The Witch's Grave Part 12

"I'm safe here," she answered mutinously.

"Right," I scoffed, "with bullets coming through the windows? I don't think so."

"So from now on, every time someone threatens you, you're going to send me to Great-Aunt Mary's?" She gave a derisive snort. "I might as well move out there."

I felt my patience running thin. "Tink-"

"It's the truth."

The conversation was going nowhere. I needed to take a different tack.

"Yesterday you were excited about meeting Great-Aunt Mary," I pointed out.

"So?" I heard the mistrust in her voice.

"So...now you'll have the opportunity to ask her all those questions."

She thought for a moment. "How long will I have to stay?"

"I don't know."

"If it's until Sheriff Wilson finds the guy who shot at you, it could be forever and ever."

"It won't be forever and ever," I said with a chuckle. "Haven't we always found out the truth?"

"Yeah." She tucked her legs under her and leaned forward. "But you'd find the truth faster if I helped."

A sigh escaped. "We talked about that yesterday-you're not ready. You need to learn more control."

Her lip curled. "Great-Aunt Mary can teach me."

It killed me to say it, but at that point I'd have done anything to get her cooperation. "There you go." I slapped the bed. "This is your chance to have Great-Aunt Mary train you."

Damp emanated from the plastered buildings on either side as I walked down the narrow sidewalk. In the street, greasy pools of water gathered between the cobblestones. Pa.s.sing the alley, I heard the low growl of a dog. I glanced over my right shoulder and saw the scrawny animal curled protectively around a precious bone, gnawing furiously. Spotting me, he jumped to his feet, the bone still in his mouth, and ran deeper into the alley.

Too many people lived too close together in this poor section of Paris. A sense of futility hung in the air. It had been bad before the Germans came, but now, with the food shortages, the occupants here rose every morning only to face another hopeless day.

Paris? Ah, I'm dreaming of Madeleine again.

I felt Ophelia slide away to a corner of my mind.

I stopped in front of a thick oak door, scarred by centuries of use. Looking up, I saw the small stained-gla.s.s window depicting the trials of Saint Flora of Beaulieu.

How appropriate-the patron saint of the betrayed, the abandoned-having a church named for her in this section of the city where people lived in such wretchedness.

Feeling the sadness weigh me down, I lifted heavy hands and pulled my scarf tighter around my head. With a shove, I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The smell of the streets was replaced by air clouded with the smoke of burning incense and beeswax candles. The small stained-gla.s.s window and candles provided little light, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the quiet darkness. Slowly, I made my way down the short aisle and took a seat on one of the simple pine pews. Bowing my head, I waited.

I heard soft footfalls coming from behind me and felt the weight of another body join me on the pew. From the corner of my downcast eyes I saw legs encased in black slide next to me. He shifted forward onto the kneeling rail and raised his hands in prayer. I joined him, mimicking his supplication.

"Have you picked up the package yet?" he whispered, not looking at me.

"Not yet. I wanted the key first," I murmured.

In profile, Brother Sebastian frowned. "It's getting late. Curfew will be starting-you could be stopped."

"I have my authorization papers," I replied confidently.

"Don't be foolish, Madeleine. Once you have the package, it could be fatal if the police or the Germans stop and question you."

"All right, tomorrow, then," I replied, bowing to his wishes.

With a nod, he stuck his hand in the pocket of his ca.s.sock, then withdrew it. Taking my hand in both of his, he pressed a small piece of cold metal into my palm as he whispered a blessing. When he released my hand, my fingers curled around the key. Without a word, he rose and slowly walked down the aisle to the front of the church. He disappeared seconds later through an arched doorway.

I waited a few minutes, then rose myself and left the way I'd come. Opening the door and stepping outside, the bleakness of the streets. .h.i.t me like a hammer.

I groaned.

My moan wakened me.

Okay, now I'm Ophelia, I thought, combing my hair back from my face and staring at the dark ceiling.

Package? Key? Pulling the blankets up to my chin, I wasn't surprised. In the last dream, I'd felt Madeleine's hatred of the Germans, so it made sense that she'd been some kind of courier.

Wait a minute, I was acting as if this actually happened. This was only a dream-the random wanderings of my subconscious.

Wasn't it?

Shaking my leg nervously, I sat in the airport next to Tink and watched the board announcing the flights. "Do you have your jacket? You know it gets chilly in the mountains at night."

"Yes."

I turned my head and studied her. "Do you have enough underwear to last at least a week?"

Her eyes flew wide and she glanced quickly to the right and left. Satisfied that no one had heard me, she looked up at the ceiling. "Jeez...yes."

Offended by her reaction, I crossed my arms. "For all I know, they're still using a wringer washer." Leaning sideways toward her, I said in a hushed voice, "You're not going to like feeding your undies through it, piece by piece, while the wringer squeezes out all the soap. I watched Abby do laundry that way when I was a kid. It takes forever."

"I'll be okay," she grumbled.

"What about shampoo and toothpaste?" I asked.

Tink scrubbed her face with her hand. "I'm not going to the moon. They have stores in the mountains."

"A general store. And they go once a week, on Sat.u.r.days. Plus, I doubt the store carries the shampoo you like."

"I'll get by."

I uncrossed my legs and looked down at my watch. The minutes were flying by. Soon I'd be putting her on the plane and sending her hundreds of miles away. I felt torn. My first priority was to keep her safe, but the idea of being separated, even for a short time, hurt. My thoughts flew back to the families I'd read about at Drancy. How did they stand the pain? Many never survived, and those that did might have never learned what happened to their families. How did someone live with that? At least I'd know where Tink was, that she was safe. I could call her whenever I wanted.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I tried to stop the tears I felt p.r.i.c.kling my eyes.

"I'll call," I said abruptly, my voice thick.

Tink nudged me with her shoulder. "Quit worrying about me. Now that I think about it, staying with Great-Aunt Mary might be fun. And it's going to be great to spend time with Aunt Dot again-"

Remembering the trouble the two of them caused during Aunt Dot's visit, I nudged her back, cutting her off. "Hey, don't be getting any crazy ideas while you're out there."

She giggled. "I won't." Her smile fell away. "It's time."

The tears sprung to my eyes, and I felt an empty spot form in my heart. Rising, I picked up Tink's carry-on and followed her to the escalator.

At the top, she turned to me. Violet eyes shimmered. "This is it."

"Yeah," I replied, not trusting myself to say more.

"I'll call as soon as I get there." A tear trickled down her cheek.

"Great," I said, touching my own wet cheek. "Be good." I laid a hand on her smooth face. "Mind your manners, okay?"

She nodded and threw her arms around me, burying her face in my shoulder. Placing my free arm around her, I hugged her to me.

"I love you, t.i.tania," I said, using her real name as I stroked her hair. "I'm going to miss you."

"I love you, too," she said, her voice m.u.f.fled by my shoulder. "Hurry up and catch the bad guys so I can come home, okay?"

With tears running freely, I nodded.

Stepping back, she took her carry-on and joined the line of pa.s.sengers waiting to go through security.

Unable to take my eyes off of her, I watched the guard check her ticket and motion her through the scanner. She removed her shoes and placed them, with the bag, onto the conveyer belt. When she'd reached the end, after grabbing her bag and putting on her shoes, she craned her neck trying to spot me.

I gave her one last, weak smile and a wave.

She lifted her hand, and with a thumbs-up vanished in the crowd of departing pa.s.sengers.

Fifteen.

Once home, I let the dogs out and, reluctant to go back inside the empty house, watched them chase around the backyard. T.P. ran off his puppy exuberance, while Lady paraded at a more sedate pace. T.P. continually tried to engage her in a game of "catch me if you can," but Lady was having none of it. She seemed to sense my melancholy and kept running to my side.

"You know something's up, don't you?" I asked, scratching her ears.

Laying backing her ears, she rubbed my leg with her nose.

"Everything will be fine," I whispered, trying to convince myself.

Going back inside, I was struck at how quiet the house seemed. Amazing how much noise one teenager made.

"It's okay, it's okay," I kept repeating while wandering the house, at a loss of what to do.

And it was okay...unlike when Tink was kidnapped. I knew she would be safe with Great-Aunt Mary. Both she and Aunt Dot were elderly, but as Abby had pointed out, close relatives lived in a little cl.u.s.ter on the mountain around them. They'd offer Tink protection, too. And, I thought I wasn't the only one intimidated by Great-Aunt Mary. Abby had spoken often about how most of her neighbors thought twice about crossing her. Yeah, Tink would be fine. Yeah, Tink would be fine.

"Well," I said out loud, putting my hands on my hips and scanning the living room. "I'm not accomplishing anything just moping around."

I went upstairs and pulled out the copies I'd made of Stephen's date book. I tried Karen Burns again and left a voice mail. Flipping through the pages, I then found the entry listing the Vargases' phone number. I picked up the phone and dialed. A man answered.

"Mr. Vargas?"

"Yes?"

"Hi, this is Ophelia Jensen from the library. Would it be possible to talk with you this afternoon?"

"Why?" He sounded suspicious.

"Ah, it would be better if I explained in person."

"Has Evita done something?"

Hearing the tinge of panic in his voice, I knew I could use his concern to my advantage. But lie about a kid? Nope, I couldn't do it. "No, we love having Evita at the library. It's about another matter."

"Okay." I heard the relief in his voice. "I'm home-it's too wet to work."

"I'll be right over," I said in a rush, before he could change his mind.

Fifteen minutes later I pulled into the yard at the old Murphy place. A vegetable garden grew a short distance from the small white clapboard house. Peppers, tomatoes, and squash flourished in tidy rows, and the overall appearance of the home was neat and well cared for.

The Murphys had to be relieved to have responsible renters, I thought.

I walked to the small front porch and knocked. A moment later Mr. Vargas appeared at the screen door. Over his shoulder I spied Deloris Vargas standing in the doorway to what I a.s.sumed was the kitchen. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, and her face was drawn with worry.

Mr. Vargas opened the door and motioned me inside. Looking at his wife, he said something in rapid Spanish, and after a glance at me, she disappeared into the other room.

I shook his hand as he nodded toward the faded couch. "Mr. Vargas, thank you for seeing me." Crossing the room, I took a place on the couch, while he sat in an old recliner.