Charmed to death: an Ophelia and Abby mystery (29 page)

Chapter Thirty-Five

The next afternoon while Mother and I sprang Abby from the hospital, Arthur and Darci waited for us at Abby's. Pulling up to the house, Abby saw the banner. WELCOME HOME, ABBY! hung across the porch railing and green and yellow streamers flapped in the light breeze. Arthur and Darci, proud of their handiwork, stood at the end of the walk.

A shy look crossed Arthur's face as he opened the door and helped Abby out. I saw a similar look on Abby's.
Hmm, Abby and Arthur?Septuagenarian romance? Don't even go there, Jensen
, I thought and slammed the lid of the trunk shut.

The inside of the house had been decorated in a similar manner. Streamers, draped in long swags, ran down the length of the hallway. In the dining room, another welcome home banner had been pinned to Abby's lace curtains. The table held candles and a cake.

At the corner of the table, Edna Walters waited with her hands resting on top of her walker. When Abby entered the room, she hobbled over to her.

"Edna, the cake's lovely," Abby said in a pleasant voice.

Edna preened at the praise. "Least I could do, after all you've done for me and mine over the years," she said, her false teeth clicking. Edna slid a glance at my mother and smiled.

Now that I knew the whole story about Harley and his ex-wife, I was relieved Edna harbored no resentment toward my mother.

After we had settled, Abby in her chair in the living room, the neighbors began to arrive, each one bringing food for Abby. Casseroles, covered dishes, pies, more cakes, soon the kitchen counter was littered with offerings from her friends and neighbors.

Abby wouldn't need to cook for a month.

No one stayed long, but each friend and neighbor wanted to pay their respect to Abby. Standing in the doorway, I watched proudly while she held court. If someday I could be half the woman she was, I would consider my life well spent.

An arm slipped around my waist and I glanced at my mother standing next to me. Her face wore the same expression of pride as mine.

"She's really special, isn't she?" my mother asked with a nod toward Abby.

"Yes, she is," I said, leaning against her. "And so are you."

A look of surprise crossed her face. "Me?" she asked as she placed a hand on her chest. "I don't have the talent you and Mother have."

"No, but you have talents of your own. You kept the doctors in line, you watched over Abby while I was…" I trailed off, trying to think of the right word to describe what had happened to me the last few days.

"Busy?" Mother said, supplying the word for me.

I grinned. "Yeah, while I was busy." I cocked my head and looked at her. "Good job, Mom."

"Why, thank you," she said, standing tall.

A knock at the door drew our attention. Darci opened the door to Bill, Alan, and Henry Comacho. The three men followed her down the hall, past Mother and me, and into the living room, each man giving us a nod of acknowledgment as they went by.

Comacho looked tired. He wore the same jeans and shirt from last night and had dark circles under his eyes. Had he spent the entire night questioning Charles?

Bill and Alan moved straight to Abby while Comacho hung back. Abby noticed Comacho and reached out to draw him closer.

Clasping her hand, Comacho bent low till his head was even with Abby's. She whispered something in his ear.

I was too far away to hear the words, but whatever they were, Comacho found them amusing. He threw back his head and laughed as Abby smiled up at him. Moving away from Abby, he walked up to me.

"May I talk to you?" he asked.

My eyebrows drew together, puzzled. "Sure."

"Let's go outside," he said as he placed his hand on my elbow to guide me.

I led the way to Abby's wide front porch without speaking. We moved across the porch to the swing, where so many times in my dreams, I'd seen Henry and Grandpa talking. A sense of déjà vu came over me, but I brushed it aside. Sitting on the swing, I motioned Henry to join me.

For a few moments we sat, swinging slowly back and forth, enjoying the quiet.

Henry broke the silence. "We questioned Thornton. Once he started talking," he said, shaking his head in bewilderment, "we couldn't get him to shut up. The guy is paranoid and all night we had to listen to his theories on witches." He shook his head again. "Kept mentioning Cousin Lucy."

My lip curled in disgust. "Yeah, he talked about her in the library too."

"Anyway, along with spouting opinions on witchcraft, he also confessed to everything—Brian's murder, setting Gus on fire, hurting Abby, and murdering Beasley."

"Why did he kill Beasley?"

"Beasley was determined to get something on you, so he tried his old trick of badgering people till they told him what he wanted to know. On Charles. Only this time, the trick didn't work so well. Charles, in his paranoia, was convinced Beasley had found out about him."

"And he killed him," I said, my voice hushed. "What about the woman in Massachusetts?"

"He didn't say anything about her." Henry stared down at his hands resting on his knees. "But after you gave me her name, I called the sheriff's department. Your hunch was right." He lifted his head and his eyes met mine. "The woman did laundry for the Thornton family."

I felt the sadness settle around my heart while I thought of the woman and how she died. "Charles knew her."

"Yes. And she disappeared two months after his mother died. We'll question Charles again and ask about the woman. The sheriff out there is going to question Charles's relatives concerning his whereabouts when the woman disappeared."

"Relatives?" I said with a scowl. "Cousin Lucy?"

"Not likely. She died about a month after his mother. The sheriff said both sides of Charles's family have medical histories of heart problems that can cause seizures. Cousin Lucy went into a seizure, had a heart attack, and died. In front of Charles, and—"

I interrupted him. "Confirming what she'd told him about
bewitching
. He blamed witchcraft for the death of his mother and cousin and he went after the woman he thought was a witch."

"That's my guess," he said. "When he saw the girl in the library go into the convulsion while talking to you, the scene set him off."

"Witches were afoot," I said, my tone sarcastic.

"Something like that." Henry gently laid a hand on my knee. "It's not your fault. The guy was pretty far around the bend to start with. If it's true about the woman in Massachusetts, he'd already killed once, before that day in the library. He would have killed again. It was only a matter of time."

I gave him a weak smile as he moved his hand away. "I know you're trying to make me feel better, but…?" I sighed. "It's going to take a while to work through the part I played in Brian's death. And Gus's."

He gave a quick nod. "Remember while you're doing that, if it hadn't been for you, we might not have caught him. More people might've died."

He noticed the shocked look on my face. "What? You don't think I can be understanding?"

I laughed. "I haven't seen too much evidence of it since I met you. You're the Iceman, remember?" I replied, teasing him.

A chagrined expression crossed his face. "Yeah, well, there's more to me than what appears on the surface."

Oh, Enrique Comacho, I'm sure there is
, I thought, but kept my thought to myself.

"Hey," I said, nudging him, "what did Abby whisper to you?"

Now it was his turn to laugh. "She said I had a nice aura. It doesn't have any holes in it." He looked perplexed. "Whatever that means."

"It means Abby thinks you're a good person," I answered, my voice low.

"Yeah, well she's okay too." He fidgeted in his seat. "So are you, Jensen," he said, averting his eyes.

Comacho sure needed a lot of work on giving compliments.

A comfortable silence settled as we moved back and forth in the swing. I felt the tension and worry of the past few days ease away from me, leaving a sense of peace.

It didn't last long.

Comacho stopped the swing's motion and turned to me. "There's something I want to ask you. Can you do this all the time? Find things, I mean?"

"Do you mean 'things' or do you mean 'bodies'?" I asked, afraid of what his answer would be.

"Bodies, but not always dead ones," he assured me. "People who are missing? Who, maybe if we find fast enough, we can save?"

He didn't have to spell it out for me. I knew what he was asking. He wanted me to tap into my gift to help them with impossible cases. Could I do it? Did I want to doit?

Before I answered, his next words rushed out at me. "See, I've got a couple of files I'd like you to look at—"

I held up a hand stopping him. "Henry, I don't know. I've worked hard to come to terms with my gift, my heritage. I'm just now starting to understand things about my talent, about myself. And truly, I don't know if I can help you."

He looked embarrassed. "Sure, sure," he said, rising quickly. "It was only a thought. Ahh, if you decide you want to try, you've got my card." His eyes darted to his car and I felt the air around us take on a chill while his ice wall crystalized around him. "I'd better go. I've got a lot of paperwork waiting. See you around, Jensen."

Whipping his sunglasses out of his pocket and adjusting them firmly on his face, he moved down the steps to his car. A moment later he was gone.

A couple of hours later, I found myself standing with Abby in the clearing, where a short time ago I had asked for the strength to face my destiny.

The tall weeds had been dry and brittle that night, but now tender shoots of green sprouted from their base. Overhead the branches were covered with new leaves. A sense of complete peace filled the clearing—and me.

"Ahh, it's good to be outside," Abby said, taking a deep breath.

"Aren't you tired from all your company?"

I had questioned the wisdom of walking to the woods, but Abby was insistent. She needed to reconnect with the earth, she said.

Not looking at me, her eyes stared out over the clearing. "No, not now. This recharges me," she said holding her arms wide.

I didn't want to disturb the quiet moment, but I had some questions for her about the past few days.

Reading my mind, she smiled at me. "What do you want to ask me? You look puzzled."

"I guess I am." I gazed off in the distance. "Have you ever heard of a witch bottle?"

"Yes."

"Charles made one to use against me," I said, frowning.

"And he became ill," she said with finality.

"Yeah, you're right," I said with a snap of my fingers. "The next day, when I called him about the flowers, he said he had food poisoning. How did you know?"

"It wasn't food poisoning." She arched an eyebrow. "Think, Ophelia—what are the properties of a fire agate?"

I squinted my eyes while I thought about her question. "It protects the wearer against harm. And if anyone casts negative energy toward the wearer, the energy bounces back at the one who wished ill." My eyes widened. "Of course. Charles got a dose of what he wished for me." I placed my hand on the talisman. "This talisman thing is kind of a handy thing to wear, isn't it?"