“It looks like I missed it again,” Crane said. “I want to see this cowboy who looks like me.”
I wondered if he ever would.
“He really does resemble you,” I said. “But he’s a wealthy rancher, not a cowboy.”
~ * ~
After dinner, while Crane read the sports page, I turned on the haunted TV again.
News—darn it. Shootings, wildfires in the West, turmoil in the South as opposing groups clashed. What was happening to our world?
I gave the ‘off’ knob a turn as an unwelcome thought slipped into my mind. Why couldn’t Crane see the movie? Was it happening again?
I didn’t want to think about the time not so long ago when I was haunted by a sound of gunfire that nobody else heard, but the thought, once surfaced, appeared to be here to stay.
Admittedly, I often saw spirits or heard sounds I couldn’t explain, but conjuring an obscure Western movie was surely beyond even my fragile power.
Still, it was happening. How many times? I couldn’t remember, only knew it was too many.
Lucy had a strong connection to the supernatural. She was waiting for an invitation to put my TV to the test. To my dismay, I realized I was pinning all my hopes on her. If she couldn’t see what I saw on the screen, what did that mean for me?
Nothing good.
“I see where Gail Redmond died,” Crane said.
“Is she a sports figure?” I asked.
He looked up from the paper. “She’s the girl who was injured in the hit and run on Huron Court. The driver will be facing a murder rap when they find him.”
“What do they have to go on?”
“A white Ford, possibly a Taurus, with substantial damage.”
“Was the victim able to describe the car that hit her?” I asked.
“No, a witness did. Now the witness is missing, too.”
“Three cars were travelling on Huron Court at the same time? That’s unusual.”
“Now that you mention it, yes, it is.”
“Maybe the driver is afraid to come forward,” I said. “He may know he killed her.”
For all we knew, he was reading the article at this moment.
“He should own up to it,” Crane said. “We’ll find him. It’s just a matter of time.”
How enviable to be that confident.
“Now,” he said, “Are there any dogs who want to go for a walk?”
He was immediately besieged by the pack, with Candy in the lead.
Raven regarded the excited collies gravely. My poor girl. Her leg was mending nicely, but a vigorous walk was still beyond her. She who had lived happily outside had been the best of invalids, and my heart broke every time I had to exclude her from an outing.
“Soon.” I stooped to pat her head, heartened when her tail thumped on the floor. “Pretty soon you’ll be able to go out, too.”
I’d have to check with Doctor Foster. I shouldn’t forget that I had plenty of concerns in the real world.
Fifteen
Among my concerns was the whereabouts of Charlotte Gray, who still hadn’t returned home. I held out hope that she had left on an autumn vacation, perhaps on a color tour up north. But a strong premonition told me this wasn’t the case.
Another premonition suggested a grim possibility. Charlotte disappears for days on end. A hit and run driver is responsible for a fatal injury on Huron Court. Could there be a connection? Could Charlotte possibly be the hit and run driver?
No, not the gentle woman who had adopted Bronwyn. There must be another explanation for her leaving town.
“What do you think I should do?” I asked Crane that evening when he came back from walking the dogs.
He hung their leashes on the hooks in the kitchen and took off his jacket while the collies made a dash for the water pails.
“Her neighbor reported her missing?” he asked.
“That same day.”
“And this neighbor saw her drive away from her house?”
“Yes, and so did Jennifer, but Charlotte didn’t acknowledge Jennifer’s wave, which is suspicious.”
“We’ll have to wait for somebody to recognize her or her car. Or for her to use a credit card.”
Waiting was all I’d been doing. I’d already called Sylvia twice. Nothing had changed at Charlotte’s house. Molly and Jennifer had been by to rake leaves, and she had taken in Charlotte’s mail. She’d been listening for a phone call that never came, growing more concerned with each passing day.
“Waiting isn’t good enough,” I said. “I have a feeling that Charlotte may be in trouble.”
And also Bronwyn, who was presumably still with her.
“Someone has to help her,” I said.
“I’ll see if Mac knows anything,” Crane promised.
That we didn’t know where Bronwyn was continued to bother Sue.
The next day, I took the dogs for a walk to the horse farm. It was a downtime for Sue and her collies. Bluebell, Icy, Echo, and a fourth dog were playing Frisbee. Fortunately the day’s sunshine had dried the mud left from yesterday’s downpour.
My dogs longed to join the game, but I didn’t let them off their leashes.
Sue hurled the bright red disk across a sloping stretch of meadowland. The dogs scampered after it, the new collie trailing the others. She was a pretty sable and white girl with a charming white blaze, a little smaller than Bluebell.
“I named her Taffy,” Sue said. “She was found scrounging for food outside a restaurant in Lakeville—without a collar. She isn’t microchipped. The vet says she’s around seven. I’m almost afraid to contact one of our prospective owners after what happened with Charlotte.”
Icy brought the Frisbee to Sue, who set it on a table. “Game’s over.”
“Come, Taffy,” I said, and she loped up to me as if she hadn’t heard a kind word from a stranger in a long time. Her coat was soft and warmed from the sun, and her dark eyes had a haunted look.
I fussed over her and immediately Sue’s other collies crowded me, all seeking attention.
“Have you heard anything about Charlotte yet?” Sue asked.
“Not yet, but her neighbor and two girls I know are watching for her. As soon as she pulls in her drive, I’ll know.”
“It’s so irresponsible, not to be in touch with us. She knew we were going to do a follow-up visit.”
It disturbed me that Sue blamed Charlotte for whatever had gone wrong in the adoption. If indeed, anything had.
“We don’t know what happened with Charlotte,” I said. “She may be home tomorrow with a simple explanation for her absence. Probably she didn’t think she had to answer to anyone. You didn’t tell her she couldn’t leave town.”
“That’s true. I hope you’re right, but I had an awful thought the other day. Suppose Charlotte is one of those people who collect dogs to sell to laboratories or dog fighting gangs.”
The nightmare images she invoked caused icicles to form in my veins. The very suggestion of our Bronwyn in evil hands was unbearable.
“What gave you that idea?” I asked.
“Charlotte was too perfect, right from the beginning, and the adoption went through so quickly.”
“She could also be a lonely woman who longed for the companionship of an older, more settled collie.”
“Maybe. It was just a thought.”
“A person shouldn’t be penalized for perfection,” I said. “In the meantime, we can’t let our new program die. It has the potential for bringing so much joy to senior collies and humans.”
“I won’t,” she assured me. “There’s still the matter of what to do with Taffy. Here we have an older dog who would have been hard to place before you thought of matching geriatric collies with seniors.”
“Which is why we initiated the program in the first place,” I said. “You’ll have to investigate people thoroughly and hope for the best. Anything can happen to jinx an adoption—or a sale for that matter. Once a collie leaves our protection, her f
uture is out of our hands.”
~ * ~
With so much going on, I’d almost forgotten that tonight was movie night, but Brent didn’t. He called to tell me he was bringing popcorn, soft drinks—and Lucy. Forewarned, I baked two batches of chocolate fudge brownies and sprinkled them with powdered sugar.
What movie should we watch? The CDs I’d borrowed from the library were on the coffee table. I decided to let Brent and Crane choose. I had liked all of them once upon a time and hadn’t seen them for years.
I didn’t consider the television Westerns with the multi-colored horses on the cover. I’d watch them another time when I was alone.
“Good,” Brent said a little later as he viewed my selection. “No chick flicks.”
Lucy helped me set out the plates of brownies and bowls of popcorn. “Are there any so-called chick flicks?”
“Westward the Women?” I said. “She Wore a Yellow Ribbon?”
Crane helped himself to a brownie.
“She Wore a Yellow Ribbon is about the seventh cavalry, Jennet. The girl is there strictly for decoration. Pick one, Fowler, so we can get started,” he added.
“That’s easy,” Brent said. “Red River. I always wanted to go on a cattle drive.”
We settled back to watch Brent’s choice while most of the collies dispersed to various private corners for before-bedtime naps. The exception was Raven, who kept her eyes trained on the screen as enthralled by the action as if she were watching Lassie gallop to the rescue.
We took a break at the movie’s mid-point. I went to the kitchen to add the rest of the brownies to the empty plates.
“Do you have How the West Was Won?” Lucy asked when I returned. “That’s my all-time favorite western.”
“In my CD case. It’ll just take me a second to find it.”
“I always had a crush on James Stewart,” she confessed.
“For me it was Gregory Peck.”
“Him, too.”
We brought plates and bowls into the living room. “Before we go home, could we see if your other TV is working?” she asked.
“Oh, it’s working. You mean if the mysterious movie is on. Well, sure, but don’t count on it.”
It only plays for me.
I didn’t say this, but I thought it.
~ * ~
After finishing Red River, we watched How the West Was Won. The brownies were gone, a handful of popcorn remained in the green bowl, and Raven had lost interest in television, drifting off to sleep.
Crane and Brent took the dogs out, then went down to Crane’s workshop in the basement to see the bookcase he had made for my Gothic paperback collection.
“Now is the time,” Lucy said, with a hopeful glance at the television set. “May I?”
“Be my guest.”
She touched it. “That’s strange. It’s warm. Like it’s been on for a long time.”
“It hasn’t been, though. Let me see.”
I lay my hand where Lucy’s had been and felt both sides. “It feels cool to me.”
“Something’s going on,” Lucy said. “This is no ordinary television set. Of course we already knew that.”
She turned the ‘on’ knob. I held my breath and waited for a glimpse of blue sky and green grass or a Victorian parlor. Instead we found ourselves watching Kevin James falling backwards down the stairs in a rerun of The King of Queens.
“Darn,” I said.
Was Susanna’s story rolling on its merry way while I baked and prepared the house for our movie watching night? And had it then stopped for some inexplicable reason?
“I really wanted you to see my movie, Lucy.”
“I hope I will eventually,” she said. “Only not tonight.”
~ * ~
That night I dreamed that Lucy turned the television on and I stepped through the screen right into a set designed to resemble a rustic living room lit by oil lamps
A man rose from a roughhewn chair. His gray eyes gleamed with admiration and delight. He had blond hair with silver streaks and sideburns a bit too long to be fashionable. Tiny lines crinkled around his eyes.
He was a dead ringer for Crane.
“Welcome to the L Bar E, Jennet,” he said. I’ve been waiting for you.”
Sixteen
The dream stayed with me the next morning as dreams sometimes do. It had ended abruptly like a TV program cut off at a particularly exciting point. Like the Western movie that had no doubt inspired it. I longed to return to the dream, to see what would happen next.
That being impossible, I wondered if Crane and I could visit Colorado someday. I wasn’t deluded enough to think I’d find the Wild West as depicted in the movies we’d watched last night, but it couldn’t be all concrete and freeways. Surely there were also ranches and horses and cowboys. Maybe we could find Jubilee.
As we drove home from Marston the next day, I mentioned the idea of a western vacation to Leonora.
“What would you do with the dogs?” she asked.
That was a drawback. Taking care of seven collies for two weeks was too much to ask of my obliging neighbor, Camille.
“Well, I can dream,” I said.
We were on our way to Clovers for take-out dinners, thanks to Grimsley’s overly long staff meeting. Leonora, a veritable newlywed, was unenthusiastic.
“I promised myself I’d prepare a hot meal from scratch for Jake every night,” she said.
“Scratch is overrated. Clovers’ food is so good he’ll never know the difference.”
“But I will.” She paused, twisting the handle of her handbag. “Okay, I’ll do it. Just this once.”
“Good decision, and there’s Clovers,” I said.
The painted clover clusters on the restaurant’s border shone through a rising haze, and the woods along Crispian Road blazed with crimson and gold color, overwhelming the green. We were driving through a Technicolor world.
Inside Clovers, chrysanthemums in autumnal hues brightened the tables, and the gingham checked tablecloths matched the centerpieces. Annica, looking radiant even in brown, rushed forward to greet us in a jingle of silver bell earrings.
“Beware the snake,” she whispered.
“There’s a snake in the restaurant?” Leonora asked, dropping her gaze to the floor.
I was quicker to interpret Annica’s cryptic remark. The snake was Veronica the Viper, the last person in the world I wanted to see. Still, perversely, I glanced at the tables, searching for her.
Only one woman was dining alone, Veronica, but I wouldn’t have recognized her. She wore a white sheath—in September—and her black hair was styled in a short pageboy. It had a blue sheen in the overhead light.
Brilliant heart-of-summer white in September? Not exactly seasonal, but her choice of color and her beauty made her stand out. In uniform or civilian clothes, Veronica was the kind of woman who attracted male attention.
“She means Veronica,” I said to Leonora. “Let’s order and get out of here.”
I scanned the menu, settling quickly on two stuffed pepper dinners. “Do you have a whole apple pie, Annica?”
“Sure do. It’s cooling in the kitchen.”
“I’ll have that,” I said, and Leonora added, “Same for me. I’ll take a pie, too. Cherry, if you have it.”
“Coming right up.”
I opened my purse, searching for a twenty dollar bill.
“Jennet?”
That voice. That sultry voice. As she left me no choice, I turned, and there stood Veronica. Nemesis. Arch-enemy. She was too close to me, invading my space. I stepped back.
“It is Jennet Ferguson, right?”
Pretend you don’t remember her.
“Yes,” I said. “Do I know you?”
“I’m Veronica Quent. Don’t you remember? I work with Crane.”
“In the sheriff’s department?”
“I’m a deputy sheriff, yes, the only woman in the department. I baked a cake for Crane’s birthday,” she added. “He’s been s
o nice to me.”
“That was—thoughtful.”
Annica set our orders before us, took the money, and handed us our change, as quickly as I could have hoped. Now we could leave. I dropped coins and bills into my purse, not caring where they fell.
I felt Veronica’s eyes on me.
“Since I work with your husband, we should get together sometime,” she said. “You and me and Crane. We could go out to dinner…”
“I don’t know,” I said. “We’re both busy. Crane makes our social engagements.”
Leonora stifled a cough.
“Ask him then,” Veronica said. “My favorite restaurant is the Adriatica.”
Leonora rattled her bag. “Jen, our food will cool off.”
“We’re going. Good afternoon, Ms. Quent.”
How stiff that sounded. How unlike me. I didn’t care.
Without a backward glance, we left Veronica standing alone at the counter. I felt shaky and hoped my nervousness hadn’t been obvious. I was never able to conceal my true feelings, and I would as soon encounter a Massasauga rattlesnake as that woman.
Outside, Leonora said, “You handled that well, Jennet.”
“Did I?”
As we walked back to the car, a dozen better responses occurred to me. Where were they a few minutes ago when it had mattered?
“Yes, very well,” she said. “Crane makes all your social engagements. That’s rich. You wouldn’t go anywhere if it were left to him.”
I had to smile. “I hope Veronica wasn’t serious about our getting together. Why would she want to do that?”
“Mmm, you’re right,” Leonora said. “You’d think she’d want Crane to herself. I’m so glad she isn’t going after Jake.”
“I hope she drops the idea.”
“I don’t think she will.”
“I don’t either,” I said. “How will I get out of it?”
~ * ~
I decided not to mention the encounter to Crane. I had a suspicion that Veronica would, the next time she saw him. Well, let her. But what if she asked him about our getting together?
He wouldn’t be likely to agree, not after the birthday cake fiasco.
I set the stuffed peppers on the platter and spooned mashed potatoes into a large bowl, as usual dodging Candy’s prancing paws.
The Deadly Fields of Autumn (The Foxglove Corners Series Book 25) Page 8