Drizzled with Death (A Sugar Grove Mystery)

by Crockett, Jessie

  “Maybe if you didn’t act like one most of the time, you wouldn’t get treated that way. What you need is to grow up, find a husband, and take your place in the town like the rest of us.”

  “So that’s what you think?”

  “It is. Which is why I invited that passably attractive man from the Fish and Game Department to come to the house for Thanksgiving dinner.”

  “You what?” My stomach began pulsing with a low dull ache.

  “And of course, Knowlton will be there so you should have a bidding war on your hands if everything goes well.” Celadon dug around in her purse and pulled out her keys.

  “I’m not for sale.”

  “Yes you are, and since women don’t fetch higher prices when they become antiques, we need to get you pawned off on someone before your value slips even more.” I found myself in the unique position of being perceived as an aging baby.

  “Is that what Mom is doing? Selling out before her value slips?”

  “Our mother doesn’t need to prove herself. She has a family and a position in society. The problem here is you.”

  “The problem is an outdated worldview. In case you hadn’t noticed, in this century women are valued for more than their ability to snag a man and crank out some offspring. I’m perfectly happy just as I am.” Celadon cocked an eyebrow at me and clucked her tongue.

  “Your bloodshot eyes tell a very different story. Get yourself together and get on home before I tell Grandma you were not willing to try to resolve this with Mom.” Celadon knew how to pull out the big guns. No one wanted to get tattled on to Grandma. And no one wanted to be the one to do the tattling either. The consequences were almost as steep to be the one carrying tales. It had better be a good one if you were planning to share it with her, or she would shame you for being evil to your sibling. I was counting on this to work in my favor when I answered. There was no way I was heading home right now.

  “I’ll get home when I am good and ready. You tell anyone you want, anything you want. I’m not leaving.”

  “Suit yourself then. You be the one to deal with the consequences of worrying your mother sick and throwing the rest of the household into a tizzy at the busiest time of the year.”

  “It’s only the busiest time of the year because all of you make it be that way. All your Christmas crap is purely optional.”

  Celadon pursed her lips so tightly it was like they were a star beginning to implode. “Maybe it is better if you don’t come home for a while. Perhaps you will begin to appreciate what you have that way.” Celadon slammed the door behind her so hard the leopard print lampshade on the ceiling fixture swayed like there was a sudden storm. I huddled beneath the blanket again and thought about my options.

  I didn’t want to go home and I didn’t want to face the family until we all had an opportunity to calm down. I could stay at Piper’s most likely for at least a couple of days, but no matter how angry and hurt I was, it would just get worse if I had to explain why I hadn’t done my fair share of the work to prepare Thanksgiving dinner. And not being at the actual event was unthinkable. As hurt as I was, there was no way I could do that to myself, or the rest of the family.

  I fixed myself some cheese and crackers from Piper’s cupboard and had settled in with a book I found in her bathroom on weird New Hampshire history, witches, and strange phenomenon when Piper was at the door, tugging Dean into the RV behind her. They were giggling and pawing at each other in a way I was sure they wouldn’t be if they were aware they had an audience. For the second time that day I was an unwelcomed presence in an otherwise romantic interlude. Piper asked me what was wrong and encouraged me to stay but I told her it was just holiday craziness at the house and that I was refreshed and ready to leave. I’m not sure I convinced her, but Dean seemed pleased to see me leave so at least I had made someone happy.

  • • •

  I was deep in thought about my love life or lack thereof and all the rest of the things Celadon had said. Maybe I wasn’t as mature as the average person my age. After all, I was almost twenty-seven and still had no marriage prospects, no thought of children besides a vague idea that someday I might like to have a couple of my own. I wondered if I looked as unsuccessful as I felt. Was public pressure finally going to wear me down and cause me to marry Knowlton and mother a troupe of taxidermy-loving children? I rounded the corner to where I had left my car and spotted Graham plucking his laundry off the makeshift line. He caught sight of me and waved.

  I waved back with as little enthusiasm as possible to still not count as ignoring someone and trotted to my car as fast as I could manage. Unfortunately, Graham moved even faster. It must have been his long, lean legs and decently muscled back end that gave him the advantage. Not that I noticed much about his back end, but I was human after all. He tapped on the window, all professional, like a cop. Did I mention I am no longer interested in cops? I didn’t roll down the window.

  “Yes?” I asked through the glass.

  “I just wanted to thank you for the invitation to Thanksgiving.”

  “I didn’t invite you so there is no need to thank me.”

  “But you will need to put up with me at the dinner, and I think maybe I left things a bit rough round the edges the last time we spoke.”

  “If my family invited you, it is no business of mine. They do whatever they are going to without consulting me.” I hadn’t intended to share that much but it just slipped out. I must have been more stressed out than I had realized.

  “Are you sure you’re safe to drive? You look a little crazed. Distracted and not quite yourself.” I rolled down the window so I could be sure he could hear how indignant I sounded when I came up with a snappy retort.

  “Every time I run into you, you think I’m crazy. Is it just me or is it women in general?”

  “It’s just you. I can’t remember any other woman ever making the sort of impression on me that you seem to.” That knocked me off balance. I wasn’t sure if he was flirting with me or insulting me again.

  “If you think I’m crazy, you’re going to enjoy meeting my mother on Thursday.”

  “Does she see imaginary animals, too?”

  “She sees auras, ghosts, and spirit guides.” Last week, she had tried to get me to join her for a sacred cleanse session in preparation for the toxins we would be experiencing over the holidays. It involved drinking algae shakes and standing knee-deep, naked as jay birds, in a stream at the edge of the property under the glow of the full moon. I had declined, citing the ill effects of frostbite on my already too tiny bustline. “And for the record, I may have more proof about the mountain lion that was anything but imaginary.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “No, really. The same night I called you, another woman in town had something break into her goat enclosure.”

  “What makes you think that means it was a mountain lion? Lots of things could have done that.”

  “Could lots of things have slashed the haunch on one goat and carried a second one off over the top of the twelve-foot fencing?”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “I was over there myself talking to Connie. She was all torn up about it.”

  “People leave their gates open a lot more frequently than they realize they do. That is a lot more likely than something dragging a goat over a fence that high.”

  “Connie treats her goats like her own kids.”

  “They are her own kids.”

  “Very funny. You know what I mean. She wouldn’t forget to do anything that had to do with their safety. She crochets blankets for each of them to coordinate with their fur. She even designed a goat bonnet for the ones she thinks have cold ears.”

  “So most of the women in Sugar Grove are crazy by the standards of most other places.”

  “I don’t know about that, but Connie is devoted to her goats.”

  “Did she actually see anything?”

  “She discovered it after the fact.”

  “Unless
she saw something, I’ve got animals people are actually seeing that need to be rounded up.”

  “I remember calling about a mountain lion I had actually seen, but my eyewitness report didn’t seem to convince you I wasn’t crazy.”

  “I’m still not convinced. And considering how long it’s taking to round up the rest of those animals, I am not sure I’ll get out to check on the report anytime soon. I’d suggest taking some photos.”

  “Which you’ll just say are doctored.”

  “Most likely. I’ve seen a lot of those. I’d be thrilled to discover mountain lions in New Hampshire, but there is just no evidence and I don’t think there is going to be any.”

  “I think it is safe to bet you won’t be the one to make a discovery. I don’t think you can see things that are right in front of your face.”

  “Oh, I’m not so sure about that.” He stared down at me with his deep blue eyes, little laugh crinkles around the edges standing out against his fading tan. I felt flustered and unsure what to say. After so many years of fending off Knowlton and his absolutely clear stance on his interest in me, I didn’t quite know what to think about this. I was out of practice with flirting and out of practice with most men in general. It’s not like I am a pariah, but I don’t leave town too often now that Internet shopping is a thing and eligible men are about as rare as mountain lions in Sugar Grove and about as startling.

  “So if I hear about any more mountain lion sightings in the area, you’d want to know about them?”

  “Absolutely. If I’m not up to my armpits in missing tortoises and monkeys.”

  “At the rate you’re going, you’ll be chasing creatures around this village until you’re ready for retirement.”

  “Even after the exotic animals are all rounded up, I may still be chasing around a local creature, a small one with a feisty attitude and a surly disposition.” He smiled at me again. I gulped. I wondered what Celadon told him when she invited him to Thanksgiving dinner. He seemed like he was more interested in me with each sentence slipping through his lips. Had she said I was desperate? Had she told him I was interested in him? Had he decided I was lying about what Knowlton had said and that I was, in fact, very passionate and flexible? The day had been too long and too emotionally exhausting to tangle with him. I needed to get out of there, and even going back home seemed like a good idea in comparison with sticking around any longer.

  “I’ve got to go.” I cranked on the window and he stuck his finger in the remaining crack, preventing me from closing it all the way.

  “What’s the hurry? Was it something that I said?”

  “It’s fine. I’m in a hurry.” There was no way I was going to get into the details of my family life at the end of such a terrible day. Especially not with someone who’d left me feeling as off-kilter as Graham had.

  He held up his hands and backed away like I was holding a gun on him. “Until tomorrow.”

  Fifteen

  Standing in the dining room on Thanksgiving at about two o’clock, I could almost hear the old oak table groaning and gasping for air under the weight of Grandma’s week’s worth of work. I noticed with pleasure the maple cranberry sauce, the yeasted pumpkin rolls snuggled down all cozy into a towel-lined basket, the steaming bowl heaped with mashed sweet potatoes dressed up with butter and maple syrup.

  What I was not at all pleased to see was a place card sitting dead center in the plate nearest me. I leaned in for a closer check. My grandmother doesn’t usually worry about place cards, saying people will pretty much sort themselves out in just the way she would have done anyway. This had to be Celadon’s doing. It was definitely her handwriting. I wouldn’t have put it past my mother to be involved, but this had Celadon written all over it. And I think I could guess why.

  I had circled the table looking for my name. Sure enough, tucked into a corner, down at the end next to a place card with my name, was one with Graham’s. I picked his up and was looking for a new place to put it when he walked in carrying a plate of stuffed mushrooms. Evil. The whole family knew I couldn’t resist a stuffed mushroom. They must have been betting on the messenger receiving credit for the message. I wasn’t going to fall for that, but I was going to get a mushroom.

  With a table this long, it can be difficult to get every dish passed in your direction unless you jump up on your seat and holler. I learned early on not to make that mistake a second time. No matter how cute she tells you she thinks you are, no one is allowed to stand on one of Grandma’s dining room chairs hollering for more turkey like a drunken lord in a mead hall. Or so I’ve heard.

  “Your grandmother asked me to make sure you got one of these before the rest of the guests eat them all. She mentioned not wanting a repeat of your fifth Thanksgiving.” He lowered the platter toward me, and I looked at them like I was pretending to decide. As I went to load up one hand with the other, I noticed I was still holding Graham’s place card. He noticed it, too. That’s another thing I didn’t like so much about policemen—they were always noticing something but usually not the thing you hoped they would, like a new haircut or the way a pair of earrings set off your eyes. They were much more likely, in my experience, to notice the bit of steak between your teeth left over from lunch or how you misused a new vocabulary word from your word-a-day calendar. “Why are you holding my place card?”

  “I was just checking that Celadon spelled your name correctly. I can’t stand it when people don’t pay attention to details.” I snatched a piping hot mushroom and stuffed it in my mouth before I could stick my foot in there instead.

  “Did they spell it just like the cracker?” He waited for me to swallow. I made a big show of checking the front of the card and ended up getting some mushroom juice from my fingers on it while I was at it.

  “Looks just fine. Now where did I find this? The table is so big, I may not be able to get it back in the right place.”

  “It goes over in the corner right next to yours.” Drat. He really did notice all the wrong details. I was going to get my sister back for her tinkering around in my social life. “I came in a little while ago and swapped it with Knowlton’s.” He offered me the platter once more. I couldn’t think of anything to say to that so I took another one and popped it into my mouth. “I figured if he was going around pretending to be your fiancée, a big family occasion like this would only help him delude himself further.” So maybe he didn’t only notice the wrong things. That was exceedingly chivalrous of him. I suppose he could have swapped Knowlton’s name with someone besides his own but I’d let that slide. Maybe he had no idea if there was someone else I was trying to avoid even more than Knowlton. I chewed slowly, trying to craft a response.

  Fortunately, the rest of the room began to fill with revelers, and Graham squeezed the platter into an open spot, plucked the card from my fingers, and steered me to the end of the table we were supposed to occupy. I was pleased to note Knowlton sat at a point at the table so far away he couldn’t speak to me even if he did conduct himself like a mead hall reveler.

  Grampa said grace, Grandma gave the tour of the menu items, and we were off and running. Graham on the one side of me and Tansey on the other, I felt like maybe I was in a dinnertime version of the pancake breakfast. I like a man who can eat, but as I watched Graham out of the corner of my eye, it was like seeing someone who was starved. And not just on a physical level. He ate steadily but he seemed to be in a bit of a food trance, like he’d never done something quite like this before. I made a note to ask him about his own Thanksgiving traditions when he had slowed down enough that it wouldn’t feel like I was interrupting a man at prayer. Which did beg the point of why he was able to be available to enjoy dinner with us. He obviously didn’t have to be on duty if he was able to eat with someone. Was his family all too far away? I looked around the table at the assembled faces and thought about how conflicted I’d felt about my own family over the last couple of days.

  And that’s when I noticed what I would have realized stra
ight off if I hadn’t been so distracted by Graham and where Knowlton ended up. Lowell was nowhere to be seen. With the exception of the year he was in the hospital, for my entire life, Lowell has sat at our Thanksgiving table. And Christmas and Easter, too. He was as much a part of the family as the rest of us. I wasn’t sure who to be mad at, myself or Lowell and my mother for messing everything up. It was upsetting enough to make me lose my appetite right in the middle of the best food day of the year. I was so upset, it took me a minute to notice Tansey herself had switched from eating mode to socializing.

  She had finally slowed down enough to speak to Grandma even though she was across the table and Tansey needed a bullhorn to be heard over the din. She managed it, though, even without standing on her chair.

  “We missed you the other night at the quilting circle.” Tansey was one of those rare people who could turn her hand to about anything in the physical world and make it come out right. She farmed her fields, tapped her trees, built her own barn, and was a quilt artist. Her work was a source of envy in the quilting circle, and she had been featured in more than one magazine with her original designs. I had been on her about selling her quilting patterns, so many of which featured maple trees, at the sugarhouse shop, but so far she had refused, saying anybody could make up their own and you’d have to be an idiot wasting good money on a thing like that.

  “I was sorry to miss it but you know I always help set up for the pancake breakfast,” Grandma said.

  “The turnout was pretty good for a holiday week. You and Felicia were the only ones absent.” Tansey slathered a pumpkin roll with enough butter to caulk a tub and bit into it with gusto.

  “I’ll be there next time. I’ve got that Christmas table runner I am trying to finish up,” Grandma said. That’s when it hit me. Felicia told me she was at the quilting circle Friday night when the syrup was poisoned. Why would she lie about a thing like that?