The Witch Of Agnesi Part 31

Wendy sighed and fixed Bonnie with a one-eyed stare. "Ten more minutes and I would have had Ralph safely tucked into the trunk of his beloved Stingray."

Wendy lifted a corner of the curtain and squinted into the morning light. "Good girl. You didn't bring the police."

"Wendy, you can't get away with this." Bonnie pointed with her crutch. "There'll be no hiding that blood stain."

Wendy advanced a step. She clasped the club in one hand. Instead of brandis.h.i.+ng it, however, she stroked her swollen and discolored cheek. "You're wrong. That nice Sergeant Valsecci will bear witness to my husband's brutal attack of Sat.u.r.day night. Tearfully, I'll explain how he returned. This time, he intended to kill me. A woman has a right to defend herself."

Bonnie took a step back, shaking her head as she went. She knew she should just shut her mouth, play for time, but her Imp of the Perverse prodded her to speak. "I don't think so. From the looks of your hus-band, I'd say he's been dead for several days. How are you going to explain how a dead man attacked you on Sat.u.r.day?"

When Wendy didn't respond, Bonnie went on. "Edmund get in a few licks before he shuffled off his mortal coil?"

Wendy sighed again and nodded, as if Bonnie had caught her filching the last piece of pumpkin pie rather than how a dying young man had broken her nose. "He surprised me. I really thought he'd succ.u.mb quicker."

She stroked her swollen nose. "No matter-one thing I've learned over the years is how to take a punch."

Again, Bonnie's saner self demanded she shut her mouth, and again her Imp of the Perverse prevailed.

"Three children are dead because of you. One of them is your own child."

She took another backward step and felt a panel of drapery brush against her arm. She didn't dare take her eyes off Wendy.

"Shut up," Wendy hissed.

She raised the club as if she meant to swing it. "That maniac Edmund killed Stephanie and my son. That's why I had to kill him."

Bonnie pursed her lips and offered a sympathetic smile. In a moment of crystal clarity Bonnie knew the woman was lying. "I don't think so, Wendy. Your last Wicked Little Witch e-mail says otherwise."

Wendy squinted at Bonnie with her one good eye. "I don't know what you're talking about."

In for a penny.

"Cut the c.r.a.p. You never intended for Edmund to read that e-mail. You'd been calling the boy Casper up until that last letter."

Wendy's lopsided face blushed. "And I was his Wicked Little Witch." She shrugged. "He was al-ways over here, hanging out with Peyton, playing video games. One day he came when Peyton was out with his dad. We played a different game."

Edmund, you poor nebesh. You never had a chance with this woman. She meant to kill you from the mo-ment she seduced you.

"In the last letter you called Edmund Samurai, Ali's pet name for him. You wrote that letter for the same reason a magician gets you staring at the hand that doesn't hold the coin-misdirection. All along you've been casting suspicion away from yourself-first Jesse Poole then Ali Griffith, but the cleverest stroke of all was how you used Edmund."

Wendy shook her red mane, her face hard, her eyes chips of flint. "You don't know how close you came to dying Friday night. Edmund talked me out of going into that ravine and finis.h.i.+ng you off."

Bonnie could swear she saw a flicker of a smile touch Wendy's lips. Bonnie's heart sank. The woman was a family-sized loaf of banana bread.

Still, Bonnie had to reason with her. "Why did you listen?"

Wendy shrugged again. This time a capricious shrug that said "Maybe I shouldn't have." "When you cursed Jesse, we knew you thought he was the driver. Edmund pointed that out to me, and it made sense to let you report Jesse was driving the truck."

Thank you, Edmund.

Bonnie risked a momentary glance at Armen. He seemed to be breathing, but that didn't mean his skull wasn't filling with blood. Whatever she meant to do she'd better do it quickly. When she looked back at Wendy, the woman was once more staring at her.

A sad smile pulled back one corner of Wendy's swollen lips. She c.o.c.ked her head. "You know, I meant it when I told you I wanted to be your friend. I had hoped . . ." She drew a long breath and sighed. ". . . when this was all over we could get to know one another."

Yet, you tried to kill me an hour after you told me that. Bonnie adopted the frozen smile she normally re-served for students she wanted to throttle. "I would have liked that, too." Bonnie adopted the frozen smile she normally re-served for students she wanted to throttle. "I would have liked that, too."

The corners of Wendy mouth turned down-a look of disappointment rather than anger. "Who's the liar now? You think me a monster. You have no idea what I've sacrificed for that warped little genius: the beatings, the humiliations. The least he could do is support me after I was forced to do away with the Templeton girl."

Time to get smart, Pinkwater. You need to get on this strudel's good side. Bonnie shook her head. "I don't think you're a monster at all. I saw Peyton's re-cords. He would have been fourteen in a few days. You told me you've been married for less than fourteen. How pregnant were you when you got married?" Bonnie shook her head. "I don't think you're a monster at all. I saw Peyton's re-cords. He would have been fourteen in a few days. You told me you've been married for less than fourteen. How pregnant were you when you got married?"

Wendy laughed, high-pitched and staccato. "Not pregnant at all. I had just given birth. It was a difficult delivery because of my age and the damage Ralph did to my spine in the rape."

Bonnie wasn't sure how to respond. She was spared the effort.

"I was twelve. Ralph and his brother held me down and took turns with me." A tear leaked from Wendy's good eye. "I was too young, too f.u.c.ked up . . ."

She laughed again. "In more ways than the obvious ones. Anyway, a deal was struck between my parents and Ralph's."

"A deal?" Against her will, Bonnie felt herself being sucked into the tragedy that was Wendy Newlin.

Wendy nodded and swiped at the tear. "Ralph's brother was already into politics, being groomed to be the governor or senator or something. My parents threatened to make trouble. They'd always been white trash. Still are. Money and a respectable marriage to a respectable family smoothed everything over. Ralph was chosen to do the honorable thing."

An almost animal snarl issued from her swollen lips. "The honorable thing. Every day of my life, he reminded me what a favor he'd done me."

Her fingers played over the swollen half of her face. "Some days a little more forceful than others."

Armen groaned.

The dreamy look that had taken over Wendy's face evaporated. "I wish things had turned out differently for all of us, but life goes on." She advanced another step.

Bonnie's heart raced. She backed up while cast-ing about for anything to give her a little more time. "Franklin knows you poisoned Edmund."

Wendy raised the club. "Nice try, but obviously, he doesn't. If he did, he'd be here, not you."

She advanced another step. "I'm sorry, Bonnie. I wish things didn't have to be this way."

Screw this.

Bonnie grabbed a panel of the drapery and yanked. The curtain rod tore free from the wall. With a yell, she hurled the dislodged curtain at Wendy.

Wendy swung and entangled the club.

As Bonnie wheeled on her crutches, she heard Wendy spit curses at her. That'll keep her busy for all of ten seconds, then what? That'll keep her busy for all of ten seconds, then what? The tips of the crutches sank deep in the carpet, slowing her down. The tips of the crutches sank deep in the carpet, slowing her down.

Before she'd taken three steps, Wendy was on her. The metal club struck her in the right hand, sending her sprawling. Jesus Christ, that hurts like a son of a b.i.t.c.h. Jesus Christ, that hurts like a son of a b.i.t.c.h. She fell onto her She fell onto her derriere derriere and toppled backward. and toppled backward.

Wendy Newlin bore down on her, the club high over her head.

Bonnie deflected the blow with her crutch. Her in-jured hand shrieked in protest.

d.a.m.n you, b.i.t.c.h. She hurled the crutch at Wendy's face. She hurled the crutch at Wendy's face.

Wendy batted it aside.

Ignoring the pain that sang an aria from every bone in her body, Bonnie hoisted herself to her feet. There was nowhere to run. She turned to face her attacker.

Come and get me, you twisted a.s.shole.

Wendy swung the club like a bat and Bonnie's head was the ball.

h.e.l.l, they call it a walking boot.

Jamming her injured foot into the carpet for stabil-ity, Bonnie swung her remaining crutch at the club and the hand that held it. The golf club clattered against the ribs of the crutch. The next instant the crutch's tip connected with Wendy's wrist.

The woman howled in pain and dropped the club. She stooped hurriedly to retrieve it.

Not in this lifetime, sister.

Bonnie pulled back on her crutch and flipped the tip end into her hand. As Wendy rose holding the golf club, Bonnie swung the crutch, putting every foot-pound of force she could muster into the swing.

The metal bracing struck Wendy full in the side of the head. The blow launched her toward the stained-gla.s.s mural. Wendy exploded through the gla.s.s in a shower of frosted reds and purples.

The late morning sun reflected off the broken shards and the blood pooling around Wendy Newlin's lacerated throat.

EPILOGUE.

NEXT SAt.u.r.dAY EVENING FOUND BONNIE staring past a ma.s.sive ceramic bowl of potato salad at a ten-foot multicolored maypole. The late spring sun had yet to set and lent a surreal aura to the rainbow of colors woven about the monolith.

Armen sat next to her, holding court about their harrowing escape from the clutches of Wendy Newlin. If Bonnie had to estimate, she'd be forced to say she was reserving less than twelve percent of her attention for Armen. The rest she gave over to the impressive maypole which towered over them all in the Griffith's front yard.

Here she sat at a long picnic table sharing corn bread and watermelon with a slew of witches, and truth be told she felt right at home. She'd had very little to do with the maypole's creation. That was the work of Rhiannon, Ali, Jesse, Winston, and those witches whose names she knew she could bring to the forefront of her brain if she cared enough to try. Still, something magical had transpired in the weaving of the long rib-bons. Then there'd been the singing, welcoming the G.o.ddess back from her long winter's repose, asking for her blessing on the coming year.

Who'd have thought I'd be so moved by a bunch of rummy pagans. But what the h.e.l.l, Beltane is supposed to be a time of renewal. I guess that's what we all need right about now. She turned back to Armen. He seemed to be winding down on his tale of adventure. She turned back to Armen. He seemed to be winding down on his tale of adventure.

"My mother always said I had a hard head."

Armen's swollen nose bore a contraption of alumi-num, sponge, and surgical tape, which did nothing to hide the fact that both his eyes were blackened and his poor proboscis was too obviously broken.

"Truth is, Wendy laid a pretty convincing concus-sion on me. We were lucky Franklin showed up when he did."

Bonnie could feel the hint of the smile that had been trying to work its way onto her face evaporate. "Not in time to save Wendy Newlin, though."

Rhiannon shoved aside the large ceramic bowl, engulfing Bonnie's uninjured hand in her larger one. "Bonnie, don't beat yourself up over this. You did all you could."

Rhiannon chucked Bonnie on the shoulder. "You know, I've been thinking about Wendy Newlin myself, and what the Tarot had to say about her."

"How so?"

"Well, two of the cards specifically indicated Wendy Newlin's situation. The Nine of Swords spoke to Wen-dy's darkening mind-her despair, the hopelessness of her marriage."

Bonnie recalled the card-a woman sitting up in bed, her face buried in her hands, a black wall behind her. d.a.m.n it, woman, you murdered your child. Why can't I just a.s.sign you to the fires of h.e.l.l and be done with you? An image swirled in the mists of Bonnie's depression-a twelve-year old girl being raped again and again by two grown men. An image swirled in the mists of Bonnie's depression-a twelve-year old girl being raped again and again by two grown men.

"Then the Two of Swords," Rhiannon said.

Bonnie didn't need any reminder of this card-The Hoodwinked Woman, a woman living a lie. Sold by her own parents to a man who hated and abused her for more than a decade. Bonnie also remembered the alter-native interpretation of the card-a woman desperately needing a friend.

Tears pooled in Bonnie's eyes before she swiped them away. I would have saved you, Wendy. G.o.d d.a.m.n it, I tried. I would have saved you, Wendy. G.o.d d.a.m.n it, I tried. Bonnie had attempted to staunch the flow of blood that insisted on escaping from Wendy's throat at an alarming rate. In the end, the woman's life simply poured out crimson onto her flagstone patio. Bonnie had attempted to staunch the flow of blood that insisted on escaping from Wendy's throat at an alarming rate. In the end, the woman's life simply poured out crimson onto her flagstone patio.

"If she lived, she'd have spent the rest of her life in prison, or a mental inst.i.tution," Rhiannon said.

"I know." And I'll spend the rest of mine living with the decision I made staring down at Wendy New-lin's lifeless corpse. And I'll spend the rest of mine living with the decision I made staring down at Wendy New-lin's lifeless corpse.

The idea had come to Bonnie the instant Wendy breathed her last. What if Wendy hadn't died without regaining consciousness? What if she'd confessed to the murder of her husband and completely exonerated Edmund?

h.e.l.l, it could even be true, but even if it wasn't, it should be. The entire Newlin family was gone. Not one of them would be hurt if the guilt for all these deaths s.h.i.+fted away from Edmund. Forget the fact that Ed-mund was, at the very least, an accomplice. This wasn't about Edmund and what he did, or didn't do, during the final days of his mixed up life. The Sheridans would be spared a horrific ordeal. The decision was made almost as quickly as the idea was formulated.

The police and the East Plains paramedics were called. A still unconscious Armen was taken into Colo-rado Springs. Wendy Newlin was p.r.o.nounced dead on the scene. Both she and Armen were taken in the same van into Colorado Springs. Franklin Valsecci showed up forty minutes later.

Bonnie fed Franklin the revised tale of Wendy's Newlin's final minutes of life. She wove it around Wen-dy's story of a long ago rape and a lifetime of abuse.

She couldn't remember where she'd heard the apho-rism, but someone once said that if you wanted a lie to be believed, it should be manufactured of nineteen parts truth to one part fantasy. Bonnie couldn't swear to a ninety-five percent ratio, but the mixture did the job. If Franklin suspected she was lying, he evinced no hint. He nodded at the appropriate junctures and said it tied in with facts he'd already discovered. Besides, what good would it do to pin blame on Edmund? The boy was dead.

With any luck, the story would bring long delayed justice down on Ralph Newlin's politician brother.

As Bonnie stared across the picnic table at Rhian-non, she searched her conscience. I can live with my decision. Everything may not be as I would have cho-sen it, but it's close enough. I can live with my decision. Everything may not be as I would have cho-sen it, but it's close enough.

"I'll be okay."

"I know you will. I threw your Tarot last night." Rhiannon patted Bonnie's uninjured hand. "You're going to come through this just fine."

"You're all right, Rhiannon Griffith."

"Who said I wasn't?"

This time Bonnie found it easier to smile. "We've got to be going." She grabbed a flowered cane leaning against the picnic table.

Armen rose to join her.

"So soon?" Ali asked.

Bonnie hooked her arm into Armen's. "I promised this handsome gentleman we'd watch The Best Movie Ever Made tonight."