“We’re goin’ to jail anyway in November, so let’s go get ourselves some money and have some fun,” said Albert, swinging his arms wildly.
There was no argument from Raymond, who always did what his big brother wanted him to do. He was with him during the April break-in and he’d be with him tonight. Maybe tonight they’d get more than some lousy white dishes.
“The lady who owns the house will know us. Whatcha gonna do ’bout that?”
“We’ll dig out the monster masks we use at Halloween. Those people at the Lodge ain’t never seen them so they won’t know it’s us. You wear the mummy mask, I’ll wear the werewolf and we’ll take Melanie’s creepy baby doll mask for Herbie. They’re in the closet. We’ll have to get them when Ma ain’t lookin’.”
When Herbie arrived at the cabin about five o’clock, they told him of their plan to rob the women later that night.
“Stay for supper tonight and we’ll watch TV until Ma and Melanie go to bed.”
“Then what?” asked Herbie excitedly.
“Then we go to the muckety-muck’s house and get us some moola,” Albert replied with a sneer. Then added, “I’m gonna take the revolver, but just to scare ‘em. I won’t use it unless I have to.”
His comment disturbed both his friend and his brother. To steal money was one thing, but to shoot someone was altogether different. Albert had stolen the revolver during a break-in at an isolated summer cabin on the river because, he said, “it was too tempting not to.” It was in a nightstand in a bedroom, along with a box of bullets, which the owner evidently forgot to take home with him. Their haul included the gun, bullets, a hatchet and brand new fishing gear, all now stored under Albert’s bed in the cabin.
Chapter 23
It was a few minutes before nine o’clock when Meg pulled up to the gate at Stone Brook and Claire jumped out with key in hand. The headlights of the Navigator shone brightly in the darkness, illuminating the gate and the padlock. She inserted the key into the lock and swung the wrought iron panels to the edge of the driveway and waited until Meg was on the other side before swinging them back and securing the lock. Returning to the SUV, she slipped into the passenger seat beside Meg, and said, “There, we’re locked in for the night.”
“It was a perfect day, Claire, and a perfect weekend,” said Anne, reaching over her seat and patting her on the shoulder. “Thanks so much for having us.”
“You are so welcome,” said Claire. “I enjoyed it every bit as much as you did.”
Meg pulled the SUV into the portico beside Anne’s Mercury and turned off the ignition. As the others got out, she went around to the rear and opened the hatch, allowing them to claim their purchases. Claire opened the front door and turned on the light in the foyer. The women followed her into the living room where she turned on two table lamps and tossed her purse and shopping bag on the sofa. The others did the same and they all dropped into nearby chairs and kicked off their shoes as they had the night before.
“What about those shoofly pies, Meg? Do want to refrigerate them?” asked Claire.
“It’s not really necessary,” Meg answered, then laughed, “It’s a cupboard pie. At least that’s what the Mennonite woman in Ohio told me. She said her ancestors came to America long before refrigeration and they made pies with non-perishable ingredients so they would last a few days stored in cupboards.”
“That’s as interesting as the name ‘shoofly pie,’” said Claire, who had tasted a sample from Mrs. Yoder when the bakery first opened.
“She told me about that, too,” said Meg. “When the Amish and Mennonites first came to America, they only brought basic needs on the boats because of the long sea voyage. For baking they brought flour, sugar, molasses, lard and spices, and one of the women concocted a pie from what she had. They cooked in open fires at the time, and while the pie was cooling outdoors the sticky molasses attracted flies which they had to constantly shoo away.”
“I love it,” laughed Anne who had written a recipe book of foods featured at regional festivals. “I didn’t include the shoofly pie, and perhaps I should have. Instead, I listed Mak Kuchen, a traditional poppy seed roll from the Schmeckfest in the Mennonite village of Freeman, South Dakota. There are so many ethnic pockets in this country and so many wonderful foods brought from other countries, it was difficult choosing which ones to include.”
“Speaking of food, does anyone want anything?” asked Claire. “I’m not going to offer you any of Anne’s trifle, because we’ve all had two servings and I’m saving the rest for Ed. But I have wine with cheese and crackers. How about it?”
When all three women replied in the affirmative, Claire went into the kitchen, with the trio in tow. She pulled a two-liter bottle of chilled Beringer Chardonnay from the refrigerator, then a red Merlot from the wine cabinet, and asked, “red or white?”
When all three chose white, she returned the Merlot to the cabinet and set the Chardonnay on the kitchen counter. Reaching into the refrigerator, she brought out a container of spreadable Brie and a large bunch of green grapes. Placing both on a tray, she then went into the pantry, returning with a box of stone ground wheat crackers. She took them all to the table by the bay window where the others joined her, Meg bringing the wine glasses and Anne the bottle of Chardonnay.
Settling into the cozy breakfast nook, they helped themselves to the wine and cheese, and their friendly chat continued.
“Thanks for including me, Claire,” said Rosemary. “I know I should get out more, and I will, thanks to all of you.” She paused a moment, then added, “When we plan another meeting on the mystery trip, I’d like to have it at my house.”
“Wonderful,” replied Claire. “Let’s announce it right after the Christmas holidays. If we have it in May, that will give us five months to make arrangements and the ladies five months to plan for it.”
“When I get home, I’ll check my calendar for a date the first week in January,” said Rosemary. Looking directly at Claire, she added, “If that’s not too early after the holidays.”
“No, not at all; we need to get started early.”
Turning to Meg, she asked, “What day of the week is best for you, Meg? You’re the only one with a tight schedule.”
Meg thought for a moment. “Well, that time of the year is usually not very busy for me, so set the date and I’ll put it on my calendar and work around it if I have to.” Then she added thoughtfully, “But even if I couldn’t make the luncheon meeting, I can work with you through e-mail. There won’t be a problem.”
The others readily agreed. As Queens, they arranged all their chapter activities on-line and simply telephoned the few members who didn’t have computers. Most Red Hatters had been career women and readily adapted to the high-tech social networks that had sprung up during the last twenty years.
The conversation then returned to their weekend activities, as the women complimented Claire again on the agenda she arranged.
“I’m so glad you were able to get reservations on the dinner train. It was a wonderful experience,” said Meg. “The food was delicious, that Victorian train was beautiful, and the ride through the mountains and along the river was delightful, especially through the golf course at the Jack O’ Lantern.”
“I agree,” said Anne, “In fact, for me, seeing the beautiful resort that the Jack has become over the years was one of the highlights of the weekend. I still remember the charming little rustic restaurant on the side of the road where we enjoyed our meals and the nine “sporty” holes of golf we played. To see it now as this beautiful 18-hole course with tennis courts, swimming pools and bridal paths, not to mention the vacation homes and golf academy, is great. I love it, but I guess I’ll always have a soft spot in my heart for the old Jack O’ Lantern Lodge. Nostalgia, I guess.”
“I loved everything about this weekend,” added Rosemary. “It’s been awhile since I wanted to get out and do something, and this weekend was exactly what I needed. It brought back so many memories when H
arold and I brought the kids up to the mountains. They loved it and so did we. We also spent many summers at Boothbay Harbor, Maine, which was another of our favorite spots.”
The others listened as Rosemary reminisced about the vacations she and Harold enjoyed with the boys when they were young. Claire was glad she had decided to come with them this weekend, because she knew she needed to talk about Harold. Theirs had been a happy, comfortable union, and Rosemary wasn’t ready to put it all in the past tense. A friend once described their marriage as being like a pair of scissors, and Rosemary missed terribly her other blade.
During the five months Harold was ill, they had prepared themselves for the inevitable. They had long, intimate talks, sharing their thoughts about their life together. Both were mindful that life had been kind to them throughout their years – as children and Rosemary’s recovery from her illness, as young adults, and as a devoted married couple. Just as they shared everything throughout their forty-five year marriage, during their last months together they shared their feelings about life and death. Being an attorney and a judge, Harold was pragmatic and arranged for her financial well-being. And being a loving husband and a man of deep religious faith, he also sought to comfort and strengthen her for life without him. He wanted to leave her and the boys with pleasant memories of a husband and father who loved them, which is why he put his affairs in order immediately and took them on a cruise.
During their long goodbye, at night he held Rosemary close. It comforted her then, and it comforted her now as she remembered their last words to each other.
“Take care, Sweetheart,” he had whispered to her. “It’s been a good life. I have no regrets, only great appreciation for all that we’ve had together.”
They had held hands and approached his death together with love and acceptance. When the end finally came, she told herself she was prepared, and in a sense she was. Even in death he had shown his love for her, leaving her with words of comfort and tenderness. In the days and weeks following the memorial service, there was no depression, no sadness, no crying. His love and tenderness were with her still and remained with her through the next few months. She found that life without him was strange, even difficult at times. In the stillness of night in the marriage bed they had shared for almost half a century, she often heard him whisper, “Take care, Sweetheart.” The words were a constant source of comfort when she needed support and encouragement. She found strength in the enduring bond that would forever hold them together; she would follow his advice and take care.
Now as she talked about Harold and their life together, Rosemary’s mood changed to calm contentment.
“I need to get back into things, and I will,” she said. “I love my church and plan to get active again.”
She spoke of the warm, loving church family at Pembroke Baptist who helped them both during Harold’s five months of failing health. She appreciated the men who came to help when he was no longer able to do things around the house. The lawn was mowed every week that spring and continued right through the summer. In fact, she fully expected it would be mowed this weekend during her absence – by whom, she wouldn’t know – as each week it would be someone different from the church or the golf club. They would come, mow and trim the lawn, weed the flower beds, water if necessary, and leave without disturbing her. She appreciated their kindness and valued their friendship; just as she did the women who brought tasty casseroles, home-made pastries and fresh fruit. She hadn’t cooked a meal for herself in months, because her freezer and refrigerator were fully stocked.
When Claire called and invited her to the mountains for the weekend, she hesitated at first. She had spent the last nine months quietly receiving family and friends, but didn’t go anywhere except to church on Sundays. Her Red Hat chapter, the Peabody Peacocks, was in the capable hands of Lady Lavender, her Vice-Queen, who invited her to their monthly luncheons. But she declined, each time saying she’d be back soon. They would be happy to learn of her involvement in plans for a mystery trip in the spring.
As Rosemary spoke about the intimacy of her marriage to Harold, the others reflected on their own. Both Claire and Meg had happy marriages and looked forward to celebrating their golden wedding anniversaries. Anne’s marriage had lasted seventeen years. While she had many close married friends, she remained single by choice and never regretted not having remarried.
Now, as the subject turned to their children and grandchildren, Anne politely excused herself.
“I’m a little tired,” she said, “I hope you don’t mind if I turn in. It’s been a long day and this old body just ain’t what it used to be. I guess age is creeping up on me.”
Knowing that Anne was as spry today as she had been at thirty, the women scoffed at the suggestion that age would keep her from doing anything she wanted to do. But they understood. It had been a long, active day. They’d all been up since daybreak, and it was now after ten o’clock.
Bidding them all good night, Anne picked up her purse and parcels from the living room sofa and climbed the stairs to her room. Tossing her things in the lounge chair, she undressed and went into the bathroom to shower. She left her bedroom door ajar to say goodnight when the others came up to bed.
Chapter 24
Downstairs at the small kitchen table the three women chatted happily about their children over wine, cheese and crackers.
Claire’s son, Drew, was on another business trip to Paris.
“Last December he took the entire family, including his mother-in-law, on a two-week business trip to Europe,” she told them. “The kids were out of school for the holidays and were thrilled when he treated them to a day skiing in the French Alps. They learned to ski at a training center at Wachusett Mountain in Princeton, and they all love to ski and go every chance they get during the winter. They especially like to ski weekend nights on the lighted trails, which makes the snow glisten. Drew’s a great family man, loves to do things with the kids, and Beverly will tell you he’s a great gourmet cook. They entertain a lot, and he does all the cooking.”
Then laughing, Claire added, “Of course, I’m prejudiced, but I think Beverly was lucky when she hooked my son. They met when they were students at Northeastern, and they married right after graduation. She’s a darling and loves Drew and the kids almost as much as Ed and I do.”
Meg’s son, Danny, and his wife, Kate, would be celebrating their silver wedding anniversary next month.
“Danny loves the military and Kate seems to be happy as an Army wife. They’re in Dexheim, Germany, but that base is being closed, and I don’t know where his next assignment will be. Naturally, Tom and I want to be with them for the celebration, and we’re just waiting to hear where it’ll be.”
The ladies were talking and laughing in the kitchen when the front door quietly opened and three masked men stepped into the foyer, two rooms away. Whether it was woman’s intuition or her keen sense of hearing, Claire alerted immediately.
“Did we lock the front door?” she asked, moving quickly to the kitchen desk and withdrawing a small handgun.
The others looked at her in amazement, startled to see their elegant, refined friend standing there with a gun in her hand. Quietly she moved through the dining room into the living room. Meg followed but stayed in the dining room. Rosemary waited in the kitchen. In the living room, Claire was shocked to see three men wearing hideous Halloween masks approaching her from the foyer. Keeping her distance from them, she nervously pointed the gun in their direction.
“What are you . . .?”
But that’s as far as she got. Seeing the gun in her hand, Albert. high on marijuana, panicked and pulled out his revolver and fired twice, striking her in the chest and shoulder. She fell immediately.
Rosemary didn’t see the men, but she heard Claire’s voice, followed by the two shots. She turned and ran into the pantry, closing the door behind her. Meg dashed into the kitchen and grabbed the phone above the desk, but the gunman was at her heels and fired, stri
king her upper arm. She screamed and swung around to face her attacker.
“Please don’t shoot me,” she pleaded her eyes wide with terror, tears streaming down her face, as she clutched her bleeding elbow.
The bloodshot eyes of the werewolf glared at her with raw hatred. Then raising his hand, Albert struck her hard on the right temple with the butt of the gun. She dropped to the floor unconscious.
“Come on, Al, we got their money. Let’s get outta here,” shouted Raymond, clutching the women’s purses he had grabbed from the sofa. Herbie, who had stood by stunned as the horror unfolded before him, finally came out of his stupor and raced out the front door ahead of the others.
Outside, Albert shouted to Raymond, “I’m taking the SUV. Get the keys from one of them pocketbooks.”
Raymond shoved two handbags at Albert and Herbie and all three frantically searched for wallets and car keys. Herbie found the SUV’s keys in Meg’s purse and gave them to Albert who then ran to the driver’s side, opened the door and jumped in, tossing a purse and his mask into the back seat. Herbie jumped in beside him, and also threw his mask and the other purse behind him. Raymond ran to the red pick-up truck and both vehicles turned around and raced down the driveway.
Anne was in her bedroom and had just put on her pink nightgown and slippers when she heard the first shot, followed by several others and a horrified scream. She stood for a moment in shocked panic, then turned out the lamp on the night stand and ran out onto the veranda, closing the French doors behind her. With her heart beating out of her chest, she ran the length of the veranda and hid beneath the window at the far end of the house. As she huddled trembling and praying, in a very short time she saw headlights play on the woods behind the house and knew the intruders were leaving. But it was a long time before she could bring herself to go downstairs for fear of what she would see.
The Mystery Trip Page 14