Harvest of Bones

by Nancy Means Wright

  “A girl, Pete,” she was saying, “six pounds, five ounces. She’s a week early, you know. Yes, yes, Sharon’s fine. She’ll want you to come over, see your new granddaughter. She’s a honey. Red hair, yes, that’s right. Well, my grandmother had red hair, Pete; that’s where it comes from. But Pete, give her a few hours to rest first, okay? Come around eight? And alone, Pete. Leave her at the Inn.”

  Vic tiptoed past to his room; he grabbed his mask and red feathers and his candy bag. When he got downstairs again after a slight delay—Emily dragged him in to see Sharon and the baby, though it didn’t look like much of anything—a baby calf looked a lot more robust—his mother was still on the phone. This time, it was Colm Hanna. She was telling him about some “decision” she’d made; he could hear Colm say “Hooray!” on the other end.

  “I’ll call you later, Colm, when Pete comes over. You can pick me up. So he can have time with the children alone. He’ll be bringing papers for me to sign, you know. But those can wait.”

  She’d spotted Vic now, was grabbing his sleeve. “Your dad’s coming over at eight—he’ll want to see you.”

  “But it’s Halloween,” he said. “They’re having a party at school after trick or treating. I can’t miss the party. He’ll be around tomorrow, won’t he?”

  “Sure,” she said, sounding more agreeable than he could remember her lately. “I’ll tell him. They’ll have to stay one more day—that woman is with him, you know. But come straight home after the party, hear?”

  She was still talking to Colm Hanna as he left, sounding flirty almost; it sounded dumb. But women were women. And here was Gerry, hurrying him up, and Garth Unsworth with his brother, Wilder, who was looking for Emily. Vic pointed upstairs. “Good luck,” he told Wilder. “You got competition.”

  “What’s it supposed to be, Vic, that outfit? An Indian? The devil?” Gerry said, standing at the foot of the porch in a sheet with holes for the eyes.

  Vic didn’t bother to answer. “Let’s get going,” he told his friend, feeling excited now, although he didn’t know why. “We’ll start with Larocque’s, next door. He’s always got red licorice. Then we’ll go to Flint’s.”

  He raced on ahead, leaping, shouting “Yee hoo” into the air as he went. Like a bird. Like a red-tailed hawk.

  Acknowledgments

  I want to thank a number of generous persons who helped me develop an accurate ambiance for this novel. My appreciation goes to Harold Giard of Blue Slate Farm, Bridport, Vermont; to Ward B. Stone, wildlife pathologist for the State of New York; to Dr. Paul Morrow, state medical examiner, Vermont; to Scotti Devens of SAVE THE GREYHOUND DOGS—Vermont; to Irene Poole, massage therapist, who, in her “chair-on-wheels,” gave me a massage and proved that “nothing is impossible”; to the Buttolph farm family of Shoreham, Vermont, for inspiring both books in this series; to Don Batchelder, whose bicycle and signs I borrowed; to Ed Barna for his expertise on catamounts in Vermont; to Joanie Cohen, postmistress of Hughsonville, N.Y., who kissed this manuscript for luck and sped it on its way; to my copy editor, Carol Edwards, who labored through the manuscript and kept me at task; and especially to my legendary editor, Ruth Cavin, who caught up the book in flight and compassionately edited it and gave me courage at a low point in the final stages. Finally, my love and thanks to my wonderful extended family, Vermonters all; and especially to my daughters Lesley and Catharine, and my husband, Dennie Hannan, who read the novel in early drafts.

  Certain books were also helpful in providing atmosphere for the novel: Hawk Hill by Suzie Gilbert; Cutting Hill by Alan Pistorius; and from the Vermont Folklife Center: Families on the Land, edited by Gregory Sharrow and Meg Ostrum, and Visit’n: Conversations with Vermonters.

  In Memory of Evelyn Wright McGregor

  of Weybridge, Vermont,

  model for the Glenna Flint of this novel.

  Copyright © 1998 by Nancy Means Wright

  Originally published by St. Martin's Minotaur

  Electronically published in 2009 by Belgrave House

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228

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  This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.