The riders assembled, and I joined Timothy and Clarence while they waited for their mounts.
One of the men approached, leading a rawboned bay mare. “Clarence, I saw on your form you’re a beginner.”
“That’s right.” He gave a nervous laugh.
“Martha here is real gentle. She’ll get you off to a good start.”
He helped Clarence mount the long-legged horse. Another wrangler brought Timothy his ride for the day, a palomino quarter horse.
I stepped forward. “I’ll adjust their stirrups if you want to go ahead and help the others.”
“Thanks. Appreciate that,” said the man who had assisted Clarence, and he headed to the next rider.
I shortened Clarence’s stirrups and lengthened Timothy’s. As I wasn’t an employee, the cowboys came by to double-check my work and be sure the mandatory safety requirements were met. I mounted Nezi, and the group began a slow walk to the outskirts of town.
“Have you ever ridden before, Clarence?”
“No.” He looked at the ground. “That looks a long ways away.”
“We’ll just need to be sure you don’t meet it unexpectedly,” I said.
He flashed me a brief smile, which quickly disappeared as he gripped the saddle horn with white knuckles. His fingerprints might be permanently imprinted into the leather. The horse pulled at the bit and the reins came out of Clarence’s hands. I reached over and grabbed them, glad someone had tied them together.
I handed them to Clarence. “Here’s how to hold the reins.”
I demonstrated for him.
“But then I can only hold on to the saddle with one hand.”
“Right.”
“But…but…”
“I’ll stay with you, Clarence.”
Timothy appeared comfortable on his mount and had gone on ahead, chatting with one of the other riders.
Clarence gulped. “Okay.”
On we went, Clarence gripping the saddle and occasionally swallowing hard. We wound our way up a dirt path behind the town, leading into the hills. Clarence slumped in the saddle like he was in a rocking chair, a look of discomfort on his face.
I showed him how to put his weight in the stirrups, both to help the horse go uphill and to make him have a more secure seat in the saddle. Unfortunately, that was more than he could handle. Holding the reins with one hand was as far as he was going to go in terms of learning to ride today.
“We’re almost there,” one of the cowboys called out.
The horses broke into a trot, no doubt knowing a stopping point was ahead and maybe a chance for a snack.
The tall mare’s jarring trot turned Clarence’s pained expression into one of agony as his bottom pounded the saddle. He let go of the reins and held on to the saddle horn with both hands. He began to slip.
Clarence gave a terrified yell. “I’m going to fall!”
I grabbed the reins and pulled the horse’s head to my knee, forcing her into a walk as I slowed Nezi. I reached over and helped Clarence right himself in the saddle.
“Thank you, Kelly.” His words were choked and shaky.
Ahead of us, the group had stopped and the wranglers helped people get off one at a time and tied the horses to a rail. One of them approached us. I figured Clarence might have a problem getting off the horse. I dismounted and tied Nezi up.
Clarence took his right foot out of the stirrup.
“Hold on,” I said to him. “We’ll help you.”
Between the two of us, we guided Clarence’s descent and held on to him as he wobbled a bit upon reaching the ground.
He steadied and straightened. “Thanks.”
He walked away, teetering from side to side on temporarily bowed legs. At least his would straighten out. They weren’t like the permanently bowed legs I was used to seeing on the seasoned riders I knew in Wyoming.
The lead cowboy gave everyone maps and directions, as had happened with the mushroom hikers in the morning. “We’ll meet here in half an hour.”
Timothy and Clarence walked off together. I joined Diane’s men, hoping I could learn something. They had settled in a grassy clearing with several wooden picnic tables.
A leathery-skinned man in a denim jacket pulled playing cards from a pocket.
I went over to him. “Nice area.”
“Yeah.” He began to shuffle the cards as the others settled on the bench seats. “We do rides here regularly and have a picnic lunch at this stop. The property owner charges Diane a small fee for using the area.” He dealt the cards.
“Are any of you into mushroom hunting?” I asked the group.
Negative shakes of their heads all around. They stared intently at their cards, some arranging them in their hands in a different order.
I decided to ask one more question before leaving them to their card game.
“I’ve heard someone talking about sinker logs. Do you know anything about those?”
“Nope,” said the card shuffler. “Who wants to start?”
Clearly time for me to leave. “Thanks.” I wandered back to Nezi.
That was a bust. Maybe I’d do better with the canoers. I petted the horse on his neck, then let him rub his head on my shoulder, while waiting for the group to return. I didn’t mind a few white horse hairs on my fleece. The riders came back on time, and we went through the mounting process.
Clarence didn’t want to get back on. He finally agreed when I assured him I’d lead his horse and we wouldn’t have a repeat of the earlier incident. He could even hold on to the saddle horn with both hands all the way back. Clarence winced as he settled in the saddle. We had an uneventful trip back.
“That’s one form of transportation I will not be using tomorrow,” Clarence said once he was back on firm ground. “The canoeing starts in thirty minutes. I’m off for coffee.”
“I’ll join you,” Timothy said. “Kelly, what about you?”
“I’ll pass. I’ll meet you at the starting area for the canoes. I have something I want to do.”
Timothy nodded. “Okay. Clarence and I are going over together. We’ll see you there.”
I stopped by the market and bought a half gallon of deluxe vanilla bean ice cream, dropped it off at the inn, and then followed the directions I’d been given to the launching area. A wooden sign with Paddler’s Paradise on it confirmed I’d reached my destination. A row of canoes lined the beach with a pile of life vests in front of them.
Five people stood in a group. Three men wearing black shirts with the canoe company’s logo picked up life jackets. I joined them as one of the guides fitted Clarence into his vest. Max sat in front of him, watching the proceedings with a tilted head and wagging tail.
“Max looks happy,” I said.
“Yeah. I started canoeing at home with him. Originally I did it in preparation for this contest, but now it’s become something we regularly do. Even after I learned enough of the basics for this trip, we kept going out. We stop at different places, and he gets to run around and check out the new smells. I get to absorb the beauty of places I can’t drive or hike to.”
I checked my cell phone for messages but saw there was no reception here. I’d been told phones wouldn’t work more than about two miles out of town. More learning about Redwood Cove. We had issues with service on the ranch at home, so it wasn’t the shock to me it might have been for some people who completely relied on it.
The guides paired me with a young man in wire-rimmed glasses. He introduced himself and explained he was learning to be a mycologist. He offered to take the front and help with the steering, explaining he often went canoeing with his parents. I said fine and was happy with his offer. I had paddled some but wasn’t an expert, by any means.
The guides gave directions and demonstrations on how to use the oars. A Paddler’s Paradise crew member would b
e rowing at the back of each canoe.
I got into the middle of the boat. One of the guides pushed it a few feet into the water. My partner got in the front, and we were shoved the rest of the way into the water, with the guide getting in the back. We began to paddle.
I was pleased to discover my partner wasn’t a talker. The slow glide through the water was soothing. My nerves needed that, as did my questioning mind. I allowed myself to sink into the healing experience. The rhythmic movement of the paddling was like a physical mantra, with the lapping of the water against the canoe providing nature’s background music. The gentle flow of the river rocked the canoe back and forth ever so slightly, reminding me of a baby’s crib.
The leaders had chosen an easy section to maneuver, probably because they had a range of abilities amongst the group. Timothy and Clarence’s canoe moved slowly past us. They smiled and waved. Max sat like he was at attention, the gentle breeze ruffling his curls. A golden-haired king sailing by with his servants rowing him to his destination.
I peered into the water and saw a submerged log. Glancing up to my left I saw a knoll. I was almost positive that was where Daniel and I had stood and this sunken wood was what I’d seen from above. We landed on a sandy beach. I got out and helped pull the canoe out of the water.
As people took off their life vests, I went back to the shore. Bushes down to the water’s edge lined the river. Wildflowers dotted the grassy areas adjacent to the sand. Their delicate scent sweetened the air. A couple of butterflies danced in the afternoon sun. I walked over to where the brush began and saw what had once been a road but was now two narrow dirt paths disappearing into the growth.
The routine from earlier trips was repeated as the leaders handed out maps and gave instructions. Members of the party ambled down the twin tracks.
My plan was to stay and ask questions. I could come back and explore the area another time on my own. The three men leading the group sat on a large beached log, and I joined them.
“I’m Kelly Jackson, new manager for Redwood Cove Bed-and-Breakfast. I’m participating in the events to learn more about the area, not to hunt mushrooms.”
The men gave me their first names, and I met Mike, George, and Ralph. They commented they were familiar with the inn.
I settled on the log. “This is a beautiful place. Is it part of your regular tours?”
Mike nodded. “It’s one of them. We have a variety of trips for people to choose from, depending on their ability and what they want to see.”
We continued on for a few minutes discussing their tours, when they operated, and rates. I asked for brochures, and Ralph said one of them would drop a stack off at the bed-and-breakfast.
We sat quietly, soaking up the sun.
I pointed to the knoll. “Is that where the sacred Indian site is located?”
“Yep,” George said.
I didn’t question people for a living, and I felt uncomfortable about prying into people’s lives. But I had to. Daniel needed my help. How did you begin asking questions about murder in the middle of a casual discussion?
“I was there yesterday afternoon.” I paused, then plunged ahead. “Did you know a man was killed there last night?”
Their heads snapped around in my direction, and they sat up straighter.
Mike leaned forward. “What happened?”
“They don’t know yet. Someone shot a newspaper reporter named Ned Blaine.”
“I heard he was shot but didn’t know where it happened,” Ralph said.
We all stared at the top of the hill in front of us.
“Did any of you know him?” I asked.
Mike frowned. “I wouldn’t say I exactly knew him. We had a canoe go over. Some teenagers playing around. Wouldn’t stop when we asked them to. No one was hurt. He questioned me about it and wrote a story. To my way of thinking, he added a little too much reporter drama.”
“Didn’t seem to hurt business,” George commented. “We changed the wording on some of our forms. That was all that happened as a result of it.”
I looked at the knoll where I’d stood yesterday. Their gazes followed mine.
“Eerie to think he was killed up there.” I pushed forward again, despite my discomfort and feeling awkward. “Were any of you here yesterday? Maybe one of you saw something?”
George shook his head. “We had a meeting in the morning, then spent the rest of the day preparing for today and tomorrow.”
Conversations growing in volume announced the return of the mushroom hunters. Timothy, Clarence, and a prancing Max appeared from one of the small paths in the undergrowth.
We proceeded to repeat that procedure we’d used when embarking on the outing. I wasn’t getting anywhere fast. The only thing I’d learned was that maybe Ned overdid things a bit at times. I hoped the Silver Sentinels were having more success. Soon we were back at our launch site and shedding our life vests. Clarence pulled a small soda bottle from his jacket pocket.
Suddenly Max began barking nonstop and lunging at his owner. Clarence turned pale, slowly sank to his knees, and then toppled over into the sand.
Max began pawing at his owner’s foot. The dog moaned and then began pawing with both feet as if trying to dig a hole through Clarence’s boot.
What is happening?
Chapter 12
I knelt down beside Clarence. His eyes had a faraway look. Max kept pawing at his foot.
A soda bottle.
A frantic dog.
A fallen man.
I think I knew what was happening.
“He might be having a diabetic low,” I shouted. “Sit him up.”
The canoe guides leaped into action and had him upright by the time I’d taken the top off of the soda.
“Clarence, take a sip.” I held the bottle to his lips.
He opened them slightly and I poured a small amount of soda into his mouth. He swallowed.
“Another one.”
Clarence obediently complied. He still had a vacant-eyed look about him. I waited a few seconds and we repeated the process.
He blinked and stared at me. “What happened?”
“You tell us.” I explained what had taken place.
Timothy had raced over when Clarence had fallen, and knelt beside us.
Clarence blushed. “I’m diabetic. I let my blood sugar get too low.”
Max lay down with a moan and put his head on Clarence’s leg.
Timothy grabbed his friend’s hand. “Clarence, you never told me.”
“I know. I’m embarrassed. I brought it on myself. Family members have had problems. I know what I should do in terms of weight and exercise, and I haven’t done it. My will power’s too weak.”
“Ridiculous. I remember when we started the knitting classes and were sharing photographs and stories of our challenges. You were bound and determined to conquer the battle of the knitting needles, as you called it. You can conquer anything you put your mind to.”
“Timothy, you’re so kind. I’m lucky to have a friend like you. Maybe you can come and stay with me for a while in Oregon and give me that pep talk every day when I reach for a doughnut or a bagel and cream cheese.”
“I just might take you up on that. We’re going to work out a plan for you to take charge of this part of your life.”
Clarence smiled at him. The color had returned to his face. Max was quiet and still next to him.
Clarence looked at me. “How did you know what to do?”
“One summer on my parents’ ranch, we had a diabetic guest. He asked to bring his service dog. We don’t allow people to bring their pets, but this was different. We said yes. He explained to us how his diabetic alert dog worked. Since he couldn’t take the dog on horseback rides, he taught us what a diabetic low looked like and what we should do.”
Clarence nodded. �
�Lucky for me.” He began to stand and Timothy and I helped him. “Thanks. Once my sugar is back up, I’m fine.” He patted Max’s head. “He began pawing, which is his signal to me, but I put off doing anything. I thought I could make it until we beached the canoes.”
“Clarence,” Timothy said, “maybe we should call it a day.”
“No way.” Clarence took a long swig of the soda. “I’m not going to miss out on off-roading.”
Timothy frowned.
“Honest. I’m all right now. I’ll even test myself to be sure.”
Timothy raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Okay. I just don’t want these competitions to end. I would never have learned how to knit a scarf and beanie without you as my contest partner.”
They shared a laugh.
The group had gathered around us when Clarence first fell, then wandered back to what they’d been doing when Clarence began explaining his condition. The guides had gone back to work on the canoes.
“Does Max have a service dog vest?” Timothy asked.
Clarence sighed and ran his fingers through the dog’s curly hair. “Yes, but I rarely put it on him. I only use it when I want him to be able to come with me in places where dogs aren’t allowed.”
“Why don’t you keep it on him?”
Clarence let out a longer, louder sigh. “For the same reason I never told you. I don’t want people to know.”
Timothy put his hand on his friend’s forearm. “Maybe this is where you take your first step to change. Acknowledging your condition. Besides, you’ll be giving people a chance to learn about diabetic alert dogs. Maybe that will help someone who is struggling with the disease.”
Clarence shook his head. “I don’t know if I’m ready to do that.”
“How about this,” Timothy said. “You put it on him for the next event. That way he’ll be able to go with you, no questions asked. You can take it off when it’s over.”
Silence ensued.
Finally Clarence said, “I’ll do it. I know I need to change. I could die, and that would leave Max homeless. I can’t take that chance. We take care of each other.”
Murder at the Mushroom Festival Page 8