The Witch is Dead (20 page)

Abby silently shook her head.

Bill looked at me. “Was she resisting the trip to Cedar Rapids?”

“No, no. The last thing I heard her say—” My throat tightened, making it difficult to speak. “She was begging Abby to take her dog with them.” I cleared my throat. “Bill, she didn’t run away.”

He bowed his head.

“You warned me she might be in danger—the letters—someone was targeting her,” I insisted. “Was there any sign of a struggle at the end of the lane?”

“No.”

Defeated, I leaned back. “Youdo think she ran, don’t you?”

Bill picked at the cover of his notebook. “I don’t know.
Like I said, there isn’t a sign of a struggle, which might indicate she left of her own free will.” He wiped his head. “Or it could mean she knew the person. Or it happened so fast that she didn’t have time to put up a fight.”

A tear leaked down my face.

“I don’t want to make the wrong call, so I am treating this as a kidnapping.”

There—it was said. The word everyone had been avoiding. Kidnapped. I didn’t want Bill to think she’d run away, but somehow saying the word made it all real.

I swallowed the bile suddenly rising from my stomach.

Aunt Dot’s shoulders shook as she silently cried, while Abby sat there looking shell-shocked. How were we ever going to get through this ordeal?

Wiping the tears away, I took a deep breath and exhaled. “What happens now?”

“I’m going to post Tink’s picture and description on a website dealing with missing and exploited children.” He flipped open his notebook again. “I’ll need to know what she was wearing.”

What she was wearing? How was she dressed at the library? I tried to remember, but my brain felt like a congealed mass of nothing. I couldn’t remember. I told myself Ishould remember. Shorts—she was wearing shorts. What color? Blue. No, red with a white strip down the side. Wait a minute—that’s what she wore yesterday.

“I can’t remember,” I said in a plaintive voice.

Aunt Dot wiped her eyes. “She had on dark pink shorts with a light pink top.”

Bill scribbled in his notebook. “Anything else? Shoes? Cap?”

“A pink baseball cap and white tennis shoes,” Aunt Dot answered.

“Abby…”

She looked at Bill as if his voice was coming from far away.

“…I need a list of everyone who was at the greenhouse today. Maybe someone saw something,” he said gently. “And I’ll need a list from you, Ophelia, of everyone who might have had access to your backpack at the library.”

“I spent the day in my office. I don’t know who came in.”

“Who worked upstairs?”

“Darci and our new employee, Gert Duncan.”

He wrote their names in his notebook. “You have a number and an address for Ms. Duncan?”

“The Duncans are renting the old Blunt place, and I have her number at the library. But she’s new to the area, and she wouldn’t know if a patron lived in Summerset or if they were a stranger.”

“I’ll send one of the deputies out to talk to her anyway.”

“What can I do?”

A sad expression marked his face. “Nothing.”

“Can’t I join the search party?”

“It wouldn’t do any good, Ophelia.”

I stared at him with resignation. “You don’t think you’ll find anything, do you?”

I got my answer when he looked away.

“The best thing you can do to help is go home, in case either Tink, or the person who grabbed her, tries to contact you.” He got to his feet and watched Abby with kind eyes. “I know you’re upset, but the sooner I get that list, the better.”

Abby released Aunt Dot’s hand. As she wiped the tears from her cheeks, she lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders. Her face settled into an expression marked with steely resolve. Slapping her legs, she rose to her feet. “I’ll
make that list now. Today’s receipts should help.” She crossed to me, pulled me to my feet, and grabbed my upper arms. “Wewill find her,” she said with a shake. “You go home. Aunt Dot and I will join you later.” She glanced back at Bill. “I’m closing the greenhouse until this is over.”

Bill nodded in agreement. “That’s a good idea. Once word gets out, there’ll be curiosity seekers showing up, and maybe the media.”

“The media?” I said, startled. “Newspaper reporters?”

“Yes, and probably a TV crew, but you don’t have to talk to them. Let our office handle them.”

I groaned. Last thing I needed was a bunch of people camped out on my front lawn.

“Media attention isn’t always a bad thing, Ophelia,” Bill said. “The more people who know about Tink’s disappearance, the bigger the chance someone might step forward with a lead.”

“I suppose you’re right,” I mumbled.

I guess I didn’t care how many reporters tramped over my yard as long as their attention helped locate Tink.

“Do you need one of my men to drive you home?” Bill asked.

I shook my head. “No, I can manage.”

“Good,” he replied with satisfaction. “The next few days are going to be tough on you, but you can’t give up hope.” He settled his hat on his head. “Don’t worry—we’ll find her.”

The drive home from Abby’s seemed like the longest one in my life. No one followed, and I arrived home without incident. With heavy steps, I exited the car and walked up the steps to the porch. I unlocked the door, crossed the threshold, and let the door swing shut behind me.

Lady and T.P. came scampering toward me, anxious to get
outside. Like a robot, I walked through the house and let the dogs out into the backyard.

I wandered back to the kitchen and put out fresh food and water. From her perch on the windowsill, Queenie watched me with interest. A scratching at the back door, followed by a short bark, let me know the dogs were ready to come inside.

The animals tended and happily gobbling down their supper, I pulled out a chair and collapsed. My eyes traveled the empty room.

No rock and roll blared from the stereo in Tink’s room. No chatter relating the day’s events sounded in my ears. The silence in the house pressed down so hard, it felt like it was crushing me. The control that I’d maintained the last few hours slid away under its weight.

My head sank lower and lower, until my forehead rested on the kitchen table. Covering my head with my arms, my insides cracked. Hot tears formed a pool beneath my face.

I took a deep breath, and all the pain poured out of my soul in one ear-shattering wail.

Twenty

The phone began ringing at 7:00A.M . Throwing off the covers, I rushed to look at the caller ID. The number wasn’t familiar to me.

Did I answer or let it ring? It could be Tink, or it could be a nosy neighbor. I answered.

“Ophelia, I’m so sorry to hear about Tink.” It was Edna Walters.

“I’m sorry Edna, but Bill said to keep the line open.” With that I hit End.

Grabbing the robe from the foot of my bed, I made my way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Abby had made sure it was ready to go in the morning, so all I had to do was flip on the switch.

I waited, coffee cup in one hand, drumming my fingers with the other, for the pot to eke out at least enough for one cup. Satisfied I’d have at least a few sips, I poured the black liquid into the cup.

It had been a short night. Abby and Aunt Dot arrived late in the evening, bearing food and groceries. I shuddered as I sipped the hot coffee. The thought of braving the stares of the curious at the store made me physically ill. Right now,
thanks to them, we had enough food to last a week. By then maybe Tink would be found.

I had slept, but not much. If I remembered correctly, the last time I’d looked at my alarm clock the time had read 3:00A.M . I glanced at the phone on the kitchen counter and chewed on my bottom lip. How were we going to handle the calls? We had to answer all of them, just in case a call came from Tink or—I shuddered again—the person who held her captive.

I was so lost in my thoughts that Aunt Dot tottering into the kitchen surprised me.

She gave me a hug, and stepping back, looked me up and down. “How are you this morning? Did you sleep?”

I lifted one shoulder. “A little. Did you?”

“A little,” she said with a small grin.

“How’s Abby?”

“Ack,” Aunt Dot said with a wave of her hand as the grin fled her face. “Still blaming herself.”

“It’s not her fault.”

“Well, maybe you can convince her, because she wouldn’t listen to me.”

“Aunt Dot, you know about the family’s history. Why can’t we see each other’s future?”

“These gifts that have been handed down are sometimes hard enough to bear.” She rubbed her cast absentmindedly. “Sister thinks it’s a way our sanity is protected. A body would never know a moment’s peace if we saw all of life’s troubles. Especially when it comes to our loved ones.”

“I know you love Tink, too, but you’re a little more removed than Abby and me. Have you sensed anything?”

Aunt Dot removed the eggs and milk from the fridge with her left hand. After setting them down, she moved to the cupboard and brought out a box of pancake mix and a bowl.
Placing the bowl on the counter, she began cracking eggs into it.

I assumed she hadn’t heard me.

I repeated my question louder. “Aunt Dot, do you sense anything?”

She paused. “I heard you the first time.”

“Well? Do you?”

Placing the shells on the counter, she turned and faced me. “I was up before dawn, and I went in the backyard to find the fairies. They like Titania, you know. They’ll guard her.”

Number one—I didn’t believe in fairies, and even though I loved Aunt Dot to death, I thought she was a little addled around the edges. Two—if they did exist as she claimed, it would take more than a fairy to protect Tink from a kidnapper.

But I was desperate, and willing to listen to even the craziest of theories. “Did they tell you anything?”

“She’s not going to be hurt,” she replied, pouring milk into the bowl.

“You’re certain?” I asked, my voice skeptical.

“Yes. The one who took her sees her as a prize.”

“I don’t suppose the fairies gave you any names, did they?”

Aunt Dot picked up a whisk and beat the eggs and milk. “No, but they will keep her from harm.”

I wished with every part of me that I could believe her, but I didn’t.

“Aunt—”

The phone ringing interrupted me. I made a move to answer it, but Aunt Dot got there first.

She listened for a second. “No, I’m sorry. No comment.” Slamming the phone back on its base, she returned to the
counter. “Why don’t you take your coffee out on the patio while I make the pancakes? You’ll go crazy if you stay cooped up inside all day.”

Calling the animals, I did as she suggested.

Another nice day. The birds were singing and the air was full of the smell of flowers and fresh cut grass. Across the yard, Lady and T.P. rolled with delight in the morning dew.

How could the day be so peaceful, so beautiful? It wasn’t right. It should have been bleak and gray. As bleak and gray on the outside as I felt on the inside.

Was Aunt Dot right? Was Tink unharmed? Was she terrified? Did she know we were searching for her?

For what seemed the millionth time I wondered about the gifts our family possessed. Tink wasn’t my biological child, but I loved her as much as if she were. And don’t all mothers feel a bond with their child? If I added to the bond that, according to Abby, I was a talented psychic, then why didn’t I have a sense of where and how Tink was?

Because you haven’t tried, said a voice inside my head.

A new thought occurred to me. What if Abby, Aunt Dot, and I joined our energy together and tried to reach out and touch Tink with our minds? To comfort her, to protect her. Maybe, if we were successful, we might learn who held her and why. We could use Abby’s books—the journals that had been written by the women in our family and handed down generation to generation—to help us. Surely one contained a spell of protection. We could do the ceremony in Abby’s summerhouse.

The idea was worth a shot. At least I’d be doing something instead of waiting helplessly for the phone to ring.

The back door slammed shut, and I twisted in my chair, expecting to see Abby.

Gert Duncan.

“I hope you don’t mind—I called Claire for your address. I wanted to stop by and see how you were faring. I don’t mean to intrude,” Gert said, toying with her pendant.

“It’s okay.” I pointed to the empty lawn chair. “Have a seat.”

“I wanted to tell you not to worry about the library. I spoke with Claire last night, and we’ll manage.”

I didn’t want to ruin her thoughtfulness by telling her that with Tink gone, not once had the library crossed my mind in the past few hours.

“Thanks, Gert. I’m sure it will be in good hands,” I replied a little tersely.

Gert leaned forward, her eyes scanning my face. “Howare you?”