The Deadly Fields of Autumn

by Dorothy Bodoin

  “I’m not having any luck finding Charlotte,” I said. “Bronwyn is grieving. I haven’t figured out what makes the haunted television set malfunction yet. But—and this is good—Crane knows that Veronica lied about having a dinner date with him.”

  I told her about Veronica’s latest ploy and how it had fallen flat when Crane confronted her.

  “She had to backtrack. She said Annica misunderstood her, which didn’t go over well with Annica.”

  “This is cause for rejoicing,” Lucy said. “We’ll see if she’s still in your teacup. I take it that Bronwyn came home,” she added.

  “Brent found her near his house. She’s back with Sue, waiting for Charlotte to join her.”

  “Strange,” Lucy said. “I think about Charlotte often. Sometimes I can call up images of a missing person’s surroundings, but for Charlotte, there’s only a black screen. Sort of like your TV when it cuts the Western movie off.”

  “I hope that doesn’t mean she’s dead.”

  “I don’t believe she is, but something is keeping her away from us. It’s like she’s frozen in place. Figuratively speaking, of course.”

  An image of Charlotte trapped in a giant ice cube took shape in my mind. Quickly I sent it away.

  “What’s new with you?” I asked.

  “They’ve finally started shooting Devilwish,” Lucy said. “I visited the set yesterday.”

  Devilwish was Lucy’s best-selling horror novel for young adults. Soon it would enjoy renewed popularity as a movie. Lucy was interested in following the progress of her work’s transformation, while I was content to wait for the completed film and see the bizarre plot unfold all at once.

  “Seeing my book come to life is an extraordinary experience,” Lucy said. “The actors are perfect in their roles. Just a little older than I imagined them.”

  The teakettle whistled. While Lucy poured the tea and assembled a plate of cookies, I contemplated the view of her garden and the woods beyond. Branches swayed in the wind and leaves fell into the fountain’s basin. The trees were almost bare, gaunt skeletons against an icy blue sky.

  “Our beautiful autumn will soon be gone,” Lucy said. “Well, nothing lasts forever.”

  Foxglove Corners was heading into winter, an inhospitable season for those who needed to be outside. Or were trapped there.

  “Thank heavens Bronwyn at least is safe, I said.

  ~ * ~

  We drank our tea, and a wondrous feeling of warmth settled around me. Hoping to hear a good fortune, I handed Lucy the cup, with the tea leaf patterns set.

  “I still see her.” Lucy pointed to a long light tea leaf that, according to her, represented Veronica the Viper. “She hasn’t gone from your life. My advice to you is to beware.” She turned the cup around and added, “I don’t see your wish. Your cup is rather a mishmash today.”

  “Like my life. My wish was to be rid of Veronica once and for all.”

  “It’ll take more than a wish to get that hussy out of your life,” Lucy said.

  “Crane knows she’s chasing him now,” I said. “Inventing assignations. Making sure I hear about them.”

  “She thought you’d just brood in silence. She was hoping to cause a rift between you two.”

  “I won’t let her do that.”

  But it frightened me when I remembered how close I’d once come to keeping Veronica’s not-so-subtle harassment of me a secret from Crane.

  “You’ll have a better cup the next time,” Lucy said. “And always remember, you don’t have to believe what I tell you.”

  She moved the plate of sugar cookies on the coffee table closer to me. They were pumpkin-shaped and covered with orange frosting.

  “Have one,” she said. “Get into the spirit of the season.”

  Sky yelped and sat up, an endearing trick that none of my girls had mastered. Trust a collie to make everything better.

  “Pumpkin is good for collies,” Lucy said, rewarding Sky with a cookie of her own.

  I bit into mine. It was too sweet, but that was all right. I had another one and surprisingly felt a little better.

  ~ * ~

  The wind sounded like the wail of a coyote caught in a trap.

  Struggling to stay upright in an especially strong gust, I hurried to my car. The cold tore away the sense of comfort created by having tea and cookies with my friend.

  Hurry home, I told myself. As fast as the law allows.

  I wouldn’t want to be stopped for speeding by Veronica in her role as deputy sheriff.

  There was little traffic on Spruce Road; there rarely is. I drove the speed limit, thankful for the spruce trees that grew on ground that was level with the road. My greatest driving nightmare was to be blown from the road down to a deep wooded slope. Down…Down…I could almost feel this happening, even though the Focus was hardly a tin can.

  I had seven collies waiting for me at home. I couldn’t afford to lose control of my car.

  But the wind was a mighty adversary, ever increasing, and this section of Spruce Road was notorious for curves with many ‘no passing’ lines. And Deer X-ing signs.

  Even without the curves, nobody in his right mind would try to pass another vehicle with such limited visibility, and the weather was worsening. Leaves filled the air. They looked like large snowflakes, landing on the windshield, sticking to it.

  Perhaps they were. Enough precipitation had already fallen on the road to make its surface slick.

  I turned on the windshield wipers and the low lights, felt the car begin to go into a skid, and slowed to a safer speed. And I kept my hands on the wheel. This was no day to be driving, and it was later than I’d thought.

  Remember the collies. Remember home.

  Crane was out patrolling the roads of Foxglove Corners, but he was a master driver. He could handle any car in any weather. As for me, driving had never been my favorite activity. I drove because it was necessary for the life I’d chosen.

  I should have stayed home today, but when I’d left for Dark Gables earlier this afternoon, there’d been manageable wind. It was almost always windy in Foxglove Corners. Today the weather had changed abruptly, the temperature dropping as the wind gained strength.

  The car came out of nowhere. It was behind me, racing toward me, a splash of garish yellow. Its lights were off and it was traveling too fast for the curves and the condition of the road. The horn blasted. It was too close to me. Too close…

  That fool driver was going to try to pass me!

  Well, let him. It would be his funeral.

  He did, all the time leaning on the horn and leaving only an inch, if that, between his car and mine.

  In that instant I saw his face clearly in the fading light. He had a long black mustache, and his eyes blazed with recognition.

  Oh, no. Not him. Not now.

  A feeling of déjà vu hit me with the suddenness of a lightning bolt.

  Something like this had happened before.

  To Charlotte and to me.

  Forty

  He sped past the Focus and disappeared around the next curve. I listened for a telltale crash but heard only the howling wind. Was I safe now?

  Possibly, but I didn’t relax. It wasn’t like the man to drive away from a perceived grievance.

  Remember the freeway.

  I was currently traveling through an isolated section of Spruce Road, but if I remembered correctly, I should be near a tiny town with the odd name of Dingle. It consisted of a few blocks of houses, a general store, and a small church, Saint Irmagard.

  There would be people in Dingle. If I were lucky, a few of the population would be out and about. In every one of the scenarios that played through my mind, someone came forward to help me.

  I drove on, watching for Dingle Road, and thinking. I’d obviously annoyed Black Beard by driving slowly on a little-traveled road. As I’d angered him on the freeway when he claimed I’d cut him off. As I must have enraged him when I aimed a burst of Halt! directly into his eyes
.

  That I was still alive was a miracle, given the man’s track record.

  He might have seen my license plate number, in which case he might be able to find me.

  Or he could be waiting on some lonely by-road to intercept me. Or parked beyond the next curve.

  None of that happened.

  I drove past Dingle. A blue truck lurched toward me from the opposite direction, then another Ford, an older dull blue model passed. Nowhere in the dim landscape did I see a garish yellow car. Again, I’d dodged a bullet.

  But my heartbeat never slowed until I turned on Jonquil Lane. Unmolested. Safe. Home.

  ~ * ~

  Trust a collie to make everything better. In my home, make that seven collies.

  I stood in the vestibule shaking, battling an unreasonable urge to burst into tears. I couldn’t summon the energy to take off my raincoat.

  Misty whined and nudged me, her bright eyes full of questions. Halley pushed past her, asserting her place as leader of the pack—the first collie in the house—and thrust her long nose in my hand.

  “Good girl,” I said. “It’s all right. I’m all right.”

  Even if I wasn’t.

  I had to keep telling myself that I was safe with seven sharp-toothed collies to protect me. I’d have another cup of tea and let the fright drain out of my memory.

  Ha! That wouldn’t happen anytime soon. And I couldn’t stay barricaded in the house.

  It’s over, I thought. Go on with the day. Turn on the haunted TV? Not today. I wanted my real-life husband, not a cowboy lookalike.

  ~ * ~

  Having a caring audience went a long way to dispelling my lingering fright.

  Crane was incredulous. “All the cops in Foxglove Corners are on the lookout for this guy, and you keep running into him.”

  “So do I,” Julia reminded him.

  “Every time I’ve met up with him, he’s driving a different car,” I said.

  “With different license plates.” Crane locked his gun in its cabinet, which reminded me of my own gun. It would be more effective than Halt! which I still carried in my purse.

  “He definitely lives in the area,” Julia said. “You’d think somebody would see him stopping for gas, buying groceries, or eating in a restaurant. Somewhere.”

  “Or driving on the freeway,” I added.

  “We’re the only ones looking for him,” Crane pointed out.

  “I’ve seen several men with beards,” Julia said. “It’s not unusual for this time of year.”

  “Around Halloween, you mean?”

  “No, hunting season. They think they look manly, all rugged and macho.”

  Crane ignored that. “Beyond a certain point, Spruce Road has dangerous curves and woods and lakes.”

  “That describes most of Foxglove Corners,” I said. “Spruce Road is the best route to Lucy’s house. Who’d think a pleasant afternoon would end in terror?”

  “Bad things can happen anywhere, at any time,” Crane reminded me.

  He was right, and the same held true for him. For any law enforcer, a run-of-the-mill encounter or often a traffic stop could result in a senseless shooting. It had happened to Crane once. I tried not to think that it could happen again.

  Well, I thought. It won’t happen here in our home. We’re safe.

  ~ * ~

  The strident ringing of the landline disrupted the peace of our evening.

  I let my book fall to the floor and rushed to the kitchen. Almost everyone used their cell phones these days. I’d almost forgotten what the landline sounded like, or the weight of the receiver in my hand.

  “Hello,” said an unknown voice. “I’d like to speak to Jennet Ferguson.”

  “This is Jennet.”

  “Finally. I’ve been trying to reach you. My name is Stacia EmmalynWinters.” As she paused, I reviewed my acquaintances with these names. Could my caller be one of my students named Stacia?

  “We’ve never met, but Eustacia Stirling was my great-aunt,” she said. “I was talking to Mrs. Bell about the recent estate sale.”

  Of course. Eustacia—Stacia. The heir who’d been on vacation.

  “I’m calling because I understand you bought my aunt’s old television set at the estate sale,” she said.

  I reached for a pen and a pad of paper in case I was about to hear important information. I wondered if I should mention the TV’s unique properties. No, it would be better to let Ms. Winters speak.

  “I’m curious,” she said. “Is the set working?”

  “Yes. All three channels.” I almost added ‘with a vengeance.’

  “Well, it is an antique.” Another pause. “Did you find anything unusual about it?”

  “Only its propensity for airing a movie in parts instead of regular programming.”

  “Ah,” she said. “A movie. Not a concert. The TV used to have a fondness for Peter, Paul, and Mary in Concert.”

  “Sometimes, the programs are contemporary,” I added. “But I’m hooked on that movie. I want to know how it ends.”

  “You have a most unusual TV,” Stacia said. “Aunt Eustacia was fascinated by it—at first. Then it frightened her. She thought it was cursed.”

  “I’ve been thinking it’s haunted.”

  “Something’s wrong with it,” she said. “I tried to find out everything I could about it to set my aunt’s mind at ease.”

  “What did you learn?”

  “A few commonplace facts and a few bizarre ones. Actually, the television wasn’t supposed to be included in the sale. I planned to take it, but what’s done is done. Even so, I can’t let go of this mystery. Could we get together sometime to share experiences?”

  If Stacia hadn’t suggested a meeting, I would have.

  “I’d like that,” I said, “but I’m a teacher. My school is an hour away from Foxglove Corners.”

  “That’s all right. How about late Tuesday afternoon? Do you know where the Foxglove Corners Historical Society is located?”

  “Vaguely.”

  “I’ll give you directions and the address. We’re closed to the public for repainting, but we can meet in my office. It’ll be more private.”

  And privacy was desirable for two people who were going to discuss a ghostly phenomenon.

  I jotted down the directions and said I’d see her on Tuesday.

  I stepped over Halley, who showed no inclination to move out of my way. Crane and Julia were sitting quietly in the living room where I’d left them. Crane was still reading the Banner, and Julia was studying her Composition textbook for her class, pen in hand.

  Crane looked up. “Bad news, honey?”

  “Just the opposite. My caller was Stacia Winters, Eustacia Stirling’s great-niece.”

  Julia closed her book. “Who’s that?”

  “Eustacia Stirling was the last owner of my television set.”

  As soon as I’d told them what she’d said, Julia jumped up. “Let’s turn it on now.”

  “There’s no storm,” I said. “No lightning, and I’m not alone.”

  “It can’t hurt.” Crane rose. “I’ll do it.”

  He turned the ‘on’ button, and a pair of glamorous skeletons in flashy transparent evening attire danced across a stage that would have made Dracula feel at home.

  Julia stated the obvious. “The movie isn’t on, but this looks good.”

  “It looks like you’ll have to share your mystery with this lady,” Crane said.

  “That’s okay. Maybe she’ll have some answers. Besides, if this strangeness continues, I’ll begin to fear for my sanity.”

  I didn’t tell him that I’d already done that.

  Forty-one

  Stacia Winter and I arrived at the Historical Society headquarters at the same time. I couldn’t have asked for a more private meeting place. Situated on the outskirts of Foxglove Corners, the old white house sat in an acre of farmland, lonely and silent, with the nearest neighbor at least a mile away.

  Stacia w
as younger than I’d anticipated, knowing she was the niece of Eustacia Stirling. Grand-niece, I corrected myself. She wore a vintage denim jacket over a blue polka dot dress, and her dark chestnut hair fell in soft waves just below her shoulders. She carried a leather briefcase over her arm and two tall Starbuck containers in her hands.

  “I hope you like coffee,” she said. “There’s cream and sugar inside.”

  I took one. “Thanks so much. Black is perfect. It’s just what I wanted after a long day at Marston High School.”

  “I’ve taken over my aunt’s office on the first story,” she said, “but I’m still in the process of sorting her papers.”

  She unlocked the front door, and I followed her through cozy rooms furnished in the style of the house’s era. In her spacious office, every bit of wall space was filled with small paintings of local scenery. A smell of fresh paint hung in the air, and a ladder leaned against a door at the end of the hall.

  “I taught middle school history,” Stacia said. “After two years, I rethought my career, but you have no idea how much I admire teachers.”

  “Teaching has its moments,” I said.

  She opened her briefcase and took out a notebook and a sheaf of loose papers. “When Mrs. Bell mentioned that the TV had been sold at the estate sale and the new owner was asking questions, I knew I had to contact you.”

  “I’m so glad you did,” I said.

  “Let’s start with a weird little detail. A previous owner had the television blessed by a priest, the Reverend George Drake. He’s now retired and living in South Carolina.”

  “That is serious.” I settled myself in a hardwood chair, while Stacia took her place at the desk.

  “It sounds like the owner believed the television was possessed,” I added.

  Stacia nodded. “My thought exactly. And he or she convinced a priest that it needed blessing. That’s why my aunt decided the set was cursed.”

  Or haunted, I thought.

  “Aunt Eustacia told me her new television was unusual, but that I had to see for myself. That first time, it appeared to be just an ordinary TV. I couldn’t see what all the fuss was about. She insisted that on three occasions, all she could get was a Peter, Paul, and Mary concert. She used to say that the television was evil and she wanted it gone. In the end, her friend, Lida Ronan, carried it up to the attic.”