The Witch is Dead (18 page)

My forehead wrinkled in confusion. “What letters?”

“Those,” she said, pointing a trembling hand at the papers lying jumbled on the floor. “I found them in your backpack.
They’re from Juliet,” she said, her voice frantic. “She’s coming for me.”

Tink watched, curled up in a tight ball in the wing chair, while I read the typed sheets of paper. Now my hands were trembling as I flipped each page. The messages sounded like they were from Juliet, but it was impossible. She was still locked up in the mental hospital in Minnesota. She couldn’t have planted them in my bag at the library that day.

But the letters? They mentioned Tink’s childhood, her mother who’d died when Tink was little, and Tink’s special gift. They went on to say my adoption of Tink was wrong, and that she, Juliet, would never allow it. Tink belonged with her and she had no intention of ever letting Tink go.

Whoever wrote those letters knew a lot about Tink.

I placed the letters on the coffee table and rubbed my palms on my jeans as if I’d handled something dirty.

“Have you told anyone about your past?”

Her eyes refused to meet mine. “Nell. A little.” She swiped at her nose with the back of her hand. “But Nell’s my best friend, and she wouldn’t rat me out to anyone.”

“Someone knows about your life before you came to Iowa.” I rubbed my forehead trying to organize the thoughts bouncing around in my brain. “I—”

Tink’s attention turned to the hallway. I glanced over the back of the couch in time to see Abby striding across the room followed by Aunt Dot. I blew out a shaky breath. Abby would be able to make sense of these letters.

Aunt Dot hobbled over to Tink and tugged her to her feet. “Come, child, let’s make you a cup of nice hot tea.”

Ah, yes, tea. Our family’s first line of defense when meeting a disaster, I thought sarcastically. A cup of tea wasn’t going to solve this problem.

Sitting next to me, Abby picked up the papers and swiftly read through them. When she finished, she placed them back on the coffee table.

“They’re not from Juliet.” Her voice sounded convinced.

“How do you know? She could have somehow sent someone down here to plant them.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.” I ran a hand through my hair in frustration. “Maybe she smuggled them to Jason—”

“Jason’s willing to give up legal custody of Tink.”

“Okay, so not him. How about one of the other cult members?”

“First of all, most of the members dispersed before Juliet put on her show at the old cabin, so I doubt if they even know what happened that night,” Abby said, stroking the hair away from my face.

“Winnie did. And she escaped into the woods as the cabin burnt to the ground.” I felt a prickle of fear. “Winnie was devoted to Juliet. She’d do anything for her.”

“I imagine Winnie’s too busy avoiding the warrant out for her arrest to worry about Juliet right now.” She took my hand in hers. “And even if she did try and contact Juliet, it would be improbable she could get in to see her. Juliet’s only visitor is Jason.”

“Maybe Juliet mailed them,” I said, trying to come up with an explanation for the letters.

Abby shook her head. “All mail is monitored before it’s sent.”

“You seem awfully convinced Juliet didn’t write these. Did you pick anything up from touching them?”

“No, I didn’t sense anything, but there are several incorrect statements in them.”

“Such as?”

“Tink’s age when her mother died—the reference is off by two years.”

I frowned. “I missed that.”

“I’m sure you’d have caught it if you weren’t so upset,” she said, squeezing my hand.

“What else?”

“The letters mention Frederick Von Shuler as a great magician—”

“He was at one time,” I broke in.

“Yes, and he was also Tink’s great-grandfather. Wouldn’t Juliet have referred to him as such?”

“I suppose,” I replied. “How did someone learn all of this about Tink?”

“Has Tink shared her past with anyone at school?”

“Nell, but she swears Nell wouldn’t divulge her secrets.” I leaned back against the couch and stared at the ceiling. “This information had to be leaked by someone close to us—”

The doorbell interrupted my next remark.

“I’ll get it,” Aunt Dot called from the kitchen.

Minutes later Darci strolled into the living room. “Hey, having a party?” She looked first at me, then at Abby. “Guess not. What’s going on?” she asked, taking the spot where Tink had sat.

Abby quickly told Darci about the letters.

Her mouth opened as a strange expression flitted across her face. Closing her mouth, she chewed on her bottom lip.

“You were at the counter today,” I said. “Did you notice any strangers hanging about?”

“I don’t know.” Her eyes darted to the side. “We were busy…” Her voice trailed away and her face twisted.

“You were complaining that you didn’t have anything to do—Gert was taking care of everyone—”

“Well, ah, I…” Darci squirmed.

My eyes narrowed as I watched her. She knew something that she wasn’t telling me. For some reason she looked guilty as hell.

“Spill it, Darce,” I commanded.

“I don’t know anything, honest. It’s—” She stopped.

“It’s what?” I persisted.

She exhaled slowly. “I wasn’t at the counter the whole time. I got bored, so I went to the bathroom and called Georgia on my cell phone.”

An awful thought occurred to me. Georgia was one of Darci’s closest friends, and I knew they shared information with one another.

“Did you tell Georgia anything about Tink’s past?” I asked, putting my thoughts into words.

“No, of course not,” she huffed. “If you must know, I was whining about working with Gert. That woman drives me bonkers.”

“You’ve never told Georgia about what happened in Minnesota?”

“Ophelia.” Abby touched my arm in warning.

“What are you saying?” Darci’s voice tinged with temper.

“Only someone close to us knows about Tink’s past—”

Darci jumped to her feet. “Are you accusing me of writing these letters?”

I stood. “I’m not saying that, but what if you did let something slip about Tink, and Georgia repeated it. She does love a good story, and what happened in Minnesota was a dinger—”

“I’d never do anything to hurt Tink,” she exclaimed, her voice rising.

“I’m sure you didn’t mean to, but someone heard the story and used it to write that trash. You’re the only one who knows what happened, and if you told Georgia—”

“Ophelia Jensen, that’s the rottenest thing you’ve ever said to me!” Her eyes were shooting daggers at me.

Mine shot them right back.

“I didn’t accuse you of telling on purpose, but we both know you like to talk—”

“We both should also know that I can keep my mouth shut, too.” She glowered at me.

Abby rose as if to separate us. “Girls, girls,” she exclaimed. “Simmer down.”

We ignored her.

Darci shoved both hands on her hips. “I can’t believe you’d think I’d betray your secrets—”

I shifted to one foot. “You had a guilty look on your face when we were talking about the letters,” I countered, my voice ringing in my own ears.

“I felt guilty because I wasn’t at the counter where I should’ve been, not because I’ve spilled my guts to Georgia about Tink!”

“How was I supposed to know that?” I said, taking a step back.

“Because you’re my best friend and you ought to trust me,” she cried with a stamp of her foot. She spun away and strode out of the living room. Seconds later I heard the front door close with a bang.

Slowly, I sank to the couch. “I didn’t need that,” I said in a tired voice.

“You shouldn’t have accused Darci of giving Georgia information about Tink,” Abby said, standing above me.

I winced and drew a hand across my forehead. “You’re right. I kind of lost it.” I rose on stiff legs. “I’d better talk to Tink.”

Aunt Dot stood at the kitchen sink, washing two cups.

“Just put those in the dishwasher, Aunt Dot,” I said, join
ing her at the sink. I glanced over my shoulder at the table. “Where’s Tink?”

“She heard shouting and went in the living room,” Aunt Dot replied in a perplexed voice.

“No she didn’t.” I ran from the kitchen and up the stairs. Lady followed close behind me, but I didn’t see T.P. in my rush. I flew down the hall and into Tink’s room.

Clothes lay scattered on the floor and across the bed. Her closet door was swung wide open and her duffel bag was gone. T.P.’s leash, usually hanging on Tink’s doorknob, had disappeared.

Suddenly, my legs couldn’t hold me. I grabbed a bedpost to steady myself.

“Abby! Abby!” I hollered, my throat clogged with unshed tears. “Tink’s run away!”

Eighteen

“Quit pacing, Ophelia. It won’t bring Tink home any sooner,” Abby said calmly from her place at the kitchen table.

Three steaming mugs of hot tea sat there. Mine untouched.

I peered out the kitchen window into the darkness. “We should’ve gone looking for her, too.”

“Bill will find her. She can’t have covered much distance on foot.” Abby came and stood next to me at the window. “We need to be here in case she comes home on her own.”

I rubbed my arms. “Whatwas she thinking?”

Abby drew me close to her side. “I don’t imagine she was.”

“A killer’s out there.” I leaned my head on her shoulder. “Someone’s trying to scare her—” Stopping short, I raised my head. “You don’t think it’s him, do you, the one who wrote the letters? He heard the rumors, heard about her past, and is coming after her?”

“My dear—”

I walked away from her and circled the room. “What if he’s out there? What if he’s been watching the house, waiting for a chance to get her alone? What if—”

“Ophelia,” she said in a stern voice. “Cease the ‘what ifs’ immediately.”

Halting, I stared at her with fear in my face. “Do you think Bill believed our explanation about the letters?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know if he believed someone had taken rumors and twisted them to frighten Tink. I did hear him tell Alan to have another deputy put a call into the mental hospital. They’ll find out what Juliet’s condition is and whether she could’ve somehow sent those letters.”

“What if she’s escaped? People do, you know.”

Abby walked up to me and gave me a shake. “Knock it off. Your worrying isn’t helping anyone. If Bill isn’t back in fifteen minutes, we’ll go to Tink’s room and I’ll use a personal item to try and sense where she is.”

“You don’t see anything when it’s a member of the family,” I said, hugging myself tightly.

“Maybe this time I will. It’s worth—”

The front door slammed.

We all rushed into the hallway.

Bill stood in the doorway, and right next to him, Tink.

I didn’t know whether to shake her or hug her. The hug won.

“You scared me to death,” I whispered in her ear as I held her slight body close to mine.

“Sorry,” she replied in a muffled voice.

I stepped back and laid my palm on her smooth cheek. “Don’t you ever run away again.”

Tink gave a bob of her head.

Abby and Aunt Dot were next in welcoming back the prodigal. Aunt Dot gave a loud sniff as she pulled a hanky out of her pocket and wiped her eyes.

Hooking my arm through Tink’s, I led everyone to the living room. When we were all seated, I gave Bill a big smile. “Thanks.”

“I’m glad we found her,” he replied.

“Where was she?”

“Hitchhiking along Highway 169.”

I clutched Tink’s arm. That’s it—I was locking this kid up until she was at least twenty-five.

“You’re—”

“I know,” Tink said with reluctance. “Grounded.”

“Right!” I exclaimed. Taking a deep breath, I continued in a calmer voice, “Where were you going?”

“Minnesota.”

“To do what?” I asked, my voice rising again.

Abby gave me a nudge to the ribs.

“Were you going to see Juliet?” I asked in an even tone.

“Are you kidding?” she asked in disbelief. “I figured I’d hide out at Walks Quietly’s until the adoption was all set.”

“Running away isn’t going to help the adoption. What do you think a judge would say about you taking off like you did?”

“I hadn’t thought about that,” she replied, bowing her head.

Satisfied my words had made an impression, I sat back. “Well—”

“Actually, Tink leaving town might not be a bad idea,” Bill interjected with a smile at her before turning his attention to me. “It would get her out of harm’s way and give these rumors a chance to die down.”

“Are you suggesting that I send her back to Minnesota?”