Read Online Tales of the Witch by Angela Zeman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Angela Zeman
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he got it. The whole idea. It burst into his head full grown, bypassing babyhood and adolescence. It stopped him dead in his tracks. He spent several minutes examining it up and down and backwards and inside out…but found no flaws. And so he drove home…
The next day the homicide detective told Skip that the bullet was a common .303 used in hunting rifles. Though the killing was tragic, it probably was a hunting accident. The woods around Phantom’s long vacant property were known to be full of small game. Lots of hunters in the area, more than usual in the last few economically lean years. The perpetrator would possibly never be discovered.
Skip explained all this to Ernie and Ernie’s crew. Even though the men were understandably upset at the loss of their friend, several shoulders lowered in an easing of tension at hearing that it could’ve been a hunting accident, and work resumed.
After few more days, the crews were working up to speed again and the shock faded.
Then, a week later, Ernie stepped into an animal trap. Ernie, a normally soft spoken man, screamed in a shrill agony that caused the men to drop their tools and run to him from all over the site. The trap, an old iron one that Ernie swore hadn’t been there the day before, was big enough to incapacitate a full grown bear. Although the rusted jaws could’ve severed his leg, Ernie was lucky to be wearing work boots that limited the damage to broken bones.
As the ambulance trundled an agonized but sedated Ernie to St. Charles Hospital, the men stared at each other with white faces. Skip was speechless. Without being told, Ernie’s assistant, using Skip’s car phone, called the constable, who immediately called homicide again.
…After much discussion, even Skip had to admit that the detective’s theory—that it was only more hunting equipment, long forgotten and overlooked by Ernie’s crew—was somewhat reasonable.
The lot, he remembered Conrad saying, had stood vacant for years. The men agreed with the detective, although he could tell they were uneasy about it. He didn’t blame them. He wasn’t too convinced, himself, but at least Ernie would definitely be okay, suffering only a broken leg…unlike the poor carpenter. After an hour’s milling and an early lunch, the men returned to work. It sure was a puzzle.
A few days later, Skip ‘heard’ from his boss.
Skip called an impromptu meeting at the mayor’s office. After off-handedly pointing out the report of Phantom’s whereabouts in the Newsday newspaper (Liz Smith’s column) to Mayor Harper, Mr. Drexel, Doctor Villas, Mr. Harder Sr., the nice-looking Ms. Bellwood, Conrad, and Ernie’s assistant, Skip showed them the message Phantom had faxed direct from Eastern Europe where he was doing benefits for the newly formed ex-Soviet Satellite countries..
The lengthy communication, typed in faded, ‘foreign looking’ letters, complimented his manager, Mark Daniels, and the people working so hard from the village of Wyndham-by-the-Sea, for their quick work in carrying out his—Phantom’s—wishes.
However—and it was a big however—Phantom stated that he was walking a mental and physical tightrope that could snap at any time, so he’d be flying direct to Wyndham in his private jet from the location of the last gig on his tour.
‘Mark’ must speed up work even more, and arrange safe shipment of his furniture, art collection, sound equipment, etc., from where they were presently being stored so that all would be in place for his arrival. Phantom’s tour was at a particularly manic stage. In lieu of transferring funds from bank to bank—a nightmarish tangle of transactions when attempted from deep within the Eastern Bloc—he promised to settle all accounts fully the day he arrived. Then from that point, Phantom stated, he looked forward to the complete rest and total quiet promised him by the villagers of beautiful Wyndham-by-the-Sea. “See you all soon. Phantom.”
Mr. Harder
The next day the homicide detective told Skip that the bullet was a common .303 used in hunting rifles. Though the killing was tragic, it probably was a hunting accident. The woods around Phantom’s long vacant property were known to be full of small game. Lots of hunters in the area, more than usual in the last few economically lean years. The perpetrator would possibly never be discovered.
Skip explained all this to Ernie and Ernie’s crew. Even though the men were understandably upset at the loss of their friend, several shoulders lowered in an easing of tension at hearing that it could’ve been a hunting accident, and work resumed.
After few more days, the crews were working up to speed again and the shock faded.
Then, a week later, Ernie stepped into an animal trap. Ernie, a normally soft spoken man, screamed in a shrill agony that caused the men to drop their tools and run to him from all over the site. The trap, an old iron one that Ernie swore hadn’t been there the day before, was big enough to incapacitate a full grown bear. Although the rusted jaws could’ve severed his leg, Ernie was lucky to be wearing work boots that limited the damage to broken bones.
As the ambulance trundled an agonized but sedated Ernie to St. Charles Hospital, the men stared at each other with white faces. Skip was speechless. Without being told, Ernie’s assistant, using Skip’s car phone, called the constable, who immediately called homicide again.
…After much discussion, even Skip had to admit that the detective’s theory—that it was only more hunting equipment, long forgotten and overlooked by Ernie’s crew—was somewhat reasonable.
The lot, he remembered Conrad saying, had stood vacant for years. The men agreed with the detective, although he could tell they were uneasy about it. He didn’t blame them. He wasn’t too convinced, himself, but at least Ernie would definitely be okay, suffering only a broken leg…unlike the poor carpenter. After an hour’s milling and an early lunch, the men returned to work. It sure was a puzzle.
A few days later, Skip ‘heard’ from his boss.
Skip called an impromptu meeting at the mayor’s office. After off-handedly pointing out the report of Phantom’s whereabouts in the Newsday newspaper (Liz Smith’s column) to Mayor Harper, Mr. Drexel, Doctor Villas, Mr. Harder Sr., the nice-looking Ms. Bellwood, Conrad, and Ernie’s assistant, Skip showed them the message Phantom had faxed direct from Eastern Europe where he was doing benefits for the newly formed ex-Soviet Satellite countries..
The lengthy communication, typed in faded, ‘foreign looking’ letters, complimented his manager, Mark Daniels, and the people working so hard from the village of Wyndham-by-the-Sea, for their quick work in carrying out his—Phantom’s—wishes.
However—and it was a big however—Phantom stated that he was walking a mental and physical tightrope that could snap at any time, so he’d be flying direct to Wyndham in his private jet from the location of the last gig on his tour.
‘Mark’ must speed up work even more, and arrange safe shipment of his furniture, art collection, sound equipment, etc., from where they were presently being stored so that all would be in place for his arrival. Phantom’s tour was at a particularly manic stage. In lieu of transferring funds from bank to bank—a nightmarish tangle of transactions when attempted from deep within the Eastern Bloc—he promised to settle all accounts fully the day he arrived. Then from that point, Phantom stated, he looked forward to the complete rest and total quiet promised him by the villagers of beautiful Wyndham-by-the-Sea. “See you all soon. Phantom.”
Mr. Harder
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