Witch Woman Page 3

  Everyone else pretended to be riveted to whatever they happened to be working on.

  Maggie nodded. "You, too."

  Relieved her ordeal was over, she stepped into the elevator, pushed the button for the ground floor and shivered. The air conditioner in the office kept the temperature a frigid sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit, no matter what the weather was like outside. Even in the heat of summer, Maggie preferred fresh air, but to live in arctic conditions on a balmy Indian summer day was downright criminal. She grinned at the inadvertent pun, her spirits already lifting at the thought of home, her cozy apartment in Belmont Shore two blocks from the beach, complete with patio and herb garden. The best part of her job was leaving it and, now that she'd fulfilled her end of the bargain, odds were good that she could expect a period of calm before she was called in again. Hopefully, it would be somewhere new, somewhere she'd never been before. Maggie didn't mind traveling now that she had a home base.

  Traffic was heavy on Atherton Street West. Maggie cut across to Anaheim Boulevard and turned right on St. Joseph's Avenue. A parking spot was available directly in front of her building. Gratefully, she pulled in, locked her car and ran up the porch steps to her duplex, half of an original single family home recently remodeled into two separate living quarters when the zoning laws changed.

  Hanging her purse on the hall tree, she picked her mail up off the floor and called out, "Muffin, I'm home."

  A plaintiff meow greeted her. A cat, so black it was hard to distinguish her nose and mouth, ran into the room and rubbed against her legs, purring loudly. Eyes, hopeful and golden, beseeched her.

  Maggie laughed and bent to stroke her under the chin. "Oh, all right. I suppose you deserve a can of tuna. I've neglected you terribly these last few weeks, haven't I?"

  Another meow, a delicate bunching of muscle, and the cat was on the counter, her tail flipping back and forth, her gaze focused expectantly on the refrigerator. Maggie took a small bowl from the cupboard, found half a can of tuna, scooped it into the bowl and set it on the floor.

  Leaving Muffin to her treat, she opened the sliding door to the patio and watered her herbs wishing, once again, that she had room for a true garden, tomatoes and carrots, watercress, lettuce, raspberries and lavender. She frowned at her lemon verbena plant, knelt down to touch the soil and nudged it into full sun. Then she pinched a sprig from her chocolate mint, tapped the soil firmly around the base and walked back into the house leaving the slider open. Even in October, the beach air was mild and smelled like spring. Her plans for the evening included a shower, curling up in her bathrobe, a glass of mint-flavored iced tea and the latest Sophie Kinsella novel. The blinking light on her answering machine diverted her. Who could have called? She wasn't exactly a social butterfly; in fact, she could count on one hand the people who called her, for any reason at all.

  Cautiously she punched the Play Messages button. It was the director of the nursing home where her mother lived. Maggie listened to the message once in its entirety, and then once again. She replayed the last part and checked the time on her message center. The call was four hours old. Quickly she picked up the phone and punched in the number. "This is Maggie McBride. May I speak to Mrs. Blake?"

  Lucille's firm, competent voice came on. "Maggie. Thank goodness you called. Annie is holding her own, but it doesn't look good. Are you on your way?"

  "I just got the message. I'll be there in half an hour. Tell her I'm coming."

  Lucille sighed. "That should help, but, Maggie—"

  "Yes?"

  "Don't expect miracles. I think this might be it."

  Maggie grabbed her purse and fumbled for her keys as she ran down the stairs. "Please don't die," she whispered, "please, please don't die."

  Taking side streets, she reached the care facility her mother had chosen two years ago when her bouts of forgetfulness began to occur with frightening regularity. Two years was the longest Annie had ever stayed in one place. Although the neighborhood had seen better days, the house itself was charming and well-cared for with a deep green lawn and mature trees that provided shade for casual groupings of benches and chairs. Annie had chosen it over the others because of the trees. She said it reminded her of home.

  Home? Where was home? Maggie remembered asking the question, not really expecting an answer. Annie wasn't big on answers. For as long as Maggie could remember, she and her mother had been on the go. One summer they had moved three times. Streets, schools, stores, dots on a road map, everything was a blur in motion. Of the fifteen schools Maggie had attended, she could remember details of only the last three. Only once had she balked at being uprooted yet again. She'd staged her own small revolution, refusing to pack her belongings, listing reasons to stay, hoping Annie would relent. Laguna Hills High School, located in a small bedroom community north of San Diego, was comfortable. For the first time Maggie felt like she fit. She desperately wanted to stay.

  Her mother had surprised her. She'd listened to Maggie's pleas and posed a reasonable compromise. If that's how you feel, we'll stay for a bit longer, six months or so, she'd said. But let me know if you change your mind sooner than that.

  In the end, it had all come to nothing. Annie had been right after all. Maggie had changed her mind, much sooner than six months. Overnight everything had changed. The girls she thought were her friends weren't quite so friendly any more. She sensed a coldness in their excuses, a pulling away, as if by her association they would be tainted. At the time she was too young to understand why.

  It wasn't until she was nearly grown and living on her own that she realized just how much the qualities she took for granted set her apart. The strange out-of-body experiences that caused her to step out of the moment into a trancelike stillness, the sense that she was leaving her physical self, hovering somewhere overhead while still able to manipulate her actions, the acuity of her vision. She could look into a person's eyes and know his thoughts, some of them anyway. The experience was terrifying on both ends. Long before she turned it into an asset, she'd learned never to look at anyone directly for very long. Now, it was the way she earned her living, a clairvoyant, they called her. She could read a profile on a probation officer's report and know if the criminal would kill, steal or rape again. She sensed where he set up operations and who would be his next victim. It had been a relief to finally understand. With understanding came a kind of absolution and from there, acceptance. Although there were still sticky moments, especially when a case dragged on more than ten days or so, no longer did she agonize over her isolation. Maggie became resigned to her own reality: Unless she pretended to be other than she was, and sometimes she did because it was easier, there would always be distance between herself and those around her. Except for Annie. Her mother was the one person in the world who loved her unconditionally. The thought of losing her was painful beyond bearing.

  Lucille met her at the door. "She's on the third floor," she said. "We had to move her when she relapsed. I'm so sorry, Maggie. We've made her as comfortable as we can. Let me know if I can help."

  "Is the doctor here?"

  "Yes. I'll tell him you want to see him."

  Late afternoon sunlight slanted into the room made even more golden by lemony walls, white moldings and cheerful yellow and white comforters on the beds. One was empty. Annie lay sleeping in the other. Her head was slightly elevated, her breathing, thin and labored. A clear oxygen tube ran from her nose over both ears.

  Maggie tiptoed to the chair near the window and sat down, prepared to wait. After a minute or so, Annie's eyes fluttered and then opened. She smiled. "I thought it was you."

  Covering the frail hand that lay on top of the comforter with her own, Maggie smiled back. "It's me."

  "I'm not feeling so good, Maggie."

  "You'll feel better soon."

  "Promise?"

  Maggie hesitated.

  Annie smiled. Her voice was querulous, the words coming with effort. "You never could lie to me."

 
; "Of course I promise," Maggie assured her. "You've got to get better. What would I do without you?"

  "I think it's the other way around."

  "You've had a bad spell, Mom, but you came through it. Everything will be just fine. You'll see. By Thanksgiving, you'll be up and about. We'll go away somewhere. Would you like that?"

  The hand on top of the comforter turned and gripped Maggie's. "Listen to me, child. I haven't much time. There's something I need to say. It's important. Stay with me."

  Her mother sounded completely lucid. Her eyes were clear and the vacant expression she assumed when her mind was somewhere in the past had disappeared completely. "I'm here. I'll stay for as long as you want me to."

  Annie's grip on her hand relaxed. She closed her eyes. Maggie thought she'd fallen asleep again but then she began to speak.

  "It was October. Thomas had died three weeks before. The day was gray and miserable. I wouldn't have gone out, but his headstone was new. I wanted it to look neat and cared for." She stopped for a minute, her forehead wrinkled in thought. "There was something else, another reason, but it isn't important now. In the cemetery it was foggy and hard to see, but I noticed a movement on the wooden bench beside his grave. My eyes weren't good, not even then. I remember thinking I would set the broom on the bench, gather the leaves and sweep up after." She stopped, the effort too difficult to continue.

  Maggie ached for her. She wanted to tell her to finish later, that the story could wait but, instinctively, she knew Annie's time was marked and her need to speak was keeping her alive.

  After a minute, she began again. "We lived in Salem, Massachusetts. Did I ever tell you that?"

  "No."

  "It's a lovely town. If only we could have stayed."

  "Why didn't we?"

  "I'm getting to that. Where was I?"

  "You were sweeping the grave."

  Annie's forehead wrinkled. "No. I never swept the grave or gathered the leaves, not that day. I found you instead." Her eyes opened. They were clear and sane. "You sat on the bench, naked and shivering, but you didn't make a sound. I guessed your age to be about two years old."

  Maggie's heart pounded. She knew what was coming. Maybe she'd always known. It explained so much.

  "I held you inside my coat and carried you home," Annie continued. "I remember how cold you felt and how quiet you were. I took it as a sign. You were so good and so unusual with your vivid little face and that red hair."

  Her eyes found Maggie's. "At first I was going to turn you over to Child Welfare Services to try and find where you came from, but then I wondered if that was the right thing to do. You were thin and you had no clothes on. It was freezing. What kind of person would leave a child like that?"

  Annie's eyes were cloudy with tears. "I didn't want to give you up, Maggie. Your coming was a sign. I'd lost Tom and found you on the day the sky turned the oddest color. It seemed right. Laurie Cabot said so." She looked at Maggie pleadingly. "Tell me I did the right thing. I know I was too old to be a really good mother to a little girl, but I tried."

  Maggie pushed her tumultuous emotions back into the think-about-it-later part of her brain. This wasn't about her, not now. She wasn't the first adult to be told she was adopted. Her mother was dying. The least she could do was make her transition peaceful by listening to her babble, no matter how senseless it was. How awful to grow old. "You were a wonderful mother," Maggie assured her. "You still are. You did the right thing."

  Annie's breathing was easier now. Maggie leaned over and kissed her forehead. "Try and get some sleep. I'm going to find the doctor."

  "No." Annie clutched her arm. "Not yet. I'm not finished. I haven't told you the most important part."

  Slowly, Maggie eased back into her chair. What could possibly be more important than finding out she wasn't who she thought she was? "I'm not leaving, Mom. Take all the time you need."

  Annie relaxed against her pillow, waiting for her breathing to even out again. "I dreamed about the woman who sent you," she said at last. "She should have come. I waited and waited. Why didn't she come, Maggie?"

  "Shhh. It's all right." Tears spilled down Maggie's cheeks. She wiped them away with both hands. "She'll come. You don't have to wait anymore, Mom."

  Annie's eyes were vacant again. "I'm not really your mother, child. I found you in the cemetery. Did I tell you that, Maggie? You were so little and so thin. You didn't talk for a whole week. Not a word, not a single word. Then I had the dream and the next day you spoke. You knew your name. Why didn't she come, Maggie? I don't think I can wait any longer."

  "It's okay, Mom. I'll wait for her. You can rest now."

  "You do that, Maggie." Annie's eyes were closing. "Promise me something else."

  "What?"

  "Take my spinning wheel with you."

  "I will."

  "Promise me, Maggie. Please. It's important."

  "I promise. Go to sleep now. I'll be here when you wake up."

  For a long time Maggie sat beside her mother's bed, deep in thought. The sun disappeared behind the hills and darkness settled in. Annie never stirred. The only sound in the room was the faint bleeping of the IV monitor as the bag of fluid over her mother's head emptied itself into her veins.

  How much of what she heard was nothing more than the ramblings of a heavily sedated old woman on the edge of dementia, and how much was truth? Annie was tall, big-boned and blonde. Maggie had always wondered at the lack of resemblance between them. She didn't remember her father at all, but his picture looked nothing like her either. Of course, children didn't always take after their parents. Still, it would explain their constant moving. Maybe Annie was afraid someone would find out. But who would leave a child naked, in a cemetery, in October? And what about school records and birth certificates? Since her foray into police work, Maggie knew how easily documents could be manufactured. But, Annie was so simple and old-fashioned. What would she know about forged documents?

  Behind her the door opened. Someone switched on the light. Blinded, Maggie shaded her eyes. "Please. My mother's sleeping."

  Immediately, darkness flooded the room. "I'm sorry. I'm Doctor Lang. Mrs. Blake told me you wanted to see me. I would have come earlier, but I had an emergency."

  "I don't want her disturbed," Maggie whispered. "Maybe we should go outside."

  "If you like. She has something to help her sleep. I don't think we'll disturb her, but if it makes you more comfortable, we can talk in the lounge at the end of the hall." They walked together, in silence. The lounge was empty. Maggie sank gratefully into the deep couch and closed her eyes. Doctor Lang, a tall, young man with an overbite and the slightest of accents, waited patiently.

  "I'm confused," Maggie began. "Lucille said she didn't have much time."

  "Yes," the doctor said gently. "We'll keep her as comfortable as possible."

  "Will she know what's going on?"

  "Maybe not. But you will. It's often harder on the family than it is on the patient."

  Maggie's surprise showed on her face. "That never occurred to me."

  "Is there something else I can help you with?"

  "She said some things that were... strange."

  "That's to be expected. The combination of your mother's condition and her medication contribute to her confusion. Don't take anything she says too seriously. She won't remember from one minute to the next."

  "I'd like to ask a favor, Doctor Lang."

  "Of course."

  "I'd like to arrange for a DNA test for my mother and me."

  Doctor Lang stared at her without answering. Then, curiosity must have overruled professional courtesy. "May I ask why?"

  "She told me she wasn't my mother."

  "Miss McBride," he began. "Annie's mind isn't clear. Surely you know that."

  "Yes." Maggie stood. "It's just that I want to completely rule out the possibility."

  "It's highly unlikely that anything your mother says right now would hold true."

  "Th
at's why I'm requesting a DNA test, to rule that out."

  "Very well, Miss McBride. It's a simple test, really. A cotton swab to the inside of the mouth should do it. I'll call in a request for you and your mother tomorrow." He hesitated.

  "What is it?"

  "Will it make a difference?"

  She smiled. "Not really, but it might fill in some of the blanks."

  Chapter 4

  Three months later

  The October wind bit into Maggie's exposed skin. Her cheeks, the backs of her hands and her knees had never been so cold. Gloves, so frivolous an expenditure in California that she didn't own a pair, were a necessity here in New England.

  Hunching her shoulders inside her inadequate coat, she held the box protectively against her chest. It was surprisingly heavy. Who would have thought ashes weighed so much, not nearly as much as an actual person, but enough to make her wish she didn't have to walk so far. Where did the rest of a being go, Maggie wondered? Surely the essence of a person, all the body systems, the blood, the fluids, the bones, couldn't be reduced to this square box of ashes. They weren't really ashes. Cremains, the undertaker called them, the crushed bones and teeth and skin of someone who had once lived.

  She sighed. There was so much she didn't know, beginning with her mother. Annie, simple, timid Annie, had somehow managed to hire a lawyer and create a trust. Inside the trust was a house, completely paid for, that now belonged to Maggie. Apparently, Annie had been more aware than she seemed. She had specific instructions for Maggie to follow after her death. The instructions called for cremation, with no religious ceremony, and the spreading of her ashes on Thomas's grave in Salem, Massachusetts. Maggie hadn't known Thomas had a grave. In her eyes he had always been the shadowy, nebulous man who'd died before she was old enough to remember. Annie hadn't mentioned him much, although she had kept a picture of the two of them on her nightstand. To Maggie's objective eyes, they were similar enough in their tall fairness for people to assume they were related, although not to her. The DNA test had proven that beyond all doubt. Annie was not her mother.