The Witch Is Dead

by Shirley Damsgaard

  “See, it’s like this—” I began, pulling out a chair.

  Bill waved his hand at me. “Just a minute.” He turned to Ethan. “You knew about this?”

  “Sure,” he replied, swirling the tea around in his half empty glass. “She’s legit, Bill. She grabbed my arm once and started rattling off all kinds of things. If I hadn’t broken contact, I think she’d have figured out who I really was.” He grinned my way. “This was after she’d not only threatened me with her Louisville Slugger, but with a case of boils.”

  I groaned. “Is it necessary for you to keep bringing that up? I said I was sorry.”

  His grin spread as he enjoyed my discomfort.

  Ignoring him, I looked at Bill. “Do you believe me?”

  He scratched his head. “It would explain how you’re always tripping over bodies,” he replied almost to himself. “You said the word ‘witch,’ Ethan. What did you mean by that?”

  Ethan leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his neck. “I’ll let Ophelia explain.”

  “Folk magick, Bill,” I said with a nasty glance at Ethan. “It’s too long to explain, but one of the things we do is use crystals, herbs, candles, things like that, for healing. Nothing sinister,” I assured him.

  “Tink? What about her? Is she a psychic, too?”

  “No.”

  Bill gave a sigh of relief. “That’s good.”

  “She’s a medium.”

  “Damn,” he muttered again. “If you know she’s unharmed, does that mean you know where she is?”

  I made a derisive sound. “If I did, do you think I’d be sitting here now?”

  “Having had experience with your meddling—no.” His voice was curt. “What do you know?”

  “Does that question mean you do believe me?”

  “About being a psychic?” He made a clicking sound. “I don’t know—going to have to think about it—like I said, it sure would explain a lot. I do know there are departments who use psychics when the case goes cold. They don’t broadcast it, though.” He gave his head a slow shake. “But you being a witch?”

  “Forget the witch part,” I said, trying to brush the subject away. “You asked me what we know…According to Aunt Dot, Tink’s being held in a room that’s papered with cabbage roses.”

  Aunt Dot scooted closer to the table. “That’s right, and the f—”

  Abby touched Aunt Dot’s hand, silencing her. “Not now, dear.”

  I picked up the narrative. “She’s not only unharmed, she’s not afraid. Do you think that means she knows her kidnapper?”

  “It might. Or her lack of fear might mean she’s unaware of the danger she’s in. She is only a kid, she might trust that she won’t be hurt.”

  “Tink’s not that dumb,” I argued.

  “Ophelia, people who commit these crimes are really clever. It’s as if they instinctively know how to manipulate their victims. They know just what buttons to push in order to control.”

  “What about the wallpaper?” Ethan asked as he sat forward. “Did any of you recognize it?”

  “I did,” Aunt Dot said, jumping into the conversation. “Twenty years ago, Sister and I had that same paper on the walls of the spare bedroom.”

  “I don’t think that’s what Ethan meant, dear,” Abby said gently. “I think he wants to know if we’ve seen any like it around Summerset.”

  “Oh.” Aunt Dot’s shoulders sagged.

  Ethan winked at her. “No, what Miss Cameron said is important. We know now that the paper’s been around awhile and is most likely out-of-stock.” He glanced at Bill. “An old farmhouse?”

  Bill pursed his lips. “Probably. Problem is, which one? The area’s scattered with old farmsteads.” He rubbed his chin. “Did you see anything else?”

  “Silas Green keeps cropping up,” I said.

  Bill shot forward in his chair. “Was he with Tink?”

  “No, I saw him in the woods.”

  I decided to leave out the part about the angry spirits and the pile of bones in his arms. I suspected we’d freaked Bill out enough as it was.

  “Silas? Hmm. We’ve never had any complaints about him. Only talk there’s ever been about him was when his business ran into trouble a couple of years ago, but he managed to save it.” His eyes traveled to each of us. “Anything else?”

  “Just a bunch of jumbled images that don’t make much sense,” I answered.

  Bill turned in his chair and looked at the clock. Standing, he nudged Ethan in the arm. “We’d better get back to the office. Thanks for the tea, Abby.”

  “Quite all right, Bill.”

  Ethan rose and followed Bill, but stopped when Bill paused at the kitchen door.

  “Remember your promise, Ophelia,” he cautioned, wagging a finger at me. “Don’t go running off half-cocked based on some psychic vision.”

  “Sure thing, Bill,” I said, and gave him a sweet smile.

  As he followed Bill, Ethan shot a skeptical glance at me over his shoulder.

  I smiled at him, too. And as they disappeared down the hall, I uncrossed my fingers.

  Twenty-Three

  “Here, are these okay?” Darci asked, handing me a stack of papers when we entered my house.

  Glancing down, I saw Tink’s picture staring up at me. I quickly read the information listed below it, which contained her height, weight, what she’d been wearing, and where she’d last been seen.

  “I found a website on the Internet—one listing missing and exploited children. It showed how to make a ‘missing person’ poster.”

  “Bill mentioned the site. He’s posted Tink’s picture on it,” I murmured while I focused on the sheet in my hand. The same sense of hopelessness threatened to swamp me again, and I felt the tears gathering in my eyes as I looked at Tink’s photo. I truly believed that she was unharmed. But for how long? And the dark gulf Abby saw—what if I failed in my quest to cross that gulf? Would my gift help me, or would my talent let me down as it had when I tried to save Brian?

  A tear ran down my cheek.

  Darci placed an arm around my shoulder and rested her head against mine. “It’ll be okay,” she said, gripping me. “I’ve called Arthur, and he’s stopping by to pick these posters up. He’s got people lined up who are going to plaster these all over the county. Mike’s even taking a stack into Des Moines.” She gave me a shake. “We’ll find her.”

  “Thanks, Darci,” I said, moving away from her and giving one of the flyers to Aunt Dot and Abby.

  “Not a problem.” She joined Abby and Aunt Dot at the kitchen table. “Did you learn anything?”

  “The fairies are protecting her,” Aunt Dot replied in a disgruntled tone.

  Darci shot a questioning glance first at me, then Abby. “Ahh, that’s good, right?” she said with hesitation.

  Aunt Dot’s eyes narrowed as she focused on me. “At least this girl understands.”

  “She’s unhappy because we didn’t give her a chance to tell Bill about the fairies,” Abby explained as she rubbed her forehead.

  “Ahh—well—” Darci stumbled over her words. “You don’t want Bill finding out about your secrets.”

  “He knows,” I replied.

  Shock registered on her face. “What? You told him you were a psychic and a witch?”

  “No, I only told him we were psychics.” My lips tightened in a frown. “Co—er, Ethan, told him I was a witch. And—”

  Darci raised her hands. “Hold on, hold on…I missed something. Cobra’s here?”

  “Uh-huh. Ethan. Didn’t he stop by with Bill earlier?”

  “Bill was here, but I didn’t see Cobra—ah, Ethan.”

  “He was probably waiting in the car,” I said with a shrug.

  “Okay, let’s go back here. You,” Darci said, pointing at me, “told Bill you were a psychic, then Ethan,” she moved her finger in an arc, “told him you were a witch?”

  “Yup. Made the announcement, and let me explain.”

  “Did yo
u?”

  I shrugged again. “Sort of.”

  “How did Bill take the news?”

  “Rather well, wouldn’t you say, Abby?”

  “Um-hmm,” she said as she bent down to pet Queenie, who’d wandered over to where we sat at the table. “He seemed more concerned as to whether Tink was a psychic, too.”

  “And you told him what?”

  “That she wasn’t a psychic, but a medium,” I replied.

  Darci rolled her eyes. “I can see why you didn’t want Aunt Dot mentioning the fairies—”

  “Yeah, that might have bordered on ‘too much information.’”

  Queenie left Abby’s side and strolled over to me. With a smooth leap, she landed on my lap. As I stroked her black fur, I noticed a notebook open on the table. “What’s this?”

  “A list of everyone I could think of associated with the funeral home.” Darci leaned forward and pushed the notebook toward me.

  Quickly, I read the names. Mrs. Buchanan, Buchanan’s sons, Kevin Roth…I stopped. “Christopher Mason? Why him?”

  “He knew Buchanan, had business dealings with him, and knows his widow.”

  “Okay.” I continued reading. Silas Green; Gert Duncan. Gert?

  Tapping the page, I focused on Darci. “Why Gert? She doesn’t have anything to do with Buchanan.”

  “I don’t like her,” Darci replied succinctly.

  I snorted. “That’s not a reason to consider her a suspect.”

  Darci shrugged. “Reason enough for me. I don’t like her and I don’t trust her.”

  I rolled my eyes. Her attitude was childish. And I didn’t need it, not now.

  “You can’t just point a finger at an innocent woman because you don’t like her.”

  Darci huffed. “I can point a finger in any direction I want. I’m telling you—”

  “Girls!” Abby interrupted us. “Is this really necessary?”

  I caught the stubborn expression on Darci’s face. No way around it, for some reason, she didn’t like Gert and wanted Gert on her list. Her personal bias was overriding her judgment, but I knew I’d be fighting a losing battle trying to point that out. I dropped the subject.

  I continued reading. Except for the inclusion of Gert’s name, Darci had done a good job listing what we knew. In another column, she’d written: restless spirits, funeral home, crematorium, cadaver tissue, skull.

  There was definitely a common theme here—death.

  Darci pulled the notebook toward her. “See,” she said, writing Buchanan’s name in the center and drawing a circle around it. “Silas Green, Christopher, and Kevin were all business associates of Buchanan’s.” She wrote their names and drew a line from their names back to the circle. “And all benefited financially from Buchanan.”

  “Buchanan also did business with casket companies, flower shops—”

  “But Tink’s dreams were of restless spirits, not bunches of flowers. These three men, along with Buchanan, handle the deceased one way or the other.” She tapped the notebook with her pen. “Did any of Tink’s dreams ever take place in the funeral home?”

  “No, in the dreams she was always in the woods,” I replied, not getting her point.

  “Like at Roseman State Park?”

  “Could be. Tink never mentioned any landmarks, so I don’t know.”

  Abby pulled the notebook away from Darci and studied it. “The first time you met Silas Green was at the park. It was also where the skull was found.”

  “You’re right,” I said, turning to her. “What are you suggesting? That we go tromping through the woods at the state park, looking for clues?”

  Something Tink had said nipped at the corner of my mind. What was it? So much had happened over the past couple of days that I couldn’t remember. Was it something that had happened in her dreams? Frowning, I searched my memory, but came up blank.

  “Did you learn anything during your ceremony?” Darci asked Abby, shifting the subject away from the park.

  Abby handed Darci her notes and quickly explained what had happened.

  “Your vision took place in the woods,” Darci said, a puzzled expression on her face. “You heard a woman laughing?”

  “Yeah, can’t figure that one out,” I said. “No woman listed on your little web around Buchanan.”

  “Mrs. Buchanan.”

  “And why would she laugh?”

  “Maybe she was laughing about all the lovely piles of money she’d be receiving from Buchanan’s life insurance.”

  I shook my head. “You’re making a supposition. We don’t know for a fact that Buchanan left her anything.”

  “You saw Silas Green, too?” Darci tapped her chin. “I think we need to check out a connection between Silas Green and Mrs. Buchanan.”

  “He’s her boyfriend,” Aunt Dot chimed in.

  “What?” I tried to picture the widow in her leopard-trimmed suit with the creepy Mr. Green. It didn’t compute. “Ha, if she were having an affair with a business associate of her husband’s, it’s more likely it would be with Christopher, rather than Silas—”

  “I agree,” Aunt Dot said, nodding. “It makes more sense.”

  Darci’s face lit with excitement. “Affair? What affair?”

  “That young man, Kevin, said he suspected her of having a boyfriend,” Aunt Dot said.

  “But at the funeral, Christopher didn’t seem to be too fond of her,” I argued.

  “Maybe it was an act,” Abby interjected.

  I thought about my date with Christopher. “Okay, he’s a jerk, but I don’t see him as a killer and a kidnapper.”

  “Aunt Dot has a doctor’s appointment with him tomorrow,” Abby said in a sly voice.

  “Huh?”

  “He’s replacing her plaster cast with one made of fiberglass.”

  “We should take her,” Darci said.

  “Oh, no,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t want to see him again.”

  “We’ll sit in the waiting room.” Darci’s eyes sparkled. “I’ll distract the receptionist while you sneak back and snoop through his office.”

  “Wait a second.” I fisted a hand on my hip, disturbing Queenie. “Why am I the one who always has to do the sneaking and the snooping?”

  “Okay,” Darci said with a shrug. “I’ll do it.”

  Trapped again.

  Twenty-Four

  The Muzak version of the Beatles’ “Paperback Writer” sounded softly from the speakers discreetly hidden in the ceiling. In a corner, a silk ficus stretched upward from behind a table littered with weeks-old copies of Field and Stream, National Geographic, and AARP The Magazine. Walkers and canes lined the aisles as their owners waited patiently for their turn with Dr. Mason.

  Darci and I settled Aunt Dot in one of the empty navy blue chairs, then took our place next to her.

  Hmm, I thought, eyeing the pile of magazines, which one did I want to read? I didn’t care for fishing, too young for AARP The Magazine, so I guess I’d make do with National Geographic. I moved to stand, but Darci clasped my arm and forced me down.

  “Psst,” she hissed out of the corner of her mouth. “How are you planning on distracting the receptionist?”

  “I don’t know. Any ideas?” I whispered back.

  Darci rolled her eyes in disgust. “Don’t you think you should’ve thought of something by now?”

  “Yes,” I said in dismay. “I tried, I really did, but I’m not good at faking.”

  She poked her finger in my ribs, making me jump. “You’d better get good at it, and fast. Pretend you’re having heart palpitations or something. That’d bring the doctors and nurses running.”

  “I’m not that good an actress. Can’t you come up with another suggestion?” I complained.

  “Okay, let’s set off the fire alarm. We—”

  “Darci, we can’t do that,” I muttered, clenching my jaw. “This room is full of senior citizens. One of them might have a heart attack for real if they think the building’s on fire.�
��

  “Okay, we go with the next plan.”

  “Which is?”

  “We’ll have to go with Aunt Dot back to the examining room—”

  “I said,” my tone insistent, “I didn’t want to see Christopher again.”

  “Tough, you’ll just have to suck it up. You want to get to the bottom of this mess and find Tink, don’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Okay, then.” She gave a satisfied nod. “Once we get back to the room, I’ll make some excuse about using the phone and wander off. You keep Mason busy while I’m rummaging through his office.”

  “Do you have any idea what you’re looking for?”

  “I want to see if I can find anything about his business dealings with Buchanan.”

  “And if you can’t?”

  “We’ll follow him,” she replied with a shrug. “See if he does hook up with the widow.”

  “Are you crazy?” I sputtered. “We can’t stalk him.”

  Darci exhaled in a huge sigh. “I said ‘follow,’ not ‘stalk.’ There’s no law against following a person.”

  “What if he spots us?”

  She dismissed my concerns with a flip of her hand. “He won’t see us.”

  “What about her?” I asked, jerking my head in Aunt Dot’s direction.

  “She goes with us. I checked the office hours when we walked in. They close at noon. We’ll hang around and tail him when he leaves.”

  “Darci—”

  Before I could finish, a nurse in a pale blue lab coat called Aunt Dot’s name. Darci rose gracefully and extended a hand to Aunt Dot before turning her attention to me.

  “Show time,” she said with a wink.

  As we followed the nurse back to the examining room, my heart seemed to beat a little faster with each step. And it wasn’t due to excitement at the thought of seeing Christopher again. Oh no, my racing heart was caused by full-fledged panic. We hadn’t exactly parted on the best of terms. What would his reaction be? Would he be embarrassed? Condescending? Rude?

  With a smile, the nurse motioned us into the room. After helping Aunt Dot onto the high examination table, she took Aunt Dot’s vitals and asked questions concerning her general health. Shutting Aunt Dot’s file, she again smiled and with a “the doctor will see you soon,” left the room.