The Deadly Fields of Autumn
The woman who alighted from the stagecoach stood for a moment surveying the town, a look of wonder on her face. Her long dress was gorgeous, green-striped on a snowy white background with an extravagance of ecru-ruffled trim. Was it typical nineteenth century style or what passed for it in a Western movie?
I didn’t know without consulting a costume book, but I wished I had a dress like that, wished I were coming to a Western town where everything would be new and I’d have a grand adventure.
The woman glanced at the hotel, the Pink Palace, and began walking toward it. The camera came to rest on a man sitting with a white-bearded companion in a Confederate uniform.
He was magnificent. Not White Beard but the other man. In a silvery blue shirt topped with a camel colored jacket and worn with a jaunty Stetson, he was the perennial cowboy. His hair was light brown and wavy, his skin tanned from long hours under a western sun, and his eyes…? I couldn’t tell from a distance.
I leaned closer to the screen. Was it my imagination or did the cowboy look like Crane?
Imagination, I decided, but if a dozen men, old and young, had been sitting in front of the hotel, my gaze would have sought him out first.
What an incredibly handsome man!
He was looking at the woman in the green striped dress. I was looking at him. The picture shivered and blurred and disappeared. The music died in mid-note.
Two people were laughing, an intrusive display of hilarity generated by the co-anchors of an early news program.
I’d lost my Western. Lost the connection to the Twilight Zone.
At least I knew I wasn’t losing my mind. Well, I’d never really thought that was the case, although the television’s behavior was odd. What perverse glitch had cut off the movie in mid-scene?
What They Are Saying About The Deadly Fields of Autumn
Dorothy Bodoin’s twenty-fifth installment of her Foxglove Corners Mystery Series, The Deadly Fields of Autumn, has arrived.
Time to brew some tea, grab some cookies, and lose yourself in Jennet Ferguson’s world, where by profession she is a capable teacher in a high school, but also a skillful and dedicated amateur sleuth in her private life. It is always a good day when a reader can unite with her favorite characters, for along with Jennet we join her husband Crane, friends Camille, Brent, Annica and Lucy, to name a few. They are all equally exciting and compelling in their own ways and bring much depth and interest to these books.
Mystery, intrigue, and collies follow Jennet wherever she goes.
First is the mysterious TV Jennet buys. Every time she turns it on, she sees a Western movie where the lead cowboy looks exactly like her husband. But only she sees it. No one else can.
Involved in collie rescue, Jennet decides to initiate a new program to place older dogs with seniors. This seems like a terrific idea until an owner, Charlotte Gray, disappears along with her dog Bronwyn.
As if this weren’t enough mystery, a hit and run crash results in the death of a young girl and a mysterious man sporting a beard harasses Jennet on the freeway.
Not to mention, what is going on with Deputy Veronica the Viper, who baked a birthday cake for Crane and seems to be out to destroy Jennet’s and Crane’s marriage?
Along with the intrigue are the delightful stories of Jennet’s battle to teach English to young people who are not so interested and work under a principal who is far from nice. Her classroom stories add even more dimension to Jennet’s complex character.
The book culminates in a breathtaking, heart pounding Halloween party where Jennet comes face to face with pure evil.
The Deadly Fields of Autumn is a book I highly recommend. It is one you will not want to miss.
I also highly recommend the whole Foxglove Corners’ series, for I have read every single installment. It is a cozy mystery series to celebrate and a page-turner to investigate the latest goings on with your favorite characters. I am already looking forward to the next one.
—Suzanne Hurley
Author of The Dream Smasher
The Deadly Fields of Autumn
Dorothy Bodoin
A Wings ePress, Inc.
Cozy Mystery
Edited by: Jeanne Smith
Copy Edited by: Joan C. Powell
Executive Editor: Jeanne Smith
Cover Artist: Trisha FitzGerald-Jung
All rights reserved
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Wings ePress Books
www.wings-epress.com
Copyright © 2018 by Dorothy Bodoin
ISBN: 978-1-61309-342-9
Published In the United States Of America
Wings ePress Inc.
3000 N. Rock Road
Newton, KS 67114
Dedication
Dedicated to the memory of Wolf Manor Kinder Brightstar, my beloved collie, Kinder. You were by my side every day as this book came slowly to life. You are with me now, in my heart. Rest in peace, my dear one, until we are together again.
One
The antique console held a crowded collection of Tiffany lamps, ornate vases, silver picture frames, and a portable television set in a glossy maple case with a dollop of ornamentation. It appeared to be hiding. It appeared to be… Something I had to have.
I lifted the set up and away from its fragile companions. With a weight of about twenty pounds, it would be easy to handle. Moreover, it was an attractive piece. The portable television sets I’d seen in the past had been flat models, plain and strictly utilitarian. This one reminded me of an old-time radio in a Norman Rockwell illustration with a family gathered around it, listening to their favorite program. It was, in a sense, an antique, and would be the perfect birthday present for my husband, Crane.
I ran my finger across the screen, leaving a clear trail in a square of dust. Whoever was in charge of the estate sale had neglected to clean it properly. I wiped my finger with a tissue and called to Miss Eidt who was nearby, rifling through a box of paperbacks.
“Come look at this, Miss Eidt.”
Elizabeth Eidt had closed the Foxglove Corners Public Library for the day, but in a light blue shirtwaist dress with a pearl necklace, she still looked the part of an old-fashioned small town librarian. I suspected she had a pair of white gloves in her straw handbag. Holding a paperback with a creased blue and green cover, she joined me.
“That little television? It’s charming, but not very practical. I’m used to looking at a larger screen.”
“So am I, but this one is unique. I’m going to buy it,” I added.
“You’d better find out if it works first.”
“It has a cord,” I said.
“And there’s an outlet on the wall.”
“I don’t suppose anyone would mind.”
I plugged the cord in, turned the set on, and a picture with pale colors swam into focus: a meadow with a dog running toward a lake and a horse in full gallop on the horizon.
“Is this your frivolous gift to yourself for surviving the first week of your new semester?” Miss Eidt asked with a teasing twinkle in her eye. “Because you already have a TV, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I said, “and we have cable. But I don’t watch television unless so
mething momentous happens in the world. I want this for Crane’s birthday.”
My deputy sheriff husband had taken up a new hobby… making furniture, in an effort to balance long hours patrolling the roads and byroads of Foxglove Corners. The little television set could sit on his workbench, giving him an illusion of company in our basement while he worked.
“Will you still make your frivolous purchase for yourself?” she asked.
I smiled. “Of course. As soon as I see something I want.”
I deserved a reward after the grim week I’d had teaching English at Marston High School. In only five days, I could tell I had two rowdy groups that would demand a creative approach and constant attention lest they wrest control of the class from me.
The leisurely day at the estate sale was part of the reward. It had been storming, but we didn’t let that stop us.
Miss Eidt was searching for books by such notables as Victoria Holt and Virginia Coffman to fill her new Gothic Nook at the library. I was just looking, always intrigued by antiques.
The purple Victorian house on Grovelane had had one owner, Eustacia Stirling, for seventy years. We both assumed that in that time she had acquired many priceless articles.
“I’m going to look at jewelry next,” I said. “But first…” I noted the discreet price tag. Thirty dollars. “I want to pay for the TV and put it in my car.”
“I might as well take that whole box of paperbacks,” Miss Eidt said. “Some of the covers are in poor condition, and the pages are yellowish; but that adds to the ambiance. Don’t you agree?”
I did. At present, Miss Eidt’s Gothic Nook was still in the vision stage. Once it began to take shape, there would be no stopping it. She already had two vintage rockers and a Victorian table to lure lovers of the genre.
“Only the box is too heavy,” she said. “I can’t lift it.”
“I’ll carry it for you as soon as I pay for the television. The cashier is out on the porch.”
“I’ll come with you.”
We wove through makeshift aisles of chairs and tables out to the porch that wrapped lazily around the stately Victorian. It had stopped raining, and a warm sweet-scented breeze washed over us and set the leaves in the maple trees rustling. A crimson leaf sailed through the air and landed at my feet.
A silver-haired lady in black, whose nametag identified her as Anna Bell, sat at a small desk writing in a ledger.
“That’s a little beauty,” she said as I set the television on the desk. “It’s one of a kind.”
I pulled three ten dollar bills out of my wallet. She made a notation in her ledger.
“We’re not through shopping,” Miss Eidt said. “I have books…”
A strident voice interrupted her. The speaker huffed up to the desk so close to my purchase that I had to resist the impulse to lay a protective hand over it.
“Oh. Are you buying that TV?”
“I just did,” I said.
She had stuffed her ample form into a hot pink sundress with a low scoop neckline and a hem that brushed her ankles.
“Oh…” Her lips, painted pink to match her dress, turned down in a childish pout. “I was going to buy it. I just stepped away for a second…”
Sensing an impending conflict, Anna Bell said, “Perhaps you’ll find something else. Miss Sterling had several phonographs and television sets.”
“Like this one?” she asked with a covetous glance at my purchase.
“I’m not sure. You can look.”
“Maybe you’d better go back inside and stand by your books,” I told Miss Eidt. “I’ll be back as soon as I stash this in the trunk.”
I had the feeling I’d better do that before the pink sundress lady grabbed the television set out of my arms and took off.
~ * ~
We had arrived early but still had to park a block away from the sale. By the time I’d locked the television set in my trunk, I was feeling wilted and a bit frazzled. The brief encounter with the disappointed shopper had unsettled me. I hoped I wouldn’t see her again.
She was probably inside the house.
Many sales items had spilled out onto the front lawn, with the folded coverings that had protected them from the rain. Oil paintings on easels, white wicker furniture, outmoded luggage that included a hat box, and a rack of clothing from the twenties and thirties. Surely Miss Stirling hadn’t been old enough to wear those dresses.
They made a colorful display. Maybe I’d wear a flapper’s costume with a long rope of pearls for the Halloween party that Miss Eidt was planning to have in the library. This beaded ensemble would look elegant. It would fall above the knees, which was a departure from the maxi dresses in my closet, but after all it would be Halloween.
As I took it down from the rack, its beads jingled faintly and something uttered a plaintive sound.
I had disturbed a collie who had been lying in the monstrous shadow cast by the clothing rack. She stretched and nudged my hand with her long nose.
“Why, hello, girl,” I said.
She was dark sable and white with a silvered muzzle, soulful brown eyes, and a wagging tail. Around her neck she wore a wide collar studded with colored stones that sparkled in the sunlight. Attached to the collar was a sheet of paper with a handwritten note on it:
My name is Bronwyn and I can be yours for twenty dollars.
This sweet old dog was part of the sale? I couldn’t believe it. Aside from the questionable practice of selling a dog at an estate sale, who would buy an older collie? Someone who scoured the countryside scooping up unwanted dogs for nefarious purposes? As a collie lover, a member of the Lakeville Collie Rescue League, and a human being with a heart, I couldn’t allow that to happen.
The dog laid her head against my hand. I gave her a pat on her silky head, and slipped my hand under the collar.
“Bronwyn,” I said. “How would you like to come with me?”
~ * ~
Miss Eidt stood next to Anna Bell’s desk, the box of Gothic paperbacks at her feet.
“A nice gentleman carried the box out for me,” she said. “Mrs. Bell said we can leave it here while we look for your reward.”
“I already found it.”
Miss Eidt stared. Bronwyn had trailed along behind me, needing no encouragement.
“You found a collie, Jennet? How unlike you.”
“She’s for sale,” I said.
“No!” Miss Eidt offered her palm to the dog to sniff. “She’s an animal. There must be a mistake.”
“I hope you’re interested in buying her,” Mrs. Bell said. “If she isn’t sold by the end of the day, she’s going to the dog pound.”
Where her life would undoubtedly come to a quick end.
“You’re not serious,” I said.
“It’s true. It isn’t my decision,” she added quickly.
“Well…” I reached for my wallet. Fortunately I’d brought plenty of cash to the sale. I lay two more tens on the desk. “I’m taking her. Does she have any papers? A pedigree? Her health record?”
“None that we found. She was Miss Sterling’s dog. Her daughter wants everything gone. That includes Bronwyn.”
“Doesn’t she have at least have a leash?”
“Mmm. I don’t think so. She’s had the run of the house.”
Miss Eidt nudged my arm. “Will Crane let you have another dog?”
That was a good question, as we already had seven collies. But I didn’t plan to add Bronwyn to my household. Sue Appleton, the president of our rescue league, would welcome her. Bronwyn was, after all, a dog in distress.
“In spite of what he thinks, Crane doesn’t tell me what to do,” I said.
Two
Bronwyn padded along with us to the car without a single backward glance. No one would miss her at the purple Victorian house, and she obviously wouldn’t miss the people who had replaced Miss Stirling in her life.
“They didn’t even give us her food dish or a bowl for water,” Miss Eidt said.
“Don’t worry. I have everything she needs in my trunk.”
As a member of collie rescue, I might come across a collie in dire straits at any time, often in an isolated wooded area. Part of my emergency supplies included a blanket, biscuits, and bottled water, along with collapsible dishes.
Miss Eidt dabbed discreetly at her throat. “My, it’s getting hot. Are we still going to stop for lunch?”
“Yes, and if we go to Clovers, we’ll be able to take Bronwyn with us. Mary Jeanne, the owner, loves dogs. She has a special room in the back with water and toys where people can leave their dogs while they eat.”
“What a great idea!”
“I was thinking,” Miss Eidt said. “Someone liked Bronwyn well enough when she was a puppy to give her that pretty name. What happened?”
“Life happened. Bronwyn got old. Her owner died, and the daughter regarded her as a commodity.”
A nuisance to be discarded as soon as possible. Possibly she considered a trip to the dog pound a humane solution.
“Poor dog,” Miss Eidt said. “If Sue Appleton can’t find a home for her, I’ll take her.”
I reached over and squeezed her hand. Miss Eidt was a definite cat person, owner of the inscrutable feline, Blackberry. I’d never heard her express a desire for a dog.
“You’re a sweetheart, Miss Eidt,” I said. “Is Clovers okay for lunch?”
“It’s perfect,” she said. “All this fresh air has made me ravenous.”
~ * ~
In the woods along Crispian Road, the leaves were beginning to turn. With new streaks of gold and crimson, this was one of the most colorful drives in town, and autumn was my favorite time of year, even though the heat of summer was determined to linger.
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