?”

  I stood. “I’m not saying that, but what if you did let something slip about Tink, and Georgia repeated it. She does love a good story, and what happened in Minnesota was a dinger—”

  “I’d never do anything to hurt Tink,” she exclaimed, her voice rising.

  “I’m sure you didn’t mean to, but someone heard the sto
ry and used it to write that trash. You’re the only one who knows what happened, and if you told Georgia—”

  “Ophelia Jensen, that’s the rottenest thing you’ve ever said to me!” Her eyes were shooting daggers at me.

  Mine shot them right back.

  “I didn’t accuse you of telling on purpose, but we both know you like to talk—”

  “We both should also know that I can keep my mouth shut, too.” She glowered at me.

  Abby rose as if to separate us. “Girls, girls,” she exclaimed. “Simmer down.”

  We ignored her.

  Darci shoved both hands on her hips. “I can’t believe you’d think I’d betray your secrets—”

  I shifted to one foot. “You had a guilty look on your face when we were talking about the letters,” I countered, my voice ringing in my own ears.

  “I felt guilty because I wasn’t at the counter where I should’ve been, not because I’ve spilled my guts to Georgia about Tink!”

  “How was I supposed to know that?” I said, taking a step back.

  “Because you’re my best friend and you ought to trust me,” she cried with a stamp of her foot. She spun away and strode out of the living room. Seconds later I heard the front door close with a bang.

  Slowly, I sank to the couch. “I didn’t need that,” I said in a tired voice.

  “You shouldn’t have accused Darci of giving Georgia information about Tink,” Abby said, standing above me.

  I winced and drew a hand across my forehead. “You’re right. I kind of lost it.” I rose on stiff legs. “I’d better talk to Tink.”

  Aunt Dot stood at the kitchen sink, washing two cups.

  “Just put those in the dishwasher, Aunt Dot,” I said, joining her at the sink. I glanced over my shoulder at the table. “Where’s Tink?”

  “She heard shouting and went in the living room,” Aunt Dot replied in a perplexed voice.

  “No she didn’t.” I ran from the kitchen and up the stairs. Lady followed close behind me, but I didn’t see T.P. in my rush. I flew down the hall and into Tink’s room.

  Clothes lay scattered on the floor and across the bed. Her closet door was swung wide open and her duffel bag was gone. T.P.’s leash, usually hanging on Tink’s doorknob, had disappeared.