Finally the bird came out of the oven. The thermometer said we were safe so while it rested I made gravy. Mr. Jackman began carrying dishes to the table Agatha had set. Alex opened the wine and at two o’clock on the nose, we sat down to eat. The timeline triumphed again.
We didn’t hurry and conversation was easy. We talked about all the things we were thankful for and had a good laugh speculating what poem Althea might have written that year. We said it was a shame that there was no cellphone reception and no landline so that we couldn’t call our family and friends to gloat—I mean, wish them a complicated Thanksgiving. And around three, we all began clearing the table, tucking away leftovers we would be enjoying for the next couple of days.
We had all the lights on to combat the gloom, but the living room remained dark and shadowy, even with the fire burning in the hearth. I went over to the window that Alex had nailed shut and pulled back the drapes, hoping for a little more light and perhaps a last glimpse of the autumn leaves.
I am not one of those people who run around shrieking uselessly during an emergency, but I’ll admit to a loud gasp when I opened the drapes and found myself eye to eye with a mountain lion.
The cat and I stared at each other in astonishment and then it put a giant paw against the glass and started to moan. It was a horrible sound that fogged the glass and started Blue in with her werewolf howling.
So, this was our spam eater and pie thief. It made sense. A raccoon could never have ripped off the lathe and forced open the trapdoor.
“Alex,” I said unnecessarily as everyone had rushed into the room. “The raccoons are back.”
Ten minutes later, with drapes closed, but the moaning still going on at least periodically, we had come up with a plan. A second plan. The first one had been to wait the cat out until it gave up and went away. The sound was proving too horrible though and we were nervous about how it kept testing the window.
Since there was no phone, someone was going to have to go for help. The cat was very near the Jackmans’ car, and had in fact climbed on it with muddy paws, but Alex’s was a somewhat safer distance away, not too far from the front door.
But just to be extra cautious, we decided that I would go upstairs and throw out a turkey leg and, if necessary, the rest of the pumpkin pie on the backside of the cabin, thus luring the cat even farther away from the door.
Alex would take the shotgun, but we all agreed that we didn’t want to shoot the beast since it was likely endangered and especially since Alex had recalled his aunt saying something about a new private sanctuary for retired circus animals going in just a few miles away. It seemed a stretch that this mountain lion could be one of their trained creatures, but it was just possible, and if anyone would know what to do about this big cat, it was them.
Blue wouldn’t like it, but she was staying with me. She had stopped howling but obviously the call of the wild was upon her, and I didn’t think we could trust her to go straight out and get in the car. I wouldn’t risk having her mauled. Better that Alex kill the cat—though I prayed fiercely that that wouldn’t happen.
The first problem occurred when we discovered that because of the deep overhang of the upstairs dormers, it would be necessary for me to actually climb out of the roof and do my turkey tossing from there. Thank goodness we still had a turkey leg because with the wind gathering strength and the rain beginning to fall, there was little hope of being able to fling slices of turkey to the kind of distance needed.
The roof was steep and the old shingles were rather worn and slickened by the wet. We were also losing the sun to the mountains in the west. Mr. Jackman held the turkey leg while I climbed out. He would shout down to Alex and Agatha when I gave the all clear on the cat. Alex would run for the car and Agatha would lock up the door behind him. Everything would be fine if I could just not fall off the roof.
Once I was safely out, Mr. Jackman handed me the turkey leg. He held the pie in reserve. I crawled toward the chimney with the roasted poultry in hand. I arrived at the roof’s peak with the leg looking rather the worse for wear. I inched out to the end of the roof and looked over the side.
“Hi, kitty, kitty,” I called, feeling like an idiot.
The golden eyes looked up at me, still and glass smooth, a lot like Aphrodite’s. The similarities ended there though. Leaving aside the matter of size, Aphrodite had never made such a weird chuffing noise followed by a yowl that shook the shingles.
I quickly pulled off some meat and dropped it down to the cat. It sniffed and then ate it at once. The eyes returned to my face.
“Okay, kitty. You want the rest, you’ll have to chase it.” And with that I hurled the turkey leg as far behind the house as I could.
The mountain lion stared at me for a minute, clearly disbelieving that I had been so rude, but then it sauntered off after the hurled poultry.
“Okay, he’s in back of the house!” I called to Mr. Jackman who in turn relayed the message. A moment later Alex emerged, shotgun and car keys in hand, and dashed for the car. I didn’t take a single breath until he was safely inside and the car started. Then, with even more care than I had taken in climbing up the roof, I slid back down again. Mr. Jackman helped me inside.
Then we had to wait.
The cat was back soon enough. Darkness fell and we turned on the porch light. We didn’t go to the window too often because it made the cat moan, but we could hear him laying against the front door as he munched his turkey leg and then later gave himself a bath.
The rain came down, but the overhang sheltered the lion and he seemed in no hurry to move on. I had no idea how Alex would get back into the cabin, or us out of it, but since by then we were all hungry, we went into the kitchen to make turkey and cranberry sandwiches.
A little after eight, a small parade of vehicles arrived. Lawrence, Agatha, and I crowded around the best window and watched as a woman climbed out of Alex’s car. She said something to the cat which went loping toward her. None of us shouted a warning. Clearly the cat knew her.
Once Kendall, the retired star of the Adventure Africa children’s television series, was loaded into the horse trailer and returned to the sanctuary, we had a second round of pie and coffee with the owner of the sanctuary.
“We were so worried when Kendall escaped and there were no reports of sightings from anyone. We feared the worst. I am so grateful he chose to visit you and not someone who would shoot first and ask questions later.”
“We’re animal lovers here. And vice versa,” I said. Blue was certainly staying very close to Mitchell Bloom. She wasn’t being obvious with her sniffing since I have explained that it’s rude, but whatever collection of animal smells he had on his clothes, they were ambrosia to the dog.
Mitchell did the right thing and stroked her ears.
“Well, we are thankful it is so. By the way, this is fabulous pecan pie.”
“It’s the Kahlua,” I said. “By the way, I have wrapped up some pumpkin pie for Kendall since he seems to like it so much.”
“Er—uh, thank you.” Mitchell gave Blue a last pet and then rose to his feet. “I need to be going. They say this rain may turn to snow and most of the staff is home for Thanksgiving.”
We all got up, said the proper stranger goodbyes, pressed extra pie on the sanctuary owner, and then happily shut the door on our adventure.
“Well, it wasn’t how I imagined spending Thanksgiving,” Alex said, turning off the porch light.
“No, but it was still better than listening to Althea’s poetry.”
To Commemorate a Turkey
by Althea Gordon (Poet Laureate of Hope Falls)
Beautiful turkey on a silver tray!
Alas! I’m so sorry to say,
That your brothers were also taken away,
In November two thousand twelve
It’s the subject into which I delve.
It happened in the dark of night
When the moon shone with all its might
And the turke
y blood came pouring down
And the poultry god began to frown,
Because it seemed like he was going to drown
Before there were enough turkeys for the town.
It must have been a horrid sight
The death of Innocents in the moonlight,
But you were fearless as a gorilla
Perhaps because you knew you had salmonella.
Ode to the Turkey That Got All Burnt Up in Uncle Fred's Deep Fryer
(To the tune of “The Star Spangled Banner”)
By Althea Gordon (Poet Laureate of Hope Falls)
Oh say can you see, by the back porch on fire,
That my Uncle Fred, has been at his deep fryer,
With a turkey in hand, he said I’ll take a stand,
Plunged it into the pot, but the pot was too hot.
The bird started to flare, it burst into the air,
Gave proof through the night, that Uncle Fred is an ass.
Grease ran over each side of the pot,
While catching fire as it spread.
We all loved our Uncle Fred,
And we’re sad, that he’s, dead!
A Day at the Dentist
Christmas was in the air, or more accurately it was in my day planner. The days were growing shorter and colder with the weather now composed of a mix of snow and rain. I was running out of days before the big day and still had plenty of shopping left to do. On top of that, I had a special cake I’d promised to bake in the shape of Santa’s sleigh. The cake had to be finished in time to be brought to a party at Agatha and Lawrence’s place on Christmas Eve where it was to join up with the reindeer cupcakes being brought by Margie Livingston. With all of this on my mind the last thing I needed was the interruption of a trip to the dentist, but such an interruption squeezed itself onto my schedule all the same.
It all began with me sitting with Blue in Mel’s Diner, forced to lunch inside because of the inclement weather. Christmas music was playing on a radio behind the counter and I was periodically warming my hands over a hot cup of apple cider. While eating a ham sandwich on sourdough I watched out the front window of the tiny restaurant as shoppers dashed from store to store in a last-minute buying frenzy. The parking meters on Main Street had been wrapped in red ribbon to resemble candy canes by yours truly. The city works department had hung Christmas wreaths from the street lights and strung lights and garlands along the roof lines of the storefronts. All in all it was a pleasantly festive scene to occupy myself with while I finished my lunch. I was feeling happy and at peace with the world when I bit down on something hard in my sandwich. I heard something go crack in my mouth and felt a sharp pain shoot through my jaw.
It wasn’t very ladylike of me, but I spit the mouthful of sandwich out onto my plate. I didn’t even need to poke around in the expectorated gob of bread and ham to spot something shiny winking up at me from the surface. I fished the silver chain from my sourdough with a finger and lifted an inexpensive metal charm attached to it from out of my sandwich. On one side of the medallion were the two halves of a broken heart joined. As the medallion slowly spun before my eyes I saw that the other side was engraved. Brad and Christie Forever the engraving read.
As I examined the necklace more closely I felt another sharp pain shoot through my jaw. I ran my tongue along the molars in back and found that one of them had been cleaved in half by the engraved metal plate hidden in my sandwich. I walked to the counter to share my find with Melody, the shop owner.
“Look what I just bit into in my sandwich,” I mumbled, holding out the trinket.
“Good Lord, how did that get into your food?” Melody exclaimed, accepting the chain from my outstretched finger. After she read the engraving on the medallion she displayed a knowing look before turning and calling to the back of the shop, “Christie, get your butt up here to the register.”
Christie was a young girl who had only been working at the diner for a few months now. She slowly ambled to the front of the shop in response to Melody’s call—but then she seemed to do everything slowly. Melody held the piece of jewelry out for her to examine.
“Where did you find my necklace?” Christie asked.
“In this woman’s lunch,” Melody responded tersely.
“Oh, so that’s where it went,” Christie replied, taking the chain. “What’s this mess all over it?”
“Bread and cheese,” I mumbled, holding my jaw.
“Ew, gross!”
Right then I was struck by another stabbing pain that went shooting through my jaw. I turned away from the counter, holding onto my throbbing face while Melody had words with her employee. Seeing no other choice, I reached into my fanny pack and retrieved my cellphone so that I could call for emergency food-side assistance. With a few quick stabs at the keypad I was able to retrieve the phone number of Dr. Bester, my dentist. Dr. Bester had only recently become my dentist after Dr. Marley, my previous dentist, had been crushed to death under the weight of a giant pumpkin. I had to wait for several rings before the phone was answered.
“Hello, Dr. Bester’s office,” the doctor himself said over the line.
I was sorry to have to call him on such short notice; he sounded harried, but my face was already throbbing like the dickens.
“Hello, Doctor,” I mumbled in reply. “This is Chloe Boston. I’m afraid that I have a dental emergency.”
“Oh? What might that be?” the doctor replied, sounding irked.
“I just bit into a steel medallion in my sandwich during lunch and broke a molar.”
“That sounds bad,” he conceded.
“I’m now in terrible pain,” I said, trying to bolster my case.
“Look, Ms. Boston, I was planning on closing up shop early today. Is there any possibility that you can just go home and take a few aspirin?”
I was shocked at the suggestion. The doctor’s words got my dander up.
“Doctor, didn’t you hear me? I’m in intense pain. I have a molar that has been broken in half. I need help as soon as possible.”
“Alright, alright,” Dr. Bester responded tensely. “I suppose that I can see you this afternoon to install a temporary crown.”
That’s more like it, I wanted to say.
“Oh, thank you, doctor,” was what I did say instead.
“How soon can you make it to my office?”
“I’m right on Main Street. If I head out now I can be there in under fifteen minutes.”
“Do it. I’ll see you soon.”
And with that the connection was terminated. I slipped my cellphone back into my fanny pack and wanted nothing more than to race from the restaurant. Unfortunately, I needed to soothe Melody and her ailing conscience before I could leave.
“Oh, Chloe, I’m so sorry about your tooth. Is it broken?”
“Yes, it’s broken, but that’s alright,” I mumbled. “The dentist is ready and waiting to see me.”
“And I’ll pay any expenses. Within reason, of course.”
“That’s kind of you, but I’ve got to go.”
“Is there anything I can do? Maybe make you a new sandwich?”
“That won’t be necessary. I’ve got to go.”
“You’ll be back, won’t you?”
“Of course, but I’ve got to go now.”
“Can I get you a soda or an aspirin before you go?’
“No, nothing. I’m fine, thank you, but I’ve got to go.”
Blue and I barely made it out the door and onto the sidewalk of Main Street without the encumbrance of a significant care package. I tried to see things from Melody’s point of view—she must have been mortified by the incident—but her offers to assist me were of no assistance at all. I needed to get a move on before my dentist took a powder on me.
Jumping into my patrol cart, Blue lay down on the floor and I stomped on the accelerator. I’d like to say that I peeled rubber, but in all honesty my cart would have a hard time peeling a banana. Plodding to the far end of Main Street, I
was passed by a jogger pushing a high-tech baby carriage. I tried not to get frustrated by my lack of speed but ended up banging on the steering wheel trying to will my cart to go faster as my mouth really started to throb. Eventually I pulled to the curb in front of the office of Doctor Spencer Bester. I brought Blue with me as I flew into the doctor’s waiting room. The doctor was escorting Mrs. Snelling, who works at the post office, out of the back of his office.
“Docer, ine so grad ew cad se me,” I mumbled.
In only a short time my mouth had swollen to the point that I could barely speak. However, through that linguistic sixth sense that all dentists seem to possess, Dr. Bester was able to understand me.
“Yes, of course, Ms. Boston. I’m glad I could see you as well,” he said to me.
“Hello, Chloe,” Mrs. Snelling slurred, a trail of drool running onto her blouse.
Mrs. Snelling then smacked her lips and touched the half of her face that was drooping.
“Huwo, mersa saiwing,” I replied.
Mrs. Snelling smiled at me though it was obvious by her expression that she had no idea what I had said to her. The doctor took Mrs. Snelling’s arm to lead her across the waiting room.
“Now you take it easy this afternoon, Mrs. Snelling. And call me if there are any complications,” the doctor warned as he opened the front door of his business to let the woman out.
Once Mrs. Snelling was out the door, the doctor turned to consider me. Then he looked down to Blue who was sitting at my feet.
“Why, you brought your dog,” he noted with some annoyance.
“I surrey,” I replied.
“Well, I suppose the animal can stay here in the waiting room while I work on you.”
I led Blue to a corner and tried to tell her to sit. Unfortunately, my slurred speech made it sound like I was ordering her to do something objectionable. Through hand gestures, I finally got my point across and Blue lay down to wait. I followed the doctor through the door and down a short hall to his examining room. Along the way, I noted that the receptionist desk had been decorated for the Christmas holidays—undoubtedly Margie’s hand at work. Her desk was also conspicuously empty.
Cornucopia (A Chloe Boston Mystery Book 16) Page 4