Barb and I still weren’t going to give each other pedicures and have pillow fights, but she had returned to New York with a little less resentment in her baggage and sent me this dreamy machine in gratitude.
The Capresso takes coffee to a whole new level and costs as much as my first used car. I had drooled over Lucy’s and it was heaven to have my own. Coffee is the last addiction I allow myself, so I give it free rein.
I patted Mosey, my big black schnauzer, absentmindedly; then I popped the lock and stepped out on the porch. Heading for my Rover, I saw Lucy was ensconced in the passenger seat. She gave me a bright and eager look.
I opened the door. “Out” I said sharply, “I am not going to forgive you for this.”
“Oh hush, I go without a bra all the time.”
“Yes, but you are built like a nine-year old boy.”
“Why can’t you say Kate Moss?”
“Why can’t you stop trying to turn me into an exhibitionist?”
“You were doing that all on your own a few months ago, if I remember correctly. Besides, you don’t hide a Chagall under a drop cloth. And since you send so many mixed messages to Jared, I thought I’d help you with a statement, or two.” She laughed.
I settled into the driver’s side, gingerly handing her my mug. I backed up the Range Rover and retrieved my cup for a long gulp before I put on my seat belt. “I don’t suppose I’m dropping you at your place?” I asked hopefully.
“Nope, you need a wing pal.”
“Then hush,” I said starting the engine and angling out onto the road. “And put on that seat belt or I just may push you out the door.”
“You’re a riot,” she said smiling. “Shouldn’t you step on it?”
I paused, “Just promise me Mona isn’t lurking in the back floorboard,” I said sternly.
“I don’t think Mona is physically capable of lurking,” Lucy smiled. “But Girl Scout’s honor,” she said raising her hand.
“I was a girl scout you know,” I said mildly. “I think I would remember if our sign had been a peace sign.”
“What can I say?” Lucy shrugged, “I got kicked out.”
“Well then, let’s go back to a more recent topic. Speaking of showers…”
“Were we?” Lucy asked doubtfully.
“Well, I just had one, and you must be feeling incredibly guilty about making me go without a bra.”
“I have a very high threshold for guilt.” Lucy said.
“And I suddenly have a bit of leverage. I want to install a gray water system since I need to shower between jobs. That water could go to the garden.”
“You’re on a well; it isn’t like it costs anything.”
“It’s about the environment, Lucy, not the expense.”
“Isn’t that grey water usage illegal in this state?”
“Some parts, but so is having sex unless you are in the missionary position with the blinds closed.”
“Oh God,” Lucy said, “I’m going to hell and to jail.”
“By the way, if you were considering plowing cotton...”
“And I was, I truly was,” Lucy said laughing.
I gave her my most solemn expression; “Can’t use an elephant to plow cotton in North Carolina.”
She feigned annoyance, “So that money I spent on Gladys just went down the drain.”
“Speaking of drains,” I prodded.
Apparently tiring of the game, she interrupted—“Yeah, go ahead, get Jim to do it. He is very talented,” she fluttered her eyelashes, “and he’ll do anything for money.”
“Well that is a very dubious recommendation.”
She smiled. “Seriously, he’s good around the house; I’ll get a quote on mine and Mother’s old place while we’re at it.”
“I’m so proud of you right now!”
“Even though I sing off-key?” She asked, “That’s against the law here too.”
“I won’t turn you in,” I assured her, “as long as you only do it with the blinds drawn and in the missionary position.”
“Ah, so then the chance of you hearing my rendition of Old Man River is-”
“Within the realm of possibility,” I joked.
I was still grinning when we passed Herb Childers along the way. He was crossing his garden and the mood in my SUV suddenly took a steep dive. I felt a pang of real dread as I took in the spectacle of the elderly man in overalls and his absurdly thick work gloves. He would soon be devastated. He didn’t look stricken yet, so I imagined he hadn’t been carrying a cell phone with him. Maybe marriage is just a piece of paper, but on rare occasions sometimes divorce is too.
If there was ever a standard bearer for divorced couples the Childers were it. They had been friends for a decade, married for a few years, and then slipped easily back into their old ways and their own homes which neither had ever sold, perhaps realizing that their marriage had always been a long shot at best.
The qualities they had admired in each other; Mae’s ambitious nature and Herb’s obsessive interest in establishing himself as the premier expert on foraging for food in the wilderness had not resulted in marital bliss. I imagined their egos had gotten in the way more than once. But Mae Childers was a handsome woman and had recently been courted by a new man.
Herb couldn’t have seemed more tickled with her choice. I had seen the three of them out once or twice and you couldn’t fake that kind of amiability. Bill Bragg, the beau, was a new arrival in town, a pleasant, slightly younger insurance salesman in his fifties who had opened a branch of his company in Monroe.
The thing that intrigued me most was that Herb and Mae continued to keep company even without Bill along. She supported herself writing for the publishers of the serial “how to” books like “Bird Watching for Morons.” Herb, a retired teacher, was passionate about the fact that people can starve in this country despite his assertion that there is a cornucopia of wild edibles to sustain you in nature if you knew where to look. That knowledge base was Herb’s claim to fame and he was constantly being asked to guest lecture to clubs or consent to interviews on the local public radio show. No one had to ask twice, he was determined to be regarded as the leading authority on the topic.
I realized that I was still thinking of Mae in the present tense. “I don’t know who is going to take Mae’s death worse, Bill or Herb.”
“Well,” Lucy said, settling back, “I believe in enjoying moments of ignorance while we have them.”
Those moments were few because of the short distance to Mae’s home, but I was prepared for the wildlife call. I always keep a cage, blanket, and a few other items for transporting injured wildlife in the back of my SUV, and I knew this was the only emergency I could be useful for right now.
When we got there a stout deputy was posted outside on the sidewalk. He noted the cage and let me pass, assuming I knew what I was about to walk into.
That made one of us.
Tweet: Becoming a volunteer is like planting bamboo: It seems like such a splendid idea until it completely takes you over.
Chapter 2
The front door of Mae's house was suddenly flung open and EMS attendants brought the body out on a stretcher to the waiting ambulance. She was completely covered and there was no urgency to the crew's pace.
I stepped in the foyer tentatively and took in the scene. The sheriff was there, as was Jared, who was seated at the kitchen table questioning Anita. As usual she looked lovely with her blue deep set eyes and auburn hair. She was impeccably but casually dressed and I wondered where she got the money on her salary for such expensive sports wear. But I was surprised by her expression as she spoke to Jared. Anita didn’t look dazed with grief or shock, she looked as though Jared was a feast and she hadn’t eaten for days.
Jared could do that to any woman—even one as happily single as Anita appears to be. If Jared could distract her; that was reason enough to keep my distance, despite our having been flung together recently to the point where we had come close to be
ing very close indeed. The few times I had been out in public with Jared women looked at him as though they would gladly shed their clothes and abandon their families for one night with him.
He’s the town golden boy, being the byproduct of exceptional genes, with thick blonde hair, a cleft chin and smoking gray eyes. The fact that he had taken the local high school and later the Tar Heels to football championships, had catapulted him to hometown hero for life. The South never forgets its star football players and can quote you the statistics from all the best years.
In hindsight, I was glad we hadn’t gotten any further in that frenzied moment. And once I was out of the hospital, I had a welcome interval to distance myself from both Jared and Ben.
Fortunately my self-appointed godfather Dallas had whisked me away from the hospital for a much-needed recuperation from my bout with the grim reaper. My father had joined us for the last leg of the fishing trip, a choice which played a factor in Dad’s Thai fiancée’s decision to break off their ill-advised engagement.
While I never told Dallas so, and we had one heck of a trip, I had considered the greater part of that gift from him was providing distance not only from the media but Jared. Sleeping with the local Lothario was not worth the inevitable repercussions. I didn’t want to spend my time wondering who my successors were or, more importantly, risk my relationship with Ben.
I was being preoccupied by Jared right now, I realized, so I forced myself to take in the scene at hand. I surveyed the room; fairly tidy if you didn't count the overturned chair, an unpleasant little puddle, and the phone on the floor. As I wandered about the pristine but outdated kitchen I imagined Mae had just finished making stew when death struck; the wooden ladle was still in the pot. Whatever she had eaten was now lost on the floor.
As I waited for Anita to point me in the direction of the owl, I wandered over to Mae's desk in the den. There was her laptop and a manuscript lying beneath a paperweight. “Marauding for Moron's: How to Turn Nature into Your Own Supermarket.”
“This ought to be a popular one,” I thought idly. With the booming growth in the free cycling groups and a weak economy, it should be a winning combination. Whoever her heirs were, it would be quite a windfall to them if it was completed.
I circled back to the kitchen, carefully sidestepping the puddle of vomit. There was an open scrapbook style cookbook and the words “Stone Stew!” in the margin beside a handwritten recipe card. I glanced at it briefly. It looked similar to the one in the book. At the bottom of the page it said “Wet only! Caution! Herb's photos!” There was also a sketch of a stem with something like little hairs drawn on it.
I didn’t see any photographs around, but I imagined I better keep my hands off the paperwork. As recent experience had taught me, you really never know what you’re going to turn up in a pile of documents.
The sink had a bit of red clay and black dirt in it, presumably from fresh vegetables from the farmers’ market or a neighbor. People with gardens are continually overestimating their vegetable needs and desire to can them. It was a rare summer visitor who wasn’t accompanied by a paper bag of produce. This was fine by me, having been the recipient of more than my share of Better Boy tomatoes.
Despite everyone’s insistence that I can turn any food into an inedible mess, I’ve mastered a great tomato sandwich. All you need is toast, Duke’s mayonnaise, pepper, salt and generous slices of homegrown tomatoes. Eating it over the sink is wise, but not required.
I looked out the window to the back yard beyond Mae’s house. There was a shed, a compost bin and a perennial garden. A rough path led to a wetland just behind her lot.
I placed the stew in the fridge without really thinking about it. Then I remembered Jared’s warning about contaminating the scene and decided I might as well keep that slip-up to myself. Even though Mae had undoubtedly died of natural causes, the sheriff’s office always sends someone unless the death is expected after a protracted illness and they do try to follow protocol.
“Gretchen!” Anita cried, noticing me at last. Jared had just turned to consult with Consuela, a stolid little deputy I recognized from other jobs. I walked over and hugged Anita quickly. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment before pointing to the garage.
“Wait,” she said, handing me her keys, “can you grab my purse from my car?”
“Of course,” I said gently; then headed out to look for her gray sedan. I opened the door and grabbed the pocketbook. It was sitting on some legal forms and I couldn’t help noticing Mae’s name on the top of the first page before I willed myself to look away. Anita trusted me with her purse; it was really bad form to pry.
I brought her the handbag and placed it on the table beside her. “Thanks,” she said gratefully.
I picked up the cage and nodded toward it. ”Will I need this?” She looked at me blankly before turning back to focus on Jared’s fine behind as he stood and handed off some paperwork to his colleague. I grinned and shook my head before I stepped through the garage door and spotted it.
Owls are my weakness. If I have ever been tempted to break the rules and keep something that couldn’t be fully rehabilitated it would definitely be an owl.
This was a barn owl, and I could tell pretty quickly he could survive what appeared to be a brush with a power line. I would take him to Carolina Raptor Center at Latta Plantation Preserve where they have a sophisticated treatment center for birds of prey. They were the best, but if the bird couldn’t be released back into the wild, it would become a living lesson to Latta visitors.
A habit I picked up from dealing with wildlife which could slither and scamper into clothing to evade capture, caused me to tuck in my already clingy shirt absently as I sized him up. Though unnecessary in this instance, every rehabber has some equivalent of putting a game face on. I scrutinized the bird carefully to try to gauge further injuries. Anita had already taken care of the most difficult part by getting him into her cage. I quickly decided it was unnecessary to transfer it to my own, which would only add to its shock and stress. When I walked back through the kitchen with it to speak to her, Jared was still conducting his interview.
I hated to interrupt, but the owl needed treatment immediately for a damaged wing. I should have foregone the shower and makeup and gotten here more quickly.
“Will it be okay if I take the bird and leave now?” I asked, bending over toward Jared and whispering in his ear. He turned to look at me and was granted the full force of the statement Lucy's latest prank had caused me to make. Tucking in the stretch t-shirt had compounded its effect.
His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. I raised my right hand up to my face, wriggling my fingers. “Hi Jared, up here, you seem to have some kind of an ailment yourself so I'm going to take your utter lack of a response as a “yes” and be on my way. I just thought you might need to note that I removed something. That’s fine right?”
With my free hand I wagged his chin in the affirmative and went over to the corner where Lucy had two deputies spellbound with off-color jokes. I don't know how she does it, but Lucy could stroll through the biggest bash at the Playboy Mansion and leave with all the men trailing her.
The deputies turned their attention to me as I approached, undoubtedly noting the cage first since they were peering down at Lucy’s slight but adorable frame. Then they looked up a bit more and stopped about where you'd expect. I turned away quickly.
“Leaving NOW Lucy,” I said firmly and headed toward the door, counting on her to come scampering after me.
“You sure got some attention,” she cackled in triumph, twisting around in her seat toward me with her arms tight against her little body, her fists clenched in victory. She slouched down and pummeled the dashboard with her boots. “I would love to be a fly on the wall at Mae's now! There will be talk about you, Jared will be pissed and won’t be able to admit why.”
“Hah, you are a fly.”
She nodded, “Superfly.”
“More
of a fly in the ointment,” I smiled, “But what did you hear in there?”
The Carolina Raptor Center was an hour away so Lucy filled me in on the news she had gleaned on Mae's death from her posse of admirers. “She would make one hell of an interrogator,” I mused as she began.
“Evidently Mae was cooking, she had invited Anita over to lunch since Anita had to pick up the owl nearby and release something in Mae’s wetland. But Anita couldn't make it on time; she got a call for a hawk and said she would be late. Then Mae called back to ask Anita to take her to urgent care, she said she was really sick. Mae sounded out of her head, you know, delirious? Anita had no idea how bad it was, but she told her to dial 911 and sped over there. Mae was already dead. Anita said it looked as though she had been foaming at the mouth.”
“Oh, boy,” I said “just what this town needs, another rabies scare.” Hopefully it was something more commonplace than that. There are probably plenty of deaths that end with foaming at the mouth which don’t involve rabies or the beginnings of a pandemic.
“I don't mean to sound like Mona,” I said carefully, “but should the sheriff's office have let us in there at all? It could have been something contagious right?”
“I guess we'll know shortly,” Lucy said mischievously.
When we dropped off the owl, Lucy took in the impressive clinic and spontaneously wrote the center a generous check. While I was there, I asked how the hawk Anita had brought in was faring. The vet gave me a blank look. “No hawks came in all week.”
I nodded. It wasn't unusual to get a call that didn't result in an animal transfer. Sometimes the birds were DOA, occasionally they were just momentarily stunned and escaped, or we examined and freed them on the spot. I would ask Anita about it later. I hadn’t even been able to inquire how she had come by the wounded owl; taking it to the center and allowing Jared to get back to his interview had been more important.
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