5 Beewitched (19 page)

From my desk, I surfed for any information on Buddy Marciniak, the man Rosina had been seeing. Even with the unusual last name, several Marciniaks popped up in the Milwaukee area, but none of them were named Buddy, so that had to be a nickname. I wasn’t sure how to proceed, so I filed this task for tomorrow. The chances that he had anything to offer that would move the case forward were slim to none anyway.

I slipped back out and went home again. Seeing my new neighbor’s house empty, I was startled by the obvious. Why not check out Dy’s house?

I knew the place like the back of my hand, including which window didn’t close correctly (I’d jimmied it so I could get inside easily back when my ex-husband had lived there). Dy wouldn’t have had time to fix it, probably hadn’t even discovered it yet.

So I let myself in.

And thought,
Now what?

What would Hunter do? What would Patti do? She and I had done some B and E in the past. And what did we do? Just started snooping. So that’s what I did.

I found mostly unpacked moving boxes, stacks of them.

Starting in the kitchen, opening cupboards and drawers, I realized that any ritual supplies would be over at the farm, not here, since the witches still expected to perform a ceremony tonight.

I moved on to Dy’s bedroom, where very little had been unpacked. Just odds and ends on her nightstand.

By now, the day’s light was fading. It was darker inside the house than outside, and I really wanted to turn on a light. Instead, I picked a few things up from the nightstand and went over to a window where visibility was a little better.

Just then, I thought I heard a creak, like someone was walking over a loose floorboard. Listening hard, holding my breath, I told myself the sound was probably just the house settling in for the night.

Back to the task at hand, my prizes included a necklace with a pentacle much like the one Claudene had worn only with a black crystal in the center instead of a blue one. Another spooky creaking sound and I quickly returned everything to its original place and hustled home.

Inside the dark entryway of my own home, before I could flip on a light, something heavy and cumbersome descended on me.

After that my world went completely dark.

Nineteen

I fought hard against my assailant, but he had surprise
on his side. The attack came out of nowhere, and it came with lightning speed. And I had to assume this was a male because he was really, really strong. A sack of some sort had been shoved over my head, a thick, scratchy material that smelled strongly of farm—straw, animals—and it was tightening around my neck. Was that rope? Or piano wire?

I couldn’t see what was going on around me. I was in total darkness. My hands instinctively went up to defend my airway. I recognized the coarse texture of garden twine.

I tried to get a few fingers between it and my throat, and failed. Was this really how I was going to leave this world—strangled to death in my own home without even a hint as to who would do such a thing to me? And why?

Abandoning efforts to throw off the noose, I punched wildly, first above, then behind, scared now. My right fist made contact, but not very effectively. One arm was wrenched behind my back.

I tried to land a hard and solid kick but met with dead air.

My heart was beating a mile a minute, I couldn’t breathe, and I felt myself falling sideways, not sure if I was disoriented from lack of oxygen or was experiencing vertigo from the bag on my head. Either way, I went down.

Now he was on top of me, smashing my face against the floor, my other arm wedged under me. As hopeless as the situation had become, I couldn’t just give up. I twisted and heaved.

Hunter had offered me defense instructions recently, so that he could teach me how to get out of various holds. But the timing never seemed right. Why oh why hadn’t I made the time? Instead, here I was, facedown with my head inside a bag. I twisted and managed to free the left arm I’d fallen on, only to have it wrenched behind my back, too, in some kind of wrestling hold.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think my own sister, who is just as strong as any man, had taken me down. “Holly? Let go,” I managed to squeak, just in case it really was her instead of some death demon.

No answer.

I tried to flip my assailant off my back. His thighs clamped my sides and squeezed until I stopped struggling.

Visions of Rosina popped into my head. Had she been taken from this earth in the same way? Caught unaware in the corn maze, blinded by a hangman’s hood?

By now, I really couldn’t catch my breath between the pressure along my sides, the exertion, and the fear that I would soon feel a steel blade plunged into my back. It all contributed to some serious panic.

Then I felt something cool and wet on one of my trapped palms. My attacker shoved me on my side and slammed that hand against the wall, holding it firmly pressed. I fought, but my attacker held my hand in place. Finally he released it.

What the heck! The skin of my palm with my fingers spread wide open was stuck to the wall. I tugged. My hand, palm, and fingers didn’t budge.

Okay, so my head was still in a bag. And one of my hands was stuck on the wall. But I still had feet and a fist, which I used to lash out.

Only to have the other arm grabbed, my hand doused, and anchored as well. This guy was superhuman.

I was distracted by the thought that I was going to die soon, so it took a few minutes for me to react to a distinctly strong and obnoxious odor in the air.

I recognized that smell.

Unbelievable!

I’d just been superglued to my own wall.

So here I was, both palms flat against the wall, fingers splayed, head hooded. Helpless and horrified.

But the human spirit doesn’t give up easily. I still had feet, and although I’m no kung fu expert, I managed to land a pretty solid twisted body, bent knee, followed by a thrust kick. My foot connected with a mass of flesh. I heard a moan, felt a momentary ray of hope, and tried again, but without the same luck.

Finally my attacker spoke up, or rather gasped, giving me a small little pleasure. I hadn’t been a total pushover, had done at least a little damage. “Hold still and let me free your head.”

What? I couldn’t believe my ears! I recognized that voice.

I was going to kill Patti when I got loose.

And since I now knew where she was based on the direction of her recent utterance, I let her have another good swift kick with the side of my foot.

She grunted and let out a choking sound. Yeah, for me! Boot to the throat.

“If I were you,” I said to my pathetic excuse for a neighbor, “I’d run for a different state and never, ever dare to come back.”

She’d have a reason for a pity party when I got done with her.

Patti fumbled with the hood, releasing the twine, and drew it up and over my head. Static electricity zapped my hair, and I felt it stand out in all directions from the charge.

“I figured you wouldn’t appreciate my efforts, and that you’d get all abusive. How well I know you, and how predictable. All I care about is keeping you safe, and look how you thank me.”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I had to twist my head around as far as possible to see the woman because she was wisely keeping her distance while I bellowed, “Are you insane?”

I yanked my arms in an attempt to break free.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she said. “You’re going to rip off all the skin on your palms.”

“I’m going to rip off your head, is what I’m going to do.”

So, I admit it, I wasn’t exactly handling the situation with grace and understanding. But I’d just been scared out of my wits, and I really meant every single violent word that spewed from my mouth in the next few minutes.
Kill. Rip. Maim
. All very active verbs that defined my emotions really well.

“I’m here to save you against your will,” Patti informed me when I ran down. She was not one bit affected by my outburst. What was she? A sociopath? Where were her human feelings?

She continued while I fumed more quietly, already plotting my escape, “The only way to reverse the witch’s spell is first to isolate you from the coven. Since you’re under their control, you can’t think straight to help yourself. That’s where I come in.”

“I’m perfectly fine!”

“You’ve been associating with them, right? In fact, right this minute, you have a black witch robe in your truck.”

“I can explain that.”

“You don’t need to. You’ve been bewitched by those witches.”

I had a long list of criminal charges against Patti besides assault:

• abuse—gluing my hands to the wall certainly qualified
  
• kidnapping—holding me against my will
  
• trespassing—she hadn’t been invited into my house or given permission to search my truck
  
• breaking and entering—maybe the door wasn’t locked, but in the sane world, that is not an open invitation
  

“There’s nail polish remover in my bathroom,” I demanded. “Go get it.” My hands might as well be encased in concrete for all the movement I could muster out of them.

“I’m going to do one better,” Patti said. “Now that I’ve removed you from danger, the next step is to track down the Lutheran minister and have him perform an exorcism.”

“I am not possessed!” I shouted. “And you need a Catholic priest for that anyway.”

“Really? Oh, you’re right, thanks.”

That ought to slow her down. The closest Catholic priest was a whole lot farther away than the Lutheran minister. That would give me more time to figure out how to escape.

“Don’t try to go anywhere,” were Patti’s parting words, leaving me to consider whether or not a priest would believe her. Wouldn’t he be more likely to blow her off as the kook she is, or tell her to make an appointment? What if I was stuck (no pun intended) here for hours while she searched for the proper religious leader to perform a . . .

This was so ridiculous!

After what seemed like forever, I heard someone rattle a key in the front door lock. The door opened and closed. The only ones who had keys to the front and actually used that entrance were Grams and Mom. Mom, because even though this used to be her house, she insisted on being treated like a visitor, and according to her, guests always use the front, never the back. And Grams came in that way because she’s usually with my mother and it’s become a habit.

Oh geez, if this was my mother, I was just going to die. How in the world would I explain? Plus I’d get a blistering about how irresponsible I am and what terrible influences my friends are.

Thankfully, it was my grandmother who stepped into the room, holding her little rat-looking dog Dinky. I almost cried with relief. She saw me splayed and let out a gasp.

“What in heaven’s name happened?” She said in her surprised-but-sweet grandmother voice, putting down Dinky, who began crawling all over me.

“You can’t imagine how happy I am to see you,” I gushed, meaning Grams, not the dog. “You’re like an angel. Help me please. Patti superglued me to the wall.”

“I superglued my fingers together once,” she told me. “And your mother has had a few encounters with the stuff, but your situation takes the cake.” Was that a giggle she was trying to smother? “Let me get a picture of this. Nobody would believe it otherwise.”

“No, please.” I tried to hide my face.

The shutter clicked.

“Mom will never let me live it down if she finds out,” I told Grams.

“I didn’t think of that. I’d never put you in that position. Don’t worry. See? I deleted it.”

That was better.

Dinky, past our greeting, went off exploring.

After giving Grams the location of the nail polish remover and guiding her through the slow application process, while enlightening her as to Patti’s latest insanity, I was once again a free woman, though my hands felt raw and stiff.

Bits and pieces of drywall had crumbled where I’d attempted to break free. “And look, she’s messed up my wall,” I complained, although that was the least of my worries.

“I suppose she meant well,” Grams said, always looking for the good in every situation.

I wasn’t ready to agree. I’d like to glue Patti’s butt cheeks together, that’s how mad I was.

“Want to drive me out to Al Mason’s farm on your way home?” I asked Grams, deciding that I could hang with Hunter until he was finished and come home with him. I couldn’t drive myself, since my fingers wouldn’t bend, let alone wrap around a steering wheel.

Of course, Grams said yes.

And we were off.

Twenty