Evangeline walked steadily with barely a glance at the wooden sign where blue script on a weathered white background proclaimed Blue Roadster Winery. Stevie trailed behind, wiping his nose and sneaking peeks over his shoulder, but no fairies followed them.
***
Dad and Uncle Brian had nicknamed the house the two little families had moved into when they’d bought the tumbledown winery Twin Peaks for reasons that remained elusive to Evangeline. Anyone could see that the house had two big gables. Why state the obvious? Adults were weird, that was why.
The entire structure was U-shaped with Uncle Brian and Stevie living on one side while Evangeline and her dad lived in the other side across the garden. The section between the gables contained the great room and led to the kitchen.
It was through the wide French doors of the great room that Evangeline entered the house. Stevie had taken a detour in the direction of the barn and the tasting room.
She eased the door, wincing as it clicked shut, and paused to listen. Silence. Maybe Mrs. Bishop hadn’t arrived yet. There might still be time to make another potion. She wasn’t moving back to Arizona without a fight.
Evangeline crossed the planked wooden floor moving quickly and ducked inside the pantry. Light poured into the room from a window in the wall between the long rows of shelves. The green slopes of the Coastal Mountain range beckoned in the distance. Evangeline sucked in a deep breath. She loved the way the pantry smelled of basil and lavender. Bunches gathered last fall hung from the ceiling, dried but still fragrant.
She lifted a stack of plates and slid the one she’d taken this morning onto the bottom then turned around to rummage through the kitchen staples.
Something landed on top of her head. Little claws dug into her scalp.
Evangeline froze.
The fairy—although she couldn’t see it, that was the only thing it could be—froze also. It was like a standoff only she couldn’t see her opponent. As long as she didn’t move, the fairy would think she had fooled Evangeline. Stupid fairies. They were pretty smart about fruit. That was their job. This particular breed of fairy Evangeline had identified as the drosophila suzukii fairy, aka, the fruit fly fairy that was threatening the family business.
Moving her eyes while keeping her head still, Evangeline spied a fly swatter hanging on the wall a few feet to the right, just out of reach. If she moved, the stupid fairy would move also and they were inhumanly fast. They might be small, but they could be mean when angered, and it looked like Evangeline’s potion this morning had riled them up.
Her potion.
It was still all over her shirt and shorts and the fabric was faintly damp. If she could get some of the stuff on her hands, maybe she could grab the fairy and…
She didn’t know what she’d do after that. Squeezing seemed icky, not to mention violent. Maybe if she got enough of the potion on her hands, it would drive the fairy away. She didn’t want to kill them. They were part of the natural world after all. They needed to understand that they couldn’t turn this corner of the Willamette Valley into their own personal buffet and chow down on a family’s livelihood. She wanted balance and fairness.
However, during her investigation of the past few weeks, she’d learned that fairies were all attitude and bad temper and that was before she’d tried to poison them. Her failure this morning only seemed to have made things worse.
Voices echoed. Her dad and Mrs. Bishop. Great. Just great. As they neared she could hear the thumps of her father’s long strides over the great room floor.
She had to move. Now.
Evangeline lunged for the fly swatter, ripped it off the hook and whirled around in one smooth move to find herself facing a furious fairy hovering six inches from her nose.
This fairy was silver instead of golden like the one in the orchard. Long hair floated around her head like streamers of exploded marshmallow. She wore some sort of sparkly dress that the fairy could have worn to the prom if she were at least five feet taller and/or human and wasn’t hissing bizarre sibilant sounds.
“I can’t understand you,” Evangeline said.
The silver fairy spit. It was the tiniest globule of goo. Evangeline would never have noticed it if it wasn’t floating in front of her face. She tried not to breathe, didn’t want whatever it was going up her nose.
Then it vanished.
Dizziness passed over Evangeline, and she almost dropped the fly swatter.
The fairy spoke in a tinny, slightly screechy voice. “You have transgressed.”
Evangeline clutched the fly swatter tighter and fought back a wave of crazy laughter. “Transgressed is a big word for a little bug.”
“Ignorant child, we will have our due.”
The image of the fairy wavered. Evangeline felt a little giddy, like last fall when Hailey Anderson had spiked the punch at the Homecoming dance.
Do? Dew? Evangeline giggled. “Zippity-do-dah,” she sang.
Footsteps tapped on the tile kitchen floor outside. “Evangeline?” Mrs. Bishop. “Your father wants to talk to you.”
Evangeline leaned closer to the angry fairy. “I’m in trouble and it’s all your fault.”
“We will have our due.” The fairy flipped end over end, darted through the window as if the glass pane wasn’t there and vanished.
Evangeline stood still and dazed. The pantry door swung wide, missing hitting her by half an inch. She giggled again.
Mrs. Bishop’s bulk loomed in the doorway. She craned her head around. “What are you doing in there? Is there someone with you?”
“No. I was, uh… was, um… hungry.”
Mrs. Bishop harrumphed. “Lunch will be ready soon.”
“Evangeline Amelia Banks,” her father barked. “Now!”
At that, she moved.
Her father stood in the archway between the great room and the kitchen with his arms folded over his chest. He wasn’t a tall man like Uncle Brian, but he was solid. That’s how Evangeline had always thought of him when she was little. Solid and strong. The one person in the world who would always love her and never leave her.
His mouth turned down and suspicion glinted in his dark brown eyes. He gestured toward the rustic dining table in front of the stone fireplace. On it sat a large, rectangular glass case. An empty glass case. One side was broken, the remaining glass hanging in jagged shards.
Her stomach clenched.
“Did you have anything to do with this?”
Evangeline gulped. “No.” Her voice came out whiny, like a six-year-old. She still felt dizzy and wanted to escape to her room.
Inside the case she should have seen an old bottle that was almost one hundred years old. Dad and Uncle Brian had found it while they were renovating the house that had come with the property. A little research had revealed it was worth a lot of money—the last known bottle from the cache of a Prohibition Era bootlegger known as the Blue Roadster for the Ford he drove. The famous bottle went by the same name. Whoever had taken it would be in big trouble.
“Where have you been all morning?” her father demanded.
“Out in the cherry orchard.”
He frowned. “What’s all over your shirt?”
“That, oh…I was thirsty and I spilled.”
“Spilled what?”
“Juice,” she said quickly.
“Was Stevie with you?”
No need to get him in trouble, too. “No. Stevie wasn’t with me.”
“Okay, pumpkin.” He sighed and seemed to deflate, some of the anger that had been holding him rigid dissipating. “I’m going to talk to Brian and Stevie.” To Mrs. Bishop he said, “Don’t wait lunch for me.”
Evangeline wanted to run (RUN) to her room, but made herself walk slowly. Mrs. Bishop’s voice stopped her. “You’ve got to stop all this lying, young lady. If you had something to do with taking that bottle, you need to tell your father. Honesty is good for the soul.”
Without turning around, Evangeline said, “I don’t know what yo
u’re talking about.”
“We’ll see about that.”
She waited a beat and then one more, but heard only the sound of a blade hitting a cutting board in an angry chop-chopchopchop-chop.
Evangeline ran straight for her room, slammed the door and threw herself on the bed, scattering pillows, and buried her face in the quilt.
All she’d tried to do was help, to make things better, but had only made things worse. Instead of getting rid of the drosophila suzukii fairies, she’d made them mad. Instead of protecting Stevie from her father’s wrath, he now suspected her cousin of taking the valuable bottle.
Later, she would talk to her dad and tell him the truth that Stevie had been out in the orchard with her. If he still wanted to blame Stevie, maybe she would say she had taken the bottle. The red stains on her shirt would bolster the lie.
Mrs. Bishop was right. It seemed like she was lying all the time lately.
Something in her chest crumpled at the thought of her father’s reaction to her admitting guilt in the theft. She couldn’t bear to see that oh-so-familiar disappointed look in his face. The Sad Face. He’d worn that face a lot since her mom and Aunt Helen had died in the car accident that Evangeline had walked away from.
But she was used it. What was one more thing? So what if he thought she’d stolen the prized bottle that was the winery’s link to the past and their biggest tourist draw? It was better than letting Stevie take the heat.
In the meantime, she had to find a way to make sure they could stay in Oregon because she was never, ever, ever, ever going back to the hot, flat desert that had taken her mom and Aunt Helen.
According to Uncle Brian, it would be years yet before the Blue Roadster’s grapes would be ready to produce. In the meantime, they planned to survive on the fruit harvest and tourists who came to the tasting room for wines from other local wineries.
She was pretty good, Evangeline had to admit. It took a rare talent to mess up not one, but both sources of income for the family business in one day. For a while she cried. At length, she slept, but didn’t rest.
She dreamed of angry fairies and her mom and Aunt Helen and more angry fairies. When she woke up she felt tired and drained, but she had a plan.
This time she’d make sure Stevie stayed home.
***
Evangeline checked the time. Mrs. Bishop always left the meal in covered dishes in the fridge so all the foursome had to do was warm their plates in the microwave. That meant dinner could be whenever, but she probably had at least an hour, maybe two. Time enough.
She gathered a length of rope, a flashlight, a bottle of water and an energy bar, stuffed everything in her backpack, and headed for the basement stairs. She paused at the door, one hand on the black iron latch handle.
This was the part she didn’t like, going down into the dark. She had tried to force herself to go down a few times in the past, but had given up when the shivers got too bad.
She had to go now.
Stevie couldn’t have taken the bottle because he’d been with her. She didn’t know if the fairies had taken the bottle (how could they even lift it?), but they were mad, said she had transgressed, so they definitely had something to do with the theft.
She had to find the Blue Roadster and make it right. The basement was the only place left to look for answers because eight years ago she’d seen things down there, things she’d never told anyone about.
She had flown with her parents from Arizona to Oregon to visit the winery they were talking about buying. She had been only seven then and excited about the adventure. Somehow, while her parents were going around the house with the real estate lady, she’d gotten separated from them.
The house then wasn’t new and shiny and fixed up like now. Then it had been old and drafty. She’d sneezed a lot. The rough banisters had given her a splinter. Mold covered the windows; there were holes in the walls and a great big hole in the basement floor.
She remembered squatting over the hole, resting her forearms on her knees and peering inside. Leaning her head further and further because… what was that? A light? A whole bunch of lights. Bobbing and dancing in the dark depths.
Later, she’d told her mom she’d heard someone call her name. That was why she leaned too far and fallen. Her parents and the real estate lady hadn’t found her for a couple of hours. To Evangeline, it had seemed like no time had passed, but her parents had been frantic with worry. The real estate lady had fussed and made noises about getting that awful hole covered.
Her parents hadn’t bought the winery then, probably because of Evangeline’s fall. But owning a winery had been her mom’s dream. It hadn’t been until several years after the accident that dad and Uncle Brian had pooled their money and made the big move. Evangeline had always wondered if she hadn’t been so stupid as to fall into the hole, maybe her parents would have bought the winery when she was seven and then her mom and Aunt Helen would still be alive.
Now. Or never.
Evangeline yanked the door open and trotted down the stairs, pushing herself to walk quickly through the renovated section that had new vinyl flooring and bright fluorescent lights and through the single interior door that led to what she called the old part.
The hole was still there underneath a four-by-eight sheet of plywood. Only someone had dragged the plywood away from the hole and that same someone crouched over the hole, his blond hair swinging over his face as he peered back and forth like he was trying to see something.
“What are you doing here,” Evangeline demanded.
Stevie looked up, eyes wide and solemn. “She’s down there.”
“Who?”
“The lady,” Stevie said patiently.
“You’re not going down there.”
“I have to go. Uncle Dan thinks I took the Blue Roadster.” His lower lip trembled. “I wouldn’t ever do that.”
“I know you couldn’t have taken it, Stevie. You were out in the orchard with me. I’ll tell Dad later. It’ll be all right.”
“He needs to hear it from the lady himself,” Stevie said.
Oh boy. Like her dad could even see fairies let alone have a conversation with one.
Evangeline dropped her bookbag and pulled out rope. “Here’s what we’re going to do…” She unfurled the rope and tied it around a steel support column. When she was done, she turned to Stevie. “I have to go down and talk to the… lady, but I need you to make sure the rope stays tied tight. Can you do that?”
Stevie nodded.
She tossed the rope into the hole. It fell and fell. What was she going to do if she got to the end of the rope but not the bottom of the hole? She put one hand on Stevie’s shoulder. He might only be twelve, but he wasn’t weak. She felt muscle under the cotton of his shirt. “If I holler, will you pull me back up?”
Stevie nodded. “Then can I go down?”
“No. Who will hold the rope?”
“Oh.” He looked crestfallen.
“I’ll talk to the… the lady for you.” Evangeline felt a pinch of conscience for lying to Stevie (again), but she didn’t have time to explain to him things she wasn’t sure she understood herself. “I’ll get the Blue Roadster bottle back and then we can show Dad and Uncle Brian together, how’s that?”
He smiled. “I’d like that.”
Evangeline grabbed hold of the rope and stepped into the hole, leaned back and braced her feet against the earthen wall. There was a ledge of dirt about two feet wide and three feet down from the surface that surrounded the smaller opening in the center. Eight years ago she had hit her head when she’d fallen, but she’d landed on the ledge and that was where her father had found her. She shivered once more, imagining what would have happened if she’d rolled to the edge and gone down and down… like she was doing just now…
Except she had rope. A sturdy rope. She was good to go. She could do this.
She smiled up at Stevie. He was good kid, really, and strong and he was going to hold on to that rope for
her. She waved at him. He waved back and let go of the rope.
Something rumbled in the depths beneath her and gust of hot air pushed upward. Evangeline glanced down. Stevie yelled something she couldn’t make out. A second later, the rope gave way, and Evangeline fell.
She fell for a long time.
Long enough that she thought about the fact that she was falling, had time to feel like a piece of dryer lint in a pipe and she really, really hoped there wasn’t a lint filter covering the opening of this particular pipe.
Then she fell some more.
From time to time she heard a boy’s voice that sounded suspiciously like Stevie’s, but it was so dark she couldn’t see her own hands in front of her face. Eventually the rate of her fall slowed, the warm air from below supporting her like a giant hand. She landed like an autumn leaf.
Stevie hit the ground next to her.
A brilliant light popped and spread. Evangeline covered her eyes.
“Damned if it ain’t the girl.” The voice was definitely human, not fairy. “Did you expect the girl? I thought we’d get the boy.”
She heard someone else speak. A softer voice. Probably female, but she wasn’t sure. The surface she lay upon was hard as stone, but comfortably warm. Evangeline didn’t know why she hadn’t cracked her skull when she landed, but was glad she hadn’t.
“Stevie?” she whispered. “Where are you?”
“Over here,” he said.
She reached out a hand into the gloom, feeling for him, impossibly glad when his firm hand grabbed hers. They pulled each other upright.
They were standing in some kind of cave except the walls were smooth and embedded with chunks of crystal that reflected light. As her eyes adjusted, she realized it wasn’t that dark. More like standing outside at night under a full moon. Not enough light to read, but sufficient to get around and not fall over things.
A handsome man with dark hair held a lantern aloft a few feet away. He looked like a regular person in his baggy trousers and button-up shirt with long sleeves. Except for the extraordinary paleness of his skin, he would not have been out of place anywhere in the Valley.
Fantastic Detectives Page 6