Tales of the Witch (13 page)

Harper returned his attention to Mrs. Risk, evidently considering Rachel dealt with. “We find out who’s doing these outrages, they’re going to jail. And you with ’em—as instigator. The villagers are terrified, so I’m here on their behalf to stop you. Halloween is in two days—”

“Two nights,” corrected Mrs. Risk in a droll tone.

Mayor Harper’s face deepened in color. He pointed a stubby finger at her. “No one but me has the guts to confront you, you’ve intimidated the entire village!”

“Uh, Mayor,” began Daniel hesitantly, his face pale. “Mrs. Risk didn’t have anything—”

Rachel elbowed him harder.

Mrs. Risk looked amused. “Is this a new plank in your sagging platform?” And giving a startlingly good imitation of the mayor’s speech-making voice, she boomed, “‘After I inflate this ordinary situation into a problem, watch me solve it by running the evil witch out of town—never mind the truth is that she’s only a threat to my reelection! I’m your man to get things done!’” She laughed. “I suppose it has as much merit as the rest of your rhetoric.”

This enraged the Mayor into speechlessness, but as soon as he recovered his breath, he said in a menacing voice, “We don’t like creepy things happening in our village. Get out. Leave town now, today, before you’re made to go in a veeerrry uncomfortable way.” He turned on his heel and left.

Daniel turned to Mrs. Risk with an agonized expression. “I’ve got to tell you. You don’t understand, I’m—”

“Daniel,” said Rachel through clenched teeth. “We understand very well. Don’t worry about it. You’re not the problem.” He stopped talking, but his eyes looked bruised.

Rachel’s breath came in gasps as she paced, alternately tossing empty baskets about and ripping fingers through her long curly hair. “Throwing you out of town! It’s our village, too. I knew he was a snake, but this—” She stopped. “What’s that about my lease?”

Mrs. Risk grimaced. “He obviously thinks he has the power to get you evicted, dear. I’ll call Bob Blume, the attorney. He’ll look into it for you.”

“All of a sudden now I need a lawyer?” Rachel sank down onto a stool behind the counter. “I can’t afford a lawyer.”

“Bob is a dear, he’d never charge you.”

In the ensuing silence Daniel returned to his unloading job, pausing on the way to give Rachel’s shoulder a companionable bump with his fist. He looked miserable.

After he left, Rachel’s and Mrs. Risk’s eyes met.

Mrs. Risk said, “It’s not like Daniel to pull pranks, but these are thoroughly harmless, regardless of what Mayor Harper has stimulated the more gullible villagers into believing. It’s Halloween, dear. He’s young, his hormones are in a constant uproar.” She flicked a dismayed glance at Rachel’s portrait and sighed. “He’s an admirable young man, and daily withstands formidable pressures. We can’t allow Daniel to become a victim of Harper’s re-election campaign.”

“I’ll warn him,” said Rachel.

Mrs. Risk shook her head. “I think you may consider him warned. He needs no further embarrassment.”

Rachel looked around her shop, suddenly exhausted. Then she frowned at Mrs. Risk. “Are you going to let Harper get away with this?”

“With what?”

“With making you the—the scapegoat. Like you’re a bad influence or something, making people want to get rid of you. You’re going to defend yourself, aren’t you?”

Mrs. Risk flipped a hand negligently. “Ignore his ravings. He’s trying to nullify the effect of my support for Ms. Green. I have no intention of paying him the compliment of taking him seriously.”

“Your nasty remarks made everything worse, you know. You deliberately made him madder.”

“It would be more precise to say that my stating of my opinion aggravated him beyond what tiny reason he possesses…but so what?”

“So what? He ordered you to leave Wyndham!” Rachel cried in frustration, which brought Daniel running in again from the alley.

“Never mind, dear,” said Mrs. Risk soothingly to Daniel. “She’s fine, although a bit flustered at the moment. I must run.” And she left.

Early the next morning, Mrs. Risk and Rachel were sharing herbal tea and the
New York Times
and other newspapers in Mrs. Risk’s cottage—a morning ritual—when two visitors arrived unexpectedly at her door. Mrs. Risk admitted them out of the drizzling rain and offered them tea.

Mayor Harper curtly refused, and held out his umbrella to drip on her stone floor.

He’d brought with him a Trustee of the Village Board, Dr. Villas, who glowered, but mostly at the mayor, it seemed to Rachel. Knowing him, she guessed he resented having been dragged away from his patients at St. Boniface Hospital.

“Come sit by the fire, dry off,” Rachel invited.

Dr. Villas waved a hand. “Thank you, no. Last night two corpses were found—”

“I read it in this morning’s paper,” interrupted Mrs. Risk. “Any identification made?”

Mayor Harper cleared his throat loudly and at great length, disliking the way matters had leaped forward without his control. He intoned sonorously, “They had been slit up the middle, drained of all blood, and then crudely sewn back up.”

Mrs. Risk gave him a cool glance. “Yes. I found that aspect fascinating.”

“You would,” Mayor Harper sneered. “You go too far, Mrs. Risk.”

Her expression said she found this statement incomprehensible.

He continued. “You know what the villagers fear?”

“What now?”

“Vampirism!”

Dr. Villas closed his eyes and turned away.

Rachel said scathingly, “Vampires are a fairy tale, Mayor. Do you believe in leprechauns, too?”

“This is no fiction, young lady. If you’d seen the two unfortunate beings, as I did, their bodies—”

Dr. Villas interrupted sharply. “That’s enough. No one forced you to view the bodies, Harold. So don’t shove the image down their throats.”

The Mayor gave him an impatient glance, then added, “They say you’re not only a witch, but a blood drinker.”

“That’s ridiculous!” exclaimed Rachel. She turned angrily to Mrs. Risk. “Can’t we sue or something? Isn’t this libel or—or slander? Call Bob Blume!”

“Calm yourself, Rachel. No one would possibly believe such a flagrant—”

The mayor cut in loudly. “The villagers cower in their beds, fearing who you’ll choose next as victim!”

Dr. Villas winced. “Harold,” he began, but was cut off.

Mrs. Risk said, smiling sweetly, “You should cower in your bed, Harry, afraid the villagers might realize your contempt for their intelligence. If you leave my house swiftly, I’ll consider not telling them. Otherwise,” she shrugged. “I can’t be held responsible.”

Mayor Harper took a deep, contented breath that confounded Rachel. “You’ll see.” He chuckled. “C’mon, Doc.”

Dr. Villas glanced uncertainly at Mrs. Risk, then followed him out.

After she shut the door on them, Rachel turned to Mrs. Risk and said, “He’s too happy to suit me. You must see now, you have to do something.”

“Don’t be silly.” Mrs. Risk laughed. “The villagers might be foolishly going along with this outrageous theory, but not in their hearts. They’ll soon recall that in all the years I’ve lived here, I’ve done them only good. They’ll throw this idiot out on his ear at the election.” She walked calmly back to her chair, sat, and picked up her tea cup.

Rachel watched her sadly. “In the last two years, you have opened my eyes to so much. Why are your eyes now closed?”

“He’s stirring up a false crisis, Rachel. Then ‘solving’ it to make himself look effective.”

“Yes!” said Rachel. “But the villagers—maybe they don’t really think you drink blood or anything stupid like that, but some are jealous of you. See, most work hard for a living, but still only just hang on. It’s expensive to live on Long Island. And here you sit on your fanny, doing whatever you feel like—as you keep telling me—not working a day in your life as far as any of us can see. Nobody, not even me, knows how you can afford it.”

“That’s no one’s business but my own,” said the witch distinctly.

“I’m not denying it. And I’m not denying jealousy is petty and wrong, too, but people feel it. And most are scared of you. You’re an intimidating person. You’ve gotten some out of scrapes, sure, but some of them you’ve caught doing wrong.”

Mrs. Risk said softly, “Rachel, some people are content to merely live. I am one of those who needs something to live for. A mission, you might call it. And since my peculiar bent of mind has been found to be of use to others, that’s what I live for—to be of use. Life is hard. I have much to give, so I give it.”

After a long silence, Rachel said, “But that doesn’t change the fact that Harper’s harvesting all those old resentments, offended egos, and fears. And you’re letting him.”

Mrs. Risk stared into the fire.

Rachel took a deep, ragged breath. “Maybe this meteor shower has done a lot worse than stir up imaginary spirits. Maybe it’s robbed you of your common sense. I’ve got to go.” Fighting back tears, she grabbed up her jacket and fled.

Later that morning, when the rain stopped and the sun again lit the colorful fall landscape, Mrs. Risk took up her basket. Her cat, Jezebel, hopped inside, and they went for a stroll through the village. Through Mayor Harper’s village—his possessive words returned to her mind, but she shook the thought away. Her village.

Instead of choosing the short route along the strip of beach that edged Wyndham Bay, she took the longer way, the road that fronted her neighbors’ houses, so she could greet them, and gossip. Be friendly.

The first person she saw was Vinnie the mailman. As she approached, she noticed his expression becoming anxious. Before she could arrive within speaking distance, he baffled her by hopping into his truck and rapidly driving away, the small engine straining to navigate the hill.

Nearer the village proper, the road became edged with boardwalks. She strolled down the boardwalk, and as she progressed, people crossed to the opposite side of the road when she came into sight. Jezebel poked her head through the flap opening of the basket and yowled, almost as if she could feel the tension mounting around her. When Mrs. Risk crossed the road to the side opposite the bay, people disappeared into this shop doorway or that, melting out of her path.

Abruptly, Mrs. Risk stopped and stared down the oddly empty boardwalk. She stood for a moment, stroking Jezebel’s sleek head, then whirled and returned home, this time taking the shortcut, the more deserted beach path. When she finally arrived at her cottage, she phoned a few friends. “It’s Halloween Eve. I have a Bordeaux that wants sampling,” she invited. She tried not to be, but was still surprised when only two would come. Aisa Garret and Ernie Block.

After dinner, having sampled and judged two Burgundies of varying pedigree and vintage, along with the star Bordeaux, the three friends gathered in front of her fireplace with coffee. The evening had passed uneasily.

A smile creased old Aisa’s thin face as he rocked back in his chair. “Excellent dinner. Two of those wines are real finds, I compliment you. Now. What’re you going to do about this mess Harper has created around you, my dear?” He asked the question offhandedly, and seemed preoccupied with the label of a bottle of cognac twice his age and almost too bulky for his small hands to grasp. From his perch on a large padded stool, Ernie fiddled restlessly with his coffee cup which he had balanced on the apex of his pot belly. He nodded his approval of Aisa’s question and watched Mrs. Risk sharply out of the corner of his eye.

Aisa, the widowed and childless retired owner of North Shore Industries Corporation, was one of Mrs. Risk’s oldest and closest friends and knew more about her than anyone else in Wyndham, although he wasn’t telling.

Ernie, a large man with well-padded bones, was a local building contractor in his late fifties and a devoted admirer. His amiable personality concealed a shrewd intelligence under his Giants cap. Mrs. Risk and Aisa were teaching Ernie about wine, so they often invited him to share wine tasting opportunities.

“What mess?” she answered negligently.

“Oh, don’t sidestep me, there’s trouble all right. Rachel told me all about it. And if she hadn’t, I still would’ve known. Who could avoid the hysteria the mayor is dispensing as fast as he can round the village? So don’t give her any grief for snitching,” Aisa said firmly, forestalling her rising protests. “Blood-sucking. Vampirism. Theatrical idiocy.” He snorted in disgust.

“This isn’t my doing. All I did was—”

Aisa finished smoothly, “All you’ve done is exist, which has always irritated Harry. In the first place, without lifting a finger you’ve power and authority he must win in elections. In the second place, that authority has made you perversely vital to re-election. Murky situation.”

“Murky’s a good word for it,” put in Ernie suddenly, his nose wrinkling in disgust.

She mused, “I keep wondering who those two poor souls were. It’s odd the police haven’t been able to discover anything about them.”

“Now there you’ve put your nose on it,” said Ernie. “If you’d figure out the story behind those two bodies…”

“He’s right,” said Aisa. “You’d not only earn the poor ah—gentlemen—a decent resting place, you’d expose the Mayor’s foolishness.”

“The foolishness of the whole village,” corrected Ernie. He poured himself more coffee.

“I challenge you my dear. Expose this inflammatory, self-serving hogwash for what it is,” finished Aisa. “I believe I’ll have a drop of this cognac after all. Ernie?” Aisa held up the bottle. Ernie shook his head no, so Aisa served himself.

Mrs. Risk said, “This is too ridiculous. The police are more than competent to trace identities, with their databases and…” she waved a hand in the air, signifying vast resources. “They’ll figure out how those two men died, and why, and how they ended up here. So let them do their jobs. The mayor is NOT going to manipulate me into lifting a finger that I personally don’t wish to lift.”

Aisa swirled his cognac in the big-bellied snifter and scowled. “Pride, eh? Can’t stoop to fight back?”

“Tchah!” spat Mrs. Risk. “Give me a decent foe! He’s the worst sort of cheap clown.”

“Decent foe?” Ernie looked puzzled. “I think Harper’s about as mean a foe as you could get. He doesn’t care whose life he ruins, long’s he gets his way. And he just might ruin yours if you don’t stand up for yourself.”