Miz Scarlet and the Bewildered Bridegroom

by Barton, Sara M.

  “But you don’t think it is one, do you?” I pressed him.

  “I’m not able to say one way or another,” he said, giving me a shake of his head. “We’ll know more tomorrow after we’ve had time to investigate the suspects.”

  “Swell,” I muttered, feeling frazzled. Why would the Wilkies do something like this, especially since it could ruin us? Had someone hired them to harass us? Or was their intent to actually cause us bodily harm?

  Detective Valboa did a cursory check of the White Oak Room, searching for more evidence, but he came up empty. “Can you lock this room for the time being? We’ll be back sometime tomorrow, once we figure out how we’re going to proceed with the case. Depending on what we develop and whether or not we need warrants, we may be removing some items.”

  “Sure. That’s not a problem.” I inserted the key and turned it, listening for the click as the lock engaged. “What happens if you don’t want the Wilkies’ possessions?”

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. First we have to be able to charge them with a crime, and for that, we need hard evidence; otherwise, they go free.”

  I went to bed with that thought weighing on my mind. Tossing and turning for the better part of an hour, I finally fell into a dark, disturbed state of slumber, dreaming I was running barefoot at night, chased by a black-masked stalker. I tried desperately to flee the dangerous forest, as the sound of my pursuer’s footsteps on the soft earthen path behind me grew louder. Gazing down at my feet, I saw they bound by woven cord. It looked remarkably like the wick Dave Wilkie used on his improvised bomb. I cried out: “Why, Dave?” He suddenly appeared before me, grinning, even as he bent down to double-knot the cords. Wrestling with him, I fought so hard to escape his clutches that I woke myself up in the process. Drenched in perspiration, I tried to calm myself. The Wilkies were in police custody. I had nothing to fear. I was safe in my bed and the bad guys were behind bars, even Ned Sorkin.

  Sometime later -- I’m not sure how long it was after that -- my mind unexpectedly went on high alert. I realized I was back at the top of the stairs on the second floor landing. Was I sleepwalking? Concealed within the shadowy darkness, I watched another black silhouette set a second bomb at the front door. This time, though, my hands were useless. No matter what I did, I couldn’t operate my cell phone to call for help. In the blackness below, I saw the flick of a lighter and the long wick began to glow red hot. I tried to scream, but I had no voice. I was running out of time as the burning wick began its ascent up to the doorknob and down again, on its course towards the dynamite.

  Wake up, Scarlet. You’re having a nightmare.

  Hands trembling, I turned on the bedside lamp. Huck was curled up at my side, sleeping peacefully. Thank God for dogs, I thought to myself, our guardians of hearth and home. I reached out to my canine companion, grateful for the company and the warm, soft, furry body.

  The phone rang at twenty minutes after six. Groaning, I reached over to my bedside table and picked it up.

  “Um...yes?” I assumed it was Laurel, calling to tell me I had overslept and it was time to collect January for her early morning rendezvous with the fire hydrant down the street. My mother had insisted on the little dog staying with her after the police left. Considering I hadn’t crawled into my bed until four, I thought I had a legitimate excuse.

  “Well, well, well. Imagine my surprise when I got to work this morning and found a highway incident report about flat tires, another one about a bomb scare, and a message from a Detective Valboa about a pair of unruly guests who tried to blow up the Four Acorns Inn last night.”

  “Larry!” I moaned, rolling over in bed as I tried to rouse my brain back to consciousness. I should have figured the Cheswick cops would coordinate with the Connecticut State Police Major Crimes unit, especially after the bomb squad was called in. “It’s been a terrible night.”

  “I’ve got more bad news for you.”

  Chapter Ten --

  “What kind of bad news?”

  “David Paul Wilkie got snatched up by a couple of ATF agents in the middle of the night. It seems he’s wanted on charges he tried to terrorize someone’s ex-husband out in Albuquerque.”

  “I don’t understand.” I sat up, now wide awake. “When you say terrorize....”

  “He wanted to scare the bejesus out of the guy, so he strapped some firecrackers to the underside of the victim’s car, made it obvious there was a detonator attached, and hung around to watch the fun. As far as deadly goes, it wasn’t. But whenever you attach dynamite with a detonator to a vehicle, it’s automatically considered to be a bomb.”

  “Someone hired him to do that?”

  “Yup, the victim’s ex-wife.”

  “Were the Wilkies hired to terrorize us too?”

  “It seems likely. The ATF agents are trying to get an extradition order from a judge, so they can schlep Mr. Wilkie back to New Mexico. We might be able to charge Diana Wilkie here, but we won’t know for a few hours. In the mean time, we’re holding her.”

  “Do you think Ned hired them to get back at me? Is he still obsessed with us?” I asked her. “Or was this about Jenny? Are those creeps in New Jersey trying to pay her back for testifying against them?”

  “Actually, Scarlet, it’s too soon to know for sure, but if I were to venture a guess, based on what I’ve learned so far, I’d have to say neither scenario fits. I believe there’s something else going on here. The cops got a court order for the Wilkies’ phone records. They called the same local number several times, which turned out to be a cheap disposable cell phone bought at the Walmart over in Buckland Hills. We were able to narrow down the cell towers to a range of fifteen miles, but we’ve got no way to identify the anonymous owner of the phone.

  “Great. We’ve got nothing.”

  “No,” the experienced investigator replied. “We’ve got something. We know that whoever is behind this effort is in the area and probably even lives here.”

  “So?” I was disappointed. “Can’t you force the Wilkies to talk? Isn’t there some way to make a deal with them and get the information?”

  “They’ve already lawyered up, Scarlet.”

  “Crap.”

  “If it’s any consolation, this crime doesn’t look personal.”

  “It has to be personal, Larry. How else do you explain the harassment?”

  “I suspect the Four Acorns Inn itself is the actual target.”

  “If that’s the case, it probably is Ned Sorkin. You know how he feels about the Four Oaks Pressboard Company!”

  “That was a long, long time ago. My gut says someone wants you folks out of the building.”

  “What?”

  “Shoot! I’m getting buzzed again. It’s my boss. I’ve got to go deal with a dead body up in Granby. Stay safe.”

  After I hung up, I got myself dressed and went down with Huck to collect his Jack Russell playmate. We did a loop through the woods.

  The eager dogs scampered ahead of me, poking their noses into tree stumps and under bushes while I contemplated the situation with the Wilkies. What did Larry mean? How could this campaign of terror be directed at the Four Acorns Inn, but not at us? Did we have to worry that someone really was determined to burn down the inn?

  Shark Boy was up early. He told me he was due at his job by eight. Kenny offered to drive him to work on his way to Danny DiPietro’s garage to check on the tire situation. I fed them both breakfast and saw them to the door before anyone else came down.

  “Stay safe,” Kenny instructed me, kissing my lips warmly. I noted it was the second time someone had made the remark this morning. Did they know something I didn’t? “And call me if there’s any trouble.”

  “I will.”

  When the rest of the gang stumbled into the dining room just before eight, bleary-eyed and exhausted, I was ready for them. Dr. Van Zandt’s cancer center appointment was at quarter after nine. Laurel had promised to accompany him to the hospital, so I whipped up Frenc
h toast on the griddle, browned some sausage links, and sliced strawberries into small bowls.

  “This looks great,” Thaddeus told me. “I don’t know how you did it after the night we had.”

  “Well, I wanted you to have a good meal before your annual physical.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “Scarlet, please call your brother and find out how he’s feeling this morning,” my mother asked me.”I’m worried about that whack he got on the head.”

  “I’m sure he’s just fine.” One look at Laurel’s perturbed face and I knew I was going down a dead end street. She didn’t want to make the call herself, just in case she was met with bad news. I scrambled to save myself. “But let me double-check on that.”

  No sooner had I pulled my cell phone from my pocket when Bur limped in, accompanied by Scrub Oak. The injured man seemed to have survived the night intact.

  “Look at what the cat just dragged in,” I grinned, “literally. Mama was worried about her baby boy.”

  “I’m fine. Just some bumps and bruises.” His right elbow was purple, slightly swollen. Dr. Van Zandt asked to see it.

  “Does this hurt? Does that hurt?” The physician manipulated Bur’s arm in several different directions, intent on determining whether my brother had fractured his elbow. If he was trying to impress Laurel with his medical prowess, I suspected it was working. She never took her eyes off of him. “How’s your backside?”

  “Sore,” he acknowledged.

  “Use ice packs and take Advil if you’re bothered. You should see improvement within three to five days.”

  “Think my injuries will hinder my golf game, Doc?” Bur wanted to know.

  “Not unless you’re on the pro tour, son.”

  “Fat chance,” I giggled. “They don’t call him the Cheswick duffer for nothing!”

  “This comes from the woman who needs a Mulligan in miniature golf? Wow, ouch! You sure scorched me on that one, Miz Scarlet!”

  Scorched...the reference made me uncomfortable after last night’s near-catastrophe. I kept thinking about how close we had come to disaster. What would have happened if those dogs hadn’t awakened me?

  “Excuse me,” said Laurel. “Do you two mind exercising some social decorum here? Need I remind you that Dr. Van Zandt is a guest of the Four Acorns Inn, not one of your rowdy peers?”

  “Not to worry, Laurel. With three kids of my own, I’m used to being referee,” he laughed. “We should probably get going. I don’t want to get stuck in rush hour traffic.”

  Thaddeus went out to collect the car while I fetched my mother’s purse from her bedroom and made sure she had everything she needed, just in case they had a long wait in the physician’s office. She wheeled herself down the ramp and out to the driveway. Once she was seated in the car, the doctor folded her wheelchair and stowed it in the trunk.

  “Drive safely,” I called to them. My mother’s hand appeared through the open passenger window to give me a wave.

  Bur was lying on the sofa in the living room when I returned, newspaper in hand. He looked tired and stiff, par for the course after the night he had had.

  “Would you like an ice pack?” I inquired.

  “Do you have one handy?”

  “I actually do,” I smiled. Unbeknownst to my big brother, I kept a supply of them in the freezer, for guests who wanted me to pack them a picnic. Unlike solid ice blocks, the gel packs were pliable, perfect for squeezing into tight places. I pulled one out and wrapped it in a clean linen dishtowel and returned to the living room.

  “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.” He took it from me and slipped it behind his back. As he lifted his shirt, I saw the dark bruises and heard him groan as he tried to get comfortable. I left him to his resting. There wasn’t much else I could do for him.

  On my way back to the kitchen, I collected the dirty dishes from the dining room table and piled them in the sink, making a couple of trips. Once the dishwasher was loaded, I got to work scrubbing my pots and pans.

  A tiny Carolina wren busily chirped outside the window, gathering nesting material for the spring brood. I saw little bits of grass in its mouth. Just then, I spied a sudden flash of white in the garden. It was too large to be a four-legged animal -- it was far more likely the two-legged variety. The unexpected visitor had me rattled. I poked my head into the living room.

  “Bur! Come quick! There’s someone in the garden!” I hissed. We both hurried back to the kitchen window, and sure enough, there was someone poking around the blueberry bushes.

  “I’m going out the front door. Call Kenny and have him meet me outside.”

  “Sure.”

  My hands trembled as I tried to work my cell phone. I hit the wrong icon three times, flashing back to my nightmare, as my fingers let me down. By the time I finally got through to Kenny, I was in a panic. My words jumbled together as I hastily spit them out. The result was complete gibberish.

  “What?” Kenny sounded confused. “Take a breath. One word at a time, Scarlet.”

  “Someone...is...in...the...garden....Bur...wants...you...to...meet him there. Hurry!”

  “Oh, crap. I’m at the garage, three minutes out. I’ll be there as soon as I can!”

  Something told me I should get my fanny out to the garden, just in case the injured Bur needed some backup. I went out through the sun porch, expecting to see him reading the riot act to the trespasser, but there was no sign of him. I gazed around, baffled. Where had my brother gone?

  “Bur, is this a joke? Where are you?”

  I searched high and low for him, but to no avail. I even dialed his cell phone, but it went to voice mail. This development didn’t fill me with confidence. Maybe I should wait for Kenny, I told myself. It’s not like I had something to use as a weapon if I got jumped.

  “Get a grip,” I growled, chastising myself. “You’re acting like a complete nincompoop. Bur probably just went back to his place and forgot to tell you.”

  I marched up those stairs and pounded on his door. I pounded until my knuckles hurt, and then I pounded some more, but my brother never answered my summons. I wanted him to be home, because if he wasn’t, something was very wrong. My thoughts went wild, conjuring up images of Bur as the victim of a horrible crime.

  I heard a car door slam as I exited the carriage house.

  “Scarlet!” Kenny joined me. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know. Bur told me to call you and he came out here, but now he’s disappeared!”

  “He can’t have gone far. Tell me what you saw.”

  “Someone wearing a white shirt was in the garden, over there,” I pointed, in the general direction of the blueberry bushes. “Hey, what the....”

  Where there had been budding blueberry bushes the day before, there were now only short, leafless twigs poking out of the soil. A path of ravaged branches was strewn across the ground; it looked like the aftermath of a freak tornado, only the culprit here wasn’t the wind. I stared at the damage with dismay. Three years worth of careful tending and nurturing was now for naught.

  “How could someone do this?” I wondered. I reached down to pick up the pruning clippers lying there.

  “Don’t touch them!” Kenny instructed me. “There might be fingerprints. Come on! We have to find Bur!”

  We searched the grounds, poking among the spirea, weigela, azalea and rhododendron bushes for some sign that my brother had passed this way. We even scanned the edge of the wood, wondering if he had chased the intruder into the woods. We found nothing.

  “Scarlet, when Bur came outside, which door did he use?” Kenny wanted to know.

  “He went out the front door. He wanted the element of surprise.”

  “Let’s retrace his route.”

  We hurried through the shade garden, where the big copper beech tree kept the house cool in the summer months. Hosta plants of every shape and size mingled with bleeding hearts on either side of the brick walkway. My gaze went beyond those, to
the taller plants along the stone wall. Even as I moved forward, I knew something didn’t look right with the ferns. Was that a pair of running shoes I spied poking out from under those delicate fronds?

  “No, Scarlet. Wait here!” Kenny cautioned me, as he carefully stepped through the thick, verdant ground cover on his way to examine what lay on the other end of the rubber-soled shoes. My throat seemed to close up, anticipating an involuntary scream. I remembered the dead body I found up on White Oak Hill in winter. Kenny had been with me then, too.

  Please don’t let Bur be dead, God. I bit my lip, trying to stifle a sob. Kenny reached down and touched the right leg. That foot attached to it pulled back and kicked him hard on the shin. Wham!

  “Son of a....” he howled, like a wounded bear. “Son of a stinking...son of a stinking, stupid-assed....”

  “Captain Peacock!” I sprinted over to him. “Are you okay?”

  Hopping on his good leg, poor Kenny stumbled backwards, losing his balance, and the next thing I knew, his long legs were splayed under the Solomon’s seal. Disturbed by his graceless tumble, the fronds bobbed their heads up and down in a delicate, almost exotic fan dance.

  “Kenny!” Even as I bent over my injured hero, those running shoes three feet to my right began to kick madly, wildly. Why didn’t Bur just sit up? What was going on?

  “Stop it!” I hollered at my brother. “I’m going to help you!”

  “Careful, Scarlet,” Kenny warned me, a scowl on his face. “There’s something very wrong with him!”

  “There’s always been something wrong with Bur,” I replied. “What else is new?”

  Reaching down carefully into the foliage, I expected to find a hand or an arm to lift, but my brother was trussed up like a turkey at a frat house toga party, a cotton sheet covering him from head to knees, silver duct tape pinning his arms to his sides.

  “What happened to you?”

  A very surprised Kenny joined me, still nursing his sore shin, and together we lifted Bur up from the ground.