The Deadly Fields of Autumn

by Dorothy Bodoin

  Dinner was ready, the tapers in the heirloom candlesticks burned brightly, and I heard Crane’s footsteps on the stairs. It was time for dinner, time to ban stressful conversations and even thoughts. After dinner, the ban would still be in effect. I’d had enough stress for one day.

  As soon as I did the dishes, I’d see if by lucky chance the Western was playing on the haunted television set. Later Crane and I would take the dogs walking on the lane. This was my life, for which I was everlastingly grateful, and I wasn’t going to allow a poisonous viper to slither any closer to my home.

  ~ * ~

  The television gave me contemporary fare which was, as always, disappointing, but then Crane was home, within calling distance. It would keep its supernatural properties under wraps. Our walk with the dogs was perfection with a warm September wind, rustling leaves, and collies who miraculously behaved when Crane led the pack.

  After that, our evening took an unexpected turn. Crane picked up the Banner, and I chose a novel from my reading basket intending to end the day in a shadowy gloom-begotten Gothic world.

  I hadn’t finished a single paragraph when my cell phone rang.

  Jennifer said, “I just saw Ms. Gray drive by, Jennet. She parked in her driveway. You said to let you know when she came home.”

  Finally.

  “Thank you, Jennifer,” I said. “You have no idea how important this is. Could you tell if she had Bronwyn with her?”

  “I didn’t see her, but I heard barking.”

  “That’s good. I’m going right over and see her.”

  I powered off my phone.

  “Did you say you’re going out?” Crane asked.

  “Charlotte and Bronwyn are home,” I said.

  “Look at the time, honey. It’s past ten.”

  I came abruptly back to reality. “I guess it’s too late for a visit or even a call.”

  “Especially if she’s just come home from a trip. She’s probably exhausted, maybe in bed.”

  “Tomorrow she may be gone again,” I said.

  It wasn’t likely, but something told me I needed to seize my opportunity.

  “You’ll have to chance it.”

  I tried to dismiss Sue’s idea of Charlotte as an opportunist who had acquired Bronwyn to sell her into a hellish life. It was outlandish. Still… The possibility remained. On the other hand, as Bronwyn was still with Charlotte and barking, I could dismiss that ghastly notion.

  Out of the mood for reading, I dropped my book back in the basket, cheered by the thought that tomorrow was Saturday. I could be on Charlotte’s doorstep early. Nine would be a reasonable hour for an important visit.

  Maybe delay was for the best. I was exhausted myself and wanted to be rested and alert when I talked to Charlotte.

  Crane said, “Let me know what kind of car Charlotte has.”

  He must still be wondering if she’d driven the car that had killed the young girl on Huron Court.

  Seventeen

  The car was bright blue, a shade rarely seen on the roads. Its lines were sleek, reminiscent of the old Plymouth Volare, and it was liberally caked with mud, a sign that it had been driven significant miles.

  More important, it wasn’t white, therefore, not the vehicle that had been involved in the fatal hit and run on Huron Court. Also, the body was in pristine shape, obviously well cared for, without a scratch in sight. I was relieved to put my suspicion to rest.

  Still, Charlotte’s recent trip remained a mystery. I’d have to find a way to ask her discreetly about it.

  In a swirl of leaves, I stood on the porch and rang the doorbell. Bronwyn’s head appeared in the picture window. Her bark was loud, even from outside. Charlotte joined her collie, meeting my gaze through the glass, no doubt curious to see who was visiting her so early in the morning.

  The door opened. Her smile seemed surprised and somewhat forced, but she was dressed for the day in dark checkered pants and a lacy sleeveless top. Good. I hadn’t called too early. She had her hand hooked in Bronwyn’s collar as if afraid the collie would bound through the door.

  “Why, Jennet,” she said. “You’re up early on a Saturday. Come in.”

  I gave Bronwyn a pat on the head. “I came to see how you and Bronwyn are doing.”

  “We couldn’t be better. She’s the best companion I ever had. I was just having a cup of coffee,” she added. “Could I interest you in some?”

  “I’d love that,” I said. “Coffee is exactly what I need.”

  And time, I thought. I had to set the stage before interrogating her.

  “Let’s go in the kitchen,” she said. “I have a good coffeecake.”

  I had a fleeting impression of cool colors and furniture with clean, classic lines that brought to mind the sea or, in this instance, the lake. The kitchen was different, small but cozy and painted a sunny shade of yellow.

  Bronwyn pulled a toy out of a basket filled to the top with stuffies. Her creature of choice was a pink bunny who wore a green and yellow ribbon. She shook it with mock ferocity and dropped it at my feet, which told me that Bronwyn wasn’t too old to play with toys and that Charlotte was pampering her new dog.

  Experienced in this game, I picked the bunny up. I sat at the table, and Bronwyn stood in the doorway, eyes alert, waiting for me to throw it.

  “Bronwyn appears to be adjusting well to her new home,” I said.

  “I haven’t had her long, but already I can’t imagine my life without her.”

  I threw the bunny across the kitchen. She scampered after it.

  “Obviously she eats well.”

  “She licks every dinner bowl clean.”

  “Does she sleep through the night?” I asked.

  “I go to bed earlier than most people, so sometimes Bronwyn whines to go out around four or five.”

  “That’s understandable.”

  “And she’s a good traveler.”

  Ah, the opening I needed.

  “You must have been away the last few days,” I said. “I stopped by before.”

  She turned to rummage through an old fashioned bread box on the counter. “I took the coffeecake out of the freezer last night. It’ll be thawed.”

  “But you weren’t home,” I added.

  Charlotte brought out a coffeecake sprinkled with powdered sugar and unwrapped it. She poured coffee for me and refilled her own cup.

  “Do you take sugar or cream?” she asked.

  “Just black will be fine.”

  Bronwyn had brought the bunny back to me and stood waiting for me to notice her.

  I tried to think of another way to introduce the subject of Charlotte’s trip. She saved me the trouble.

  “I have a cabin up north,” she said. “I took a short vacation now that I have someone to go with.”

  “That someone being Bronwyn.”

  “It makes a difference. She’s protection, and I can talk to her. I’ll swear she knows what I’m saying.”

  “A collie is all of that,” I said, “But why do you need protection?”

  “You know how it is. A woman traveling alone…” She trailed off.

  “Did Bronwyn like the north?” I asked.

  “I didn’t let her run free. I kept thinking she’d make a beeline for the woods and get lost or tangle with a wild creature. Actually I spent most of the time inside cleaning. You know, a place gets dusty even though you don’t live in it every day.”

  I did know. Crane and I had a log cabin which, with our schedules, we rarely had a chance to use. When we did, my first jobs were to mop and dust.

  I took a bite of coffeecake. It was plain but delicious, not too sweet, with prune filling. When I complimented Charlotte on it, she said, “It’s my grandmother’s recipe. To be truthful, she didn’t use a recipe, but I used to watch her make them.”

  I was learning little details of Charlotte’s life, but I had the feeling she was being deliberately evasive. Having received a glowing report about Bronwyn, I’d have to leave when I finis
hed my coffee and cake. I might as well be direct.

  “While you were gone, there was a terrible accident in Foxglove Corners,” I said. “It was a hit and run. A young girl died.”

  She hesitated a telling moment before speaking. “How very sad. Was she a child?”

  “No, a college student.”

  “Where did this happen?” she asked.

  “Very close to Sagramore Lake Road,” I said. “On Huron Court.”

  “I know where that is. It isn’t built up.”

  “Not now. There used to be a lovely pink Victorian house on Huron Court, but it burned to the ground.”

  “I remember,” she said. “Now all sorts of flowers are blooming there. At this time of year, most of them are dying out, but the goldenrods are spectacular, so tall and bright.”

  I tried again. “Huron Court has a fair number of curves. I can see how an accident could happen there. You’re driving along and think yours is the only car in miles. Then you find yourself about to collide with another one, head on.”

  Charlotte shuddered. “Do you think that’s what happened?”

  “I really don’t know,” I said. “The killer just drove away, leaving the girl seriously injured. The police are looking for him—or her.”

  “And you say she died?”

  “In the hospital, some days later. Her name was Gail Redmond.

  Charlotte drained her coffee cup and picked up the pot. “There’s never an excuse not to own up to what you did,” she said. “More coffeecake, Jennet?”

  ~ * ~

  With a glance at the lake that lay still beneath an increasing wind, I drove the short distance home. I had my report for the Rescue League and Charlotte’s excuse for leaving town, but I was certain she had withheld a portion of the story, a major part.

  Did it make sense to adopt a new dog and promptly drive up north to a cabin which presumably she’d had for a while?

  Maybe.

  She hadn’t impressed me as the impulsive kind. If she’d said she’d gone to the cabin to close it for the winter, I’d be more inclined to believe her. That was what cabin owners did at this time of year.

  Lacking evidence to the contrary, however, I had to believe her. At least her car wasn’t white. I could lose the suspicion that she was the hit and run driver.

  At home I typed a brief report on Bronwyn’s new life and sent a copy to Sue who would add it to our website. Bronwyn’s success story was a rousing endorsement for our new program.

  But why was I still uneasy?

  Eighteen

  A call from my sister, Julia, drove questions about Charlotte’s mysterious trip to the back of my mind. Julia was finally returning to the states after studying in England and taking an extended vacation in Italy. Her flight would arrive on Monday afternoon, and she insisted on renting a car and driving to Foxglove Corners.

  “I don’t want you or Crane to alter your schedules,” she said. “Besides I’ll need my own transportation when I’m home in the states.”

  It was no use arguing with her. Julia was independent and self-sufficient. I suspected that her time overseas had sharpened these qualities.

  “If you get there before we do, Camille has a spare key,” I said. “Have a safe flight.”

  Now I’d wait and hope nothing happened to prevent our reunion.

  On Sunday afternoon, when sunlight turned the autumn-colored leaves to fiery brilliance, I took Halley, Sky, and Misty walking to Sagramore Lake, hoping we’d run into Charlotte or perhaps see Bronwyn in the yard.

  We met a collie on the way, but it was Ginger padding along between Jennifer and Molly. The girls were wearing beige shorts and the tops that Miss Eidt had designed for her summer reading club. The dogs all knew one another and were overjoyed at the chance to share their walk, even Sky who usually tried to melt into the background when confronted with unexpected company.

  “Did you ever get to visit Ms. Gray?” Jennifer asked.

  “Yes,” I said, “and I saw Bronwyn too.”

  “That’s good because they’re gone again,” Molly said.

  “What? I just saw them yesterday.”

  Charlotte hadn’t said anything about leaving town again, but I recalled my nagging feeling that she was withholding some of her story. In that case she would hardly advertise her plans. But to take another trip so soon?

  Jennifer said, “She left a note asking us to keep raking her leaves. She’s going to pay us later.”

  “That’s strange,” I said. “When did you find the note?”

  “This morning.”

  That meant she must have left late Saturday night or early Sunday morning, which suggested haste. Or fear?

  We soon reached the lake and Charlotte’s house. The blue car was indeed gone. A new layer of crimson maple leaves blanketed the lawn and the driveway, seeming to hide secrets. A thick newspaper wrapped in yellow plastic, probably the Sunday Banner, lay on the porch in a bed of leaves, undisturbed.

  “Very strange,” I added.

  Molly’s eyes lit up. I recognized the look. “Do you think it’s a mystery?” she asked.

  “Don’t be silly, Molly,” Jennifer said. “Ms. Gray isn’t a mysterious lady. Before this, she hardly ever went anywhere.”

  “Then something must have happened,” Molly countered. “She’s always been so nice to us. If she’s in trouble, we want to help.”

  The girls fancied themselves modern day Nancy Drews. They were always eager to leap into my mysteries and at times had provided valuable clues. But did I want to involve them in this one? I didn’t think so, not until I knew what was going on in Charlotte’s life. It might be innocent; it might not. What to tell them?

  “There could be trouble, but it’s too soon to tell.”

  “If there is a mystery, we’ll help you solve it,” Molly said.

  Jennifer, easily convinced, said, “We can keep an eye on the house and let you know as soon as she comes back. She will. She has to pay us for raking leaves.”

  “You can do that,” I said. “It’d be helpful.”

  We stayed together along the lake and around the block while Molly and Jennifer regaled me with tales of their new classes, the boys they liked, and Ginger’s adventures in agility.

  With the girls brimming with the enthusiasm of the young, and the dogs finding their pleasure in sniffing new scents, everything seemed so normal that it was difficult to believe Charlotte might be involved in a dangerous situation. Even with this second disappearing act.

  Still there might well be mischief afoot, and because of Bronwyn, my concerns went beyond curiosity.

  As soon as I took the collies home, I’d better call on Sue Appleton.

  ~ * ~

  Sue set the brush on the porch step. “Now I know something’s wrong.”

  Seeing her opportunity, Bluebell, half brushed, escaped to a safe distance where she lay between Icy and Echo watching us.

  “You’re probably right,” I said.

  “Our Bronwyn is in the middle of it.”

  I settled myself in a wicker rocker and told the dogs to Sit and Stay. Misty gave a whimper to express her displeasure. She wanted to run with Sue’s collies.

  “You have to remember, Bronwyn belongs to Charlotte,” I pointed out.

  “If our rescue is in danger, all bets are off.”

  I sighed. Charlotte had adopted Bronwyn. She had her papers. The Rescue League had a clear policy on rescinding an adoption. Unless, of course, the collie was being abused.

  “Maybe she’ll return in a few days,” I said.

  “And maybe she won’t.”

  “She has to,” I said. “Her home is here.”

  Sue was determined to look on the dark side. I hoped everything would work out, but I was baffled and couldn’t think of any way to find out where Charlotte had gone and why.

  Then I remembered the neighbor who had been collecting Charlotte’s mail. Possibly Charlotte had revealed her plans or at least left a note with more details
than the one Jennifer had received.

  At my feet Sky trembled, and in the next instance, thunder rumbled across the sky. Until then I hadn’t noticed the dark clouds amassing above the woods.

  “It wasn’t supposed to rain,” Sue said.

  The weather continued to amaze me. “When we left the house, it was sunny and beautiful.”

  It was beautiful still, if a little darker. Rain has a way of creeping up on you, especially when you don’t read the paper or listen to the weather news on television.

  I rose and took the leashes. “Let’s outrace the storm, girls.”

  Sue called to her dogs. “This problem with Charlotte isn’t over,” she said.

  “I’ll let you know as soon as I hear something,” I said and hurried the dogs down the driveway out to the lane.

  ~ * ~

  Raindrops began to fall before we reached the house. We increased our speed and arrived home, wet and breathless, with a roll of thunder.

  Water landed on me from three sides as the dogs shook. I toweled myself dry and changed clothes, put a roast in the oven, and thought about the haunted television. I hadn’t even looked at it for two days.

  I turned it on and saw Luke’s face. He was talking again, extolling the virtues of the Territory in general and his ranch, the L Bar E in particular.

  Good! Great!

  I settled down to listen and watch. Luke’s face was aglow with passion for his home, for life, for his success. The fine lines around his eyes crinkled bewitchingly. What an absolutely handsome man this Crane lookalike was!

  He made me forget I was watching a movie, perhaps filmed in a state far from Jubilee. I could almost believe I was standing beside him, listening to the story of his first days in the Territory when the ranch was only a dream.

  Except Susanna was the girl at his side, wearing one of her long beribboned, beruffled dresses, a sunny yellow in color. She was the one who listened to him.

  He appeared to be giving her a horse or the loan of one.

  This should be interesting. She could hardly mount the large creature wearing one of those long, full skirts.

  He’d keep it for her, he was saying. She could ride it whenever she came visiting.