by Fran Stewart
“Do you need help, Mrs. Wantstring?” Karaline leaned down to peer inside the car, her eyes reflecting worry.
“No, dear. I’m just having . . . I’m just . . . Mark went skiing and . . .” Emily rested one of her hands on her winter coat, right over her heart. “Everything is wrong, and I don’t know what to do.” She couldn’t stop herself. All her fears poured out in disjointed sentences. Karaline knelt in the snow beside the open door and laid a hand on Emily’s knee. That felt so comforting, Emily wished she could prolong the contact somehow. Maybe if she talked just a little while longer?
* * *
I turned away from the sight of Emily’s tearstained face. The break-in, the need for her to inventory the house, and the fact that Mark had left her alone. She didn’t seem to need to come up for air.
“Ye dinna want to leave her here alone on the side of this wee hill,” Dirk said with a certain air of finality.
“It’s tempting,” I muttered. “And it’s a mountain, not a hill.”
“It is naught but a hill to someone born as I was in the Highlands.”
Emily raised her head. “What did you say?”
“Nothing.” I gave Karaline a get us out of this stare.
“I know what we can do.” She stood—a little shakily, I thought. Her stitches must be bothering her—and brushed snow from her knees and the hem of her parka. “We’ll follow you to your house to be sure you make it okay.”
Emily sounded incredibly grateful. Dirk smirked. I felt like a heel.
“I have another idea.” Karaline sounded entirely too bright, and she wouldn’t look me in the eyes. “Peggy can ride with you, Emily. In fact, she can drive your car for you so you won’t have to worry about this twisty mountain road.”
“I would say ’tis an excellent idea, Mistress Karaline.”
I glared at Dirk. “’Tis not.”
“That’s right.” Karaline spoke loudly, probably to hide the fact that I was talking yet again to a ghost Emily couldn’t see. “Peg’s a good driver, and you two can have a lovely chat all the way to Winooski.”
“You can’t drive that far in your condition. It’s one thing to bop around town, but all the way to Winooski? Think of your stitches.”
“Those stitches are completely healed. Anyway, we’re almost out of the mountains, and from there it’s a straight shot up to Burlington.”
“I don’t want you out of my sight,” I said. “I don’t know where Kittredge is. And what if you get another cramp?”
Karaline gave in with surprisingly good grace. “If I get a cramp, I’ll pull over.” What was she up to? “Give me your address, Mrs. Wantstring. I’ll pop it in my GPS, and we’ll go there first. I’ll lead the way.”
“That wasn’t what I had in mind.”
“I know.” She jotted down Emily’s address and headed for her car. “See you in Burlington.”
“Right,” I said, and tried not to sound venomous.
To top it all off, Karaline opened the door to her SUV and Dirk hopped in and slid over to the passenger seat. He wasn’t coming with me? What kind of ghost would do a thing like that? Was he mad at me? Of course, she had the shawl. And I was the one who’d crumpled him up. It may have been an accident, but he’d still been sent to a place where he didn’t want to be.
I made sure Emily had her seat belt fastened and followed Karaline—the traitor—out of the scenic overview.
* * *
What a lovely young woman, Emily thought. If Mark and I had ever had a daughter . . . She let that thought drift away and tried to keep from studying Peggy’s profile. How kind of her to do the driving this way. I ought to invite the two of them in for coffee when we get to Burlington, but I really do not want them to see my house if it’s messed up. She considered just serving them in the living room, but women tended to be drawn to kitchens, didn’t they?
“I hope they didn’t destroy any of my china. I think Sandra would have noticed if they had. All she could tell was the missing laptop.” Emily paused for a quick breath. “Mark said it was just a spare. I don’t know why he needed it. He never took it to work with him.”
* * *
For the first ten miles I endured a recounting of what I’d already heard. I finally tuned out. I wondered if she’d ever told any of this to Harper. Harper. I let that thought linger, and Emily’s voice faded into mere background noise.
As happy as I was to think about him, I had a feeling something was going on. Why hadn’t he called in all this time? I didn’t even know for sure where he was. South America covered a lot of territory. Well, if he ever came back, I’d ask him.
The next few miles went by rather quickly, taken up as they were by my thoughts of just what might happen if Harper and I ever got a chance to be alone together. We’d never quite gotten anywhere. I’d thought, soon after I met Harper, that we might have had a chance, and there had been that one time he’d kissed my cheek, but then he’d left, and it seemed like our relationship—if you could call it that—had come up against the proverbial brick wall. Of course, then it occurred to me that Dirk would be prowling around making comments and probably getting rather incensed if Harper and I were supposedly alone. For some reason, it felt good to think of having two men competing for me—even if one of them didn’t know about the other one, and that other one just happened to be dead.
Emily ground her narrative to a halt, and I took in a deep breath. The road straightened out for a short while, and I could feel myself relaxing. “You and Dr. Wantstring have been married for more than thirty years, right?”
“Thirty-seven to be exact.”
“Wow. Do you have any children?” I couldn’t remember if she’d ever mentioned any.
“Two sons. No daughters.” She paused. There was something in her voice, but I couldn’t identify it. Maybe Emily had always wanted a little girl.
“Do they live close by?” What a stupid question. If they did, they’d be here helping her, instead of making me drive all the way.
“One’s in Oklahoma. The other lives in Iowa.”
“Oh. Do you have grandchildren?”
I shouldn’t have looked over at her. The pain on her face was blatant.
“No,” she said.
“Do you get a chance to see your sister very often?” Now, why did I ask that? Senators couldn’t just go roaming around the country, visiting relatives anytime they wanted to. Or, come to think of it, maybe they could.
“No,” she repeated, but this time there seemed to be a hard edge to her voice.
“I’m sorry, Emily. I didn’t mean to pry.” Casting about for something to say, I asked, “How long did Mark plan to be gone?” Beside me—silence.
Eventually we moved out of the mountains. People who live out West think the Rockies, Sierras, and Tetons are the only respectable mountain ranges, but our Green Mountains are tall enough, thank you. And they’re far older than those upstart Rockies. Or the Scottish Highlands.
Once we were in the valley, I felt my shoulders loosen. It was another five miles before she started talking again. Once she started, though, she didn’t slow down.
13
Endurance Test
I didn’t lose Karaline, although with Emily’s nonstop chatting it was a miracle I didn’t. I couldn’t hear myself think. I was sorry—truly sorry—that her house had been broken into, but I was ready to throttle her by the time we reached Burlington.
It didn’t take us long to get to Emily’s house. I followed Karaline onto one tree-lined street and then another, and pulled up before a modest one-story white house. It looked somewhat lost, surrounded as it was on both sides and across the street by three- and four-story edifices. I was willing to bet those would cost a small fortune to heat. Two enormous maples in the front yard were bare now, of course, but I could tell they’d join their leafy hands above us come full summer.
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br /> She must have called ahead, because someone waved out of an upper window of the house next door. “Oh, good! Look,” Emily said. Her voice lifted, and I could hear the relief. “Sandra must have gotten back from her meeting early. She said she wasn’t sure she’d make it on time. I’m so glad she’s here. She’s my neighbor, the one who discovered the break-in. She always waters our plants for us when we’re gone. They’ve been here for years and years.”
Even though I felt sorry for the poor woman, I was already dreading the trek back to Hamelin. Luckily, that turned out to be wasted worry.
Emily leaned against the open car door. “I think I’ll stay for a few days.”
Dirk and Karaline sauntered up next to us. “This is a lovely house, Mrs. Wantstring.”
Dirk looked around as if trying to locate the chickens that any family must need. He still didn’t quite understand the concept of grocery stores. Why had I never taken him to one?
Cancel that question. I knew darn well why I’d never shown him the inside of a grocery store. I didn’t think I could cope with all the impossible-to-answer questions. Maybe I should take Karaline up on her offer, I thought. Not to take him permanently—I had to admit I wouldn’t like that at all—but just to borrow him once in a while, like when she was on her way to shop for food.
I tuned back in, just in time to hear Karaline say, “It’s really close to UVM.”
Emily nodded. “Yes. Mark always walks to work.” I had the feeling she wasn’t engaged in the conversation. “Do you want to come in and have some coffee before you go?”
That was one of those tricky questions, wasn’t it—the kind that seems to be saying one thing but actually means something else altogether? She’d emphasized before you go, as if that were the most important part of the question. Or did she really want us to come in with her? Before I could answer, her neighbor came out of the house next door and down the walk. We endured introductions, said a quick good-bye, and got the heck out of Dodge City.
* * *
Dirk accompanied us into the Kittredge showroom and Karaline handed me the shawl. While she talked with some guy at the front counter—he wore red suspenders—I spent the next few minutes drifting around between the displays trying to explain to Dirk, as quietly as possible, that I’d never seen equipment like this before. Finally, I just made up answers. “That thing grinds up grapefruit,” I whispered. He’d seen me eat grapefruit often enough and was still in awe at how I could take for granted something as precious as a citrus fruit. I went on to the next display unit. It held a variety of implements I’d never seen before. I picked one at random. “This thing,” I said in a whisper, “is for cutting waffles apart after they’re cooked.”
“I didna ken Mistress Karaline served whaffels at her wee restaurant.”
“She doesn’t. That’s why you’ll never see one of these things at the Logg Cabin.”
“This is verra interesting. Why d’ye suppose the writing on the wee box says dough scraper?”
Phooey on him for looking at the boxes below the display. Not to be daunted I said, “Because waffles are made from a kind of dough, and you scrape them off the waffle iron.”
Fortunately, Karaline chose that moment to call out, “Hey, you two, come on over here. We’ve got a problem.”
The man behind the counter looked startled. “You two? What two?”
Karaline put her hand over her mouth. “I mean . . . my . . . uh . . . my friend is a twin, and I tend to think of her and her brother at the same time.”
He nodded, still looking rather bewildered, but I could see him draw the conclusion that, Customers are always right—no matter how nuts they seem to be.
I sidled up next to her and waited for him to turn his back to reach for paper coming off a printer. “Great save,” I whispered. “So, you think of my brother all the time whenever you’re around me?”
“Master Drew likes ye rather much,” Dirk observed, and Karaline’s blush spread from her toes to the roots of her dark hair.
At least, I assumed it started at her toes, since it had gained so much power by the time it reached her neck. Kind of like a tidal wave. Too bad he was working on the West Coast for a month. Some museum had a dinosaur they needed advice on. I’d told him to stay off the frame. Poor Drew. His credit card info was stolen three weeks before he left for California, and he’d had a horrible time trying to get it straightened out in time for his trip. Identity theft was such a pervasive threat. And you never knew when you’d be hit. Maybe I needed to set up one of those text alert systems that sent me a notice each day as to what my balance was.
I pulled myself back to the immediate moment. “What’s the problem?”
“They sold the SRM20, the only one they had.”
The man cleared his throat. “If you’d put down a deposit and asked us to hold it for you . . .” He sounded truly apologetic. Dirk went behind the counter to inspect the man’s suspenders. He seemed fascinated by them.
I felt sorry for him—the man, not Dirk. “When can you get another one in?”
“That’s the trouble,” Karaline said. “With the storm blanketing the East Coast, their warehouse is shut down.”
“So,” I asked again, “how long?”
The manager, who sported a name tag that read, Chester Kerr, Manager, was contrite but unwavering. “If we get a truck here any sooner, I can call you, but it looks like it will be Tuesday at the earliest.”
“That’s not bad,” I said, although I hated the thought of driving back here tomorrow. “Maybe we can get a motel room overnight.”
“What would be a moh tell room?”
Karaline made a rude sound, and I couldn’t tell whether she was reacting to Dirk or to the manager. “He’s talking next Tuesday, a week from tomorrow.”
“Oh. Are you sure?”
“All the phone lines in our distribution center are down.”
“What about e-mail?”
He shook his head. “The power is out. I tell you, nothing is moving anywhere.”
Karaline rolled her shoulders back. “If I pay for it now, will you hold it for me when it gets here?”
“Of course.”
After she paid, she motioned as if she were leading a cavalry charge. “Come on, you two. We might as well go. See you next week, Chester.”
His eyes crinkled in worry and I could see his lips form a question. Two?
* * *
Well, we made it up Colchester Avenue and left onto East, but then Karaline turned right on Carrigan instead of heading straight toward Main Street. “Where are you going, K?” But I guessed I already knew. We were on the UVM campus.
She pulled into a parking place. “Let’s stop by the microbiology lab.” She held the door open for Dirk to exit. “As long as I’m here, I’d love to see the labs.” I hurried to catch up with her and Dirk.
“What if they won’t let us in?”
She shrugged. “Don’t worry. They will. I belong here.” She twisted her mouth. “At least, I used to.”
She took the stairs two at a time, obviously familiar with the place. I guessed things hadn’t changed much since she’d been a student here. The hall was immaculately clean and rather sterile-looking. We rounded several corners and stopped before a closed door.
Dirk passed us and inspected a metal plaque. “This wee sign says Marcus Wantstring, M-D-P-H-D.” He spelled the letters one at a time. “What would these wee letters mean?”
“Medical doctor, doctor of philosophy,” I said.
“Would he be Mistress Emily’s husband?”
“Uh-huh,” Karaline said.
“Can I help you?” I jumped at the voice behind me and turned to see a young man in a lab coat. A shock of white-blond hair, serious dark gray eyes, and a firm mouth. Two out of those three seemed to indicate we’d better answer quickly or he’d call security.
Dirk circled around to the young man’s left. The blade of his dagger glinted in the light from a nearby window. Karaline stepped in front of me. “I was a grad student here about ten years ago. I was in town and thought I’d stop by to see the old place.” She inclined her head toward the door. “Too bad Dr. W isn’t here.
He pressed his lips together so firmly they went almost white. “Yeah. He’s on vacation for a week.”
The young man held out his hand. “I’m PD. Actually, my name’s Conrad Turney. PD’s my nickname.”
“Are you one of W’s graduate assistants?”
“Sure am.”
She introduced me, then looked toward Dirk as if she’d thought about introducing him as well. I saw her clamp her jaw tight against the incipient laugh as she caught herself. Instead she said, “Peggy is a good friend of Dr. W’s wife.”
Before I could object to that designation, Conrad looked at me in some confusion. “Isn’t Mrs. Wantstring too old?” He looked like he thought friendship with anyone over forty must be impossible.
“Ye shouldna speak so of Mistress Emily.”
I agreed with Dirk. “She’s the same age as Dr. Wantstring.”
He cocked one eyebrow, as if to say, Yeah? Isn’t that what I said?
Karaline interrupted. “So who’s the other grad assist? If you’re PD, the other one ought to be—Q?”
“Nope.”
“PD for ‘police department,’ so FD for ‘fire department’?”
“Wrong. I’ll give you a hint. PD stands for ‘polka dot.’”
Karaline thought for a moment. “Stripe?”
“You got it, and”—he looked at his watch—“she should be here right about—now.”
I looked around at the empty hall. Conrad—PD—pointed back toward the hallway we’d come from as a young woman practically staggering under an armload of heavy books rounded the corner. “She should have been polka dot instead of me, cause she’s always on the dot.”