by Ellen Riggs
“No one’s making a joke out of this event,” I said. “In fact, it’s deathly serious.”
“I need to finish packing,” Edna said. “But dare I suggest you avoid using the word ‘deathly’ this weekend? It sets the wrong tone.”
I leaned over to set Sookie’s perfect egg into the basket. “On that, at least, we’re in full agreement.”
Chapter Two
Crowning Glory was my last stop before heading over to collect Edna. The salon wasn’t open yet, but Robbi Ford, the owner, came to the door with Edna’s hair conditioner. I was at a loss over how someone could look that perfect so early in the day. It was barely nine but her long, highlighted hair glistened in the sun and her makeup was on point. I supposed looking polished provided assurance to her clients that they were in good hands. She was probably in her mid-forties but looked younger than I felt at 33.
“Ivy, good luck this weekend,” she said, handing me the conditioner. “I don’t normally comment on my clients, but this group can be a little fractious. I’m sure your mother has mentioned that.”
Nodding, I said, “Shields up.”
“Do you have time for a quick trim?” she asked. “Great hair is half the battle with these ladies.”
I backed away quickly. “I’m due to pick up Edna any moment. But thank you.”
Poking her head out the door, she called after me, “It looks like it’s been six months since your last confession… to a hair stylist.”
“Eight,” I called, grinning. “Farmers don’t need to worry about their hair.”
“Innkeepers might,” she tried again. “A good cut just helps with your confidence.”
“All good,” I said, and then tripped over a pebble on the sidewalk. “But thanks.”
Keats did a tight circle around me, seeming as anxious as I felt to get away. Spending time primping wasn’t high on his to-do list either. There was nothing this dog hated more than a bath. Except maybe a cat.
Giving Robbi a last wave, I let Keats into my big black pick-up and went around to climb behind the wheel. With Robbi still at the door, I wanted nothing more than to sail off smoothly, but of course I stalled the truck as I pulled out. Lately I’d been doing better with the manual transmission but my nerves were showing.
“Maybe I’d drive better with a good haircut,” I said, when I finally got the truck rolling. “Am I underestimating the value of vanity, Keats? Mom always says so.”
He turned in the passenger seat and angled his head slightly to give me the full benefit of his honey-brown, sympathetic eye. He knew I was nervous. He knew my emotions almost before I had them. But he didn’t enjoy being bounced around as I hip-hopped through Clover Grove. The jostling interrupted his close observation of local happenings.
It didn’t do much for the upholstery under him, either. This truck had taken quite a beating since Hannah left it in my care. Luckily the animals she surrendered to me were in good shape.
“It’s going to be fine, right?” I said. “It’s just a bunch of bridge ladies. What could go wrong?”
Now he directed his blue eye at me, the one that seemed to penetrate to my soul. Then he mumbled something—a statement that ended with a whine.
I couldn’t tell if it was a lament over all that had gone wrong before when it shouldn’t have, or a warning not to get my hopes up. Bad luck had followed Keats and me since the day we met, like the dark clouds currently gathering overhead. I’d found the pup chained up and neglected in the yard of the man ultimately revealed to be a murderer. We nearly died in the fracas that followed. Then we moved here for the good life, and almost “bought the farm” again. Twice.
“Are you telling me not to be naïve?” I tried to focus on the stick shift. The ride through town, with stoplights and short turns, was the most challenging and frequently the most embarrassing. Everyone knew about my vehicular shortcomings.
Keats gave a quick, low swish and braced white paws on the dashboard, as if to help me pilot this big beast. It was strange how I managed to conceal my nerves from criminals, yet not while driving. The truck was a mood ring on wheels.
“I’ll keep my eyes open, buddy,” I said, as the truck lurched forward. “I realize the chances of our lives being all sunshine from here on in are slim. You and I rescued each other in dangerous circumstances. Maybe that wasn’t a coincidence. It’s hard not to look at what’s happened since and wonder if fate had something bigger in mind for us.” He didn’t shift his gaze from the highway as we left town. True to his breed, he had a single-minded focus that was hard to shake. “Well, even if we’re meant to deal with more crap together, I don’t regret it for a single moment,” I continued. “The life I lived before you wasn’t much of a life at all, I realize now. It was all shades of grey.” I dared a quick look around at the gorgeous fall leaves on trees both nearby and on the distant rolling hills. “That concussion I got when we took out your former owner brought out all the blazing color.”
Keats pushed off the dashboard, turned and touched my wrist with his wet nose. It felt like a high five from the world’s best dog, and my eyes filled instantly. My family and colleagues used to joke about my tear ducts being stitched shut. I had packed my emotions away behind a firewall so that I could downsize employees, earning the nicknames “killer” and “the grim reaper.” After my conk on the head while rescuing Keats, however, the waterworks were never far away. I had to avoid letting myself feel too much gratitude, because it almost always led to involuntary public emissions. I’d cried in the hardware store, the butcher shop, and The Tipsy Grape. Especially The Tipsy Grape. I couldn’t hold my liquor anymore, either. Teary moments weren’t doing much for my already tattered reputation so now I tried hard to confine gratitude to our solitary walks in the meadows, where no one judged.
Rubbing my sleeve across my eyes, I bit my lip to bring myself back into the present as we turned into Edna’s lane. There was no one more likely to exploit my weakness than Edna Evans. Despite that, I rather enjoyed sparring with her. It felt like visiting the gym to recover my strength. Going a few rounds with her regularly would ultimately build my capacity to deal with the other mudslingers in town.
I expected to see her waiting on the porch when we pulled up in front of her small tidy house, because I was two minutes late and she valued punctuality. Instead, she shouted for me to let myself in when I knocked. Her suitcase was sitting in the front hall but she was nowhere in sight.
“You’re late,” she called.
“So are you, apparently.”
She walked into the living room and it struck me that she was moving more slowly and stiffly. Maybe her early trudge through the brush had caught up with her. But her hair was immaculately curled, if also a little stiff, and instead of the yellowed nursing uniform she usually wore around the house, she was in a floral dress with a similar print to the overstuffed chair she was standing beside.
“I’ve never liked leaving my home overnight,” she said. “Especially since you moved into the neighborhood. That farm has been an eyesore and a hazard for years with all those rescue animals, but you’ve taken things to an extreme.”
I pressed my lips together and forced them into a smile as stiff as Edna’s new perm. It was just sparring, I reminded myself. There was a weary air about her today that suggested keeping the gloves up was tough work for her, too.
After a few seconds, my lips relaxed and I said, “I got your grapefruit juice and macadamia nuts. That should help.”
“And the vodka?” she asked.
“Grey Goose tangerine, just like you asked.” Tipping my head, I added, “A few weeks ago you said liquor had never touched your lips—and that’s how you stayed so fresh and sharp.”
She perched on the edge of the chair. “True for the most part. But when you meet the Bridge Buddies, you’ll see that vodka is sometimes just medicine. The tangerine and grapefruit make it go down easier.”
“They’re really that bad?” I walked over to the couch and took a seat
, without removing my boots. Edna had “accidentally” taken them hostage on a recent visit and now I didn’t care what I tracked into her house. As if reading my mind, Keats gave a good scratch and sent some fur drifting into the sunbeams streaming across from the wall of windows where Edna liked to spy on us.
“They’re not good,” she said, frowning at Keats. “You had better be quick on your feet, Ivy Galloway. These are some of the smartest people in Clover Grove. It takes a sharp, analytical mind to play bridge at the level they do. In a different time and place, they’d have been business titans. Instead they were housewives who needed to channel their mental energy into strategy to avoid going insane in this town.”
“You’re the only one who had a career?” I asked.
Edna had worked for the only doctor in town for many decades, and had a side hustle as school nurse. She knew every nook and cranny in Clover Grove Elementary because she’d used her own strategic skills to hunt down every last student to vaccinate them with glee. My brother was usually the last because he spent the year sourcing new hiding places. One year he spent eight hours under the school stage, and all it got him was a heartier jab with Edna’s savage syringe.
“I was the only one who didn’t marry, so I had no choice in the matter.” She stared at her sensible, rubber-soled black Mary Janes. “Although I came very close once.”
“To marrying?” I tried to suppress my surprise but her gray eyebrows rose. I knew she’d found my hiding place and I’d be in for a sharp jab soon. “What happened?”
“I was jilted practically at the altar, I’m afraid.” Leaning down, she tightened the strap on her shoe. “I don’t really blame the man. There was a situation that reflected poorly on me. I wish he’d given me the benefit of the doubt, but it’s long done.”
“Is he still—” I was about to say alive but thought better of it. “In Clover Grove?”
“No,” she said. “And yes, it’s too late by more than fifty years. Don’t get even softer just because you’re working your wiles on Chief Harper.”
“I have wiles?” I asked, smiling.
“You most certainly do. That’s how you’ve managed to outwit a murderer or two. You and that mutt.” She glared at Keats again. “I hope you’ve recharged because you’ll need every trick up your sleeve to stay ahead of the Bridge Buddies.”
I crossed my arms and leaned back. “You’re likening your friends to murderers?”
She pushed herself upright and walked to the front hall. Opening the closet, she pulled out a wool coat, and then draped her rabbit pelt wrap over it. The rabbit hat came last, and she checked the mirror as she placed it gently on her curly hair. The smell of mothballs wafted toward me.
“Actually, yes,” she said, at last. “Not literally of course, but they’ve murdered more reputations than you could ever imagine. You can’t even get your hair set in this town without them convening the executive panel. Get the wrong verdict and you’re on the bus to a salon in another town.” Opening the front door, she turned. “Are you excited yet?”
A laugh slipped out and surprised me. I didn’t think Edna had a real sense of humor. “Actually, no, Miss Evans. I’m filled with dread that deepens with every word. However, with Jilly and Keats backing me, I guess I’m a match for them. At least for three days.”
She patted my back once as I passed in front of her and out the door. “Don’t flatter yourself, young lady. And aren’t you forgetting something?”
I turned on the porch to find her pointing to her suitcase. “At your service, madam.”
We had a brief scuffle on the driveway when she refused to let me put the suitcase in the bed of the truck. “It’ll get dusty,” she said. “Your mutt can ride back there.”
“My dog is not cargo and I won’t risk his safety so that your suitcase stays pristine. Both can go in the back seat.”
“I’ll carry it in my lap,” she said, trying to wrestle it away from me. All those years tussling with panicky children had kept her strong and fit.
“That’s not safe, either,” I said, giving up before one of us tripped.
“It would be perfectly safe if you knew how to drive this truck.” Edna shoved me aside and somehow managed to clamber into the passenger seat with the suitcase and settle herself without my help. “All I ask is that you let me survive this short ride with my dentures intact. I dread to think what the ladies would say if I arrived toothless.”
“Some of them are toothless themselves, guaranteed,” I said, closing the door.
She rolled down the window to shout after me as I circled the truck. “That doesn’t mean they can’t bite.”
“Like chickens,” I said, climbing behind the wheel. “That’s what you said earlier.”
“Death by a thousand hen pecks,” she said, with what may have been a sigh. Her suitcase was compressing her ribcage.
“You said not to joke about death this weekend,” I reminded her.
“I’m not joking,” she muttered. “Just telling my life story.”
“It can’t be that bad.” I backed the truck around smoothly and headed slowly down the lane, easing over every pothole so that Edna wouldn’t puncture a lung on the edge of her old-fashioned suitcase. “You’re a survivor, Miss Evans. You’ve told me so yourself.”
“Like a cockroach. Only tougher.”
This time I guffawed. “Have you been into your tangerine medicine already? Don’t do that while I’m driving.”
Today I didn’t stall, however. We rolled right on by the deep, marshy waterhole that Wilma, my sly sow, adored. Each time she escaped, she stopped by for a stinky wallow in what I now called the “pig pool.” Once she took me with her and I almost stayed under… permanently.
The thought made me shudder, and that’s why I didn’t notice the truck shuddering before it made an ominous clunking sound and then tilted abruptly on the passenger side.
“I do believe you have a flat tire, Ivy. I hope you have a jack and a spare.”
“I do. In the utility shed at the farm.”
“Don’t tell me you can’t change a tire,” she said. “It’s a rite of passage for any teen in this county. You can’t get your learner’s permit without a parent vouching for that.”
“That was nearly twenty years ago, Edna.”
“Miss Evans,” she corrected, her voice as crisp as the breeze coming through the window.
“Sorry.” I smiled at her as I pulled out my phone. “I thought we just had a moment back there.”
“We had a warning, not a breakthrough,” she said. “Now, tell me how you intend to handle this so that we can get to the farm before my friends arrive.”
I jumped out of the truck. “You said they’re not friends.”
“Friends, enemies… Who knows the difference anymore?”
Pressing a number in my contacts, I waited for the garage in town to answer. Fred, the owner, had sent his mechanic out for a recent tractor malfunction and convinced me to sign up for a service contract.
When I explained the problem today, he said, “What’d you hit?”
“Nothing that I know of.” I circled the truck to the passenger side. “Uh-oh.”
“What?” Edna demanded, although her voice was considerably weakened by the weight of the suitcase in her lap.
I knelt and looked around and under the truck. “Nails. Someone sprinkled a dozen or more big nails across your lane, Miss Evans.”
If she responded, I didn’t hear it because Fred was promising to arrive soon to remedy the problem.
Meanwhile, Edna had managed to push her suitcase into the driver’s seat and open the passenger door.
“Stay inside,” I said. “It’s not safe in those shoes. You too, Keats.”
She hopped out without hesitation. “Apparently it’s not safe regardless. Someone must be targeting you on my property now. The audacity!”
“Why would they do that when they could just sprinkle nails in my own lane?” I asked, sighing.
“I
can’t explain your crazy life, Ivy. But you’re the only one who drives in here.”
I rolled my eyes at her. “Along with the cops. Kellan is here quite often. Maybe they’re targeting him.”
“Very funny.” She picked her way around the truck carefully and pulled her suitcase out of the driver’s seat, swinging it down without difficulty. “I’ll walk to your place while you take care of this. I need to be there when the Bridge Buddies arrive.”
“Edna, wait. You can’t carry that on your own. Aren’t you tired already after bushwhacking this morning?”
She turned, and her brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“You know I saw you at my place earlier.” I followed her and tried to take the suitcase. “Why did you take off into the bushes? You could have hurt yourself. It was barely light.”
The handle slipped out of her fingers and her forehead creased into a tight, folded fan. “What are you on about, Ivy Galloway? People say you’re brain-damaged, but this is the first I’ve seen of it.”
All my years of interviewing in HR had taught me to look for the “tells.” Even a skilled card player like Edna had them. Her lips puckered as if she’d jerked a drawstring and relaxed just as quickly. Then her throat clenched and her now-empty right hand clenched, too. She was definitely hiding something.
“I have a few loose screws after my accident, no question,” I said, smiling. “But if you weren’t visiting my henhouse before dawn this morning, I’ll eat your rabbit hat.”
Again her lips jerked into a tight pucker and her small eyes darted from side to side. “Well, if a woman can’t visit her own hen now and then, perhaps those chickens should come home to roost. When this weekend is over, Sookie will join me. You can keep the others.”
“Fine with me. I’d prefer you take her than risk sneaking around in the dark and breaking a leg. Besides, you left the henhouse door ajar in your hurry to escape.”
Now her whole face puckered and flushed till it looked like the apple head dolls they still sold at the fall fair. It took a few seconds before she croaked out, “Is Sookie okay?”