Charmed to death: an Ophelia and Abby mystery (12 page)

Then swiftly, without warning, it coiled around me and squeezed, like a snake. And with every breath, every time I exhaled, it squeezed a little harder. I tried to take a deeper breath, but I couldn't seem to pull enough air into my lungs. I started to feel light headed, and little dark dots floated in my peripheral vision.

Great, I'm going to pass out on the road. And in the distance, I heard a car approaching. Gee, I hope they don't run over me.

But as the car got closer, the squeezing eased and stopped. I sucked in a great gulp of air and the dots went away. I recognized the car. It belonged to Sheriff Bill Wilson. Kyle must've called him from the manager's trailer.

The sheriff's car rolled to a stop and Bill and his deputy, Alan Bauer, got out. I watched as Abby walked over to them and said something. Bill nodded and leaned back against the door, crossing his arms across his chest. Alan stood next to him with his hands in his pockets. Abby walked back to the group.

Well, Bill's presence ought to make Harley think twice about starting trouble again.

I turned around and stared at the ditch. It was deep and full of dead weeds. Did I want to find out what was down there? Find out what was causing the strange pulsing? Nah, probably not. I bet all I'd find would be a bunch of rotten garbage someone dumped. Rotten garbage sending out negative vibes, that's it. I bet there'd be poison ivy down there too.

I started to walk away, but the pulsing began again. And with the same rhythm—
tadum, ta dum
—the rhythm of a heart beating. It reminded me of what I'd felt at Abby's meeting, the energy that had battered against my defenses. But this time it didn't pummel me.

Instead, the pulsing tugged and pulled at me as it had a few moments ago, compelling me toward the bottom of the ditch, toward the energy's source. I had no choice but to follow.

The shoulder was soft with the loose gravel and I sidestepped off the road to avoid sliding down the slope. At the bottom, I picked up a stick and swung it from side to side to clear the weeds out of my way.

Phew, it smells worse than rotten eggs down here
, I thought. The smell confirmed my original suspicion. All I'd find down here would be a big nasty pile of garbage!

Still swinging my stick, I took two more steps while I scanned the ground in front of me. Nope, nothing here. I can go now. Then my stick hit something solid. I moved the weeds to the side. Ewww, a dead hog. My stick had hit one of the legs sticking out from the bloated body.

Yuck.

I scrambled to get away from it, and in my haste, tripped over my own feet. Facedown in the weeds, I started to pull my knees up and get to my feet when I saw it. It was a piece of dirty blue cloth sticking out of the dirt in front of my nose.

Bamm
, I was slammed back down, and my knees collapsed. While I lay there, spread-eagle, in the dirt, something held me down. My face ground into the soil and weeds poked at my cheeks, at my stomach through my thin shirt. The pulsing squeezed again—harder, tighter, faster.
Ta dum, ta dum, ta dum
. I couldn't breathe and the dots came back. Is this what would've happened at the meeting if I hadn't been able to stop the energy getting past my wall? I tried to breathe, to concentrate on building the wall again, but I wasn't strong enough. The dots danced closer and closer together till they blurred into one big black blob.

Behind my closed eyelids, a pinpoint of white light shone in the center of the blob. It spread wider and wider until a vision unfolded before my eyes.

An old man, dressed in overalls and a blue work shirt, knelt in his yard, and in the background, I heard the angry clucking of chickens. But I couldn't see the old man's face clearly; all I saw were the beads of nervous sweat covering his bald head. And I felt his fear.

Behind him stood a man with a knife. His face was hidden by the dark red aura swirling around him in a vortex. He was yelling, but I couldn't hear the words over the sound of the chickens. As he yelled, he poked the old man with the point of the knife. Each time he did, the old man's fear increased. Suddenly the old man grasped his chest with both hands and fell forward, facedown in the dirt. Dead.

Once deprived of his prey, the man's anger exploded and his aura reached out and covered the old man on the ground. Through the haze, I saw his foot swiftly kick the old man's body. Kneeling, the man rolled the body over and, with angry slices, carved something deep into the old man's forehead.

When the body was faceup, I struggled to see the old man's face through the mist, but it blurred his face.

With a grunt, the man rolled the body facedown again and left. Only moments later, he returned carrying a bottle. Shaking the bottle back and forth, he emptied the contents on the body. The sudden flare of a match glowed in the mist and I watched the flaming match arc through the mist and land on the old man.

The chickens quieted and the mist receded. The body, lying still on the ground, burst into flames.

I gasped, drawing air into my tight lungs. When I did, the picture in my head faded and, along with it, the pulsing. Sickened, I took another deep breath and rolled over onto my back.

Staring up at the clear sky, I knew I'd found the source of the strange pulsing. I recognized the piece of blue cloth sticking out of the dirt only inches from my head. The cloth was the same material as the old man's shirt in my vision.

Crap! I'd found another dead body.

Chapter Thirteen

I crawled up the slope of the ditch until I reached the top. Once there, I stood, but my knees felt shaky. Taking one wobbly step onto the road, my eyes searched the crowd for Bill. He was still standing by his car. I tottered over to where he stood.

"Jeez, Ophelia. Did you fall down or what? It looks as though you've been rolling in weeds," he said, looking me over.

"Yeah—something like that. Uhh—I think there's something you better take a look at," I said, waving my hand toward the ditch.

"What?"

"Something. Come on, I'll show you," I said, tugging on Bill's sleeve.

He glanced at Alan and shrugged. "Okay."

He followed me over to the side of the road. "What's this about?"

I pointed to the bottom of the ditch. "There. Do you see it?"

He scanned the weeds and frowned. "God, it stinks over here. Smells as if something's dead."

"There is. There's a dead hog lying at the bottom."

Turning to look at me, he raised one eyebrow. "That's what you wanted to show me? A dead hog?"

"Ummm. No. Something else."

I frowned and stared at the ditch.
Dang, how do I explain this one? How do I tell him I'm sure there's a dead body buried near the hog? Without telling him how I know
?

"What?" he asked, watching me.

"Well, near the hog, there's a piece of material sticking out of the dirt. And it looks as if something's buried there."

"What kind of something?"

"I don't know," I said, shaking my head. "But I thought I'd better ask you to check it out."

Bill studied my face. "All right. Where is it?"

"There," I said, pointing again. "Do you see where the ground's been disturbed?"

"Yeah. You stay here."

Bill followed the same path I had as he made his way down the slope. At the bottom he crouched down and, picking up a stick, scratched at the dirt near the piece of material. He stopped, dropped the stick, and shook his head. Over his shoulder, he called to me.

"Ophelia, go get Alan," Bill said in a flat voice.

I got Alan and brought him over to where Bill still crouched at the bottom of the ditch. We watched while Bill stood and made his way back up the slope, careful to stay in the same path as before.

"Alan, go back to the car and call the medical examiner's office in Des Moines and the DCI. We've got a body buried down there."

Alan's mouth dropped open and his eyes popped wide. Snapping his mouth shut, he said, "Yeah, yeah, sure thing, Bill." He pivoted and scurried away.

"And Alan," Bill called out, "use the bullhorn to tell everyone to go back to their cars. Go from car to car and take everyone's name. I want a list of everyone here."

"Yes, sir," Alan said and took off at a run.

I started to inch away, but Bill noticed and stopped me.

"Wait, Ophelia. You and I need to talk."

Crap. Here it comes.

"Why were you in the bottom of the ditch?"

"I thought I saw something."

"What?"

"The dead hog?"

"How did you see the hog from the road? I couldn't."

"I smelled it?"

Jeez, I'm making a mess of this.

"Then what?"

"I went down to investigate. Finding it startled me and I started to run, but I tripped and fell. That's when I saw the piece of material. I came and got you. See. Simple." I lifted a shoulder.

"Right. Simple. Except for one thing." He drew a handkerchief from his pocket, took off his hat, and mopped his bald head with the handkerchief. "You seem to be developing a real talent for finding dead people, Ophelia. This is the second body you've found in less than six months."

He stuck the handkerchief back in his pocket and settled his hat back on his head. While pulling the bill low on his forehead, his eyes drilled into mine. "Do us both a favor. Don't find any more," he said sternly and walked away.

Abby and I sat in the van, not speaking, while we waited until Alan gave us permission to go. While I sat there, I watched the road. Everyone, except Ned, Alan, and Bill, were in their cars. The three men stood near the edge of the ditch, talking. And they kept glancing at
me
.

Ned gave his head a quick shake and began to walk away. Bill reached out and grabbed Ned's arm, but Ned twisted away from him and kept walking. He marched down the road and up to the van.

When I rolled down the window, Ned leaned against the van and stuck his head in the window.

"Are you okay?"

"Been better," I said and wrinkled my nose against the sudden smell from the hog lot that filled the van. "How much longer before we can go home?"

Ned looked over his shoulder. "It should be soon. Bill's going over the list of names Alan made. When he's sure Alan didn't miss anyone, he'll let everyone go."

"Good," I said, closing my eyes.

"Is there anything I can do?" Ned asked, his voice concerned.

I opened my eyes and looked at him. "No, but thanks for asking." A shaky sigh escaped. "My mind doesn't seem to be functioning too well. Right now, I want to go home."

"Do you want me to come over and keep you company?"

"Nice of you to offer, but I think I'd be better off alone."

Ned reached in the van and brushed a strand of hair back from my face. "I'll call you tomorrow. Take care, okay?"

"I will," I said and rolled up the window.

Ned walked back to where Bill and Alan stood, but before he reached them, a large SUV pulled to a stop near Bill and Alan. The medical examiner had arrived.

And right behind it, another nondescript car pulled in. The car door swung open and out stepped Henry Comacho.

I felt like pounding my head on the dashboard. I didn't need the runes to tell me what Comacho's appearance meant. I wondered how long it would take him to hunt me down. When the time came, I'd better be prepared.

Before I could point Comacho out to Abby, Alan stepped into the middle of the road and made a
Move along
motion to the first car. The car slowly pulled away and the rest of the vehicles followed.

"You're sure you're okay?" Abby asked, her eyes fixed on the road ahead.

"Yeah," I answered in a low voice.

"You're lying."

"You're right, I am." I took a big breath and held it for a second before I spoke again. "I'm not okay. I'm scared spitless. The second car belonged to Henry Comacho. I'm sure you'll get to meet him," I said, watching out the window.

"Meeting him will be something to look forward to, won't it?"

"Right. About as much as a root canal." I shifted in the seat and stared at her. "Did you know I'd find the body?"

"No," she said, stealing a look at me.

With her eyes back on the road, her hands tightened on the steering wheel. "No, I didn't, didn't even have a sense of unease about today. That worries me. Usually, I have
some
feeling of danger, but not today. I don't understand it."

"You said last night you saw me alone. Maybe this is some cosmic test for me?" I snorted. "If it is, I wish it were a test that didn't involve finding dead bodies."

Abby's eyes narrowed. "It's not a test. And I'm wasting time worrying about why I can't see more than I do. I need to focus on helping you. Would you tell me what you saw?"

I scrubbed my face with my hands. This is the part I hated: reliving what I saw. It was gory enough seeing the murder in my head the first time; now I had to dissect the awful scene.

I winced at the memory. "I saw the body of an old man set on fire."

"Was he alive when the killer set him on fire?"

"No, thank God. I think he had a heart attack or something," I said, staring out the window. Looking back at Abby, I reached out and touched her arm. "I felt his fear, Abby. I smelled it."

"Did you recognize him?"

"No," I said, dropping my hand. "The killer's aura surrounded them, making it difficult to recognize anything."

I stared out the window again. What a great way to learn a new psychic skill. Watch a murder, see an aura. The thought made bile rise in my throat and I coughed to clear it.

"How was he dressed?"

"I don't know: Overalls, all the old men around here wear them."

Abby narrowed her eyes while she thought. "Do you remember the color of his hair, his eyes?"

"He was bald."

"Again, most of the old men around here are bald. Anything else?"

"The killer carved something on the man's forehead."

"Like Brian?"

"Yup, just like Brian. This murder is the work of the same killer."

"Did you sense anything from the killer?"

"Rage, hate." I chewed the inside of my lip. "Umm—a sick sense of satisfaction. He's accomplishing some sort of mission that only he understands. In his mind he has a reason for killing. Pretty twisted, huh?"

Abby arched her eyebrow. "Obviously. The killer is sick and twisted. Did you see his face?"

"No," I said, hitting my fist on the door in frustration. "In the vision he kept his back to me the whole time."

"What was he wearing?"

"Hard to say—the mist was thick—all black. Maybe a long coat and boots."

Abby frowned. "A lot of people wear black. What about the knife? Can you describe it?"

I closed my eyes and tried to recall the vision. "The knife was shiny, curved, but not a hunting knife. It was—" With my finger, I traced a pattern in the air. "The blade was wavy." I opened my eyes. "It's not a knife, it's a dagger. And on the metal piece above the hilt, I think it's called the
guard
, the dagger had two sharp points on either side of the blade. What a nasty weapon."

Abby thought for a moment. "Did it look old?"

"No, just sharp and wicked."

"The dagger sounds unusual." She glanced at me again. "You know you're going to have to tell Bill about the dagger, don't you?"

"If I do, don't you think he might want to know how I came across that piece of information? And I can't tell him, can I?"

"I'll think of something," she said, dismissing my words with a wave of her hand. "Did you hear any sounds?"

"Squawking chickens," I said, tracing a pattern on the window with my finger.

Abby slammed on the brakes and whirled toward me.