Free Charmed to death: an Ophelia and Abby mystery by Shirley Damsgaard Page A

Things could get messy and I don't want you hurt."
    "Don't be silly. I'm not going to be hurt. It'll be fine. We need to convince these people to work within the law. If it gets worse, I'll talk to Harley myself."
    "I don't know if that would be such a hot idea, Abby. Harley's got a bad temper and if Bill can't intimidate him—"
    "I can be more intimidating than Bill."
    Well, she was right about that. I'd seen her stop someone with a look. But I didn't want her talking to Harley alone.
    "Will you promise me that if you do talk to Harley, you'll take Stumpy, sorry, Arthur, with you?"
    "If it'll make you feel better, I'll promise. But I told you: Quit worrying. You've got enough to think about now. Concentrate on what's going on around you, on developing your gifts, please. Use them to find the solution. Remember, the runes said you're in grave danger."
    "All right, all right, I will. But you be careful."
    Before Abby answered me, I heard a loud noise in the background and a male voice talking, but I couldn't make out the words.
    "Abby, I hear someone. Do you have the television on?"
    "No, it's Arthur. He's here for breakfast. Got to go," she said in a rush. "I'll talk to you tomorrow when you get home."
    Click . Abby had hung up. I sat staring at the receiver in my hand. Arthur? Breakfast? My God, it was what? I looked at the clock, six-thirty in the morning. What was he doing at Abby's at six-thirty? A thought popped into my mind. No, no, couldn't be. The woman was seventy-four years old. And he had to be at least the same age, if not older. I wiped the mental image away. I'd think about it later. Right now I had something to do.
    In the bathroom I grabbed a washcloth. After looking up the number in the phone book, I dialed it. On the second ring, a woman answered.
    "Police Station. May I help you?"
    Placing the washcloth over the receiver, I said, "Tell Detective Perez to check the stolen vehicle records from five years ago, from the month of November. He's looking for a stolen blue van. It might have been used in the Brian Mitchell murder."
    As I hung up the receiver, I heard her say, "Wait, who is this? What's your name?"
    The washcloth trick always worked in the movies, didn't it?
    Boy, I hope so.

Chapter Nine

    The colored lights above the dance floor flashed to the rhythm of the music while hot sweaty bodies moved to the same beat. Cigarette smoke hung in the air in gray wispy clouds. Darci's bright red lips were smiling and her eyes surveyed the room, taking it all in.
    "Isn't this great?"
    "Well—" I eyed the room skeptically.
    Darci's head swiveled in the opposite direction. "Oh, look over there. At the couple by the steps. That guy's a good dancer, isn't he?"
    "Well—"
    "What about that guy over there? Do you think he's cute?"
    I leaned back in my chair and folded my arms across my chest. And waited.
    Darci's head swiveled back. "You know, Ophelia, you might have more fun if you tried talking a little more."
    Shaking my head, I smiled at her. "Darci, how can I? You won't let me finish a sentence."
    "Oops. Sorry. I guess I get carried away sometimes, but honestly, isn't this just the best? I wish Summerset had a place like this."
    "Summerset and a singles bar, huh? Let's see how many single men are there in Summerset? Five? I don't know if that would be enough to keep the place open."
    Darci laughed. "Yeah, you're right. And their work boots would scratch up the floor." She laughed again. "I guess we'll have to go to Des Moines next time."
    I groaned. Crud, now she'd want me to party with her all the time. I saw visions of my nice, quiet life slipping away in a haze of booze and men. I groaned again.
    "Oh, stop it," she said, narrowing her eyes. "You're going to have fun tonight if it kills you. Something has to get your mind off all the stuff that's going on."
    She might be right. I guess my life wasn't that quiet to begin with—serial killers, weird dreams, and a grandmother who practiced magick by the light of