2 Fog Over Finny's Nose

by Dana Mentink

  Candace said good-bye.

  “All right, Martha,” she said. “Let’s get this over with.” Without a word to anyone else, she headed up nose.

  It took her a very long time to reach the spot where Cootchie had disappeared and a very short time to pass through it. As she approached the horribly familiar ground, Ruth felt herself in the grip of a terrible guilt; a feeling that somehow she had changed things forever with one moment of carelessness.

  There was nothing here to fill in the blanks, no answers lying in the weeds, just trampled grass and a rotten log.

  Cootchie was gone with Meg. When and if Cootchie and Dimple returned, Ruth was not sure they would slip back into the easy life they enjoyed before. She didn’t know if Dimple could ever trust her fully again. She wasn’t sure she would ever trust herself.

  “Oh God, please help me.” She wanted to ask for forgiveness again. To ask Him to take away the curiosity that distracted her from her duty that day. For the strength to face what could have happened. The words would not come out. He had already forgiven her anyway, she knew. She had to find a way to forgive herself.

  She had to do something, anything to help Dimple, to make amends. There were the daily chores at Dimple’s farm that needed doing and had no doubt been neglected for days. The thoughts churned through her mind faster and faster until her feet picked up the frenzy. She scooped up the tern, who squawked in protest, and began running. She didn’t stop until she staggered across the threshold of the Pistol Bang Mushroom Farm.

  The place was as lush as ever, she noticed through the searing cramp in her side. It seemed to have a Brigadoonesque ability to thrive no matter what wintry blight the world outside was struggling with. As she deposited a writhing Martha on the ground, Ruth was surprised to see Hugh exiting the polytunnel.

  “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  The young man looked up abruptly. “Oh, hi, Ruth. I came by to check on the shiitakes. They are pretty close to harvesting. Do you think Dimple will be back soon? I can handle the harvest if she isn’t. I know the ropes.”

  “I can’t really say. Why don’t you give her a call? I’m sure she would appreciate talking to you.”

  Hugh became engrossed in his boots. “Oh, I don’t want to bug her or anything. She’s really had it rough lately.”

  She felt her heart give a painful twist. “Yes, she has, I’m afraid.”

  “Cootchie is all right, isn’t she?”

  “She handled the whole thing better than all of us.”

  “It turned out okay, then. Lucky for everyone.”

  Ah, the wonderful optimism of youth. “I thought I would check the office while I’m here.”

  “Yeah. Good idea. I gotta go. If you see Dimple, tell her, uh, I’ll be talking to her soon, okay?”

  “Okay.” He plodded down the gravel walkway like a stork waddling through a muddy marsh.

  Ruth spent the next hour emptying wastebaskets, sweeping the office floor, and taking messages off the answering machine. Typically Ruth did these chores for Dimple on a weekly basis, but now the duties seemed imbued with a new importance. When she could think of nothing else to do, she locked up and walked into the garden.

  She felt exhausted. As much as she wanted to collapse on the wooden bench, she knew if she didn’t get home in a timely fashion, Monk would come puffing up nose to find her.

  As she heaved herself downslope, Martha in tow, a small figure approached. She recognized Bobby, pink cheeked, consulting a piece of paper taken from her denim jacket.

  “Hi. Where are you headed?”

  “Hey, Ruth.” She closed the gap between them and bent to scratch Martha’s head. “I’m off to the top of Finny’s Nose. I want to check something out. How are you doing? I haven’t seen you in the coffee shop.” She brushed dark hair out of her eyes. “Uncle Monk said you’ve been kind of down about everything.”

  “I’m trying to hold myself together. It’s been hard.” She was dismayed to feel tears stinging her eyes. “To think what could have happened.”

  “Could haves can kill you.”

  Ruth looked at her curiously. “You sound like you have some experience with catastrophes.”

  She laughed. “Hasn’t everyone? By the way, Ruth, is Finny’s Nose private or public property?”

  “It belonged to the Dent family for many generations, but Buster gave it to the city to keep in preserve. I guess you’d call it a regional open space.”

  “Hmm.” Bobby’s brow furrowed. “Okay, thanks. I’ve gotta get going before I lose the daylight. I want to drag Jack up here to show him something, and I need to do my homework.”

  “Jack? Jack Denny? He doesn’t seem like the nature-loving type.”

  “He isn’t. Hence the verb ‘drag.’ ”

  “What do you think about these mysterious people parading around at night?”

  “I think they’re ecoterrorists.”

  “I read something about that on the Internet. I can’t believe people would go to such lengths to further a cause.”

  “They believe they have a moral imperative to protect the earth,” Bobby said, “even if it means breaking the law.”

  Ruth thought about Rocky’s earlier comment. “We’ll be gone before anyone is the wiser.”

  “What does Jack think about that?” she asked.

  “I haven’t gotten that far with him. We’ve been working on other issues.”

  Ruth was secretly thrilled to imagine Jack spending time with this interesting young woman. As far as she knew, he hadn’t seen anyone since Lacey died.

  “I have forgotten how long Monk said you were staying in town,” Ruth said. The Fog Festival would be finished in the next two days. She was hoping the girl was planning to hang around for a while after the festival limped to a close. It would give Jack a little more time with her.

  “I’m here at least through the festival. The park I work at has closed for flood cleanup for two months, so I’ve got some time. Maybe if Uncle Monk is still really busy, I’ll hang out here for a few more months.”

  Ruth made a mental note to inform Monk that he needed to be very busy for the next few months.

  “Are you going to make it home all right? You look tired.”

  “Oh sure. I’ve got my attack bird here to look out for me.”

  They both looked at Martha, who sat on the ground at Ruth’s feet. The slender bird had closed her tiny eyes and tucked her beak into her downy chest. “Yup. I’m sure no one will pester you with that critter on duty. See you later.”

  The young woman walked briskly upslope, leaving Ruth to wonder what sort of homework could be done by a determined woman all alone at the top of a mountain.

  That night Ruth could not sleep, even after her sprint up to the mushroom farm. Perhaps it was the lingering terror from the abduction, or the emotional discussion with Dimple, or the persistent heartburn that nagged her stomach. Maybe it was just the continuing trauma of knowing that Cootchie was in Arizona that kept Ruth wide awake at one forty-five on Sunday morning. Determined not to watch the hands of her bedside clock tick off another hour, she wrapped herself in a worn flannel robe, slid quietly out of bed without disturbing Monk, and retreated to her place of refuge. The kitchen.

  She knew the best thing for crisis control was chocolate, but for some reason she could not drum up an appetite for it. Even the piles of plastic-wrapped cookies on the counter did not tempt her.

  Everything had been going so well. Her small family, weird though it was, was happy and content. Then it had all gone directly downhill. Ed’s murder, Meg Sooner’s arrival, Cootchie’s kidnapping. And the strain the whole event had put on her new marriage. She loved Monk without reservation, but this was the first real trauma in their relationship. Was it the brevity of their marriage or the fact that she had weathered many crises alone that kept her from fully unburdening herself to him? She had never entertained the foggiest notion of relating to anyone of the male species after her husband died. Fi
rmly she propelled the thoughts from her head. She had gotten past that hurdle, and she would get through this one, too, with God’s help. It was time to start using the strength He gave her to face problems, relationship or otherwise, head-on.

  A metallic crash from outside made her jump.

  Her heart beat wildly as she turned on the porch light and squinted into the backyard. The weak light picked up millions of tiny water droplets, thick as snow. It did not illuminate anything else.

  Rats, she thought, the birds have probably gotten out again. She put a hand on the dead bolt and stopped.

  A ripple of terror crept through her, as if some part of her mind could see farther into the darkened yard.

  And what it saw scared her.

  She pulled her hand away from the locked door and cried out.

  Monk got downstairs in a flash. He was wearing a frayed sweat suit emblazoned with the word Navy. There was a baseball bat in his hand. His eyes were still sleep glazed. “I heard you call out my name, or did I dream that?”

  “I’m sorry. Maybe I’m just being dramatic,” she said, her cheeks warm. “There might be nothing out there. My imagination has been in overdrive these past few days.”

  “You did the right thing. I’m not sure if an old chef like me can protect you from anything other than a marauding head of garlic, but I’ll give it my able best.”

  She handed him a flashlight.

  A blast of cold air hit them both as Monk opened the sliding door. “Stay here and keep the phone handy.” He vanished into the fog.

  Several minutes later he was back. “Well, the birds are still penned and safe. There’s nothing that I can see out of order, although your side gate is unlatched. Any chance you left it open?”

  She shook her head. “I always double-check at night in case the birds make it over the wall. It was definitely closed before.”

  They looked at each other for a minute. “Come outside with me. Maybe you’ll notice something that I didn’t.”

  She checked first on the birds to reassure herself of their well-being, though she needn’t have bothered. Seven pairs of yellow eyes glared balefully at her from behind their chain link enclosure. They had the “You’d better be carrying a bag of Fritos” look on their hostile faces. Her flashlight illuminated the rest of the area a slice at a time.

  It took her two passes around the yard before she noticed.

  “I can’t believe it,” she said.

  “What?”

  “My castings. Three buckets of worm castings for Royland. They were right here on the porch. They’re gone.”

  “Worm castings.” Monk shook his head in con- fusion. “Doesn’t seem like they are worth the trouble.”

  “Not really. Twenty dollars apiece, unless you have to spring for the eighteen-dollar shipping and handling fee.”

  “Let’s go back in and see if we can unmuddle this mess.”

  Safely inside with mugs of hot decaf coffee, they plopped down on the sofa.

  “Why would someone want your castings?”

  Ruth couldn’t see why someone would want to steal them. They were the by-product of the worm after it swallowed soil and plant litter. The material mixed in the digestive tract and came out as casts. “As far as I know, it’s only used by organic farmers as a fertilizer. That’s what Royland uses it for. Some florists use it for ornamental plants grown in baskets, I suppose.”

  “I can’t picture a nefarious florist heisting your castings in the dead of night,” he said thoughtfully.

  “Me neither. Maybe someone mistook the buckets for something else.”

  “Were they labeled?”

  “Just with the Phillip’s Worm Emporium sticker on them.”

  They mulled it over for an hour more before he carried his mug to the sink. “I’m going to sleep down here tonight. Just in case whoever it was comes back.” He looked at her open mouth. “If anything is going to come through that door, it will have to get by this old battleship.”

  “Thank you.” She swallowed the emotion rising in her throat. “I’m sorry I’ve been acting strange lately.” Her eyes glistened with tears. “I love you.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  At half past 2:00 a.m. on Saturday, Jack was driving down the dark frontage road after checking the parking lot where most of the festival vendor trailers were situated. All was quiet on the western front. God willing, it would stay that way for the last two days of the festival craziness. He had enough ongoing investigations to last for months.

  A light drizzle speckled his windshield, and he turned up the heater to fight off the wet chill. Finny was closed up tight, like a vacuum-sealed jar. The only place open for business was Eden Hospital. It crossed his mind to stop there to see if they could give him an IV coffee drip.

  Maybe he could get Alva to take a look at the evil Mr. Coffee. If he promised him a bag of jelly beans, the old man would do it. If he threw in some candy corns, Alva would no doubt have a crack at the ancient pen- cil sharpener, too. Jack was trying to figure out how early was too early to call on Alva when he noticed a slender woman walking along the shoulder, hunched inside a waterproof jacket. Pulling up alongside the pedestrian, he rolled down his window.

  “Isn’t it kind of late for a walk?” he asked.

  “A little early, I’d say.” Bobby stuck her head in his passenger window. “I’m involved in an investigation. Don’t hassle me, copper.”

  He laughed. “Why don’t you get in and tell me about it?”

  She hopped into the car and wiped the moisture from her face. “Okay, but don’t go blabbing it around. I’m investigating some strange doings up nose.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. Drive to the trailhead and I’ll show you.” He looked into her brown eyes, and for a split second he would have rolled himself in bacon grease and walked into a lion’s den if she suggested it. Mentally he shook himself back to the rational world. “Let’s go.”

  After a mile he pulled off the main road and they got out of the car. The rain had stopped, and the moon shone between the clouds.

  “Look,” she commanded, pointing up nose.

  Jack squinted. “I don’t see anything but the end of your finger.”

  “Come on, Detective. Be patient and keep looking.”

  Then he saw it.

  A pocket of light flickered unsteadily halfway up the steep wooded hill. “Huh. I wonder what in the world is going on up there.”

  “That’s exactly what I was going to find out.”

  “Alone? In the dark? After all the murder and mayhem that’s been going on around here?”

  Her lips curled in a crooked smile. “What’s the matter? You don’t think I can handle it?”

  “Oh, I’m fairly certain you can handle anything. Why don’t I come along anyway and you can protect me?” He waited for her nod and contacted the police dispatcher to fill her in on his plans. He grabbed his radio and clipped it to his belt.

  “Onward and upward,” he said.

  They walked easily for the first mile. The slope was mild and speckled with enough trees to screen them from whatever was at the top. The full moon shone just enough for them to pick their way up the uneven trail. When Bobby stumbled, he instinctively reached an arm around her waist to steady her. He found her scent tantalizing.

  “Are you sniffing me?”

  Jack felt his face warm, and he was grateful for the darkness. “Uh, well, actually. . . Sorry about that. I think my brain is scrambled, but you smell just like a strong cup of French roast coffee.” He felt like an idiot for saying the words out loud.

  Her laugh echoed softly. “I think I did splash a little on my shirt during my shift at Uncle Monk’s. I take it your coffee machine is still on the fritz?”

  “Yup,” he said. “We’re getting close to declaring a national emergency.”

  “So next time I’m out scouting for a man, I’ll pass up the Chanel No. 5 and rub some coffee grounds on my wrists.” She tucked dark hair behind
her ears.

  “That would definitely get my attention.”

  They lapsed into silence as the slope became steeper. Their breath came out as white puffs in the cold air. They stopped now and then to look up at the moon. It was round and full as a ripe melon. As he began to pant, he noticed Bobby’s breathing was not labored in the slightest. “So how do you like the park ranger gig? Better than bus driver?”

  “Definitely. I started out as an interpreter, leading tours and stuff like that. It was fun, but the real excite- ment started when I got into the law enforcement end of it.” She stopped to shake a rock out of her boot. “It’s still blows me away that I get to work in some of the most gorgeous places on earth, and I get paid for it.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  “Not perfect. Wide-open spaces are very freeing to people. On the one hand, it lets them escape from the status stuff—cars, clothes, Starbucks. It kind of puts everyone on a level playing field. The downside is sometimes people misuse the freedom. Think they can get away from the rules that apply in the civilized world.”

  “What kind of stuff do you have to deal with?” He pushed aside a low-hanging branch.

  “Drinking, drug use. Small-time, mostly, but sometimes it gets to be dicey when it’s time to arrest someone. And in the past few years, we’ve got bigger problems. Drug rings starting up plantations on the outskirts of the park.”

  “I’ve heard about that. How do you handle it?’

  “You pray you don’t stumble into a crop when you’re alone. And you really hope they aren’t packing a bigger weapon than you are.” Her teeth gleamed in the moonlight. “You can relate, I bet.”

  “Sure can.” He could relate completely, and it astonished him. This woman was so different from Lacey, yet he connected with her easily. It was a connection that had been missing from his life for years.

  She frowned. “You know, I saw Ed Honeysill headed up here just before his balloon crashed. He said he was out for a walk, and I didn’t question it at the time, but I wonder if I should have mentioned it before.”

  Jack tried to figure a reason other than exercise why Ed would climb up nose. He couldn’t think of one.