The Witch Is Dead

by Shirley Damsgaard

  “If it is, it’s not clear.” I shook my head. “Do you believe the stuff Aunt Dot said last night about the fairies?”

  She lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. “I don’t know—a couple of years ago I wouldn’t have.” She nudged me in the ribs. “But after hanging out with you, I’ve seen a lot of things I’d never thought possible.” She tugged on her lip and frowned. “That night at the old cabin in Minnesota when Juliet tried summoning the demon—the black fog that rolled in?” She shuddered. “I never would have believed in something like that. So why not fairies?”

  She picked up a book from the stack sitting in front of her. “Would you look at this?” she said with disgust. “Someone’s bent the corners on a bunch of the pages. Honestly.” She carefully smoothed the pages.

  Bent corners?

  “Let me see that.” I slid the book over and looked at the title. Down the Rabbit Hole—one of our most popular young adult selections.

  “Here’s another one. I tell you, people just don’t have any respect anymore.”

  I grabbed the stack of books and began flipping them open. Every single one had curled corners, and every single one was a young adult selection.

  Grabbing Darci’s arm, I gave it a shake. “Who brought these books in?”

  “I don’t know. Gert worked Saturday.”

  “They didn’t come from the book drop?”

  “No. They were on the counter when I walked in this morning.”

  “Are these in our bar coding system yet?”

  “No.”

  “Who checked them out?”

  Darci ran through the card file. “The cards are here, but there’s no date or number on them.” A confused look crossed her face. “I don’t get it. Did someone snitch these, then bring them back?”

  “I need to call Gert.”

  Darci’s eyebrow shot up. “After last night and the way she huffed out, you’re the last person she’ll talk to.”

  I clutched one of the books. “Darci, I have to know who had these books.”

  Cocking a hip against the counter, she looked at me in disbelief. “What are you going to do? Fine them for damaging library property?”

  “No,” I said, my eyes wide and holding a book up. “This is a message from Tink.”

  She snatched one of the books and rapidly turned the pages. “She wrote in them?”

  I laid a hand on top of the open book. “No. It’s the curled pages. It’s a bad habit Tink has. Instead of using a bookmark, she turns down the corner. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve talked to her about it.”

  “So whoever’s holding Tink took these books?”

  I felt my excitement rising. “Sure. Why not? It would be a good way to keep her occupied.” I moved swiftly around the corner of the counter. “I’m going to my office. I’m calling Aunt Dot to ask her if this is the message.”

  Grabbing my backpack, I ran down the stairs and into my private office. I picked up the phone and quickly dialed my house. Abby answered on the second ring.

  “Abby, may I speak to Aunt Dot?”

  “Of course.” She sounded perplexed.

  A moment of silence followed as Abby handed Aunt Dot the receiver.

  “Hello?” Aunt Dot’s voice shouted in my ear.

  “Aunt Dot, did the fairies mention any books?” I asked, and held the receiver away from my ear while I waited for her reply.

  “No, no, I don’t think so,” she yelled.

  “When you saw Tink in your vision, did you see any books lying about?”

  “Ack, I don’t remember. I don’t think so. I just noticed the fairies.”

  “Okay, thanks,” I said, feeling a little deflated.

  “Do you want me to ask them about books?” she offered.

  “Yeah. Put Abby on the—” I stopped, realizing I was speaking to dead air.

  Aunt Dot had hung up on me.

  Fisting my hands on my hips, I scanned my office. Where had I placed Gert’s file? I rummaged through the piles of paper on my desk. Pages slid to the floor, but I didn’t take the time to retrieve them. Nope, not there. Opening the file cabinet, I riffled my fingers over the folders. I pulled one out and quickly turned the pages. Another sheet fell to the floor. Nothing.

  Frustrated, I smacked the folder on top of the file cabinet and moved on to the next drawer. Soon, stacks of papers covered every surface and the floor was littered with random pages.

  Okay, this wasn’t working. What next?

  I snapped my fingers. Claire. As library board president, she’d have Gert’s number.

  My fingers flew over the keypad as I entered Claire’s number. When she answered, I got right to the point.

  “I need Gert Duncan’s phone number,” I said quickly.

  “I don’t think she’ll want to talk to you,” Claire replied. “She called me about nine, very unhappy, and gave me a real earful about you, Darci, the library. What happened?”

  “Claire, I’m sorry she was upset, but I don’t have time to explain now—”

  She cut me off. “You have news about Tink?”

  “Ah, no, but I do need to speak with Gert.”

  Snagging a pen, I rapidly wrote down the number she gave me.

  “Thanks.” I hung up before she could ask any more questions.

  Before I could dial Gert’s number, the phone rang.

  Do I answer and waste more time, or let Darci take care of the caller?

  I answered. “Summerset Library.”

  “Ophelia?” Aunt Dot hollered in my ear.

  “Hi, Aunt Dot. Look, I’m really busy—”

  “I thought you wanted to know about the fairies?”

  “Well, yes I do. Did they say anything about the books?”

  “No, but they said to tell you you’re a very clever girl.” She sounded pleased.

  “Umm, well…” I faltered, trying to think of a response. “Tell them thanks.”

  I disconnected and stared at the receiver in my hand. Duh, Jensen, what did you expect? You really don’t believe in fairies in the first place.

  After punching in Gert’s number, I shifted nervously back and forth on the balls of my feet while I waited for her to answer.

  “Duncan’s,” said an unfamiliar voice in my ear.

  Must be Mama.

  “Hello, Mrs. Duncan, this is Ophelia Jensen.”

  “Ophelia Jensen? What do you want?” Her voice dripped ice.

  “May I speak with Gert?” I asked, trying to sound chipper.

  “After the way you treated her last night?”

  “It’s really important, Mrs. Duncan. It’s about the library.”

  “Going to beg her to come back, are you?” I heard smugness in her words. “Well, she’ll never work for you again.”

  Her receiver slammed in my ear.

  Gert hadn’t been kidding when she said Mama was grumpy. Her voice could have frozen the telephone lines. Her voice—funny thing—she didn’t have an accent. One would think after living in Louisiana all those years that she would’ve sounded more southern. If anything, her speech was clipped, as if she came from a state even farther north than Iowa…like Minnesota.

  The pieces of the puzzle that had been tormenting me slammed together into one whole picture.

  They’d been bold and taken a huge risk that I wouldn’t figure out their game.

  They were wrong. I knew who kidnapped Tink, I knew why, and most important, I knew where she was.

  Thirty-Five

  I tore through the library, passing a startled Darci and almost knocking Edna Walters, walker and all, down.

  “Wait!” Darci called after me. “Where are you going?”

  I yelled over my shoulder, “Can’t explain now.”

  After half running, half sliding down the front steps, I hit the button on my key ring to unlock the car doors. As my hand gripped the handle, an arm snagged me at the waist and whirled me around.

  “Ethan, you scared me to death,” I exclaimed.


  “Where are you headed in such a hurry, and what trouble are you into now?”

  “I’m not in trouble, and I don’t have time to explain. If you want information, you’ll need to come with me.” I opened the car door and flung my backpack behind the driver’s seat.

  Without a word, Ethan got in on the passenger’s side.

  He gave me a wry look as I pulled away from the curb. “Last time I went with you, I got the butt-chewing to end all butt-chewings.”

  “Don’t worry—I think I’ve found Tink.” I paused at the stop sign and turned left. “You were right. Her kidnapping had nothing to do with Buchanan’s murder. It has to do with the adoption.”

  “What adoption? Aren’t you her legal guardian now?” He sounded perplexed.

  “No, her uncle, Jason Finch, is, but not long ago his attorney notified us that he was willing to relinquish his rights.”

  “Is this the husband of the criminally crazy aunt in Minnesota?”

  “Yes. I don’t know how much you know about that story—”

  “A little—Bill kind of filled me in on your background.”

  “I bet that was a fun conversation,” I said with sarcasm.

  He winked. “Maybe not fun, but very interesting.”

  “Did he mention the Finches had a small cult?”

  “No, no, I think he left that part out.”

  “One of the cult members was absolutely devoted to Juliet—Winnie Clark—and she hated Abby and me, especially me. Tried hexing me, locked me in a box, etcetera, etcetera.” I finished with a wave of my hand.

  “Pretty cavalier about it, aren’t you?” he asked with a grin.

  “I wasn’t at the time, but these things seem to be happening to me a lot lately. I guess a person could get familiar with it.”

  Rolling his eyes, he shook his head. “So what about this Winnie?”

  “She escaped into the woods during one of Juliet’s spells…” My voice trailed away.

  Do I tell him she was trying to summon a demon? Nah.

  “Anyway, I’m pretty sure the new employee I hired, Gert Duncan, is somehow mixed up with Winnie.”

  “Pretty sure? How did you come to that conclusion?”

  “I recognized Winnie’s voice when I called Gert this morning. She’s pretending to be Gert’s mother.”

  “When was the last time you saw Winnie?”

  “Over a year ago.”

  “You haven’t talked to her for over twelve months, and you still remember her voice?”

  I flashed him a look. “Yeah. The woman threatened me with a gun and locked me in a box. She’s not someone I’m likely to forget.”

  “Why would she take Tink?”

  “Juliet tried to use Tink’s gifts for her own selfish reasons, and I suspect Winnie thinks she’ll do the same.” I drew my lips back in a sneer. “Ha—she wasn’t even a very good witch. I don’t know how she thinks she can use someone as talented as Tink.”

  “We’re hurtling down the road because you suspect a bad witch is holding your daughter?”

  “Yeah.”

  His attitude surprised me. Witches, folk magick, restless spirits, all in a day’s work for me.

  “You have to trust me, Ethan,” I said as I focused on the road ahead. We were almost to the gravel road leading to the old Blunt place.

  “Do you have a plan, or are you going to wing it like yesterday?”

  I drummed the steering wheel. “Winging didn’t work so well.”

  “Depends on how you look at it. We didn’t find Tink, which was your goal, but we caught a killer and busted a body snatching ring. Not bad, Jensen.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his smile.

  His face sobered. “But we are walking into a hostage situation. Tink might get hurt if we’re not careful.”

  “You’re the cop—you got a plan?”

  He turned in his seat to face me. “First, since Gert worked for you, she’d recognize your car. We’ll park down the road…”

  “What else?” I asked when he didn’t continue.

  “This isn’t what you want to hear, but I think we should call Bill. He’ll send a car out—”

  “Oh no he won’t,” I said, cutting him off. “You saw how mad he was at me. If he thinks I’m sticking my nose in again, he’ll lock me up and ditch the key.”

  “How about an anonymous tip?” he suggested.

  “About what?”

  “You said Winnie escaped. I presume that means she’s a fugitive?”

  “Yes.”

  “We call in a tip about her location—”

  “If Bill shows up, she’s not going to answer the door,” I scoffed. “She’ll hide out until he leaves.”

  “Scratch that idea.” He thought for a moment. “Best scenario…we watch the house until we spot her, then call Bill. She’s got to come outside sometime.”

  “I don’t know…” My uncertainty echoed in my voice.

  “Remember what I told you yesterday—the way to build a case is slowly and carefully? If you’re correct, you don’t want Winnie to escape again, do you?”

  The thought made me shudder.

  We left the car on the side of the road and cut across the pasture to reach the old Blunt place, coming up from behind the house. Using the windbreak located on the north side of the property as cover, we snuck around to the front.

  A small white car sat in front of the house. The trunk lid was up.

  Grabbing the sleeve of Ethan’s jacket, I stared at him with fear in my eyes. “They’re leaving.”

  “Maybe not. Maybe Gert’s been grocery shopping.”

  As he said it, Gert came out of the front door carrying a big box. She stowed it in the trunk and returned to the house. A few seconds later she was back. This time lugging two suitcases.

  “They are leaving,” I whispered. “What do we do now?”

  “I guess what you’re good at—winging it.” He reached for his cell phone and made a quick call.

  “Bill, Ethan. I’m out at the old—” He covered the phone with his hand and looked at me. “Where did you say we were?”

  “The old Blunt place,” I said quietly.

  Ethan repeated it into the phone. “Yeah,” he said as he cast a glance my way. “No, we won’t. Don’t worry about it, Bill, I’ll take care of everything.”

  He flipped the phone shut. “Bill’s on his way.”

  “We don’t have time to wait,” I hissed. “They might leave with Tink any minute. It takes at least twenty minutes to get here from Aiken.”

  The front door slamming caught our attention. Gert again. She moved down the steps toward the car. She got in and we heard the motor turn over.

  “We have to move now.”

  Before he could stop me, I was on my feet and headed through the grove of trees to the back of the house.

  With three long strides, Ethan caught me. “Sneak in the back while I keep them busy at the front of the house,” he whispered. “They could be armed, so no heroics.”

  “Not to worry,” I said with a weak smile. “I hate getting shot.”

  As he turned away from me, I heard him muttering under his breath, “Bill is going to kill me.”

  I skirted around the edge of the property until I’d reached the backyard. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, then ran across the yard. Peeking around the corner of the house, I saw Ethan walking up the short drive. Satisfied he’d provide a distraction, I crept up to the enclosed porch and quietly slipped in through the screen door. Another door leading into the kitchen stood open. Plastering my body to the wall next to the door, I heard voices in the front of the house. They were suddenly silenced by a loud knock.

  Footsteps went in two different directions. One set to the other side of the house, and the second set to the front door. The front door opened and I heard Ethan’s voice.

  Move, now, Jensen.

  But to where? In Aunt Dot’s vision, Tink was being held in a bedroom. In most farm homes
, the bedrooms were on the second story, with the stairs leading up from the kitchen.

  I peeked around the doorway and saw another door on the wall to my right. It either concealed a pantry or stairs leading up.

  Please let it be the stairs!

  Slipping into the kitchen, I clung close to the wall as I made my way to the next door. Carefully, I turned the knob and gently opened the door.

  Yes. Stairs.

  Shutting the door behind me, I hurried over the worn treads. At the top, I found myself standing in a large bedroom containing two twin beds. Two other doors led to the rest of the bedrooms. I tried the first—it swung open easily, revealing an empty room. Crossing swiftly to the next door, I grabbed the knob. Locked.

  Lightly, I tapped on the wooden panel.

  “Go away, Winnie,” exclaimed an angry teenage voice.

  My body slumped with relief. I’d found her.

  “Tink,” I called in a loud whisper. “It’s me.”

  The sound of footfalls on a wooden floor came from the other side of the door.

  “Ophelia?”

  “Shh, Winnie and Gert are downstairs.”

  “The door’s locked.”

  “I know. What about the window?”

  “No, I already tried using my bed sheets, but they weren’t long enough.”

  “I’ll find something to pry the lock.”

  I looked madly around the room for something, anything, to pop the door open.

  A hanger? No, the wire would bend too easily.

  I ran my hand through my hair and chewed on my lip. A nail?

  Stepping back to the center of the room, my eyes roamed the walls, looking for a nail protruding from the plaster.

  I spotted one above the door. Standing on my tiptoes, I reached for the nail. A piece of string or ribbon seemed to be hanging on the metal shaft. I looped my finger around it and pulled it down.

  Staring at the string dangling from my finger, I couldn’t believe my luck.

  Swinging back and forth at its end was a key.

  I fitted it into the brass lock and turned. I heard a soft click, and then the door swung open.

  The next thing I knew, thin arms flew around my neck in a tight hug. I gave myself a moment to just feel the joy of finding Tink again.

  I stepped back and cupped her face with my hands. “You okay?”