Elderberry Croft: The Complete Collection

by Becky Doughty

  Then she went through the process of strapping on the elastic band around the folder. It couldn’t be too tight—she didn’t want to leave even the faintest crease in the pile of papers—and it couldn’t be too loose or the zippered case with the flash drive might slip out. It must lay flat all the way around the case, not stretched too thinly in any one spot.

  “Keep it even, Steven. Keep it straight, Nate. Keep it flat, Matt.” Three times she said this, three times she smoothed the band in place, three times she took it off again, testing its elasticity to make sure it wouldn’t snap. Three times she slipped it back in place.

  “Three time’s a charm, right, Mr. Tibbles?”

  But it wasn’t Mr. Tibbles who was rubbing against her leg. “Hello, Molly Mia. How are you this morning?” Any other time, Shelly would have reached down and scooped up the long-haired cat into her arms, but today, she didn’t want the strands of white clinging to her clothes. The turtleneck she wore was one of her favorites, with a pattern of tiny blue flowers over a pale mint background, and her ankle-length, dark blue, denim skirt would need a quick rub with the lint-roller to rid it of Mr. Tibbles’ short black hairs already. Today was her delivery day, and she had to make sure she looked her best.

  She still had nearly an hour to fill before the records department at the hospital was open, but she’d head out early as she did every week, and do her grocery shopping. It took her exactly thirty-three minutes to find everything on her shopping list, and it all fit into her three reusable bags. Then she’d sit in the parking lot at the hospital until 7 o’clock on the button, greet Mrs. Olson at the information desk, and make her way, head down, to the section of offices where she exchanged her pile of reports for another flash drive. The whole ordeal took her less than fifteen minutes if everything was in order, but she gave herself thirty, just in case. She was always home by eight o’clock, with plenty of time to put away her groceries, feed the cats, and take a shower to wash away the germs she’d been exposed to in the hospital, before it was time for bed. By nine-thirty, she was in bed, and by ten, asleep.

  In the little kitchen, she pulled open the pantry to make sure she didn’t need to add anything to her shopping list. She looked sideways at her shelves, dreading the thought of having to rearrange her shopping trip around what she did or didn’t find there. “Be prepared, or be scared,” she murmured in a low voice. At least three of everything, just in case.

  She sighed with relief when she didn’t see anything out of the ordinary and stepped back to close the door of the tiny room, doing a small jig to avoid the cat curling its body around her ankles. “Digits! Stop it, little girl! How am I supposed to walk with you under my feet?”

  A few minutes later, she stood at her front door, taking one, two, three deep breaths to calm her nerves. She could do this. She did it every Friday. She’d be gone for two hours at the very most. “I’ll be right back, Mr. Tibbles. I promise.”

  She made it to her car without panicking, and was just loading her things into the passenger side, when a pleasant voice behind her startled her, and she fought the urge to turn and run back inside, back to her sanctuary.

  “Shelly? Good morning.”

  She turned slowly, breathing deeply again, in and out three times, her fingers clenched into fists at her side. She didn’t speak; she didn’t know what to say. This was not part of her routine.

  “Hi. I’m Willow. I live at the other end of the driveway.” Over a black turtleneck, she wore a funny little red sweater shrug thing that should have clashed with her coppery chestnut hair, but it didn’t. Her well-worn blue jeans and furry boots completed the ensemble, and Shelly blinked slowly—one, two, three times—knowing she could never get away with wearing something so unconventional. The woman toyed with a huge stone pendant on a long necklace, and she could hear the whir-whir as the silver eyelet rubbed back and forth over the links of the chain. “I was hoping to catch you this morning so we could meet.”

  “How did you know?” Shelly slid into the space between the passenger seat and the open door, pulling it a little closer until the bottom bumped against her shin, sending a jolt of pain up her leg.

  “How did I know what?” Willow’s confusion was obvious.

  “How did you know I’d be out here today?” She didn’t mean to sound rude, but she couldn’t stop the tremor in her voice and the only way to mask it was with briskness.

  “Oh!” Willow laughed, too loudly, like a low-class fishwife, and Shelly cringed. “I told Joe next door that I really wanted to meet you, but you never seem to be home. He explained to me that you sleep days and told me to leave you alone. So I bribed him for information with my elderberry apple pie.” She rubbed her palms together and winked. “I have my ways of making a man talk.”

  Shelly blinked again, three times. “Well, I’m on my way to work. And Joe should mind his own business.”

  “Please don’t be angry at Joe!” Willow stepped forward and put out a hand, resting it on the trunk of the car. “He didn’t gossip about you at all. He just said that if I was going to insist on being a nosy neighbor, this might be the only chance I have to catch you.”

  “I guess Joe knows what he’s talking about, doesn’t he?” She couldn’t take the bite out of her words, even when she tried. “Um, it was nice to meet you, but I don’t want to be late, so if you’ll excuse me?” She was still crammed into the car door.

  “Goodness! No, I don’t want to make you late.” Willow stepped back, bringing her arms across her stomach, like a loose hug. Shelly thought it looked like the girl was com-forting herself, and she felt a little guilty. “I won’t keep you any longer, but when will you be back? Would you like to come by for some coffee?” There was a forced brightness in Willow’s words; she was making such an effort.

  “I’m usually back by nine.” She fudged a little, then held up a hand when Willow’s eyes widened with delight. “But I come home and go right to bed. I work nights.”

  “Oh!” There was that chaotic laugh again. “Well, then I probably shouldn’t offer you coffee. Would you like to come over for decaf tea? I make a mean herbal tea. In fact, I have one that’s really good for sleep. It’s a nice chamomile and elderflower blend.”

  This woman was determined. “I can’t. I’m going shopping, too, and I’ll have a car full of groceries to put away. And my cats will need to eat. I just can’t. I’m sorry.”

  Willow shook her head, her red curls bouncing around on her shoulders like fat slinky toys. “Don’t apologize, Shelly. I’m the one who butted into your morning.” She chewed on her lip, and in a resolute voice, she said, “We’ll connect another time, okay?” Then she smiled kindly, stepped around the back of the car, and headed down the drive toward her own place, turning once to lift a hand in a wave.

  Shelly breathed in deeply through her nose, catching a whiff of whatever fragrance Willow had been wearing that lingered behind her, and let out her breath in a whoosh, her whole body drooping as she sank into the passenger seat to recover. She hated being put on the spot, caught unprepared.

  Father used to do it on purpose. He’d catch her unawares, often standing in the hallway waiting for her to come out of her bedroom or the bathroom, and ask her questions for which he knew she had the wrong answers. “Shelly.” His voice, no matter how smoothly her name flowed from his lips, always made her start violently, sending her heart surging up into the back of her throat, blocking her words and trapping her in helpless silence. “Did you help Mother with dinner tonight?” She’d stare up at him, trying desperately to remember whether he liked the food or not. If she nodded, he’d slap her. If she shook her head, he’d slap her. It was never hard—at least it never left a lasting mark—but it always did what it was intended to do. It stung her flesh just enough to tear open her soul and leave her completely unsure of anything.

  In the dark, after her father fell asleep, Mother would creep in to sit on the edge of her bed, knowing without asking, that her daughter was awake and dry-eyed,
curled in on herself. Mother would stroke the knobby bones of her spine, following the c-shape of her back with her tentative fingers. “It’s for your own good, Shelly. You need to be prepared. Always be prepared. Life is hard, and no matter how careful you are, how good you are, how brave you are, things happen that we can’t control. We need to be prepared for bad things. They happen. And if you’re prepared for them, you won’t be caught by surprise.” Her touch never brought solace, but there was comfort in its tentative consistency. Father always knocked her off balance, Mother always put things back into perspective.

  “Always be prepared, Shelly. Be prepared, or be scared.” She muttered the mantra under her breath as she dashed up the steps one more time to get her purse from the kitchen counter.

  Digits was waiting for her, just like Father used to do, and Shelly was not prepared. Her toes caught the cat in the ribcage, making it yowl in surprise, and she reached frantically for the wall, the back of the kitchen chair, the counter, all just beyond her outstretched fingers.

  Down, down, down she went, her left leg under her at an awkward angle, unable to find footing in her ill-fitting, slick-soled dress shoes.

  Chapter 3

  She lay crumpled on the floor, the nerve-endings in her body screaming, as pain coursed through her. Could she move? Had she broken something? What if her back was broken? She’d read about so many patients who might have walked again if they hadn’t been moved by desperate friends or family members at the scene of the injury. Did she dare try to move? What if she did and permanently damaged her spinal cord, leaving her paralyzed for life? Who would take care of Mr. Tibbles, and Molly Mia, and Digits, and Twinky-Dink?

  The smallest of her cats padded over and rubbed her little body against Shelly’s hip, mewing softly. Twinky-Dink rarely came down from her window perch where she slept in a patch of sunlight during the day. At night, she was braver, wandering around the house, keeping to the shadowy corners and beneath furniture. She had only one eye, the other having been so damaged by a kick to the head, that the veterinarian had offered her no hope in salvaging it.

  “Steel-toed boots and cats don’t mix.” His words might seem callous to anyone else, but Shelly preferred his straightforward talk over those who used tricky phrases to soften the blow of the ugly truth.

  “I’d rather be prepared than scared,” she’d told him the first time she’d brought Dr. Otis one of her cats. He’d looked her in the eye and told her the truth without mincing words, just as he had time and time again since.

  “Oh, Twinky. It’s going to be okay.” She worried the cat would be able to sense her apprehension, and she didn’t want her to be afraid. The poor thing had lived enough of her life in fear already. Mr. Tibbles wandered over, walked around her a few times, then disappeared down the hall. Molly Mia was probably already asleep in the bedroom, and Digits was nowhere to be seen.

  “Digits? Mommy’s going to be okay,” she called out, wondering if any of the cats would try to get out the front door she’d left standing open several feet away.

  She lay there, futilely guarding the door with her eyes. Should she call for help? Would anyone hear her? Would anyone care? No one ever bothered with her except Joe next door, but she’d made sure he knew that theirs was not a friendship; they were just neighbors. And now this Willow girl. Well, she’d chased her off just as effectively as the steel-toed boot had chased off Twinky-Dink. She’d seen the wounded look in Willow’s eyes.

  Making up her mind, she gathered her courage and strength, and brought her hands up under her, pushing her torso up slowly, slowly, so she was leaning on her right hip. She whimpered a little as she tried to straighten her left leg; she reached down and pulled up the hem of her skirt to look at her knee. It was already beginning to swell.

  “Well, at least I didn’t injure my spine,” she sniffed, realizing the intense pain meant she wasn’t paralyzed. Using her right leg to push, she dragged her body backwards on her rear-end until she could reach the door, pushing it closed before collapsing against the wall beside it.

  “Oh, Twinky-Dink. This is not good. What am I going to do about work?” The cat had followed her across the floor and continued to rub against her thigh, her hip, nudging its head against her forearm.

  “Oh no! My files! They’re in the car! What if someone breaks in and steals them? I’m going to be in so much trouble.” She reached up for the doorknob and pulled the door open again, just enough to be able to keep an eye on her car. “Not like it’s going to make a difference,” she muttered. “What am I going to do? Yell at them to stop?”

  She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. She couldn’t believe the predicament she was in. Everything was so planned out. It always went so smoothly, like clockwork. What happened?

  Willow Goodhope happened, that’s what. If she hadn’t showed up, startling Shelly half to death, putting her on the spot about being sociable, none of this would have happened.

  “It’s not your fault, Digits,” she called out for the cat. “You can come out. It’s that Willow Goodhope’s fault. She did this to us.”

  Twinky-Dink climbed onto her lap and curled up, having correctly surmised that Shelly wasn’t planning on going anywhere anytime soon. Mr. Tibbles wandered through again, gave the little cat a daggered look, then kept going. Digits was still a no-show.

  Fifteen minutes later, Shelly was still sitting there, her knee throbbing too painfully for her to get up, although she’d tried a few times. But she knew she needed to get ice on it, she knew she needed to get up off the floor, and worse, she was beginning to feel like she needed to use the bathroom.

  Footsteps on the gravel drive outside had her sitting up straighter, wincing as she twisted a little too quickly. She peered through the tiny crack in the door. She couldn’t see the driveway, but if the person approached her car or the front door, she’d know.

  The footsteps slowed, stopped altogether, then picked up the pace again, until the person came into view. Willow Goodhope. What was she doing back here? She bent over and peeked into the car window, then turned toward Shelly’s front door. Shelly jerked back, catching her breath at the pain shooting down her leg, and pressed her teeth together over her lips to keep the gasp trapped inside her mouth.

  “Shelly?” Willow’s voice sounded worried, but Shelly wasn’t sure she wanted her help. Hadn’t she ‘helped’ her enough already this morning?

  Willow was mounting the steps now. “Shelly? Are you in there?” The footsteps paused a few feet away and it suddenly occurred to Shelly how frightening the situation might seem to someone who stumbled upon it. She sighed through her nose, not wanting the red-haired busybody to do anything ridiculous, like call the police, and pulled open the door just enough to press one eye to it.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you…all right?” Willow didn’t come any closer, but seemed taken aback when she realized Shelly’s eye was at knee-level.

  “Um…yes.” She couldn’t ask this girl to help her; she just couldn’t. “But could you do me a favor?”

  “Of course. Anything.” She still kept her distance, the questions in her eyes turning to wariness. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine,” she snapped. “Could you go next door and see if Joe is awake?”

  “Absolutely.” Willow’s brows furrowed, as though unsure about leaving her alone, then she turned around and hurried down the steps, disappearing from sight. Shelly breathed in and out slowly, trying to calm her nerves, to get better control over her pain.

  It seemed forever before she heard voices coming around the end of the trailer; a deep, male voice, but not Joe’s, and at least two women’s voices. What had that girl gone and done?

  Into her view came a young man. He was tall and slender, his hooded gray sweatshirt unzipped halfway down his chest to reveal a tight white shirt underneath. He wore jeans that were shredded at the knees, and brown leather shoes that weren’t quite loafers. Over his shoulder he ca
rried a sturdy cane. Behind him was Willow, followed closely by a woman she recognized only by sight.

  “Shelly? I’m back. Joe wasn’t home, so I brought Ivan instead. And Patti.”

  She wasn’t going to let them in. There were too many of them, all strangers.

  They made their way up the steps onto her porch, and before she had time to tell them to leave her alone, the fellow dropped into a crouch right in front of her. He smiled gently, his voice soothing. “I’m Ivan. I used to live here with my parents, but I don’t think we’ve ever met.” He inched closer, his voice dropping. “I need to know if you’re okay. Are you alone? Are you hurt?” He spoke so kindly, so tenderly, so differently than she’d ever been spoken to by a man before. Was it a trick? But when she looked at his face, his eyes, she was sure she could see right through him and into his heart. He really wanted to know how she was.

  “I’m alone. I…I tripped and fell. I think I h—hur—” and then the tears started to come. “My knee,” she whispered, her voice breaking on its way out.

  “May I come in?”

  She glanced over his shoulder to see Willow and Patti standing back, giving her and Ivan space, and she felt guilty for her unkind thoughts toward the younger woman. Nodding, she nudged the door open, then leaned back against the wall again. Twinky-Dink leapt off her lap and disappeared down the hall.