The Witch’s Grave (10 page)

I loved the Internet. Anything you wanted to buy was only a click and a credit card away. Like plane tickets. I’d decided if Karen Burns wouldn’t answer her phone, I would fly to St. Louis and talk to her in person. Unfortunately, because of my late booking, the only flight I could get had a three hour layover in Detroit. It would take me almost seven hours to reach my destination instead of the six if I drove.

But this is better
, I told myself. If I’d driven and Bill got wind that I left town, he could’ve had me apprehended. By flying, I could slip down to St. Louis and be back before anyone knew I left. I’d covered my bases with Abby by calling and telling her that I planned on a hot bath and then retreating to my bedroom. She wouldn’t try and contact me until that evening. By then I’d be at the hotel, and pretend I was home. Thank goodness for cell phones—she’d never know that I was six hundred miles away.

I think.
A little flutter of doubt shook me.
No, this would work.

And if it didn’t?

I shrugged. It wouldn’t make a difference. I’d be in Missouri—she’d be in Iowa. The worst that could happen would be the hell of a lecture that I’d receive when I arrived home.

As I dug my needlepoint out of my carry-on, my thoughts
drifted to the conversation I’d had with Tink. She sounded happy and excited. It appeared she now saw the trip as an adventure instead of a banishment. I had also spoken briefly with Aunt Dot, who wanted to know all the details of the latest family “problem.” I’d blanched a bit when she mentioned maybe it would be good for her to pay another visit. Just to help, of course.

Right.

I dearly loved Aunt Dot, but the thought of her on the loose again in Summerset gave me the shivers. I emphatically told her we needed her to protect Tink. With that, she chortled and told me all about the forgetful spell Great-Aunt Mary had placed around the property—any stranger without an invitation would have a hard time finding them.

I didn’t question the spell, nor did I question the fact that, according to her, the fairies were happy to see Tink.

Whatever—as long as Tink was safe, it was all that mattered.

Paying attention to my needlepoint, I saw that I’d, once again, balled the thread into a tight little knot. I gave up and shoved it back into the carry-on. Next, I picked up my latest J. D. Robb paperback, but even the exciting adventures of Eve Dallas couldn’t keep my mind from wandering.

Tapping my foot, I checked my watch for the hundredth time.
Crap, I still had two more hours before the flight. I’ll call Karen again.

I hit the now memorized numbers and listened as it rang and rang. It was weird. Surely she knew that her boss had been shot. One would think she’d have contacted someone by now. Could she have spoken with Bill? Finally, the voice mail clicked on and I left another message. One way or the other, I intended to track the woman down and question her about Stephen. I had her address—I’d camp out on her doorstep if I had to.

Bored beyond belief, my eyes traveled around the airport. Maybe I could amuse myself by people watching? Business
men sat with their Bluetooth headsets clipped to their ears while they tapped away on their laptops.
Not much of interest there
. In the next row, a mother tried to keep her toddler entertained. I could relate—he appeared as bored as I was. He caught my eye from over his mother’s shoulder and gave me a toothy grin. I smiled. Satisfied he’d been noticed, he returned to tugging on his mother’s hair.

I stole another look at my watch.
Well, that took all of fifteen minutes.

Bouncing my knees impatiently, I glanced toward the gift shop.
Okay, let’s give that a try.

I stood up, slung my carry-on over my shoulder, and strolled over to the wide doorway. Travel pillows, lap rugs, candy, souvenirs of Detroit, magazines—everything a weary traveler would want lined the shelves. Taking my time, I browsed the magazines, studied the selection of candy, fingered the soft lap robes. From behind me, I felt someone staring at my back and my nerves jangled. With a sideways look, I noticed one of the clerks watching me, suspicion written on her face.

Oh man, she thinks I’m a shoplifter.

Crossing to the counter, I picked up a pack of gum, paid for it, and beat a hasty retreat out of the shop.

From across the way, I caught sight of a bookstore. Tucking my gum in my pocket, I wandered into the store. Immediately my attention was drawn to the display of the latest best-sellers. Placed in a prominent position was
Terror on the Seine
by M. J. LaSalle. Striding over, I picked up the hardcover and skimmed the blurb on the back.

As I read, icy fingers tickled up my spine.

The novel told the story of a man hunting a group of neo-Nazis as they tried to build a new Third Reich à la Frankenstein’s monster.

Was Stephen a World War II buff? If so, had my connection with him been so strong that I sensed it on some level? Was it why I’d suddenly started dreaming about Paris and
the German occupation? What if the dreams were not mine, but his?

Clutching the book, I hurried over to the counter and paid for it. I rushed back to the waiting area and flipped the cover open.

For the next hour I sat lost in the story. No doubt about it—Stephen spun a good tale. One scene that drew my attention portrayed a dinner party eerily like the one in my dream. The one I’d experienced as Madeleine. Stephen had even mentioned Drancy and Auschwitz in the dialogue.

Was that the connection? What if somehow, while his body was in a coma state, his mind was reaching out and touching mine?

I grimaced. If his mind was indeed invading mine, I wished his message would be a little more specific than showing me the life of a Parisian model living over sixty years ago.

Tangled up in all the questions, I almost missed the boarding call for my flight. Hurrying, I shoved the book in the pocket of my bag and joined the other passengers.

Once strapped in my seat, I entertained myself by looking out the window. In a short time we were in the air, flying through cloudless skies over the Midwest, back toward St. Louis.

I leaned my head against the window and watched the earth below. The fields resembled the patchwork quilt lying on Abby’s bed. Squares in shades of light and dark green marked the pastures and growing crops, while brown rectangles showed fallow land. Scattered amidst the fields were houses and farmsteads, reminding me of the little pieces to a Monopoly game.

Lost in my fanciful imaginings, I felt my eyes grow heavy.

The sound of the flight attendant pushing an empty cart up the aisle woke me with a start.
Dang, I’d missed the free peanuts.
Turning toward the window, I spied the city of St.
Louis and the Gateway Arch gleaming in the early evening sun.

Good, I’m almost there. I can get on with my mission to find Karen Burns.

Thirty minutes later I stood at the baggage claim waiting for my luggage to shoot down the ramp onto the carousel. As I did, I went over my list in my head.
Call Abby and tell her a big, fat lie; try Karen Burns again; my reservation at the Renaissance Grand near Laclede’s Landing was already made. But did I want a taxi, or did I want to rent a car?

Tapping my foot, I thought about it. I didn’t know my way around St. Louis, so I’d need a car with GPS. And by chauffeuring myself around, it might be easier to track down the elusive Karen Burns.

Okay, next step—rent a car.

A sudden hand on my shoulder made my heart jump.
They’ve found me
ricocheted in my head.

And they had—I whirled around to face my lovely grandmother with a steely light shining in her green eyes.

“You didn’t think you could go off without me, did you?”

I didn’t need to rent a car. Abby had beaten me to St. Louis by driving instead of flying. We picked up my bags and headed toward the hotel.

Buckled in, I rubbed my palms nervously on my thighs. I couldn’t make myself look at Abby. “I wasn’t trying to shut you out,” I blurted.

Her eyes darted toward me. “I don’t like lies and secrets, Ophelia.”

Shamefaced, I hung my head. “I know…I just wanted to keep you safe.”

Out of the corner of my eye I caught Abby’s sardonic grin. “May I remind you I’ve managed to do just fine for over seventy years?”

“I know…” I hesitated, lifting my head and studying
her. “But it appears I’m a target, and I don’t want you caught in the cross fire, be exposed to danger.”

Abby snickered. “My darling girl, I had a life before you were born. I grew up in the mountains. Poverty, moonshiners, revenuers…” Her voice faded and her eyes took on a faraway look. “I’ve seen my fair share of violence.”

Surprised, I shifted sideways in my seat. Abby had always talked as if life in the mountains had been idyllic. I’d never considered that there might have been a darker side. “Really? Like what?”

Her head snapped toward me and back. “Never mind.”

Subject closed.

“How did you find me?” I asked, studying her profile.

“Your password,” she replied with a smirk. “It took me about five minutes to figure it out, by the way. Once I’d done that, I checked your e-mails and saw your flight reservation.”

Okay, so maybe I didn’t love the Internet.

I slumped in my seat. “Don’t you think that’s an invasion of my privacy?”

“Drastic times…drastic measures,” she said simply.

“What were you doing at my house in the first place?”

“I brought you lunch. I knew how upset you were with Tink gone, and I was afraid you wouldn’t eat. I stopped by Stumpy’s and Arthur made your favorite sandwich.”

“Hot sausage?” My stomach rumbled. I had forgotten to eat. I’d even missed out on the peanuts.

She heard the gurgling. “Yes,” she said with a quick “serves you right” glance.

“Shoot.” I pressed on my stomach as I twisted in my seat. “Let’s eat after we check in, okay?”

“Fine, but no food until you tell me exactly what you’re doing,” she replied, her voice determined.

“You’re going to starve me?” I asked, arching an eyebrow.

She grinned. “If you’re near starvation, then I suggest you start talking.”

In the time it took us to drive to the hotel, I spilled everything—the instant connection I’d felt with Stephen, the dreams, leaving out the more titillating parts, of course.

Finished, I watched her, trying to judge her reaction. “What do you think?”

“Oh my,” she whispered.

My forehead wrinkled. “That’s it…‘oh, my’?” I groused. “That’s not very helpful.”

Abby pursed her lips. “I’ve never come across something like this before. I need to contemplate all the implications.”

“Do you know what happens in the mind when someone’s in a coma?” I snapped my fingers. “Of course you do—you were out of it for a couple of days when Charles Thornton conked you on the head. What was it like?”

“Dreams—” she faltered. “Lots of dreams that never end.”

I thought back to that time when Abby lay in the hospital and we were so afraid she might never wake up. “Remember when I almost unleashed the Elements, but your voice stopped me at the last minute?”

“Yes, and it’s a good thing it did,” she said stridently.

“I agree,” I answered with a wave of my hand, “but that’s not what I meant. Were you aware of what I was doing?”

She tapped a finger on the steering wheel. “I can’t answer that. My memory of that time is rather jumbled. I do remember feeling your need for vengeance.”

“But you don’t remember reaching out to me?”

“Not really,” she said with a shake of her head.

“I need to know if that might be what Stephen is doing—contacting me with his mind. And the Paris stuff is some kind of symbolism.”

“Maybe.” She looked thoughtful. “You said you felt an immediate and strong link with him?”

Recalling the first set of dreams, the erotic ones, I blushed. “Yes.”

“It was as if you’d always known him?”

“Yes.” I shot her a perplexed look.

“Hmm.” She fell silent.

“What?”

Still not answering me, Abby parked the car, got out, and handed the keys to the valet. We removed our luggage and headed toward the entrance.

I scrambled after her, hurrying to catch up. When I did, I tugged on her jacket.

“What do you think?”

“Well, when someone feels such a strong tie to a person they’ve just met, it could mean…” Her voice trailed away as she looked at me with a question in her eyes. “Have we ever discussed reincarnation?”

The hotel lobby was elegant. Muted light reflected off soft neutral walls, and pots of large green plants placed around the room offered a sharp contrast. After entering, we turned left to the reception desk. Abby handled the desk clerk, while I stood silent, still turning over the reincarnation thing in my head.

What I knew about it would fill one page in a very small notebook. I did understand the concept that we all had lessons to learn, and according to some, we kept going around lifetime after lifetime until those lessons were mastered.

A nudge to my side brought my thoughts back to the present, and I followed Abby over to the gorgeous Art Deco elevator. Once inside, I watched the floors zip by. The bell dinged and the doors slid smoothly open. Exiting, we got our bearings and proceeded down the carpeted hall to our adjoining rooms.

Abby glanced over her shoulder. “You’re very quiet. Did I upset you?”

“No,” I muttered, pulling my small suitcase behind me. “If you’re right about reincarnation, it’s just one more thread leading nowhere.”

At the door to my room, Abby released her suitcase and placed her hands on my shoulders. “We’ll talk later, but
let’s eat first. I’ll call Arthur, then we’ll find a restaurant. Okay?”

“Fine,” I mumbled, giving her a peck on the cheek.

My room matched the elegance of the lobby. A king-size bed, piled with pillows, sat along one wall; on the other wall, a large TV armoire with drawers, and a small desk next to the armoire. All the furniture was made of a dark, rich wood. A comfy chair, with a small table nearby, was placed by the long window.

After stowing my suitcase in the closet and my carry-on in the tiled bathroom, I crossed the room to the window. Holding back the sheer curtain, I stared out over the city.

The sky held no stars, their twinkle blocked by the lights of the city. I found it hard to imagine living in a place with no stars. Looking down, I watched the busy city street and pondered Abby’s theory.

A person coming back again and again? My first reaction was:
How crazy is that?

Wait a second—how crazy is believing in magick, premonitions, runes, even fairies? Scratch the fairies—the jury’s still out on that one.

I shifted my weight uncomfortably. My reaction to reincarnation was disturbingly similar to that of the skeptics I’d been dealing with all of my life. My former fiancé, who dumped me when he learned of my peculiar heritage; Henry Comacho, a cop and my onetime nemesis who later became a friend; Bill.

My lips twisted in a wry grin. Ethan. He’d accepted my gift from the start. Funny, considering ninety percent of our conversations ended in an argument, that he’d never questioned my gift. Maybe that was why his lack of confidence now bothered me. I wondered where he was. He hadn’t called since our heated discussion on Monday—not unusual—but since he seemed to stay in contact with Bill, he surely knew about the potshots in my backyard. He hadn’t called to lecture me.

Hearing Abby’s knock, I dropped the curtain and moved away from the window.

“How’s Arthur?” I asked, swinging the door wide.

“Fine.” Her lips lifted in a shy smile. “He has my keys, so he stopped by your house and checked on things.”

“The animals were okay, weren’t they?”

“Yes, they came scampering through the doggy door when they heard Arthur in the house.” She chuckled. “He wondered if you knew you’d left your TV on.”

“Did you explain I do that for Lady, Queenie, and T.P.? He didn’t turn it off, did he?”

“Yes, I explained, and no, he left it on.” She chuckled again, crossing to the chair and sitting. “He said he never knew animals enjoyed watching TV.”

“They like watching Animal Planet, and
Orangutan Island
is their favorite show,” I replied defensively. “Where would you like to eat?”

Abby tilted her head and studied me. “You look a little worn-out, dear. What about room ser vice?”

“Hmm.” I tapped my chin thoughtfully. “Hot food and the beverage of my choice delivered to my door? Requiring no effort on my part?” I gave her a cheeky grin. “Duh—yeah.”

With a smile, Abby reached for the menu and skimmed it. “What would you like?”

I walked to the closet, opened the door, and unzipped my suitcase. “Just a hamburger and fries would be good,” I said, kicking off my loafers, then pulling out my University of Iowa T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. Entering the tiled bathroom, I stripped off my jeans and shirt while Abby placed our order.

“What else did Arthur have to say?” I called out, making small talk as I wiggled into my T-shirt.

“Not much. He mentioned the fund-raiser again,” she replied nonchalantly.

I stuck my head out the bathroom door. “What fund-raiser?”

“The one for Chuck Krause…at the winery.”

“Monday night?” I asked, pulling on my sweatpants.

“Yes.” I heard the disapproval in Abby’s voice. “I think it was in poor taste to hold it there after what happened the day before.”

“Did Krause mention the shooting?”

“Of course,” she commented sarcastically. “Arthur said he used it to segue into his policies on crime.”

After folding my jeans and shirt, I combed my hair into a ponytail with my fingers and held it in place with a contraband scrunchie, one I’d saved from Darci’s purge. “Did you meet Krause Sunday?”

“Briefly. Arthur was impressed with what Krause had to say about small business development, which is why he went to the fund-raiser.”

Turning on the water, I washed my face. “Did Krause mention undocumented workers Monday night?” I called out over the running water.

“Undocumented workers?”

“Yeah, illegal immigrants.”

“Arthur didn’t mention it. Why?”

Turning off the water, I left the bathroom and joined Abby. I plopped on the bed, stretched out on my stomach and propped myself up on my elbows. “The other day on the phone, Claire went off on a tear about his policies. In her opinion, he’s way too conservative.”

Abby gave her head a little shake. “Ahh, that’s Claire for you. It’s a difficult situation and passions run high on both sides.”

“What do you think?” I asked, cupping my face with my hand.

“I don’t know…” She paused. “These people are escaping deplorable conditions in their own countries with the hope of a better life here.” Her eyes traveled to the window and she stared at the lights of the city. “When I was a child, times were hard, but I never went to bed hungry, I never wor
ried about death squads knocking on our door in the middle of the night. We had food and we were safe.” She sat back in the chair. “But to answer your question—I think this is a very complicated situation and that there are no easy answers.”

Rolling onto my back, I scooted up in the bed and fluffed the pillows behind me. Leaning back, I twisted the hem of my T-shirt. “Abby, about this reincarnation? You really think I might have known Stephen in a past life?”

My mind leapt ahead.
What if she says yes, and what if Stephen wound up being the reincarnation of the colonel?
In my dreams, the colonel was the only man Madeleine had a connection with so far. There was the missing lover, but he hadn’t popped up yet.
Maybe Madeleine sold out and became Vogel’s mistress? Yuck.
The thought gave me the creepy-crawlies.

“The idea of reincarnation troubles you, doesn’t it?” Abby asked, noticing my expression.

“Yeah…it does. It seems to me this lifetime is complicated enough without worrying about what happened in a past life.” I released the hem of my shirt.

Abby crossed her legs and leaned forward. “But you see, some of the problems we have now have their roots in our past lives.” She sat back and steepled her fingers. “Maybe you and Stephen have some unfinished business that’s carried over into this life, and now’s the time to resolve it.”

“Darci thinks he’s my soul mate and that’s why I’ve had the dreams.”

“Maybe, or it could be, in the end, he’s not good for you and your challenge is to walk away from him in this lifetime. Something you might not have done in your last one.”

Ugh, maybe Stephen was Vogel.

I tapped the back of my head against the headboard. “This is frustrating. The dreams aren’t exactly forthcoming with a lot of information. How am I going to know what to do? How do I make sure I meet the challenge?”

Abby rose and crossed the small space between the bed and the chair. Sitting next to me, she took my hand in both of hers. “I’m afraid it’s going to require something that’s always been hard for you—surrender control and trust that your gift will lead you to your answers.” Rubbing my hand, she looked thoughtful. “In the end, child, maybe that’s the real lesson.”

Stretching, I lifted my arms over my head. I’d slept deeply that night, and for a second I didn’t remember where I was.

Oh, yeah—St. Louis—tracking down Karen Burns.

I felt rested—the dreams hadn’t troubled me last night. Could talking about them with Abby have ended them? Was it really that simple? That all I needed to do was trust myself and have faith? Wouldn’t that be a relief? I could concentrate on learning why Stephen had been shot.

Throwing back the covers, I jumped out of bed. In the bathroom, I quickly showered, dressed, and threw on some makeup. Forty-five minutes later I stood knocking at Abby’s door, ready to hunt down Karen.

“Ready?” I asked when Abby opened her door.

She was dressed in tan linen slacks and a light tunic. A floral scarf was held in place around the neckline by one of her favorite brooches. Today, she wore her hair coiled in a neat bun at the nape of her neck. She looked cool and elegant.

I glanced down at my red knit top, jeans, and loafers. Next to her, I felt sloppy.
Maybe I should pay more attention to Darci?

“You look nice, dear,” Abby said, as if reading my mind. “Are you ready for breakfast?”

I shifted my weight on one foot. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to drive to Karen Burns’s apartment first. If we arrive early enough, we might catch her.”

Digging out her keys, Abby closed the door and linked her arm with mine. “Whatever you want, dear. Let’s go.”

Once in the car, Abby punched the address I’d given her for Karen’s apartment into the GPS, and we were on our way. A short time later we pulled into the parking lot of Karen’s apartment building, not far from Laclede’s Landing.

The building was obviously old, but had been restored. Birds chirped in the large maple trees shading the entrance, while hydrangea bushes bloomed on each side. The atmosphere was peaceful and quiet this early in the morning.

Abby and I entered the cool foyer, where I found the buzzer to Karen’s apartment and pushed it.

No answer.

I pressed the button again, leaving my finger on it a little longer this time.

Still no answer.

Fisting a hand on my hip, I hit the button again and again.

Abby finally reached out and touched my wrist. “I don’t think she’s home.”

Great—as Nancy Drew, I was bombing out.

“Now what?” Abby asked as a woman, dressed in a jogging suit, leading a large boxer on a leash, entered the foyer.

“Maybe Karen is working at Stephen’s condo?” I said hopefully.

The woman with the boxer paused and glanced at me over her shoulder. “I’m sorry…I don’t mean to be eavesdropping, but are you looking for Karen Burns?”

I know my face lit up. “Yes,” I replied excitedly. “Do you know her?”

“Yes, I live in the apartment across the hall. Are you a friend of hers?”

Time to tell another lie. “Yes, I’m an old classmate from out of town—”

Abby gave me a poke in my side.

Ignoring her, I continued. “I’ve been trying to reach her.”

The women’s face reflected her alarm. “Oh, dear,” she said softly. “You don’t know, then?”

I felt my excitement fade, and a sense of dread replaced it. “Know what?”

“Karen was mugged last night. She’s in Lasalle Medical Plaza.”