The Trouble With Witches (16 page)

Darci
and I were about a hundred yards from the cabin when a figure in fatigues crashed out of the woods to our right. Surprised,
Darci
grabbed my arm.

Duane Hobbs.
His orange hair stuck up all over his head, with little pieces of wood and leaves caught in the tangles. He whipped his head from side to side, searching up and down the lane for something. Spying us, he zeroed in. "Where is she?" he yelled.

I took a deep breath and tried to stay calm.
"Who?"

"That snot-nosed kid, the one that lives with the groupies across the lake.
The one that's friends with the Indian."

Tink
, he obviously meant
Tink
. So she was a friend of Walks Quietly?
Interesting.

"Why do you want to know?"

From the corner of my eye I saw
Darci
glare at me as she gripped my arm tighter.

Duane took a step closer to us. "You know where she is?"

Simultaneously,
Darci
and I stepped back. "No, no we don't," she said, rushing into the conversation. "We don't know where she is." She shook my arm. "Do we, Ophelia?"

Ignoring her, my eyes never left Duane Hobbs. "You didn't answer my question," I said, sounding braver than I felt. "Why do you want to find her? And what will you do to her if you do?"

A nasty grin, showing yellow teeth, spread across his face. With a practiced move, he spit a stream of tobacco at our feet. "I just want to tell her to quit spying on me."

"She spies on you?"

Darci's
fingers pinched my arm.

"Yeah, she spies on me. It's not nice to spy on people. Bad things can happen."

I stepped forward, dragging
Darci
with me. "Are you threatening to harm her?"

His voice cackled with a rusty laugh.
" 'Course
not. But look what happened to that other girl." He turned back toward the woods.
"The one with the red hair.
She was spying, too," he said over his shoulder as he loped off into the brush.

"Hey, wait a second." I made a move to follow him, but
Darci
pulled me back.

"Are you crazy? You can't follow that guy—"

I shook her hand off my arm. "But he knows something about Brandi."

"He's not going to tell you anything. The guy's creepy. If you really want to find out what he knows, ask Rick to come up here and talk to him. It's safer." She shook her head in disgust. "You're so worried about keeping everyone else out of danger, but from what I see, I think you'd better start worrying about yourself."

Before I could reply,
Darci
let go of my arm and marched ahead of me to the cabin.

Since Abby's room had twin beds, she decided
Darci
would share it with her. Where Abby intended to put
Darci's
mountain of clothes, I had no idea, but hey, not my problem. I just wanted to go to bed.

I felt exhausted. So exhausted that I didn't do justice to the great meal Abby had prepared for dinner. Cold pasta salad with tiny bits of green pepper and cheese marinated in Abby's homemade dressing, hamburgers cooked on the grill, and ice cream with chocolate sauce for dessert. Instead of enjoying the meal, I fought to keep my eyes open and my head from dropping face first into my bowl of ice cream. The conversation between Abby and
Darci
flowed around me without any contribution on my part. When I finally finished my ice cream, I glanced up from the empty bowl to see them watching me.

"What?" I asked, raising my hand to my face. "Do I have chocolate sauce dripping off my chin or something?"

Abby smiled. "No, dear, I just asked you if you were tired."

Sliding the bowl away, I rested my elbows on the table. "Yes, I am. Too much has happened today, and I can't seem to process all of it."

"I'm sure you're still suffering some effects of what happened to you at the cabin across the lake," she said, rising and picking up the empty bowls.

Looking at her, I narrowed my eyes and shook my head slightly. The last thing I wanted to do right now was play interrogation with
Darci
.

Too late.
Darci's
eyes widened and she wiggled closer to the table. "What happened this morning?"

I let out a long sigh and waved her question away. "I'm not up to talking about it now—"

The ringing of the telephone interrupted me. Yes, saved by the bell. Stumbling to my feet, I rushed to the living room to answer it.

I picked up the cordless phone. "Hello."

"Hi, Ophelia," said a warm voice on the other end of the line.

"Hey Rick," I answered, and walked out onto the deck.

"I wanted to call and let you know what I've learned. The estate is still owned by the Butler family."

"Really?
The Finches are renting it?"

"I don't know. The Butler place wouldn't come cheap, so I've got a forensic accountant looking into
PSI's
finances. I want to know exactly what the connection is, and more information on how they're financing their lifestyle."

"Follow the money, right?" I asked, smiling.

Rick laughed. "You got it. So how's it going? Are you enjoying yourself?"

Looking out over the quiet lake, I thought about it. The lake was one of the most beautiful places I'd ever seen, but enjoying
myself
? Not really.

"I didn't think we were here to have a good time; I thought we were here to find Brandi."

"You're right. Have you met any of the group yet?"

"Yes.
Both Juliet and Jason, Winnie, and the girl,
Tink
."

"What were your impressions of them?"

"Juliet seems nice, devoted to the girl. Winnie is annoying.
And
Tink
?
She reminds me of a wood sprite."

"What about Jason?"

"Him, I can't quite figure out yet," I said, leaning against the wooden railing of the deck. "But there's something unusual going on."

Rick chuckled. "No kidding. That's why I wanted you and Abby to go up there."

"No, I didn't mean whatever's happening has anything to do with Brandi's disappearance." I paused. "It might. I don't know right now. As for Jason, I met him down by the lake where I'd been talking to
Tink
. I'd found her there by herself. Then he showed up."

"That's interesting. In all the time I spent up there, I never saw her," Rick replied, his voice thoughtful.

"It doesn't surprise me. I think they must keep a tight rein on her and don't let her go many places."

"I heard she's sickly, so that would explain maintaining a close watch on her."

"And I think they try, but I got the impression she likes to slip away. But I wouldn't describe her as 'sickly.' She's thin, but she doesn't strike me as someone with a chronic illness." I walked over to the corner of the deck. "Even though when I met Juliet, she alluded to that fact the kid wasn't well."

"You didn't believe her?"

"I don't know. It didn't fit with my impression." I rubbed my tired eyes with one hand. "I'm sorry. I know I'm not making much sense."

"That's okay. Don't worry about it," Rick said in a kind voice. "You've only been at the lake for about a day and a half. I was up there for weeks. But already you've accomplished more than I was able to."

I decided to tackle the question that was really bothering me.

"Did you hear of any rumors of the Finches abusing
Tink
?" I asked abruptly.

"What?" He sounded perplexed at my question.

"Abuse.
When I was with
Tink
at the lake and Jason showed up, her attitude changed completely. She'd been cocky, almost mouthy, but when he appeared, it was like a switch had been thrown. She turned into this meek, submissive little thing."

"Maybe because she got busted running off?"

"Maybe."
I blew out a breath. "I don't know. The whole experience seemed odd."

"In answer to your question—no.
I didn't hear any rumors that the girl's being abused. I think someone would've hinted at it. The community may appreciate what PSI is doing for them, but I don't think they'd turn away from a young girl being mistreated. Any abuse would've been reported."

"If they knew about it.
A lot of secrets can be hidden behind closed doors."

Rick didn't speak for a moment. "If so, I've got a feeling you'll uncover them."

Suddenly, I remembered Duane Hobbs. "Speaking of secrets—why didn't you tell me about Duane Hobbs?"

"What's there to tell?" Rick's voice carried a note of surprise. "What happened to Duane is an old story, and one that happened to a lot of soldiers. A young man goes off to war and returns seriously messed up. He's harmless." He sounded very sure of himself.

"I think he knows something about Brandi. He said she was spying on him."

"Right.
Duane thinks everyone is spying on him. Did he also mention he knows who killed JFK, where Jimmy Hoffa is buried, and what the lights over Roswell are?"

I felt my bubble burst. I'd been so convinced questioning Duane would help solve the mystery.

"So he's paranoid and believes in conspiracies?" I asked, not keeping the disappointment from my voice.

"Yeah."

"Shoot.
Another dead end?"

"Yup."

"What about Walks Quietly? Someone else you neglected to tell me about."

I could almost hear the wheels in Rick's head spin as he went over what he knew about the man. The knowledge came out in concise words.

"Lives down the lake from where you're staying—back in the woods where the lane narrows. He's also a Vietnam vet, like Duane. He served with honors. His Native American heritage is Dakota Sioux—"

I broke in before he could finish. "I thought the tribes around here were Ojibwa?"

"Most are, but there are still some Sioux in the area. Ojibwa are ancestral enemies of the Sioux, so maybe he feels he doesn't have much in common with the other Native Americans living around the area."

"Is he married? Does he have children?" I asked, breaking in again.

"I heard he has a daughter in
Nebraska
. But he keeps to himself, and I heard he isn't overly fond of white people."

"Is there a specific reason?"

"I couldn't find out. People clammed up about him, like they did when I asked them about PSI.
But for a different reason.
I got the impression they not only don't trust him, they're afraid of him, too."

Rick paused, and over the phone I heard a door open and shut, followed by the sound of a female voice calling out. Rick had company.

I thought of a long-ago kiss in front of a warm fire, and felt a tug at my heart. So much for Abby's remark about life's patterns changing. Rick wasn't for me nine months ago and he wasn't for me now. Had I really expected he'd been pining for me all these months? Not likely. Rick wasn't the kind of guy to pine.

I heard a muffled "Just a minute," as if he'd covered the phone with his hand.

His voice came out clear when he spoke again. "Sorry about that. Back to my story—some people even made a funny sign whenever I mentioned his name."

"Great," I mumbled into the receiver.

"What? I didn't hear you," Rick said. "Do you know what the funny sign might mean?"

Clearing my throat, I spoke louder. "It's protection against the evil eye."