Page 10 of Witch and Tell

Cliff must have seen the disappointment on my face. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” I said quickly. “Not at all. Tell me what you usually read.”

“What do you have in the line of true crime?”

Compared with my strange episodes with Wanda and Cliff, the rest of the day had been uneventful. Mr. Loveheart had dropped another novel in the river, where he’d been fishing. The library’s trustees had told me long ago to expect regular losses from his fishing expeditions, but that his annual gift to the book buying fund more than made up for it. Mrs. Garlington’s student had not shown up for organ lessons, so Mrs. Garlington had treated the library’s patrons to a few spritely renditions of songs from the musicalCats. Word had already made the rounds about myPuss in Bootsdiscussion with Wanda.

The evening—another without Sam—loomed ahead of me. I planned to put it to use. There was still one avenue open to finding Ian, and that was the stranger at the retreat center. Maybe her arrival had somehow scared him off.

My excuse to visit was that the retreat center housed a satellite library for visitors. I filled a tote bag with thrillers, mysteries, romance, science fiction, and fantasy, and I was pleased to hear their curious blend of squealing tires, dragon’s roars, and lovers’ sighs. My magic was edging back after the afternoon’s lull. Rodney wound around my ankles, letting his silky tail brush my calf. “You’d better stay here, baby. Just in case you scare Wanda.”

I took the trail along the river to the retreat center. The sun was low enough that it filtered through the fir trees, but night wouldn’t fall for hours yet. To my left stood forest, and to my right sloped the embankment to the cottonwood trees along the drowsy Kirby River. Beyond the river spread the few blocks of Wilfred proper.

I stood for a moment to take in the view. Cars filled the parking lot at Darla’s, and the tidy rows of trailers at the Magnolia Rolling Estates lay at an angle like bones along a fish’s spine. Each person in each car and each home had their own dramas to navigate. Some times they were joyous—another Tohler baby, for instance— and sometimes less happy. Life was full of drama.

I emerged from the woods into the clearing with the retreat center. A decade-old Kia was parked in the lot. Likely the stranger’s. I put on my most confident smile and strolled up the stone patio to the door.

And stopped cold. Faint Spanish-inflected guitar music came from inside, and Wanda, oblivious to me or anything else, whirled a large fringed shawl around her. The silk wafted and whipped through the air while her feet tapped skillfully on the wooden floor. She was . . . flamenco dancing. And she was really good.

I was riveted. Wanda, with her stocky frame, denim work pants, and self-administered haircut, was far from an elegant Spanish beauty, but I couldn’t wrench my eyes from her. Duke, her brother, was an accomplished dancer, too. He foxtrotted like a combination of Fred Astaire and Tweedledee. Maybe their parents had run a dance studio.

Through the window, Wanda waved her shawl at a nonexistent dance partner and snapped back her head, and I felt a twinge of sympathy. The partner who wasn’t there was clearly all too real in her eyes.

Wanda’s dancing slowed, and she dropped her arms. She’d seen me. She picked up her phone from a chair and cut the music.

I stepped inside. “You’re an amazing dancer. I thought Duke was good, but you? Wow.”

She nodded at the compliment. Only a faint sheen of moisture on her brow and neck showed her exertion at all. “Can I help you?”

I lifted the tote. “I’m here to refresh the library upstairs. Is the visitor in—the woman staying here a few days?”

“Don’t know. I don’t think so.” She looped the shawl over her shoulder. “How was children’s reading hour?”

“It went well.” I’d heard kids laughing from Old Man Thurston’s office while their caregivers drank coffee in the kitchen. “You can sit in on the next one, if you’d like. I bet Mona could use your help.”

“That would be great. I’ve been thinking it over, and I’d like to focus my volunteer work on the children’s collection, if that’s all right with you.” She affected that stiff smile again.

“Of course,” I said.

“Terrific. Let me know if you need anything upstairs.” She walked away, her heels clicking on the floorboards.

The retreat center’s library filled two waist-high shelves on the upstairs landing. As soon as I plunked my tote bag in an armchair, the books on the shelves greeted me and said hello to the other books in the bag. Something I hadn’t known until I came into my magic was how social books are. They like to be with readers, but second best was other books. Once I understood that, I knew why shelves full of books looked so much more content than a shelf with only a few novels and dusty knickknacks.

Wanda was downstairs, out of earshot. I knelt next to the shelves, hoping my magic wouldn’t fail me. Despite the wavers this afternoon, it felt steadier now. “Books, has the visitor come to you?”

Yes, yes, they said in their harmony of voices.

“What did she choose?” Maybe something in her reading choices would tell me about her.

A few spines popped an inch from the others. I pulled out the novel nearest me, a paranormal cozy,Witch Hunt, by Cate Conte. Interesting.Practical Magic by Alice Hoffman showed itself next. I sat back. A gap in the novels meant she must have taken another one to her room. Which one?Witchesby Roald Dahl, came the whisper in my head.

Interesting. Witches fascinated the visitor. This was another possible link to Ian, who sold books about the paranormal.

“What is this about?” I said aloud.

“Did you say something?” came a woman’s voice from behind me.

I whirled toward her, my heart skipping a beat. “No, nothing. Just muttering.”