Charmed To Death Part 3

A long table had been placed at the front of the room and chairs were a.s.sembled in rows. Several of the rows were already full, but a lot of people stood milling around. I spotted our local state representative, George Saunders, going from group to group, shaking hands and doing a bit of backslapping. His face didn't mirror the worried expression of his const.i.tuents. Instead, he wore the practiced look of a seasoned politician. Concerned and attentive. But I noticed how, occasionally, his eyes would slide around the room, marking the next group to schmooze. After a final handshake and a firm pat on the shoulder, he'd move on.

Harley and his boys stood to my left, leaning against the wall. Some had their hands shoved in their pockets. Others stood with their arms crossed tightly over their chests. And all of them appeared ready for a fight.

Dudley Kyle and his group stood on the opposite side of the room from Harley. Dudley was dressed in navy Dockers and a navy and white pinstriped s.h.i.+rt. His ta.s.seled loafers screamed "expensive."

My gaze moved from Dudley to Harley over by the wall. He watched Dudley too. His eyebrows were knitted tightly together above eyes full of hostility, eyes that never left the spot where Dudley stood. The corners of his mouth dropped down in a scowl.

Dudley knew Harley watched him. Quick looks in Harley's direction were accompanied by a lot of nodding and low voices from the group knotted around Dudley. I recognized one of them as a member of the CountyBoard of Supervisors. Talk about sleeping with the enemy.

But the tension was what I noticed the most. It stretched like a cord between the two men, taut and ready to break. Abby was right. The meeting could get sticky.

From my position by the door, I saw Abby at the front of the room with a cl.u.s.ter of people around her-Stumpy all spiffed up in a s.h.i.+rt and tie, Edna Walters with her walker in tow, and several more of the senior group. Abby's eyes met mine and she gave me a thumbs up thumbs up. I smiled in return.

Without warning, another emotion crossed my radar, trying to penetrate my wall. It didn't come from Harley or Dudley Kyle. And it wasn't vague or insubstantial. It was hard and driving and it battered against my protection, looking for a c.h.i.n.k. My hand instinctively went to the talisman I wore around my neck. I closed my eyes, while in my mind, I fought to keep my wall intact.

"Hey, Miss Ophelia."

The battering stopped. I turned to see Gus Pike standing next to me.

"Gus. How are you?" I asked smiling and held out my hand.

I was surprised to see him at the meeting. Gus Pike had to be almost eighty and lived in a shanty out in the boonies, south of town. He was even more reclusive than I'd been and his main companion was his goat, Charlie. I'd met Gus while on a walk with Lady, after she'd tried to make friends with his chickens, much to their distress. He'd been so kind and understanding about Lady's misbehavior that we became friends.

Gus shyly took my hand in his. His bad eye, the one locked in a permanent squint, twitched rapidly while he gave my hand a hearty shake. "Fine, Miss Ophelia. Ever since you gave me this here necklace," he said, reaching around his neck and pulling out an amulet of malachite suspended on a copper wire. "It's working wonders against the arthritis."

"Good," I said, giving his hand another quick shake and releasing it. "I'm glad. How's Charlie?"

"Oh, tolerable. He had a bellyache last night. I figured he must'a ate something spoiled. But you know how goats are." He gave me a toothless grin. "They'll eat anything."

"What are you doing here tonight, Gus?"

His grin faded while he shook his head. "Bad's coming, Miss Ophelia. Don't know if it's this here feller with the hogs or what. But I can feel it in my bones. Thought I'd better come here tonight and see if it was him or not."

Abby had always said she thought Gus had some psychic ability. Maybe she was right. Before I could answer Gus, a sharp rap from the front of the room drew our attention.

"If everyone would please take their seats now, we'll get started," Abby said from the front table.

I looked at Gus. "Shall we find a seat, Gus?"

"Naw. I think I'll go stand by the door. Then I can leave right quick when this s.h.i.+ndig's over." Gus took my hand again and gave it a small pat. "You've been a good friend, Miss Ophelia. You take care now. Bye." With that he released my hand and shuffled off.

"You're a d.a.m.n liar."

Heads swiveled to watch Harley, still leaning against the wall and still glaring at Dudley Kyle.

The meeting had been going on for hours. Kyle, Saunders, and the county supervisor had wiggled around every argument and every question that Abby's group brought up without addressing the issues. Tempers were beginning to rise.

Turning back after Harley's remark, I observed the men sitting with Kyle at the front table. Saunders, the state representative, wore a tight smile, while the county supervisor pa.s.sed a hand over his forehead as if he were wiping away perspiration. The other two men seated at the table shuffled the notes that lay on the table in front of them. The only one who met Harley's look straight on was Kyle.

"Why do you think I'm lying, Harley?" Dudley asked with a smug smile.

" 'Cause you are."

Great answer, Harley, I thought, shaking my head.

I glanced over at Abby. She gave me a slight shrug of her shoulders. She knew as well as I did that Dudley Kyle would make verbal mincemeat of Harley any minute now.

Dudley knew it too. His smile became wider. "Harley, it's a matter of public record that my house is located near one of our facilities. I couldn't lie about it."

"Yeah, well what about the flies?" Harley asked.

"What flies?"

"The flies that swarm around a hog lot in the summer. They're so bad, I heard people living near one of your lots can't go outside."

"Nonsense. My wife and I spend a lot of time outdoors in the summer."

"But Mr. Kyle, isn't it true you spend most of the summer in Minnesota and the rest traveling in Europe?" asked a voice from the back of the room. "Away from the hog lots?"

Kyle's smile slipped a little when he looked at the speaker standing near Gus.

Whoever the man was, he was a stranger to me. About my age, with dark blond hair, and blue eyes pinned directly on Dudley Kyle. The man held a notebook in one hand and a pen in the other. A reporter, maybe? Whoever he was, he wouldn't be as easy a mark for Kyle as Harley.

"You didn't answer my question, Mr. Kyle," the stranger said.

Dudley's smile slipped a little more. "Well..." He paused and leaned back in his chair. Picking up a pencil, Dudley rolled it back and forth in his palms. "Ahh, yes. We travel in the summer."

"And isn't it true that the remainder of the year, you're at your home in Colorado?" the stranger persisted.

"Ummm-"

"Look," the supervisor interrupted, rescuing his buddy. "This meeting isn't about whether Dudley has flies or how much time he spends in Iowa. It's about the impact this facility will have on our community."

Abby shot to her feet. "You're right. We do need to know the impact." Turning her head, she looked straight at Kyle. "Can you tell us, Mr. Kyle, how you plan to get rid of the twenty million gallons of raw sewage your hogs will produce in a year."

"We'll inject the manure into the cropland, enriching the soil," Kyle said.

"What cropland?" Abby asked, arching an eyebrow.

The smug look returned to Kyle's face. "You've seen the maps, Mrs. McDonald. You know what fields we'll use."

Abby squared her shoulders and gave Kyle a piercing look. "Yes, I have, Mr. Kyle, but have you? If you have, you know that those fields are considered at high risk for erosion. Any chemical, natural or synthetic, will wash down into the stream every time it rains, polluting not only the stream but the river it drains into."

"Yeah," hollered one of Harley's boys. "Instead of s.h.i.+t rolling downhill, the s.h.i.+t flows downstream."

A chorus of "Yeah" and "That's right" erupted throughout the room.

"Now, now," said the supervisor, waving his hands at the crowd. "Everybody settle down. Mrs. McDonald here has a valid concern. One I'm sure the Department of Natural Resources will take into consideration before they approve PP International's permit to build."

"It's more than a valid concern," Abby said, turning her eyes from Kyle to the county supervisor. "We intend to prove PP International's facility will pollute the water beyond the DNR's guidelines if they use the fields specified. And without those fields, PP International doesn't have enough cropland set aside to handle the manure from their facility. The DNR will have to reject their permit."

The room went silent and a s.h.i.+ver of fear tickled up my spine. Abby had issued a challenge, and from the look on Kyle's face, he didn't like it. He was a powerful man, working for a powerful company. Abby was a senior citizen running a greenhouse. And there'd been rumors about what had happened in other towns to people who'd crossed PP International. I didn't want Abby to be one of those "people." Worry squeezed at me while I skimmed the faces of Abby's neighbors. Who would support Abby if trouble came? Or would she face it alone? Was that what Gus meant when he said, "Bad's coming."

The stranger in the back of the room caught my eye and winked.

"Excuse me," he called out, stepping forward. "Will the DNR also take into consideration the Clean Air Bill pending before the state legislature?"

Hmm, maybe Abby had an unknown ally? The pressure in my chest eased.

"Maybe you'd like to answer that question, Mr. Saunders?" the stranger continued.

Saunders s.h.i.+fted his weight from side to side, squirming in his seat. "Ahh, the DNR can't consider the bill, because it hasn't pa.s.sed yet."

"The bill hasn't pa.s.sed because it's held up in committee. Right, Mr. Saunders?" asked the stranger.

"Ahh, well..." His eyes darted toward Kyle, but Kyle ignored him. Saunders cleared his throat and straightened in his chair. Looking out over the crowd, he folded his hands on the table and tried to look earnest. "I can a.s.sure everyone we'll examine the bill closely. The health of our citizens is of utmost importance. But we must be careful that the bill isn't so restrictive that our most important resource, the family farm, is put in jeopardy," he said and gave the crowd a sanctimonious smile.

n.o.body cheered at his statement and a look of disappointment crossed Saunders's face. Too bad Too bad, I thought sarcastically, that same line worked that same line worked so so well during his campaign well during his campaign. I dismissed Saunders and turned back to the stranger.

He gave me a slight nod and stepped back into the crowd.

The meeting soon ended after Abby fired her salvo at Kyle. People again gathered in cl.u.s.ters, talking. Dudley Kyle and group beat a hasty retreat out the door without speaking to anyone. Score one for Abby's side.

Winding my way through the crowd, I made my way to where the stranger stood. By the time I reached him, Gus had left and the stranger stood alone.

"Hi," I said, extending my hand. "I'm Ophelia Jensen."

"Charles Thornton," he said, taking my hand and giving it a firm shake. "Nice to meet you."

Up close, his eyes were cobalt blue and mesmerizing. Not wanting to stare, I focused on a spot near the toe of my left shoe.

I shoved my hands in my pockets and looked again at Charles. "I'd like to thank you for speaking up, but how did you know about the Clean Air Bill? Are you a reporter?"

Charles gave me a big grin. "No, but the notebook and pen works well to give that impression, don't you think? It fooled Saunders."

I smiled back. "Yeah. He squirmed when you mentioned the bill. I think big bold headlines reading 'Saunders Stalls Clean Air Bill' flashed through his mind. But if you're not a reporter, why are you here?"

"I'm a freelance photographer and I'm in the area photographing the covered bridges for an East Coast magazine."

"Oh." I frowned, perplexed at his answer.

He grinned once more. "But that doesn't answer your question why I'm here does it? Or how I knew about the Clean Air Bill?"

I shook my head. "Not really."

"I've worked for a lot of different environmentalist groups over the years and I have a personal interest in those issues. When I heard about the meeting, I checked with an old friend who's in an environmental watch group. He was the one who told me about the bill. I thought the meeting would be interesting." His face grew serious. "Your grandmother has a tough battle ahead, fighting PP International."

My eyebrows shot up. "How did you know Abby's my grandmother?"

"It's a small town, Ophelia. It doesn't take long to learn about the people who live here. Especially someone as well liked as your grandmother. People enjoy talking."

Boy, they sure do. Tonight would be hashed and rehashed over coffee tomorrow at Joe's Cafe. Would the talk be for Abby or against her? I looked over my shoulder to where she stood by Stumpy, listening to whatever he was saying. She appeared so somber that the worry I'd felt earlier started to snake around me again. A woman her age shouldn't be the one to fight a corporation like PP International.

A light touch on my arm brought my attention back to Charles. He watched me with a puzzled expression.

"Excuse me, did you say something?" I asked.

"I said you look troubled. Are you concerned about your grandmother?"

"Yeah," I said while I absentmindedly tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "A little. We're very close and I don't like the stress this puts on her."

Charles nodded in sympathy. "I understand. I know what it's like to worry about the people you love." He hesitated while his eyes traveled to Abby. "And to be powerless to protect them."

A shadow crossed his face. The conversation we were having was becoming too personal for my comfort zone. And I didn't want to know what caused the sudden change in Charles. I had enough problems of my own. The trip to Iowa City, Abby, and PP International, sleeping with rocks under my pillow, and oh yeah, finding Brian's killer. A tiny headache began to pulse and I searched my mind for a polite way to excuse myself.

Charles unexpectedly extended his hand. "It was nice talking with you, Ophelia. It's late and I'm afraid I'm keeping you."

"Right," I replied, quickly shaking his hand. "It was nice meeting you, Charles."

Baffled by his abrupt good-bye, I watched Charles move through the crowd and out the door. A sudden chill announced its arrival and the energy that had pummeled my defenses earlier flowed around me. But this time the energy wasn't centered on me.

Charles. It followed him like a vapor trail.

Chapter Five.

I watched the flat landscape fly by the car windows. In the fields the rich black dirt glistened in the early morning sun. Farmers, up since sunrise, pulled huge disks behind their tractors, breaking up the s.h.i.+ny black clods. But the scene barely registered in my brain. The same nagging headache from last night throbbed behind my left eye, distracting me. A headache probably helped along by sleeping on those d.a.m.n rocks.

While Darci drove, her constant stream of conversation provided background noise for my thoughts. Her words pa.s.sed right over my head. As long as I nodded occasionally and grunted once in a while, she didn't question my inattention. Thoughts of my dream, my conversation with Abby, beat in rhythm with the throb in my head. Why was the dream different this time? Was Brian asking for my help from beyond the grave? I believed what Abby told me about the men, but would I recognize Brian's killer when I met him? I pressed my closed eyes gently with my fingertips to stop the throbbing.

"You haven't heard a word I've said." Darci's eyes darted in my direction. "What's the matter? Got a headache?"

I continued to ma.s.sage my tired eyes. "Yes."

"Hmm-I wondered why you looked c.r.a.ppy this morning."

"Thanks a lot, Darci."

"You're welcome," she said, smiling. "While we're on the subject, you've been grouchy too. More than usual. What's up? Is it the headache or is there something else I need to know about? More psychic stuff, another adventure coming up, maybe?"