"Okay," he said with a shrug. "I figure I owe you that much. What do you want to know?"

"You haven't told me how or why you and Bill came rushing out here. Did you find my clues?"

"You mean the doodle of the witches' hat and the cat?"

"And 'PPI' written upside down. I had to write it upside down in case Charles was watching me," I said proudly. "I thought writing upside down was clever. Wait a second," I said fisting my hand on my hip. "The doodle wasn't a cat, it was a weasel. Get it, Weasely Beasley? You told me it was Beasley's nickname."

"Guess I missed that one," he said grinning.

"What about leaving the book open to the Salem Witch Trials, did you get that one?"

His grin widened. "Nope, missed that one, too."

I must be as oblique as the runes.

I frowned. "Why did you drive out here?"

"Ahh," he said turning his head to look around. "Ahh, I got a call after we left the motel. The police caught the Harvester in Indiana."

"No kidding? How did they catch him?"

"Ahh, it's kind of hard to explain," he said, glancing over his shoulder and back to me.

I winked at him. "Try."

"Okay," he said, giving up. "After you told me about the barn you saw in the... whatever you call them-"

"Vision," I said, supplying the word for him.

"Yeah, one of those. I called a colleague in Indiana, where most of the bodies have been found. Asked him if any of the suspects they'd looked at had a place with a barn. He said one did, but he had an alibi. I suggested' they dig deeper. He followed my advice and learned the alibi had lied." He lifted a shoulder. "Once they had that information, they were able to tie up other loose ends and convince a judge to give them a search warrant. They went out to the barn and found enough evidence to hang the guy."

I suspected he was leaving a lot of information out, but I let it pa.s.s.

"Catching the Harvester still doesn't explain why you came out here," I said, not willing to let him off the hook.

Comacho squirmed and took a deep breath. "All right. After I found out you were right about the Harvester, I thought, 'Okay, maybe if she was right about the Harvester, maybe she was right about some other stuff.'"

"In other words, you decided to believe me about Beasley?" I crossed my arms on my chest.

"I didn't say that," he quickly denied. "But I thought maybe I should talk to you again. I drove by the library, all the lights were on, it was unlocked, and your car was there." He hesitated. "But you weren't."

"And you found my doodles and figured out where Charles had taken me." I nodded, my head satisfied.

"No, Alan saw you in the car with Charles headed this way."

"I didn't see Alan."

"You weren't supposed to. He was back off the road with his radar on."

"He was running a speed trap?" I said, pouting. I was disappointed my clues hadn't led them here.

"We prefer not to call them that," he said in a serious tone. "I called Bill to tell him what I'd found and he put it out on the radio. Alan heard, called back in what he'd seen, and here we are. Any more questions?"

"How did Charles kill Beasley?"

"Poison. Medical examiner found it during the autopsy. We don't know for sure yet, but we think Thornton slipped some antifreeze in Beasley's coffee. Waited for him to die, brought the body out here, and dumped him."

"And Beasley didn't taste the poison, because of all the sugar," I said to myself.

"What did you say?" Comacho asked.

"Beasley used a lot of sugar in his coffee. I noticed it that day in the hospital cafeteria."

"Oh yeah, the day you threatened him," Comacho said, nodding.

"Please, I'd rather not talk about the argument," I replied, putting a hand on my hip.

"I'm sure you don't want to talk about it," he said and chuckled. "A word of advice, Ophelia-don't threaten people. You can get in trouble doing that."

No kidding. Hey, did he call me Ophelia?

I narrowed my eyes and watched him.

He lifted an eyebrow. "You have more questions?"

Other questions. Hmm, should I ask him how he got the nickname Hmm, should I ask him how he got the nickname Ki-Kay? Ki-Kay? Nope, better not Nope, better not.

"Yes," I said, snapping my fingers. "Not really a question, but would you check on something for me?"

"Maybe. Depends on what it is," he answered, his voice full of suspicion.

"A body, skeleton, was found in Ma.s.sachusetts. The sheriff thinks it belongs to a woman who disappeared fifteen years ago. Would you check if the woman had any connection with Charles's family?"

"I suppose. You have her name?"

"No, but I can get it and call you."

Comacho rubbed his chin thinking. "Why do you want to know?"

"I think Charles killed her."

"Why?"

"He came after me because he thought I'd caused that student's convulsion. His mother suffered from convulsions. He told me she was bewitched and killed through witchcraft. The woman in Ma.s.sachusetts was killed by pressing-piling on rocks till the person dies. Pressing was used during the Salem Witch Trials and I thought, maybe..." I stopped and lifted a hand. "It's just a hunch."

"A hunch or a hunch hunch?" Comacho c.o.c.ked his head and watched me.

"A hunch. Does that mean you believe I'm psychic?" I asked, surprised.

He cleared his throat and stared at the stars. "I don't know. I've seen some strange stuff in the last few days."

"Henry, you do believe I'm psychic." And for some reason, it made me happy.

"Put it this way," he said, smiling, "I'm willing to consider the possibility."

I grinned at him. "Do you believe I'm a witch too, Henry?"

"Don't press your luck, Jensen," he said with a glare.

Later that night, I dreamed of Brian again, but not as a twisted corpse lying in a Dumpster.

In my dream it was spring. The trees were covered with buds, and all the flowerbeds around the college were full of tender green shoots forcing their way up, seeking the spring sun.

I saw Brian striding across the campus, his arms full of graded papers. Reaching the steps of one of the buildings, he raced up them two at a time. At the door, he turned and saw me. His face broke into a big grin. Balancing the papers in one arm, he raised his other arm in a big wave. His lips moved, but I was too far away to hear them. With a final smile, he opened the door and disappeared inside.

In my dream I stood for a long time, gazing at the building. I may have been too far away to hear Brian's words, but I read his lips.

His final words were "Thank you."

Chapter Thirty-Five.

The next afternoon while Mother and I sprang Abby from the hospital, Arthur and Darci waited for us at Abby's. Pulling up to the house, Abby saw the banner. WELCOME HOME, ABBY! hung across the porch railing and green and yellow streamers flapped in the light breeze. Arthur and Darci, proud of their handiwork, stood at the end of the walk.

A shy look crossed Arthur's face as he opened the door and helped Abby out. I saw a similar look on Abby's. Hmm, Abby and Arthur?Septuagenarian romance? Don't even go there, Jensen Hmm, Abby and Arthur?Septuagenarian romance? Don't even go there, Jensen, I thought and slammed the lid of the trunk shut.

The inside of the house had been decorated in a similar manner. Streamers, draped in long swags, ran down the length of the hallway. In the dining room, another welcome home banner had been pinned to Abby's lace curtains. The table held candles and a cake.

At the corner of the table, Edna Walters waited with her hands resting on top of her walker. When Abby entered the room, she hobbled over to her.

"Edna, the cake's lovely," Abby said in a pleasant voice.

Edna preened at the praise. "Least I could do, after all you've done for me and mine over the years," she said, her false teeth clicking. Edna slid a glance at my mother and smiled.

Now that I knew the whole story about Harley and his ex-wife, I was relieved Edna harbored no resentment toward my mother.

After we had settled, Abby in her chair in the living room, the neighbors began to arrive, each one bringing food for Abby. Ca.s.seroles, covered dishes, pies, more cakes, soon the kitchen counter was littered with offerings from her friends and neighbors.

Abby wouldn't need to cook for a month.

No one stayed long, but each friend and neighbor wanted to pay their respect to Abby. Standing in the doorway, I watched proudly while she held court. If someday I could be half the woman she was, I would consider my life well spent.

An arm slipped around my waist and I glanced at my mother standing next to me. Her face wore the same expression of pride as mine.

"She's really special, isn't she?" my mother asked with a nod toward Abby.

"Yes, she is," I said, leaning against her. "And so are you."

A look of surprise crossed her face. "Me?" she asked as she placed a hand on her chest. "I don't have the talent you and Mother have."

"No, but you have talents of your own. You kept the doctors in line, you watched over Abby while I was..." I trailed off, trying to think of the right word to describe what had happened to me the last few days.

"Busy?" Mother said, supplying the word for me.

I grinned. "Yeah, while I was busy." I c.o.c.ked my head and looked at her. "Good job, Mom."

"Why, thank you," she said, standing tall.

A knock at the door drew our attention. Darci opened the door to Bill, Alan, and Henry Comacho. The three men followed her down the hall, past Mother and me, and into the living room, each man giving us a nod of acknowledgment as they went by.

Comacho looked tired. He wore the same jeans and shirt from last night and had dark circles under his eyes. Had he spent the entire night questioning Charles?

Bill and Alan moved straight to Abby while Comacho hung back. Abby noticed Comacho and reached out to draw him closer.

Clasping her hand, Comacho bent low till his head was even with Abby's. She whispered something in his ear.

I was too far away to hear the words, but whatever they were, Comacho found them amusing. He threw back his head and laughed as Abby smiled up at him. Moving away from Abby, he walked up to me.

"May I talk to you?" he asked.

My eyebrows drew together, puzzled. "Sure."

"Let's go outside," he said as he placed his hand on my elbow to guide me.

I led the way to Abby's wide front porch without speaking. We moved across the porch to the swing, where so many times in my dreams, I'd seen Henry and Grandpa talking. A sense of deja vu came over me, but I brushed it aside. Sitting on the swing, I motioned Henry to join me.

For a few moments we sat, swinging slowly back and forth, enjoying the quiet.

Henry broke the silence. "We questioned Thornton. Once he started talking," he said, shaking his head in bewilderment, "we couldn't get him to shut up. The guy is paranoid and all night we had to listen to his theories on witches." He shook his head again. "Kept mentioning Cousin Lucy."

My lip curled in disgust. "Yeah, he talked about her in the library too."

"Anyway, along with spouting opinions on witchcraft, he also confessed to everything-Brian's murder, setting Gus on fire, hurting Abby, and murdering Beasley."

"Why did he kill Beasley?"

"Beasley was determined to get something on you, so he tried his old trick of badgering people till they told him what he wanted to know. On Charles. Only this time, the trick didn't work so well. Charles, in his paranoia, was convinced Beasley had found out about him."

"And he killed him," I said, my voice hushed. "What about the woman in Ma.s.sachusetts?"

"He didn't say anything about her." Henry stared down at his hands resting on his knees. "But after you gave me her name, I called the sheriff's department. Your hunch was right." He lifted his head and his eyes met mine. "The woman did laundry for the Thornton family."

I felt the sadness settle around my heart while I thought of the woman and how she died. "Charles knew her."