by J. R. Ripley
“I’ll be sure to do that,” replied Yvonne.
“Save you a few dollars on demo costs,” Murray said with an accompanying wink.
“I suppose us neighbors should stick together.” Ross Barnswallow flapped his napkin in front of his face and gave each of his neighbors a stern look. “You can count on me.”
“I wouldn’t be in a hurry, Ms. Rice.” Madeline Bell plucked the last bit of burger from her bun and dropped it on her tongue. She swallowed. “You know what they say: haste makes waste.”
With that she hurled the rest of her burger bun toward a pine tree and licked her fingers. A pair of crows descended on it hungrily.
I opened my mouth to admonish her—bread isn’t really good for birds—but one warning look from Kim and I held back. Though I reserved the right to have a quiet word with Madeline Bell about the practice another time.
“I must say, for as old as the stables are, they do have a certain charm,” Yvonne said.
“Why tear them down then?” Dan wanted to know. “Just remodel. Add on.”
“I had an engineer out,” explained Yvonne. “He tells me the stables are unsafe and that it would cost a pretty penny to restore them. Besides, the little knoll they are sitting on is the best location for the wind tower and the solar panels.”
“Can’t you place the tower near the house here and stick the panels on the roof?” Kim asked.
“Too many trees.”
“You could cut them down,” Kay offered.
“Too expensive,” replied Yvonne. “Besides, I’d feel bad doing that.”
“As you rightly should,” was Ross Barnswallow’s reply.
I nodded. The cabin was on a fairly wooded section of the property. “You know, Yvonne…”
“Yes?”
“I was just thinking. Stop me if I’m being too forward, but from the way you talk—”
“Spit it out already, Amy,” Kim said across the table. “Dessert is getting cold.”
Yvonne had promised us warm homemade pie.
I resisted sticking my tongue out at my best friend a second time. If we had been alone, yes, but it just wasn’t done at a dinner party.
“Audubon North Carolina has been working with property owners to restore their lands for birds. Species like the golden-winged warbler have been struck particularly hard by habitat loss.”
“That’s a wonderful idea!” Yvonne grinned broadly. “Do you think you can help?”
“I’d love to.”
“What is this golden-winged warbler?” Ross Barnswallow wanted to know.
“It’s a small silvery bird with splashes of gold on its head and wings.”
“I believe I have seen them around,” Murray Arnold said.
Ross Barnswallow said he thought he had too.
“They are about four inches long and don’t weigh more than a third of an ounce—about the weight of two quarters,” I added. “The golden-winged warblers breed primarily in open, scrubby areas of young forests.”
I further explained how the birds typically lay three to six eggs in cup-shaped nests concealed in weeds on or near the ground.
“I read that approximately one thousand golden-winged warblers breed in western North Carolina. It is critically important that we work to protect warbler habitat to ensure their survival.”
“Boring.” Madeline slapped her palm lightly against her lips.
“What you describe doesn’t sound like anything around here,” replied Yvonne. “Though I haven’t begun to explore the entire property yet.”
“I agree,” I said. “But with a little work, you could open up some of your land. Make it a suitable habitat for warbler populations.”
“What about…” Yvonne hesitated. “…other birds?”
I got her drift. “Don’t worry. You can keep plenty of appropriate habitat for all sorts of birds—gray, red, yellow, black, you name it.”
“Then consider it done,” Yvonne said firmly.
“I’ll help, too,” Kim agreed, to my amazement. She wasn’t the world’s biggest birder—or volunteer laborer, for that matter.
“Me, too,” Dan said, no doubt feeling duty bound. “Just don’t ask me to mow the lawn.”
Derek said something to similar effect. He lives in an apartment above his in-town law office, conveniently absolving himself of lawn-mowing obligations. Cousin Riley mowed the tiny patch of grass in the front yard of Birds & Bees for me.
“Count me out,” said Ross Barnswallow. “I don’t like it.”
“What’s not to like?” Kim wanted to know.
“I believe nature should be left to take care of itself.” He pointed his finger at each one of us in turn. “There’s a balance to the world, and people shouldn’t go around upsetting it.”
“We’re only trying to help,” Yvonne countered.
“Yeah, what’s wrong with that?” asked Murray.
“I felt a drop of rain,” said Derek, looking up at the darkening sky.
I followed his gaze. The sky did look gray, but I had a feeling he’d invented the drop as a way of neutralizing the topic of conversation.
Yvonne glanced upward and bobbed her head. “Let’s go inside, everybody.” She rose, picking up her plate and utensils. “We’ll have dessert by the fire.” She tucked Baron Samedi under her arm.
Personally, I would have chucked him into the woods.
3
“You don’t have to ask me twice.” Derek stood and began clearing items from the picnic table.
I grabbed my purse, camera, and binoculars. The bluebird house would survive a little rain. It was built for the outdoors.
Prancing toward the house, Yvonne glanced over her shoulder. “Who’s ready for apple-rhubarb pie?”
We made our way quickly to the cabin and crowded together inside near the door, shaking ourselves dry.
The interior of the home was in shadows. Yvonne went around turning on lamps. “Have a seat at the table, everyone.” The sitting room was largish for the size of the cabin. The dining table wasn’t far from the fireplace. A pair of wooden end tables flanked a sofa and chair.
Several dark paintings depicting hunting scenes hung on the walls. Various brighter, more modern pieces of art, including more embroidery floss feathers, were placed casually around the room on tables and shelving.
“I’m afraid I haven’t done much redecorating,” Yvonne said, as if reading our thoughts. “Almost all of the furnishings you see came with the house. One of these days, I’ll replace or refinish things more to my taste.”
“I think the place looks great.” Dan pulled out a chair at the big round dining table for Kim and sat next to her.
Moving to the kitchen, Yvonne conveyed two golden-crusted pies to the table. “I hope you like it. I bought all the apples and rhubarb at your farmers market downtown.”
“I’ve never met a pie I didn’t like.” Dan wet his lips.
“I’ll get some plates,” I said, rising and crossing to the glass-doored cupboard. Derek grabbed the forks and a stainless-steel pie knife.
“Thanks.” Yvonne sliced up the pie, and I passed the plates around the table.
“This is awesome,” commented Kim.
“How do you all know one another?” I asked as we devoured the sweet dessert. “I’m going to need the recipe for this. You could probably get Moire Leora to sell these at the diner.” Moire Leora Breeder owned Ruby’s Diner in town.
“To answer your question,” Madeline Bell said as she cut a precise little sliver off her wedge and pushed it to the edge of her plate, “we all live nearby here at the pond.”
“The pond?” Derek said.
He was a relative newcomer to Ruby Lake, having moved to our town to practice law with his dad. Derek’s ex-wife and daughter, Maeve, also lived in town. His former wife’s name i
s also Amy. I call her Amy-the-ex when I am feeling generous, and I call her things that I can’t commit to paper when I am feeling less so.
Add to that the fact that she had the audacity to open a bridal store immediately next door to Derek’s law office, and you could see why she and I weren’t sipping cappuccinos over mani-pedis on Wednesdays, down at Spring Beauty, the salon where my cousin Rhonda, Riley’s twin sister, wields her shears.
“It’s a small community called Webber’s Pond,” Ross Barnswallow explained.
“There are a number of cabins nearby. I believe they were all built by the same developer back in the forties. Except for this property. I suppose the owner wouldn’t sell.” Yvonne passed around a pot of tea. “At least, that’s what the real estate agent told me.”
“That sounds about right,” Kim said. She should know. She was a former real estate agent.
“Right after the Second World War, a developer named Webber purchased the property the pond was situated on and built a handful of small bungalows,” Murray Arnold added.
“Sounds charming,” I said.
We managed to keep the conversation light and easy. Dessert was too good to spoil with any unpleasantness.
Derek yawned and tilted back in his chair.
Kay Calhoun rose quietly. A small black ribbon atop her head stemmed the flow of her cascading bangs. “I should be going.” She had left a chunk of flaky crust on her plate.
The sun had set. Through the mullioned windows, stars twinkled silently. The threatening rainstorm hadn’t come. The foreboding silhouette of the Lord of Death sneered at me from the mantel of the fireplace. Yvonne had positioned him there in what she called a place of honor.
I felt a little bad for Yvonne ending up with the Baron, but to balance it out, I felt a little good for myself and Kim.
“You can’t go yet,” protested Yvonne. “We haven’t played my favorite game.”
Derek winced. He wasn’t big on party games. I had forced him into a game of charades with friends one evening, and he hadn’t forgiven me yet. Like it was my fault he couldn’t figure out my miming Gone with the Wind.
“What game is that?” Kim carried her dirty plate to the kitchen. Dan followed suit.
“I’ll show you.” Sliding open the side table drawer, Yvonne reverently extracted a yellowed wooden board approximately a foot by a foot and a half in size. Its corners were cut sharp, making it technically an octagon.
“A Ouija board?” Derek peered at it as if it were some exotic specimen from a museum collection.
“Here’s the planchette.” Yvonne reached into a second drawer and drew out a heart-shaped wooden object with a window in the top of it and three slender supporting legs at the corners.
“Sorry,” said Kay, taking one ugly look at the thing. “But I really must be going.”
“Me, too.” Ross rose and limped toward the door. I had noticed he favored his left leg.
“Please, stay,” Yvonne urged.
Kim fingered the planchette. “This thing looks old.”
“It is,” replied Yvonne. “Early nineteen hundreds. It is an original William Fuld model.” She ran her hand over the surface. “It’s made of yellow pine.”
Like all Ouija boards I had seen, this one had the letters of the alphabet stenciled across it in two arched rows. The numerals one through nine, plus zero, ran beneath the letters. The numbers and letters were faded and worn, some more than others.
An image of the sun sat in the upper-left-hand corner, and next to it was written the word Yes. An image of the moon occupied the upper-right corner with the word No written beside it.
I could see by Derek’s expression that he was leaning heavily toward No himself. Fortunately, I also knew he was too much a gentleman to say so.
“Did you know Mr. Fuld died in a freak accident?” Yvonne reported. “He fell off the roof of his factory.”
“Fell or was pushed by a disgruntled Ouija player who had received bad news from the spirit world?” Derek grumbled. I stifled any further response from him with a look.
Ross Barnswallow returned to his chair. “No offense, Yvonne, but this is stupid.”
“I haven’t played Ouija since I was a teenager,” I said. “Remember, Kim?” Our board had been made of cardboard and the planchette of plastic.
Kim grinned. “We used to have slumber parties, watch old movies—mostly musicals because Amy was obsessed with them.”
I raised my hand. “Guilty as charged.”
“We played board games like Life and Monopoly. We were absolutely convinced that what happened in those games was going to foreshadow our futures,” Kim went on. “The Ouija board promised us all we’d marry rich and have lots of children.” She laughed. “I can’t believe how silly we all were.”
“That could still prove to be half true,” Dan said, snaking an arm around her waist. “Just say the word.”
“Cool your engines, stud.” Kim pushed his arm away. “I’m game. For a game of Ouija, that is.” She shot a smile Dan’s way. “We can talk about the rest later. In private.” She pressed her index finger to his lips, and he kissed it.
Murray folded his hands under his chin. “I suppose one game couldn’t hurt. Come on, Kay. It is the neighborly thing to do.”
“You are right.” Kay Calhoun fell into her chair. “I’ve never played.” She shoved her seat closer to the table. “What do we do?”
“First, let me dim the lights.”
Lights out but for the glow of the fire, we settled around the table as Yvonne explained the workings of Ouija. Talking boards—or spirit boards, as they were sometimes called—have been around for a very long time and have been used in many cultures. The planchette represented the spirit hand and was used, supposedly, by the dead to communicate with the living. “It’s really simple. We all place our fingers on the planchette.”
“That’s it?” Kay said in wonder.
“Shush,” said Madeline Bell. “Let Yvonne talk.”
“That’s okay,” Yvonne reached across the table and patted Kay’s hand with affection. “We all concentrate as hard as we can.”
“And then the spirits come and take us away,” Ross Barnswallow sniped.
Kay gasped in a breath.
“Don’t worry,” Yvonne said soothingly. “Nobody is taking anybody away. The spirits will talk to us. Tell us things we want to know. If we open our minds and hearts to them.” She looked at us one by one.
“You mean we can ask these spirits questions?” Murray asked.
“That’s right.”
“Can they tell me who’s going to win the Super Bowl?” Dan said.
Kim poked him in the ribs.
“Ouch. Sorry.”
“The spirits are not going to come at all if we aren’t serious about this. Right, Yvonne?” Kim said.
“That’s right, Kim.”
“But how will they communicate with us?” Kay asked. “Do they talk?”
“No, they communicate through the spirit board.” Yvonne spoke patiently. “When the spirits wish to tell us something, they move the planchette across the board.” Her finger moved over the board. “From letter to letter. Spelling out their message.”
“Wow.” Dan scratched his head.
“I see.” Kay was fascinated.
“Let’s get started.” I was anxious to see what the spirits had in store for us. Then again, I hoped none of the victims of murder whose cases I had found myself involved in appeared before us. I didn’t need any spirit visitations from the likes of them. That would be too weird and way too uncomfortable.
All I wanted to do was to get on with my life. A life that included my best friend, my mother, and Derek—all of whom were living.
After what seemed an interminable length of time but was really only a matter of minutes, during which both Murray a
nd Ross had to be admonished for making snide comments and rude noises, the planchette shuddered.
“It’s moving!” cried Kim.
“It-it is.” I knew it was nonsense, and I knew it was just our subconscious minds playing games while our nerves shook or something, but it still surprised me when the planchette began vibrating.
The cynic in me concluded Kim was the power behind our little heart-shaped spirit ship.
Yvonne cautioned us to remain calm and to keep our voices low. “Who has the first question?”
We looked at each other’s shadowy faces. Finally, it was Madeline Bell who spoke up. “I would like to speak with Jonathan.”
“Who’s Jonathan?” Kim whispered.
“Madeline’s deceased hubby,” explained Murray Arnold. “Good luck getting him to talk. The man barely said two words when he was alive. I can only imagine how taciturn he’ll be now.”
And taciturn he was. Jonathan failed to appear despite Madeline Bell’s prodding and cajoling. Although Ross Barnswallow cattily remarked that he probably was there but had chosen not to speak.
I had a feeling that nobody but the host was taking the game all that seriously.
“I wonder if Del or Sylvia might want to speak.” Murray Arnold leaned closer to the board. Shadows moved slowly over his face.
Kay hissed.
“Del Stenson, Sylvia Stenson,” intoned Yvonne, “will you speak with us this night?”
The planchette swung around to Yes.
“Who?”
I felt my skin crawl over my bones and bit down on my lip.
The planchette began moving slowly.
“s-y-l-v-i-a.” I read the letters as the window of the planchette stopped momentarily over each one.
Derek and I shared a look. His was skepticism. Mine was pique. I was convinced that Kim was up to her usual shenanigans, having fun with us, just like she’d done when we were in high school.
“Hello, Sylvia.” Yvonne said gently, glancing upward as if the deceased woman were hovering above us. Kim and I couldn’t resist following Yvonne’s gaze.