Witch Hunt

Prologue

Blood dripped from Darci’s elbow, leaving bright red polka dots across the bathroom floor. A trail of crimson dots that would lead right to us.

I turned the flimsy lock on the bathroom door and then hobbled over to the chair sitting in the corner, next to the tub. Dragging it to the door, I shoved it beneath the doorknob. One good kick from the other side would no doubt bust the door open and send the chair airborne, but at least it might slow the intruders down long enough for us to escape out the bathroom window.

I looked down at the cast on my leg. Who was I kidding? I wasn’t going anywhere. Noticing Darci’s purse still hooked over her shoulder, I pointed at the bag.

Your cell phone, I said in a hushed voice.

With a look of excitement, she tore it open and pulled out the phone. Her face fell. The battery’s dead.

Can you climb out the window?

She looked at the gash on her arm caused by a flying shard of glass hitting her when the mirror shattered. Yeah, I think so. The bleeding’s stopped, she whispered while dabbing the cut with a washcloth. But you can’t get out the window with your broken foot. Her voice rose in desperation. I can’t leave you here.

Limping over to where Darci stood, I gripped her other arm. You have to, I said in a hushed tone. Climb out the window, onto the porch roof. From there, it’s an easy drop to the ground.

In the faint light I saw her eyes narrow with stubbornness.

I’m not going without you. We don’t even know how many people are in the house.

I think two. We heard one come through the back porch, and one came in the kitchen window.

A loud crash from the living room below made us both jump.

I gave her a small shove toward the window. We don’t have time to argue. Get out that window and go for help.

With a sigh of resignation, she hurried to the window and slowly slid it open. Flipping the strap of her purse over her head and across her chest, she threw a leg over the sill. With one last look, she disappeared into the night.

I was alone—alone in the house with two killers.

One

The honeymoon was over. The sweet, quiet thirteen-year-old girl from last August had now, in May, morphed into a drama queen. In the evening, my phone rang constantly with calls from her friend, Nell, whom she’d spent the entire day with at school. One would think they’d talked over everything there, but evidently they still had important issues to discuss. Every weekend there was some event that required her attendance. And if she didn’t go, she said she’d die. For a thirty-something librarian who had lived a peaceful life, becoming a foster mother was a change that had left me reeling. I was in over my head.

My beloved grandmother sat at her kitchen table and listened to my tale of woe with a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth. Her green eyes held a distinct twinkle.

You think this is funny, don’t you? I said, leaning up against the counter in Abby’s kitchen.

Her smile widened while she tucked a stray strand of silver hair back into the heavy braid coiled at the top of her head. In her seventies, her face bore the traces of the lovely young woman my grandfather had brought to Iowa all those years ago. And when she smiled, that young woman seemed to peek out.

Yes, I do. I can recall similar conversations I had with your mother when you were a teenager, she said in a voice still rich with the tempo of the Appalachian Mountains where she’d spent her girlhood.

I frowned. Wait a second. I never spent hours on the phone every night after school. And most of my weekends were at the library, not running around some mall.

That’s right. She nodded. You did spend most weekends studying, but I do recall one weekend at Halloween—

Hey, that wasn’t my idea. Linda had a crush on the dean’s son. She wanted to get his attention.

Abby’s laugh rang out. Well, you succeeded. You not only got the son’s attention, but the dean’s and the campus police.

I lowered my eyes and traced the toe of my shoe across the wooden floor of Abby’s rustic kitchen. The smell of wood smoke from her cook stove mingled with the scent of the dried herbs hanging from the open beams, as I remembered all too well the incident Abby was referring to. My girlfriend, Linda, thought she was madly in love with the dean’s son, but he wouldn’t give her the time of day, so one Halloween we decided to change all that and decorate every bush and tree in his yard with toilet paper. The pristine white streamers looked lovely waving in the moonlight, or at least we thought so until the campus police rolled up the driveway and busted us. Not a good situation to be in when both your parents are professors and the dean is your mother’s boss.

I think I got grounded for a month over that little escapade.

Abby’s voice jarred me out of my trip down memory lane. And then there was the time you and Linda—

Okay, okay, I grumbled. I get it. I put my mother through my share of drama, too.

She walked over to me and placed her hands on my shoulders. It’s going to be all right, Ophelia. Kids don’t come with instruction manuals. All you can do is love them.

A frown puckered my forehead. I do love Tink. She’s had a tough life for someone so young. Losing her mother at such a young age, then being forced to live with her psycho aunt for all those years.

A shudder ran through me as I thought of Juliet Finch, Tink’s aunt and former guardian. When we’d met the Finches last summer, Juliet had been trying to use Tink’s talent as a medium for her own purposes. She tried to keep the kid drugged, and Tink’s only ally had been a Native American shaman, Walks Quietly. Juliet’s plan backfired and landed her in a state mental hospital in Minnesota. Her husband, Jason, had been more concerned about Juliet than Tink, and I knew we could give Tink the love and support she deserved. Jason willingly signed Tink’s custody over to me, and we’d brought her back to Iowa.

Abby picked up on my thoughts—a side effect of having a psychic grandmother. Her hands tightened on my shoulders in a comforting squeeze. Don’t worry about Juliet.

A sigh slipped out and I stepped away from her hand. But what if she wants Tink back someday?

Abby crossed her arms over her worn flannel work shirt and gave me a hard stare. Quit borrowing trouble, she said in a stern voice. Jason Finch signed legal custody over to you—

Yeah, I interrupted, but Jason adores his wife and will do whatever Juliet wants. If she’s ever released and decides she wants Tink back, Jason would move heaven and earth to give her what she wants.

Nonsense, she said, with a toss of her head. The Finches can’t give Tink a stable home.

But Juliet is her only living relative, I argued.

She gave my shoulder a little shake. You worry too much.

Chewing on my bottom lip, I shrugged. I don’t know, Abby, lately I can’t shake the feeling something’s up.

Ophelia, she said, her voice full of exasperation, stop it. We may be psychic, but it doesn’t mean we ‘see’ everything. The future will unfold as it should. And whatever happens, we’ll do our best to make sure Tink’s best interests are protected.

What about now? Am I doing what’s in Tink’s best interests?

Abby gave me a questioning look. What do you mean?

Am I giving her what she needs?

Do you mean her training?

Yes. I paced across the kitchen floor. She’s working in your greenhouse after school, and I know you’ve been coaching her. Is she gaining more control?

Hmm, Abby pursed her lips and stared off into space. Nodding once, she looked back at me. Yes, she is. Tink is a thirteen-year-old girl, so there are all those hormones beginning to bounce around. And she wants desperately to fit in with her new friends. She paused. But her focus and control is really amazing for someone so young.

I stopped and narrowed my eyes at Abby. Are you sure?

Of course I’m sure. A quick smile darted across Abby’s face. "After all, she hasn’t said anything about seeing any ghosts."

I stopped my pacing. Ghosts? Tink has been talking about ghosts?

No, she hasn’t been talking about ghosts—I’m teasing you. But remember, Tink is a medium, dear. Lost souls will always be drawn to her.

Like Great-Aunt Mary? I didn’t like where this conversation was leading.

Abby gave a small nod. Yes.

Peachy, I grumbled, remembering Abby’s stories about growing up with a medium living in the same home. And this focus and control she’s learning is going to prevent those ‘lost’ from being drawn straight to my house?

Yes, Abby replied with confidence.

I scrubbed my face with my hands. Abby had always been more comfortable with our family’s heritage of folk magick, healing, and various psychic talents. I’d struggled most of my life trying to accept mine. Would Tink grow into her talents? Or would she spend her life hiding her gifts from everyone, including herself?

The ringing of my cell phone broke the silence and startled me out of my thoughts. Crossing quickly to the kitchen table, I picked it up and answered.

Can you come get me right now? asked Tink in a quiet voice.

Caught off guard by the suddenness of her request, I stumbled over my words. Yeah, ah, sure. I looked at my watch. Nine o’clock in the morning. Usually at a slumber party, the girls stayed up half the night and then slept away most of the morning. Why was Tink up so early?

But before I could ask, the line went dead. Puzzled, I flipped my phone shut and looked at Abby.

Tink wants me to pick her up now.

That’s right. She spent the night at Nell’s, didn’t she?

I dropped my phone in my purse. Yeah. A slumber party. Big deal, too. The three M’s were going to be there.

The three M’s? Abby asked, her voice perplexed.

I nodded. Mandy Simpson, Mindy Jones, and Melinda Polaski. They’re in the ‘in’ crowd, I said, making quotation marks with my fingers. I was surprised Nell invited them. She never seemed to care much about that kind of thing before, but… I shrugged. Who knows with teenagers, right?

Abby gave me a gentle smile and stood. Ophelia, quit worrying. You’re doing fine as a mother.

Arching an eyebrow, I looked at her skeptically.

She laughed. You are. Remember, all you can do is love them.

Ten minutes later I was turning the corner into the new development where Nell’s family lived. Both sides of the street were lined with the same kind of modest ranch-style houses. The only house that had any distinction was Nell’s. Her mother had a fondness for yard ornaments, and their lawn was littered with a bird bath, pink flamingos, a black and white hen with bright yellow chicks in a row behind, and various other animals whose likenesses had been forever preserved in hard plastic or concrete.

Before I even stopped the car, Tink came scurrying out the front door, with her sleeping bag and pillow tucked under one arm and her backpack slung over one thin shoulder. After shoving her stuff in the backseat, she slid in next to me. The bill of the baseball cap covering her pale blond hair was pulled low on her forehead, shading her violet eyes.

You’re late, she said, slumping down in the seat.

I gave her a sideways glance while I backed the car slowly out of the driveway. Good morning to you, too.

She sunk a little lower in the seat. ’Morning, she replied without turning her head.

Did you have a good time?

Tink hunched her shoulders. It was okay.

Her attitude surprised me. She and Nell had spent hours on the phone planning this slumber party, and Tink had been so excited about it. And the three M’s attendance was considered quite a coup.

The three M’s—Mindy, Mandy, and Melinda—the undisputed leaders of Tink and Nell’s class. I’d learned all about them courtesy of my assistant, Darci. When Tink had come home with me to Summerset, Darci took Tink under her wing and played the role of unofficial aunt. She’d decided it was necessary to find out all she could about every kid in Tink’s class. Darci had a great source—her friend Georgia, the biggest gossip in town. Georgia knew everything. I swear, she could scent out a story or a rumor like a bloodhound. And what she didn’t find out on her own, she managed to worm out of her boyfriend, Alan, a deputy with the sheriff’s office.

But even without Darci’s help I would have figured out the dynamics after one look at the three M’s. They were all blond, all petite, and all terminally perky. They went around looking like someone had taken a cookie cutter and cut them out of the same piece of dough. They dressed alike and talked alike, but Mandy and Mindy didn’t make a move without Melinda. I’d had girls like that in my life, too, when I was a kid. They could either make your junior high days easy or a living hell.

Had Tink felt a few flames at the slumber party?

Did you do anything crazy? I asked, keeping my eyes on the road ahead and my tone nonchalant. Put anyone’s underwear in the freezer? Torment the first person who fell asleep?

Tink gave a heavy sigh. That stuff’s stupid.

Okay, then what did you do?

The usual.

I tried again to get her talking. Things have obviously changed since I was thirteen, so what’s usual these days?

Tink shifted in her seat and turned her head toward the window. Look, I’m tired and I don’t want to talk right now.

The rest of the short drive home was silent. How do you force a reluctant thirteen-year-old to talk? The answer—you don’t. I would just have to wait until Tink was ready to open up.

My Victorian cottage sat on the edge of town. Its fading yellow siding with white shutters was a welcome sight after the stone-silent ride from Nell’s. Maybe once Tink was home she’d open up and tell me what happened at the party.

I’d barely stopped the car when she jumped out, grabbed her stuff out of the back, and hurried up the front walk. By the time I caught up with her, her sleeping bag and backpack lay carelessly tossed by the front door. Tink knelt on the floor with her arms wrapped tightly around my dog, Lady’s, neck. Her face was buried in Lady’s thick white fur.

Lady cocked her head, and two eyes, one brown, one blue, shot a look at me that seemed to say, What do I do now?

Got me, I muttered to myself.

I walked over and reached out tentatively toward Tink. Sweetie, don’t you want to tell me what happened? I asked gently.

Violet eyes, shimmering with tears, stared up at me. No. She popped up like a jack-in-the box, wheeled away, and fled up the stairs before I could utter a word.

Lady scrambled after her.

Moments later I heard the door to her bedroom slam shut.

I stood in the hallway and looked around while my brain scrambled for a way to help Tink.

This motherhood gig was harder than it looked, I thought. And just love them wasn’t going to solve this problem.

Two

Something happened with Tink this weekend. I stood behind the counter at the library, pulling the library cards out of the file. My assistant, Darci, lounged two feet away.

Blue eyes, big blond hair, and a very curvy figure were the first things one noticed about her. In the past she’d always played up those attributes, but lately things had changed. The bloodred fingernails were now painted a subdued pink, the hair was less big, and her clothes didn’t seem to hug her curves as they once had.

Darci tapped one of those pink nails thoughtfully on her chin. Did she have a tiff with Nell?

No, I don’t think so. I know Nell called several times yesterday. Her number was on the caller ID.

What about with one of the other girls?

I shook my head in dismay. I don’t know. I tried several times to get her to talk about the party, but she kept shutting me out. A sigh escaped. I don’t think even Chinese water torture would’ve made her spill what happened at the party.

Darci giggled. Teenagers can be stubborn. I don’t—

The rest of her words were muffled by a roar coming from outside the building. We ran to the window and pulled up the ancient blinds to peer out.

Limestone buildings, erected at the turn of the century, lined the streets of our quiet Iowa town. Three motorcycles rumbled past them, on the way to the four-way stop. Chrome wheels gleamed in the bright May sun, and the black bodies of the bikes were polished to a mirror image. Their riders rode with an easy grace, their arms spread wide as they gripped the shining handlebars. Each wore a jacket with a coiled snake on the back and the words, EL SERPIENTE: The Snake. Wrapped around their heads were bandannas, with each biker wearing one of different color. Dark sunglasses wrapped around their faces, hiding their eyes. They looked tough and they looked mean. Modern day cowboys completely out of place against the backdrop of the old buildings.

I glanced at Darci and saw her lips tighten into a frown.

This is not good, she said emphatically.

I turned away from the window and walked back to the counter. It’s just a bunch of bikers, I said over my shoulder, trying to look big and bad.

She followed. Haven’t you noticed there’s more and more of them hanging around town?

No.

Honestly, Ophelia, you need to pay more attention to what’s happening around here. Darci leaned against the counter.

Yeah, right. Like I didn’t have enough on my plate right now? I had a teenage medium on my hands who seemed to be having some kind of crisis that I didn’t know how to handle. A full-time job. And to top it off, there was the other little matter of trying to deal with my own psychic talent. More than enough to occupy my time, I’d say.

Darci continued. Haven’t you read Ned’s latest editorial?

"No, I haven’t had time to read The Courier yet. Why?"

He made some pretty strong comments about their presence in town.

That sounds like Ned—

Darci cut me off. But he hasn’t said anything about what they’re doing.

I suppose you know all about what’s going on. I gave her a skeptical look.

I’ve heard stories, she said, not meeting my eyes.

I snorted. From your friend Georgia, no doubt. Turning away, I crossed to the shelves and picked up a stack of returned books. Setting them on the counter, I began slipping the cards back into the pockets.

Darci made no reply and still stood leaning against the counter with a faraway look on her face.

I knew I should let the topic drop, but now Darci had piqued my curiosity. Okay, I’ll bite. What have you heard?

What? Her gaze focused back on me.

I said, ‘What have you heard?’

Umm…well, she said, and stood straight. You know that old roadhouse on the edge of town?

Of course, it’s only a mile from my house. Some guy from over in Polk County bought it and has made it into a bar and restaurant. What’s he calling it? I snapped my fingers. Oh, yeah, ‘The Viper’s Nest.’ I’m not too crazy about having a place called ‘The Viper’ so close to my house, but it seems harmless. I’ve seen a lot of semis pulled in there.

It’s not all that harmless. These bikers are using it as kind of a clubhouse after regular business hours. She shook her head. There are rumors that what they’ve been doing at The Viper isn’t exactly legal.

Oh yeah, like what? I picked up a stack of books.

Like their women are providing comfort to the lonely truckers after business hours, she said with raised eyebrows.

I don’t understand, I replied, puzzled.

Darci rolled her eyes at my ignorance. Prostitution, she hissed.

The stack of books slipped from my hands and tumbled to the counter. What? Why hasn’t anyone arrested them?

She lifted a shoulder. There’s no proof; only rumors.

Fisting my hands on my hips, I stared at her. You’re telling me that a house of ill repute is operating not a mile from my home?

I said you need to pay more attention. She picked up the books I’d dropped and left the counter to return them to the shelves.

I darted around the counter and caught up with her. Who did you hear this rumor from?

A deep blush started at Darci’s neckline and crept up to her face, staining her cheeks a bright red. Danny kind of—

Right—Danny, the new police officer in town. Dark hair, dark eyes, and dimples. Mr. Wonderful. And Darci’s new boyfriend.

I broke in. Danny said there’s prostitution going on at The Viper?

Well, not exactly, she said, shoving a book onto the shelf. Georgia told me that rumor. But Danny said not to go out there. That someone might get the wrong idea. I assumed he meant with the way I look and all, I might be mistaken for ‘one of the girls.’

That’s ridiculous, I huffed. No one could mistake you for a biker babe. Or a hooker.

I don’t know, she said in an uncertain tone. I did dress a little over the top. Danny made me realize that.

Did he say that?

No. Danny’s really good to me. He’d never criticize me, he—

He’d better not, I interrupted, drawing myself up to all of my five-foot-four height.

A quick smile flitted across Darci’s face. You don’t have to rush out and defend me, Ophelia. The smile faded as she lifted her chin. But he’s commented on other women, how they dress, how they wear their makeup, so I thought I’d tone it down a bit.

That explained the recent change in Darci’s appearance. Who does this guy think he is? ricocheted through my brain. The words almost popped out of my mouth before I had time to stop them. Darci obviously cared a great deal for Danny, and snide remarks from me could damage our friendship. I tried to frame what I wanted to say carefully in my mind, but before I could speak, Darci broke into my thoughts.

I know what you’re thinking, she said with a small laugh. "You’re