Any Witch Way You Can (14 page)

Chief Terry now turned to me with a new warning on his lips. “Don’t get involved in this. It’s too dangerous.”

“Why would I get involved?”

“Just . . . just stay away from Landon. He’s bad news.”

“Why would I be hanging around with Landon?”

Chief Terry looked at me knowingly. I felt myself blushing under his gaze. “I’m not into Landon,” I said hurriedly.

“See it stays that way.”

Chief Terry flashed his badge and led me into corn maze. I cast a look back in Landon’s direction and found him watching me. The gaze he cast on me was reflective and thoughtful. Could he really be dealing meth? Something told me there was more to this story. Either Chief Terry didn’t know everything, or he was holding something back. It could be both of those scenarios, too. If I had to guess, that was the most likely option.

I followed Chief Terry into the maze. He seemed to know where he was going. About five minutes in, he took a hard left and led me to a central clearing. There were about ten more police officers steadily working here.

I had to catch my breath when I saw the body strung up on another cross in the center of the clearing.

“Another cross,” I murmured.

“Yeah.”

The girl had long blonde hair, but the ends of it seemed to be dyed another color. I realized, all too quickly, that they weren’t dyed another color. They were stained with blood.

I couldn’t see her face, because there was another garish mask on the body. I turned to Chief Terry in surprise. “I thought they would have taken the body by now.”

“They’re still getting photos,” he said. “They’ll cut her down shortly.”

I looked around the clearing dubiously. I still wasn’t sure exactly why I was here. Chief Terry watched me scan the area.

“Do you see anything?”

I was surprised by the question. “Like what?”

“I don’t know, something that maybe we missed.” Chief Terry was being evasive again.

“Like what?” I prodded him again.

“I don’t know,” Chief Terry sighed. “Just look around.”

I didn’t know what he expected me to find, but I took a couple of tentative steps into the clearing. It had been a few years since I’d visited the Johnson maze, but it looked exactly like I remembered it.

Unlike the other mazes in the area, the Johnson maze was wasn’t designed to scare, just to entertain. It was billed as a family maze and not a haunted maze. I didn’t know if it would ever be able to recover the innocence it used to boast. It would probably be forever stained – like poor Sophie Maxwell’s golden hair.

As I carefully edged around the clearing – making sure to avoid getting in the way of any of the officers – I couldn’t help but feel like I was being suffocated. The fact that I was out in the open air made the sensation all the more baffling.

Suddenly, I felt a pair of eyes on me. I swung around, expecting to find a police officer standing behind me. Instead, a few feet away, I saw a teenage girl standing in the corner and watching the police hurry from place to place busily.

No one else noticed her. Not her long blonde hair. Not her timid blue eyes. Not her pink fuzzy sweater – which made her stand out like a rose in a field of daisies. They didn’t notice her, of course, because I was the only one that could see her.

It was Sophie Maxwell. Well, her ghost, at least.

I stood stock still as I watched Sophie. She didn’t look confused. Just resigned. Her gaze followed different officers as they buzzed about – but it always returned to her body. Her broken and bloody body. Her body, which had been erected as a garish monument to hate, and would never be whole again. She would never feel the warmth of the sun. Or laugh with her friends. Or flirt with whatever boy caught her attention.

She was lost, but not gone.

Sophie lifted her sad eyes up and saw me staring at her. She swung around, to see if someone was standing behind her, but found only empty space.

“Can you see me?” She asked tentatively.

I didn’t answer her. I only nodded.

“I’m dead, aren’t I?”

I nodded again.

“Why won’t you talk to me?”

How could I explain that I couldn’t? How do you tell a dead girl that saving face is more important than helping her?

I glanced around the corn maze and found Chief Terry watching me speculatively.

“There’s nothing here,” I said to him hollowly.

He nodded. I knew he didn’t believe me, though. He started to head back out of the maze and I followed. I turned back to Sophie for a second and surreptitiously motioned for her to follow. Thankfully, she recognized the gesture and did just that.

“I’ll take you back home,” Chief Terry sighed heavily. Luckily he didn’t see me smile warmly – and encouragingly – at Sophie. She followed us mutely.

Landon was still waiting outside of the corn maze when we exited. He made a step towards me, but Chief Terry draped a protective arm around my shoulders and glared at Landon. I couldn’t really deal with him now, anyway. I had to get Sophie back to the guesthouse so I could talk to her.

I climbed into Chief Terry’s cruiser. Sophie was already in the backseat. Chief Terry had paused long enough to say something to one of the officers that approached him.

“I can’t talk to you here,” I whispered to Sophie. “Just ride with us back to my place, and when he’s gone, we’ll talk.”

Sophie nodded mutely. I think she was just glad she would have a chance to talk to someone – to anyone.

The ride back home was as quiet as the ride to the corn maze had been. I felt a desperate need to break the silence.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help,” I finally said.

Chief Terry shrugged. “I don’t know what I expected you to do. Maybe you’ll be able to figure something out later . . . after some time.”

“Maybe,” I agreed.

“Just do what you can.”

When we got to the guesthouse, Chief Terry didn’t get out of the car. I opened the door, but paused before I climbing out. Sophie was already waiting for me on the lawn.

“You should go up to the inn,” I said gently. “I know a gaggle of women that would be willing to feed you.”

Chief Terry smiled, despite himself. “Maybe I will.”

“It’s blueberry pancakes day,” I said as I climbed out of the car. One final enticement couldn’t hurt.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to miss blueberry pancakes,” Chief Terry said heavily.

I left him knowing that he would end up at the inn. I was thankful they would take care of him. He needed a little pampering. I didn’t know how much pampering three women fighting over him would be, but at least it would be a distraction.

When he was gone, I turned to Sophie. “Come inside. I have some people I want you to meet.”

Fifteen

I led Sophie into the guesthouse. She was understandably nervous – what with the brutal death and being strung up in a cornfield and all.

“It will be alright,” I promised her.

“What else could go wrong, right?” The laugh Sophie let loose was hollow. At least she wasn’t dwelling on her predicament, though. If I came back as a ghost, I’d be bitching like nobody’s business.

Clove and Thistle were waiting for me anxiously in the living room. “Well?”

I nodded grimly. “Another murder. Another ghost.”

“Can they see me, too?” Sophie seemed intrigued.

“They can’t see you. We’ve found that, if I’m talking to you for awhile, they’ll eventually be able to hear you.”

“You talk to a lot of ghosts?”

“I’ve met my fair share,” I admitted ruefully.

“Why can you see and me and no one else can?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer the question. I wouldn’t have to, though. Shane did the honors for me.

“They’re witches,” he said simply.

Sophie seemed surprised when she saw him. “He’s a ghost, too.” Thankfully she wasn’t focusing on the witch admission.

“He is.”

Thistle and Clove were still sitting quietly. Apparently the supernatural hearing aid hadn’t kicked in yet. I hoped it happened soon.

“This is Shane,” I introduced the duo. “Shane, this is Sophie.”

“Did the same people that killed me kill her?” Shane asked.

“Yes.”

Sophie looked surprised. “You’re the dead boy the police were talking about?”

“Yeah. That’s me. Saint Shane of the Corn Stalks.”

Teenage humor baffles me sometimes. Other times, the levity can be welcome. I laughed despite the surreal nature of the situation.

“You’re not a saint,” Thistle grumbled. “You’re far from a saint.”

I couldn’t help but smile as I saw Shane and Sophie swap shy grins nervously. Maybe the urge to flirt doesn’t die when your body does? At least they had each other now.

I brought Clove and Thistle up to speed, including a brief detour about the meth trade in the area. They seemed as surprised as I was when I first heard about it.

“You’re kidding? That’s unbelievable.”

“Drugs aren’t just a city thing,” I chided Thistle, using Chief Terry’s line to my benefit.

“I know that,” she said dubiously. “I just can’t see how it would be profitable here. There are not enough people. Plus, this is a closed community. How do they expect to get away with it?”

“Maybe that’s how Chief Terry knows?” Clove said helpfully.

She could have a point. “That’s not something you’re going to be able to hide very long,” I agreed.

“They probably just think we’re a bunch of hicks that are too stupid to figure it out,” Thistle said.

“Probably,” I agreed. Suddenly I remembered the other part of the conversation Chief Terry and I had shared. “Hey, by the way, did you know that our moms used to have a pot field behind the herb garden?”

“No way!”

“Get out!”

“Chief Terry told me. He said he saw it.”

“And he never busted them?”

“That’s probably when they started feeding him three times a week.”

“I thought that was because of the Aunt Tillie situation,” Thistle mused. “It makes sense, though, they always did like to dote on him.”

“I sent him up to the inn for breakfast,” I admitted. “I figured it couldn’t hurt his ego to have them fighting over him. He’s feeling pretty low about the state taking over the investigation.”

“I hope he doesn’t tell them he told you,” Clove said mischievously. “I can’t wait to ask them about their little side endeavor – and I don’t want them to have time to think up a lie.”

“This is all fascinating,” Sophie broke in. “I’m sure the fate of the world rests on whether or not your family used to grow pot in the middle of the woods. If you haven’t forgotten, though, you’ve got two dead people in your living room.”

I turned to Sophie in surprise. She’d seemed so meek at first. I guess she was getting more comfortable in her current situation. Her real personality was coming out to play.

I noticed that Shane was mirroring her disdainful stance – hands on hips – a few feet behind her. I think his crush on Thistle was a thing of memory. She’d probably be relieved.

“Sorry,” I apologized quickly. “I just wanted to tell them before I forgot.”

“Yes, well, your family hijinks are clearly more important than my recent death.” There it was. The typical teenage narcissism. One of the many reasons I was wary about ever having children.

“Hey! Just try to calm down,” Thistle ordered the voices that were invading the guesthouse. “We’re here to help you. We’re not your slaves, though.”

That’s a good way to approach the situation, I thought sarcastically. Shame the ghosts. This should turn out well.

I saw Sophie’s bottom lip start to quiver. Could ghosts cry? I couldn’t see any tears. I got the feeling this was a move she had perfected through life to manipulate her parents. “They can’t see you,” I reminded her.

Sophie’s face immediately went back to the way it had been before. I’d been right. “I forgot,” she said finally. “That doesn’t change the fact that we’re the important thing here, not your family’s drug problems.”

“We don’t have drug problems,” Clove grumbled.

“I say we threaten to put them in rehab,” Thistle suggested. She was as enamored with the new information as I was.

I could see that both Shane and Sophie were starting to get irritated, though, so I shifted my attention back to them.

“What’s the last thing you remember, Sophie?”

Sophie considered the question for a second. “I was shopping.”

“At the mall in Traverse City?”

“Yes.”

“That’s the same place I was taken from,” Shane said suddenly.

Sophie looked surprised. “You lived in Traverse City?” She seemed interested.

“No, Beula.”

Sophie wrinkled her nose delicately. “Oh. That’s all farms, right?”

“So, what’s wrong with a farm?” Now Shane was looking offended.

“Nothing is wrong with farms. They’re just so . . . country.”

“What’s wrong with the country?”

“Well, it’s boring,” Sophie answered honestly.

“You were from Traverse City, not Chicago,” Shane scoffed.

“It’s still better than Beula.”

“Let’s not focus on the merits of the country versus the city right now,” Thistle interrupted them. We were masters at breaking up petty arguments, after all. “Let’s focus on what you remember.”

Sophie looked properly chastised – but Shane was still shooting small glares in her direction when he thought I wasn’t looking. Maybe his crush on Thistle would be returning, after all?

“Did you make it out to the parking lot?” I turned back to Sophie.

“Yeah. I think I was putting stuff in the trunk of the car.”

“Then what happened?”

Sophie looked like she was really concentrating for a few minutes. Whatever thought she was trying to grab on to, though, seemed to be eluding her.

“I don’t know,” she said finally.

“Did you get in the front of the car?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t remember it anyway.”

“Was this yesterday?” Clove asked.

“I don’t know, what day is it today?”

“It’s Tuesday.”

Sophie thought again. “Yeah. Yeah. It was Monday. I remember I went to the mall right after school. I wanted to get a new sweater.”

I looked at the pink, fuzzy monstrosity she was now wearing. I hoped that wasn’t it.