The Trouble With Witches (6 page)
The light in the hallway made his dark brown hair gleam. His brown eyes were as warm as I remembered them. His face, a little thinner than the last time I'd seen him, wore his trademark grin. And the confidence that had always seemed to wrap around him like a cloak, which had been both annoying yet at the same time endearing, still poured off of him in waves.
Before I could take a step back, he reached out and gathered me in a hug that took my breath away.
I guess Rick Delaney was happy to see me.
Chapter Four
After exchanging pleasantries with Abby, Rick whisked us out of the motel room and to his car. I was still confounded by the massive hug, so I let Abby and Rick carry the conversation, half listening while Rick repeated to Abby what he'd already told me about Brandi. Me? I busied myself watching the suburban landscape fly by.
Strip malls, large malls, car dealerships, passed by one after another. And cars were everywhere I looked—cars whizzing by us on the beltway; cars on the entrance ramp waiting to crowd their way into the rushing stream; cars sitting in the packed parking lots of the malls.
So many cars and so many people.
The air hummed with the vibrancy of the city. It was such a different lifestyle than the one in our small
After a few miles, Rick pulled off onto the exit ramp, and after traveling a few blocks, turned onto a quiet street. Large trees stood on both sides. And well-kept houses nestled on neat yards beneath the trees' sheltering branches. It looked like a nice, peaceful neighborhood. But I knew behind the facade of one of those nice, attractive homes lived a couple who had no peace in their lives. Their daughter was missing.
He slowed the car to a complete stop in front of one of the houses. Ever the gentleman, he got out and walked to Abby's side and helped her out. Together we walked up the flagstone path, and Rick rang the doorbell.
The woman who answered the door was probably in her late forties, but she looked older. A webbing of fine lines gathered around her eyes, and deep creases bracketed her mouth on both sides. Her hair, blond with gray streaks, was dull and fiat.
Lifeless.
But it was her eyes that caught my attention. They were the saddest eyes I'd ever seen, and when they traveled from Abby and me to Rick, I saw the light of hope flicker in their depths.
"Hi, Joan," Rick said, giving her a quick hug. Turning, he ushered Abby and me through the door. "I'd like you to meet Abigail McDonald and her granddaughter, Ophelia Jensen."
Abby quickly stepped forward and took the woman's hand in both of hers. "Hello, Joan. It's nice to meet you."
From where I stood, slightly behind Abby, my senses picked up Abby's energy. She was sending a current through their joined hands and into Joan. She was sharing her strength with the poor woman.
Joan's face seemed to brighten as Abby held her hand, the lines around her mouth less pronounced. She didn't speak for a moment, but then smiled at Abby. "I'm pleased to meet you, Mrs. McDonald."
"Please call me Abby," she answered, releasing the woman's hand.
Joan's eyes turned to me. "Hi, Joan," I said, lightly shaking her hand.
She acknowledged me with a slight bob of her head. "Come in," she said, and waved us into the living room on her left.
The room looked like a picture out of a folksy decorating magazine. Country cute was everywhere. Dried flower arrangements sat on the end tables next to bowls of potpourri. Candles in heavy jars flanked the mantel above the fireplace, and I could smell the faint aroma of apples and cinnamon.
Set between the candles, in a prominent place, was a picture of a young woman. Walking over, I studied it.
The young woman held a graduation certificate tightly in one hand. I couldn't see much of her hair beneath the mortarboard she wore, but it looked to be a strange orange color. Underneath the mortarboard and the orange hair, her face wore a totally bored expression, not a glimmer of a smile, not a look of pride at having completed high school. It was almost as if she posed in the traditional graduation garb to humor her parents.
Joan joined me at the mantel. "That's Brandi. The picture was taken at graduation.
In May."
She traced a finger slowly down the side of the frame. "We were so proud, watching her receive her diploma. We wanted her to go to college, but she wasn't interested. Instead, she took the money her grandmother had given her for her education and left. She said she needed to find herself, before she made any decisions about the rest of her life. Within a week of moving out, she was living with that group at
A slow tear crept down Joan's face, and she absentmindedly brushed it away. Her eyes left the photograph and traveled to mine. "Can you help us find her?" she asked in a whisper.
I felt my heart squeeze at the pain and desperation in her voice. I thought of my failure in locating Henry's missing man, and Henry's reaction. Is this what he faced every day on the job? Worried families frantic to find their missing loved ones? If so, no wonder he kept the wall of ice wrapped around him. He had to. No one could survive serving witness to this kind of distress on a daily basis.
"I don't know, Joan. I—"
"Ophelia, Joan," Rick interjected, "why don't you sit down? And Joan, you can tell Ophelia and Abby about Brandi."
Joan nodded and motioned to the couch. I took my place next to Abby, with Joan and Rick sitting across the coffee table from us in a couple of wing-back armchairs.
"I don't know where to start," Joan said, twisting her hands in her lap.
"When was the last time you heard from her?" Abby asked gently.
"About a month ago.
She called from a pay phone near the lake. She sounded upset, but she wouldn't tell me what was wrong. Just things weren't turning out like she expected them to."
"In what way?"
I leaned forward.
Joan chewed on her bottom lip for a moment before she spoke. "At first she'd seemed happy with PSI—"
"PSI?
Isn't that how some refer to paranormal phenomena?" I asked.
Joan lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "I think so. She mentioned something about how it was an acronym. The letters stand for Psychic Study Institute. Until Brandi got involved with this group, I never paid much attention to that kind of thing."
"Rick said you found books in Brandi's room about spiritualism. Did Brandi believe she was psychic?" Abby asked.
"Oh heavens, no."
Joan's tone was emphatic. "Her father wouldn't have stood for such nonsense." A slight blush crept up her face when she realized what she'd said.
Abby's eyes slid over to mine and one eyebrow lifted. Hmm, the father thought psychic talent was nonsense, yet they were asking two psychics for help?
My eyes moved from Abby's to Joan, sitting in the chair. "Does your husband know that you've asked for our help, Joan?" I asked.
Joan's hands balled into tight fists. "He knows you're going to
"Ben's in Duluth right now on an overnight business trip," Rick interjected. "We thought it would be best if you and Abby met with Joan alone."
Abby fixed a look on Rick. "How much have you told her about us?"
"The truth—that you're both very talented psychics." Unspoken words passed between Abby and Rick.
Rick had left out that we were witches.
"Wise choice on his part.
Joan was so anxious to find her daughter that she was willing to believe in anything. But if her husband had problems believing that psychic abilities existed, how would he feel about two women who were not only psychics, but witches, trying to find their missing daughter?"
"Let's get back to how Brandi sounded the last time you talked to her," Abby said calmly. "She was upset?"
"Yes."
"But prior to that conversation, she'd sounded happy when she called you?"
"Yes.
Happy and excited.
She didn't go into details, but she said Jason—Jason Finch, the leader of the group," Joan explained, "
was
amazing. He could do things she'd never imagined."
"Like what?" Abby asked.
"She didn't go into details, but she hinted that he could talk to the spirits, make things disappear, read minds. I guess things that most psychics can do," Joan said, staring down at her lap.
Abby glanced toward the window. I knew what she was thinking. Although psychic talent covers a lot of different abilities, I'd never heard of anyone who could make something disappear. Talk to spirits, read minds, yeah, but make things disappear? Sounded to me like a parlor trick to pull in the gullible.
"You mentioned, Joan, that Brandi had money from her grandmother. Do you know if she was giving any of it to the group?" I asked, leaning forward.
Joan shook her head. "Not that I'm aware of. We don't have access to her bank account, so I really don't know."
I turned to Rick, who had been silent as we questioned Joan. "What did you learn about the group's finances while you were at the lake?"
"Not much. On the surface, they seem to be financially independent and they give quite a bit of money back to the community." Rick leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "It's an economically depressed area up there, and their generosity has endeared them to the people. One of the reasons people won't talk about them. My instincts tell me this whole deal isn't about money."
"What then?" I felt perplexed. I knew Rick believed if you followed the money, you'd find the solution.
His eyes twinkled and he grinned. "I'm counting on you finding that out."
I rolled my eyes and hoped I earned his faith.
"Tell me more about the group," I said, instead of sharing my thoughts. "How many people and where are they living?"
"I don't know for sure; about ten, I think. Most of them spend all their time at the compound. The most visible ones are Juliet, Jason's wife, and a woman they call Winnie. Winnie's the one I saw the most. She appears to be some kind of a gofer for Jason and Juliet. Short, dumpy woman, can't miss her. And then there's a young girl. I heard she's Jason and Juliet's foster daughter, but I never saw her. Her name is
Tink
."