The Witch Is Dead

by Shirley Damsgaard

  He bowed his head.

  “You warned me she might be in danger—the letters—someone was targeting her,” I insisted. “Was there any sign of a struggle at the end of the lane?”

  “No.”

  Defeated, I leaned back. “You do think she ran, don’t you?”

  Bill picked at the cover of his notebook. “I don’t know. Like I said, there isn’t a sign of a struggle, which might indicate she left of her own free will.” He wiped his head. “Or it could mean she knew the person. Or it happened so fast that she didn’t have time to put up a fight.”

  A tear leaked down my face.

  “I don’t want to make the wrong call, so I am treating this as a kidnapping.”

  There—it was said. The word everyone had been avoiding. Kidnapped. I didn’t want Bill to think she’d run away, but somehow saying the word made it all real.

  I swallowed the bile suddenly rising from my stomach.

  Aunt Dot’s shoulders shook as she silently cried, while Abby sat there looking shell-shocked. How were we ever going to get through this ordeal?

  Wiping the tears away, I took a deep breath and exhaled. “What happens now?”

  “I’m going to post Tink’s picture and description on a website dealing with missing and exploited children.” He flipped open his notebook again. “I’ll need to know what she was wearing.”

  What she was wearing? How was she dressed at the library? I tried to remember, but my brain felt like a congealed mass of nothing. I couldn’t remember. I told myself I should remember. Shorts—she was wearing shorts. What color? Blue. No, red with a white strip down the side. Wait a minute—that’s what she wore yesterday.

  “I can’t remember,” I said in a plaintive voice.

  Aunt Dot wiped her eyes. “She had on dark pink shorts with a light pink top.”

  Bill scribbled in his notebook. “Anything else? Shoes? Cap?”

  “A pink baseball cap and white tennis shoes,” Aunt Dot answered.

  “Abby…”

  She looked at Bill as if his voice was coming from far away.

  “…I need a list of everyone who was at the greenhouse today. Maybe someone saw something,” he said gently. “And I’ll need a list from you, Ophelia, of everyone who might have had access to your backpack at the library.”

  “I spent the day in my office. I don’t know who came in.”

  “Who worked upstairs?”

  “Darci and our new employee, Gert Duncan.”

  He wrote their names in his notebook. “You have a number and an address for Ms. Duncan?”

  “The Duncans are renting the old Blunt place, and I have her number at the library. But she’s new to the area, and she wouldn’t know if a patron lived in Summerset or if they were a stranger.”

  “I’ll send one of the deputies out to talk to her anyway.”

  “What can I do?”

  A sad expression marked his face. “Nothing.”

  “Can’t I join the search party?”

  “It wouldn’t do any good, Ophelia.”

  I stared at him with resignation. “You don’t think you’ll find anything, do you?”

  I got my answer when he looked away.

  “The best thing you can do to help is go home, in case either Tink, or the person who grabbed her, tries to contact you.” He got to his feet and watched Abby with kind eyes. “I know you’re upset, but the sooner I get that list, the better.”

  Abby released Aunt Dot’s hand. As she wiped the tears from her cheeks, she lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders. Her face settled into an expression marked with steely resolve. Slapping her legs, she rose to her feet. “I’ll make that list now. Today’s receipts should help.” She crossed to me, pulled me to my feet, and grabbed my upper arms. “We will find her,” she said with a shake. “You go home. Aunt Dot and I will join you later.” She glanced back at Bill. “I’m closing the greenhouse until this is over.”

  Bill nodded in agreement. “That’s a good idea. Once word gets out, there’ll be curiosity seekers showing up, and maybe the media.”

  “The media?” I said, startled. “Newspaper reporters?”

  “Yes, and probably a TV crew, but you don’t have to talk to them. Let our office handle them.”

  I groaned. Last thing I needed was a bunch of people camped out on my front lawn.

  “Media attention isn’t always a bad thing, Ophelia,” Bill said. “The more people who know about Tink’s disappearance, the bigger the chance someone might step forward with a lead.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” I mumbled.

  I guess I didn’t care how many reporters tramped over my yard as long as their attention helped locate Tink.

  “Do you need one of my men to drive you home?” Bill asked.

  I shook my head. “No, I can manage.”

  “Good,” he replied with satisfaction. “The next few days are going to be tough on you, but you can’t give up hope.” He settled his hat on his head. “Don’t worry—we’ll find her.”

  The drive home from Abby’s seemed like the longest one in my life. No one followed, and I arrived home without incident. With heavy steps, I exited the car and walked up the steps to the porch. I unlocked the door, crossed the threshold, and let the door swing shut behind me.

  Lady and T.P. came scampering toward me, anxious to get outside. Like a robot, I walked through the house and let the dogs out into the backyard.

  I wandered back to the kitchen and put out fresh food and water. From her perch on the windowsill, Queenie watched me with interest. A scratching at the back door, followed by a short bark, let me know the dogs were ready to come inside.

  The animals tended and happily gobbling down their supper, I pulled out a chair and collapsed. My eyes traveled the empty room.

  No rock and roll blared from the stereo in Tink’s room. No chatter relating the day’s events sounded in my ears. The silence in the house pressed down so hard, it felt like it was crushing me. The control that I’d maintained the last few hours slid away under its weight.

  My head sank lower and lower, until my forehead rested on the kitchen table. Covering my head with my arms, my insides cracked. Hot tears formed a pool beneath my face.

  I took a deep breath, and all the pain poured out of my soul in one ear-shattering wail.

  Twenty

  The phone began ringing at 7:00 A.M. Throwing off the covers, I rushed to look at the caller ID. The number wasn’t familiar to me.

  Did I answer or let it ring? It could be Tink, or it could be a nosy neighbor. I answered.

  “Ophelia, I’m so sorry to hear about Tink.” It was Edna Walters.

  “I’m sorry Edna, but Bill said to keep the line open.” With that I hit End.

  Grabbing the robe from the foot of my bed, I made my way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Abby had made sure it was ready to go in the morning, so all I had to do was flip on the switch.

  I waited, coffee cup in one hand, drumming my fingers with the other, for the pot to eke out at least enough for one cup. Satisfied I’d have at least a few sips, I poured the black liquid into the cup.

  It had been a short night. Abby and Aunt Dot arrived late in the evening, bearing food and groceries. I shuddered as I sipped the hot coffee. The thought of braving the stares of the curious at the store made me physically ill. Right now, thanks to them, we had enough food to last a week. By then maybe Tink would be found.

  I had slept, but not much. If I remembered correctly, the last time I’d looked at my alarm clock the time had read 3:00 A.M. I glanced at the phone on the kitchen counter and chewed on my bottom lip. How were we going to handle the calls? We had to answer all of them, just in case a call came from Tink or—I shuddered again—the person who held her captive.

  I was so lost in my thoughts that Aunt Dot tottering into the kitchen surprised me.

  She gave me a hug, and stepping back, looked me up and down. “How are you this morning? Did you sleep?”

>   I lifted one shoulder. “A little. Did you?”

  “A little,” she said with a small grin.

  “How’s Abby?”

  “Ack,” Aunt Dot said with a wave of her hand as the grin fled her face. “Still blaming herself.”

  “It’s not her fault.”

  “Well, maybe you can convince her, because she wouldn’t listen to me.”

  “Aunt Dot, you know about the family’s history. Why can’t we see each other’s future?”

  “These gifts that have been handed down are sometimes hard enough to bear.” She rubbed her cast absentmindedly. “Sister thinks it’s a way our sanity is protected. A body would never know a moment’s peace if we saw all of life’s troubles. Especially when it comes to our loved ones.”

  “I know you love Tink, too, but you’re a little more removed than Abby and me. Have you sensed anything?”

  Aunt Dot removed the eggs and milk from the fridge with her left hand. After setting them down, she moved to the cupboard and brought out a box of pancake mix and a bowl. Placing the bowl on the counter, she began cracking eggs into it.

  I assumed she hadn’t heard me.

  I repeated my question louder. “Aunt Dot, do you sense anything?”

  She paused. “I heard you the first time.”

  “Well? Do you?”

  Placing the shells on the counter, she turned and faced me. “I was up before dawn, and I went in the backyard to find the fairies. They like Titania, you know. They’ll guard her.”

  Number one—I didn’t believe in fairies, and even though I loved Aunt Dot to death, I thought she was a little addled around the edges. Two—if they did exist as she claimed, it would take more than a fairy to protect Tink from a kidnapper.

  But I was desperate, and willing to listen to even the craziest of theories. “Did they tell you anything?”

  “She’s not going to be hurt,” she replied, pouring milk into the bowl.

  “You’re certain?” I asked, my voice skeptical.

  “Yes. The one who took her sees her as a prize.”

  “I don’t suppose the fairies gave you any names, did they?”

  Aunt Dot picked up a whisk and beat the eggs and milk. “No, but they will keep her from harm.”

  I wished with every part of me that I could believe her, but I didn’t.

  “Aunt—”

  The phone ringing interrupted me. I made a move to answer it, but Aunt Dot got there first.

  She listened for a second. “No, I’m sorry. No comment.” Slamming the phone back on its base, she returned to the counter. “Why don’t you take your coffee out on the patio while I make the pancakes? You’ll go crazy if you stay cooped up inside all day.”

  Calling the animals, I did as she suggested.

  Another nice day. The birds were singing and the air was full of the smell of flowers and fresh cut grass. Across the yard, Lady and T.P. rolled with delight in the morning dew.

  How could the day be so peaceful, so beautiful? It wasn’t right. It should have been bleak and gray. As bleak and gray on the outside as I felt on the inside.

  Was Aunt Dot right? Was Tink unharmed? Was she terrified? Did she know we were searching for her?

  For what seemed the millionth time I wondered about the gifts our family possessed. Tink wasn’t my biological child, but I loved her as much as if she were. And don’t all mothers feel a bond with their child? If I added to the bond that, according to Abby, I was a talented psychic, then why didn’t I have a sense of where and how Tink was?

  Because you haven’t tried, said a voice inside my head.

  A new thought occurred to me. What if Abby, Aunt Dot, and I joined our energy together and tried to reach out and touch Tink with our minds? To comfort her, to protect her. Maybe, if we were successful, we might learn who held her and why. We could use Abby’s books—the journals that had been written by the women in our family and handed down generation to generation—to help us. Surely one contained a spell of protection. We could do the ceremony in Abby’s summerhouse.

  The idea was worth a shot. At least I’d be doing something instead of waiting helplessly for the phone to ring.

  The back door slammed shut, and I twisted in my chair, expecting to see Abby.

  Gert Duncan.

  “I hope you don’t mind—I called Claire for your address. I wanted to stop by and see how you were faring. I don’t mean to intrude,” Gert said, toying with her pendant.

  “It’s okay.” I pointed to the empty lawn chair. “Have a seat.”

  “I wanted to tell you not to worry about the library. I spoke with Claire last night, and we’ll manage.”

  I didn’t want to ruin her thoughtfulness by telling her that with Tink gone, not once had the library crossed my mind in the past few hours.

  “Thanks, Gert. I’m sure it will be in good hands,” I replied a little tersely.

  Gert leaned forward, her eyes scanning my face. “How are you?”

  Get used to it, Jensen, until Tink is found, that’s a question you’ll be asked a hundred times.

  Should I tell her how I really felt? Like my heart had been ripped out of my chest and tromped on by a herd of elephants.

  No, I’ll save my pain for when I’m alone.

  “I’m hanging in there,” I replied politely.

  Gert sat back and crossed her legs. “This is the most awful thing. A lovely girl like Tink…” She abstractedly fingered the silver charm. “She must be beside herself with fear. Humph, God only knows what that poor child is going through.”

  I knew Gert was only trying to commiserate with me, but her words were like a stick poking a raw wound. I had to put an end to the conversation.

  “I appreciate your concern, Gert, but I’d rather not discuss Tink right now.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said as a funny look flashed across her face. “Here you are, beside yourself with worry, and I’m rambling on and on. I just wanted you to know that I understand.”

  I doubted if she truly did understand. How could anyone understand until it happened to their family?

  Gert stood. “I’d best be going.” She patted my arm sympathetically as she passed by. “You take care, you hear?”

  I nodded without answering.

  Thankful she’d finally left, I stared out over the yard. I’d been through some tough times—Brian’s murder, Grandpa’s sudden death of a heart attack—but I’d never felt anything like this. This sense of total, utter uselessness.

  I heard the door slam again and a familiar voice came from behind me.

  “Are you just going to sit there, or are you going to do something to find Tink?”

  Glancing over my shoulder, I saw her standing by the door, her hand fisted on her hip and a challenge in her eyes.

  Darci.

  After Darci and I were done crying and apologies were made—mine—we set about making plans.

  “I’ll stay here at the house to answer the phone while the three of you go to Abby’s,” Darci said.

  “I need to run this plan by her,” I replied with hesitation. “She’s not thinking straight right now.”

  “Why?”

  “She blames herself.”

  “She shouldn’t.”

  “I know. Aunt Dot tried to convince her, but it didn’t work. I hope I can.”

  “Hmm…” Darci thought for a moment. “What’s Plan B if the ceremony doesn’t work?”

  “Plan B?” I blew out a breath. “I don’t have a Plan B. Do you have any ideas?”

  She pursed her lips. “Not at the moment.” Her eyes widened and she snapped her fingers. “I’ll make a list.”

  I made a derisive sound. “What kind of list?”

  “Oh, you know, one with all the suspects, a timeline, everything weird that’s happened, that kind of stuff,” she said with a wave of her hand.

  “Darce, that only works on TV shows and in the movies.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “You got a better idea?”
/>   “No, I don’t,” I said with a sigh. “Go ahead, make your list. At this point, it can’t hurt, and who knows, maybe you’ll be able to make some sense out of this tangled mess.”

  “Listen to me.” She leaned forward, her face intense. “I have a lot of faith in our ability to figure things out. And I think we’ve been pretty successful for a couple of amateurs—”

  “It was blind luck.”

  “So? Who cares how we did it? We still solved the crimes.” She tossed her head. “I know you didn’t want to get involved in this investigation, that you promised Bill—”

  I held up a hand, cutting her off. “All bets are off now.” I stared at her with a glint in my eye. “I am involved. Whoever took Tink made this very, very personal. I’m going to use every means at my disposal to hunt them down.” I pushed myself out of the chair. “Whether Bill likes it or not.”

  Twenty-One

  We escorted Aunt Dot across the yard to the summerhouse. It had been Abby’s private space since Grandpa brought her to Iowa. Inside, Aunt Dot seated herself in the old rocking chair, while Abby and I examined the rows of old journals contained on the bookshelves.

  “Aunt Dot,” Abby said as her eyes traveled down the row of worn books. “Whose journal do you think might have the spell we need?”

  “Ack, I don’t think we’ve had this happen before in the family.” She slowly rocked back and forth. “The closest thing would be when cousin Edgar ran off and joined the circus at the age of ten.”

  “Who was Edgar’s mother?”

  “Minnie.” Aunt Dot shook her head. “I don’t know what his mother did to that boy when she found him, but Edgar feared clowns for the rest of his life.”

  “Did she use a spell to locate him?” Abby asked, taking one of the old journals in hand.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t remember.”

  “Hmm.” Abby thumbed through the pages of the book. “Ophelia, you start at the other end. Look at each journal and see if you can find anything about searching for lost children.”

  I did as she asked. I found remedies for easing childbirth, curing a child of the croup, protecting yourself from gossip, but nothing about missing children.