Witch One Dunnit? (Rachael Penzra mystery) (33 page)

       I let her in anyway.  It’s humiliating, but I almost always follow my social training.  One of those rules of social training is that when there’s a friend or neighbor at your door, you let them in.  I’d already put on the coffee pot.  We’d be just two ladies getting together for a good gossip, speculating on who murdered whom. 

       “I found him!” she announced, pushing her way in as soon as I opened the door.

       “Or, better yet,” a new voice came from the side.  “
I
found
her
.”  The voice changed suddenly, turning petulant and vicious.  “Both of you get inside, and don’t do anything stupid!”

       Lucinda’s brother-in-law, Peter Pfeiffer, (he of the comic name) followed her inside, aiming a gun between the two of us.  He pushed her at me, forcing me backwards, obstructing my first chance to attack him.  Lucinda still looked wildly triumphant.  “We have him, Rachael!  We have him! 
Peter
murdered my Shelly!”

       I may be slow, but I
had
figured that out.  “I take it you didn’t call anyone but me,” I said, already knowing she hadn’t. 

       “No, she didn’t call anyone but you,” he mimicked my tone.  “I had a gun to her head the entire time she was on the phone with you.  And do you know what?  When you’re talking to someone else, I finally get a little peace!  You’ve been hammering away at my mind for much too long, you snooping bitch!  Just like your aunt!  Hammering and pounding in my brain until I can barely think straight!”

       “But why?”  I really wanted to know.  I wanted answers from him, I wanted to quietly concentrate on sending out SOS messages to the outer world, and I wanted a chance to disarm him with my martial arts skills.  Most of all I felt I had to let my mental powers work.  If ever they were intended to do me any good – and they had certainly been useless thus far – now was the time for them to get busy.  I felt mildly hysterical.  There was Lucinda, still smiling as though she’d somehow managed to catch
him
, and there I was, thinking of mentally hollering “Fire!” to everyone I knew.  They say that’s what to yell when you’re in danger.  I fought back a giggle, took a deep breath, and tried to make contact with Patsy (and her faithful watchdog, Joe), with Elena (surely
she
could hear me), and with David.  Belatedly I added the Sheriff Alberts to my list, although somehow I didn’t picture him responding to my psychic call for help.

       “Peter thinks he can get away with killing my baby,” Lucinda told me, conversationally, the weird smile still plastered to her face.  “He should have known I’d find out.  I had
you
on my side!”

       “Lucinda, I had no idea it was Peter who did this!”

       “Oh, you knew!  You just didn’t
know
you knew! 
He
knew it, though, didn’t you Peter?  Rachael’s powers were too much for you!”

       Peter’s face had gone frighteningly blank.  “Oh, yes.  I knew.  That damned aunt of yours did the same thing to me … probing my mind, probing my mind.  But with you it was even worse.  I could feel it, constantly
feel
you digging away at my brain!  Why did you have to come here?  I thought I was through with all that when I ran your aunt down!”

       His face was still calm, but his voice had risen to a shrill pitch.  This was all unreal.  I hadn’t known
anything,
and if anyone’s mind had been messing with someone else’s, it had been
his
messing with
mine
! 

       And I suddenly felt the full force of his hateful mind that had been beamed my way all this time.  Only this hatred was aimed at Lucinda and ... his dead wife?  Having never met the woman, I have no idea how I knew, but I did.  Hate, pure wickedness!  The power of it made me sit down heavily on a counter stool.  I sprang right back up, causing him to swing the gun my way, but breaking the force of his anger.  “Don’t move, Rachael!”

       I shook my head no, I wouldn’t move.  “I still don’t understand,” I said slowly.  “Why did you want to kill Shelly?”

       He ignored my question.  “I saw your face when you read my mind the day of the memorial service, Rachael.  You almost fell over, didn’t you?  Everyone thinks I’m a wimp, but you saw differently, didn’t you?  You saw how powerful I really am.”

       It took me a moment to remember what he was talking about.  The day of the memorial service, I’d been caught off guard, lost in my own greedy thoughts over the food table.  He had startled me, and I’d almost lost my plate of food. 
That
was what he’d seen in my face – my greed, my fear of spilling my precious manna.  My gluttony at work once more.  Again I almost giggled as the mundane thought passed through my mind that someday my gluttony would kill me.  One of those morbid, horrible sayings we have which we have no real belief in.  Just a joke.  Right.

       “It was money all along, wasn’t it?” I asked.  No wonder I’d been so upset about the theories rolling through my mind.  None of them fit.  It wasn’t a matter of simple
dislike
of Shelly, and it had nothing to do with her being a witch.   It was the simplest thing of all.  Greed.  I wasn’t sure how he benefited, but I was suddenly sure he did. Then it finally struck me that with Shelley out of the way, her mother got her money.  With her mother dead, Ronnie got it.  “And now you want to kill Lucinda to finish what you’d started. And what are you going to do about killing me?  That can’t fit into your plans.” 

       “Oh, I’ll make it work, don’t worry about it,” he smiled, smugly.  Lucinda still stood watching me with her asinine smile.  “It wasn’t the way I’d first planned it, of course, but it hardly matters.  This is even better.  I thought I could do all right with sending the cops off on a wild goose chase after all of the witches polluting this town.  It’s been so convenient, every last one of you is a witch.  Why wouldn’t this have something to do with your group of fools?  Oh, it’s too perfect all right!”

       “Wouldn’t it be
Ronnie
who inherited the money?  He’d be next of kin before you,” I asked, still sending out frantic messages with my mind. 
Fire, fire, fire! 
“Are you planning to kill your own
son?”

       “I
knew
Ronnie didn’t do it,” Lucinda assured me before he could answer.  She was scaring me almost as much as Peter.  Unless she made a long trip back, I had the feeling she wasn’t with us anymore.  The smile stayed fixed on me, obviously full of confidence I’d somehow save the day, make justice prevail.  If that belief didn’t smack of madness, I don’t know what did.

       “It just won’t fly, Peter,” I told him with more self-assurance than I felt.  Once he’d let down his guard I had full access to his mind.  People under great stress are often either very open or completely closed.  His mind was busy scurrying from one plan to another.  A frown had formed on his face.  I didn’t want to give him time to think of something that might actually work.  On the other hand, I didn’t want him to panic and start shooting.   I knew enough about guns to realize a gun with a bore the size of the one he was holding had plenty of stopping power.  I might have tried a leap against a twenty-two (although they say the small caliber tends to ricochet inside you, causing lots of damage) because I might be able to hit him even if he shot me.  If I was going to die anyway, I might as well take my chances.

       That sounded great in theory, but when exactly would be my best chance?  At the moment, he was still trying to concoct a fool-proof plan to get rid of Lucinda and myself, and not be caught.  If his mind stayed open to me, I might have a few seconds to know when he was going to shoot.  I will say one thing about fear.  My mind was just a-flying.  It might have been going in circles, but it was moving.  I soothed it and tried to send out more messages telepathically.  I let it loose to try and think up a plan of its own.  I used the surface of it to try and keep Peter distracted enough so he couldn’t think... 

       Above all, I waited for my one chance.

       “Go down in the basement,” he suddenly ordered us.  “Come on!  You first, Rachael.  Move it!”

       I’d hoped not to have Lucinda between us.  There was a vague idea forming in his head.  He was thinking of setting up an altar down there, trying to create another ritual scene.  I didn’t think he knew enough about a Wiccan alter to convince any
real
witch, but he wouldn’t need much to convince laymen.  Prejudice is never far from the surface. 

       Lucinda, still seemingly unconcerned, started for the basement, almost nudging me along.  I glanced at the clock on the wall.  Not even eleven.  Patsy wouldn’t be back for hours.  I definitely didn’t want her walking in on the killer, but Joe was a different story.  Joe was large, and trained, and still young enough to play hero. 

       I wondered if he carried his gun on his dates.

       We trooped down into the basement.  The only advantage the basement had over the kitchen was size and a sense of privacy.  Gunshots, for instance, would probably be somewhat muffled.  Otherwise, it was cement, a white-washed place to house furnace, laundry, and boxes of supplies for the store.  The inventory problem with the modern day store can be overwhelming.  This was just what we couldn’t reorder and receive within a week. 

       Lucinda nodded pleasantly to me as she passed.  I had stopped and stepped to one side at the bottom of the stairs.  Peter, pointing the gun straight at me, circled past.  My mind continued to dither.  Should I have struck then?  The rational part of my brain told me it wouldn’t have worked.  I couldn’t have made it.  The rest of me, more primitive, kept clamoring for me to do something. 
Anything
.
  And do it soon!

       I was
still
sending out frantic mental pleas for help.  In between spasms, I tried to think of a plan.  There aren’t many options when someone’s pointing a gun at you. 

       “I’ve already told Ronnie not to let you push him around after I die,” Lucinda said, unexpectedly.  I’d thought for sure she’d left us for good, off in some more pleasant world, one where Shelly, a nice, childish Shelly, still lived.  “He won’t give you a penny.”

       He turned his attention to her, but left the gun pointed at me.  I glanced at the boxes to my left, trying to recall what they contained.  Nothing solid enough to stop a bullet, that was for sure. 

       “Ronnie will do whatever I tell him to do,” Peter said confidently.  “He’s weak.  Why do you think he got involved in all this witchcraft crap?  He wants power, and he’s too weak to get it any other way.”

       There were some dirty clothes in the basket by the machine.  Patsy went through clean clothing at an astonishing rate.  Nothing I said about the sins of wasting water made any impression on her.  The ironing board was still up, but the iron had been carefully replaced on the shelf behind it.  An iron would be awkward to throw accurately, anyway, although I’d always been good at ball throwing.  Anything to distract him for the necessary moment.  Spray starch?  It rested on the end of the ironing board.  Not much of a weapon, but if push came to shove ...  I edged around that way, displeased when the gun followed my progress even while he didn’t seem to be noticing me.  They were still arguing, almost like any normal family bickering.
      
“You’re the one who ruined him,” Lucinda accused.  “He told me you never thought he did anything right.  Children need confidence, you know.  You’re a lousy father.”

       “And I suppose you have a closet full of mother of the year awards!”

       They continued to bicker, and I sidled a little further away.  The gun followed, but not the eyes.  Keep talking, Lucinda! I thought.

       So, naturally, she shut up.  I could actually feel her returning to her strange new world as she turned her odd smile back at me.  I tried to think some sort of action into her mind.  She smiled.  Peter, though, had recalled why we were all gathered there.  “Let’s get this over with,” he snapped at me, as though I’d been impeding his actions.  “You can make is simple or hard.  Make up your mind.”

       But he’d already made up his.  I knew it almost before he did, and because I’d been waiting for that moment, so on edge, I responded first.  I jumped sideways, got a lucky hold on the starch, and swung it at him in one smooth motion.  It was a beautiful move, graceful and accurate, much thanks to my daily Tai Chi routine.

       Unfortunately, he shot me before I could follow through properly.  And I’d been right about the size of the bore.  It was like being hit by a sledge hammer.  As I flew back towards the wall, the last thing I saw was Lucinda’s face, smiling her confident, silly smile.