How could I hear music from a dream?
You can’t possibly.
I listened intently. All I heard at the moment were normal accounted-for sounds in a house steeped in nighttime silence. In any event, it had been decades since I had owned a phonograph.
What a weird dream! No scenic background, no people, no action, only the music and the feeling that I was waltzing on a dance floor—without a partner. What on earth had inspired it?
I remembered then. The haunting melody was the theme of the Western movie.
Did that mean the antique TV had turned itself on?
I almost got out of bed to go downstairs but stopped myself in time. The television was bizarre but not so bizarre that it could turn itself on and off at will.
Besides, the house was quiet now. My appearance on the first floor would disturb the dogs. They’d think they should go out. Misty, who slept with Halley in the doorway, padded up to the bed and nudged me with her nose. I hadn’t made a sound, but she knew I was awake and wanted to know why.
“It’s all right, girl,” I whispered. “Go back to sleep.”
To myself I repeated a sentiment that had become a mantra: A dream is only a dream.
~ * ~
Lucy and Charlotte had made an instant connection, as had Bronwyn and Sky. Still Charlotte wanted to go home, or at least take refuge in her cottage up north which was her second home.
On Saturday morning I did my grocery shopping for the week and stopped at Dark Gables. I didn’t want to give Charlotte anything else to worry about, but thought she should know that the man who had almost certainly driven the death car had been seen at her house.
“Unless you’re prepared to deal with him, you can’t go home yet,” I said. “He could come again anytime.”
Charlotte had grown progressively paler as I told her what Jennifer and Molly had witnessed.
“I guess I’d better stay here a little longer, if it’s all right,” she said.
Lucy smiled. “Stay as long as you like, Charlotte.”
“If only the police would catch him.”
“Gail Redmond’s family offered a reward for information leading to his capture,” I said. “Three thousand dollars.”
“I hope that tempts someone to betray him. But how could anybody know what he did?”
“By his damaged car?” I said. “Or maybe he’s one of those dumb criminals who can’t resist bragging on Facebook about it.”
Lucy filled the teakettle with water and set it on the stove to boil. “Let’s see what the leaves have to say.”
“The leaves?” Charlotte asked.
“Lucy reads tea leaves,” I said. “She’s very good at it.”
“Oh… But do I want to know the future?”
I sighed. “Forewarned is forearmed. Why doesn’t everybody believe that?”
“We have coffeecake, thanks to Jennet,” Lucy answered.
Collie ears pricked up in attention.
Charlotte said, “Well, I’m game.”
~ * ~
Lucy peered into the teacup and frowned at the arrangement of leaves. That wasn’t a good sign.
“Am I going to live?” Charlotte asked.
She had been reluctant to have Lucy read her tea leaves, claiming she didn’t believe in fortune telling.
“It’s your choice,” Lucy had said, “but think of it as a parlor game. You don’t have to believe what I tell you. It’s really all in fun.”
I didn’t believe her. That is, I told myself I didn’t believe her. How to explain those events Lucy saw in my cup that later happened in real life? I couldn’t.
“I guess it’s all right, then,” Charlotte had said, and we’d all had tea and the coffeecake I’d brought from the Hometown Bakery.
“I’m sure you’re going to live,” Lucy said. “If you weren’t, I’d see… Well, nothing.”
Lucy had told me about a frightening incident that had happened years ago. She’d been reading tea leaves at a party. When a certain woman tried to drain the excessive liquid from the cup, part of the ritual involved in preparing the teacup, all of the leaves fell out onto the saucer.
Several months later she died. She didn’t have a future.
“That frightened me,” Lucy had said. “I didn’t tell her what it meant, of course. I pretended she wasn’t doing it right, and, after a few more tries, she lost interest. After that, I didn’t read tea leaves for a long time.”
That grim little story frightened me.
Charlotte had a good cup, though, filled with fascinating patterns which Lucy was able to interpret.
“There is danger, but we know that,” Lucy said. “I see a large rolling barren field. And here’s something odd. It looks like a cross.” She showed it to us. “This dark leaf is a man.”
“How can you see all that in a little teacup?” Charlotte asked.
“Well, the patterns are very, very small.”
“Remember, Charlotte,” I said, “think of this as a parlor game.”
“It is sort of fun.”
“Your wish will come true,” Lucy added. “That’s all I see this time. Jennet, is your cup ready?”
“Ready as ever.” I handed it to her.
Her frown was back. “You still have a serpent in your teacup,” Lucy said. “It’s right close to your home. Next to it is an initial ‘V’.”
She didn’t have to say anything more.
That wretched female deputy sheriff, Veronica Quent, had taken up residence in my teacup months ago and reappeared every time Lucy read my tea leaves. I had no idea how to send her on her way—away from my cup, away from my life. Most of all, away from my husband.
“A snake is a symbol of evil, right?” Charlotte asked.
“I don’t know what else it could be,” I said, and added, “I loathe snakes.”
“Who doesn’t?”
I wasn’t about to enlighten her further. My undeclared war with Veronica was a secret known only by a few friends.
“Your wish will come true,” Lucy added.
That was good, but Lucy always saw my wish, which was to live happily ever after with Crane. If my wish were meant to come true, why then should I worry about Veronica the Viper?
There was no reason.
Momentarily cheered, I cut myself another slice of coffeecake.
Twenty-four
Leaves continued to fall in Foxglove Corners, turning the landscape into a crimson and gold wonderland. They rustled overhead and crunched underfoot as I walked up Jonquil Lane with my collies. Leaves flew in our faces and blew into high mounds in the woods. On the lanes no one raked them except perhaps into the flowerbeds.
I wished this glorious season could last forever. I had a feeling that something wondrous was waiting to happen and it would happen in the fall.
Julia had applied for a position in the English Department of Maplewood University. She liked the school and the town, which had a whole block of picturesque old Victorian houses. She had no doubt she’d soon be teaching there.
I wished I had a modicum of her optimism and confidence. All I had were my feelings.
“As soon as I sign the contract, I’m going to look for a house,” she said. She’d already purchased a light green Ford Focus and was wasting no time in establishing her new life. She had reconnected with old friends and made new ones. This evening she had a dinner date with an English professor.
So strong was my feeling that some wondrous happening was imminent that the short news story in the Banner jolted me back to reality.
Police have found the body of Jeffrey Handlon in a heavily forested area west of Spruce Road. Handlon was reported missing five days ago from his Lakeville apartment by a friend. The police are asking anyone with information about his murder to notify them.
A picture of an attractive light-haired young man accompanied the story.
I recalled that Jeff was the name of the other witness in the fatal hit-and-run, the medical student who had subsequent
ly disappeared. Could that Jeff and the murder victim, Jeffrey Handlon, be the same person?
Charlotte would know. She might not know Jeff’s last name, but she had seen him at the crash scene, albeit briefly.
Another question occurred to me. Could the driver have killed Jeff to keep his identity a secret? And if so, did he intend to eliminate Charlotte as well? With both of the witnesses gone, he would be home free. I didn’t even consider the possibility that somebody else might have killed Jeff.
Although I hated to give Charlotte another reason to be afraid, she had to know if the long-bearded driver intended to kill her, too.
Her voice on the phone was subdued. “Thank you for letting me know, Jennet, but I read the story and saw the picture. It was Jeff. I don’t know what to do,” she added. “Now that Jeff is gone, I guess I’m next.”
“Stay at Dark Gables with Lucy,” I said. “Now that the driver—I wish I knew his name—has left a body behind, the police will have something to go on.”
"If he kills me, what will happen to Bronwyn?” Charlotte asked. “I can’t let her suffer for something I did.”
She would go back into rescue, of course, but that wasn’t going to happen. Charlotte wasn’t going to die. Bronwyn’s new home would be forever.
“You didn’t do anything except witness an accident,” I said.
“I made the choice to drive down Huron Court to look at a field of flowers. A deadly field.”
Well, yes, she had done that. But who could have known the consequence?
“Stay at Dark Gables,” I repeated. “He won’t know where to find you.”
“I’m to be a prisoner then. Not that it isn’t lovely here. Lucy is a perfect hostess. It seems like I’ve known her for years.”
“I’ll talk to Crane,” I said, “and I’ll see you soon.”
That evening after dinner, Crane and I discussed the murder of Jeff Handlon. He had been shot in the back, apparently at some other location, and dumped in the woods.
“Mac has a clue,” Crane said. “Whether it’ll pan out, I can’t say. But here’s what I see. A man who’s desperate. He’s killed two people. Sooner or later, he’ll make a mistake and Charlotte’s ordeal will be over.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“We’ll still catch him.”
Crane, like Julia, was an optimist.
“It may take time,” he added.
Time for Charlotte to live in fear, to isolate herself at Dark Gables, to wonder if this would be the day when Long Beard would strike.
I wanted to help her, but at present, what else could I do?
~ * ~
On Saturday the string of sun-warmed autumn days ended with a depressing dark sky and the promise of thunderstorms. I already heard thunder rumbling in the west, and Sky had scrambled to her safe place under the dining room table, a sure sign of impending wild weather.
I stayed home, finished my household chores early, and found a Gothic novel I hadn’t read yet, but instead of settling into the rocker to read, I turned on the haunted television. Just in case.
The movie was on!
I stepped with ease into the action on the Main Street of Jubilee. The newcomer in town strolled languidly toward the Pink Palace hotel. She was a vision in shades of blue trimmed with ecru lace. An expensive vision, I imagined, as her dress appeared to be made of the finest fabrics and trim. Flaxen curls spilled out from an elaborate bonnet to frame her face with its rare peaches-and-cream complexion.
All she needed to complete the picture was a parasol to protect her from the burning sun.
Luke was sitting in front of the hotel with his bewhiskered friend, whose Confederate uniform seemed to be tearing at the seams. They both greeted the new lady with admiring glances, but she didn’t pay any attention to them.
Was she pretty enough to make Luke forget about Susanna?
She disappeared into the hotel, and the scene changed to a charming Victorian living room. Susanna sat sipping tea with her cousin. Alicia’s eyes were alight with curiosity.
“Did you enjoy your visit to the L Bar E?” she asked.
“Very much.”
“Luke Emerson is the wealthiest rancher in Jubilee,” Alicia said. “You couldn’t possibly find a better husband.”
Susanna looked down into her teacup. “I’m not looking for a husband, Alicia.”
“Oh? But what else would you do?”
Eagerly waiting for Susanna’s answer, I hardly noticed when Misty padded up to me with her toy goat in her mouth. She dropped it at my feet and gave a plaintive little whimper. I ran my hand along her back, my eyes transfixed on the screen.
Susanna said, “I might teach school. The town doesn’t have a teacher yet. I could do that.”
“And end up a spinster? You wouldn’t like that.”
“I’m too young to be married.”
“You’re twenty-five years old, Susanna. If you want to have a family, you’d better find a husband soon.”
Susanna sighed and took a sip of her tea, a long sip. “Everything is so new and exciting in the West. I just want to enjoy myself.”
“That’s well and good, but a man like Luke won’t be available forever,” Alicia said.
“I disagree.” Susanna smiled and after a while added, “To tell the truth, I do like him.”
Wait, I thought, wait until you see your competition, who already caught Luke’s eye. You’d better heed Alicia’s advice.
“There’s a dance next week,” Susanna said. “Luke invited me to accompany him.”
“Well, then, I won’t worry about you. What will you wear?”
“I only have one appropriate dress, my green silk.”
“You’ll look beautiful in it. I’ll lend you my pearl necklace.”
The cozy indoors scene faded to be replaced by a hitherto unseen area with hills and brush, similar to the backdrop of many a Western movie. Four horsemen rode heavily against a background of stormy sky.
I blinked, and the screen went dark. Once again I’d lost the movie at a particularly interesting point.
Frustrated, I turned the ‘off’ knob. A flash of lightning sliced across the sky, and the clock chimed six times.
The forecast rain had come. It sounded more like hail, striking the windows with icy needles. Foxglove Corners would turn into a mire. There would be no walks with the dogs tonight.
I got up and almost stepped on the toy goat. Misty still lay at my feet, her dark eyes ever hopeful. I was the world’s worst collie mistress.
How could it be six already? I’d just turned the TV on. Crane would be home any minute, and I hadn’t started dinner, hadn’t even thought about a menu.
What could I do? Suggest we go out? In this downpour?
Think!
There must be something I could defrost? Stew? Stuffed cabbages? Either would do.
Crane wouldn’t mind dinner being late. He was wondrously adaptable. Nonetheless, I was thankful that the storm and the clock had recalled me to the present. I was losing more time than seemed possible, gazing in a state of entrancement at the short scenes of the elusive movie.
But then, I hadn’t really looked at the clock when I turned on the TV.
Misty followed me into the kitchen, holding her goat gently in her mouth. I threw it into the dining room for her. Finding the stuffed cabbages in the freezer, I slipped them in the microwave. Thank heavens for modern appliances. Now what else could I prepare—quickly?
As I practically threw my dinner together, I wondered. What was happening in Susanna’s world? How pretty she would look in green. Would the new blonde be at the dance and would Luke notice her? And who were the riders heading toward Jubilee in the rain?
Twenty-five
The grounds of the Foxglove Corners Public Library had been raked, but more leaves continued to fall even as I walked up to the porch. They were mostly crimson, drifting down from the many maple trees on the property. I felt one land on my hair and brushed it off.
The silly cat. She’d lost her chance to be immortalized in Jennet’s Photo Album.
I had told myself I needed more reading material, specifically some of the classics from the Gothic Nook, but what I really wanted was to talk to Miss Eidt. It had been her idea to visit the estate sale, and she had been with me when I’d first noticed the antique television set. I thought it was time I took concrete steps to solve the eerie mystery.
In truth I had tired of the pattern. Turn on the TV at the right time—whenever that was—and the Western movie was on. Without warning it vanished to be replaced by the same modern day program I could watch on the flat screen television. Or the screen turned black.
I resented being left hanging. There had to be a logical explanation for the phenomenon, although I hadn’t discovered it yet.
Didn’t there?
In Foxglove Corners, capital of the Inexplicable, couldn’t I simply have a haunted TV that had frozen when airing the story I found so enthralling?
That made sense. But why did the movie always begin again exactly where it had stopped, even when days passed between its playing?
Try as I might, I couldn’t come up with an explanation for the anomaly. And why was the cabinet warm when the TV hadn’t been turned on? It felt as if it had been running continuously.
Elementary, Jennet. It’s haunted and ‘haunted’ doesn’t bow to rationality.
I stepped inside the library. Miss Eidt sat at her desk with a stack of glossy new hard covers at her elbow. She was dressed a little differently today. Instead of her signature pastel suit, she wore a floral dress in shades of greens and blues with a pearl choker around her neck. No matter what her clothing choice, she always looked cool and serene.
“Good afternoon, Jennet,” she said. “How nice to see you! It’s been a while.”
I agreed. “Too long. I’m here to explore your Gothic Nook, but first, do you have a few minutes to talk?”
“Of course. Debby?”
Miss Eidt’s young assistant appeared from behind the paperback carousel, pushing back her single long braid.
The Deadly Fields of Autumn Page 12