by Patricia Fry
“Was there a poem?” Holly asked. When Phyll looked confused, she added, “…with the key Skip found.”
“Yes,” she blurted. “As a matter of fact there was. It said, ‘Roses are red, violets are blue,’ then something about the animals need you.” She shook her head. “We can’t figure out what that means, and Skip isn’t taking it very seriously. He thinks it’s just a joke someone’s playing, but some of the villagers sure are stirred up about it.” When Phyll saw a new group heading her way, she quickly excused herself. “Gotta get back to work. Are you people staying here or what?”
“We’re going to buy our fishing licenses, then we’ll come back and get our poles. Do you recommend using one of the boats and fishing upstream, or fishing from the bank downstream?”
She shrugged. “Either way you’re bound to catch something and have fun doing it.”
“What do you want to do, Adam?” Keith asked.
After thinking about it, he suggested, “I want to go on the other side of the waterfall. It looks cool down that way.”
When Keith nodded in agreement, Michael said, “Okay, then. Let’s go get legal so we can do some fishing.”
****
“I wish I went fishing with Daddy,” Cassie complained after being seated at a small café later that afternoon.
“You’re not having any fun with us?” Holly asked.
“Yeah, but I’m finished shopping. Now I want to go fishing.”
“You were undecided, weren’t you?” Gladys said. “…I mean about whether to go shopping or fishing.”
Cassie nodded. “But I’m glad I came so I could buy this music box.”
“That was a good find,” Holly agreed.
“Yeah, I liked that old-stuff store,” Cassie said.
“Me too,” Bethany chirped.
“What did you buy, Beth-Beth?” Savannah asked.
The four-year-old held up her hands. “Mittens.”
Savannah laughed. “I guess you’ll need those this winter in Colorado, huh?”
Holly smiled at her daughter and suggested, “That’s right. Let’s save them for when we get home. You don’t want to get them all dirty while you’re eating lunch.”
Bethany pouted and rubbed the mittens against her face before removing them.
Gladys laughed. “I used to love mittens, too. When I was a girl, I had a pair in every color. But I didn’t like wearing them when we went somewhere to play in the snow. I was afraid I’d ruin them.” She asked Lily, “Did you buy something in the store?”
The child nodded, then asked Savannah, “Where is it, Mommy?”
Savannah pulled a small package from her tote bag and handed it to Lily, who promptly revealed a set of plastic jewelry. “Earrings and necklace,” she announced. “Mommy, can I put them on?”
“Okay,” Savannah said, helping her daughter with the task.
Just then a waitress appeared with menus. “Hi,” she said, “I’m Carmella. I’ll be your server.” She glanced around the café. “’Cause I’m the only server today.” She focused on Savannah, then Holly. “Have you been here before?”
“Not to this restaurant,” Savannah said. “I ate at the one up the street adjacent to the general store a few years ago. I think it was the only one then.”
“It sure was. Now there are three,” Carmella announced. She smiled widely. “Okay. Well, what we offer’s unique. You can order from the menu, of course—sandwiches, soups, salads—but we also create bowls to your liking.” She pointed at the menu. “The starches are listed here—rice, quinoa, couscous, and so forth, and the add-ins are here—various types of beans, greens, veggies, as well as tofu and meat choices. It’s a build-a-bowl concept.”
“I love it!” Savannah exclaimed. “Yeah, that’s what I want.”
“Can I build a bear, Mommy?” Bethany asked.
The others laughed.
“Not here, honey,” Holly soothed, “but you can help me build a bowl of food we can share for our lunch.”
Carmella smiled. “What can I get you to drink while you’re deciding?”
“I’d like iced tea,” Savannah said, “and my daughter will have…” she thought for a moment, “apple juice.”
“The same here,” Holly said, “tea for me and apple juice for the girls.”
Carmella addressed Gladys. “And for you, ma’am?”
“Hot tea would be nice.”
“You got it.” Carmella started to walk away when she noticed Cassie’s music box. “Is that a key?” she asked. She raised her eyebrows. “Is it one of the keys? My cousin, Janelle, found one in a book she borrowed from the library. Can you imagine?” She leaned closer and frowned. “She’s kind of fanatical, if you ask me; always studying scientific theories. She wants to be a research scientist and that’s all she does is research, research, and more research.” She snarked, “Like Janelle’s mom can send her to college—no way.”
“How old is your cousin?” Savannah asked.
“Almost seventeen. She’ll graduate next year and I think she’ll have a rude awakening. Yeah, key or no key, Janelle will end up working here with me. The only science she’ll be exposed to is calculating how fast hot food cools down on the way to the table and how many scoops of ice cream make the ideal milkshake.” She put a hand on Holly’s arm. “Oh, and my friend’s husband found one of those keys hanging from his shovel one morning. His shovel!” she emphasized. She looked more closely at the key in Cassie’s hand. “Did a poem come with it?”
Cassie looked at her mother, then shook her head. “No. It just came with my music box. It’s a jewelry box too, and it has a lock.”
“Oh,” Carmella said. “Are you sure? You should look inside there for a poem.”
“What do you know about these keys people are finding?” Savannah asked.
Carmella glanced around to see who might be listening. “Well,” she said dramatically, “they’re showing up in the strangest places, all secret-like. No one knows who’s putting them there or why, but there’s lots of spec…what is that word?”
“Speculation?” Holly suggested.
“Yeah, speculation. Like whoever gets the keys wins a prize. No one knows what the prize is, though. Not everyone believes in the gift and they’re throwing their keys away. Of course most of us want those keys and some people are going through trash bins and all sorts of things like that trying to find them.” She looked at the key in Cassie’s hand and said, “Yeah, keys up here on the mountain this summer are mighty highly treasured.”
“Even toy keys like this one?” Holly asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Carmella said. “As I understand it, the keys are coming in all different shapes and sizes, presumably for different purposes.” She shivered. “Everyone’s on pins and needles to find out what they mean.” She glanced around again. “Hey, I’d better get your drinks and give you a chance to look at the menu.”
“Thanks,” Savannah called after her. She had just finished studying the menu when a commotion at the entrance to the café caught her attention. “Now, what’s that all about?”
Holly frowned. “That guy those men just brought in looks all beat up. I wonder what happened.”
“Maybe he fell while he was hiking,” Savannah suggested.
“Or he fell off his boat,” Cassie said.
“He doesn’t look wet,” Holly observed.
When the man collapsed, one of his companions hollered, “Did you call 911?”
“Yeah,” came the answer, “and Rich went to see if Doc Denton’s around.”
“What happened?” a woman from across the café called out.
“It’s probably because of that damn key,” someone with the injured man retorted. “Some fool must have known Bruce got one.” When he realized that the diners were interested in his story, he added, “He was all dressed in black. Bruce went around the bend to fish Gulliver’s Pool and this guy came from out of nowhere and demanded he give
up his key. When Bruce refused, he said the creep started whaling on him with a bat of some sort—or maybe the butt end of a fishing rod.”
“Does he have a key?” another woman asked.
“Um…maybe…” he stammered.
The man with her shouted, “It’s of the devil, I tell you! That whole sham is cursed. It’s a sham and it’s cursed!”
Savannah and Holly rolled their eyes at each other, then Savannah gazed in her mother’s direction. “Mom, are you all right?”
Gladys nodded. She continued to stare ahead, aghast. “I’m just not accustomed to witnessing barroom-brawling behavior when I’m having lunch with my grandchildren.”
Before Savannah could respond, her phone rang. “It’s Iris,” she murmured. She considered going outside to take the call, but the injured man lay so close to the doorway that she decided to answer. “Hi, Iris.”
“Hi. Are you guys having a nice time?”
“Well, we just got here a few hours ago. We’re having lunch. The guys went fishing. Hey, Iris,” Savannah said, “this place has grown since we were here a few years ago for your birthday. There are actually three restaurants now. And the one we’re eat at serves amazing bowls with your choice of ingredients.”
“Cool. Say, Craig said you called about that old floor lamp.”
“Yes,” Savannah confirmed. “He doesn’t seem to know anything about it. Do you know where it came from?” She lowered her voice. “Are you aware there was a key hidden inside?”
Iris chuckled. “Actually Craig hasn’t seen the lamp. I went up to the cabin a while back with the boys, and I saw it sitting outside that old rock house down the road there, with a free sign on it. You know how I like free things. Plus, I was working on some intricate plans for a living room design and knew the lighting in the cabin left a lot to be desired.”
“You’re still taking on clients?” Savannah asked. “Doesn’t the inn keep you busy enough?”
“Yeah, it does, but I miss my home decorating business, so I take a client once in a while—you know, on a pick-and-choose basis.” Iris took a breath and asked, “So you say that lamp had something hidden in it?”
“Yeah, a key; Rags found it.”
“No,” Iris moaned. “Don’t tell me you took your cat up there. Why?”
“Not on purpose, Iris, believe me. But yeah, he’s with us. He and Lexie.”
Iris chuckled. “Maybe Lexie will keep him out of trouble.”
“Hmmm, that’s doubtful. In fact, from the sounds of it,” Savannah said more quietly, “finding that key might already be troubling. Someone just came into the restaurant all beat up and it could be because he has one of those keys.”
“What sort of key are you talking about? What’s so significant about it?”
“I’m not sure, but there’s some sort of big deal going on up here where people are finding keys in mysterious ways, and poetry, too.”
“Poetry?” Iris questioned.
“Yes. Sunday, everyone’s supposed to be at the church to find out what the keys are all about.” She looked at Cassie. “One of my nieces was practically accosted because she bought a little jewelry box that came with a key.” She looked around before saying, “The waitress was lusting after her key. Can you imagine?”
“No. Has everyone up there gone crazy?” Iris asked. “Maybe you shouldn’t stay. Sounds like the mountain air is poisoning everyone’s sanity.”
Ignoring her comment, Savannah asked, “So, what do you want me to do with that key?”
“Hell, I don’t know. You say it was hidden in the lamp?”
“Yes.”
Iris chuckled. “And your cat found it?” She then suggested, “Let me ask Craig. Maybe you should show up at the church on Sunday to see if you can find out what’s going on.”
Savannah spoke more quietly. “I don’t think I want anyone to know we’re in possession of a key.”
“I don’t blame you. It sounds like it could be detrimental to your health. Well, do what you have to do. I sure don’t know what it means.” Iris had another thought. “I wonder…”
“What?” Savannah asked.
“The key in the lamp; was that meant for me or for whoever owned the lamp originally? Does it matter how someone obtains a key as to whether that key is consequential or not? Hell, that key you found…”
“Rags found,” Savannah corrected.
“Okay, that Rags found, well, it might not be part of the key fever going on up there. It might have been hidden in the lamp decades ago for an entirely different reason.”
“I wanted to believe that, Iris, only it had the telltale roses-are-red poem with it.”
“Huh?”
Savannah explained, “Evidently the keys being found are accompanied by a kind of lame handwritten poem—a roses-are-red poem. It’s like they’re being planted for some specific purpose.”
****
“So how was the fishing adventure?” Savannah asked, squeezing Adam’s shoulder affectionately a few hours later when they all met up at the dock.
The boy looked at his dad and Keith. “Not good.”
“How’s that?” Holly asked.
Adam flashed another look at Michael. “Well, the fish were looking at our bait and tasting it, but they weren’t biting the hook. I could see fish under the water nibbling on my worm.”
Holly grinned. “They outsmarted you, huh?”
“Fish aren’t smart,” Adam insisted. “They just weren’t hungry today. Someone’s probably been feeding them so no one will catch them.” He asked, “Do people really do that, Uncle Keith?”
Keith shrugged. “Could be, I guess.”
“We saw a body,” Adam said more quietly.
“You saw somebody?” Cassie asked. “Who?”
“No, a body of a man. His friends were trying to wake him up.”
Cassie’s eyes grew wide. “Was he dead?”
Adam shook his head. “No, I guess he woke up. But he was bloody; I saw blood on his face.”
“Then it wasn’t a body,” Holly reasoned. “Hey, was he wearing a blue striped shirt?”
“Yeah, he was,” Keith said, “and he looked fairly young. We saw him earlier fishing with his friends. Evidently he went upstream by himself and was attacked.”
“Did you see who did it to him?” Cassie asked. “Was it a bear?”
“We didn’t see a bear,” Adam said.
“How’d you know what he was wearing?” Michael asked.
“His friends brought him into the restaurant where we were having lunch,” Savannah explained.
Bethany added, “A doctor came, and a policeman.”
“Did he die?” Adam asked.
“No. He walked out of there,” Holly said, “but I think they were taking him to an urgent-care center or a hospital to have him checked out.” She looked at Keith, then Michael. “So you don’t know what happened?”
“No, do you?”
“It probably has something to do with those stupid keys,” Savannah suggested.
“Keys?” Michael asked.
“Like the one Rags found under the lamp.”
“So what are we having for dinner tonight?” Gladys asked, grinning. When the others looked blankly at her, she said, “I mean, we’d planned to cook fish, right?”
“That’s right,” Holly agreed, staring at the men in anticipation.
Michael winced. “Sorry about that.”
“Yeah, we tried,” Adam said. “Is there a store around here where we could buy some fish and pretend we caught it?”
“Hey, man,” Keith scolded playfully, “you’re not supposed to spill our secret.”
“You were going to try the old bait-and-switch ploy, were you?” Holly teased.
“Bait-and-switch,” Keith repeated, laughing. “Good one, hon.”
“So what will we have for dinner?” Adam asked.
Savannah tousled the boy’s hair. “How about enchilad
as?”
“Huh?” Adam questioned.
“I pulled a pan out of the freezer at home this morning. We’ll have those for dinner and a salad, okay?”
“Sounds good to me,” Keith said.
“Me, too,” Holly agreed. “No cooking tonight. Yay!”
Savannah poked her playfully. “Yeah, you’re making the salad.”
“Huh?”
“I made the enchiladas; you make the salad.”
Holly nodded. “Sure. Be glad to.”
“Did you catch any fish?” someone behind them asked.
They turned and saw a woman who appeared to be in her late seventies, smiling at them.
Adam looked down at his shoes. “No.”
“What happened,” the woman asked, “didn’t you hold your mouth right?”
Adam looked puzzled, and Michael and Keith laughed.
“She’s joking, Son,” Michael said. “Yeah, all the guys around us were catching one right after another, but not us.”
She asked, “What were they using?”
Keith shook his head. “You name it and we tried it—worms, lures, cheese…”
“Yup,” she said, “you just weren’t holding your mouth right or the fish didn’t like the looks of you.” She laughed, then asked Adam, “Did you spit on that worm before you wetted your line?”
Adam glanced at Michael, then Keith. “No.”
“Did a rabbit run across your path?” she asked.
He appeared confused. “I don’t think so.”
“Did you use your left hand to bait your hook?”
He held his hands out and said, “Um…no, probably not.”
“I know,” the woman said, grinning, “you neglected to turn your pockets inside out before you put your line in the water.”
When Adam looked sideways at the woman, she laughed. “Don’t worry, lad. None of that matters anyway, except to people who are superstitious. It’s all old wives’ tales.”
Just then Adam saw some men with a big string of fish. He pointed. “Hey, those guys caught some fish—a lot of them.”
“And if you’ll listen carefully,” the woman suggested, “you’ll hear them talking about the big one that got away.” She leaned closer to Adam. “There’s one old wives’ tale that’s true; most fishermen are huge storytellers.”