Morning Glory Circle

by Pamela Grandstaff

  Scott continued on down Peony Street to Lotus Avenue, and stood for a long time looking at Margie’s house before continuing down to the end of the block and making a left on Pine Mountain Road. Cal Fischer lived on the corner there, just across the street from the old train depot, and he was standing out on his front porch while his English setter peed in the deep snow of his front yard.

  “Hey Scott,” Cal called out, and Scott walked up to his front porch. The dog danced around his feet until Scott gave him a pat on the head.

  Cal Fischer was a volunteer firefighter and a rescue diver, and had also been peripherally involved in Theo’s murder investigation. Pine Mountain Road started on the other side of the mountain, in Maryland, and wound along the Mason Dixon line through three states before it ended in Rose Hill, on the shore of the Little Bear River. Cal had, on a few occasions, taken down the barriers that were installed there (to protect people from accidentally driving into the water) in order to back his boat into the water, cross the river, and hunt for out of season deer. On one such occasion, on a very foggy night, someone had rolled a truck down the last block of Pine Mountain Road into the river, drowning the unconscious Willy Neff inside. On a subsequent outing, Cal found the submerged truck and discovered the victim. He hadn’t had the barriers down, his boat out, or done any illegal hunting since.

  Scott asked Cal if he’d seen Margie, and he asked Scott to please come inside. Cal brewed some coffee, and they sat at the kitchen table together with the dog on the floor at their feet.

  “I just heard from Sue this evening that Margie’s missing,” Cal told Scott. “I planned to call you tomorrow to tell you about this weird thing that happened.”

  Scott sipped his coffee and listened attentively.

  “Living just down the street from her, we see Margie a lot, because she doesn’t have a car and walks everywhere. Sue doesn’t like her on account of something that happened with the mail, but I’ve never had any trouble with her. I know her well enough to wave on the street and say hello, but that’s it. Anyway, a few days ago Margie stopped Sue outside the house and told her she knew what happened the night Willy Neff drowned. She said she saw me back my boat into the river with my dog and gun, and she knew I was hunting out of season. Well, you know I confessed to my boss about taking the barriers down, but only you, me, and Sue know about the deer hunting, so Sue figures Margie must have been spying on us that night. Margie says to Sue, ‘What do you think the game warden would have to say about that?’ This made Sue so mad she told Margie off.”

  “Did Margie ask Sue for anything, in order to keep quiet about it?” Scott asked.

  “You mean, like to blackmail us or something?”

  Scott nodded.

  “Sue said she thought Margie was threatening to tell the game warden just to make trouble for me, and she went ballistic. You know Sue, she’s sweet as pie but if you threaten her family she’ll blister you like hot paint.”

  Scott was very familiar with Sue Fischer’s devotion to her husband, and wished he could have seen her go after Margie.

  “I don’t want you to wake her,” Scott said, and about that time Sue walked into the kitchen. She didn’t look happy to see Scott.

  “What’s happened?” she asked worriedly, with a grim look on her face.

  “Nothing, honey,” Cal reassured her, and looped an arm around her waist. “I was just bragging on you to Scott, about how you tore Margie a new one for threatening to tell the game warden I was hunting out of season.”

  “Did you find her?” Sue asked Scott.

  “Not yet,” Scott said.

  “Well, I hope wherever she is, she stays there.”

  “What did she say, exactly?” Scott asked her.

  “Said she’d seen Cal take the barriers down, saw him take the dog and gun out on the boat. Asked me what I thought the game warden would do if he found out. I told her if she called the game warden on my husband I would take her to court and tell the judge all about the dirty tricks she’s been playing on the people of this town for the last twenty years. I said I knew fifty people who would line up to testify against her. I told her when I got through with her, she’d be tarred, feathered, and driven out of this town like the low down lying criminal she is,” Sue said. “Or something like that.”

  “It must have been effective,” Scott said. “I think she’s skipped town.”

  “Good riddance to bad rubbish,” Sue said.

  “If you see or hear from her, will you let me know?”

  “Sue could deliver her covered in tar and chicken feathers,” Cal said.

  Sue smacked her husband on the arm, but smiled at him affectionately. Scott thanked them and left. As he walked up Pine Mountain Road, Scott reflected that there was a whole lot that went on in this town that he didn’t know about, and wondered how much more he would find out on account of Margie going missing. There didn’t seem to be one person, save her mother, who cared about her or was sorry she was gone.

  Ed Harrison lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. He had purposefully not gone to the Rose and Thorn that night because he was avoiding Mandy. His regular evening ritual of two beers and a ballgame on the bar’s big screen TV was ruined now, because Mandy wanted to sit on the stool next to him and talk, at least until Patrick fussed at her to get back to work.

  Mandy never ran out of things to talk to Ed about, although he couldn’t think of a thing to say to her. She’d ask him, “Do you believe in horoscopes?” and then she’d read both of theirs. She’d tell him a dream she had and ask him what he thought it meant. She’d tell him every single thing she’d done from the time she got up until the time she was sitting there, and ask him a hundred questions, like a child. When Ed told her he wanted to watch the game, she asked him all sorts of questions about basketball, and then asked him, related to the cheerleaders, “Which one do you think is the prettiest?” Even worse, all this took place under the amused gaze of the locals seated nearby, and his friend Patrick, who kept rolling his eyes and laughing from behind the bar.

  The phone rang.

  “I’m just checkin’ to be sure you ain’t sick or somethin’,” Mandy said when he answered.

  “No, I’m fine,” Ed said. “I just felt like making it an early night.”

  “Can I bring ya somethin’?’ she asked.

  “No, but thanks,” he said. “I’m going to get an early start on some sleep.”

  “You still takin’ Tommy to the bonfire tomorrow night?”

  “Yeah, glad to do it.”

  “Well, I sure do appreciate that. I hate to think of him all alone at night with all these strangers in town.”

  “It’s no problem.”

  Ed could hear Patrick yelling in the background and Mandy told him, “Shut up, I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “You better get back to work,” Ed said.

  “Yeah, I guess I better,” Mandy said. “I’m sure missin’ you tonight.”

  “You’ve got to stop this,” Ed said. “I’m too old for you. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but this is not going to work out the way you want. I’m sorry, but it’s just not.”

  “I ain’t givin’ up,” she said. “I ain’t no quitter.”

  “Mandy, you are a sweet girl and any man would be lucky to have you, but it’s just not going to be me.”

  “I had a dream ‘bout ya last night,” she said. “You ‘n me ‘n Tommy were a family, and we lived in the newspaper office.”

  “Mandy.”

  “My dreams always come true,” she said. “I believe in my dreams.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ed said. “I don’t know what else to say.”

  “Just don’t count me out,” Mandy said. “Ya gotta at least give me a chance.”

  “Mandy.”

  “I know. I better go. Patrick’s having a hissy fit over here. I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

  “No more doughnuts, please.”

  “Turnovers then,” she said with a giggle, and hung up.

/>   Ed hung the phone up and covered his face with a pillow. He’d been having dreams about Mandy, too, but what they’d been doing in the newspaper office in his dreams wasn’t rated G for family viewing.

  Hannah was staring at the kitchen calendar in disbelief, flipping back and forth between the last few months.

  “Maybe I just forget to mark the day,” she said.

  “Mark what day?” Sam asked her, as he rolled his wheelchair into the kitchen from outside, letting a huge gust of cold wind and some blowing snow in with him.

  “Oh, nothing,” Hannah said. “Maggie and I have the next few days so tightly scheduled I didn’t put in any time to go to the bathroom, let alone shop for groceries. You’re on your own for the next few days.”

  “I don’t mind,” Sam said, rolling up behind her and bumping her so that she fell back in his lap. “As long as I don’t have to go to the festival, I would gladly eat dog chow with these two.”

  Jax and Wally collapsed on the kitchen floor, panting from the outdoor romp Sam had just taken them on.

  “How were the inmates?” she asked him.

  “They’re fine. I miss the pit bull boys, though. I was kinda getting used to them.”

  “Don’t worry; there will always be more where they came from. As long as there are idiots who breed them to fight and people who are afraid of them, we’ll have plenty on hand.”

  “What time do you have to be at the bakery in the morning?” he asked her, while nuzzling her neck.

  “Eight a.m.”

  “You better get to bed then.”

  “Why don’t I think you mean so I can get some sleep?”

  “Maybe it’s just a feeling you’re getting,” Sam said mischievously.

  “I think I can maybe muster up enough strength to have my way with you,” Hannah said. “But it’s probably the last time for a few days. It will all be a blur from tomorrow until Monday.”

  “I’ll take what I can get,” Sam said.

  “You’re one of the last of the great romantics, you are.”

  “Oh my darling,” Sam said, in a fake foreign accent, “Come with me to the Casbah, so that we may make the sweet, how do you say, love.”

  “You sound just like that cartoon skunk.”

  “I’ll try to stay down wind.”

  Later, after Sam had gone back to work in his home office, and before Hannah turned off the lights in the rest of the house and locked up, she flipped through the calendar again while she rubbed her flat tummy.

  “I can’t think about it,” she said out loud. “I don’t have time to even think about it.”

  She did, though, way past the time when she should have been asleep.

  Chapter Five – Friday

  Maggie, Patrick, and Hannah met at the bakery at 8:00 a.m. Friday morning, where their mothers had been working since 4:00 a.m., and loaded up Patrick’s truck with the baked goods they planned to sell that day at the festival. The sky was still black with a thousand bright stars. It was the kind of frigid cold temperature that tightens your chest and freezes your nose hairs when you breathe in.

  Once the boxes were secured in the bed of the pickup, Maggie and Hannah climbed in the back and sat on the wheel wells for the two-block journey to the festival grounds. Deputy Skip had taken down the chain that blocked the entrance, and other vendors were preparing their caravans for the crowds that would soon gather. They would include tourists from the nearby ski resorts, students from the Eldridge College campus, and residents from the surrounding towns.

  Because her brother Patrick had placed each caravan himself, Fitzpatrick Bakery and the Rose and Thorn bar were side by side in a prime location near the entrance to the grounds. The other locally run food caravans included PJ’s Pizza selling Italian fare; the Interdenominational Women’s Society selling homemade fudge, peanut brittle, and chocolate candy; the Catholic Women’s Guild selling homemade apple butter, apple jelly, and apple dumplings; the Whistle Pig Lodge selling funnel cakes, cotton candy, and caramel corn; and the Pine County Boosters selling hot dogs, pepperoni rolls, and assorted hot and cold drinks. A hoagie shop and a Greek restaurant from nearby Pendleton had also been licensed to sell food.

  Once the caravan was set up and ready for the noon opening, Maggie went back to the bookstore to see if all was ready there. Jeanette, whom she relied upon so heavily, had everything well in hand. Jeanette was a retired schoolteacher who was supplementing her pension and social security with part-time hours at the bookstore. A no-nonsense, sensible, stalwart right hand, she could deal with any crisis that came up during the morning shifts during the week. Maggie knew that in any situation Jeanette would do what Maggie would have done herself, but in a kinder way, and as a result she gave the older woman a free hand.

  This morning she was marshalling the extra troops Maggie had hired for the weekend, teaching them how to do the basic tasks they would be called upon to do. Although it wasn’t the ideal time for Benjamin, who ran the espresso bar every morning like a well oiled machine, to be out of town, Maggie could not refuse him the reasonable request of a week cross country skiing with friends in Maine. Her second best barista, Mitchell, an articulate and outgoing college senior who looked more like a Rastafarian, was subbing for Benjamin during his week off.

  Mitchell was showing his temporary help where the supplies were kept, and how best to assist him without getting in the way in the close confines of the area behind the counter. For this year’s festival Maggie had splurged on more temporary staff than usual, anchored by well-trained regulars, so that she could spend all the time at the festival helping her mother. She hoped the additional sales from the influx of tourists would more than make up the added expense. If it did, after the weekend was over she planned to reward her staff with some small bonuses, something she rarely did. It’s not that Maggie was cheap or begrudged her staff little extras; it was just that she learned at her mother’s knee to be frugal, and it was hard to go against that conditioning.

  After Maggie felt assured her bookstore was in good hands, she walked down to the Rose and Thorn to see if Patrick needed any help. She waved to her Uncle Curtis as she passed Fitzpatrick’s Service Station, where he was holding court with his morning buddies, drinking coffee and eating doughnuts. Her Uncle Ian was driving the school bus, like he did every morning and afternoon, so Patrick was left on his own getting the Rose and Thorn caravan ready for business.

  At the side door of the bar, which opened onto Peony Street, Scott was helping Patrick roll kegs into the bed of his pickup truck. They were using a piece of plywood as a ramp between the side door and the pickup bed, and Maggie watched as the wood sagged but did not break when they rolled the kegs across it. Patrick was rolling and Scott was catching. Both men acknowledged her presence with a brief nod and returned to concentrating on their task.

  Maggie stood next to the truck and watched, enjoying a chance to freely admire Scott while he worked. He had on his police uniform of khaki pants, hiking boots and navy blue ski jacket, with ROSE HILL POLICE appliquéd on the front left side and across the back. On his head he wore a navy blue wool ball cap with the same city logo on it. Maggie was admiring his rear end when he caught her, and grinned.

  She felt herself blush and asked her brother, “Anything I can do?”

  Patrick stood still a minute as he thought.

  “Yes,” he finally said, “Go upstairs and get me some plastic cups and paper napkins. They’re in the crawl space in the attic.”

  Maggie went around to the front door and let herself in with her own key, then walked all the way to the back of the bar to the office, where the door to the stairs was. Maggie hated the upstairs room, which was dark and spidery, but she didn’t dare tell Patrick “no” after offering to help. She found the boxes of cups and napkins right where he said they’d be, and drug several out to save him time later. The boxes were not that heavy, but she slid them down the stairs on their sides so she didn’t have to carry them.

  She heard
her Aunt Delia yelp “hey!” from downstairs, and Maggie hurried down. Delia wasn’t hurt, just surprised when boxes came flying down the stairs at her as she entered the office. Patrick, standing in the doorway behind Delia, laughed at Maggie, saying, “lazy ass,” before effortlessly picking up each box and tossing it to Scott, who was still standing in the pickup.

  “Sorry,” Maggie told her aunt sheepishly when she got downstairs, and closed the door behind her.

  Delia just gave Maggie a hug, telling her, “It’s awful nice of you to come and help us out, with your own store and all you have to do for your mother.”

  Maggie, who was not a hugger by nature, did not mind when her Aunt Delia, who had always been so sweet and kind to her, insisted on doing so.

  “I hear our Caroline’s back,” Aunt Delia said.

  “She’s not ours anymore,” Maggie said sadly. “I don’t know whose she is, but she’s not ours.”

  Delia smoothed Maggie’s bright red curls with her hand, cupped her chin, and looked at her with real sympathy.

  “It’s hard when people grow up and change into someone you don’t recognize,” she said.

  One of the things Maggie loved most about Aunt Delia was that she didn’t say, “Life’s unfair, get used to it,” like Maggie’s mother would have. Instead, she really listened and empathized. Delia was always available with a shoulder to cry on or a cup of tea if Maggie needed to unburden herself. While she didn’t often avail herself of the privilege, it was nice knowing it was there when she needed it.