by Krista Davis
Birdie stood in her doorway, holding the door frame with one hand, looking forlorn. Her sad expression cut through my anger. I had never lived near relatives as an adult. Maybe I should have dropped by to say hello the second I hit town. I drove away with guilt creeping over me. But I shook it off. Maybe Birdie was the loon my father had always claimed she was.
The golf cart was rolling slowly through a residential neighborhood in Wagtail when a little white Jack Russell terrier darted across the street in front of it. That couldn’t be Trixie. It sure looked like her, though. When a calico kitten sped along behind the dog, I turned the golf cart at the next corner. How could they have gotten out?
I called them, trying not to wake sleeping Wagtailites. They ran through yards, evading me. I would glimpse them, and they would disappear again.
I turned to the right, toward the pedestrian zone, and spied them happily scampering along. I parked the golf cart, hitched my purse over my shoulder, stepped out, and ran. Where had those little goofballs gone?
The scent of burning wood hung heavily in the air. I cut through the parklike middle of the pedestrian zone and stumbled on a piece of a shattered pumpkin. I hated to think that some drunk had damaged the pretty carved pumpkins that lined the walkway.
In the clearing near the Wagtail Springs Hotel, I was shocked to discover that the bonfire had started again. It wasn’t blazing yet, but it would be soon. The scouts must not have put it out properly. It didn’t appear to be spreading, thank goodness, but I pulled out my phone and called 911 immediately. The dispatcher promised to send Officer Dave over to check on it.
I spied Trixie on the other side of the fire, much closer than I thought was safe. “Trixie!”
She clamped her teeth on a heavy branch and pulled it.
“No!” I ran toward her, knowing perfectly well that was probably the wrong thing to do. But I had to stop her from dragging around a limb that was burning on one end. If she didn’t hurt herself, she might set something on fire. The Wagtail Springs Hotel loomed nearby. That place was probably a tinderbox. If she dropped the branch on the wood porch, I might not be able to stop the fire from spreading.
She saw me coming. I sighed with relief when she dropped the branch and sniffed the ground. I grabbed the limb and tossed it onto the fire.
A moment later, she picked up something else that I couldn’t quite make out. “Drop, Trixie.”
She danced just out of my reach. Happily a scent must have interested her, and she dropped what she held in her mouth. Trixie’s nose took her in a circle around the bonfire. I followed her as fast as I could without running, trying to be calm, so she wouldn’t sense my desperation to catch her. Just as I bent over and reached for her, she took off, her nose still to the ground. Ugh. Undoubtedly on the scent of an evil squirrel.
I didn’t dare leave the fire, but on the other hand, I didn’t want to lose sight of my two rascals, either. Trixie was getting farther away. She zoomed by the Wagtail Springs Hotel. In the night with no one else around, it looked unbelievably spooky. No wonder people thought they saw ghosts in the eerie windows.
Frantic barking started. It had to be Trixie. I listened carefully for a clue to her whereabouts.
I jogged a few steps. “Trixie? Trixie?”
The furious barking continued. Where was Dave?
Like magic, he strode up, dressed in his uniform—an oasis of calm in the night. I waved at him and ran after Trixie. I would explain as soon as I had Trixie and Twinkletoes safely in my arms.
The light from the street lamps didn’t stretch far as I rounded the hotel. I slowed down, stepping through the grass carefully while my eyes adjusted to the darkness away from the fire. Without the light of the moon, the expansive lawn in back of the hotel would have been treacherous. The huge gazebo shimmered faintly. The barking grew louder. But where were they? I squinted and scanned the lawn for any sign of their white coats. “Twinkletoes! Where’s my pretty kitty?” I tried to sound relaxed so they would come to me.
Meep. Twinkletoes didn’t speak much, but that sounded like her cute little mew.
Were they in the gazebo?
Twinkletoes darted out at me and swiped a paw at my leg as I neared the structure. I wasn’t quick enough to grab her.
She scampered into the gazebo.
“Trixie!” I called. “I have treats.” At this point I would have said anything to get them to come to me. But they didn’t.
Trixie hadn’t stopped barking, either. Yap, yap, yap.
Built at ground level, the gazebo contained a mineral spring in the middle. I had played there as a child, joyfully splashing my cousin. Shallow water covered ancient stones, worn to smoothness. Simple wood stairs led from the decking into the pool.
As I approached, Trixie ran around the deck of the gazebo, yipping. I sighed. This would be an aggravating exercise in futility because she could simply scamper around in a big circle, always keeping out of reach.
She would sense my desperation. I tried to be calm and called her softly. She backed away, and backed away.
I stepped onto the decking and squinted in the darkness. Why hadn’t I brought a flashlight?
Trixie’s white coat gleamed in the moonlight. She whined at the water—and at the person floating in it, facedown.
Five
Trixie stopped barking when I screamed.
My purse dropped to the floor. The contents clattered as they spilled onto the wooden deck.
I yelled for Dave.
There was only one thing to do and no time to think about it. I had to turn the person over. I plunged into the cold water. It came up just over my knees.
A filmy white dress floated around the body. Long silvery hair caught the glow from the light of the moon. I flipped her and dragged her to the side, but even though she was a slight woman, I couldn’t lift her out of the shallow pool. The gauzy white fabric caught on her arms and mine, wrapping us like mummies. After several tries, I managed to maneuver her shoulders up against the edge of the deck. Where was Dave? I yelled his name again.
Minutes mattered. I couldn’t allow her head to drop back into the pool. Pinning her with my shoulder to keep her from sliding down, I hoisted her legs up enough to roll her over onto the deck, dislodging the wig she wore.
Copper hair fell to the floor. Mallory! Shock flooded through me. The young woman who dreamed of her wedding didn’t appear to be breathing.
I tried to recall the first aid classes I had taken years ago. I leaned Mallory on her side so water could drain from her mouth. She needed CPR right that moment. I started it but was having no success. “Dave!”
It broke my heart to have to stop, even for a second. I rushed to the entrance. No wonder he couldn’t hear me. In the quiet of the night, the bonfire crackled loud enough to drown my cries for help. I ran toward it, waving my arms. “Dave! Dave! Help!”
When he turned toward me, I waved frantically and jogged back to the gazebo to start chest compressions again, wondering what else I could possibly do to revive her.
When I saw the beam of a strong flashlight I jumped up. “Here! We’re over here!”
Dave aimed his light at Mallory.
“Is she alive?” Dave flashed the light on her face.
“I don’t know. I found her floating facedown. I’ve been doing compressions, but there’s been no sign of . . .” I couldn’t bring myself to say it.
Dave kneeled beside her and felt for a pulse. “I’m not getting anything.” He handed me the flashlight and resumed the chest compressions. “Call 911 and have them send an ambulance.”
Twinkletoes scampered down the steps that ran into the water. She reached out, patting a dark ring on the water with her paw.
I squinted at it. A wreath of black roses. Mallory must have been dressed as the ghost of Becca Wraith. According to local legend, Becca’s ghost always wore a cir
cle of black roses in her hair.
“Your cat’s here, too? What’s going on?”
I called 911 before answering him. Only when the dispatcher assured me that an ambulance was on the way did I hang up and explain to Dave how I came to be there. “I have no idea how Trixie and Twinkletoes managed to get out of the inn.”
My wet clothes clung to me and the night was cold, but I ran in search of the ambulance anyway. I flashed Dave’s light at them and shouted. Three amazingly calm EMTs crossed the lawn to the gazebo and peered at Mallory.
One of them checked for a pulse. “Are you a relative?” He took over the chest compressions.
“No. I just happened to find her.”
Dave stepped aside so they could work. He snagged Twinkletoes. Handing her to me, he said, “You better put on some dry clothes. I’ll come to the inn if I need more information.”
“Thanks.” I hoped they could resuscitate Mallory. Carrying Twinkletoes in my arms, I called Trixie. She came with us but dodged off to the fire again. I was far too cold and wet to play games. I called her again and again. She raced toward me carrying something in her mouth. Ugh. I hoped it hadn’t been alive at one time.
I reached for it but she ran from me each time I tried to grab it. She willingly hopped into the golf cart, though.
* * *
Dawn hadn’t broken yet when I returned to the inn. Safely inside, I finally released my grip on Twinkletoes. She leaped from my arms and immediately started grooming her fur, no doubt miffed that it was wet.
Trixie still carried the thing in her mouth. But indoors, I could see it clearly. I grabbed a treat from the cookie jar at the registration desk and tried to barter with Trixie. The scent of the treat must have been powerful because she finally gave in and traded me a faux fur black cat for the cookie.
I rocked back on my heels laughing. A toy. The cat’s back was arched like a Halloween cat. Some dog had probably dropped it at the bonfire. I handed it back to her.
“What happened to you?” asked Casey.
“I jumped in a mineral bath to pull Mallory Gooley out.”
“What? Is she okay?”
“I don’t think so. Is she a friend of yours?”
“No. I’ve seen her around town, though. She doesn’t live here. At least I don’t think so. You better get cleaned up. Aren’t you freezing?”
I nodded and shuffled away like I was one hundred years old.
“Hey, Holly. How’s your aunt?”
Huh? I was still so shocked about finding Mallory that I hadn’t given Birdie another thought. “She’s fine. Thanks for asking, Casey. She’s absolutely fine and dandy.”
Trixie refused to take the elevator, but I was in no condition to climb two more flights of stairs. She met me at the door to our apartment. It was locked tight.
I opened the door to find Twinkletoes resting on top of a box, cleaning her fur and looking so innocent that if I didn’t know better, I would have thought she’d been there the whole time. “The cat door.” In my haste to leave, I’d forgotten about it. I hobbled to the dining room of my quarters. Way down on a bottom shelf the cat door was open. It led down hidden stairs to Oma’s private kitchen. I wedged heavy books in front of it so there would be no more escapes for the time being.
I took a long, hot shower but it didn’t wash away the events of the night. Wrapped in a fluffy Sugar Maple Inn bathrobe, embroidered with my name, I had just stepped out of the bathroom when a muffled cry alarmed me. Someone was in my apartment!
Six
I stumbled around the boxes in the hallway and craned my neck to see into the kitchen.
A stooped man wearing white gloves and a butler’s uniform placed a tray on the counter. He turned and his thick gray eyebrows jumped up at the sight of me. “Miss Miller! I’m so sorry to have disturbed you. I stubbed my toe on a carton. I must say, it’s a bit of a mess in here with boxes everywhere. Shall I unpack them for you?”
“No. Thank you. That won’t be necessary.” I peered at the tray. A carafe of something, sugar, cream, a dog treat, a cat treat, and a chocolate croissant. This man was definitely friend, not foe. I studied him. Why did he seem vaguely familiar? “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name. You weren’t here last month, were you?”
“Niles Huckle, miss. I remember you. You played with Miss Clementine when you were just little girls. Your grandmother has hired me to help Shelley five mornings a week. Mrs. Miller likes hot coffee and exactly two, no more, no less, honey cinnamon graham crackers, and a biscuit for Gingersnap at six a.m. sharp. She ordered this for you. If you should prefer something else, please let me know. I shan’t let on if you don’t like what she sent.”
“It’s lovely, thank you.” What a luxury. This certainly beat rushing around to leave the house and then sitting in traffic to get to work.
Twinkletoes wound around his ankles, marking him with the side of her face.
“Now go on, you little scamp. You’ll get white fur all over my trousers.”
I locked the door behind him and asked Trixie, “Why didn’t you bark at him?”
She wagged her tail but wasn’t divulging her secrets. Either she was all barked out or he bribed her with a dog biscuit.
Feeling quite guilty about indulging in a pre-breakfast chocolate croissant, I ate it anyway, and shared the other treats with Trixie and Twinkletoes. Steaming hot tea with milk and sugar first thing in the morning was living the high life for me. Room service and someone to clean my quarters? It was almost too heavenly to contemplate. I would be thoroughly spoiled forevermore.
Cold to the bone, I lit a fire and sat on the hearth with my hands wrapped around my hot mug of tea. The image of Mallory’s gown floating around her was burned into my mind. How could she have drowned in so little water? Why didn’t she sit up? Or stand up? Could the long gauzy material have tangled around her legs? Two feet of water! Short as I was, it hadn’t even reached my hips. It was like drowning in a bathtub.
I stretched my bare toes toward the crackling fire and thought about the previous night. Something had been going on with Mallory. She’d talked about marrying Mark, yet he had been cold as ice toward her. And she upset Eva, who’d said two can play that game. Goose bumps popped up on my arms. I wanted Mallory’s death to have been an accident. But wishes wouldn’t make it so. Something untoward had happened to that poor young woman last night.
I’d heard of people drowning in shallow water before. But why was she in a costume? The last time I’d seen her was at the bonfire. She wore a dress with fashionable costume jewelry. When had she changed clothes?
She didn’t have family around that I knew of, and if Mark and Eva were any indication, not much in the way of friends, either. The least I could do was make some discreet inquiries. Dying alone in a strange place was bad enough. I couldn’t desert her. She needed someone to be her friend now. Especially if she had been murdered.
I finally blew my hair dry. When I turned off the blow-dryer I heard voices. More than one. I was beginning to feel like my new home was Grand Central Station.
In a hurry, I found khakis and a long-sleeved periwinkle blue V-neck tee in a suitcase, pulled them on, and ventured into the sitting area. The voices came from the TV. Trixie sat in her favorite toile armchair, and Twinkletoes lay sphinxlike on top of a big packing box. Both of them were watching the news.
“How did you turn the TV on?” I searched for the remote, thinking one of them must have accidentally pounced on it. They probably knew where it was, but in the chaos of boxes, I didn’t see it anywhere.
Relieved that no one else had entered my apartment, I navigated between boxes back to the bedroom, slid on a belt, and added gold hoop earrings. As I passed the French doors, I paused for a moment to step out onto the balcony that overlooked the heart of Wagtail—the pedestrian zone. Many of the leaves had fallen off the trees, exposing gnarly branches, but
creating a charming mosaic of reds, oranges, and golds across the grass. Corn stalks and pumpkins decorated the expansive green between the wide sidewalks. It reminded me of a long park with a walkway winding through it. Benches offered places to rest. Lively dogs could run off some energy in one of the fenced play zones.
The lack of traffic noise still amazed me. Wagtail had become a golf cart community, allowing precious few vehicles through on the residential streets. Tourists parked at a large facility just outside of town. Electric golf carts, locally known as Wagtail taxis, transported them into town.
Beneath me, early risers strolled and jogged with dogs and an occasional cat. A couple of the coffee shops and bakeries appeared to be open but most of the stores were still closed. To the left and right, the roofs of Wagtail made for a charming scene. And beyond it all, mountains rose in the distance like a beautiful, undulating quilt of fall colors.
Returning to the Sugar Maple Inn was like coming home again. My parents had moved away when I was very small, but they had sent me back to Wagtail and Oma every summer. Oma put my cousin, Josh, her best friend’s grandson, Holmes, and me to work at the inn. We had learned everything from the bottom up. We washed dishes, whitewashed fences, checked guests in and out, and made beds, yet there had always been plenty of time for swimming and playing in the woods. They had been wonderful times, away from the issues of my divorcing parents. Even though my father and his sister had left Wagtail, the Sugar Maple Inn was the family homestead. It was more of a home to me than any place I had ever lived.
I gazed over my new hometown with joy. There was something special about new beginnings and starting fresh—leaving old problems behind. In my case, my old boyfriend, Ben, and a horrible problem at my previous job. They were in my past now, and wonderful new possibilities lay ahead.
And then I remembered Mallory. Maybe they had resuscitated her. I would hate to think that her future had been snuffed out. She was so young and so full of happiness about her wedding. I would have to check with Dave. I closed my eyes and hoped for the best.