Crane might have had a cup of coffee with Veronica at a diner when both stopped for a break. She had changed the details to make it sound like a dinner date.
Just ask him, I told myself.
Then at Clovers, by ordering a filet, she had created a situation in which she could casually mention having a steak dinner with Crane.
Don’t ask him. Tell him that for some reason Veronica has been lying to Annica, knowing she would pass the message on to me.
That was a better approach. Said that way, it wouldn’t seem as if I believed it.
And I didn’t. I knew how Veronica operated. A chocolate cake for Crane’s birthday… Baking a cake for a beloved husband was a wife’s privilege.
What else? Hints of a relationship that didn’t exist.
The wind was shrieking. My Ford Focus felt like the Volkswagen I’d driven to and from college. It had been so light that a good wind could send it flying down the wooded slope to the icy lake below.
There’s no good wind. It’s all dangerous.
I gripped the steering wheel so tightly my fingers hurt.
All right. Calm down. Concentrate on the road, on slippery patches and leaping deer. And snakes. It was almost the end of October. Shouldn’t snakes be hibernating or slithering off to wherever they spent the winter months?
Snakes, yes, but not a determined female deputy sheriff with a warped sense of honor.
The wind was so loud it was making my head ache, but I should be nearing Jonquil Lane soon. Home had never seemed more of a haven.
~ * ~
That evening, before we sat down to eat, I said, “I heard something disturbing from Annica today. Veronica told her that the two of you had dinner together at the Adriatic on Wednesday.”
“She told her what?”
He looked surprised. Genuinely surprised.
“I know you don’t agree that Veronica is up to no good,” I said, “but why would she say that?”
“I have no idea.”
“Unless she’s delusional.”
“She always seemed normal to me,” he said. “Do you think Annica is making it up?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Or maybe Annica misunderstood her?”
“I have faith in Annica,” I said. “This isn’t the first time Veronica has said something about her and you. Then there was that cake for your birthday…”
Candy nudged me. She knew the dogs’ dinners were ready, on the counter, and had no patience for human conversation.
“It isn’t true, Jennet,” Crane said.
“I never thought it was.”
“I don’t know what she hopes to accomplish.”
“That’s easy. She wants to undermine my faith in you. That’ll never happen,” I added quickly.
“Why?”
“Who knows? I’m concerned that Veronica might be dangerous. Her obsession with you is troubling. If she thinks this dinner at the Adriatic really happened, where will it end?”
He was quiet for a moment, frowning, his gray eyes reflective. “I’m going to talk to her tomorrow,” he said. “In the meantime, don’t worry about it.”
Thirty-five
Annica didn’t want me to worry. Crane told me not to worry. But I couldn’t help worrying, not because I was afraid Veronica would steal my husband. I was certain she was delusional. If she believed the dinner with Crane at the Adriatica had really happened, what was next?
I was glad Crane intended to talk to her. Still, I wondered if I should have confronted her myself.
“Accuse a lunatic of lying?” Julia was flabbergasted. “That’s a horrible idea. Who knows how she’d retaliate?”
We were having tea and gingersnaps in the kitchen, a relaxing ritual we’d begun shortly after Julia came home. I was going to miss her when she moved to her own house.
“I like to handle my problems myself,” I said.
“Not this one. The lady is armed—and dangerous.”
“I wonder. Don’t you have to pass a psychological evaluation to be a deputy sheriff?”
“You’d think so. Or if you were deranged, one of your fellow officers would notice something off.”
“Crane has always been a good judge of character,” I pointed out.
But at one time Veronica had him fooled. He’d thought she was just lonely, being new in town. He’d insisted she only wanted to make friends. Until the cake episode.
“Maybe she’s just off her rocker when it comes to Crane,” Julia said. “She wants him. She’s hoping you’ll think he’s been seeing her behind your back and break up with him.”
The unmitigated arrogance of the woman.
I bit down hard on a gingersnap. “I’d like to squash her,” I said.
“Remember she has a gun.”
“So do I.”
“Jennet!”
I didn’t mean to imply that I’d use it, but it felt good to say it. I wouldn’t even be able to squash a snake—or chop its head off.
“I consider myself a match for her,” I said. “It won’t come to violence.”
“Once she’s aware that Crane knows about her lie, she may give up,” Julia said.
“I’m not counting on it.”
The topic was destroying my enjoyment in our quiet alone time. I refilled our teacups. I’d have to visit Dark Gables soon and ask Lucy to read my tea leaves.
“Well, enough about Veronica the Viper,” I said. “Tell me about your classes.”
She did, and her enthusiasm warmed the chill that had settled in the air. Afterward I turned the antique television sets on. Both were airing the same contemporary programs, but then once again I wasn’t alone, and it wasn’t storming. I’d wait for the proper conditions to see whether I’d brought another rogue into the house.
~ * ~
When Crane came home, he looked happy. He roughhoused with the dogs and glanced at the stove where the beef stew was bubbling merrily in the Dutch oven.
“Looks good,” he said.
I couldn’t wait. “Did you talk to Veronica?”
He locked his gun in the cabinet. “She claims that Annica must have misunderstood her. She did make the remark about having a steak at the Adriatic but didn’t say a word about me being there.”
I waited.
“I don’t believe her,” he said. “I told her to be careful of what she says from now on. I’m a happily married man, and I don’t want even a hint of scandal attached to my name.”
“Then that’s the end of it?”
“I hope so. I don’t know why she’s fixated on me.”
“I do.”
He hugged me. “We have a new deputy sheriff in the department. Henry. He’s interested in Veronica. He’s working up the nerve to ask her for a date.”
But Crane was the man Veronica had set her sights on. I did understand. He was a genuine treasure. My treasure.
I kissed him and went back to my dinner, piercing a chunk of beef to see if the meat was done. Not quite yet.
“I’m glad,” I said. “Thanks for setting the record straight.”
I wasn’t entirely out of the woods, though. If I knew Veronica, she would retreat and return with a new attack. I didn’t intend to let my guard down.
But I kept that last thought to myself.
~ * ~
I turned off the stew and stepped back from the stove as Candy jumped up and led the race to the door. All of the dogs were barking, and someone was knocking on the door. Something outside the door was barking, too. A coyote? Another dog?
I glanced through the bay window. Brent’s vintage white Plymouth Belvedere with the green fins was parked behind my car, and a dark sable collie trotted along at his heel. A thin layer of white covered the ground and glistened in the trees. Snow lay lightly on Brent’s dark red hair and the new dog’s coat.
I told the dogs to Stay and opened the door. My pack converged on Brent. He held out a restraining hand to Misty who looked ready to leap into his arms. The new collie hung
back, her ears flat against her head. She looked familiar.
I looked at her closely. “Is that…?”
“A stray,” Brent said. “I found her lying in the road with the snow falling on her. I thought she was dead. Turns out she was just sleeping, so I brought her to you.”
The stray shook the snow from her coat and gave a little whine. Candy bared her teeth in a half-hearted warning to the newcomer. One of my gentle collies growled.
“Candy, no!” I said.
She grumbled but sat down.
“I knew you’d have an extra collar and leash lying around,” Brent said. “I do, too, but once I got her in the car, I didn’t want to backtrack.”
Crane took his coat and closed the door on the cold air that was trying to force its way inside along with a few snowflakes. “Look around, Fowler. How many collies do you see?”
“A lot.”
“It’s Bronwyn,” I cried.
Hearing her name, Bronwyn wagged her tail. I laid my hand on her head. Yes, there was no doubt. It was Bronwyn.
“I’ve been calling her Snowy,” Brent said. “You know her?”
“This is the dog Charlotte Gray adopted. Charlotte had Bronwyn with her when she disappeared.”
“Isn’t Charlotte the lady you think the hit-and-run killer did away with?” Brent asked.
“Charlotte adopted Bronwyn, yes. I don’t think she’s dead. This proves it.”
“I don’t see how.”
It was ninety percent a strong feeling. I searched for words to explain it. “Charlotte and Bronwyn were always together. If her collie is alive, then so is she.”
I looked into Bronwyn’s soulful eyes. “Where is Charlotte, Bronwyn? If only you could talk.”
She looked at me and wagged her tail.
“Where did you find her, Brent?” I asked.
“On Wolf Lake Road, about a half mile from my house.”
“That may be a starting place to look for Charlotte.”
“Not necessarily,” Crane said. “She could have come from anywhere.”
“Wherever she was, I think it was fairly close to Foxglove Corners. It isn’t likely that she traveled a long distance.”
Back to Foxglove Corners.
I took another look at her. The snow had melted from her coat, and I saw that burrs had worked their way into her fur. She had a cluster of them behind each ear. Her paws were crusted with old mud and something that might be dried blood.
It was a wonder she hadn’t been killed as she took on the Michigan countryside. What had she eaten? Where had she found water?
Bronwyn whined and nudged my hand.
It was time to bring a halt to speculation and take care of my unexpected guest. She would need food and water.
“Is that beef stew I smell?” Brent asked.
“It is, and there’s plenty for all of us. I have to take Bronwyn to Sue. She’s been fretting over her ever since I told her that Charlotte disappeared.
“Before you do that, let’s eat,” Brent said. “Is there pie, by chance?”
“Julia baked two apple pies.”
As if on cue, Julia came down the stairs in beige slacks and a green turtleneck sweater, her golden hair freshly washed and shining.
“Hi, Brent,” she said. “Jennet, do I see eight collies?”
“This is Charlotte’s adopted collie, Bronwyn,” I said.
“Right. Now where’s Charlotte?”
Thirty-six
The moon was bright as I drove up Jonquil Lane with Bronwyn. Its light illuminated the snow that lay motionless on the frozen countryside. Stray moonbeams danced among from the shadows of the abandoned development, making it seem somehow less forbidding.
Still I was glad I was in a car and not on foot.
It was too cold for the snow to melt tonight, and too early for snow. It wasn’t even Halloween yet.
Try telling that to Mother Nature.
An unwelcome thought slipped into my mind. If we had passed the season of thunderstorms, I might not see my Western movie again until spring.
Michigan weather could be capricious, though. Next week we might have a warm-up. A single flash of lightning could bring the movie back from wherever it had gone.
So many months… Would I have forgotten the plot by then? I didn’t think so. Susanna and Luke, the handsome rancher who looked like Crane, and the newcomer to Jubilee in her fancy attire? In the last scene, an outlaw was robbing the bank, and someone had screamed outside in the street. At this point, the movie had vanished.
I turned on Squill Lane, and Bronwyn whimpered in the back seat. I wondered how often she had been in a car traveling to an unknown destination since I’d taken her from the estate sale.
“We’re going back to the horse farm,” I told her. “To Sue. To wait for Charlotte.”
She yelped, and I could swear she understood what I’d said.
The lights were on in Sue’s ranch house, and dogs were barking. Would they remember Bronwyn? I hoped they’d make her feel welcome—Icy, Bluebell, and Echo. They should be used to other dogs in their house as Sue often brought a rescue home.
She opened the door and cried out in delight at the sight of the collie at my side. She recognized her immediately. I was glad I hadn’t called to alert her to Bronwyn’s arrival. There’s nothing like a happy surprise.
“It’s our Bronwyn,” she said.
“Brent found her near his place. She was sleeping in the road.”
“In the road? In the snow?”
“It doesn’t seem to have harmed her.”
“That’s a miracle. She doesn’t look malnourished. What about Charlotte?” she added.
“She’s still missing.”
Still missing, I thought. Presumed dead by everybody but me.
I hoped Bronwyn didn’t sense what I was thinking.
“Bronwyn, girl,” Sue said. “Let me look at you.”
Ears flattened, Bronwyn came to Sue, dancing around her, nudging her and whimpering like a little puppy. It was as if Bronwyn had been Sue’s dog for years.
Sue stroked her head and promptly encountered the burrs behind her ears.
“I didn’t brush her,” I said, wishing I had. “Brent was over, and I was making dinner… You know. Overload.”
“I can groom her. I’m just so glad to have her back. She’s staying with me for a while.”
“Of course,” I said. “You can’t let anybody else adopt her. Bronwyn is Charlotte’s collie.”
“I know that. Can you stay for a while, Jennet? I was just about to make some hot chocolate.”
“A very short while. I left Brent alone with Crane. Who knows what those two will cook up while I’m gone?”
I settled in a chair in the family room, surrounded by dogs and warmed by the flames in Sue’s wood burning stove.
Sue was still fussing over Bronwyn. When she looked up, I saw the glint of tears in her eyes. “I’m so glad to see Bronwyn, but I hope this doesn’t mean Charlotte is dead,” she said.
“I think of her as being lost. So was Bronwyn, but she found her way home.”
Well, almost home. What would have happened if Brent hadn’t discovered her lying in the middle of Wolf Lake Road? Another car might have run over her. That didn’t bear thinking about.
Charlotte would find her way home, too.
Bronwyn was safe with Sue. I could only hope she’d soon be reunited with her true owner.
~ * ~
On the one hand, there was my life with its problems and mysteries. A missing woman, an unknown killer, and a deputy sheriff with her own warped moral compass.
On the other, there was school. Along with the two hours spent commuting to and from Oakpoint, my teaching job occupied most of my weekdays.
Holidays sent ripples of unease throughout the student body, even quasi holidays like Halloween. Student Council members were selling candi-cards to convey Halloween wishes to friends—and sometimes to teachers. The cards contained personal messages.
A chocolate marshmallow ghost, witch, pumpkin, or cat accompanied each card.
The activity was fun and worthwhile. Funds raised would be added to those from the Thanksgiving collection to feed needy families in the community next month. It was also a distraction. Candi-cards were sold in the cafeteria, the halls, and during class. Hence the distraction. They would be delivered during the second period on Halloween.
“That’s a nice early trick-or-treat,” I said to Leonora at lunch.
She gave a pretend shudder. “Don’t say trick in school.”
“It’s a nice way to get someone’s attention,” I said. “Somebody loves you. Guess who? It’s ideal for a shy kid.”
I remembered a certain Halloween when I was a high school freshman. We’d had a similar custom of sending spooky cards without the candy. I’d received a love message from M. B. I’d never figured out who he was.
“Think of the downside,” Leonora pointed out. “Off-the-wall energy, wrappers on the floor.”
“Scrooge,” I said.
“Wrong holiday. How about the kid who doesn’t receive one?”
She had a point. “But that’s life,” I said. “Like the girl who isn’t asked to the Homecoming Dance.”
I unwrapped my sandwich. Turkey with lettuce on whole wheat bread with a healthful treat, an apple. What had I been thinking when I’d packed my lunch? Last night, Julia had baked a batch of pumpkin-chocolate chip cookies.
“Are you going to Miss Eidt’s Halloween party at the library?” Leonora asked.
“I’d like to. I forgot about it.”
“She’s hoping people will come in costume.”
“I don’t know that I’ll go that far.”
But it would be fun to dress up as a glamorous witch again.
“I haven’t had time to go to the library lately,” I said.
How could I have let that happen? I had missed Miss Eidt and the cozy white Victorian library filled with books and decorated for the current season, and missed coffee and doughnuts in Miss Eidt’s private office. The Gothic Nook… I’d only been there once. This Saturday I would make it a point to go. I couldn’t celebrate Halloween properly without a new Gothic novel.
I glanced at the clock. When I was at school, I was always glancing at the clock—to see if I had time to run to the faculty lounge between classes or how much more of a period was left, and, at present, to see how many minutes remained of our so-called lunch hour.
The Deadly Fields of Autumn (The Foxglove Corners Series Book 25) Page 17