No Grater Danger

by Victoria Hamilton

  The dog’s owner raced into the yard, huffing and puffing, and grasped his dog’s collar, but only because Tiberius, deprived of his prey, trotted back to him amiably.

  “Old witch,” he muttered, leading the dog by the collar across the wide swath of emerald green. “Tiberius was just having some fun.”

  “She has a right not to have your dog on her property,” Jaymie retorted, appalled by his rudeness.

  “Yeah, well, notice she didn’t mention that those mangy stray cats she feeds on the back porch are a worse nuisance,” he said, waving his free hand toward the glowering cat. “They dig and crap in my garden and kill the birds at my feeders! I’m fed up with it.”

  That was a new wrinkle in their conflict that she had not considered. Jaymie caught sight of a landing by the back door where several empty chipped china dishes sat. She also noticed another cat, more steadfast than the runner, sitting in the middle of the lawn and staring at Tiberius, growling with a low, threatening sound. It was a fat gray cat with a round face and gold eyes; he looked healthy and poised, the feline king of his domain. He turned, tail held high, and strolled over to the hydrangea hedge that separated the Nutmeg Palace from the Zane house north of it, made the motion that indicated he was marking it with his scent, staring with a defiant glare, then disappeared from sight. Lan Zane was still talking over his shoulder as he staggered along, tugging his huge dog toward the front, but his words were lost to Jaymie as she noticed the view of the river from Miss Perry’s backyard.

  It was magnificent, a portion of it framed by an arbor of roses set to the south edge of the overgrown box hedge that lined the top of the bluff. She moved toward it almost involuntarily, stepping through the arbor and examining the vista. A path followed the cliff edge about twenty feet above the river, but there was also another path that zigzagged back and forth, descending to the water’s edge, muddy and rocky below the bluff. Herring gulls wheeled and screeched above, adults with elegant gray and white plumage, and immature birds, clothed in speckled soft brown feathers. She stared down at the silvery blue river gliding past and then looked south, toward Heartbreak Island. A cargo ship majestically churned along in the shipping lane, past the island heading north, toward Lake Huron. There was probably no point along the St. Clair with this view because, for the most part, land along the river was flat and only a few feet above the water’s edge. She could see why folks wanted to come up the zigzag path and walk along the bluff trail.

  She looked along the bluff to the south; there was another magnificent property there, which she knew was Haskell Lockland’s. She could hardly see it, just the second floor above the hedge that divided the properties, but there was a definite path that ascended on his land to the bluff. His second floor at the back of his house was a glassed office with probably the best view of all. It looked newer than the house. She thought she could see a fence through the hedge; if that was there, then his property was better insulated from danger than Miss Perry’s.

  The Zane property was to the north of Miss Perry’s, but Jaymie couldn’t see that at all, as it was concealed by Miss Perry’s home and the high hedge, and by the fact that Winding Woods Lane curved away past the elderly woman’s home. Her wedge-shaped property was the largest of the three, with the wide base of the wedge along the river.

  She turned back toward Miss Perry’s place, but her attention was caught by some movement below the bluff; she edged forward and peered down the hillside. A flash of red, and whoever it was, was gone. Had someone been coming along the path below but stopped when they saw her? Or was someone watching Miss Perry’s house? She glanced back at the house, noting the large window that must be the utility room, given the newish pane that was different than the three other wavy old glass panes. It would give easy access to the house. Once someone had successfully robbed the place and knew what was in it, would they try again?

  With an uneasy feeling she turned, headed back to the front of the house, closing the gate carefully behind her, and took her leave of the elderly lady, who leaned heavily on her cane, supported by her great-niece, Morgan. Jaymie promised to get back in touch with Miss Perry as soon as she talked to Haskell Lockland about security measures for the valuable historic items the lady would like to loan the heritage society.

  As Jaymie drove away she caught the young woman’s expression in the rearview mirror. For some unknown reason that maybe had nothing to do with Jaymie, Morgan Wallace looked perturbed and grim. She supported her aunt into the house and closed the door behind them.

  Four

  THE NEXT FEW DAYS were busy with a medical appointment for Jocie (Jaymie and Jakob both took her to her doctor), a vet appointment for Hoppy (his yearly shots and checkup in Wolverhampton), working at the Emporium, helping Cynthia Turbridge move furniture around in the Cottage Shoppe, lessons from Georgina on furniture styles—she learned about the art deco period in antiques—and a hundred other things big and small. She cornered Haskell out at the heritage house and got him to agree to Miss Perry’s reasonable requests. Somewhere in there she fit in her weekly column and the recipe book she was still working on. She had a new idea for it, something to make it stand out from the crowd of other cookbooks that were published every season.

  Her calendar had gone from busy to jam-packed.

  The weekend saw them back at Jakob’s log cabin on his property in a corner of his parents’ farm. Saturday morning there was a chill in the air, a warning of autumn to come. As she finished drying the dishes and Jocie worked on a project at the trestle table, Jakob wrapped his arms around her from behind, squeezing her.

  “Jakob, I can’t breathe,” she protested with a laugh.

  “I love you,” he whispered in her ear.

  She giggled at the tickle of his beard. She turned in his arms and kissed him full on the mouth. “Ditto, Mr. Müller.”

  “Come for a walk with me? I need to walk the trees and decide a few things for the coming season.”

  A Christmas tree farmer thinks about Christmas three hundred and sixty-five days a year, she had discovered. “I would love to, sir. Just let me finish here.” He put away the rest of the dishes, speeding up the process.

  A few minutes later, with Hoppy keeping up as best he could, they were walking the trees, as Jakob called it, strolling the long rows of pine trees that stretched in a slope up and over some of the Müller land. Many years before, he had begun the project with a friend and a couple of his brothers. He was the brains behind it, though, and the one most committed to making Müller Christmas Trees the success it had become. He now had ten acres of balsam and Fraser fir, Scotch pine and spruce, all at different stages of growth to ensure a continuing supply over the coming years. They walked in step, his arm around her shoulders, his warm body close to hers, a coupled harmony she never thought she would find in her life. She learned more every time she was out in the trees with him, and not all of what she learned was arboriculture.

  A small rabbit streaked away, startling a blue jay that flew up to the top of one of the taller Frasers and noisily scolded it and the Müllers. Jaymie inhaled deeply; the heady pine scent, the crunch of dried needles, pinecones and mulch underfoot . . . these were sensations she was learning by heart, and relished. She was a farmer’s wife. It still felt new, to her, and unexpectedly exciting in ways she couldn’t explain.

  Once they got to a prominence, they stopped and turned, surveying the land. The whole Müller farm stretched all the way to the next road, and from the hilltop they could see his parents’ farm, a sprawling modern ranch-style farmhouse obscured by a large barn, drive shed, and several outbuildings. Jakob’s mother had a huge vegetable garden, and there was a grove of fruit trees.

  When they turned they could see Jakob’s and her home, the log cabin. She had come to love it, partially for its rustic appearance and the fact that her husband had built it with help from his brothers, but even more for what it represented. It was where she had found a family. The cabin was in a lonely spot, and opposite
was nothing but trees, a wood of about seventy acres or so. It was private property, but Jakob and his family knew the owner, and he didn’t mind them walking through it. She often took Hoppy for a stroll down a path through the woods, and walked there with Jocie, too, gathering acorns, leaves and twigs for craft projects. They strolled home arm in arm.

  Back in front of the log cabin, as she picked dead heads off the purple and yellow chrysanthemums she had planted in pots by the door, Jakob stood, legs spread, fists on his hips, staring at the property on the other side of the Müller farm, his eyes calculating. He was broad and handsome, dressed in a plaid shirt and jeans, his beard luxuriantly growing for its annual winter appearance. From looking at his father Jaymie knew that when he was old his hair would turn white, and she would bet that with those twinkling eyes he would look like a brown-eyed Santa. But that was a ways away yet; for now he looked like a particularly handsome Teutonic lumberjack. “What are you thinking about?”

  He glanced at her and smiled. “Can you guess?”

  She looked at him, her head tilted to one side, feeling a tingle in her stomach. “You’ve got an idea to expand the business,” she said. “Tell me.”

  “How well you know me already!” He approached her and slung his left arm over her shoulder. He turned her to look toward the land that stretched out beyond the log cabin. “That land is up for sale.”

  Jaymie knew that; she had seen the sign that listed it as fifty acres of farmland, zoned for agriculture or development. “That went up a few days ago. Do you know the owners?”

  “I do. They’re newish, just owned it for ten years. They’re keeping the house, which is on the next road, and dividing the farmland off of it. I’m thinking of expanding. And . . .” He looked down at her. “You’re going to think I’m crazy.”

  With a laugh, she said, “Tell me, before I imagine the worst.”

  “There’s a hill in the middle of the fifty acres.”

  She put her hand up to shade her eyes and looked at the rows of corn stubble that rose in long lines in the distance. A red-tailed hawk soared above, making big, swooping circles as it hunted mice and voles. “I can see the hill.”

  “Imagine Müller Family Christmas Acres!” he said, his voice sparking with energy and enthusiasm. He stretched his free hand out, waving it as he painted word pictures. “A sledding hill in the middle, more Christmas trees—that way I can convert some of the Christmas tree acreage on my parents’ land to nursery stock trees—and there, along the road, a year-round Christmas store!” His words tumbled over each other in his excitement.

  “Like Bronner’s in Frankenmuth?” Bronner’s, a Michigan institution for over seventy years, was one of the biggest Christmas stores in the world, with a building covering seven acres.

  He chuckled, a sound that rumbled in his chest. “Not nearly that big, Jaymie. But Christmas, all year long. Honey, I can see it!” he said, again waving that free hand in front of them like a wand. “Another log building, like the cabin, but bigger, with a wide covered porch, railing like a hitching post, big windows, and white twinkle lights everywhere! A place for families to come and visit, drink cocoa, have a slide down the hill out back, roast marshmallows, make s’mores!”

  “And in the store sell . . . what?” she asked, practicality forcing her to pump the brakes a little.

  “Well . . .” He started, and blinked. “Christmas decorations to go along with the Müller farm Christmas trees, maybe. And locally made Christmas treats.”

  She felt a tickle of excitement in her stomach. “We could offer Christmas décor year-round,” she mused, “but also things for other celebrations, like Easter, and spring and Memorial Day. Bedding plants in spring for gardeners. July Fourth decorations, and Halloween. We could make it a destination, a family event, not just for shopping but for fun! Jakob, it sounds wonderful.” She turned, looking up into his eyes. “Can we do all that?”

  “Of course we can!” He hugged her. “Good thing I married you. You’re the only woman in the world who would get as excited as me about this.”

  “Oh! Can we have a pumpkin patch?” she asked with a little hop. “And maybe a road to the sliding hill so that kids with disabilities can get to it too?”

  “Honey, you are the best. I never even thought about that, but it makes it so much better! If we had a road we could give cart rides to the hill for oldsters, too, so they can watch the kids slide! Wouldn’t Mrs. Stubbs love that?”

  Jaymie squealed with glee and her eyes prickled with tears. “And maybe . . . oh, Jakob! Dani and Emma have a hayride cart and have rescued a couple of horses. Their stable isn’t far from us. We could have them come and give hayrides!”

  “That would be amazing!” he said, his voice filled with excitement.

  “I’m sold,” she said as Hoppy barked in glee and danced at her side. “When can we buy the land?”

  “I’ll call today to enquire.”

  “I’ve got some money saved,” she said. “I want to invest!”

  “That’s my girl,” he said, squeezing her to his side.

  When they got back to the cabin, Jocie was finishing her homework. She looked up. “Mama, your phone rang!”

  Jaymie stopped dead and her eyes teared up. Jocie had called her Mama. Just . . . Mama, not Mama Jaymie. Mama. Her breath caught in her throat, though life swirled on around her, Jakob dashing off to write ideas down, Jocie going back to her page of division and math problems. Neither noticed the momentous event, and that was how it should be, she decided, not bringing it to anyone’s attention. She hugged the moment to herself, relishing it. It was a small thing, maybe, but important to her.

  Jocie had called her Mama.

  She checked her phone. “It’s Miss Perry . . . good. I can tell her what Haskell said.” She went out to sit on the bench on the porch, picked up her pup, letting him curl up in her lap, and returned the call. After salutations, she said, “Haskell wants to talk a bit more, but he tentatively agreed that if it’s a go, the society would pay for Bill Waterman to make locked cabinets for your spice grinders and have them securely bolted to the wall. He grumbled at the cost, but that’s nothing new.” He had also tried to enlist Jaymie to intercede on the heritage society’s behalf with Miss Perry about right-of-way access across her land, but she told him she wasn’t about to do that. Miss Perry had a right to make her own decisions without being badgered by every person with whom she came in contact. “I’m going to meet him at the heritage house to get final approval, but I think we can bet on it.”

  “Good,” the lady said, sounding tired. “I have a hair appointment later today and church tomorrow. Come out on Monday and we can discuss it.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Perry, but Monday is bad for me. I have work at The Junk Stops Here, and a bunch of other stuff.” Including a school meeting and dinner with Jakob’s parents.

  “Tuesday, then. But in the afternoon. That damn writer, Estelle, is coming out, and I have another appointment before lunch.”

  “Okay, Tuesday afternoon, that’s perfect. I’m going to meet Haskell at the house in the morning, so I’ll have the final answer before I see you.”

  • • •

  SUNDAY WAS FAMILY DAY; Jakob, Jaymie and Jocie were having dinner at the Queensville Inn with Kevin and Becca. Jocie was excited, since she got to dress up in the frock she wore to Jaymie and Jakob’s wedding, a pretty confection that made her look like a lovely doll. After a brief visit to Mrs. Stubbs’s room, they found a quiet table for six near the fireplace, a booster seat for Jocie bringing her up to a good height with the table. The Queensville Inn dining room had been completely redecorated over the summer in elegant shades of cream and taupe, with soft silver accents. Even the china dishes used were ivory with a single silver line around the rims. Becca and Kevin arrived. Jaymie jumped up and hugged her older sister. Getting married on the same day, as well as solving a decades-old mystery surrounding Becca’s two friends’ disappearance, had brought them closer together. Becca finall
y letting go of some of her desire to control Jaymie’s collecting habits had helped even more. They had reached a détente, of sorts, with Jaymie promising that any time she added something to their jointly owned Queensville home, she’d get rid of something.

  “You look gorgeous!” Jaymie said, eyeing her up and down. Becca wore her hair shorter, and it curled softly around her round face. She had new glasses, rimless, so her blue eyes were large, and though there were light lines gathered under them, she looked younger, somehow. “It feels like I haven’t seen you in forever!” she said, hugging her again.

  “We’ve only been gone three weeks, Jaymie!”

  “I beg your pardon, four weeks! You spent a week in London with Grandma Leighton too, before you left.”

  Becca chuckled. “You look radiant, too.”

  They kissed cheeks while Kevin and Jakob shook hands, and Kevin crouched down to greet Jocie with a big hug, then got to his feet, his knee joints popping. Kevin was some years Becca’s senior, but after three brief and unhappy marriages, everyone agreed she’d finally landed a good one.

  The dining room had filled with chatting folks, not an empty chair anywhere, but the service was quick and attentive. Dinner was wonderful; Jaymie had scallops in wine sauce and salmon, and happily sampled Jakob’s beef burger and Jocie’s spaghetti. She finished with a hot cup of tea, then excused herself to go to the washroom. As she threaded her way through the tables, nodding to folks she knew, she spotted someone familiar. She approached the table.

  “Morgan, hello!” she said.

  Morgan Perry Wallace looked up from her plate of spaghetti carbonara, but her expression was blank. She frowned. Jaymie glanced at her dinner companion, recognizing her husband, Saunders Wallace, immediately from his television advertisements, from his ginger, crisply curling hair to his tartan jacket.