The rhythmic clump of Dan’s crutches pulled her back to the present.
“All set?” he asked, stopping beside her chair.
“We seem to be.” By the time she had recounted her conversations with both mother and daughter, he was chuckling and she had forgotten all about Simeon Snowe’s enigmatic poetry.
“You think that’s funny, huh?”
“I think it’s typical,” Dan said.
“You won’t be laughing so hard twenty years from now, when I’ve turned into my mom. Didn’t anyone warn you that daughters become more and more like their mothers as they age?”
Dan made the sign to ward off evil but refused to take her warning seriously. “You’re as different from Violet MacCrimmon as night and day.”
“Thank you.” Liss was glad he thought so, but she wasn’t sure his confidence was justified.
Was this the opening she’d been waiting for? Fear of becoming like her mother had always been one of the reasons why she hesitated to embrace motherhood.
No, she thought. Be honest. The truth was that she’d never felt the slightest urge to give birth to a child of her own.
That was what “choice” was all about, wasn’t it? A woman could have a dozen kids or none—her decision. But it was one she ought to share with her husband. Her partner. The designated father of any hypothetical offspring.
She opened her mouth to broach the subject and realized that Dan had gone on into the kitchen. The rattle and clang of cookware told her he wasn’t waiting for her to start supper.
We’ll talk this evening, she promised herself and went to help with the meal. Dan was a top-notch sandwich maker and was not bad at throwing together a few simple dishes, but he was a sloppy cook. It was far easier for her to take over the prep work than it was to clean up after him.
Chapter Eight
Liss’s evening didn’t go quite as she’d hoped. The storm exacerbated the pain in Dan’s ankle. He’d been dealing with a dull headache and occasional dizziness ever since he got the concussion. Low atmospheric pressure made both worse, and the combination of ailments put him in a testy mood. It was not a good time to have a serious conversation.
The next morning, Andy arrived on schedule by snowmobile, connected the snowblower attachment to the John Deere in the Quonset hut, and had the driveway cleared by nine. Liss left Andy commiserating with Dan over his injuries to go to her second exercise class. Wearing a comical hand-knit sweater featuring a grinning reindeer and a frustrated-looking elf, she was entertaining him with tales of some of the more outlandish mishaps various New Bostonians had endured over the years, beginning with two stories about hapless victims trapped in the port-o-potty at the roadside rest stop.
It was a few minutes before ten when Liss parked in front of Dance-Ex. Rowena waved to her as she hurried toward the dance studio along a freshly shoveled sidewalk. “How are you faring out there on the farm?” she asked when they met at the entrance.
“Making do.” Liss opened the door, and they went in together.
“Did you have a chance to take a closer look at that maze before the storm hit?”
Liss felt her face flame and hoped Rowena would assume her cheeks were bright pink because they’d just come in out of the cold. “I tried making my way to the center, but I chickened out before I got there,” she admitted.
Rowena coaxed her into providing more details as they crossed the studio to the changing room. Juliette was stacking floor mats and didn’t look up, but several of the other women in the class had already arrived and greeted Liss like an old friend. Sweating together had that effect.
Rowena had only to slip out of her boots, gloves, and hat and hang up her coat, since she was already in her exercise clothes. She and Liss both preferred bare feet to fancy, expensive “aerobics shoes.” There were special shoes for almost every sport and discipline. Liss had worn slippers designed for Scottish dancing onstage, but these days she liked to be able to feel the floor with her toes.
“Would it be all right,” Rowena asked in a hesitant voice, “if I came out to the farm some day this week to take a look at your maze?”
“I don’t know why it wouldn’t be.” Liss folded her jeans and sweatshirt on top of her coat and smoothed the fabric of her leotard and tights, reflecting that she’d had both since before she “retired.” They were loose enough to be baggy, which made them comfortable, but not terribly flattering. Dan must love her very much to find them sexy!
“Simeon wasn’t all that clever,” Rowena remarked. “I expect he followed the standard practice for creating a maze. That means all you have to do to find your way to the center is keep one hand on the wall.”
“That isn’t so easy when the wall is made of overgrown balsams instead of hedgerows, but you’re welcome to give it a try. And I still have my ball of twine,” she added with a self-deprecating grin.
Class proceeded much as it had the previous day, except that now Liss was familiar with Juliette’s routines. Only a small part of her mind was occupied with her movements. The rest of her brain busied itself by trying to unravel a small puzzle. As she exercised, she reran every conversation she’d had with Rowena Luckenbill.
When the aerobics session was over, Liss walked with the older woman to All Things Mystical and watched in thoughtful silence as Rowena unlocked the front door and flipped the CLOSED sign to OPEN. The cat, Gozer, once again occupied the spot next to the cash register. He opened one eye, sent a baleful glance their way, and closed it again. Liss, a well-trained cat person, knew her responsibilities. She hurried over and began to stroke his soft fur, murmuring a greeting and an apology for waking him. Gozer’s Scottish Fold ears twitched, but in no other way did he acknowledge her presence.
Divesting herself of outerwear as she went, Rowena wound her way through the racks, shelves, and display cabinets and into her office. Liss trailed after her. The entire shop smelled faintly of lavender, the fragrance Rowena used as a perfume. Liss hadn’t paid much attention to it on her last visit to the shop, not with all the other herbs present, not to mention the competing aromas of several kinds of incense.
“Did Simeon Snowe get along with Gozer?” Liss asked.
“They tolerated each other.” Rowena stopped sorting the mail on her desk, and a short but awkward silence ensued. “Oh, dear,” she murmured.
“I hope you don’t think I’m prying, but—”
“But you are prying. Still, I don’t suppose you can help it. Simeon’s niece sent you here to go through his things. Of course you’d discover all his secrets.”
“I didn’t exactly—”
“His secrets and mine.” Rowena went on talking as if Liss hadn’t spoken. “He was an interesting man. I liked him.” She slipped into the tiny adjoining bath. “Excuse me, dear. I have to change.”
Liss stared at the closed door. Since the shop had an extremely effective furnace, she took off her hat and gloves and unbuttoned her coat. The office was too small to allow for much movement, especially with several large cardboard cartons labeled CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS stacked on the floor. It wasn’t even Thanksgiving yet, but apparently Rowena started the season early. So did many other businesses. Liss had seen a few displays go up as soon as the Halloween decorations came down.
She looked at the closed door again. “I think . . . I think he more than liked you, Rowena. I found a poem at the Snowe house.”
Rowena made no reply until she emerged, clad once again in her loose, flowing garments and her jangling bracelets. “Did you say a poem?”
Liss nodded. “It mentions trees and mazes and love. It occurs to me that he probably built that maze for you. The first time I met you, you told us you’d always been fascinated by them. Did you tell him that, too?”
“I suppose I must have.” The bemused expression on her face touched Liss’s heart.
“And the poem?”
Rowena just shook her head. “Poetry? Simeon? That seems so . . . unlikely.”
“Perhaps he
was inspired.”
“Perhaps you’d better tell me exactly what’s in this poem.”
“I can’t recite it, but there was a lot about trees—oaks and apples and rowans.”
“Mountain ash,” Rowena murmured. “That’s the mundane name. Rowans have mystical powers. And Simeon used to call me his sweet apple-cheeked lass.” With a laugh, she did a quick little two-step, touching one hand to her face and lightly tapping her backside with the other, before sailing out of the office and into the showroom.
Too much information, Liss thought and went after her.
“What else did he write?” Rowena busied herself setting up the cash register for the day.
“There was only one other line that I remember. ‘But some of the apples don’t fall quite right.’ For some reason, that made me think that the apple tree—you—had a child.”
“Oh, I do. A daughter. After we started seeing each other, Simeon took a dislike to her. He never did tell me why.”
She looked so sad that Liss hesitated to ask more questions. “It must have been terrible for you when he disappeared.”
“You don’t know the half of it. We’d kept our relationship quiet, you see, so there was no one I could talk to except my daughter, and she wasn’t interested in hearing about it. She didn’t care much for him, either.”
“The police didn’t question you?”
She shook her head. “I’d have said something if I’d known what happened to him, but I didn’t.” Regret plain in her voice, Rowena sank down onto the stool behind the sales counter and hauled Gozer into her arms, hugging him for comfort.
Although Liss believed her, she also had a strong sense that Rowena was holding something back. “I’m surprised he didn’t tell you about the maze. He planted it the spring before he went missing.”
“He was a closemouthed cuss.” Her fond tone took the sting out of the criticism. “He probably wanted to surprise me when the trees were bigger.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, Rowena. Please feel free to come out to the farm anytime. I’ll give you the poem, and you can explore the maze. I’m sure Mr. Snowe would eventually have shown both of them to you.”
Rowena heaved a deep sigh and returned Gozer to his accustomed place. “The man always did have romantic notions.” A reminiscent gleam made her eyes sparkle. “The results weren’t always quite what he expected. I imagine he was very bad at writing poetry, but the fact that he attempted to compose verses at all—” Her voice broke, and she sniffled. Tears glistened, unshed.
“He must have loved you very much,” Liss said. “Given the length of time it takes trees to grow, it’s clear he believed you’d be together for many years.”
“Ten, anyway,” Rowena said with a watery chuckle. She seemed about to say more, but she was interrupted by the sound of the shop door opening. A young couple entered, the woman exclaiming over their luck in finding such a unique establishment in tiny New Boston, Maine.
Rowena instantly reverted to her sales persona. When she swooped down on her newly arrived customers, Liss buttoned her coat, popped her knit hat back on her head, donned her warm, lined gloves, and slipped away.
The Dutton house was a one-story ranch-style dwelling of the type built in the 1950s. Liss had no difficulty finding it, since it was right on the road that led to the Christmas tree farm. When she passed the place earlier that morning, she hadn’t paid it much attention. She took a moment after she got out of the truck to study the large, carefully lettered sign set out on the snow-covered front lawn. It read WREATHS FOR SALE.
Liss mounted the porch steps and rang the bell. She was curious about Mrs. Dutton, but Andy hustled her away before she caught even a glimpse of the woman who’d hung up on her.
Still pulling on her barn jacket, Andy shouted over her shoulder. “Ma! I’m leaving!”
With that, she grabbed Liss’s arm and towed her toward the back of the house. She’d cleared a path around a stand of birches. A few minutes of crunching their way over the thin layer of snow left behind by the plow brought them to a plot of land that covered approximately one acre.
“What do you think?” Andy asked.
“I think,” Liss said, “that you’re growing your own Christmas trees.”
Andy beamed at her. “Isn’t it great?”
The fresh coating of snow made everything look pristine and pretty, and Andy’s enthusiasm was contagious. “How long till the first crop is big enough to harvest?”
“Four more years. I can hardly wait. This is nowhere near as big an operation as Mr. Snowe had, but I can open a little cut-your-own place. It’ll be a success. I’m sure of it.”
“And in the meantime you have the boughs you prune to make into wreaths. I wondered where you were getting them.”
Andy’s smile vanished. “You thought I stole them, didn’t you?”
Liss didn’t bother to deny the accusation. “I’m sorry if you find that insulting, but look at it from my point of view. Some of Snowe’s trees are ready to sell this year—the very ones you took the trouble to shape.”
Andy kicked a clump of snow, avoiding Liss’s eyes. “So I thought about helping myself. So what? I didn’t do it. I decided to grow my own instead.”
“Which is why I have a proposition for you, contingent upon convincing Snowe’s heir to go along with my suggestions. If she agrees to sell off some of the ten-year-old trees to the local market, are you willing to manage the operation? The last few crops he put in should last until you’re ready to sell your own trees. In the meantime, you’ll gain hands-on experience and generate a customer base.”
Andy’s eagerness was tempered by caution. “Do you really think Ms. Snowe will go for that?”
“I don’t see why she shouldn’t. The only risk is that she’ll want to run a small local operation for just one year.”
“Yeah. She’d make more money selling all her uncle’s trees for pulpwood.”
“Even one year would be good experience for you.”
“I’m in. What do I have to do?”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
Once they shook hands on the deal, Liss outlined the steps they’d need to take.
“First, I have to check with Gina Snowe, to make sure she’s on board with the plan. Second, you and I need to discuss specific terms. Don’t answer now. Think about whether you want to work on commission or be paid an hourly wage. Third, Gina will have to purchase liability insurance.” Liss wondered if policies were available by the month or if Gina would have to pay for an entire year. Either way, that would be the largest single outlay of cash for start-up costs.
Andy was nodding. Liss had a feeling she’d been studying the tree farm business for some time.
“What are Christmas trees selling for this season?” she asked.
“Thirty-five dollars each. At least, that’s what other retailers in the state are charging.” She frowned. “There’s not going to be much profit after the expense of making signs, putting ads in local newspapers, and launching a Web site.”
“There will be if we do it right.”
With no more ado, Liss pulled out her cell phone and called Gina. Ten minutes later, Snowe’s Cut-Your-Own Christmas Trees was in business.
“So, you had a successful day,” Dan said after she’d finished giving him a recap.
“Yup.”
“Feeling pleased with yourself, are you?”
“I am.”
Once again, they were in the kitchen, where Liss had been washing their lunch dishes. When the last of the soapy water drained away, she turned to her husband and planted a smacking kiss on his cheek. She started to move away, but he caught her hand and pulled her toward his lap.
“Dan! Don’t! I’ll hurt your ankle.”
Another tug put her exactly where he wanted her. “Trust me, what I have in mind does not require the use of my ankle.”
The very thorough kiss that followed reminded Liss that in five-plus
years of marriage, they’d already discovered how inventive two flexible people could be while sharing a chair. But for all Dan’s skill with lips and hands, and his obvious enthusiasm for finishing what he’d started, he was still a man recovering from a concussion.
“You’re supposed to avoid strenuous exercise,” she reminded him when he finally allowed her to come up for air.
“Spoilsport.”
Liss pulled back to study his face. He couldn’t hide his wince at the sudden movement. “You still have a headache.” She ran her fingers along the curve of his jaw. He’d taken the trouble to shave while she’d been out.
“No more than a dull throb. Easy to ignore.”
“I don’t think so.” She disentangled herself and rose, although she went no farther than the adjacent kitchen chair. “Actually, I was hoping for a quiet afternoon so we could talk about a few things.”
A look of alarm crossed Dan’s face. “We need to talk? Don’t you know those are words that send an icy chill into any man’s heart?”
“Only the insecure ones.” She didn’t believe for a moment that he had any worries about their relationship. “All I meant was that it’s time to think about a new five-year plan.”
His brow furrowed. “Since when did we have an old one?”
“We made a list of goals before we got married.”
“No. You did. You must have made twenty gazillion lists before we got married. You make lists for everything. ”
“I’m not that bad.”
“Yeah, you are, but I love you, anyway.”
“Well, then, it’s time to make one more list—together.”
Watching him closely, she saw him catch her drift. Just that quickly, she was the one who felt insecure. Of their own volition, her hands clenched in her lap.
“You want to talk about having kids.” It was not a question, but she couldn’t read anything else in his voice. His face gave nothing away, either.
Ho-Ho-Homicide (A Liss MacCrimmon Mystery Book 8) Page 13