"Part of them." I hesitated. "Gus and Brian were killed because of their relationship to me."

"You don't know that," she replied, shocked.

I let out a long sigh. "Yes, I do, Mom."

"But I thought a serial killer murdered Brian?"

"Everyone did. It's probably what he wanted us to think. It's not the same killer; I've seen both of them. Took me a while to figure it out, but I'm positive I'm right." I sighed again. "Now I have to convince Henry Comacho."

"You talked to him? Did you tell him how you knew?"

"I had to."

Mother squeezed Abby's hand and, pulling up a chair, sat. I moved to the one next to her and flopped down.

"Well. Well..." Her eyes moved around the room while she tried to think of something to say.

In spite of the seriousness of our conversation, I chuckled. For the first time in my life, I'd rendered my mother speechless.

"You're surprised?"

"Yes. It took a lot of courage for you to do that."

"I don't know about courage, but I came this close," I said, holding my thumb and forefinger up, an inch apart, "to being led away in handcuffs."

My mother grinned. "I would've posted bail."

"Thanks," I said, returning her grin.

My grin faded while I thought about how to ask her my next question. "Mom, what's the deal with Harley Walters?" Reaching out, I placed my hand on her leg. "And please don't say, 'It's not my story to tell.' Harley could've been the one responsible for hurting Abby."

"I know," she said, staring at Abby's still form. "All right. Ten years ago I helped Harley's wife leave him."

"What?"

"He was drinking-a lot. And when he was drunk, he was abusive. It was the summer you went with your father to Mexico to help him with his research on the Aztecs. I was in Summerset, visiting Mother." She picked up her needlepoint and slowly followed the pattern with her fingertips. "For some reason, Elaine came to me. Maybe because I'd been a good friend of her older sister-"

"Elizabeth, right?"

"Yes, Elizabeth. Do you remember her?"

I nodded. "Sure I do. She came to Iowa City a couple of times when I was a kid. She died, didn't she?"

A look of sadness crossed my mother's face. "Yes, cancer." She took a deep breath. "Their parents were dead too. I guess Elaine felt alone, with no one to help her, so she came to me."

A look of disgust quickly replaced the sadness on her face. "She had bruises up and down her arms. And one eye was starting to turn black. She had their two little boys with her," she said, her voice cold. "I wanted her to go to the sheriff, but Elaine wouldn't, she was ashamed." My mother snorted. "In my opinion, the shame wasn't hers, it was Harley's. I thought about asking Mother to put a hex on him, I was so angry, but I knew she wouldn't." She paused and frowned. "We left that day for Iowa City. I found her a job at the university and a place for her and the boys to live. Harley's never forgiven me for helping her."

"Abby knew the story?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Wow. What happened to Elaine?"

"She went to counseling, eventually remarried, and had two more children."

"The story has a happy ending."

Mother made a face. "For Elaine it did. Not Harley. He was a jerk ten years ago and he's a jerk now."

I stood and walked to the window. Gazing out the window at nothing in particular, I thought about Elaine's story.

"Mom," I said, turning around. "Does Harley hate us enough to commit murder?"

"Oh, he hates us and he's a bully," she scoffed. "I can see him hurting Abby, trashing her greenhouse, but murder?" She chewed her bottom lip. "I don't know," she said finally. "I don't know."

I turned back to the window. Somebody better figure out if Harley's hate was great enough to kill for. Maybe I could talk Comacho into investigating Harley? Reaching in my pocket for my cell phone, I found the envelope the nurse had given me. I'd forgotten about it.

"Hey, here's the envelope the nurse handed me," I said, waving it in front of me.

"Let me see it," Mother said, holding out her hand.

She took it from me and flipped it over. "Hmm, it doesn't have a name on it. Do you suppose we should open it?"

"I guess. The nurse said she found the envelope in here. If it's not for Abby, we'll give it back."

"Okay," Mother said and tore the envelope open. "It's not a card." She pulled out the contents. "It's a newspaper clipping." Her eyebrows arched in surprise while she read it. "The clipping's from The Hawkeye The Hawkeye, the university's student paper. You're mentioned in the article."

"What?" I asked, taking the clipping from her.

My eyes quickly scanned the article. It had been written five years ago, before Brian's death, when I still worked at the university's library. The clipping related how a girl, a student, had suffered a grand mal seizure while studying at the library.

"I remember this," I said with a quick glance at Mother. "A student went into convulsions. I was working that day and was the first one to a.s.sist her. I held her head while someone called 911. Later, she learned from the doctors the convulsion had been brought on by the medication she was taking for an infection. Why would anyone send this?" I flipped the clipping over. "Oh my G.o.d."

On the back, in big red letters, was one word: witch!

Chapter Twenty-Five.

Mother took the clipping from my numb fingers. Frowning, she looked at the word written on the back.

"I thought you and Mother had been more careful than this."

"We have been. We are," I exclaimed. Jumping up, I paced the room. "I don't understand this. Who would have this clipping? How did they get it?"

"Someone who was in Iowa City five years ago," she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

I skidded to a stop. "Maybe Harley. Maybe the killer," I exclaimed, my eyes darting to Abby's bed.

"Shh, keep your voice down. You're in a hospital. Do you want the nurses running in here to see what the commotion is?" she said sternly.

Ignoring her, I flipped my cell phone open and punched in some numbers, numbers I knew by heart after the past few months.

"Yes," I said when the voice answered, "this is Ophelia Jensen. May I please speak to the sheriff?"

Raking my hand through my hair, I waited for the call to be transferred to Bill.

"Sheriff Wilson," his gruff voice answered.

"Bill, Ophelia. I can't explain now, but I think you need to have a guard posted on Abby's room."

"What? What's happened now?"

"I told you I can't explain, but if you could send someone over," I said in a rush, "my mother will fill them in." I snapped the phone shut. Pivoting on my heel, I headed for the door.

"Wait right there, young lady," my mother commanded. "What am I supposed to say when Bill shows up?"

I stopped midstep and raised a shoulder. "I don't know-make something up. You're creative. But don't tell them about the clipping." I ran back to her, grabbed the clipping, and gave her a peck on the cheek. While I moved toward the door, I looked back over my shoulder at my mother. "I'm stopping by the cafeteria for coffee and I want Comacho to meet me at the spot where I found Gus."

While I waited for the elevator, I dialed Comacho. He answered on the fourth ring and I turned my face to the wall, speaking softly into the phone.

"Will you meet me at the spot I found Gus?"

"Now?"

He sounded irritated.

"Yes, now. Why? Are you tied up?" I asked.

"I'm fishing."

"What?"

My voiced echoed down the hall.

"I said 'fishing.'"

" 'Fishing'?" I hissed. "You're supposed to be finding the killer."

"Hey, it's my day off. I'm trying a couple of the spots Bill's been bragging about. This is the second time today you've interrupted me."

"I don't believe it. A killer's running loose and you're"-my voice raised a notch-"FISHING!"

Okay, maybe more than a notch. I lowered my cell phone and saw two nurses at the station, watching me. Lucky for me the elevator door opened at that instant. Calmly smiling at the nurses, I moved inside the elevator and hit the down b.u.t.ton.

I put my cell phone back to my ear in time to hear Comacho say.

"...nothing wrong with that. I do my best thinking fishing. It's quiet. I don't have to listen to crazy people."

I think he meant me. If he did, too bad for him. I had more crazy stuff I intended to tell him.

"Look," I said impatiently, "meet me at the ditch." Not waiting for him to say "no," I rushed ahead. "How long will it take you to get there?"

A long sigh answered me.

"Forty-five minutes," he said, resigned. "And Jensen, this better be good."

Oh, it was, I thought while I strode down the hall to the cafeteria. I checked my watch. Plenty of time to grab a coffee and meet Comacho.

The cafeteria was full of the late lunch crowd. I hesitated at the door and scanned the room. My eyes darted back to the man standing by the condiments.

Fletcher Beasley, dumping sugar in his coffee. Like he didn't have enough-the counter next to him was littered with empty sugar wrappers.

I made a move to go, but I was too late. He spotted me and came toward me at a jog, spilling coffee all over the floor.

"Jensen, Jensen," he hollered.

I turned around and walked away from him.

"Heard your grandmother was here. Tough break."

His voice followed. "But you've had several tough breaks lately, haven't you?"

"Go away, Beasley," I said with a quick look over my shoulder.

He was right behind me.

Beasley scooted along until his steps matched mine. "Can I get a statement from your grandmother?" he asked.

"No," I said, increasing my pace.

"How 'bout you? Want to tell me about your new boyfriend?" he asked, bouncing along next to me.

"He's a friend," I said without slowing my steps.

"You got yourself a big catch there. Only kid, mother was sickly, father too busy. Wound up being raised by a governess, a poor relation. Doesn't your heart just ache for him?" he asked snidely before continuing to run his mouth. "Has money up the wazoo. Family's a big deal in Ma.s.sachusetts."

"You're slime, Beasley."

I had to think of a way to ditch this guy. I didn't want him following me.

"Just doing my job," he panted.

"Do your job somewhere else," I said while I turned the corner in the hallway.