The Witch’s Grave (7 page)

No, that still didn’t feel right. They spoke of my ability to handle whatever it was I faced, but that I needed to exercise caution. Not to go rushing in without careful consideration.

True, I hadn’t always listened to my instincts, had second-guessed myself and as a result reached the wrong conclusion. They warned me not to do that this time. To listen to my feelings.

What puzzled me most was Thurisaz—that which can’t be changed. Was it something from my past? Would a past betrayal by a man reach out and affect what was happening now? Or was the betrayal yet to come?

Perplexed, I looked at the rune again. Sure, I’d experienced my share of letdowns, but nothing major. Nothing I could see that applied to the now.

Reversed, the rune also indicated a habit of blindly following my own wishes—again rushing ahead—of being stubborn.

Okay, I thought with a grimace, maybe a little.

My eyes moved to the last rune, Jera.
A karmic debt I owed?
Boy, if that were the case, I hoped the debt wasn’t a bad one. I’d learned in my thirty-some years that redemption didn’t come easy.

Feeling a little fried, I placed the pad and pen down and rose to my feet. Crossing to the edge of the circle, I walked counterclockwise, letting the energy slowly leave the room. When I arrived at my starting point, I got on my knees and crawled along in the same counterclockwise direction, sweeping up the salt in my hand. Once I gathered it all, I dumped it in the shell and mixed it with the ashes of sage. Then turning the lights back on, I quietly left the room and went out into the backyard.

I paused at the edge of the patio and waited for my eyes
to become accustomed to the darkness. Enough light spilled in a pool from my office window so I could get my bearings. Walking toward the light, I stopped outside of its circle.

I began by facing the north. Taking a small amount of the ash and salt, I sprinkled it on the ground, returning it to the earth from whence it came. I turned to the east and cast a small amount to the wind. With a quarter turn, I looked to the south and thought of the cleansing fire that had burned the sage. As I did, I dropped ashes and salt. Another turn and I faced the west. At my feet, the grass was damp with dew. I dumped the remainder on the ground and used my toe to mixed the ash and salt with the moisture.

Finished, I took one step toward the patio, when a neighbor’s dog began barking furiously. Startled, I dropped the shell in the wet grass. As I bent to retrieve it, I heard a loud pop, followed by the sound of shattering glass and the roar of a motorcycle.

Stunned, the sounds melded together in my mind, making sense.

Damn, somebody had just tried to shoot me!

The promised rain hit with a vengeance. Through the window, I saw lightning cut across the sky in bold flashes. And thunder rattled the pictures hanging on the wall. Inside the house it wasn’t much calmer. Cops crawled all over my cottage, looking for evidence.

My first call had been to Bill, my second to Darci to please come and pick up a wide-eyed Tink and get her out of harm’s way, and my third was to Abby. Darci had evidently broken every traffic law to arrive at my house in record time. Even though I could see that she hated missing out on the excitement, she packed up Tink and tried to overcome Tink’s reluctance at leaving with promises of homemade banana splits waiting for them at her house.

While I sat on the couch in the living room with Lady curled up at my feet and Queenie resting on the back, Abby bustled around in the kitchen making tea. Ha—tonight I had no intention of drinking any, no matter what she said. I didn’t need Abby’s home remedies floating around my system.

Bill sat on the other side of the coffee table in a wing-back chair, and, at the moment, didn’t look too pleased with me.

“Now do you believe me?” he asked in a taut voice.

“Believe what?” Abby asked entering the living room. She carried a tray full of steaming cups. After offering a cup to Bill, she held the tray toward me.

“No thanks,” I said, giving her a knowing look.

An expression of innocence flashed in her green eyes, but I wasn’t buying it. I shook my head and waved the tray away.

Turning back to Bill, she said, “I’ll take the men in Ophelia’s office some tea, and when I return, I want an answer to my question.”

After watching her leave over his shoulder, he focused his attention back on me. “You didn’t tell her?”

“No, I didn’t want her to worry.”

“Not telling her wasn’t smart,” he said with a frown. Pulling out his notebook, he flipped it open and removed a pen from his shirt pocket. “Tell me everything that happened today.”

I held up a hand. “Wait a second. I don’t want to sound snitty,” I said carefully, “but I live within the city limits of Summerset, and this isn’t your jurisdiction. Why isn’t one of the police questioning me?”

Bill’s hand stole to his head and he gave it a quick rub. He looked exasperated. “I’m doing the chief a favor while he’s on vacation. These officers are new—they haven’t even been to the academy yet—so Tom asked me to cover anything unusual while he’s gone.” He poised his pen over the notebook. “And residents getting shot while standing in their backyard is definitely unusual.” Giving the pen a click, he rolled his shoulders like a wrestler going into the ring. “Any more questions?”

“No.” I tucked my feet underneath me and waited.

“Let’s start with the shooting.” He glanced down at his notebook. “Your call came in at 11:45, so the shooting happened after eleven-thirty. Are you normally outside that time of night?”

“Of course not,” I huffed. “I’m usually fast asleep in my bed.”

“What was different tonight?”

“I’d been doing a little…ah…work in my office, and—”

“Were the lights on in your office?” he asked, cutting me off. “Could you be seen through the window?”

I thought about it. Someone could have watched me while I sat at the desk, but I wouldn’t have been visible sitting on the floor with my runes.
Did I want to try and explain that one? No.

“Yes, the lights were on and, yes, I suppose someone would’ve been able to see me most of the time.”

I felt a little shiver at the idea of being watched in my own home.

“So you finished working and went outside.” Bill scribbled in his notebook then looked up. “Why?”

I focused on a spot over his shoulder. “Um, well, I needed some fresh air before I went to bed.”

“How long were you outside before the gunshot?”

“Not long—no more than ten minutes.”

“What happened next?”

“I’d started to walk back to the house when a dog barked. It startled me and I dropped something—”

He didn’t let me finish. “What did you drop?”

Just then Abby came strolling back into the living room, carrying an empty tray. She took a place next to me on the couch but said nothing.

“What did you drop?” he asked again.

“A shell.”

“You were walking around the yard, in the dead of night, carrying a shell?” He looked first at me, then at Abby. “Never mind. I don’t think I want to know,” he muttered to himself while clicking his pen rapidly. “What happened next?”

“When I bent to pick up the shell, I heard a pop and the shattering of glass. Then I heard a motorcycle.”

“Did you see anything? Any movement?”

“No, it was too dark.”

“Where did the sound come from?”

“The dog or the motorcycle?”

“Motorcycle.”

“I think it came from behind the trees at the back of the yard. Maybe toward the west side.”

Bill flicked the switch on the small radio clipped to his jacket and it crackled to life. “Ben, have someone check the west side of the property for tire tracks.”

A garbled voice answered him, but from where I sat, the only word I caught was “rain.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bill answered into the radio. “They’ve probably been washed away, but maybe we’ll get lucky.” With a flip of his finger, he turned the radio off.

“Bill, I don’t mean to interrupt, but would you please explain to me what’s going on?” Abby asked in a calm voice that belied the tension I felt emanating from her.

“Your granddaughter is determined to mess up my investigation,” he said unkindly, “and in the process, get herself killed.”

Squaring my shoulders, I opened my mouth to defend myself, but one look at his face and I snapped it shut.

He proceeded to give Abby a rundown of his theory with me as the victim. While he did, Abby grew visibly paler and her hand stole out to clutch mine.

I didn’t appreciate how his recitation was affecting her. “Do you think it’s necessary to give her a blow by blow, Bill?” My fingers squeezed Abby’s hand.

“Yes, I do,” he replied, his head bobbing empathically. “Maybe she can talk some sense into you.” Picking up his cup, he sipped his tea as he skimmed over his notes. “Did anything out of the norm happen today?”

Well, let’s see…Was almost getting conked on the noggin with falling tile out of the norm?
Yup, I’m sure Bill would have considered it unusual. But I didn’t want to tell him about the visit to the winery. I lowered my head and
plucked at the hem of my shorts while I argued with myself.
Suck it in, Jensen, and get it over with.

When I raised my head, the words flew out of my mouth. “I went to the winery after work, paid a visit to the old church, and about got beaned by some falling tile. I—”

“You what!” Bill jerked the hand holding the tea, making it slosh over the rim and down the front of his shirt. He set the cup down, grabbed his handkerchief and dabbed at the wet spot.

“Here, let me,” I said, standing.

“Sit,” he barked, jabbing a thick finger at the spot I’d just vacated.

I sank to the couch.

“My God, Ophelia, you
are
trying to get yourself killed!” He scrubbed at his chest furiously, sending the notebook on his lap flying to the floor.

“I am not,” I replied hotly. “It was an accident. Right before I went inside the church, I saw a squirrel. It probably ran across the roof and knocked the tile through the hole.”

Bill scowled at me.

“Look, I’m telling you I
know
I wasn’t the intended victim yesterday—”

“What about tonight?” he asked, challenging me.

“Okay, tonight somebody took a potshot at me, but whatever is happening right now—it’s not about me, it’s about Stephen.”

“You’re sure?” he sneered.

I ignored the sneer. “I know you don’t think I can help you, but I can,” I blurted out. “I took a look at the crime scene—”

His eyes narrowed even more. “Did you cross that tape?”

“No.” Clenching my hands in my lap, I stared at him defiantly. “I stood on the other side and tried to get a reading on what happened.”

He wadded up his handkerchief and shoved it in his pocket. “And?”

“Not much,” I admitted reluctantly. “The shooter stood in the shadow of a tree, so I couldn’t
see
his face.” My voice brightened. “But I could probably show you which tree.”

“No, thanks,” he said, picking up the notebook. “We know where he was standing…we found the shell casing.”

“Bill,” Abby said, the soft rhythm of the mountains thick on her tongue. “I know you don’t fully believe there is such a thing as a sixth sense, or what Ophelia is telling you, but I do.” She patted my tight fists. “If my granddaughter’s instincts tell her you’re on the wrong track, you’d best believe her.” Abby’s eyes traveled to the wet spot on Bill’s shirt. Raising them to his face, she smiled sweetly. “Care for more tea?”

After all the cops had finally left, I locked the door and turned to find Abby standing right behind me. “Let’s talk,” she said in a firm voice.

I snuck a longing look over her shoulder for a possible escape route. “Gee, Abby, I’m kind of tired.”

Her eyebrow arched and she crossed her arms. “You weren’t tired when you were creeping around the backyard in the middle of the night.”

“But,” I motioned to my front door, “there’s been a lot of excitement, and—” Her lips tightened and I gave up. “Okay, but I’m not drinking any tea,” I said vehemently. Trudging behind, I followed her into the kitchen and yanked out a chair, then sat down and waited for her to pour
her
tea and join me.

She got right to the point. “Whether or not you were a target at the winery yesterday and today, you’re a target now and—”

My thoughts leapt ahead of her words. “Tink,” I said with a soft whisper.

She leaned forward and stared into her cup. “We need to protect her.”

“I agree. And with school in session, it’s going to be hard.” I tugged on my bottom lip. “I don’t think she’d care for one of us attending her classes with her.”

Abby softly chuckled. “No, I’m sure she wouldn’t…” She paused and traced a delicate flower painted on the side of her cup. “I have an idea.”

“Not police protection.” My voice rang with certainty. “She won’t like that either.”

Abby looked up and her eyes drilled into mine. “Send her to the mountains.”

“What?” I jumped out of my chair. “To Great-Aunt Mary’s? Are you nuts?”

“Aunt Dot lives there, too,” she answered defensively, and sat back in her chair. “She and Tink formed a tight bond during her visit. They’d love to have her.”

I paced over to the counter and whirled. “What about school? We don’t know how long this investigation is going to take.”

“Aunt Mary was a country schoolteacher for forty years,” she scoffed, scooting around in her chair to face me. “She’s more than capable of home-schooling Tink while she’s there.”

Leaning back, I gripped the edge of the counter. “Abby, the woman’s almost a hundred years old,” I said, shocked at the idea of Great-Aunt Mary keeping up with a fourteen-year-old.

“True, but Aunt Mary is as spry now as she was fifty years ago. She can handle Tink.”

“What if she can’t?” I argued.

“I have cousins in the area. I’m sure they’ll help Aunt Dot and Aunt Mary keep Tink occupied.” She gave me a smug look. “It will be good for Tink. She can learn a great deal from Aunt Mary.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I grumbled.

“Ah, you mean her gift—there’s that, too.” She thought for a moment, then nodded. “Aunt Mary shares Tink’s abilities—we don’t. She’ll be a good guide for Tink.”

With a scowl, I loosened my grip and turned toward the window. I didn’t know if I wanted the mean, prickly, old, Great-Aunt Mary as a guide for my sweet young daughter. How did I know what she might teach Tink? What if Tink came home ready to pulverize rabbit poop, carry the right eye of a wolf inside her sleeve for protection, tie the heart of a bat with a red string to ensure she won at games.
I’d
read those journals, too.

From the window, a car driving slowly down the street caught my attention. I took a step back and watched as it stopped under the street lamp at the intersection. Through the pelting rain, the light bar on top of the car reflected back at me.

Bill had assigned officers to do drive-bys.

With a sigh of resignation, I crossed the kitchen and stood by Abby’s chair. “When you talk to them, please ask Aunt Dot to lay off the fairy thing, okay?”