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

by Dorothy Bodoin

  Ten minutes, enough to finish my sandwich and eat the apple.

  “How is the class from hell?” Leonora asked. “I haven’t heard you complain about them lately.”

  “Surprisingly they’re good. It makes me uneasy. I suspect treachery in the making.”

  “Now who’s a Scrooge?”

  “How does that apply?”

  In answer she offered me a chocolate frosted brownie, her husband Jake’s favorite dessert. She always had brownies in her lunch these days.

  I took it, happily dropping the apple back in my lunch bag.

  “I have one exceptionally good group,” I added. “My afternoon World Literature class. We’re having a week of spooky stories for Halloween. Today it’s The Invisible Hand. A good class and a good story add up to fun for everyone.”

  “We could read The Lottery in American Literature classes even though it’s out of chronological order,” Leonora said. “It’s a good harvest story, and October is a harvest month. Draw the paper with the black X and get stoned to death. This year’s harvest will be good.”

  I considered. Shirley Jackson’s chilling little story was certainly appropriate. However…

  “We don’t need to give them ideas,” I said.

  Thirty-seven

  Every holiday Miss Eidt unpacked her white Victorian dollhouse, built in imitation of the library when it was her family home, and added miniature seasonal decorations. For Halloween she had tiny ghosts and witches, along with cats, bats, and rats. I stood in front of it, trying to see the title of the red book that lay on a table in the living room.

  The microscopic letters were real: Dracula.

  “What do you think?” Miss Eidt stood behind me holding two mini jack-o’-lanterns.

  “It’s fantastic,” I said. “I always wanted a dollhouse.”

  She set one jack-o’-lantern on either side of the entrance. “Are you coming to my Halloween party?” she asked.

  “I hope to, if nothing happens to prevent it.”

  “Don’t let anything happen,” she said. “Maybe you can bring your haunted television set.”

  “It won’t perform on command. I figured out that it needs a thunderstorm to malfunction. Lightning appears to turn it on and off.”

  “How odd. I thought you’d have solved that mystery by now.”

  “I’m still working on it.”

  “You’ll wear a costume for the party, I hope,” she added. “You’re always so imaginative.”

  I was saved from answering by Debby, who held a vampire figure in her hand.

  “I found him. Where does he go?”

  “How about in one of the bedrooms?” She placed the black-cloaked vampire so that it hovered over a bed. “Like this.”

  For a gentle lady, Miss Eidt had a ghoulish streak that emerged at this time of the year.

  “I’m going to look for some good Halloween reading,” I said, and headed to the Gothic Nook.

  Anyone would think it was strange for me to celebrate a night devoted to spirits and frights when at times my life was a ghostly carnival. But who doesn’t like to experience fear while sitting by a roaring fire, knowing all along that you’re safe in your house?

  I had the Gothic Nook to myself. Miss Eidt had added to her collection. The best Gothic novels, in my opinion, were the old paperbacks that had their heyday in the sixties and seventies. An occasional torn cover, carefully mended by Debby or Miss Eidt, only meant that the book had been well read. I chose To See a Stranger, Who Rides a Tiger, The Legend of Witchwynd, Ravenscroft, and Legacy, which I’d read twice before.

  Miss Eidt was putting the finishing touches on the dollhouse, supervised by Blackberry. I said goodbye to them and went outside. While I’d been in the library, the sky had darkened, and a smell of rain permeated the chill air.

  I’d better hurry home. Conditions were perfect for the rogue television to broadcast the Western movie. Julia had gone to a downstate mall to shop for clothes, and Crane, of course, was patrolling the roads of Foxglove Corners.

  Except for the seven collies, I would be alone in the house, which is what the haunted TV wanted.

  ~ * ~

  The storm began with a bolt of lightning that electrified the sky. Shielding the books under my raincoat, I ran from the car to the side door, straight into a jumping, yipping pack of collies. One of them nipped at my ankle.

  In their minds, I had been gone all day, and they wanted treats and fresh water. Only Candy and Misty needed to go out, and they didn’t stay long. The other collies backed up into the kitchen.

  I filled water bowls and passed out Camille’s homemade dog biscuits, then hung up my dripping raincoat. Now to see if the lightning had summoned the movie.

  I remembered then. I had two television sets, the original and the one I’d bought at the Green House and stored on the credenza.

  Turning the second set on, I found it was airing a soap opera scheduled for this time. A man and a woman were exchanging snappy dialogue peppered with clichés and flirtatious remarks. In other words, it was performing normally.

  Crane was in luck. He’d get his belated birthday present after all.

  It appeared that I was in luck, too. On the other TV, the main street of Jubilee shivered into colorful life. It had changed from tranquil to chaotic. Every inhabitant of Jubilee seemed to be gathered around the young woman lying in the street.

  “Susanna!” Luke ran to her side. A splotch of blood high on her right arm had soaked through the green stripes of her dress.

  “Is she dead?” Susanna’s elderly companion held her hand over her heart, a theatrical gesture. She looked frantically around at the crowd as if hoping for a favorable answer. “That boy shot her!”

  “She’s alive, Mrs. Mills,” Luke said. “What boy?”

  “He rode off with the gang.”

  Luke lifted Susanna carefully and cast a quick, dark look toward the east, but the outlaws were lost in billowing clouds of dust.

  “He was aiming at the sheriff, but he missed,” Mrs. Mills said. “Susanna was in his way. Land sakes, can’t a body walk down the street of her own town anymore and not fear for her life?”

  “Sometimes, no.”

  Luke carried Susanna to a small white house. Mrs. Mills followed close behind him.

  “I hope Doc Limmerton is in,” Luke said. “You’re going to be okay, Miss Susanna.”

  She didn’t answer. Her eyes were closed; her long dark hair streamed down her back.

  The doctor emerged from a back room, rubbing his eyes. He had a bushy mustache and spectacles. “What have we here?”

  Silently he examined Susanna’s wound.

  “Gunshot wound. Stay with her, Mrs. Mills.” Luke rushed out the door and into the street. He mounted his horse and galloped east after the outlaws.

  In the doctor’s office, Susanna lay on a narrow bed while the doctor examined her.

  “Could be worse.”

  “You just rest, dear,” Mrs. Mills said. “The doctor will tend to that—that little injury.”

  Darkness gave way to light. Sunshine streamed through the window. It looked as if Mrs. Mills had kept her lonely vigil throughout the night.

  Susanna stirred, struggled to move, to speak. “Luke? Where’s Luke?”

  “He went after them,” Mrs. Mills said.

  “Alone?”

  “The sheriff and his deputy probably went with him.”

  Susanna’s voice was weak. “One against… How many of them were there?

  “Four, I think.”

  “Was anyone else hurt?”

  “Only you.”

  “My dress is ruined,” Susanna said.

  “Better the dress than you, dear. It’s only cloth. You need to rest that arm.”

  The scene changed to a barren expanse of countryside lit by a fiery morning sky, to Luke, the sheriff, and five riders, probably townsmen. The camera lingered lovingly on the weathered planes of Luke’s face as if it had finally found its perfect sub
ject.

  “I say we keep going,” he said. “Are y’all with me?”

  Lightning flashed, and the screen suddenly filled with blue sky and an airplane flying above the clouds. The movie was gone, as I knew it would be. The lightning brought it, and the lightning took it away. I turned off the TV and glanced at the clock.

  Almost an hour had passed, which was what I expected. Misty lay at my feet, but the other dogs had retreated quietly to their favorite places to wait for the rain to pass. It was on the way out, a light pattering on the windows.

  My library books lay scattered on the coffee table where I’d dropped them.

  I heard Julie’s key turn in the lock.

  Back to the real world. To treading on slippery leaves and wiping muddy paws, to making dinner, correcting essays, and waiting for Crane. Back to my life.

  I met Julia in the kitchen and helped her unload her packages on the kitchen table.

  “I found a great blue dress on sale,” she said. “I bought lots of lingerie, enough to carry me through the winter… What’s wrong?”

  I’d been listening to her, but a part of my mind was with Luke and the posse. Would they find the bank robbers and bring them back to Jubilee to hang? What a gruesome way to die. But that was justice in the Old West. Live by the sword, perish by the sword. Even the boy who had shot Susanna.

  “Nothing,” I said. “I was watching the movie.”

  “Darn it. I missed it again.”

  “It only plays for me,” I said.

  “Suppose it only plays when someone—not necessarily you—is alone?”

  “I don’t think that’s likely.”

  “Let’s experiment. The next time it storms, you leave the house, and I’ll turn on the TV.”

  “But it’s my phenomenon,” I said.

  Yes, I was owning it.

  “Well, it was just a thought,” Julia said. “What happened to sisters sharing?”

  “Let’s think about dinner,” I said. “What should we make?”

  Thirty-eight

  The pumpkins in Clovers appeared to have multiplied. Most of them had grotesque or sly faces, courtesy of Mary Jeanne and her carving knife. Annica continued the theme with crystal pumpkin earrings that glittered through strands of her red-gold hair.

  “I’m getting tired of wearing orange,” she said. Her turtleneck sweater was pale peach, not quite a fall color. “What can I get for you today?”

  “I’d like hot tea and an apple muffin—and information. Have you seen my arch-enemy lately?”

  “Veronica the Viper?”

  “None other.”

  “She came in for breakfast yesterday. I wanted to wring her neck, making me out to be a liar like she did.”

  I’d told Annica what Veronica had said about misunderstanding her, and Annica hadn’t taken it well. Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned it.

  “I was one step away from spilling maple syrup on her uniform,” Annica said.

  “I’m glad you didn’t.”

  “Yeah, I need this job.”

  “Did she say anything about Crane?” I asked.

  “Not a word. She placed her order, didn’t thank me, and left me two dimes and a nickel for a tip. She had six pancakes and bacon, too.”

  “Could her little campaign to win Crane be over?”

  I half hoped Annica would think Veronica had given up. Instead, she mirrored my own thoughts.

  “She’s the kind who’ll come up with a Plan B. But she’d better leave me out of it.”

  I was grateful that, except for one occasion, Veronica and I hadn’t been in Clovers at the same time. She wouldn’t allow me to ignore her, and I might say something I’d regret.

  “Are you and Crane going to the Halloween party at the library?” Annica asked.

  “I am. Crane will probably keep the home fires burning.”

  “What are you going to wear?”

  “I’ll put together a witch costume. I still have that peaked hat somewhere.”

  “That’s what you wore the last time.”

  “And I got a few compliments for my efforts. What are you going to be?”

  “A medieval lady. I’m looking forward to being someone else for the night,” she said. “I’ve been memorizing Chaucerian phrases. How’s this? Whan that April with his showres soote/ The droughte of March hath perced to the roote...”

  “Nobody will understand you. Or people will wonder why you’re talking about April in October.”

  “I’ll try to find a better quote.”

  Whatever she said, Annica would be magnificent. She was made for brilliant colors and glamour.

  “You’ll win first prize,” I said.

  Unless I did. I’d better start looking for witch quotations.

  “I’m going with Brent,” she added. “He’ll be himself. The Huntsman. I’d better get your tea. Marcy called in sick, and I’m working alone.”

  ~ * ~

  On the way home, I stopped at Sue Appleton’s horse farm. I’d been thinking about Bronwyn, hoping she was adjusting to being back with Sue.

  “I’m worried about Bronwyn,” Sue said. “She’s changed.”

  I saw what she meant. Bluebell, Icy, and Echo were chasing one another around the property, sending leaves shooting into the air in high waves. Bronwyn lay on the porch, her gaze on the driveway that led out to the road.

  Of course she was older than the other dogs. Still, my Star held her own in collie games with the rest of the pack who were younger.

  “When you first brought her to me, she took an interest in her surroundings and played nicely with my three,” Sue said.

  “That was before Charlotte came into her life.”

  “Now she’s restless. Even in the house, she sits on the sofa where she can see the road. I have a feeling that Bronwyn would like to go back to wherever she came from, so I keep an eye on her.”

  “If she truly wanted to leave, wouldn’t she have done so by now?” I asked.

  “Maybe. Who knows?” Sue rose and called to the dogs. “Let’s go in. It’s getting too cold to sit on the porch.”

  The wind was growing stronger by the minute, contributing to the chill in the air. We trooped inside and settled down in the family room.

  “Has Bronwyn ever tried to leave the farm?” I asked.

  “No, but sometimes I think she’d like me to follow her—to some place.”

  “Why don’t you let her? She might lead you to Charlotte.”

  At the mention of her owner’s name, Bronwyn tilted her head and gave a small whimper. There was no doubt in my mind that she knew what we were talking about.

  “For many reasons. This is a busy time of the year for me with my riding students, and I’m not a detective. Even if I were, I’d need a better clue than a dog’s intuition.”

  “I wonder if Bronwyn would take me to Charlotte,” I said.

  “It’s not like you can ask her.”

  I wasn’t so sure about that. Bronwyn wasn’t a search and rescue dog. She had always been a pet. But she had formed a deep attachment to Charlotte. I thought it likely that she knew where Charlotte was. If she could come as far as Wolf Lake Road on her own, she could retrace her steps.

  But how we would begin? Go back to Wolf Lake Road, choose a direction, and start walking?

  “This wasn’t the way our geriatric collie program was supposed to work,” Sue said. “We placed Bronwyn with a good owner, and now she’s adrift.”

  “You are going to keep her, though, aren’t you?” I asked. “Until Charlotte comes home.”

  “Of course, but I want her to be happy.”

  Bronwyn hadn’t joined us in the family room. I’d seen her leap into the sofa with a clear view of the road and the autumn leaves dancing in the wind.

  The scene was heart-wrenching. If only I could reunite Bronwyn with her owner. If only it were still possible. I felt like crying at the sight of the faithful collie waiting for her owner to return. Once again I renewed my resolve to ma
ke that happen. Whatever it took.

  ~ * ~

  The fields were murky, their spent wildflowers reduced to bare stalks and brown powder. The only color was a cluster of purple violets.

  I must have been traveling on that accursed Huron Court.

  Someone was chasing me, a man whose face was familiar, who meant to harm me. He might be hiding behind the taller stalks, waiting to grab me.

  Choose a direction, and start walking.

  I’d said that before in another place.

  A gust of wind blew me out of the fields and into my car. The wind’s wail turned into a siren.

  Veronica said, “You shouldn’t be driving on this road, Jennet. It’s forbidden. That’ll cost you a hundred dollars.”

  As she reached for my license and registration, I grabbed a pitcher and poured maple syrup over her crisp, clean uniform sleeve.

  I couldn’t have awakened at a better time.

  Thirty-nine

  A witch cut-out with a leering green face greeted me as I walked up to the porch at Dark Gables. She had a platter in her hands, as if waiting to fill it with an oven-roasted Gretel.

  Lucy opened the door before I could knock and saw me looking askance at the witch. “A bit of Halloween whimsy,” she said. “I couldn’t resist.”

  “She doesn’t exactly say Welcome.”

  “What witch says that? Unless she’s trying to lure you into her cottage? Sky is afraid of her,” she added.

  Lucy’s pretty blue merle collie was hiding behind Lucy’s black midi-dress. Only her face was visible.

  “I had a feeling I’d see you today,” Lucy said. “Come in.”

  In the sunroom, Lucy filled the electric teakettle with water and plugged it in. I sat in the wicker loveseat and looked out through the French doors. Like the flowers in my garden, Lucy’s plants were dying or dead, and leaves shivered in the wind as if in agitation, knowing their death was near.

  “What’s new?” Lucy asked.

  “I’m not having any luck finding Charlotte,” I said. “Bronwyn is grieving. I haven’t figured out what makes the haunted television set malfunction yet. But—and this is good—Crane knows that Veronica lied about having a dinner date with him.”