The Trouble With Witches (3 page)
I shook my head. "Never mind, it wasn't anything important. Hey, don't you think it's kind of hot to be canning?" I asked, and glanced at the row of bright red jars lined up on her counter. "Your woodstove puts out a lot of heat."
"Oh, nonsense."
She brushed her hand in the air. "My mother canned in weather twice as hot as this.
And without the benefit of electric fans."
Abby had all the modern conveniences—electricity, telephone, the things we take for granted. She even had a computer tucked away in one of the upstairs bedrooms and was becoming quite a whiz on the Internet. But in her kitchen, she preferred the old ways, the ways of her mother, and her mother's mother. Her kitchen looked like it had been transported from an old cabin in the mountains. Dried herbs hung in neat rows from the exposed beams in the ceiling, and the windowsills gleamed with rows of crystals.
I shook my head again, knowing it would be pointless to argue with her.
"So who were you talking to this early?" I asked, changing the subject.
"Arthur," she replied in a shy voice.
Oh yeah, Arthur, better known around Summerset as Stumpy, the owner of
Stumpy's
Bar and Billiards.
And Abby's elderly boyfriend.
I don't know; there was just something a little disconcerting about the idea of my grandmother having a romance, so my solution was to ignore it as much as possible.
"When he was here last night, he thought maybe he'd—"
I held up my hand, stopping her. "That's okay. I don't need to know what you were talking about." I felt a hot blush creeping up my neck.
Abby chuckled.
"Poor Ophelia.
You don't like to think about me being involved with someone, do you?"
"No, no," I stuttered. "It's not that. I like Stumpy…
ahh
, Arthur. I really do. He was great when you were in the hospital, after Charles Thornton had conked you on the head. But I just don't need to know…" I winced. "…
the
details."
She chuckled again. "You're worried about too much information?"
"Yup," I replied, nodding vigorously.
She reached over and patted my hand. "Don't worry, dear, I'll say no more."
I blew out a sigh of relief and smiled. "Thank you!"
"Since I had
company
last night…" Abby paused, noticing the look on my face, and smiled. "… I didn't have a chance to call you and ask you how your reading went with Henry. Were you able to help him?"
"No," I said, my voice laced with frustration. "The missing man is dead, a suicide, but I couldn't tell Henry where to find the body. All I saw was a pasture, with crows flying around. My last glimpse was a pile of bones, so I know they won't find him till next spring."
Abby folded her hands and looked down at them for a moment. "I'm sorry. Not knowing with certainty what happened to him will be hard on the man's family."
"Yeah, that's what Henry said, too." My face tightened in a frown. "Something else happened—Rick Delaney called me in the middle of the night."
Abby's eyes widened in surprise.
"Rick. You haven't heard from him in some time, have you?"
"You're right. I haven't. After leaving Summerset last fall, he called pretty frequently, but then the calls became farther and farther apart. It's been, I don't know, at least three, maybe four months, since I've heard from him."
"Why now?"
"He wants our help. A young woman, the daughter of close friends, is missing."
"Is he sending you photos of her to try and trigger a vision?"
"No. I said he wants
our
help. He wants us to go to
"Why?"
"Well…" I said, and traced the pattern on Abby's tablecloth with my finger. "It seems she got mixed up with this group supposedly conducting psychic and paranormal research. He thinks sending a couple of psychics to snoop around would be a good idea."
"And we're the couple of psychics?"
I looked at Abby and smiled. "You got it."
"Hmm.
I've never allowed myself to get involved with any kind of an investigation—"
My snort stopped her.
"Well, I haven't," she said defensively.
"Not until last fall when we met Rick, and then, of course, this spring with Charles Thornton.
But that's different, you were in danger, and I was trying to help."
She had a point. Abby had always kept the knowledge of her talent to herself. She had never done readings or given warnings of approaching disaster to anyone. And to do a spell to direct a specific outcome for someone behind their back, even if the spell was for their own good, was unthinkable. She felt very strongly that to try and influence events without a person's consent was a serious invasion of their privacy. She would give advice, if asked, but would do so under the guise of a "hunch." Whoever had sought her advice never knew it was based on anything other than the wisdom Abby had gained over the years.
A very clever woman, my grandmother.
"Does that mean you don't think we should go?" I asked.
Abby gave me a thoughtful look. "No, I didn't say we shouldn't go, but I'm not getting any kind of a feeling about this Brandi."
"Do you think that means she's dead?"
"I don't know. Tell me exactly what happened.
From the beginning."
"Okay. I was sound asleep, dreaming I was in the library. Mr. Carroll was there. A big black spider sat on his shoulder. He was yelling at me about the library's choice of books—"
Abby smiled.
"Nothing odd about that.
Mr. Carroll never likes the books you order. And you've been complaining for months that the library needs to be fumigated."
I arched an eyebrow. "Did I mention he was naked?"
"No, you left that part out," she replied, her smile widening.
I shuddered. "We'll talk more about why I would dream of a naked Mr. Carroll later. Anyway, Mr. Carroll's yelling was accompanied by a loud jangling.
The phone.
That's what woke me up. It was Rick. He told me about Brandi and asked for our help. That's it."
"What did he say about this Brandi?"
I shrugged. "She's an only child and her parents are very worried. She's been upset ever since her grandmother died. They haven't heard from her in a couple of months, which is unusual. Rick went up to
"What else did he say about Brandi? There's something about her that bothers you."
"Very astute."
"I'm psychic," she said with a chuckle.
"Supposedly, so am I," I said, shaking my head. "But I'm not really picking up much on this one. All I have is a sense of unease, but I don't know if it's because something's happened to the girl or because, from what Rick said, she has always been 'different.' "
"And you understand that?" Abby asked gently.
"Yeah, I do. If it hadn't been for your understanding of how I felt growing up, maybe I'd have been as lost as Brandi evidently is, or was."
"Well," Abby said as she pushed away from the table and stood, "I guess there's only one way to find out."
I looked up at her. "And what way is that?
Some remote hocus-pocus to find out what we should do?"
"No, of course not," she said, crossing her arms in front of her. "We go to
Chapter Two
For the rest of the day I stewed about calling Rick. My unease seemed to simmer in my mind like a bubbling cauldron, and I sought things to do around my small Victorian cottage.
Much to the resentment of Lady and
Queenie
, I gave them a bath and wormed them. After those tasks were finished, and under the distrustful eyes of the dog and cat, I cleaned out all my cupboards and organized my spice rack. I would've alphabetized the spices, but I thought that was carrying things a bit too far. Unfortunately, none of these jobs helped allay the thoughts cooking in my head.
What if Brandi had met with foul play? If so, how far would someone go to keep her fate a secret? From past experiences, I knew the threat of discovery could drive people to do horrendous things. A chill shot up my spine. Like what Adam Hoffman had done last fall when he murdered Butch Fisher and left his body in the woods, on the bank of the stream.
Left there for the wildlife to dispose of.
And by the time some poor unsuspecting soul—in this case, me—had literally stumbled onto the body, the scene wasn't a pretty one. Did I want to risk exposing not only myself, but this time Abby, to something like that again?
Maybe Brandi had just taken off with some trucker and was too busy having fun to call home? If that were the case, our assistance wasn't needed. Eventually she'd turn up.
Thinking of Brandi, on the road, in a semi, didn't help my uneasiness. The thought cranked the feeling up another notch.
Oh, just call Rick and go to
!
said
a voice in my head. But still I hesitated.
Pouring a glass of iced tea, I wandered out to the patio with Lady and
Queenie
at my heels. By now they'd both forgiven me for the worming and the baths. Pulling out a lawn chair, I propped my feet up and watched the stars flicker on, one by one.
Since last fall, after the incident with Adam Hoffman, I'd finally accepted my heritage, my gift, and had worked with Abby on learning the art of
magick
. And I was getting better. I still didn't have
scrying
down, where I'd stare into a flame and try and pick up an image, but I was getting pretty good at using my great-grandmother's runes. Abby had given them to me last fall, and by now I was able to think outside of the box, as Abby had advised me to do. The funny markings on the runes made sense to me now, and my accuracy was increasing.
Hmm, the runes.
Abby didn't think remote hocus-pocus would help, but she hadn't said anything about not trying a rune reading. Shoving myself to my feet, I went back into the house to prepare.