by Judith Post
Kyle's lips turned down into a grimace. "So how do we find this Alex?"
"We'll make phone calls," Tana said. "He has to be staying in the area. We know his first name. We know every business person in Emerald Hills. If he's at a hotel or motel, his name is on a register somewhere, and they'll tell us."
They each reached for their cell phones. It took a good hour, but Kyle finally hung up and said, "Found him. He's at Lucille's bed-and-breakfast, cottage number four."
They rose in unison, but Midu hesitated. "I know this is going to sound silly, but I sort of feel sorry for this guy. As far as he's concerned, I ruined his life."
Kyle shook his head. "But you didn't, and he has no right to mess with you. I'm calling Guthrie and pressing charges. I want him to meet us there."
Midu looked uncertain. "I want to be able to talk to him, though. Tell Guthrie that."
With a curt nod, Kyle punched numbers into his phone. When he finished his conversation, he said, "Let's go. I want to be able to accuse Alex to his face."
They piled into Nate's car for the drive to Lucille's. They waited on her comfortable patio until Guthrie joined them there. Then they walked to cottage number four together.
A pickup was parked in the drive. When he opened his door to them, Guthrie showed him his badge and explained why they were there.
Alex glanced toward his truck. "I thought I'd be able to stay anonymous. Since you found me, though, you'll find traces of pesticide all over my truck. But she deserved it, damn it. She ruined my life. All I wanted to do was to make her as miserable as she made me."
Tana's hands went to her hips. "If she'd have drunk out of the water bottle you left for her, she'd have died."
"Impossible. It would have only made her sick."
Kyle explained about Nate's photos, how they'd faded. Alex frowned, trying to follow his reasoning and understand. When he did, his expression fell. "I only meant to punish her. I'd never…" He stammered to a stop, clearly shaken. "Really, I'd never kill anyone. I wouldn't do anything lasting. I just wanted her to hurt as much as I do."
Guthrie looked at Midu. "Okay, we've caught him. I'll take it from here."
"No." Clearly upset, Midu planted her feet and crossed her arms over her chest. "You said I could talk to him. Can't we handle this some other way? What if we make a deal or something?"
Guthrie looked at her. "What kind of deal?"
Midu pointed an accusing finger at Alex. "You don't understand magic at all. I didn't do anything to you. But you won't believe me until you feel the magic for yourself. I won't press charges against you if you eat an entire meal of my produce."
"Now, Midu…" Guthrie started to reason with her, but she shook her head.
"Can we do that? Can we have a trade-off?"
Guthrie exchanged glances with Kyle. Kyle took a deep breath, held it, then let it out. "If that's what she wants, I'm fine with it."
Guthrie shrugged and narrowed his eyes at Alex. "Well, what do you say?"
Alex looked from one of them to the other, expecting some sort of trick. "What about the rest of you? Would you press charges?"
Tana and Nate shook their heads. "It's Midu's call," Tana said. And in honesty, she understood how her friend felt. It might not be the smartest way to handle the problem, but she was pretty sure it would work.
Alex frowned at Midu. "But why? I tried to hurt you. Why don't you want to put me behind bars?"
"What would that prove? It's all stupid. Let's finish it now. Follow us to the farm. You're having supper with us."
"I'm coming too," Guthrie insisted, "just to keep an eye on things."
Midu smiled. "You're always welcome. You know that."
Nate and Tana drove Midu and Kyle back to their house. "We have supper waiting at home," Tana said, "but I'd love to stay to see what happens."
"Have a glass of cider with us," Midu offered. "It's from apples we picked from our trees, so it's full of magic, and then you'll know."
"Know what?" Nate asked.
"If you two are right for each other."
Nate grinned. "I already know the answer to that one. Your apples don't scare me."
Everyone pitched in, making a huge summer salad from fresh-picked greens, slicing tomatoes and cucumbers, and toasting garlic bread. Nate and Tana sipped their cider while the others ate, and when Alex finished his meal, he blinked in surprise.
"What is it?" Midu leaned forward, interested in his reaction.
He shook his head, looking dumbfounded. "I don't miss Lexie anymore. I'm happy she met someone. I'm glad she'll be happy."
"Anything else?" Midu prodded.
He looked at Guthrie. "Can I leave now? I need to get home. I want to thank Jen for being there for me, for listening to all my suffering."
Midu gripped the edge of the table, excited. "Is Jen the one?"
"I believe she is."
Guthrie threw up his hands in defeat. "Then go. Be happy. We'll put all this behind us."
"Thank you!" Alex sprinted for the door. "I'm sorry for everything."
When the door slammed behind him, Kyle glowered at Midu. "You let him off the hook and made him happy. Is that what you wanted?"
"Absolutely!"
Tana and Nate pushed away from the table. "Since everything's settled here, we're going too. It's been interesting."
Midu jumped to her feet and wrapped them in a group hug. "Thanks for everything, both of you. We couldn't have fixed this without your help."
* * *
On the drive back to town, Tana moved away from Nate, scooting closer to the passenger door. She scowled as she watched scenery fly past her.
Nate glanced in her direction. "I thought you'd be happy with the way things turned out."
"I am. I'm happy for Midu and Kyle, and I'm even happy for Alex and Jen."
"So what's the problem? Something's bothering you."
"It's just…well, I drank the cider. And it made me think. We really don't know each other all that well…."
Nate pulled to the side of the road and stopped the car. "I drank the cider too. Aren't we both supposed to get cold feet if it's wrong? And both supposed to go mushy if it's right? Because, after the cider, I just want you more. I thought…."
Her eyes sparkled and a slow smile curved her lips.
He gaped. "Are you playing with me?"
She tried to look innocent. "I thought you didn't believe in magic. I thought…."
He pulled her to him and stopped her words with his kiss. If toes could smolder, hers would do more than curl. It took a long time before they made their way to the grocery store to buy steaks. Tana had to straighten her clothes, and Nate had to wipe lipstick from various locations. When they reached Tana's apartment, supper had to wait a bit longer, but by the time they ate, they were both famished…and replete. There was magic in Emerald Hills. It lurked in farm produce, in hand-dipped bonbons, in shoe soles, and mirrors. It was subtle, but powerful. Some said it changed lives.
MALLORY'S MAGICAL GOURDS
Thank you, Holly, for reading all of my
rough copies and pushing me to write better.
And thanks to the Paranormal Romance/Urban Fantasy Fanatics on Goodreads, along with Making Connections and Nexus…for being so supportive of authors.
Mallory Monroe tried to concentrate. The gourd on her worktable had a fat bottom that tapered into a long, curvy stem. Perfect to paint, like a cat with a question-mark tail. That is, if she could focus. Four more gourds sat, finished, at the end of the table, cardinals and nuthatches painted around the round holes she'd drilled to make them into bird houses. Several more gourds sat on shelves, painted with Thanksgiving themes.
She rubbed her eyes—she'd been at this all day—and her gaze wandered to the view outside the big, picture window, at the back of her studio. Her little, log cabin with its red, tin roof and red, front door sat at the top of a hill. Her back lawn rolled to a stream that burbled merrily over rocks and fallen tree limbs. A wo
ods spread on the far side of the hill, part of the national forest that brought tourists to Emerald Hills each autumn to view fall color.
Today, a group of hikers plodded along one of the park trails, binoculars at the ready—birdwatchers, doing an evening walk instead of the usual, early morning routine.
Whiskers scratched at the kitchen door, wanting in. The cat wasn't fond of hikers. His meow was loud enough that one of them looked his way.
Mallory opened the door, and the hiker raised his binoculars to study her. A little impertinent. Animals know, she told herself. Whiskers must have sensed that the binocular man lacked manners.
She shut the door on the chilly air and his rudeness, and since she was in the kitchen anyway, decided to put the kettle on. While the water came to a boil, she went to load the finished gourds into a cardboard box, then zipped through the breezeway that connected her studio to the garage. Might as well load them into her SUV.
Tomorrow, she'd drive them into town, to the shop she co-owned with Leigh. Leigh designed floral arrangements that celebrated each season. Every shelf and table in Nature's Bounty displayed Leigh's creations—some dried, some fresh—with Mallory's gourds jostled among them. This year, they'd sold more of their work than ever before. Hence, the Sunday of painting, trying to produce more stock.
The tea kettle whistled. Mallory shoved the cardboard box farther into her SUV's trunk space and slammed the door before hurrying to the kitchen. She'd just poured boiling water over the bag draped inside her mug when the doorbell rang. She glanced out the long, narrow windows in the front room. A car she didn't recognize sat in her drive.
Cautiously, she cracked the door—noting the screen was securely locked—before recognizing her visitor. The birdwatcher with the binoculars. Up close, he wasn't bad looking. Not handsome, but not un-handsome either—tall and lanky, with a ruddy complexion and a bald spot at the back of his head.
He held his wide-brimmed hat in weathered hands. "Excuse me, but you might want to keep your cat indoors for a while. I was happy to see you let him in. Our hiking group disturbed a coyote that ran straight for your yard. Cats are take-out food for the likes of him."
"A coyote?" Mallory had lived in this cabin ever since her divorce, six years ago. She'd never seen a coyote nearby, but she'd heard they were in the wilder areas of Emerald Hills. She hadn't worried much. She'd dried and scooped out a giant gourd to make a cat bed for Whiskers and lined it with goose down pillows. Her magic wasn't nearly as strong as some of the other artists in town, but anything that used one of her gourds never had to fear predators.
The man on her porch frowned at her. "I don't think you take the threat of coyotes seriously enough. Your cat isn't safe."
She smiled at his concern. "I'm sorry. My mind wandered. I do that. But I do care about Whisker's safety, and I appreciate your taking the time to warn me."
He narrowed his eyes, studying her. His expression clearly said that he wasn't too sure about her, so she tried to smile more reassuringly. He sighed. The sigh was the "I tried" type. He held out a hand. "By the way, I'm Neil Franklin. We're practically neighbors. I'm a naturalist, and I just started working for the park department here."
Oh, great. Mallory tried not to show her dismay. Now he'd be leading bird walks past her back door a few times a week. He'd see Whiskers out, doing who knows what, while coyotes stalked her property. He'd think she was a horrible pet owner…and would probably tell her—repeatedly.
He waited a beat, then said, "Most people, when I introduce myself, tell me their names. Do you have one?"
She bit her bottom lip, trying to keep a snarky comment from popping out of her mouth. Did she have a name? No, her mother had given her a number when she was born. Finally, she remembered her manners. "I'm Mallory Monroe. Leigh Simmons and I own the shop, Nature's Bounty, in town."
He glanced to her studio at the back of the house. "You're the gourd woman."
She blinked. "I'm a gourd artist."
"I've heard about you. People keep telling me to hang your gourd feeders outside our lodge, and I won't have to worry about hawks or predators. You don't really believe any of that, do you?"
She sighed. Another newcomer to Emerald Hills. Another non-believer. "Maybe you should try one and see." She went to the back of the room, to the shelves that lined her studio, and brought him one of her hand painted feeders. "It's a gift, free."
"Thanks." He sounded as thrilled by her present as she was by his advice. "Well, nice meeting you."
At least, he was polite. This time, her smile was purely fake. "Hope you enjoy Emerald Hills."
He stalked to his pickup and drove away. She watched until he made the first curve, out of sight, then let out a long breath and went back to her tea.
* * *
Three days later, near closing, Mallory was wrapping purchases while Leigh worked the cash register when Neil strode into their shop. Customers were on a buying frenzy, ready to decorate their homes for the holidays. Most of the Thanksgiving gourds were gone, along with dozens of the Christmas decorations she and Leigh had put out. They'd have to restock before they opened for business tomorrow morning.
Neil prowled from one half-empty display to the next, obviously stalling with no intent to buy. When the last customer left and Mallory turned the sign in the door to closed, he strode toward her. "Have you seen anyone unusual in the park lately? Anything suspicious?"
She blinked, taken off-guard.
Leigh ran interference for her. "Hello, you must be the new naturalist Mallory told me about. I'm Leigh Simmons. Welcome to Emerald Hills."
Neil nodded, then dismissed her, turning his attention back to Mallory. "This afternoon, I found a steel trap downstream from your place. It had a fox's paw in it. The fox gnawed it off to escape. I followed the trail of blood back to its den, but someone had beat me to it. He killed the fox and the two kits that hadn't left the den yet, gutted them, and took their furs."
The cozy ambience of Nature's Bounty wavered before Mallory's eyes. She grimaced and looked away from him. No hunting was allowed in the park. Not that people didn't try once in a while, especially during deer season. In a tight voice, she said, "I've been at the shop every day, and I've been painting new gourds at night. I didn't see anyone. I'll start watching, though." She hated trapping. She couldn't shoot animals herself, but she knew that hunting actually helped keep their populations healthy. But trapping? That struck her as a cruel, cheap trick.
Neil sighed. "A poacher is usually someone who lives close enough to check his traps once a day. Most even know the routines of the park, when we do bird tours and nature walks. This guy's probably been at this for a while, but I'm new. I don't keep the same schedule the last naturalist did."
Mallory nodded. She'd been surprised to see Neil taking birders out in the evening instead of the early mornings. The poacher must have been surprised too. "I hope you catch him."
"Here. Take my card. If you see anything, give me a call." With a brisk nod, Neil left the shop.
Mallory's gaze went to a gourd she'd painted with a red fox, picking its way across a harvested, corn field to a nearby wood.
"We'll put that on the table by the door, out of sight of the cash register," Leigh said. They spent the next hour restocking shelves before calling it a night. Leigh lived across the bridge, in the Emerald Hills' residential area. Mallory's drive was longer. Darkness came early this time of year. A half moon hung in a starry sky, but its glow was swallowed by the fields and forests that edged the road. She sighed with relief when her little, log cabin came into view.
Once inside, she reached for the light switch, then changed her mind. She groped her way to the back windows. Whiskers threaded in and out between her ankles, and she bent to pet him. She stared out over the stream, to the woods beyond it. When did the poacher come? She was gone most days, working at Nature's Bounty. He could roam at will with no one to see him.
Whiskers went to the kitchen door and meowed to be let out. M
allory cracked the door and watched him pad across her back yard. Usually, he stayed close to the house. Tonight, he kept going. The motion light went on at the back of the property. He didn't turn back. She stepped out onto the patio to call for him, but the cat stalked faster downhill to the stream. When he reached it, he turned to her and began meowing frantically.
Had he stepped in a trap? She reached inside to grab a sweater off the hook by the door, then ran to him. Lord, she was out of shape! Her breath came in short, ragged gasps. Pain stabbed her side. When she almost reached him, he started off again. What was the cat doing? What was wrong with him? She turned in a slow circle. No trap that she could see. No coyote in sight. No sign of eminent cat death—unless she caught him.
Was he trying to give her a heart attack? He took off down the stream. This time, when she reached him, she heard scratching, scrabbling noises that made her look across the stream. On the far bank, a wooden barrel appeared to be sinking. Some kind of animal squeaked or squealed—a panicked noise—from inside it.
Whiskers hissed and paced. Mallory waded through the cold water. Why didn't the animal leave the barrel? Simple, she discovered. It couldn't. The poor thing was trapped. A screened top had flipped shut over its top.
A furry head was barely above water. Two, desperate eyes pleaded with her. A rope was attached from the barrel to a spike driven into the ground. She grabbed the rope and started pulling. Slowly, she dragged the barrel to shore. She pulled it onto the dirt bank and water gushed out of it. She looked inside. A drenched animal—maybe a river otter or a mink—plastered itself against the back wall.
If she opened the trap, would the animal jump on her? Bite? She reached in her pants pocket, where she'd jammed Neil's card, dug deeper for her cell phone, and punched in his numbers.
"Who's calling?" His first words. No "hello" or greeting.
Mallory sighed, then rushed into an explanation of what had just happened. "Should I open the barrel and let whatever it is out?"