While Misty and Halley rushed outside, I checked the meatloaf in the oven. Another half hour. Then I glanced at the clock and was surprised to find it was so late. Not that dinner wouldn’t be ready when Crane came home, but I had no idea I’d been watching the movie so long.
I hurried back, only to find the early news on again and a lightning icon in the lower right corner of the screen.
Once again, my movie was gone. I couldn’t have been away from the set for five minutes.
~ * ~
“It’s blowing up a monster storm out there,” Crane said as he locked his gun in the cabinet.
I shooed Candy away from the stove. “This is like summer weather.”
A few more windstorms like this would tear the leaves from the trees before the color season peaked.
While Crane showered, I comforted an agitated Sky who had crept out from under the table and stood trembling at my side. Poor Sky. I hated to see her distressed but couldn’t tune out the storm. With seven collies, I was lucky to have only one who feared thunderstorms. To be honest, I didn’t care for them myself.
By the time Crane came downstairs and I was bringing the dishes to the table, rain fell in slanting sheets, pounding the windows. The lane would be a muddy mess. I lit the tapers in the heirloom candlesticks, and we sat while Sky scurried back under the table.
Alicia had candles in her living room. Candles and ornamental oil lamps and wildflower bouquets in crystal vases.
“I was watching my Western movie a little while ago,” I told Crane.
“I thought the haunting had played itself out,” he said.
“It only started. Then I left the room for a second and lost it. The news was on.”
“I guess I’m never going to get my birthday present.”
“Not until I figure out what’s going on.”
“Do you think you will?” he asked.
I thought about it. “Yes, eventually. I have enough information now to track down the movie.”
“How will that help you understand what’s going on with the TV?”
“It won’t, but it’ll be something.” I passed him the platter. Meatloaf, a prosaic entrée with parsley garnish that would taste as good as it looked.
I looked forward to my new challenge. Research, after all, could be restful and never dangerous. In the haunted television set, I had the perfect mystery.
~ * ~
Charlotte Gray was crying.
Bronwyn had come to her readily, with wild enthusiasm. Her pretty face radiated with a collie smile. It should be a happy moment, not a time for tears.
I sat on Sue’s porch keeping my collies back while Sue, looking uncomfortable, searched in her basket for a box of tissue.
“Is anything the matter?” she asked.
Charlotte wiped her eyes. “No, nothing. She’s just so beautiful.”
“She is.”
So was Charlotte, graceful and ladylike with her ash brown hair arranged in a shoulder-length pageboy and sweet smile.
She reached out to pet Bronwyn who wriggled joyfully under her caresses.
Charlotte wasn’t dressed for a visit to a horse farm to pick up a collie. Her black wool jumper had already attracted several dog hairs, and her white silk blouse wouldn’t stay pristine for long. But who was I to judge another’s choice of clothing?
“You’ll take her then?” Sue asked.
“I’ve been waiting for her all my life.”
Bronwyn’s new owner had a touch of drama in her makeup.
“All right, then,” Sue said. “I have some of her food for you and a box of treats. Let’s go over the paperwork.”
“I’d better go home,” I said. “Coming, girls?”
As Charlotte was going to join our rescue league, I knew I’d see her again. I couldn’t have hoped for a better launch for our new program.
~ * ~
Jill Lodge, the vivacious brunette who was a cousin of the Banner’s owner, took a whirlwind tour through Foxglove Corners, taking pictures of Sue with Icy, Bluebell, and Echo. By then, Bronwyn had left with Charlotte for her new home. Because Jill wanted to illustrate her article with a picture of an older collie, she asked if she could photograph Star.
“Will you match her with a senior citizen?” she asked.
I’ll swear Star understood the question. From that moment she moved closer to me. Her face acquired a worried look. Perhaps she was missing her collie sisters who were inside, pacing and barking at being excluded from the company.
“Good heavens, no,” I said. “Star isn’t a foster. She’s part of our family, part of the pack.”
“If you hadn’t adopted her, what would have happened to her?” she asked.
“Sue would have held onto Star until we found a family that wanted her, unlike the people who raised her.”
“She might have been with Sue a long time,” Jill said.
“That happens more often than not. It’s what inspired our new program. I hope your article will make older owners realize that they still can have a collie companion. Sue and I plan to keep a list of prospective owners.”
“I’ll try my best,” Jill said. “Could I have a picture of the two of you together? You and Star?”
“Well…”
I wanted to refuse. Previously I’d invited trouble when one of my collies—no longer mine—had received an award for saving a child from drowning. The wrong person had read the article written to commemorate the event and recognized the dog.
Finally I said, “All right, as long as you don’t include my address or write anything about me and just identify Star as an older collie.”
“But I can use your name?”
“Yes, Jennet Ferguson.”
“You should be proud of your work with the Rescue League,” she pointed out.
“I am, but I don’t want any publicity.”
“Oh, that’s right. You teach high school students. But not in Foxglove Corners.”
“No,” I said, “but it doesn’t matter. Once your name is in the paper, you’re vulnerable. You’d be surprised how enterprising teenagers can be if they want to find you.”
“I guess I understand,” she said. “Where would you like to pose?”
I looked around. We’d been sitting on the porch, but there was one bright patch of color in the yard. “In front of the purple coneflowers. They’re exceptional this year. Come, Star.”
She came down the stairs with me and sat beside me. I smiled for Jill’s camera, but I thought Star still looked worried. I was surprised. We’d had her long enough for her to feel secure with us. Perhaps that was the fallout of having been surrendered to a rescue league. A loyal, sensitive collie never forgot.
Nine
For Crane’s birthday I planned to cook all of his favorite foods for dinner and bake an orange chiffon cake for dessert. As for his present, I’d decided to hold on to the haunted television set. Its replacement was a Civil War-era print depicting a minor Confederate battle.
I was reasonably certain it didn’t come with supernatural properties.
His birthday fell on a weekday, a day which had been relatively free of discord at school. On hearing about Crane’s birthday, Brent had invited us to dine with him at the Hunt Club Inn on Saturday. Tonight’s dinner was just for us.
I turned the roast over, checked the potatoes and carrots, and set about decorating the cake with orange blossoms and a sentiment: ‘Happy Birthday, Crane.’ The dogs crowded into the kitchen, lured by the enticement of roasting beef. I had to be careful not to step on paws as I wielded my decorator’s tools.
When I had finished my masterpiece, I turned on the haunted TV. It wasn’t haunted today. The early news was on, practically a repetition of yesterday’s events with the same weather pattern. Quickly I turned it off again.
Would I ever see the rest of the movie? More to the point, would I ever know why it came on, then vanished for days?
I fussed with the table, brought the cake from the kitchen counter to the
credenza, and added birthday candles, the final touch. With everything ready, I sat in the living room and relaxed.
A commotion rose at the side door as the dogs rushed to greet Crane. He stepped inside, carrying something in both hands. A cake carrier? He set it on the oak table.
I melted into his ‘hello’ kiss. “What’s that?” I asked.
“Some devil’s food cake,” he said. “About a quarter.”
“Did you buy your own?”
Foolish question. Who buys half a quarter of a cake and a glass carrier for it?
“They had it at the station for me,” he said. “During lunch.”
“The sheriff?”
“No, Veronica.”
Veronica the Viper. The female deputy sheriff who had set her sights on my husband, knowing full well he was married to me.
“Veronica baked a cake for you? How did she know it was your birthday?”
“That I don’t know.”
“Does she bake cakes for everyone’s birthday?” I asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“It isn’t a new tradition in the sheriff’s department, then?”
“This is the first time it’s happened.”
I detached myself from his embrace. “I baked you a cake, too. The kind we had for Leonora’s wedding shower last month. You said you loved it.”
“I did. I do.”
“Well, if you had too much cake today…”
“That was at lunchtime,” he said quickly.
He locked his gun in the cabinet while I pushed Veronica’s cake to the back of the kitchen counter. How dare that Viper bake a cake for my husband? Wasn’t it bad enough that she asked Annica for news of him every time she came to Clovers for lunch?
What else had she planned? And should I let Crane know how angry I was? He did appear to be a trifle guilty about the cake. Probably because of my reaction. I was never skilled at dissembling.
I couldn’t seem to help myself, though. I felt as if Veronica had intruded on our evening. Perhaps that had been her intention. In which case, I wouldn’t let it happen.
But what to do? I could keep quiet and let my anger boil over or express what I was feeling. Well, a censored version of it. I decided to speak.
After Crane had taken a shower and changed out of his uniform and before I served dinner, I said, “It seems that Veronica is carrying your work relationship a trifle too far.”
“She’s just friendly,” he said. “After all, she’s new in town.”
I’d heard that before. “She’s been in Foxglove Corners for a while now, hasn’t she? She must have made new friends.”
He couldn’t deny it.
“Veronica is grateful because I lent her a helping hand when she was new in the department,” he said.
I didn’t believe gratitude was her sole motivation. Perhaps Crane didn’t believe it either, although once he may have. He couldn’t possibly be that naïve.
“We can throw it out the window for the birds,” he said.
“If I did that, the dogs would find it in a heartbeat, and it’s chocolate. Poison.”
“Then I’ll take it back to the department for the other deputies,” he said.
And have them wonder why he was returning the cake? And what would the Viper think? That she’d won?
“You can leave it,” I said.
Not that I’d eat it. I could take it to school tomorrow for Leonora.
I’d give Crane his present after we ate, while we sat in the living room over coffee and my orange chiffon cake.
I could only hope that Veronica hadn’t given my husband a birthday present, too.
~ * ~
I didn’t have to stop at Clovers after school the next day, but I wanted to see Annica and knew she’d be working a late shift. Turning on Crispian Road, I found myself driving through an enchanted forest of color—crimson and yellow and crispy brown.
“It’ll be nice to have a cup of tea anyplace but at school,” Leonora said. “I still hear the noise of kids shouting. When I close my eyes, I can see those idiotic grins. I heard one of them saying ‘Pass it on’ today. I don’t know what ‘it’ was, but fortunately I nipped it in the bud.”
“You must have had a bad day,” I said.
“The worst. Jake won’t be home till later.”
Hence her willingness to dally on the way home.
“I might buy some cloverleaf rolls,” I said.
There wasn’t much left of the orange chiffon birthday cake. Crane and I had each had two pieces. Veronica’s devil’s food offering remained on the kitchen counter, unmentioned and unlamented.
Leonora, who excelled in cake making, had commented on it: “Too sweet and there’s an unpleasant aftertaste. The frosting is like paste.”
I pulled into Clovers’ parking area, admiring the bright green clovers on the border with brilliant maple leaves gleaming in the background. Red and green, Christmas colors.
“I wonder if Veronica will bake Christmas cookies for Crane,” I said.
“Let it go, Jennet. You’ll drive yourself crazy.”
“Would you let it go? Suppose the next cake is for Jake.”
“She wouldn’t dare.”
“I guess not. Unless she can concentrate on two men at the same time. I want to ask Annica if she’s been in Clovers lately,” I said as I pushed open the door.
Someone had tracked leaves onto the welcome mat and even a small twig. Well, it was autumn and one couldn’t escape the great unleaving.
Annica, who liked to harmonize with the season, wore a black midi dress patterned with falling leaves in unleaflike colors of rose, turquoise, and lavender, with gold leaf earrings.
“Did you come for take-out?” she asked. “We have something new. Shepherd’s pie. It’s delicious.”
“Just tea this afternoon,” I said, “and a dozen cloverleaf rolls if you have them.”
My favorite booth by the window was free. Here we could enjoy our tea while watching the leaves blow across Crispian Road.
Annica reappeared with a tray. Tea for three and chocolate biscuits on the house, and she sat with us. I poured boiling water over my tea bag and came directly to the point.
“Has that female deputy sheriff been in asking about Crane lately?”
Annica stirred a teaspoon of sugar into her cup, then another, then a third.
“Are you sure you want to know?” she asked.
Oh, no!
“I don’t want to be a harbinger of bad news,” she added.
“You promised to keep me informed,” I reminded her.
“Yes, but you haven’t been in. I guess I could have called.” She took a sip of her tea. “Good but too hot.”
“You’d better tell her,” Leonora said.
“She’s been here three times since we last saw each other and yes, each time she quizzed me about Crane. I didn’t tell her anything,” she added. “It’s the truth. I haven’t seen Crane in ages. But don’t worry. I’m willing to lie for you.”
“Is that all she did? Ask about him?”
“She said he had a birthday coming up, and they were planning a surprise for him.”
“They?”
“They meaning her. What was the surprise?”
“She baked him a cake.”
“That doesn’t sound too terrible.”
“She’s trespassing on Jennet’s property,” Leonora said. “It wasn’t very good cake.”
“I don’t own Crane,” I said. “But that horrible woman is intruding on my life. I baked Crane a birthday cake, too.”
“I’m sure that’s the one he ate,” Annica said. “Anyhow, Jennet, I think you need a love potion. You’d better pay Lucy a visit.”
That made me smile. “Lucy doesn’t mix love potions. And I don’t think I need supernatural help. Yet.”
But Lucy did read tea leaves. I had a sudden, pressing desire to know what the future held for me and the Viper. Forewarned is forearmed, after all.
Te
n
Saturday was shaping up to be a busy day. I planned to visit Lucy Hazen in the morning and afterward research Western movies in the library. In the evening Brent was taking us out to dinner. During the school year I had to cram too many activities into my weekends. I missed the long, carefree days of summer.
Lucy lived in a many-gabled house that fairly dripped with Gothic atmosphere and ambiance. In a whimsical moment she had christened her home Dark Gables. The interior was indeed dark, except for her sunroom at the back where summer bloomed forever with white wicker furniture and a profusion of green plants. French doors offered a view of Lucy’s fountain against a background of woods. Like trees all over the county, the leaves were brilliant shades of crimson and gold.
Lucy wrote her horror novels for young adults in the sunroom. Here she’d authored Devilwish, which was currently being made into a movie in and around Foxglove Corners.
My visit was long overdue. Lucy didn’t know about the haunted television set. It was the kind of story that would appeal to her and perhaps inspire one of her future stories.
“This visit is a treat, Jennet,” she said.
Her black midi skirt swished and her gold bracelets jangled as she and her pretty blue merle, Sky, escorted me to the sunroom in the back. “I’ll put the kettle on for tea.”
“Good. I want to see if Veronica the Viper is still hanging around in my cup. She’s certainly messing around in my life.”
“I’ll see if she’s there,” Lucy said.
“Annica suggested a love potion.”
“For whom?”
“For Crane, I guess.”
“You don’t need a love potion,” she said. “Crane is devoted to you.”
“It’s the Viper I don’t trust.”
Lucy nodded. “You don’t want to take your eyes off a snake. Annica is so silly. Speaking of love potions, she asked me if I had a recipe for one.”
I was curious. “Do you?”
“Of course not, Jennet. I’m not a witch, not even a good witch. Annica will have to settle for a tea leaf reading. Annica is such a beauty she doesn’t need magic,” she added.
While Lucy boiled water, I made myself comfortable on the wicker sofa with Sky lying close by, her head resting on my lap. Like all collies, Sky was clever. She knew the inevitable progression: company, tea, cookies.
The Deadly Fields of Autumn (The Foxglove Corners Series Book 25) Page 5