Charmed to death: an Ophelia and Abby mystery (11 page)

"Yeah. Harley's dark. Did you ask Abby if Harley was out of town this weekend?"

"No. I'd forgotten about the guy in the bar."

"What if it was Harley? What if Harley's the Harvester?"

"Come on. Harley Walters, a killer? That's as crazy as suspecting Comacho," I scoffed.

"Who knows? Last fall would you have suspected Adam Hoffman of being a killer?"

"No."

"Exactly. You never know from the outside what's happening in someone's life." Darci squinted and stared off into space. "And Harley does kind of fit the profile. Right age, right sex, and right ethnic background. From what I know of his past, he had a rough time growing up. His father died when he was young and his mother married a man that mistreated Harley. He had several run-ins with the police when he was a kid. He's volatile, sees himself as a victim of society."

"You could say the same thing about a lot of people, Darci."

"True." She cocked her head to one side. "Wouldn't it be interesting to find out if Harley was in the area when the other murders occurred? He did drive a semitruck and traveled a lot."

"Hey, stop right there," I said, frowning. "You promised me you'd stay out of this. I don't want you snooping around Harley's. Even if the guy isn't a killer, he's mean and volatile. You stick your nose in his business and he might cut it off."

"Okay, okay. But somebody's got to find some answers."

I touched Darci's arm. "Yeah, but it doesn't have to be you. I mean it; I don't want to see you hurt. Abby said the answers will come to me. We have to trust in that."

"I said okay," she replied, her eyes not meeting mine.

I tugged on her sleeve. "You promise you won't go out to Harley's?"

"I promise," Darci answered.

"I've got to get those files done," I said, glancing at my watch again. "I'm to be at Abby's in a couple of hours."

As I walked to the stairs to go to my office in the basement, I looked over my shoulder at Darci. She was still standing at the counter, staring off into space again. I could almost see her mind working.

I wondered how long she'd wait before she showed up at Harley's.

Chapter Twelve

Clouds of dust from the gravel road hung in the air—kicked up by the caravan of cars, SUVs, and trucks. Abby slowed her van and came to a stop near the drive to the PP International farrowing buildings. The other vehicles pulled in behind her. She got out and walked down the row of cars, giving last-minute instructions.

I looked across the road and saw Ned Thomas leaning against his red Ford Escort on the other side. Ned looked good—his blue jeans hugged his lean frame and the T-shirt he wore tucked into the jeans showed a trim waist. Nope, no spare tire there. In a way he reminded me of Charles. They had the same kind of build, but Ned's eyes were green, instead of Charles's unusual shade of blue.

I stepped out of the van and leaned in across the seat to hit the cargo door release. When I turned around, I found Harley Walters looming in front of me.

"Jeez, Harley, you startled me."

The baseball cap he wore low on his forehead made it difficult to see his eyes, but I watched while a slow smile spread across his face. He enjoyed catching me off guard. I thought about Darci's suspicions. Could Harley be a killer? Surely not, but his attitude was threatening.

"Hi, Ophelia," he said, not moving an inch.

Taking a step, I made a move to go around him, but he stopped me.

"Does your grandmother think this
peaceful
demonstration's going to scare PP International?" he said and twisted his lips in a sneer.

"Gee, Harley, why don't you ask Abby yourself?" I asked, shouldering my way passed him.

He made a derisive sound and strode away, not toward Abby, but away from her. He might try to intimidate me, but I noticed he steered clear of Abby.

"Harley giving you a hard time?"

Turning my head, I saw Ned standing by the front of the van. "He's trying."

"But knowing you, you're not going to let him," Ned said, chuckling.

"I certainly don't intend to," I said, pulling the cargo door open.

Ned strolled to the back of the van and stood next to me. "How was Iowa City? Did you have a good time?"

"Yeah, it was okay. Darci probably had more fun than I did."

Ned smiled. "You expected that, didn't you?" His smile faded. "Why didn't you call me when you got home?"

"Gee, I'm sorry." I drew a pattern in the gravel with the toe of my shoe while I thought about how guilty I felt at that moment. "Too much stuff to do, unpack, check in with Claire at the library, go see Abby. I guess I should've."

Ned gave me a rueful smile. "Listen, I know we're just friends." He let out a chuckle. "Now there's a phrase every man likes using."

I looked down at the pattern I'd drawn in the gravel. "I'm sorry, Ned—"

He put a hand on my shoulder. "Would you quit apologizing? Friendship's good. I don't have a problem with it."

Relieved, I looked up at him and smiled. "I think friendship's good too, Ned."

"I'm honored you trust me enough to let me be your friend." His eyes sparkled. "Not many people can say that."

I grabbed a placard from the cargo area in the van. "Not many people
want
to say that. Believe it or not, some people think I'm difficult," I said, while I propped the placard on the bumper.

"No. Not you. Really?" he said, faking surprise.

I fisted my hand on my hip and gave him a withering look. "Ha, ha. Very funny. Here help me with these…" I paused and smiled sweetly. "Please."

Ned laughed and removed the rest of the placards from the back of the van. "Whether you know it or not, Ophelia, your rep's slipping. You're not as hard-nosed as you once were. Ever since last fall, you've changed."

"Oh yeah? Who says?" I asked defensively.

He laughed again. "You don't care for change, do you?" Ned gave me a light punch in the arm. "Don't worry about it, Slugger, you're still scary. Not many people are going to mess with you."

"Good," I replied emphatically.

Laughing and shaking his head, Ned walked away.

While he did, I watched him and thought about what I'd told Darci. It was too bad. Ned was a good man and we did have a lot in common. But all I felt when I saw him was warm friendship. I sighed. Oh well, with Ned here, at least Abby's group would make the front page of
The Courier
.

"Ahem—"

I looked over and saw Abby watching me watch Ned walk away.

"Yes?"

"I hope Ned isn't getting the wrong idea. You know he's not for you, don't you?"

"Yeah, I know. And Ned knows it too."

"Good," she said, picking up some of the stacked placards. "People in town have started pairing the two of you up, you know."

"Really?"

"Of course. You know how it is in a small town. You date someone twice and the town has you getting married."

Marriage? No way. Someday, maybe, if I met the right man. Ha, the right man? I rolled my eyes. Who in the devil would be the right man? Who could put up with—and understand—my life, my gift? Most men, including Ned, would think I was some kind of freak if they only knew what I really was.

Abby read my mind. "Let it go, Ophelia. You don't need to add that to your list. You've got enough on your mind for now."

"No kidding." I looked around at all the people getting out of their vehicles, searching for Charles, but I didn't see him.

"Is the young man you told me about here? The photographer?"

"I don't see him. Maybe he'll show up later," I said, hoisting the rest of the placards in my arms. "Come on, you'd better get started."

"Don't forget to stay on the road. We don't want to be arrested for trespassing," she said.

Abby and I walked down the road toward the buildings. The gravel crunched under the soles of the tennis shoes we both wore and the warm April sun beat down on our necks. Around us drifted the smell of rotten eggs. The hydrogen sulfide from the sewage lagoons. Yuck. How could anyone work here?

I was concentrating so hard on blocking the stench that I didn't notice it at first, but I began to pick up something else in the air. Was it another smell? No. Not a smell. More of a feeling, pulsing underneath the smell of rotten eggs. I hesitated, and, turning, looked at Abby.

"I know. I feel it too," she said. She stopped for a moment and I felt her mind reach out and probe the air.

"What is it?"

Abby squinted as her eyes scanned the landscape. "I don't know. I sense it—" she shook her head. "No, can't pick it up. Maybe it's everyone's emotions, all jumbled together, we're feeling." She resumed walking down the road.

Yeah, emotions, that's it. After all, everyone here had strong feelings about PP International and it only made sense Abby and I would pick up on them.

I spied Harley now standing in the middle of the road, right in front of the entrance to the property. Facing him was another man, Dudley Kyle. Talk about strong feelings. Even at this distance, I felt the anger flowing back and forth between the two men. Harley's dark complexion was mottled and he stood with both hands on his hips, legs spread wide. And he was right in Dudley Kyle's face.

Dudley was doing better at controlling his anger. His face wore a tight smile, but it was to mask the anger I felt rolling off him.

Abby tapped my arm. "Can you see it, Ophelia? Their anger? Concentrate."

I stared intently at both men, and instead of only feeling the anger, I saw it. Great waves of red, swirling around both men. The waves would hit one another and plume into the air.

"Wow. Yeah. I've never been able to see feelings before."

"It's their auras. I wondered if you'd eventually be able to see them." She shook her head. "We'll talk more about it later, but for now, I'd better get over there before Harley takes a poke at Kyle."

I watched Abby hurry up to Kyle and Harley. She laid a hand on Harley's arm, but he shook it off. She took a step closer to Harley and he moved toward her. I saw Harley's red aura reach out to encompass Abby. Shoving the signs at one of the demonstrators standing next to me, I took off at a run toward them. I didn't care if he did outweigh me by about a hundred pounds. If he touched Abby, I'd flatten him.

I'd almost reached her when Stumpy, oops, Arthur, stepped out of the crowd that had gathered around Abby, Kyle, and Harley. I skidded to a stop and watched him grab Harley firmly by the arm and pull him away from Abby and Kyle. Not bad. Pretty good for an old guy, I thought.

He escorted Harley to the other side of the road, never letting go of Harley's arm. He stopped, leaned in close, and started shaking his finger in Harley's face. It reminded me of when I got in trouble in second grade and Mrs. Jones would yell at me. I didn't envy Harley.

Looking back to where Abby stood, I saw Dudley Kyle had retreated inside PP International's property. He stood talking with another man. The manager of the facility, I suppose. They moved and walked away—in the direction of the manager's trailer. I watched them disappear inside.

The group that had gathered around Abby were all holding signs now and began walking back and forth in front of the drive, chanting. Crisis over.

Okay, what do I do now? Pick up a sign and join the demonstrators? No. I was better at observing. Go talk to Ned? No. He was busy photographing the group. Sticking my hands in my back pocket, I looked down the road and tried to decide what to do.

Suddenly it was almost as though someone had pushed me from behind, but I was standing alone. Turning around, I stared at the ditch on the other side. There, I felt it again. The same feeling I had when Abby and I were walking down the road. The pulsing. And it wasn't coming from the direction of the group.

I wandered toward the ditch, and as I did, the pulsing grew stronger. It seemed to rise from the bottom of the ditch like a murky mist, spilling out and over the steep slope. I felt the pulsing as it eddied and curled right above the surface of the road. Its tendrils seemed to reach out and wrap around my ankles, tugging me toward the side of the road, toward the pulsing's source. A source that lay somewhere in the bottom of that ditch.

But what? What was the source? The closer I got to the ditch, the more intense and rhythmic the pulsing became. With every step, the pulsing glided farther up my body. It moved smoothly from my ankles to my calves, up my calves to my waist. The pulsing crept higher until it drifted in a lazy circle about my chest.