The Witch is Dead (27 page)

“Duh,” I tapped my head. “Take a left at the next corner.”

“What?” Ethan asked, startled. “Why?”

I turned to him with a grin. “I’m going to find Tink, and,” I said, poking him in the arm, “you’re going to help me.”

Twenty-Eight

“Where are we going?”

I noticed the puzzled expression on Ethan’s face. “Roseman State Park. Not only does Silas keep turning up, but so does the park. In my vision, in Tink’s dreams.” I snapped my fingers. “I’ve got it. The map Tink found in Buchanan’s office.”

Ethan frowned. “Huh? What was Tink doing in Buchanan’s office?”

“Ah…well…umm, Tink and Aunt Dot did a little snooping around on their own.”

“Like mother, like daughter,” Ethan muttered under his breath.

I ignored him and continued my explanation. “According to Tink, Buchanan fished the river that runs through Roseman two or three times a week. It’s also where T.P. found the skull.”

“Ophelia,” he said in a patient voice, “the deputies have searched those woods thoroughly and not found any remains.”

“They were looking in the wrong spot,” I announced as I turned toward him. “Do you have a cell phone with you?”

“Sure.” He unclasped the phone and handed it to me.

I punched in Darci’s number. She answered on the third ring.

“Hello?” Her voice sounded thick with sleep.

“Hi, it’s me. Remember you told me about an old boyfriend who rented a place from Silas Green?”

“Yeah,” she replied with a yawn.

“Would you give me the directions?”

“Go past the entrance to Roseman State Park to Two Mile Corner. Do you know where that is?”

“Yes.”

“Take a left at Two Mile, and the Green place is the first lane on the right. The house is about a half mile back from the road. Got that?”

“Yeah—a right at Two Mile corner—”

“No, no, no. Aleft .”

“Got it.” I drummed my fingers on my knee. “Darci, is anyone living there now?”

“No, not since my old boyfriend moved out.”

“Okay, good. See ya.” I flipped the phone shut before she could start asking questions.

After giving the directions to Ethan, I settled back and watched the fields fly by.

Cows grazed in green pastures as black-white faced calves frolicked near their mothers. From the car, I saw ducks slowly paddling around the edges of a pond, searching for their breakfast of water bugs.

We’d almost reached Roseman when Ethan broke the silence.

“If what you’ve told me about Silas Green’s illegal activities is true—”

“It is,” I insisted.

“Wouldn’t dissecting a body and retrieving tissue require some skill?”

I lifted a shoulder. “I guess, but if the body’s being cremated, no one would see what he does to them. He wouldn’t have to worry about reconstructing them or hiding his handiwork.”

“I would think there’s a time frame on tissue recovery, isn’t there?”

“Gosh, I don’t know.” I pursed my lips. “To tell you the truth, until I met Christopher Mason, I didn’t even know doctors used tissue from cadavers. But to steal it from the dead and sell it for profit…” I shivered in spite of the warm sun coming through the car window. “It’s beyond gruesome.”

“I agree.” Ethan’s lips formed a firm line. “If Green’s guilty, I want to be there when Bill slaps the cuffs on him.”

I tapped on the window. “We just passed the entrance to the park. Two Mile Corner should be the next road. Take a left.”

After turning the corner, Ethan slowed the car as we approached a lane coming up on our right. A corroded mailbox sat crookedly on a fence post at the end of the lane.

“Is this the place?” he asked, pointing at the mailbox.

“Yes,” I answered, and he turned in.

The car bounced and jolted over bone-jarring ruts, and I watched Ethan’s jaw tighten as he tried to miss as many as he could. Finally, through the trees, we spotted the old farmhouse.

The screen door hung haphazardly from one hinge, and several windows were broken or cracked. A front porch wrapped around its front, much like the one on Abby’s house. Only this porch sagged badly at both ends. Thistles and foxtail flourished in the unmowed yard, with not a blade of grass to be seen. Choked out by all the weeds. An old barn, leaning dangerously to one side, sat a distance from the house. A hawk watched from his perch on the barn’s cupola.

A hawk. Yes.I hid my smile.We were on the right track.

After exiting the car, Ethan walked in long, easy strides over to where I stood by the passenger door. He stopped and made a 360 degree turn as his eyes surveyed the property, taking in the old barn, the sagging porch, and the overgrown yard.

“Silas didn’t spend much time keeping the place up, did he?” He opened the car door, leaned in, and removed a gun from the glove compartment.

“What’s that for?” I asked, my eyes wide.

“I don’t like surprises,” he replied as he checked the safety. After sliding the gun smoothly into the waistband of his jeans, he opened the back door and pulled a twenty-four-inch flashlight out of the backseat. “Here, hang onto this.”

Taking it from him, I was surprised by its weight. It felt like a club, and in a pinch, it could be used as one.

Both now armed, we waded through the weeds to the house. An old rusted bicycle lay by the corner of the porch. And nearby, two five-gallon buckets were overturned among the weeds. With a booted foot, Ethan pressed down on the wooden steps. Satisfied they would support our weight, he gave me his hand and we carefully eased our way over the sagging porch.

When Ethan tugged on the screen door, the single hinge holding it gave way, and I jumped as it clattered to the porch floor. With a shrug at me, he pushed the front door open and we cautiously stepped inside.

The house was small, and from the look of it, we were standing in what had once been the living room. Wallpaper peeled from the plaster walls and cobwebs hung in the corners. The air was filled with a sour, musty smell. Morning sun filtered through the cracked and broken windows, illuminating the fine layer of dust covering every surface.

“Aunt Dot saw Tink pacing a bedroom, so let’s start upstairs first.”

I took one step before Ethan pulled me back.

“Look,” he said, pointing at the floorboards. “No footprints. It’s been a long time since anyone’s been inside.”

“I don’t care,” I replied stubbornly. “I want to see the bedrooms.”

He stared at me with resignation. “Okay, this is your show.”

Slowly, we climbed the rickety stairs, and as we did, the air became more stagnant, the heat more oppressive, but I felt a sense of anticipation grow. I’d seen the hawk. Surely that meant we’d find something. Maybe Tink? Maybe she waited in one of the bedrooms upstairs. My steps quickened.

At the top of the stairs we found a narrow hallway with three doors.

Ethan stepped toward the first. “Shall we see what’s behind door number one?” he whispered over his shoulder.

I rolled my eyes and was about to make a retort when a sound from the other side of the door stopped me.

His arm shot out and he pushed me against the wall to the left of the door. “Don’t move,” he said softly.

I gave a quick nod.

He pulled his gun out of his waistband.

Standing to the side of the door frame, I held my breath as Ethan slowly turned the knob. With a quick move, he threw the door open.

I winced as it hit the wall with a bang.

“Clear,” he called as he secured his gun at his waist.

I peeked around the door frame. Tattered lace curtains hung limply at the windows, and dead flies and Japanese beetles littered the dirty floor. A cracked pitcher and washbowl lay discarded in the corner.

No Tink, only a very frightened mouse scurrying across the floor. Disappointment replaced anticipation.

Ethan sensed my feelings and laid a hand on my shoulder. “Come on, let’s search the rest of the house.”

We did. Room by room. And every room was the same—dirty, musty, and abandoned. The only occupants we found were piles of dead insects.

I stopped as we were making our way to the back of the house. “Listen, do you hear that?”

Ethan turned and faced me. “What?”

“Buzzing, and it sounds like it’s coming from the walls. Is there a beehive in here?”

“It’s possible. The kitchen must be this way.”

When we reached the doorway, I stopped again. “Whew,” I said, pinching my nose. “What’s that smell? Rotten food?”

Ethan’s face wrinkled in distaste. “I doubt it. Smells more like a dead mouse or rat to me.”

“Rat? Did you say rat?” Horror flashed through my mind.

Ethan chuckled. “I take it you don’t like them?”

“Nooo.” I inched closer to him. “I can’t stand them. Nasty creatures—twitching whiskers, beady eyes. Ugh.” I clutched the flashlight to my chest.

He threw an arm around my shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

Together we stepped into the kitchen and saw where the buzzing sound originated.

Hundreds of fat, black flies pinged against the windows, seeking a way out.

Ethan dropped his arm from my shoulder and withdrew his gun. “Go outside.”

“No.” I eyed the gun. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

I don’t think he heard me. He was so intent scanning the room. When his gaze landed on a door to the right of the cabinets, he swiftly moved to it and pulled it open.

I staggered as the stench rolling up from the darkness below hit me.

“Whoa, that basement must be full of dead mice,” I exclaimed.

He shot me a quick glance. “Give me the flashlight and go outside,” he ordered, his expression grim.

Opening the door and taking a deep breath of fresh air, I took one step outside.Wait a second, what was he doing ordering me around? He said I was running the show.

Holding my nose, I marched back in the kitchen. “Are you okay down there?”

No reply.

I stepped onto the top step, and the hair on the back of my neck lifted.

“Hey—”

“Don’t come down here.”

I saw the beam of the powerful flashlight bounce around the room below me. I took one more step and felt a warning sound in the corner of my brain. Grabbing the banister tightly, I went down another step. It creaked under my weight.

“Get back upstairs!” he yelled.

Why was he trying to stop me? What didn’t he want me to see? The stink wafting up from the bowels of the house made my stomach twist. Something was dead all right, but it wasn’t a mouse.

Tink!

I forgot about the smell, the warning in my head, the nausea, as my feet flew down the steps. Halfway down, my
knees buckled, and I slowly sank until I rested on one of the steps, my hands still tightly gripping the banister.

Ethan crouched on the dirt floor, his gun back at his waistband. One hand held a handkerchief firmly against his mouth and nose. The other held the flashlight.

As he turned toward me, the beam played over the dirt floor, showing rotten corpses stacked deep around the room.

Twenty-Nine

I sat on the passenger side of Ethan’s car with the door open and watched the parade of vehicles drive up the lane. The medical examiner’s van, a car holding two DCI agents, two county sheriff’s patrol cars. Another car, belonging to one of the deputies, sat crosswise at the entrance to the lane, effectively blocking all curiosity seekers from joining us. I suspected one of the curious would be Ned fromThe Courier.

Once Ethan saw me trembling on the basement steps, it didn’t take long for him to hustle me outside. All the time assuring me all the bodies we’d found belonged to adults, not missing teenage girls. And no, we hadn’t stumbled onto a lair of a serial killer. He’d found no evidence of foul play.

When Bill arrived, he, Ethan, and one of Bill’s younger deputies left me at the car and returned to the hellhole waiting for them in the abandoned farmhouse. After about five minutes the young deputy exited the house at a dead run. Seconds later I heard retching sounds coming from around the corner of the house. I couldn’t blame him—the first time I’d found a body, coughing up my cookies had been my reaction, too. But the remains that I’d stumbled upon were nothing compared to the horror contained in the old basement.

And it didn’t take a genius to figure out who was responsible for that horror. Silas Green. Instead of cremating the bodies as he was hired to do, he was using the old house as a storage facility.

Before Ethan rushed me up the stairs, I’d noticed several of the corpses were missing arms, legs, hands—just like in my vision, just like in Tink’s dreams. Finding these bodies had to mean we were getting closer to the truth, didn’t it?

I searched the trees for the hawk I’d seen earlier. Spotting him would be an affirmation we were on the right path. The branches were empty.

The front door slammed as Bill and Ethan stepped out onto the sagging porch. Even from several yards away I could see the grim expression on both their faces.