by Sonia Parin
Tucking her feet under the table, Abby leaned forward and made sure no part of her body came into contact with direct sunlight.
“You’ll have to excuse Abby,” Faith said. “She’s feeling… a little hot and bothered.”
“Oh, you should have some iced coffee or tea,” Joyce suggested. “We’ll just have to wait a bit for the delivery. My refrigerator is on the blink.”
“Huh?”
Joyce continued, “You can have a fizzy drink. Would you like that?”
Brightening, Abby asked, “Will it be cold?”
Joyce nibbled the edge of her lip. “I can’t promise anything, but I’m sure it will be better than hot coffee. Oh, I nearly forgot.” She dug inside the pocket of her elf suit and produced a little plastic bottle. “This table comes with complimentary sunblock.”
Faith waited for Joyce to go back inside then she patted Abby’s hand and whispered, “I’ll keep an eye out on anyone vacating a table inside.”
Glancing toward the café, Abby said, “There’s a line.” She picked up the menu and fanned herself. “It’s all in my mind.”
“That’s the spirit. Think of a cool breeze swirling around us.” Faith turned her attention to her menu. “A veritable seasonal feast,” she read. Oh, we must try the Gobble Gobble Extravaganza. It’s a potato salad with turkey. Yes? No?”
“Is there watermelon in that menu?” Abby asked using her own menu to fan herself.
“Um. Nope. No watermelon. But there’s apricot tart. Yum.”
Abby sat back and hummed a tune.
“That sounds familiar.”
“Over ninety-two, it’s too hot to move. But just ninety-two, people get irritable. It’s part of a line from a movie. The dialogue is actually woven through a 1980s song.”
“Ah, I see. It’s about the heat. I thought you weren’t going to talk about it anymore.”
“Strictly speaking, I’m humming, not talking.”
“Just as well it’s only forty-one,” Faith said.
“Pardon?”
“Forty-one degrees.”
Abby drew out her phone and scrolled through. “Celsius. I’m talking about Fahrenheit.” Abby yelped. “Forty-One. That’s 105.8F.”
Faith grinned. “Of course, if you put it that way it sounds rather a lot.”
“I’m surprised the road isn’t melting.”
“Oh… yes. The train tracks have been known to buckle under this heat. Be grateful, we’re in the mountains. It’s hotter down in the city. It must be all those people huffing and puffing… Anyway, I just remembered the song you were humming. We’re safe because it’s well over 92F. It’s way too hot to move at 105F.”
“105 point eight.”
“Just wait and see. The rain will be here soon.”
“You’ve been saying that since I arrived and the only water I see falling on my head is the water from the shower I take in the morning.” Abby brushed her hands over her face. “Sorry. I promise that’s the last I’ll talk about it.”
“You need to find something to take your mind off the heat. We’ve had far too many slow news days. Maybe you could do a tall tales but true column. Everyone has a story to tell, the type that sound stranger than fiction. That should be fun. You could do a Christmas theme. Tall tales from Christmases past.”
Abby wanted to ask where Faith got her energy to talk from but she knew that meant bringing up the subject she had promised to avoid…
Faith looked down the street. “Oh, there’s Mitch.”
Abby turned but didn’t see anyone walking toward them. “Where?”
“Driving.”
A moment later, the pub owner pulled up alongside them, rolled down the window and gave them a cheerful greeting. “One tall iced coffee for Abby and an icy vanilla shake for Faith.”
Drive by service? Only in Eden, Abby thought. “How? Who? Why?” Abby managed even as Faith reached out to take the glasses.
“Joyce just called to say she didn’t have any ice.” The pub owner grinned. “She called in a favor.”
“That must be worth something for you to come out in this heat.” Abby leaned closer and felt the cool air from the car air-conditioner.
“Too right,” Mitch said. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for Joyce to ask me for a favor.”
Faith nodded. “That’s our Joyce. She did it in order to keep you happy, Abby Maguire. You can’t fault her. Joyce takes her customer service seriously.”
“Best of all,” Mitch said, “it’s now official. Joyce Breeland owes me one.”
When she saw Mitch put the car into gear, Abby reached out and put her hand against the window. Cool to the touch. “What’s the hurry. Hang around. Talk to us. Can I sit in the passenger seat?”
“Sorry. I have to get back to the pub. The heat makes Markus grumpy and I don’t like leaving the customers alone with him for too long.”
“Is there anything that doesn’t make your brother grumpy?” Abby asked.
“I doubt it.” Mitch waved.
As she watched Mitch drive off, she pressed the cool glass of iced coffee to her cheek and sighed. “There’s ice at the pub.”
Joyce emerged from the café carrying a tray of sandwiches. “There’s no point taking your orders. I’m afraid this is all we could manage. The Alpine Trail Carolers have cleaned me out. Now, what’s new?”
“As you might have gathered,” Faith said, “this is Abby’s first Australian summer.”
“Oh. Heavens. You’re having a baptism by fire,” Joyce remarked. “If it makes you feel any better, we’ve had worse. A couple of years ago the mercury hit 46.4C for two straight days. That’s… Let me think…”
“115.5F.”
Joyce nodded. “Historically, the highest temperature has been in the border town of Mildura. Back in 1906, they had 50.7C.”
Abby looked it up on her phone. Taking a deep swallow, she said, “123.2F”
Joyce grinned. “That sounds about right. It’s fabulous weather for grapes. Anyway, you don’t have to worry about that because Mildura’s far away.”
“How far is that? As in, are they far enough away?”
Laughing, Joyce said, “Far enough. Unless the wind blows this way…”
Faith nodded. “Yes, and distance is no deterrent to dust storms. A few years back, there was one that looked like a tsunami in the sky. A bright orange dust tsunami. It came over from South Australia and hit Melbourne. Maybe we don’t really need to worry about that because we’re in the mountains. Although, there’s always the threat of bushfires.”
Abby managed to hold herself upright when, in reality, she wanted to faint.
“Anyway,” Faith continued, “I think she needs to take her mind off it. Any suggestions?”
Joyce didn’t need to think about it. “Yes. Just give me a minute.” She drew out her phone and sent a text message. Looking down the street, she said, “Here he comes.”
Abby asked, “Did you just send Bradford a message?”
Joyce nodded. “He needs to collect the lights for our Carols by Candlelight night and he’s been grumbling about going to see Harold Moorhead. He’s a retired electrician and looks after the lights for us.”
Faith looked awestruck. “Amazing. You call for him and he comes running.”
“He’s doing no such thing,” Joyce said. “Bradford doesn’t run on command. He ambles.”
“That’s more of a casual saunter,” Abby said.
“Yes, you’re right about him never running anywhere,” Faith mused. “And… I think it’s more of a whistling a tune under his breath meander.”
“So… How is he going to help me?” Abby asked.
“You can actually help him by being his buffer. Harold Moorhead loves talking about his life. He’s been trying to get Bradford to write a book about him. Bradford is too polite to say no. Oh…” Joyce bounced on her chair, “that reminds me. While you’re at it, can you find out if Bradford’s put me in his book? He refuses to let me re
ad his manuscript and he’s hidden it so well, I can’t find it.”
Faith grinned. “There you go, you have your assignment, Abby Maguire. Now you won’t have time to think about the heat.”
Chapter Two
Joyce smiled up at Bradford. “Sit down and join us.”
Despite having retired as a foreign correspondent, Bradford Mills still dressed the part. He wore loose Indiana Jones style trousers and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. If he suffered from the heat, he didn’t show it.
“Sit here?” The edge of his lip lifted slightly. “Certainly not.”
Bravo, Abby thought.
“Then you should get going,” Joyce said. “Harold Moorhead doesn’t like to be kept waiting. You know he’s probably been revving himself up all morning waiting for your visit.”
Bradford drew in a deep breath. “Yes, I suppose so.” He looked at Abby. “What’s wrong with you?”
Realizing her shoulders had slumped, Abby straightened. “What do you mean?”
“You look about ready to fall off your perch,” he said.
“Bradford! How could you be so insensitive,” Joyce chided. “Can’t you see Abby is suffering from heat exhaustion?”
“That’s what I meant. What is she doing out here?”
“She’s being a brave little soldier,” Joyce declared.
“Oh, I see. How’s that working out for you?”
Abby grabbed her handbag. “I’m ready if you are.”
Bradford’s trademark blank expression settled on his face.
“Abby has offered to go along with you,” Joyce explained.
He checked his watch. “Okay. I suppose we should get going. Come on, I’m parked around the corner.”
Realizing she was about to be chauffeured around in the comfort of an air-conditioned car, Abby hauled herself off the chair. “I’ll see you guys later.”
Before they reached the corner, she said, “There’s something I need to ask you and I might as well do it now before I forget or come to my senses.”
Bradford gave her a slanted eye look that spoke of caution.
“Have you put Joyce in your book?” she asked.
He chortled. “No.”
“No?”
“Maybe.”
“Could you be more specific, please? You know she’ll ask for details.”
“I’ve drawn a character who sounds remarkably like Joyce. Is that specific enough?”
“Yes, I suppose she’ll have to take what she can get.”
“And I suppose she put you up to it.”
“Of course.”
“I guess that also means she’s been snooping around.”
Abby shrugged. “That goes without saying.” They walked past Brilliant Baubles. Not surprisingly, Bradford had left the front door to his antique store open. There were no thieves in the small town of Eden. Plenty of murders, but no burglaries.
When she saw him walk up to a car and hold the passenger door open for her, her heart plummeted. “Is… Is this your car?” Why had she never noticed?
“It’s a classic Range Rover,” he said, pride in his voice.
At one time, in the distant past, it would have been a top of the line all weather terrain car. “Does it have air-conditioning?”
Bradford smiled. “Sure. Four windows down.”
Abby looked over her shoulder.
“If you like, I can drop you off at the pub,” Bradford offered. “I promise I won’t tell.”
“No, that’s fine. I need a story for the paper. Otherwise, I’ll be hot and out of a job.” Before she could change her mind, she settled into the passenger seat.
“You’re in luck. Harold has a story for just about everything.”
Laughing, Abby said, “You’re just happy because it lets you off the hook.”
With a casual shrug, he got them on their way.
Until her arrival in Eden, Bradford Mills had been the town’s latest addition. He had come to the small town to attend his uncle’s funeral and to deal with the estate which he had inherited. To everyone’s surprise, the foreign correspondent who had spent years reporting from war torn zones, had decided to quit his job and keep the doors open to Brilliant Baubles. Anyone walking into the antique store could find Bradford standing behind the counter, his attention fixed on a book. If anyone required assistance, well… He had a knack for discouraging people from asking questions.
From what Abby had heard, Bradford had recently turned his attention to writing fiction; something he did in the office tucked behind the front desk. Precisely when he and Joyce had become an item was anyone’s guess. Bradford lived above the antique store and Joyce lived above the café. According to the rumor mills, their rooftops were connected.
“So, have you and Joyce set a date?”
Bradford replied with a question of his own. “Has Joyce said anything to you?”
“No. I guess that means she’ll be the one setting the date and making the announcement.”
“Yes,” he said. “And, in case she forgets to mention it to me, I will have to remember to pretend I knew about it all along.”
Abby looked out the window. Instead of lush green rolling hills, the countryside had turned the color of dry wheat. A lonely crow swept across a field, its black feathers shining under the severe sun.
“What’s the deal with Harold Moorhead?” Abby asked. “Why do you have to collect the lights?”
“He’s retired and devotes his time to his train set. He checks the lights but says he’s too busy to come into town to install them. That’s the official story.”
“And the unofficial one?”
“He’s the local Lothario.”
“And?”
Bradford drew in a deep breath. “Let’s just say he’s not the most popular fellow in town. Certainly not with the men. According to some, he doesn’t like having to look over his shoulder. Personally, I think it’s all been made up.”
“What makes you think so?”
“I’m just not prepared to point the finger at any of the local women. In fact, no one has ever been mentioned by name.”
“Not even by Joyce?”
He shook his head. “And she’s always had her finger on the pulse.”
“Does he happen to have a competitor? Maybe someone eager to spread rumors about him.”
“Like I said, he’s retired. So it doesn’t matter one way or the other.” Bradford glanced at her, his eyebrows slightly lifted. “By the way, you have a devious mind.”
“It’s just the sort of rumor a competitor would like to spread around.”
“Maybe. But, retiring didn’t hurt his business. Harold did well enough for himself. Now that I think about it, he still owns the business but hires another electrician. There’s some sort of story behind it but you’d have to ask Joyce about it.”
“Is he married?”
“Twice divorced, no children. Both ex-wives are in the Alpine Trail Carolers group. And that reminds me of the other rumor about his reclusive lifestyle. He’s afraid one of his wives will set fire to the place.”
After a moment of silence, Abby said, “I think this is the longest conversation we’ve ever had.”
“I think so. Yes.”
Why would an introvert like Bradford be so keen on talking? “Is there something else on the agenda?”
“Since you ask… Harold is quite handy with refrigerators. A word from you and he might agree to drive into town to fix Joyce’s fridge.”
“Why can’t you ask him?”
He smiled. “Harold responds better to women.”
Abby wasn’t convinced. “I’m not functioning at full capacity. If I agree to ask, what else will I be getting myself into?”
“He’s harmless,” Bradford assured her.
The farmhouse came into view like an oasis in the middle of the parched landscape; the lush green lawn a harsh contrast against the withered landscape surrounding the property.
Forgetting her othe
r question, Abby asked, “Where does his water come from?”
“Harold doesn’t keep any livestock, so the reservoir in the back of the property is used to irrigate his garden. The water comes straight from the mountains and a spring he found on his property. I’ve heard say he’s sitting on a goldmine.”
Harold Moorhead came out to meet them. He looked to be about fifty years old with a stocky physique and an easy, jovial smile. He wore an old-fashioned train conductor’s hat; a sign he took his hobby seriously. While gray tuffs of hair stuck out from under his hat, his face looked clean shaven.
“G’day,” he called out.
Abby hopped out of the Range Rover and dashed toward the front porch.
“You can drive round to the back shed,” Harold called out to Bradford. “I’ve packed the lights for you.”
Abby introduced herself but Harold seemed to know all about her.
He laughed. “You’re that newspaper reporter that’s always getting up to no good. Where’s your dog?”
“Doyle is the one with the brains. He’s back at the office enjoying the air-conditioner.”
“If it’s cool air you want, you came to the right place.” He signaled inside. “There’s plenty of it in there.”
Mesmerized by the offer of relief, Abby followed him inside.
“Drink?”
“With ice-cubes?” she asked.
Harold laughed. “If you like.”
She followed him into a large country style kitchen. Cool air wrapped around her, teasing her skin. Abby gathered her hair. Lifting it, she sighed with relief.
He handed her a glass with ice-cubes clinking. Music to her ears, Abby thought. Gulping down half the contents, she smiled. “Thank you.” Only then did she notice the train tracks. “Wow. You have trains in the kitchen.”
“All over the house. If you follow the tracks, they’ll lead you right around.”
He’d fixed the tracks at waist level with platforms jutting out of the walls and mountain scenes painted as a background on the walls. “It’s fabulous,” Abby exclaimed.
“It’s all still a work in progress,” he said, his voice filled with pride. “If you walk through to the dining room, you’ll find a train station. The town itself is in the sitting room.”