The Darcy & Flora Boxed Set

by Blanche Day Manos

  I hesitated before calling Georgia and Carolina Jenkins. I didn’t want to alarm them but at this point, my concern for my mother outweighed concern for their aging hearts. Miss Georgia wanted to come right over but I told her there was a slim chance that Mom might show up on her doorstep. She seemed satisfied with that. Last, I called Burke Hopkins. The phone rang ten times but Burke didn’t answer. Hanging up, I decided I would try again later.

  The old yellow coffee pot was half full. I poured a cup, microwaved it for a few seconds, and sat down at the table. Something hard pressed against my leg. I ran my hand into my pocket and pulled out the dog tag. In the shock of my mother’s disappearance, I had forgotten about it. Now I sat with it in my fingers, turning it over and over. This relic from World War I had once been worn by a young soldier named Markham Cauldfell. I tried to visualize this first husband of my grandmother’s. Was he tall? Dark? Had he loved Grace Wolfe and had she cared for him? Surely this was so, else why had they married? Since she was engaged to George Daniels, Markham must have been a dashing sort of person who swept Grace off her feet.

  I slipped the dog tag back into the pocket of my jeans. Sitting alone in an empty house, waiting for the phone to ring or someone to knock on the door was driving me crazy. I scooted back my chair and went to the drawer where we kept our notepads and pencils. Carrying them back to the table with me, I sat down and started to write. I had always been able to think better with a pencil in my hand and if I could force my thoughts away from my mother for a few brief minutes, perhaps time would seem to pass faster.

  I jotted down names and recent occurrences which had turned my mother’s and my lives topsy-turvy.

  Digging the foundation for our new house

  Finding the gun and Bible record

  Stuart Wood’s offer to buy our land

  Mom finding the old journal

  Eileen’s visit

  Disappearance of gun and journal.

  Eileen’s death

  Pat finding the old photograph

  Confrontation with the Jenkins sisters

  10.Someone shooting at me

  11.Finding Markham Cauldfell’s grave

  12.Mom’s disappearance

  I looked at the list and willed my racing thoughts to slow down. I had to concentrate. The series of calamities began with Cub Dabbins excavating for the foundation of our new house. Somehow, building it was a threat to somebody. Who? Eileen? Maybe. If we built it, she would lose her right to the land, wouldn’t she? Stuart Wood? He didn’t want us to build because he had offered an astronomical sum to tempt us to sell. But why would that matter to him, a complete stranger? None of it made any sense to me.

  I couldn’t think straight. The specter of Mom’s disappearance crowded out all other thoughts. I threw down my pencil, pushed the paper and cold coffee away, and began pacing.

  At 7 o’clock that night, I was still pacing the floor, alternately praying and crying when someone knocked. I ran to the front door, nearly tripping over Jethro.

  Pat Harris stood in the halo of brightness from the porch light. “Come in, Pat. I am so glad to see you.” I held the door wide.

  Pat carried a bowl in her right hand but she hugged me with her left arm.

  “I figured you might need company. Have you had supper?”

  “Um, no, guess I haven’t even thought about it.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of. I brought some of my good potato soup.”

  “Oh, Pat, I couldn’t eat it. Thank you, though. You’re a wonderful friend.”

  “Now, Darcy, I’m telling you what Flora would say if she were here. You should eat. You don’t want to get sick just when your mom needs you to be strong.”

  That made sense. I followed Pat into the kitchen. She set the covered plastic bowl on the table and pulled two soup bowls out of the cabinet. I opened the silverware drawer and put spoons beside the bowls. We sat down and silently began to eat.

  Amazingly, the hot soup was good. I ate every drop in my bowl.

  “Thanks, Pat,” I said. “I guess Grant and Jim came to your house to get Murphy?”

  “Yes, they took the dog and told me a little about what happened. Jasper isn’t home. He’s out wandering again and I knew you shouldn’t be alone at a time like this. I’m going to spend the night.”

  “You don’t have to do that. I appreciate it but I’ll be fine.”

  Pat carried the empty bowls to the sink and rinsed them. “No arguing, young lady. I’ll make a bed on the sofa.”

  I got up from the table and hugged her. Although I had cried most of the afternoon, I found more tears sliding down my face. “I can see why you are mom’s best friend.”

  Pat sniffled and patted my shoulders. “We’ll get her back, Darcy. Flora is going to be all right.”

  I went to the linen closet, pulled out a pillow and blankets, and put them on the sofa. “Your bed is ready when you get tired, Pat, but feel free to read or just sit with me and watch the fire.”

  “I’ll sit for a while, Darcy, thanks. But before I do, I want to give you something else. I found this under the mattress in Jasper’s room. I can’t tell you how ashamed I am to admit my son must have taken it from your house.”

  She reached into her over-sized handbag and pulled out a book. On its faded brown cover, in big numerals was the date “1918.”

  I swallowed twice before I could croak, “It’s Granny Grace’s journal.”

  She nodded. “That it is.” Her voice was grim. “I just read the first page, Darcy, to be sure it was the one that Miss Grace wrote. I’m sure you aren’t going to sleep tonight so I thought you might want to read it. Maybe it’ll have some answers for you.”

  I clutched it to my heart and nodded. I couldn’t speak. Pat sat down in Mom’s recliner. I opened the journal and at once was transported back into the past century. The blaze in the fireplace cracked and popped, a log fell, and the fire burned down to smoldering embers. None of it mattered to me. I was lost in another time, in the lives of other people. I didn’t even know when Pat left the chair and lay down on the sofa.

  Chapter 28

  Pat was right. I read all night long. The last time I remember looking at the clock, it was 5:30. Then, although I thought I couldn’t sleep at all, I dozed, and woke again at 7:00.

  Pat had gone home by the time I woke up. She left a note on the dining table, telling me coffee and a bowl of oatmeal waited for me. I stumbled to the bathroom and showered. A heavy blue sweatshirt and blue jeans would work for the day before me. I pulled on thick socks and stepped into fleece-lined brown leather boots. No more sitting at home and waiting. My mother was out somewhere, maybe cold, maybe hungry. I would do my best to find her.

  Even after eating, I felt empty inside. The house was too quiet, too big, and the hurting around my heart would not go away.

  Granny Grace’s journal lay on the floor where I dropped it sometime during the early morning. I picked it up and gently placed it on the counter. Now I understood about Markham Cauldfell and why Grace had married him. The journal made clear how he had died and why. But it did not shed any light on the current questions of Eileen or the bushy-haired man or why Stuart Wood had offered us such an inflated price for our land.

  The phone rang as I was brushing my hair. I ran to pick up the receiver. Caller ID told me that Grant was on the other end of the line.

  “Any word?” I sounded breathless to my own ears. “Have you found her, Grant?”

  “Nothing, Darcy. Sorry. Are you doing all right?”

  My heart plummeted. “I’m fine, Grant. Didn’t Ben’s dog pick up on her scent?”

  He hesitated before answering my question. “Yes, yes he did. But he lost it.”

  “Where did he lose it? Tell me, Grant!”

  “Murphy trailed her to the river, then the trail stopped.”

  The river! My hand felt stiff as I replaced the receiver. Did that mean for some reason, Mom had gone to the Ventris River and drowned? Had she heard someon
e in trouble and tried to help?

  I poured another cup of coffee and willed my racing thoughts to slow down. A boat! I needed a boat to explore the river. But who had one I could borrow?

  Immediately Burke Hopkins came to mind. Burke fished on the river a lot. He would have a boat. Burke was the one friend I hadn’t been able to reach last night. I looked up his number in the phone book and dialed.

  The phone rang twice, three times. I waited for ten rings then hung up. Maybe he was outside both times I called. He had chickens to tend to, dogs to feed. Burke didn’t have an answering machine. So the best thing would be to drive out to his house. I knew that he would want to join the hunt for Mom, if he were not already a part of that search.

  Jethro rubbed against my ankles so I checked his food bowl. Still full. He would be fine while I was away.

  I pulled a stocking cap over my head and buttoned my coat as I jogged to the Escape. The threatened snow had not materialized but heavy gray clouds looked as if they could open at any moment with snow or sleet.

  If I remembered correctly, Burke Hopkins lived south of town so I headed toward Deertrack Hill. The long, windy incline was at least dry this morning. When wet and icy, going down the steepest hill in Ventris County was an adventure. But I would have tried it even if it had been treacherous. Somewhere in Ventris County, a small, gray-haired lady needed to come home. Who had her and why? The only scenario that made sense to me was that someone had kidnapped her. She would have contacted me if she had been able. I refused to consider other possibilities—she might even now be lying out in this weather, unprotected and injured or worse.

  At the bottom of Deertrack, I made a right turn and headed up yet another hill. Old String Road branched off to the right. To the left was an unnamed narrow gravel road which led to Burke’s house and to the river beyond. I turned onto it. Twenty minutes later, neat white letters on the side of a black mailbox told me I had reached my destination. I turned into the driveway, rounded a curve, and there was Mr. Hopkins’ small frame house.

  His old pick-up truck sat at the end of the driveway. I remembered Burke saying he had two dogs but they didn’t run to meet me, wagging their tails in welcome or barking a warning. In fact, house and yard had a quiet, deserted look. Everything was eerily still.

  I opened my car door and slid out. Nothing moved around me except the limbs of a giant cottonwood which stood as a sentinel in the front yard. Something about this was not right. I had a feeling that an unseen someone or something watched me. The hair on the back of my neck rose.

  I stepped up on the wood floor of the porch and knocked at the door. And knocked again. I gave the doorknob a tentative twist. The door swung open.

  “Mr. Hopkins!” I called. “Are you here? It’s Darcy Campbell.”

  The living room was dark. I found the light switch beside the door and flipped it up. Brightness from an overhead fixture flooded the area.

  It was a neat room, gray fabric-covered sofa, burgundy recliner, easy chair, a coffee table, a bookcase in one corner, and in the opposite corner on a small stand, a television. All in all, Burke’s living room looked clean, comfortable and completely empty of life.

  A black cast-iron wood burner with stove pipe going through the ceiling, stood out from a wall. I went to it and placed my hands on its top. Cold. Opening its metal door, I peered inside. A few coals glowed among the ashes, like red eyes awakened from sleep.

  I spoke aloud, maybe to break the dead silence, maybe to give myself courage. “Nobody has been here for quite some time, certainly not since yesterday. But Burke’s car is here. And where are his dogs?”

  Perhaps he had heard about my mother and had already gone to search for her. He may have left on foot or if he heard about her trail ending at the river, he might have taken his boat.

  I ran into the next room, the kitchen where clean dishes waited in the drainer. The bathroom was spotless too. A hand towel was draped, dry and unused, over a glass rod. In the two bedrooms, spreads were unrumpled; closets, empty of anything suspicious. The whole house looked as if Burke had stepped outside and forgot to come back in. I could not see one clue, not one thing out of place, that would point to a hurried departure.

  Somewhere a rooster crowed. Chickens! Could something have happened to Mom’s old friend as he was going about his chores outside?

  I raced out the back door and to the large, fenced-in area where several brown hens and a colorful rooster wandered about, pecking at the ground. Water stood in the cast iron kettle leaning against a tree, evidently put there for them to drink but the long metal feed trough was completely bare.

  The chickens were the only living, breathing things on Burke’s farm as far as I could see and they gave the scene a touch of normalcy. Except, why hadn’t he fed them yesterday? I went into the small lean-to chicken house in search of grain. Just inside the door stood a barrel with a lid. Lifting the lid, I saw a scoop atop a sack full of corn. I quickly filled the scoop and took it outside. The chickens excitedly clucked, flapped their wings, and came running as I poured the corn into the trough. They didn’t lift their heads as their bills beat a rapid tattoo on the metal.

  Now what? If Burke Hopkins had joined the search wouldn’t he have locked his doors or fed his chickens before he left? Judging from the lack of a fire in the stove and the hunger of the chickens, he had not been home since yesterday.

  If I could find where he kept his boat and somehow maneuver it to the river, I would be able to check out coves and shore lines that searchers on land might miss.

  Latching the chicken yard gate behind me, I looked over Burke’s acreage, wondering where would he keep a boat? Several yards behind the house was a carport with attached shed. Perhaps his boat was there. I hurried over to get a closer look.

  The door to the shed did not budge when I pulled on it. The hinges wore a coat of rust and dead grass grew in clumps in front of the door. I tugged and yanked until finally the door creaked open. The only thing inside were some empty baskets, probably not used until springtime when garden produce was ready to be harvested.

  Hurrying back to the carport, I noticed that a large area of the dirt floor looked darker than the ground around it. It was dry, not damp from the snow or sleet. Burke’s boat must have rested there until recently.

  A logical explanation was that he had heard about my mother and taken his boat to do a water search.

  Wind whipped around the corner of the shed as I stepped out of its shelter. Pellets of sleet stung my face. Sticking my cold hands in my pockets, I found my leather gloves. I pulled them on and meandered back toward the Escape. What should I do now? My mother had disappeared on Granny Grace’s land while inspecting our new house. Had I missed a clue there? Returning to our empty farmhouse and waiting was not an option. I had no idea of any new place to search; my only thought was to retrace my steps. Maybe if I went back to our new house, I could uncover some tiny clue that Grant and Jim and I had missed yesterday. Chances of that happening were slim but I didn’t know what else to do.

  A small movement caught my attention where the yard met the woods. The wind ruffled a dark shape lying on the ground. Dread clamped like a hand around my middle as I walked closer. A dog lay on its side on the ground, the brisk wind stirring his fur. This must be one of Burke’s dogs and explained why I wasn’t met with barking. The dog’s beautiful head bore a bullet hole. My throat constricted and I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to throw up. Who shot this animal? Why? Burke’s absence had been alarming but now it became chilling. Somebody, some heartless unknown person had intruded here and murdered a man’s pet, but what had happened to Burke? Surely, his disappearance was associated with Mom’s. As an old friend once told me, it was too much of a coincidence to be coincidental.

  I squatted beside the dog and ran my hand across his brown and black coat. Who was this, Wolf or Ranger? Had he threatened an intruder? Did the killer of the dog shoot Burke too? Was the old man even now lying dead in the woods or been kidn
apped? The death of the dog lent a chilling aspect to the disappearances of these two, my mother and her friend. I bowed my head and tried to pray but fear and desperation paralyzed my thoughts. God is in charge, I told myself. He knows where Mom is, even if I don’t. That was the bit of comfort I held onto.

  Chapter 29

  Tears stung my eyes as I rose to my feet and stood looking down at the lifeless shape of Burke’s pet. A questing muzzle poked into my hand. My heart did a flip and I stumbled backward. A second dog stood beside me, his tail wagging slowly. One of Burke’s dogs was dead but the other was very much alive and was looking at me as if I were the last friend he had on earth. I dropped to my knees beside the black and tan hound.

  Stretching out my hand toward him, I spoke softly. “Who are you, big fellow? Wolf?”

  The dog nosed his dead companion then looked up at me, his eyes pleading.

  No, maybe not Wolf. “Ranger? Are you Ranger?”

  He jumped up on my leg, his tail beating furiously.

  “Ranger, then. What happened here, Ranger? Where is Burke?”

  At the sound of his owner’s name, Ranger grabbed my coat between his teeth and pulled. I stood up. The dog trotted toward the woods then loped back to me and tugged again.

  “You want me to follow? Do you know where Burke is? Lead on, fellow. I’m right behind you.”

  The dog ran toward the river. I jogged behind him, tripping over rocks, ducking under limbs. I heard and smelled the river before I glimpsed it through the trees. Gray water and gray sky seemed to meld together.

  Ranger stopped at the river’s edge, whining and looking back at me. Skid marks along the muddy bank showed that this was most likely where Burke’s boat had been pushed into the water.

  Bending over, I searched the mud and gravel of the bank, hunting for a piece of fabric, a glove, or anything that would let me know Burke had been here and was still alive.