2 Maid in the Shade (2 page)

I
n the few months since Leslie’s death I had ironically found a path as a result of it. “Path” actually was probably a bit of an overstatement. My time in Bridle Springs was a respite, as though I had careened off the fast lane, gone off road and then stopped to assess the damage, bind my wounds, and catch my breath before consulting a map.

Lucy has her own home in the neighborhood, a sprawling
contemporary that is, like her mother’s older house in SkyHaven, made of stone, glass and cedar. She hadn’t done much to her mother’s property except for pasturing horses and ponies there, leaving the remainder of the land for Leslie’s goats and hen house.

As Lucy hopped up and opened the door for me with a flourish she was looking at me impishly
like a puppy itching to play.

“I have an emergency,” I said, ready to explain why I couldn
’t linger.

She quickly reached over, her wild long hair flying, and grabbed my bag. “I
’ll throw this in the wash to soak and you can take my cup. I just fixed it.”

“Lucy, I love you more than my new boots, but I don’t want to follow where that mouth of yours has been.”

“Thank God there aren’t any men who feel that way,” she laughed. “I’ll fix you your own cup. I already walked Mosey. If this was the message Anita left on your machine you won’t need a bio-jumpsuit or whatever right?”

“A
ren’t you the epitome of efficiency? Did you sort my panty drawer and match my socks?”

“
No, but frankly for a woman who behaves like a celibate, you have an astonishing collection of lingerie. Mona was by earlier and took the opportunity to snoop around as usual. She was definitely intrigued. She wants to try a thong now. She says she’ll look “hotter than a two dollar whistle.” Lucy snickered.

“Did she mean pistol
?” I asked, grinning widely. Mona Kerr, plump, energetic and in her late sixties, never seemed to feel the generational gap between us. And while we weren’t laughing with her, we laughed at her fondly. Despite her raging hypochondria and curiosity Mona could also be quite a force to be reckoned with.

I hoped in the shower and Lucy
had my coffee ready in seconds. I shrieked when she handed it to me through the gap in the shower curtain.

“I could have waited until I got out,” I
grumbled testily, groping for the mug. “I thought for a minute there someone was planning to re-enact a scene from “Psycho” with me.”

“You said it was an emergency.”

“Not a coffee emergency.” I said, turning off the shower and setting the cup down as her whip-like little arm snaked through with a towel.

“Well,” she said, “it is possible, I happen to have coffee emergencies, and martini emergencies and-”

“Enough, I got it,” I said, forestalling the inevitable ribald remark.

“Okay,” she
replied a bit too easily, handing me my jeans, underwear and one of my favorite thin Michael Kors V-neck tees in charcoal.

“Hey; not that I
’m complaining about all this unexpected service, but how about a bra?”

T
o her credit, Lucy almost managed to sound chagrined. “I accidentally put them all in the hand-wash sink.”

“Lucy, are you drunk? THEY WERE CLEAN. You put
them all in to soak; even the ones in the drawer? WHY?”

“Task at hand,” she reminded me, “focus” and she slipped out the door quickly
, escaping the tube of body wash that rapidly followed her. I watched and shook my head as it slammed against the door frame.

I
pulled my hair up in a ponytail and saw that Lucy had removed all the dirty clothes I had deposited on the floor, leaving my phone, debit card and pocketknife on the dresser. I shoved them into my jeans, noting that she had left me a clean pair of socks and my favorite boots by the vanity.

F
or a rich woman she certainly had the makings of a great lady’s maid.

Lucy
also held some promise as a Madame; the bra stunt was one in a long line of shenanigans engineered to arrange a relationship, or at least a sex life, for me.

I
brushed my teeth and dabbed on a little mascara and lip gloss before glancing at my watch. I usually start the day with a rush and a simple ponytail and sunscreen. By mid-afternoon I may have some semblance of makeup on if I think of it. This afternoon I was ahead on my appearance
and it was not because I was likely to see Jared, although Lucy seemed to be counting on it with the bra stunt.

L
ucy was in Ben’s corner when he was around and Jared’s when Ben was traveling. She’s unduly concerned about my lack of a romantic life given my past, afraid it’s indicative of a sterile future. It isn’t, for a number of reasons, but Lucy would like proof, and soon. Eventually she’ll probably stamp all my clothing with “available” or get her own t-shirt which says “I’m with single” and an arrow pointing my way.

I
was startled by the quiet when I stepped out of the bathroom. Hmm, Lucy was gone. “Good survival instincts on her part,” I thought sourly. I hit the button on my coffee maker once more and the Capresso worked its magic. The beans began to grind and a lovely second brew was in my cup within seconds. This culinary wonder had been a gift from Barb Nesbit, Lucy’s sister, who had detested me until I solved the riddle of their wildly dysfunctional family.

B
arb 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.

T
he 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 i
s 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.”

S
he 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.

I
f 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.

T
he 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.

T
he 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.”

T
hose 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.

W
hen 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.

T
hat made one of us.

T
weet:
Becoming
a volunteer is like planting bamboo: It seems like such a splendid idea until it completely takes you over.

Chapter 2

T
he 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 being 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.

I
n 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.

F
ortunately 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.

W
hile 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.

A
s 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.”

“T
his 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.

T
he 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.

D
espite 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.

O
wls 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.

T
his 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.

H
is 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?”

W
ith 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
.

T
he 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 fl
y 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 car
efully, “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.

O
nce we returned home I dropped Lucy off at her place, took Mosey out for another walk, and checked on the animals. I replenished their food and water and did my best to get a cursory head count of the hens, checking on Lucy’s horses while I was at it. A few hens appeared to be missing and I had noticed the new neighbor’s dog loitering around the coup. I would have to keep an eye on that.

I
headed back to the cabin, pausing to grab a low, strong pin oak tree branch for a moment and throwing in a few chin-ups. This passes for exercise most days unless I go for a swim with Lucy or happen to have music on while I’m cleaning, then I dance. I’m a firm believer that exercise is necessary, but ought to be reasonably fun as well.

O
nce inside, I hung all my bras up to dry, shaking my head at Lucy’s constant efforts to market me to Jared, Ben, or whoever else she deemed suitable.

I
hadn’t done my bookkeeping for a while so I took care of that while I moved a new job to my phone calendar, and straightened up the house a bit. The cabin is more like home than any place I had been in a long while. The majority of the structure had been taken from an old log schoolhouse and dismantled before people in the county treasured such edifices. Leslie had appreciated it and tried to have the entire building moved to her land, but, bureaucracies being what they are, she just hadn’t moved quickly enough. The developer who had taken it down was the sort who believed it was better to ask forgiveness than permission.

L
eslie had transported the building materials which weren’t destroyed to her land. Rebuilding the original was hopeless, but the wood was used to construct a simple but charming home with some additions. Using a mishmash of other antiquated but historically unimportant places from the county, she had it reconstructed on the outer perimeter of her land with a pond between the small house and the large. The result was a home she had hoped to make use of for guests or property caretakers. As current caretaker I had two small bedrooms on the main, an open great room and kitchen with a dual stone fireplace.  The third bedroom had been recently created from a second floor attic. There was
a fireplace in the loft as well and an old fashioned tub.