The Deadly Fields of Autumn (The Foxglove Corners Series Book 25)

by Dorothy Bodoin

  “What about the inside?” I asked.

  “There’s a library with built-in shelves on three sides and three bedrooms. One of them can be my office. It has a basement and a sunroom and a wonderful veranda. I can sit outside and read in the spring. The existing bushes are straggly, but I’ll dig them out and plant whatever I like. I’m thinking of blue hydrangeas.”

  “It sounds ideal,” I said.

  “I’m pretty sure I’m going to make an offer, but I want you to see it first.”

  “It’s a date,” I said. “Saturday morning.”

  The sun was shining, and Julia had returned from her long sojourn in Italy. She had a new position, a compatible gentleman friend, and the prospect of becoming a homeowner. These were all good things, but thoughts of Charlotte and Bronwyn simmered beneath them. They wouldn’t go away.

  Twenty-eight

  Doing something out of the ordinary on a breezy Saturday morning lent an air of adventure to our excursion. Not that I expected to take a detour and discover a ghost town. That had been a once-in-a-lifetime happening. Still, I had a feeling that something momentous was right around the corner.

  I often had these feelings, but that momentous something had yet to appear.

  “Maplewood is a picturesque little town,” Julia said as we left the freeway and drove down Main Street with its stately Victorian mansions. “It’ll probably grow now that the college is here. There’s plenty of room for expansion.”

  We turned onto a quiet street of mature maple trees and charming vintage houses. The address we wanted was 51 Rosebriar.

  Julia’s description hadn’t done justice to the 1930s’ bungalow. It was set comfortably in a bed of crisp russet leaves. Its twin window boxes were empty, but a grapevine wreath decorated with yellow leaves, red berries, and glitter-speckled branches set off the lavender front door. Orange and crimson chrysanthemums arranged amidst pumpkins on the porch steps completed the autumnal look.

  We had a glimpse of the fading flower garden for which Julia had high hopes. We parked in front of the house and stepped out of the car. I took a breath of fresh air, lightly scented with burning leaves, and looked around, slowly becoming aware of a certain nostalgic atmosphere in the surroundings. I could almost believe that I’d stepped into a Norman Rockwell painting or several decades back in time.

  “The owners have already moved out of the state,” Julia said. “I wish you could see the inside, but the realtor had another commitment today. All the walls are freshly painted and the floors are refinished. The windows look like they’ve just been washed. They’re new. What do you think?”

  They sparkled in the sunlight. A good omen.

  “I think you should make an offer for the house before someone steals it from you.”

  “This is supposed to be a quiet neighborhood,” Julia said, “but it won’t be like living on Jonquil Lane.”

  “Did you want to live in the country?”

  “Not really. This is perfect for me, and it has a big backyard. I could walk to Maplewood if I wanted to.”

  “Let’s drive by the school,” I said.

  Julia was right. She could conceivably walk to Maplewood University, but she probably wouldn’t want to, especially in the wintertime.

  I drove through winding, tree-lined streets, mesmerized by the kaleidoscope display of color, and turned on University Lane. My first impression of the college was one of freshness, of bright new buildings and subdued landscaping. Even on a Saturday morning, the university pulsed with life, albeit on a smaller scale.

  We sat on a stone bench and watched students stroll by alone or in small groups. It was almost noon. Lunchtime. Memories from my own college days at Oakland University unfolded in my mind. Eating a quick lunch, rushing to class, taking notes on splendid fall days with my future spread out before me like a magic carpet.

  Julia pointed to the closest buildings. “That’s the library, the Marella Latham Hall where I have my office—well, a small one. Over there is the Student Union and the newest co-ed dorms. I’ll be teaching composition classes at first, but one day I’ll have courses in nineteenth century literature. I can hardly wait.”

  Seeing Julia so enthusiastic and confident about her future restored my belief in happy days to come. It was as if I’d been able to tune out my problems for a little while, anyway. After all, were they so insurmountable? Not from this vantage point.

  “Promise me you’ll make an offer for the house,” I said.

  She didn’t hesitate. “I intend to. As soon as we get home.”

  ~ * ~

  We stopped for sandwiches and cold drinks at a restaurant built on a small lake. We’d done this often in the past, combining shopping trips with lunch. Before Julia moved to the West Coast, then to England. Before the tornado. In those days we’d looked tirelessly for clothes and jewelry and make-up. Never a major purchase like a house.

  It was as good as old times, and Julia, settled in her new life, would be close enough for us to visit often. If the sale went through.

  It had to. Julia was counting on it. So was I.

  Julia finished her Coca-Cola and swished a straw through the ice at the bottom of the glass. “I’ll need everything. You’ll have to help me, Jennet.”

  “You know I will. I’d love to.”

  “The thought of filling an entire house with furniture is overwhelming. The previous owners left the stove and refrigerator, but I’ll need staples and dishes for the kitchen, sheets and towels. Oh, and cleaning supplies. Like I said, everything.”

  “You won’t have to buy everything at once,” I pointed out. “Take one room at a time. Start with the bedroom.”

  “I’d like to be faithful to the era of the house,” Julia said. “That’ll take a bit of research.”

  “That’s something you’re well-equipped to do. It’ll be fun.”

  I thought again about the unmatched excitement of new beginnings, wishing in a way that I could start all over furnishing our green Victorian farmhouse with antiques for the living room, window treatments for the kitchen, different lamps, and more paintings.

  Crane would be incredulous. He didn’t like change, not even when I rearranged the existing furniture.

  “We can start at the Green House of Antiques,” I said. “That’s always been my favorite place to shop.”

  “First I’ll make a list and prioritize.”

  The sense of having a grand adventure continued. We skipped dessert and resumed our drive home, entering the freeway when we had a chance.

  While we’d been in the restaurant, there had been a change in the weather. Low clouds pressed on the trees that grew close together on either side of the freeway. And was that thunder in the distance? What else?

  The sun had disappeared. I remembered the day’s weather forecast. ‘Slight chance of a thunderstorm.’ Well, the rain had held off for the important part of the day.

  I turned on my lights and glanced at the speedometer. At seventy, I seemed to be speeding but was keeping up with the traffic which was heavier than I’d anticipated. For some reason I thought about the trip that Annica and I had taken up north when I’d impulsively exited the freeway and driven into a storm.

  That wouldn’t happen today. The route home was straightforward, and I had no intention of veering off course. But I did want to be home before the storm.

  Oh, darn. Too late. I’d scarcely completed the thought when large drops splattered on the window, raindrops mixed with blowing leaves. I turned on the windshield wipers.

  Beside me, Julia shifted nervously in her seat. Had I communicated my unease to her?

  Rain, rain, go away,” she sang. Come again another day.

  “The farmers will be happy,” I said. “They claim we didn’t have enough rain this summer.”

  I glanced in the rear view mirror—and didn’t like what I saw.

  “That black car is following me too closely,” I said. “What’s wrong with him? If I had to stop suddenly, he’d crash i
nto me.”

  “Don’t stop.” Julia turned to look at the offending car, and her tone changed. “Maybe you’d better change lanes, Jennet.”

  “If I can.”

  The cars behind me were in every lane, a veritable flotilla, travelling at what seemed like warp speed. The black car was even closer to mine, if that were possible.

  “I can’t,” I said.

  A deafening horn blast drowned out Julia’s reply. Not content with one antagonistic bellow, the driver kept his hand pressed down on the horn until no other sound could be heard, or so it seemed. Obviously he wanted me to go faster. I couldn’t do that either, not safely, and he couldn’t pass me. I could hardly stop in the middle of the freeway. That would be suicide.

  “He’s crazy,” Julia cried.

  “Angry,” I said.

  Road rage.

  I wasn’t going fast enough to suit him. Well, I wasn’t about to increase my speed and risk skidding on slick pavement.

  “There should be an exit coming up.” I could hardly hear Julia’s voice. “About a half mile.”

  I didn’t want to exit in some backwater. But it might be better if I did and left the freeway to the fool in the black car. I could always reenter it, by which time he would be far ahead.

  The rain came in slanting sheets pounding on the windows, diminishing visibility. Lightning sliced the sky. The cars that had once hemmed me in were now far ahead.

  When did that happen?

  The black car was still on my tail, which didn’t make sense. Why hadn’t he passed me?

  Julia sat forward to peer through the curtain of rain. “There’s the exit coming up! Just ahead.”

  I turned on my blinkers and eased into the ‘exit only’ lane, following the curve onto a narrow country road leading to heaven knew where.

  “Thank God,” I said. “We’re safe.”

  But I had spoken too soon. The driver of the black car had exited with me and increased his speed until he was tailing me again.

  Twenty-nine

  We’re in trouble.

  I wished myself back on the freeway where the next wave of cars would be catching up to the exit lane. Right about now.

  One of the drivers would be certain to notice what was going on. Someone would stop. Someone always stopped when they saw another in peril.

  Julia glanced at the glove compartment. “Did you bring your gun?”

  “No.”

  It was at home, locked in the cabinet where Crane kept his firearms when he was off duty.

  “Is there anything we can use—like a baseball bat?”

  I didn’t have to think about it. “Nothing.”

  I stepped on the accelerator, watched as my speed approached eighty… eighty-five. I felt as if I were airborne. Felt sick and cold.

  The black car still tailed me.

  I looked right and left, desperately hoping to see a turn-off. A makeshift country path. A farmhouse. Any house.

  A sign swam by. Deer X-ing.

  In an incredible burst of speed, the black car zoomed well past me and turned sideways on the narrow road. My way was blocked. The only exit was a cornfield on one side. On the other, meadowland rolled away into infinity. Neither offered an escape route.

  What could I do? Except stop?

  He’d anticipated that, had somehow known I wouldn’t crash into his vehicle.

  The door flew open, and the driver emerged.

  He was a hulking giant of a man, burly, oozing belligerence, with a long black beard and a fierce expression that radiated violence.

  Bearded?

  It can’t be. There has to be more than one man in Michigan with a long black beard.

  Julia’s voice was tremulous. “What are we going to do?”

  A blank screen came down over my mind.

  Was it to end like this? My happy, carefree day with my sister disintegrating in a blast of mindless road rage?

  Crane, I thought. Oh, Crane…

  Julia grabbed my arm. “Lock the door, Jennet.”

  They were locked, for all the good that would do.

  Shouting obscenities, the man punched the window with a fist that looked like a hamhock. His eyes were burning. His face, above the beard, was blood-red.

  “You cut me off back there, bitch. Nobody cuts me off.”

  I had done no such thing.

  It didn’t matter. In his eyes, I’d done the unthinkable. Crossed him.

  He punched the window again. And again. It shattered. Shards of glass flew through the jagged opening, landing in my lap. Julia screamed.

  I did have something. In my purse. A small can of Halt! I kept it there in case I encountered a menacing dog.

  Did I have time to reach it?

  My purse was on the floor, along with Julia’s, at her feet.

  “My purse,” I whispered. “Get the spray.”

  She’d have to understand.

  I’d aim for his eyes. Then? Let him rage. While he was blinded, turn the car and backtrack. Where there was an exit, there must be an entrance.

  With luck, I’d buy us a few minutes.

  He’d cut his hand on glass. He waved it angrily in my face. Drops of blood flew through the air. Landed on his pants. On his plaid shirt.

  Good! Anything to slow him down.

  Julia pressed the cylinder into my hands.

  Now! Quick!

  I took aim and pressed the lever as an enormous shape burst out of the cornfield and barreled into him. With a screech, he fell back on the road. The animal leaped into the meadow.

  “It’s a deer,” Julia whispered.

  “Dear God,” I said, staring at the motionless body in the road.

  “Is he dead?” she asked.

  “Not likely. I don’t care.”

  I turned the car, making a semi-circle in the field, and headed back the way I’d come. Seconds ticked by. I kept an eye on the rear view mirror, kept expecting to see the black car come to life and start tailing me again.

  I didn’t see anything. I could only hope that the shot of Halt! together with the deer’s assault had rendered the madman harmless.

  I had seen Black Beard fall but couldn’t count on him being incapacitated for long.

  Look for the freeway entrance.

  “Look for an entrance, Julia,” I said.

  She fumbled in her purse, wiped her eyes with a tissue. “That was close.”

  “Too close. We almost… Well, we didn’t.”

  “I thought deer only came out at dawn and dusk,” she said. “This isn’t dawn and it sure isn’t dusk.”

  “True. I can’t explain it. I’m just glad this one came along.”

  My heart had settled back into its normal rhythm, but I was still cold, every part of my body inside and out. To come so close to death…

  Jennet Ferguson and Julia Greenway, sisters, died today, victims of apparent road rage…

  Best not to dwell on it. I was alive. I was going to see Crane again and all my beloved collies. Julia was going to have her life in academia.

  “It isn’t raining anymore,” I said. “When did it stop?”

  “I have no idea. Where is that entrance? We can never eat venison again,” she added.

  “I don’t eat it at all. The taste is too gamey for me. But I know what you’re saying.”

  “That deer saved us,” Julia said. “I hope it didn’t get killed.”

  “Well, we were stopped. If I’d been driving eighty when he leaped across the road, that would have been a different story. I saw it running away. I think.”

  “I’m still shaking,” Julia said.

  “I wish…”

  Had I used up my allotment of wishes?

  “I’m going to report this,” I said. “In case that man is dead. I wish I’d thought to jot down his license plate number. Did you notice the make of the car?”

  “Just that it was black.”

  “That won’t help… Oh, there it is!”

  The freeway. With a hasty pra
yer of thanks, I turned off the country road and was able to merge into the right lane almost immediately.

  After a moment, Julia said, “If he’s dead, they won’t think you killed him. Will they?”

  “If he’s dead,” I repeated. “The deer killed him. What I did, with the spray, it was self- defense. All anyone has to do is look at my window. And the blood.”

  It had splattered on my white skirt and my green shell, ruined them. I’d never wear them again.

  “There’s something you should know,” I said.

  She waited. “Something bad?”

  “Maybe. We’ll have to wait and see. I think that man may be the one who’s been threatening Charlotte Gray. The hit-and-run driver.”

  “Why do you say that?” she asked.

  “A feeling,” I said, “and the black beard. No, it’s more than a feeling. I’m almost certain of it.”

  Thirty

  It had rained in Foxglove Corners, and the green Victorian farmhouse fairly shimmered in the afternoon light. The sun struck the stained glass window between the twin gables, turning glass into myriads of shining jewels. My home had never looked more beautiful to me.

  Everything was more precious when you believed it might be forever lost to you.

  Candy’s face appeared in the bay window. In another second, Misty joined her. Soon all the dogs were barking.

  “Our welcoming committee,” Julia said quietly.

  Her expression was grave. I knew how she felt. Now that we had escaped the black bearded man, scenarios of what might have been tumbled through my mind.

  Stop thinking about it. It’s over.

  I forced my thoughts back to my life. Crane wouldn’t be home yet. Although I could hardly wait to see him, I wanted time to shower and change my clothes.

  “I need a cup of tea,” Julia said.

  “One pot of tea coming up. That is, as soon as I get out of this bloody skirt and shell.”

  “I’ll get it.”

  We went inside, and the dogs lost no time in congregating at the kitchen door to meet us. First Misty, then Candy, sniffed at my skirt. Sky scurried under the dining room table, while Misty began to growl.

  “Good heavens,” Julia said. “It’s like she knows what happened.”

  My psychic collie.