Shallow Roots: An Iowa Girl Mystery (Iowa Girl Mysteries Book 1)

by Anomie Hatcher

“Who’s there?” a young man’s voice called from behind Candy.

  “Nobody, Toby. Just the neighbors coming over with some—what are these? Cookies?”

  Candy peeked under the tin foil as if expecting to find a scorpion.

  Toby jammed his shoulder between Candy’s arm and the door frame. He reached a chubby paw into the cookies and took out a handful. He shoved a whole cookie into his mouth. Due to his having a little round head atop a large, circular body, Maggie thought he resembled a snowman.

  He was wearing attire that could only be classified as farm goth, all black except for a sleeveless flannel shirt and a seed corn hat. His “Mad Dog” tattoo peeked from under the short sleeve of his black t-shirt. Toby’s eyes were ringed with kohl and his fingernails were painted black.

  “Oh, you don’t like raisins, do you son? Too bad,” Candy said. She attempted to cover up the rest of the cookies.

  “I dunno. These are good. They’re still hot,” he said, licking his lips in a blatant gesture directed at Maggie. “You live next door now? So close and I had no idea.”

  Candy made a weakly apologetic smile and thanked Maggie and Namasté for the holiday offering. She did not invite them in.

  Maggie was appalled.

  “What is wrong with those people? The only friendly one here is the dog.” She scratched Mule’s ears. “The kid looks like an extra from a zombie movie.”

  “Actually, Toby’s father Walt is a very kind man. Too bad he wasn’t around.” Namasté sighed. “It’s important to keep trying, I think. There have to be some shared values between us. We won’t find them if we don’t try.” Namasté’s breath came out in small cloud bursts as she walked. “I should admit to having an ulterior motive, though. We’re close to the winter solstice and the new year. That means we’ll be having a sweat soon. I was hoping to show Candy a human face, so she doesn’t call Lyle or the fire department this time. Of course, I also wanted to extend a seasonal greeting. I guess a person can want two things at once, can’t they?”

  The two women trudged quietly through the snow for a few minutes.

  “You should invite Lyle to the sweat. That would really put Candy over the edge. She calls the cops and they’re already here.” Maggie laughed at her own thought.

  “What an excellent idea!”

  “I was kidding, Namasté.”

  Namasté kept talking as if she hadn’t heard, “Would you mind tending the fire? It’s not good for you to be in the lodge. Too much water loss and heat could be bad for the baby.”

  “Are you serious about inviting Lyle?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “I don’t know. Never mind. I’ll be happy to tend the fire if I’m around. My family always has a big to-do Christmas Eve. I have some shopping to do before then.”

  “We’ll have the sweat after Christmas then, before the new year. Maybe even New Year’s Eve.”

  “Okay.”

  Maggie’s mind leapt forward to the sweat. She wondered if Lyle would attend. It seemed unlikely, but in her mind’s eye she saw him emerging from the lodge, steam rising from his naked body. She imagined a scar where the bullet had entered his leg.

  She felt herself becoming flushed and loosened her top scarf.

  “Aren’t you cold?” Namasté asked.

  “No,” Maggie answered. “I’m quite warm, actually.”

  Christmas at the MacGilloways was always a mad scene. This year was no exception. Brothers and sisters, aunts, uncles and cousins jostled for space in the cozy rooms, catching up, each trying to outtalk the next.

  Keri’s three year-old climbed over the back of the couch and her nine month-old baby, Davy, was getting passed from lap to lap. Keri was also five months pregnant with twins. Maggie watched as her sister navigated an already swollen belly between visiting relatives like she was steering a bumper car.

  Maggie’s brother Malachi and his wife Joanna had a five year-old named Trevor who sang Jingle Bells at the top of his lungs whenever prompted by a devious aunt or uncle. Trevor’s creamy mocha complexion, a lovely combination of the skin tones of his Caucasian mother and his African American father, reminded Maggie of Lyle.

  She felt herself watching the children more closely than she ever had before.

  When little Davy made his way to Maggie’s lap, she studied him. Other than an acorn head, squiggly middle and round bottom, there was not much to him. His tufted black hair was soft under her fingers. His cheeks looked and felt like plump apricots. Baby Davy stared right back at Maggie, his wide brown eyes missing nothing.

  Without warning, he reached up and yanked her braid.

  “Ow!” Maggie said, laughing.

  Davy studied Maggie with equal intensity. Any minute he might pull out a notepad and start jotting down observations, she thought.

  “You’re were looking for a reaction, weren’t you?”

  Maggie chuckled. Davy was a miniature colleague.

  “You’re a behavioral scientist if I ever met one. Personally, I’ve never been much for the people sciences—far too much assumption and conjecture. There’s no keeping track of individual variations with a generalized statistic.”

  Then she whispered softly next to the baby’s ear, “Zoology, maybe. Animals are much more reliable than people.”

  Davy’s forehead wrinkled for a moment, as if he were considering what she had said. Then his cherubic face broke into a wide grin that revealed two tiny pearls in his bottom gum.

  When it was time for Aunt Kate to hold Davy, Maggie let him go with regret.

  “Come back soon,” she said, unwinding his angelic talons from her braid.

  “Maggie, can you help me in the kitchen for a minute?” her mother called.

  Maggie squeezed through five or six conversations on the way.

  “Hi, Mom. What can I do?”

  Wonderful smells emanated from the oven, of roasting poultry and yams. Coffee percolated and rows of gluten-free gingerbread men waited on the counter for the children to decorate after dinner.

  “I don’t really need anything. I just wanted to see how you’re doing.” Mary smoothed her hair back into the French knot style she had worn for as long as Maggie could remember.

  Mary was a sturdy, capable woman who carried herself with a no-nonsense air. With the exception of a little grey at the temples, she looked much as she had when Maggie was a girl.

  “I’m fine, Mom.”

  Mary scowled and put her hands on her hips. “You look better than the last time I saw you. Are you eating?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sleeping?”

  “Mom, please.”

  “There’s something I can’t put my finger on.” Mary gave her oldest daughter a going-over with penetrating motherly vision.

  “You sound like Namasté.”

  “I’m your mother. Why wouldn’t I notice things? Talk to me, Maggie.”

  “I guess there’s no point in avoiding this any longer. The fact of the matter is that I’m about three months pregnant.”

  “Oh, Maggie.” Mary looked shocked, but not angry.

  She pulled Maggie into a hug.

  “I wanted to say something earlier, but it’s a madhouse in the living room. Honestly, Mom, life has been a bit overwhelming lately. I’ve been really busy.” She felt like she was making excuses.

  “I know you. You didn’t want me to judge you. Well,” Mary said, gripping Maggie’s elbows and holding her at arm’s length. “You listen to me—you are my daughter and I love you no matter what. There is nothing in this world that will change that. We can figure out the rest as we go along.”

  She pulled Maggie back into a hug and they stood there for a few seconds.

  Joe came into the kitchen, shouting over his shoulder about the game in the family room. When he saw his wife and daughter, Joe looked ready to back out of the room.

  “What’s this?” he asked.

  Maggie pulled out of the embrace, “Dad, I’m pregnant.”

  “That’s—
wonderful?”

  “Yes,” Maggie responded. “Wonderful.”

  Joe appeared relieved for having chosen the correct adjective.

  Mary asked, “Maggie, why don’t you tell everyone at dinner? We have lots of baby things floating around the family. There will be plenty to spare, even if Keri is expecting again.” She paused. “Have you told Ben’s parents?”

  Maggie was touched that Mary did not even consider the child might be someone else’s. She fought down grateful tears, shaking her head.

  “They’ll want to know. Ben was their only child. They’ll be overjoyed about the baby. I’m sure they will.”

  “I’ll get in touch with them at some point. I’ve only just told you, right?”

  “Told her what?” Seamus asked, bopping into the kitchen for more appetizers. He stopped and kissed Maggie on top of the head. “Forgot to say ‘hi’ earlier, mini big sister. Told her what?” he repeated.

  “That I’m pregnant.”

  “No way!” he shouted, forgetting the food. He ran into the living room and shared the news. After a brief lull in the chatting, Maggie and her parents could hear a throng of relatives making their way to the kitchen.

  “Guess that takes care of that,” Joe said. “Seamus never could keep a piece of news to himself.”

  At dinner, Keri planted herself directly across from Maggie and began drilling her on the basics: how far along, estimated due date, the baby’s gender. When it came to the question of a practitioner, Keri uttered a theatrical gasp. Her sleek, black hair bounced in exasperation.

  “You haven’t seen an actual doctor yet? Prenatal care is important, Maggie.”

  “I’m getting prenatal care, Keri.”

  “Are you taking vitamins?”

  “Of course.”

  “What if something happens? Midwives aren’t equipped to handle everything. Home births are extremely dangerous. What if something goes wrong?”

  “Women around the world give birth at home and have for thousands of years. Having a baby doesn’t need to be a medical procedure. Homebirths are safer and calmer than hospital births. TomTom and I have a contingency plan. We’ll go to a hospital if we absolutely have to.”

  “TomTom? You’re trusting the birth of your child to a person called TomTom? What would Ben say?”

  An uncomfortable silence spread around the table.

  Keri looked abashed. “Maggie, I…”

  “Mind your own business, Keri.”

  Keri opened her mouth and shut it again.

  Seamus muttered, “Battle of the pregnant sisters. Everybody duck and run.”

  After dinner, the two sisters sat on the sofa. Keri told her birth stories to Maggie as baby Davy took a nap between them, his chest rising and falling in blissful oblivion to the chaos around him.

  “You know, I always meant to keep a journal. When you’re pregnant for the first time you have more time and can write down all the thoughts and changes that are going on. That way, you can share it with your child when they get older. It’s better than any baby book, which I also let slide, by the way. I’ve always hated scrapbooking. Don’t tell Skye.”

  “I heard that,” Skye called from across the room. She was known for having souvenir book parties.

  “I’ve never kept a personal journal, but I have logged information for gardening and biological experimentation,” Maggie said.

  “Maggie! You are such a geek!” Keri snorted.

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing, Keri.”

  “You’ve got no idea what you’re in for, Maggie Mae,” Aunt Kate interrupted them, her cheeks tinged with crimson from too many jiggers of Peach Schnapps.

  “Hush, Katie,” Mary said, smacking her sister lightly on the knee.

  Maggie gave her mother an appreciative look. Mary was being much more supportive than she had expected.

  “So,” Keri whispered, drawing Maggie back into their supposedly private conversation. “Dad tells us you’ve become quite the amateur detective.”

  “Not really. What did he say?”

  “He said you think one of the people where you’re staying is a murderer.”

  Though the sisters were keeping their voices low, the discussions around them grew quieter, too. Relatives were listening.

  No secret lasts long in this family, Maggie thought. Out loud, she said, “I’m not positive yet, but I have a good idea what may have happened to Fennel.”

  “How can you be staying out there, Maggie? First with the homebirth, now you’re maybe living with a killer. I’m worried about you.” Keri looked around for support from the roomful of eavesdroppers. “We’re all concerned.”

  “I can handle my own life, thank you.”

  “I’m sure you can, but what about the weirdoes you live with? What about your baby? You know a lot about plants, but people are a different story. You’ve never been a good judge of character, Maggie. People are much trickier than you think.”

  Maggie resisted the impulse to get up and leave the room. She did not enjoy being the center of attention.

  “People aren’t as tricky as they might think, Keri. Sooner or later they let slip something that gives them away.”

  “Do you really believe that?” Keri asked.

  “I’m counting on it,” Maggie said.

  For the first time that day, the room was silent.

  “Amen!” Aunt Kate said, as if that settled the matter. Then she let out a hearty belch.

  Chapter 21

  The air was cold, the kind of cold one cannot escape. The sting of an arctic zephyr pressed onto every exposed centimeter of Maggie’s flesh, leaving those unfortunate bits of skin feeling as if they had been rubbed over a cheese grater. The stars were crisp gems in the frigid dome above, startling and clear as only a winter sky in Iowa can be.

  Maggie squatted before the bonfire, experiencing temperature extremes to rival the planet Mercury, her front melting from the heat, her backside solid as an icicle. Three pairs of socks and sheepskin boots around her toes, and they were already numb as pebbles. She pushed the thick blanket from her shoulders, letting it drop to the boulder upon which she was sitting. Pitchfork in hand, Maggie turned over the rocks at the center of the fire, one by one. Sparks flew heavenward, red and orange kin to the stars above.

  The New Year’s Eve sweat had begun twenty minutes ago. All had been quiet in the lodge—a low, round structure situated six feet from the roaring blaze. The participants were meditating, calming themselves, accepting the cleansing steam. Maggie did her contemplating outside the lodge, satisfied with helping her friends as fire keeper. Namasté, TomTom, Sunflower and Loki were inside, baring their bodies and souls, opening themselves to cleansing in whatever form it might take.

  Tor was not in the lodge. He said that he had out-of-town relatives to visit. Namasté wanted to postpone till he could participate, but Tor had insisted they go ahead without him. Maggie had her suspicions as to what Tor was actually doing. She imagined that plenty of gambling venues stayed open late New Year’s Eve. Maggie had hoped that Tor would use the sweat to come clean, an act that would be part confession and part apology at having mismanaged, and possibly squandered, everyone’s money.

  Maggie still wasn’t sure if Fennel’s death had been Tor’s doing, or if her death was just a helpful coincidence that enabled Tor to keep his goings-on secret. Whatever the case, she judged Tor to be a coward. If it was just about the money, he should own up. All of the Originals would forgive him eventually, she was sure. The situation could be worked out.

  That Tor wasn’t coming clean bothered her.

  Lyle wasn’t able to attend the sweat. He was pulling a double shift on this, the most revelrous evening of the winter.

  The fire crackled. The burning wood shifted. Maggie got up to toss some more food to the sacrificial flames. Figures danced in the licking conflagration, entwining and scuttling apart, dissolving and reappearing elsewhere. Shivering inside her blanket, Maggie was hypnotized.

&nb
sp; Inside the lodge, Namasté began to sing.

  The song lifted and fell, muffled slightly by the hides and carpet remnants covering the lodge. The lyrics were foreign to Maggie, but the sentiment was easy to understand. It was a melody of loss and regret, of tangible remorse. The dirge rocked her, lulled her into vulnerability and she cried, letting herself grieve for Ben a little.

  Facing the fire, her tears evaporated. Maggie turned her back to the fire for a moment, to warm her other half. Her tears turned crystalline in the chill air.

  Other voices joined Namasté’s. The tune was Native American, the tribe of origin unknown to Maggie. The sweat ceremony itself had been adapted from American Indian tradition, a rite of purification for body, mind and soul. The Originals used the time inside the lodge to work out personal issues.

  Maggie expected Namasté would focus on her baby, as per Fennel’s journals entry on the subject. She was surprised to hear Namasté relate a recent dream instead.

  “There is a mad dog. It stands by my bedside and shows me that its teeth have started to come loose. It has a human hand and pulls out its teeth one at a time, starting with the fangs. It sets the teeth down on my bedspread in the shape of an owl. The owl comes to life and flies out the window. I am the owl, spreading my wings, flying high above Original Farm. I fly away from River City, into Des Moines. There are cars below, a highway cloverleaf, trees and houses. I fly higher and see the whole state, two rivers on either side, then I fly much higher, into space and see the planet, a ball of blue and green, so peaceful from that distance, so full with life. A red comet circles the planet and crashes into the Earth, creating a huge hole.”

  TomTom murmured, chanting in another language.

  Namasté continued retelling her dream.

  “Then I am back in my bed. The dog is gone. I am not an owl. I get up and walk around the house and I am alone. I can’t find anyone, but I feel someone following me close at my heels and I run as fast as I can. I hear the dog chasing me, but when I look back it is not there. I can feel its breath, hot on my neck. It will consume me—I know it will! I run and I am afraid, and then I wake up.”