Drizzled with Death (A Sugar Grove Mystery)

by Crockett, Jessie

  • • •

  I’d lost my appetite and I needed to think. As soon as I could slip away unnoticed in the after-dinner cleanup frenzy, I snuck out the door. I was about a mile up an old logging road when I heard rustling in the long grass at the side. I wished I were walking a dog. A dog would be a good way to know if I was imagining things. Dogs are amazing heifer dust detectors. And they seem to love their favorite people anyway. We never had a dog because Celadon was allergic. It was just one of the many things we didn’t see eye to eye on. Ever since the exotics had been let loose in town, I’d wanted a dog worse than any time since I was eleven and pretty sure no one in the world would ever understand me. A dog seemed the only solution at the time. Most days it still seemed the best.

  The rustling continued and so did the gentle waggle at the tops of the timothy hay where an unknown was trampling it. I gathered my courage with as much enthusiasm as a child picking up sand toys after too little time spent on the beach. Stepping forward, I sent a silent shout out to the universe detailing how appreciative I would be if the creature involved would not turn out to be a snake. I must have gotten onto a good list with the upstairs management because snakes don’t have four legs and a shell. The leopard tortoise. That didn’t seem so bad. The background of its large shell was colored like maple sugar and the detailing of darker splotches on each knobby segment made it beautiful.

  As I bent even closer, it slowly rotated its leathery neck and trained its dark eye on me. It let out a hissing, leaking sound like the air was squeezing out of its body, then it pulled its legs and head inside the handsome shell. Graham had mentioned it the morning of the pancake breakfast. I hadn’t seen any native amphibians or reptiles in weeks so I felt certain this big guy couldn’t be too comfortable. In fact, it was probably surprising he had survived this long.

  I squatted behind the creature and tried to wrap my hands around its shell. I confidently gave a heave and felt nothing but the sting of defeat. I looked down in surprise. How much could the thing weigh? I stood and gave it a closer look. The shell looked to be somewhere in the neighborhood of two feet in length. I routinely lifted five-gallon buckets of maple sap as a part of the sugaring process and they weigh around forty pounds each. I hadn’t been able to budge the tortoise more than an inch off the ground so it had to be far heavier. I looked down at the shelled creature and thought about my options.

  I could run all the way back, get help, and return, hoping to find this big guy again. I could keep watch over him until someone came looking for me even if it took all night. Or I could figure out some way to carry him back to the house. Since asking for help is even less appealing than sticking myself in the eye with a nut pick and the temperature with the sun still slanting above the horizon was dropping close to freezing, I decided finding a way to transport it was clearly the best option. All those childhood hours wiled away reading adventure and survival books came in handy. I slipped my arms out of my jacket and then put the orange vest back on just in case someone didn’t respect the fact our land was clearly posted. I positioned the bottom edge of the jacket near the tortoise and moved it inch by inch onto the jacket. I puffed and panted my way along until the whole creature sat entirely on the back of the garment. I took a moment to catch my breath then grabbed the end of each sleeve and started dragging the animal slowly out onto the logging road.

  The going was slow and the light was fading fast. I felt a shiver of worry when I thought about the other creatures that could be prowling around as the night came on. Primarily mountain lions. Like most cats, they hunt at night, and I was acutely aware that not only did I not have a shell to retreat into, I didn’t even have the meager protection of a jacket.

  I had gone about halfway back down the logging road and had repositioned the tortoise on the jacket three times when I started hearing noises. Quiet, crackling twig type noises. Birds being startled up out of the grass and shrubs noises. I stopped and strained my ears, wondering what I would be able to do to protect myself if a mountain lion crouched between the house and me. I had been so eager to leave and now I wondered if bits of my partially digested ponytail would finally provide the coughed-up hairball proof Graham and the rest of Fish and Game would need to prove there really were mountain lions in New Hampshire.

  A rustling, crunching ahead of me on the path made me crouch behind the tortoise frozen in place, wondering if I was about to become lion chow. I racked my brain for bits of trivia concerning fending off large cats. All that ran through my mind was a television commercial for superabsorbent kitty litter. My knees went weak when Graham came into view and not in the way a girl hopes when landing her peepers on an available man with a decent job. I hovered in a semisquat above the tortoise, not sure my legs had what it would take to rocket me back up into a standing position. I was saved from decision making by Graham dropping to his haunches next to me, giving the tortoise the once-over.

  “It’s like you’re an exotics whisperer.” He ran a square, still tanned hand over the bumpy ridges of the creature’s shell, tracing the rectangular pattern of dark and light browns with a gentle finger. My knees started to feel a little wobbly again and this time it might have been for reasons other than a shot of adrenaline. Even out in the open air, he smelled like wood smoke and pumpkin pie.

  “It’s not like I’m doing it on purpose.”

  “It wasn’t a criticism. I appreciate all the help you keep giving me.”

  “I’m doing it for the animals and the town.”

  “Duly noted. I’ve come to realize it is unwise to make assumptions about you.”

  “What kind of assumptions?”

  “You’re not entirely what you seem on the surface.”

  “You mean crazy? Or a liar?”

  “I mean normal.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It’s Thanksgiving. Everyone else in the country is lifting forkfuls of pie to their already overstuffed lips with friends and family. You’re out here attempting to lift a turtle which probably outweighs you and I don’t even think you plan to eat him.”

  “It’s a tortoise.”

  “You know what I meant.”

  “No. I don’t. I’m not sure how much time the average Fish and Game official spends with criminals, but I’d like to think there is nothing odd about helping out other creatures, especially those in need. Especially today.”

  “Not everyone would help. You look exhausted. Where did you find this guy?” Graham turned his head and glanced at the waving pasture edged by trees.

  “A ways up the logging road. I wasn’t expecting it to take so long to get him back, but then a lot of things don’t turn out the way you would expect them to.” I turned my gaze back to the tortoise. My nose was burning a bit in just one nostril, the way it does whenever tears are threatening.

  “He looks heavy, especially for someone your size.”

  “I’ll have you know the average woman can easily lift half her body weight.” I flexed my arm in a bodybuilder pose. Graham reached over and gave it a firm squeeze, and my knees did that wobbling thing again.

  “So that must mean hoisting a forty-pound sack of potting soil is about your limit.”

  “Hey, buddy, I’ll have you know I weigh over a hundred pounds so you’d better make that a fifty-pound sack.”

  “I didn’t think we knew each other well enough for you to tell me your weight.”

  “I tell everyone how much I weigh.” And I do, just to reassure myself I’m not shrinking. My maternal grandmother is four-foot-eight and dwindling. The last I’d heard from Aunt Colleen, Grandmother O’Malley was eating an entire frozen cheesecake and a takeout pizza every day to maintain a weight of eighty-three pounds. With a metabolism to shame a hummingbird, you just can’t be too careful.

  “So I guess that means I’m not special.” I thought under the fading glow of Graham’s tanned cheek that there was a bit of a rosy blush darkening it. How bizarre. And possibly flattering. If I was interes
ted in that sort of thing.

  “I’m sure you’re special to someone. Like your family.” I glanced at him as slyly as I could and realized I’d made a mistake.

  “I haven’t got any.” That explained why he was available for Thanksgiving with people little more than strangers.

  “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “You didn’t know. No harm done.” But there had been. I was flip about something that could have been sweet and I’d ruined it. And I’d hurt someone on a holiday that revolved around family.

  “I still had no right saying that when your personal life is none of my business.”

  “Well, if we are speaking our minds and overstepping our bounds, I’ll even the score and say I think it’s too bad you’re avoiding your family today of all days.”

  “I’m not avoiding them.”

  “Then what are you doing up here instead of sharing the day with the type of family some of us have wanted all our lives?” You know how sometimes it is easier to tell a stranger about deeply personal things? This wasn’t one of those times. With those strangers, you know it is a onetime exchange, and after the catharsis of confession, the odds of encountering them again are so slim the risks feel irrelevant. With the way his roundup of the exotic animals was going, I had no confidence Graham was going to be out of my life soon enough to share anything but half a peanut butter sandwich. But having stepped in it the way I did, I couldn’t be churlish about it.

  “I’m trying to figure out how to deal with some changes I don’t like, and I am not doing a very good job of it.” I gave the tortoise a pat just to do something with my hands.

  “Anything I can help with?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Give it a try. You wouldn’t believe how many times I get called out for domestic disputes because I am the nearest officer on duty.” I looked at his face and decided to risk it. There was no one in the family I could talk to, and Piper had opted to spend the holiday in her RV with Dean, celebrating in a less orthodox manner.

  “The problem is my father.”

  “But he wasn’t there.”

  “Nope. He missed his favorite holiday for the fifth year in a row.” That pesky nostril was stinging so bad it felt like a hornet had crawled up in there and was tap dancing its way back out.

  “I can’t imagine him giving all of you up willingly.”

  “Only his heart gave up and I doubt it was willingly. He had a massive heart attack right in the middle of his sugar bush. Loden found him when Dad didn’t come to supper.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it.”

  “So was I when they called me at college to let me know.”

  “That must have been a hard call to make and an even harder one to receive.”

  “I didn’t take it at all well. Celadon says that’s one of the reasons the family babies me so much. Why they don’t always tell me things.”

  “So is that what this is about? Someone’s not telling you things?”

  “The family didn’t bother to let me know my mother was replacing my father with his best friend, Lowell.” I sat with a thump down onto the ground. My knees may not have reached thirty, but they were starting to hurt. A stone in the path dug into my backside and pretty much summed up my day, a pain in the butt. “I decided to head out here before I said something I’d regret. You can’t really ever take things back.”

  “From the reaction to your exit, I’d say it looked like the silent treatment instead of a mature choice to mind your words.”

  “Are you sure you weren’t imagining things? Everyone was so busy they probably didn’t even notice I left.” Graham sat down beside me and stretched out his legs. He had dressed neatly and respectably for Thanksgiving dinner but his trousers probably could have stood up to an emergency animal-wrangling session and come out none the worse for it in the end.

  “I’m pretty sure of what I saw. You’re the one with a vivid imagination. Anyone who sees mountain lions in New Hampshire is possessed of that.”

  “Is that your attempt at lightening up the tone of this conversation?” I stretched forward to tug the tortoise back within arm’s reach.

  “It is.”

  “It’s a good thing your specialty is animals. Your people skills could use some work.”

  “Maybe I just need the right person to give me some pointers. Know anybody who might be willing to give me some private lessons?”

  “My friend Piper loves fixer-upper men. Why don’t you try her?”

  “Perhaps I’ll do just that.” Graham stood and reached a hand down to me and gently pulled me to my feet. “We’d better get this guy under cover before it gets any colder and darker. And I don’t know about you, but I want another piece of pie before I head out.” He bent over the tortoise and lifted it easily. I was both impressed and annoyed. We silently covered more ground in ten minutes than I had in half an hour and arrived back at the house just as the sensor light winked on over the kitchen door. I helped Graham settle the tortoise into a wooden crate in the back of his truck. Then wondered what I was going to do with myself.

  “Come in with me while I angle for another slice of pie?” Graham asked, nodding toward the house. Through the windows I could see my family moving about, talking and laughing. I wanted to be done being angry, but I just didn’t know how.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Now that can’t be right. You picked at your dinner and dragged oversized wildlife a mile down a cart track. You must have worked up quite an appetite.” I watched the tortoise slowly find its feet and poke the front of its nose out every so slightly. Could it be so easy to adapt and start over?

  “I don’t know what to say to them. I don’t know how to act like nothing happened.”

  “I think you won’t have to say anything if your mouth is full of pie.” A chiming sound erupted from Graham’s phone and his attention went elsewhere. He finished up quickly and returned his attention to me. “Someone’s reported lemurs swarming all over the Dumpster behind the general store.”

  “Sounds like you had better get going. Do you need any help? I believe you called me an exotics whisperer just a little while ago.”

  “You’re just looking for an excuse to avoid your family.”

  “Does that make my help any less valuable?”

  “Mitch is the one who called it in. He’s waiting for me there.”

  “I think I hear my grandmother calling me. I’ll say your good-byes for you.” I waved at him as he backed down the driveway, then I headed out to the sugarhouse. I may have said I’d tell her good-bye, but I never said when.

  Sixteen

  The next day was the first opportunity I had to ask about the Best Bett All in One fertilizer. I didn’t want to be caught anywhere near the police station so I went looking for Myra at the Stack. She’s usually there for lunch and ends up eating half her other meals there as well. She was the first stop on my journey to get to the bottom of the Best Bett All in One question. If anyone was going to know the score with all things Bett, it was Myra.

  Even from the doorway it was easy to spot Myra’s purple polka-dotted, stretch knit clad backside oozing over both sides of a counter stool. Piper waved at me from her usual spot behind the counter. It was all the encouragement I needed. Her own family might be the only topic Myra didn’t gossip about, but if there was one thing I knew about her, it was that she wouldn’t be able to resist correcting false information. It might be her nature or it might be something developed through her time with the police department but she was incapable of letting it pass. I figured I could use Piper as my sounding board. Myra also couldn’t resist listening in on a bit of gossip she hadn’t heard and then trying to top it with something better of her own.

  “Hi, ladies. What’s good today?”

  “Everything, as always. I’m surprised to see you in here, though, with all the leftovers I’m sure are still floating around your place. Nothing’s happened to your grandmother, has it?” Myr
a looked alarmed and then eager for a bit of news.

  “She’s as fit as a health spa spokesperson. I just wanted a break from turkey.”

  “I recommend the special,” Piper said, pointing to the chalkboard painted in the shape of a giant maple leaf on the wall near the door. Sweet potato and kale stew with a cranberry corn muffin.

  “I’ll take it. So, Piper, what have you heard about the new Bett family fertilizer business?” I studiously avoided glancing at Myra. It was just like fishing; this was the tricky part with wiggling the bait. Piper shrugged hard enough to slosh the coffee in the pot she was holding.

  “Nothing. I’ve never heard of such a thing. Are you sure you’ve got that right?”

  “I heard about it from the state ag inspector. He heard about it from Alanza.”

  “Small world. How’d the inspector know Alanza?”

  “She must have called him about her sugaring business,” Myra said. I knew she wouldn’t be able to resist joining the conversation and especially sounding like she knew more than the next person. “Which Bett did he say was involved?”

  “He didn’t but I am hoping to find out so I can buy some from them. And maybe even sell it at the shop. You know how I like to use local products whenever I can.” Community spirit is strong in Sugar Grove and it seemed a likely story.

  “I know all the Betts and I can’t think of any in the fertilizer business. There’s Felicia, and Connie and myself. Even Knowlton is a relative, which makes Tansey one by marriage.” Myra stirred her coffee so agitatedly she sloshed some over the side. Piper wiped it up before it had a chance to spread.

  “I didn’t know Knowlton was related to you,” Piper said, looking up from her work.

  “His father’s mother was a Bett before her marriage. Lewis Bett was Knowlton’s grandmother’s cousin.” Myra drummed her pudgy fingers on the Formica.