Charmed to death: an Ophelia and Abby mystery (9 page)

"Are you and Beasley joined at the hip or something?" I asked sarcastically.

"Huh?" His forehead wrinkled in a frown.

I nodded my head toward the bar. "Beasley. He's sitting at the bar and just tipped his drink at me."

Henry shifted in his chair, looking for Beasley. After spotting him, Henry turned back to face me. "That man's a nuisance. Not even his colleagues like him. He's screwed too many of them out of bylines. In fact, his nickname in the newsroom is 'Weasely Beasley'"

"Well, I've never liked him very much."

Understatement of the century.

"I know why. I know he made your life miserable during our investigation of Mitchell's murder." Henry picked up his glass and drained it. "I've always been sorry about that."

First understanding and now an apology?

Comacho saw the shock on my face. "What? You look surprised. I'm a nice guy, really."

"You're so nice that your friend, Perez, calls you the Iceman?"

He smiled. "It's a joke. Joe and I are old friends. We were in the Army together. When we got out, he helped me get on the force here. Went through the Academy together. He's my
hermano
."

"Brother?"

"Yeah."

"He called you Enrique?"

"That's my real name. Henry's the Anglo version."

"Oh."

Silence hung over us again, but this time it wasn't a bad silence. Not a heavy one like before.

Henry swirled his drink in his glass, making the ice cube clink.

"Ophelia, there is something I want to ask you."

"Yes?"

"Last fall you were involved in another murder. You and some reporter from Minneapolis. Want to tell me about it?"

That rat! He had been nice in order to lull me into spilling my guts. The apology, the sympathy, it was all an act. I felt the blood rush to my face.

"You really are a jerk, Comacho. No, I'm not telling you anything," I said, my temper blazing.

"Hey, simmer down. I read the report and was curious."

"Then you know I had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Comacho shook his head. "I don't know, second murder in five years. Most people go through their whole lives without being involved in a murder investigation. You've been involved in two."

"It was an unfortunate coincidence."

"Pretty unfortunate for the victims too."

"Look, I didn't even know the man whose body I found in the woods last fall. I'd never seen him before. And Adam Hoffman confessed to his murder."

"But you helped catch Hoffman."

"No, I didn't. I blundered into an ongoing investigation. They would've caught Adam regardless."

"Maybe, maybe not. I thought the report was missing a lot of information, especially about what happened that night in the shed. When you and Delaney got away. For instance, how
did
you manage to escape? The report said you were tied up."

"I don't want to talk about this."

I stood to go.

Comacho looked up at me. "There are a lot of things you don't want to talk about, aren't there, Jensen? What if we talk about a tip Joe got today, about a stolen blue van? But maybe you don't want to talk about that either?"

I leaned over and got right in Comacho's face. "You still think I had something to do with Brian's murder? Prove it."

His gaze never left my face and his eyes were as hard as crystals. "Be careful, Jensen. That remark sounded an awful lot like a challenge."

Straightening, I looked down at him. "Can't prove something that isn't true, Comacho."

I turned and began to walk away when Comacho called to me.

"Hey, Jensen, don't trip over any more dead bodies."

Looking over my shoulder, I gave him the one-finger salute. I was sick and tired of that man hounding me. I was getting the hell out of here, out of this bar, out of Iowa City. It was a mistake to come here in the first place.

I marched up to Darci on the dance floor. "Come on, we're leaving." I grabbed her arm and pulled.

"Ophelia, wait. Wait." She jerked her arm away. "Would you wait a second? Calm down."

Turning to her dance partner, she said, "Excuse me, Tom. Ophelia normally isn't like this. Ophelia, this is Tom."

Great, I've got Comacho and Beasley on my tail and she wants to introduce me to some guy? I tried to pull myself together and plaster a tight smile on my face.

"Hi, Tom. Sorry to interrupt, but we have to go now. Nice meeting you."

I grabbed Darci's arm again and pulled her off the dance floor. We walked fast, past the tables and through the door.

"Would you slow down? What is wrong with you?"

"Comacho started asking questions about last fall, but first he pretended to be nice to soften me up. Then he
happened
to mention the blue van. I never should've called that tip in. But they can't prove it was me right? Right?"

Darci gave a careless shrug. "Not unless they trace all their calls."

So much for having fun tonight.

Chapter Ten

The winding lane that led to Abby's house stretched endlessly before me. On either side, the barren plots of ground stood waiting for Abby to till and sow her seeds. On the left, she'd plant her sweet corn. On the right, she'd plant other vegetables: tomatoes, peas, green beans, all to be sold later on in the summer.

The greenhouse itself sat around the first bend. Inside would be her herbs and bedding plants. Soon everyone in the county would be coming to buy them. They all knew her plants were the best, the healthiest. When I drove by, I saw no activity in the greenhouse, which meant Abby was still at the house.

Rounding the second bend, I saw Abby's house. The house, white with green shingles, looked solid and strong in the warm April sunshine. The wide porch, the one in my dream, wrapped itself around the front of the house. I saw the swing swaying in the breeze. This house, this home was my refuge, my sanctuary, and the idea of Henry Comacho invading it, as he had in my dream, nagged at my thoughts. Shoving them aside, I got out of the car and walked up the porch steps.

Opening the door, I called to Abby, but she didn't answer. Instead I heard the scrambling of toenails on the wooden floor of the kitchen. Lady bounded down the hall and flung herself against me. Queenie strolled out the door leading to the living room. She arched her back in a stretch and gave a wide yawn before meandering down the hall toward me.

Crouching down, I scratched Lady's ears. "Hey, girl, how ya doing?"

Lady's wet pink tongue snaked out and licked my cheek while Queenie rubbed up against my back.

"Yeah, I'm glad to see you too," I said, laughing. I stood, picked up Queenie, and walked through the house to the back porch. Lady followed closely at my heels.

Looking out the screen door, I saw Abby's summer-house. It sat behind the main house, near the woods that crept close to the backyard. It was Abby's personal space. She often went there when she needed to think over her problems.

"You stay here," I said, pointing at Lady. After setting Queenie on the floor, I opened the screen door and walked to the summerhouse.

The windows were covered with old curtains shirred at the top. One wasn't pulled completely shut. I peeked through the crack and saw her, dressed in one of her cowled robes, sitting on the floor. The crystals placed in front of her sparkled in the soft light of candles burning around the room. And even though the light was dim, I knew she sat within a circle of salt. Abby was casting a spell.

Closing my eyes, I tried to read the energy that seeped out of the building.

Sadness. Hurt. The desire to heal and protect.

Yes. I understood. The spell was to protect the earth from Dudley Kyle and his group.

Not wanting to disturb her, I walked back to the house and waited for her in the kitchen, where Lady was curled up on a rug, chewing a dog bone, and Queenie was stretched out, sunning herself on the kitchen floor.

It didn't take long for Abby to join me. I turned from my place at the kitchen table when I heard the screen door on the back porch slam.

Abby's face lit up with a wide smile when she saw me.

"Ophelia, you're home," she said, walking over and giving me a quick hug.

"Yeah, I dropped Darci off and I came straight here." I studied her face and noticed more fine lines etched around her green eyes. "I've been worried about you."

"There's no need to worry, I'm fine," she said, giving me another hug.

"You don't look fine. You look tired."

Abby waved her hand in the air as if to shoo my concerns away and sat across from me. "I'm a little drained right now, that's all."

"I can imagine. When you weren't in the greenhouse or in here, I walked out to the summerhouse."

"You know I was casting a spell."

"Yeah. Do you really think it'll do any good?"

"Of course. If I didn't believe, the spell wouldn't work. It might manifest itself in ways I don't expect and I might not see it happening, but it will work."

"Why does this stuff always have to be so subtle?" I asked, frowning.

She laughed. "You always want everything done yesterday, don't you? You must learn patience if you want to be effective."

"I don't see why. Why can't a spell be,
Boom"
—I said, snapping my fingers—"everything fixed."

"The universe doesn't work that way."

"Well, it should. What good is my power if it won't do what I want it to?"

"Ophelia, that's pride talking. One of the things you need to work on. You have to surrender your pride if you want to make full use of your gifts. The power isn't yours, you know. You are simply a tool, a vessel that can channel the energy in a specific way. To think it belongs to you is dangerous."

"How's it dangerous?"

"It leads you to believe you can bend the world and fate to your will and you can't. And to try and do so is wrong."

"But if it helps people?"

"Who are you to decide what helps and what doesn't?"

"Right is right. If I see something's wrong, I should fix it."

Abby reached across the table and took my hand in hers. "Sometimes things are wrong for a reason—a reason we can't see—but in the end, good will come from it."

"And if I mess with it, I screw up what's supposed to happen?"

"Yes."

Frustrated, I stood, walked over to the counter, and poured a cup of coffee. Holding the warm cup in my hand, I turned around and stared at Abby. "How in the hell am I supposed to know the difference?"

"By surrendering your pride, your sense of self. By letting yourself be guided. By exercising patience."

"That's hard."

Abby smiled. "I never promised you easy. Things worth having aren't. But you will grow spiritually."

"Abby, I don't think I can do it."

"Sure you can. It is a hard lesson to learn, but you'll learn it. Trust that you'll be helped along the way."

"The spirit guide thing?"

"Yes. But they can't reach you if your pride is blocking them."

While I thought about what Abby had said, I glanced around her kitchen. Stacked in the corner were placards.

"Hey, what are the signs for?"

"Oh, those," she said, glancing at them. "They're for the demonstration tomorrow."

Great, another demonstration. I'll be bailing her out of jail yet.

"What demonstration? You're not doing another sit-in at the four-way, are you?"

"No. I don't think Edna could handle another sit-in. She barely made it to her feet last time," Abby said, smiling. "We're picketing PP International's farrowing operation. The news media both here and in Des Moines have been notified and we hope to get coverage. Hopefully, it will help educate people to what's really happening in these units."

"Such as?"

"The fact that the sows spend their entire lives in crates, only big enough for them to either lie down or stand up; that the baby pigs are weaned after only ten days and the breeding process starts all over again. You know the animals can't handle this forced reproductive cycle. After only two or three litters, they're worthless. And it's off to the sausage factory."

"The operation sounds like an assembly line for the production of pork."

"It is. Confinement setups aren't operated like farms. Their goal is to produce large quantities of meat in a short amount of time. But these corporations are hiding behind laws made to protect the family farm. It's one thing we want changed." She looked down at her hands, folded on the table. "I'd like you to go."

I placed my hand on her shoulder. "Of course, I'll go."

She reached up and patted my hand. "Thanks. I know this is a difficult time for you."

I sat next to her. "You know, I thought about everything that's happened all the way home from Iowa City. I did call the police station about the van I saw in the dream. Maybe that's all I needed to do? Maybe they'll find the van, find the clue they need to lead them to the killer? It could happen, right? And I haven't had any more dreams since the one with the van."

Abby shook her head and smiled. "You sound desperate, dear."

"I
am
desperate. I don't want to face Brian's killer. I'm not ready."

"Guess you'd better get ready," she said with a quick nod.

"Thanks. You're a lot of help. Oh, and you were wrong about meeting two men. The only men I really talked to were Comacho and Beasley and I already knew them. I did meet some guy Darci was dancing with at the club, but it was a 'Hi—got to go' kind of a thing."

Abby shot me a stubborn look. "I know what I saw—two men, both dark, one good one, one evil."

"But was it Brian's killer?"

"One killed for pleasure. And you've felt a connection with his killer in your dreams."

"Okay, I met three men in Iowa City. Comacho is dark, Beasley's bald, and Darci's friend was blond. Except for Comacho, and he's a cop, none of them fit your description. Did you see their faces?"

"No, only sensed their presence."

"You couldn't describe them?"

"No."

"And this is supposed to help me
how
?" I said, arching my eyebrow.

"I don't know," Abby said, standing up. "I'm as frustrated as you are, Ophelia. I've tried and tried to see past the veil, but all I see is darkness and you alone."

My heart caught in my throat.
Alone
? I grabbed her hand. "What do you mean, alone? You told me you'd always be here for me?"

Abby squeezed my hand. "I will, but I've already told you, I've got a feeling I'm not going to be helpful this time. And I don't care for it. It's as if my gift is failing me."

I understood. I felt the same way when I saw Brian's murder but arrived too late to save him. Looking at Abby, the fine lines seemed deeper now. She was worrying too much about everything.

The urge to protect her from my problems overwhelmed me. I stood and hugged her. "Don't worry. You're the one always telling me to trust I'll be guided at the right time. I guess you need to have a little faith too." I stepped back and looked at her. A faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

"This is a switch, you telling me to have faith, isn't it?" she asked.

"Yes, it is. And it'll be okay. After all, I've had the best teacher in the world, right?"