Mark of the Loon (Gen Delacourt Mystery Book 1)

by Molly Greene

  “The obvious answer is no, but I’m sure the caterers do. FYI, she’s going to invite you. Mom and Dad would love it if you were there. You know how they make you chuckle with their French schtick. Please put down the paintbrush and drive down.”

  Madison grinned. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  “Super. The parental unit is going to spend a week with Gab and Emily. I’m heading to Tahoe afterwards to ski. Want to come?”

  “No way, too cold and too expensive. Want to spend the night Thursday before you hit the slopes? Your room isn’t done yet, but you know the bed is comfy.”

  “Sorry, I have to put in some family face time. I haven’t seen my folks in months. But if you promise not to make me wear gloves of any kind, can I take a rain check and come up before Christmas?”

  “Your wish is my command, oh great arbitrator.”

  “Goodie.”

  They finished their meal between visits from Anna, who dashed between the table and tending bar to steal French fries from Genny’s plate.

  * * *

  The Home Depot lot was crowded for a weekday afternoon. Madison settled for a parking spot toward the back. She tucked a list into her pocket and hiked to the store, winding among the pickup trucks and SUVs.

  She made a beeline for the garden department and rolled an orange cart from the queue, then leaned on the handle and idled her way around the fertilizer display. She was searching for a bulb food. When should it be applied? She’d have to find someone to ask if the instructions didn’t say.

  A bag of worm castings caught her eye. She dawdled over the ingredients, wondering how pure it was. What did the worm farmers feed their crawly charges, anyway?

  Someone behind her cleared their throat and she pushed the cart aside, assuming a busy shopper needed more room. She looked up when no one passed.

  Her face pinked at the sight of Coleman Welles.

  The Professor was leaning against his own tangerine-colored vehicle. It was filled with pots and potting soil. Bags of narcissus, hyacinth, and crocus bulbs were heaped on the kiddie seat.

  He wore a teal cowboy shirt and well-worn jeans. Could the man do no wrong with his wardrobe? She yanked at the hem of her blouse and hoped with sudden heat that she looked as good as he did.

  “Fancy meeting you here.” They spoke in tandem, then grinned and immediately both said, “Bread and butter.”

  Madison laughed, enjoying the moment. Normally only her girlfriends inspired that kind of humor.

  “You first,” Madison said.

  “Hi, Madison.”

  “Hello, Cole. What are you planning to do with the goodies?”

  “Ah. Well. Forcing bulbs for Christmas. Not a manly pastime, I’ll admit.”

  She laughed again, loving the feeling that bubbled up with the sound. “Playing hooky?”

  “Campus is quiet, so I cancelled office hours this afternoon,” Cole replied. “I wanted to get this errand done. You look happy. That’s a good thing.”

  “I was just thinking the same about you.”

  “I try. So. Is it the house, or the prospect of laying down some fertilizer? Inspiring that grin on your face, I mean.”

  “Both.” Madison wondered why she couldn’t say she was happy to see him, too. That made three things to smile about. “You should see–” She hesitated. “Um, you will have to come up and see the garden someday.”

  “I’m jealous enough as it is. But if that’s a real invitation, count me in. I can hold my envy in check.”

  Madison knew a flicker of uncertainty flashed across her face and tried to hide it with another smile. She wondered why she couldn’t reply, at first thinking she didn’t want him to see the mess.

  Was that the real reason for her hesitation?

  Damn, girl. What is your problem?

  He glanced away, then dropped his eyes to the bag she’d been reading. “That’s pricey stuff. You could just buy some red worms and put them in your compost pile. If you keep it damp and make sure they have plenty to eat, they’ll stick around and turn it into homemade castings. They like manure best, though. Any horses in your area?”

  Madison managed to chuckle. “I haven’t met many neighbors yet. I was just trying to figure out if I should feed the iris in the fall or wait until spring.”

  “Best in the spring just before they bloom. They probably like bone meal, but a general purpose fertilizer will work. They’re hardy, though. They’ll get upset if you give them too much nitrogen.”

  Cole reached for a bag just beyond the castings. He brushed against her as he moved to place the heavy sack in her cart, then paused with his face inches away. For a moment she thought he might kiss her, and closed her eyes, breathing in his masculine smell. When she felt him draw back she trembled, knees weak, and found herself blinking and red-cheeked once again.

  The look on his face was unreadable.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I forget myself.” He leaned in, this time to buss her forehead. “It was absolutely wonderful to see you. You have my number. Call me if you are so inclined.”

  He turned his cart in the aisle and trundled away.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Madison began the renovation in earnest by packing up the living room, leaving the photo of Mallory and Edward on the sheet-covered dining room table. She hoped they’d approve of the changes she was about to make.

  She boxed up the foyer décor. When she took down the bird prints to sheath them in bubble wrap, she discovered a brittle envelope taped to the back of the last loon. The paper was emblazoned with a single word.

  Edward.

  She opened it. Inside was a yellowed birthday card with an Anne Bradstreet poem penned in Mallory’s handsome cursive.

  To My Dear and Loving Husband

  If ever two were one, then surely we.

  If ever man were lov’d by wife, then thee.

  If ever wife was happy in a man,

  Compare with me, ye women, if you can.

  I prize thy love more than whole Mines of gold,

  Or all the riches that the East doth hold.

  My love is such that Rivers cannot quench,

  Nor ought but love from thee give recompense.

  Thy love is such I can in no way repay;

  The heavens reward thee manifold I pray.

  Then while we live, in love lets so persevere,

  That when we live no more, we may live ever.

  She whispered the words aloud, moved that a woman could feel that way about a man after so many years together. Madison wished she could one day know the depth of feeling that had once lived so vibrantly within these walls.

  * * *

  The project moved forward. She dragged the furniture into the middle of the room and covered it with old sheets, then draped the floors in plastic. She started on the wallpaper, scratching it in a crisscross pattern, careful not to gouge the plaster.

  Next she dampened the paper with a water and vinegar solution, allowed it to soften, then scraped it off with a putty knife, strip by strip.

  At the end of the day, she cleaned up the sodden mess and admired her progress over a glass of wine.

  Sleep was peaceful after long hours of hard work. Progress was easy to gauge because forward movement was clear. The results were visible. She lost herself in the rhythm of chores, and everything else fell away.

  She taped off the baseboards and trim, then began to cut paint around the doors and windows. The high ceilings took on the glow of linen white, the walls a rich butterscotch. The colors underscored the muted green, gold, and red in the print on the slipcovered sofa.

  Delighted with the results, she pulled the painter’s tape from the woodwork and folded up the tarps, then uncovered the furniture and rolled up the plastic blanketing the floors.

  She re-grouped the seating before the round stone fireplace, then restored the dining room and foyer to their original layout.

  Inspired, she set up the sewing machine and stitched floor-
length curtains from yards of nubby cotton fabric. She edged the gold and white pattern with deep fringe across the top and bottom. Then she hung new bronze rods and slid the drapes over a triple set of sheers.

  Once she’d touched up the stain and applied wax to the walnut bookshelves, then polished the wood to a warm patina, she was ready to re-shelve the Blackburnes’ library.

  Madison dusted each hardback and was surprised to find biographies, history, poetry, and philosophy, but not a single discourse about birds.

  One elegant leather-bound specimen with a ribbon bookmark caught her eye. She opened it to find an inscription penned in Mallory’s hand. The inside cover read, Write the story of the rest of your life as you wish it to be, and we will celebrate together as it unfolds.

  Intriguing. Otherwise, the book was blank. An unlined journal that had never seen the touch of a pen beyond those words. Had it been a gift from Mallory to herself, or to Edward? Had she left the journal as encouragement for a future reader?

  Madison reached for the phone, eager to share the find with Anna. She knew her friend would love to theorize about Mallory speaking out from beyond.

  “There are no coincidences,” Anna would say, and tell her it was a sign for her to write again.

  Madison stopped halfway to the phone. She didn’t want to review her life. It would only remind her that although she was a successful home remodeler, all the beautiful rooms she created were empty.

  Was that what she really wanted? No.

  Then why was it the choice she continued to make?

  Chapter Eighteen

  At the sound of a knock, Madison put down the photograph she was about to hang, made her way through the foyer, and opened the front door. Janice Young and a youthful-looking male companion were on the porch.

  Janice’s jeans were tucked into scruffy cowboy boots. She wore a faded calico shirt under a suede jacket with ragged fringe. One of the snaps had pulled loose from the placket, allowing the material to gap across her stomach.

  The man’s hands were jammed into the pockets of his overalls. He wore a heavy turtleneck beneath. Despite his shaved head, he was not bad-looking. The guy’s age was anyone’s guess. Madison thought he might be at least ten years younger than Janice.

  Son? Nephew?

  “Hi, Madison.” Janice said. “This is my boyfriend, Seeley.”

  Question answered.

  Seeley smiled. “Janice tells me you’re renovating. We thought maybe you could use a handyman. I do it all. Carpentry, small electric projects. A little plumbing. Drywall. Can pretty much patch up or replace anything.” He shrugged. “Must be tough to do things by yourself, being a single woman and all.”

  Madison stiffened. “Gee, thanks, Seeley. I appreciate your concern. But I’m kind of a serial remodeler. I’m not sure how much work this place is going to need that I can’t do. Aside from an electrician. Which I have.”

  “Didn’t mean to offend.” He smiled again.

  Madison didn’t feel herself warming to him, so she kept quiet.

  “Hey,” he said. “I really just wanted you to know I’m next door if you need help. Here’s my number. No pressure. Give me a call if something comes up. I figured you were competent, or you wouldn’t have taken the place on.”

  He held out a card. The words I Do It were printed on the front, along with the types of work he’d just rattled off.

  “I appreciate the offer,” she said, softening a bit. “I might need help once I make more concrete plans.”

  “I can pour a little cement, too.” He winked.

  Madison smiled. “Good to know.”

  “How’s it going?” Janice asked, trying to peer around her. “I’d love to see what you’ve done.” She scratched between the pearl snaps.

  “Oh, you know, slow.” Madison paused. She didn’t want to invite them in, but somehow felt obligated. “I’m still pretty disorganized.”

  Janice craned her neck again. “Oh, but you already painted the entry. Pretty. Torn down any walls yet?”

  Madison reconsidered her lack of hospitality. “No. Not yet.”

  “Demo is my thing.” Seeley’s face brightened. “I can help if you decide to do anything along those lines.”

  “I might take you up on that.” Madison stepped back from the door. “Would you–” The ring of the phone cut her off. “Sorry,” she said, choosing privacy. “I need to get that. Thanks for stopping by. Seeley, I’ll give you a shout when I’m ready.”

  A fleeting look of disappointment passed over their faces. Seeley recovered first; he grinned and stuck out his palm. “Hey, nice to meet you,” he said. “Welcome to the neighborhood. Remember, we’re just next door if you need anything.”

  “Thanks again,” Madison replied. She shook his hand, nodded good-bye, closed the door, and ran for the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Darling, it’s Gabrielle. I’m calling to invite you down for Thanksgiving.”

  “Gabi, it’s so good to hear your voice. And yes, I’d be delighted. What can I bring? Who else will be there?”

  “Oh my goodness, Dillon, Mom and Dad, Gen, Anna and Hodge, Emily and one of her little friends. And whoever else doesn’t have a place to land. I’ve hired a caterer, so you’re not allowed to bring anything. Nothing. Not even a bottle of wine.”

  “Is it black tie?”

  “Only if you want it to be. Let’s just say no denim.”

  “That takes out half my wardrobe. But wait, there’s that fuchsia dress from the prom.”

  Gabi tittered. Madison thought she sounded sincerely happy. “How’ve you been, Gab? What’s new?”

  “Busy. You’ve inspired me and I’m redecorating a few rooms. And I flew down to Burbank two weeks ago and auditioned for a part in a Tarantino project.”

  “Wow, big time. Sounds like fun. Did Em go?”

  “Yes, she stayed with one of her L.A. friends. And I stayed with Mom and Dad.”

  “I bet it was great to catch up. Congrats on the film.”

  “We’ll see. No call back yet. Just the same, it’s good to be on Quentin’s short list.”

  “I can only imagine. How are you feeling?”

  “Better. I’m getting used to the independence, but it’s a challenge. I have to say, Madison, you’ve made it seem so effortless all these years. It’s not, though. I can tell you that.”

  “In some ways it’s easier,” Madison replied. “You can do whatever you want, whenever you want to. But there’s also no one to bounce things off of. No one to take out the trash, reach the high cupboards. Deal with a broken pipe.”

  “Dillon didn’t deal with the plumbing, anyway.” Gabrielle laughed. “Regardless, my hat is off to you. I’ve taken everything you’ve done all these years for granted. I never realized how hard it was. You’re my hero now. I wanted you to know.”

  “Thank you.” Madison cleared her throat. “You can do anything I’ve done, Gabi. And with a lot fewer mistakes, I might add.”

  “Don’t be offended, but that’s not what I want. To be single, I mean. It’s not … well, it’s not my idea of the perfect life. Hey, what happened to that hunky professor? Don’t tell me you let him get away.”

  “Looks like I did.”

  “You could call and invite him to join us. It would be a good excuse. You know. Say hello, check back in.”

  “I’m guessing he’s made plans already, Gab, but thanks.”

  “Madison, you deserve to have a special person in your life. Someone who loves you.”

  “I have several special people who love me, just not a male someone.”

  “Well, yes. Yes, you do.” Gabi cleared her throat. “We’ll start the festivities any time after one o’clock and plan to eat about four. Oh, and feel free to bring Jack. He’s always welcome.”

  “I’m looking forward to it. Thanks, Gab, I’ll see you then.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Thanksgiving dawned clear and cold, a typical late-November Northern California day. Madis
on pulled on old Levis, a wool sweater that once belonged to her father, muck boots, and a down vest. With a cup of coffee in hand, she ventured out into the garden with Jack.

  Her goal over time was to prune the perennials and evergreen shrubs that spilled across walkways around the house. The task would be extensive.

  A man would come in handy here.

  She warmed at the thought of working alongside Cole. She knew he’d love to get his hands dirty. How wonderful to have his strong arms to carry the fertilizer out from the garage. How nice to feel that promise of a kiss on her lips.

  How foolish not to pick up the phone.

  Had she allowed that ship to sail?

  Madison shook off her thoughts. Time to get to work.

  She passed the morning treading through the beds, trying to get her head around what needed to be done. It was too early in the season to do major cutting, but she could enlarge the paths and note plantings that needed more work after Christmas.

  She took a closer look at the wisteria outside the kitchen window. The old vine had been fastened to a wide arbor, tucked back among the unruly shrubs, and it promised showy blossoms come spring.

  Before noon, she forced herself into the shower, then dressed in slacks and a thigh-length sweater she’d owned for years. She brushed her hair, put on a pair of earrings, then microwaved soup to stave off hunger pangs before dinner.

  She ate over the sink, contemplating just how the wisteria should be trained across the trellis. After a quick rinse of the bowl, she called Jack to the Toyota and they were on their way.

  * * *

  A cadre of luxury automobiles dotted the wide concrete drive when she arrived at Gabi’s fashionable hillside compound. Gen’s black BMW was among them, parked beneath a portico to one side of the house.

  The gray-hued contemporary ranch was an architect’s tasteful rendition of a chalet-style home. Deep overhangs shaded windows bordered in white. A swath of lush green grass fronted the structure, cut by flagstone paths and dotted with the distinctive bark of birch trees.