A Sticky Situation (4 page)

I found Grampa out in the sugar bush looking at tubing strung from tree to tree. His gnarled hands were giving it a little squeeze like he still wasn't quite sure of what he was seeing. The family had been resistant to the idea of changing to tubing for moving the sap to the sugarhouse and the evaporator but the increased efficiency had thoroughly won over everyone except Grampa. I think he missed the old way.

“Well, Dani, your newfangled tubes sure don't look too pretty weaving their way through the woods but they do hold a lot of sap.”

“I know you miss the buckets and the horses carrying the sap back for us. But we can make so much more syrup this way and that benefits all the causes we support. You know that better than I do.” Which he did.

Our family has money and a lot of it. I'm not
bragging, it's just a fact like I'm short and my mother is a bit kooky. Since we have had far more than we need for longer than anyone can remember, we give to charities. Our initial wealth came from land ownership and it is to land trust and environmental causes that we give the most.

Everyone in the family has charities they support the most enthusiastically. Mine are environmental ones. My dream for increased production was to have more money to contribute to environmental innovations of all sorts. All post-tax profits from Greener Pastures' sugarhouse went to those causes and Grampa had always been right on board with that even when he grumbled about the way I increased the profit margin.

“Don't pay me any mind, kiddo. I'm just feeling nostalgic. It goes without saying I miss your father most at sugaring season.” Grampa pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket and honked his nose. A startled jay flew up out of the tree above us.

“Of course you do, Grampa. We all do.” I felt my eyes start to sting and the back of my nose burned like I'd snorted up some cayenne pepper by mistake. My father had been gone over five years and the memory of him still felt raw sometimes, especially during sugaring season. I felt him hovering around us constantly as the sap began rising. I kept thinking I caught sight of him just beyond a distant tree and my heart would give a little lurch then a thud when my eyes adjusted to the woods and I knew they had been fooling me.

My mother said he was really there, visiting us in the
space between here and wherever there might be. She claimed to be on frequent speaking terms with him. The fact that he had been a man of very few words during his time on the mortal plane did little to strengthen my belief in her claims. It was all well and good to receive messages from the other side. He had given me a hand with advice on a number of occasions. Him visiting, that I could credit. It was his transformation into a chatterbox that beggared belief.

I patted Grampa's arm and waited quietly while he wrestled his emotions back under control. He missed his son and made no bones about it. We stood looking out over the woods and the sparkling snow, each of us thinking our own thoughts. After a bit Grampa blew his nose again with finality and tucked his handkerchief into his back pocket.

“So what brought you out here? I know it wasn't to hear me snuffling,” Grampa said.

“A problem's come up with Russ and the basement at the town hall.”

“Of course it has. I'm feeling pretty sore at whoever it was snagged Wesley for the general store project. Hopefully it will be done soon and he can give a hand to the restoration so we can really get moving,” Grampa said.

“Wes isn't going to be able to help with this slowdown. There's no good way to say this. Russ found human remains in the basement under all the coal.”

“You mean like a body?” Grampa stopped scanning the treetops for birds and gave me his full attention.

“A skeleton. Russ called me over to see it for myself before he called the police. He had cleared off what looked like a leg bone and part of a skull by the time I arrived. I'm not sure what Lowell and Mitch found after we left.”

“You've had quite the morning, haven't you? Are you okay?”

“I'm fine.”

“Do they have any idea who it could be?”

“Not that I know of. Lowell hustled us out of there pretty quickly after I called and there wasn't a wallet just lying there on the ground with a license in it or anything.”

“What would a body be doing in the town hall under the coal? It must be thirty years since that space was used at all.”

“And what were the spoons doing there?”

“Spoons?” Grampa leaned even closer.

“Russ found a pair of spoons near the leg bone. He didn't bother to tell Lowell but he blabbed about them at the Stack just as soon as he could cross the street.”

“Did you see them?”

“I've got them right here. Russ left them on the counter in a hurry when Tansey fainted dead away when she saw them.” I pulled the spoons from my jacket pocket and peeled away the napkin wrapper.

“Spooner Duffy.” Grampa gave a long, low whistle and shook his head.

“What?” I had no idea what he could be talking about.

“I bet the body belonged to a guy named Spooner
Duffy. He always carried a pair of spoons in his pocket that looked just like those.”

“Why would he do a thing like that?” There are some strange characters in Sugar Grove but I'd never heard of anyone with an overfondness for flatware. Unless you counted Marcella Petrie's light-fingered ways where other people's valuables were concerned.

“He played them. He played the spoons like people play other instruments. You should have heard him. Boy, was he some good!”

“How did he end up in the town hall basement? And why did Tansey take it so hard when she saw them?”

“Did she?” Grampa's usually open face shadowed over with an unusual guardedness.

“She did. Any idea why that would be? She is usually such a stoic woman. She swayed and keeled over right there in the Stack. From the looks of things she hit her head on the floor when she fell.”

“Maybe she was in the throes of some sort of hormonal flux.” Grampa blushed a bit right where his beard hair met the tops of his cheeks. He's not a prude per se but he isn't all that much for chatting about the workings of the human reproductive system in mixed company. Talking about bulls and heifers in the pasture was one thing. Mentioning a fellow Grange member's biology was quite another. I knew I must be on to something if my question had gotten him to offer up such an uncomfortable excuse.

“I'd say Tansey is a bit past such things. As a matter
of fact I've heard her say so with a great deal of relief. That can't be it.”

“Maybe she is just overworked and exhausted. Knowlton is a good son but sometimes his taxidermical enthusiasms run away with him and he forgets his duties.”

“Tansey thrives on hard work. When she runs out of things to do at her own place she runs all over town snatching items off other people's to-do lists just to feel justified in drawing breath each day.”

“Perhaps it will just remain a mystery. Some things are best left that way, don't you think?” Grampa gave me a meaningful look. The sort of look that means the topic is dropped. Grampa is the kindest man I know. He is also the most stubborn. Once he's decided something is dropped, it's done. At least with him. I didn't need to agree with him. I just needed to take my questions elsewhere.

*   *   *

Fortunately, my mother never had any such looks to give. Closed topics conflicted with her core theories of proper child rearing.

I found her in the library breathing deeply and stretching her long arms over her head. Her peasant skirt was one she had tie-dyed herself back in the fall and the colors swirled and made me a little dizzy as she swayed back and forth in front of the spirituality section of the library shelving.

The library is a higgledy-piggledy assortment of classic works of literature, genre fiction, and reference books, which reflect the assorted specialty interests of the family. Most of the books in front of my mother were in what Celadon would call the “woo-woo” category. New Age religious works, the writings of famous Victorian Spiritualists, and guides to astral projection featured heavily on those shelves.

Celadon stuck to the gardening references, the history of architecture, and nutrition for growing children. That and a pile of bodice-ripping romances she never mentioned. She liked to pretend to be above such things but if you entered the room quietly enough you could catch her engrossed in a tatty paperback with a title written in raised gold letters. It did the heart good to clear your throat and watch her stuff the book under a cushion on the couch and pretend she was studying a painting on the wall instead.

Today, though, my mother and I were alone in the room with its bright shafts of sunlight streaming in and cheering things up. Even in winter it was a warm and friendly place to be and it was rare to find it unoccupied by at least one family member. I was glad. Mom might not think a topic was ever closed but she also could tell when other people weren't inclined to mention something. It was far better to get her on her own.

“Dani, how are the trees today?” She smiled at me.

“Nostalgic.” I told her about Grampa and how vulnerable he was feeling then slid the topic round to where I wanted it. “Tansey's feeling a bit emotional, too.”

“Tansey? That doesn't seem like her at all. Maybe I should run her natal chart and look for transits.” Mom is always looking to the stars to explain the lives of those around her. She had each of our natal charts cast before she sent out birth announcements. I'm a Virgo. Don't get Celadon started on what that means in terms of my chances of marriage.

I told Mom about the call from Russ and the skeleton in the cellar. Then I told her about Tansey keeling over in the Stack.

“It seemed to be connected to the possibility that the body at the town hall was Spooner Duffy. Any idea why that would upset her so much?” There was usually no need to be subtle with my mother. Her mind wandered off in so many directions at the same time that her own thoughts obscured much of what others were saying to her anyway.

“Well, that doesn't make any sense at all. As far as I can remember, Tansey barely knew Spooner Duffy.” Mom stopped swaying and gave me most of her attention. She still had a hazy look in her eyes like she was communing with the great beyond but she did turn to face me.

“Are you sure they weren't close? She took it really badly from the way it looked to me.”

“Spooner was in town for only a few months and it was years ago. I guess I could be wrong about their level of connection.”

“How long ago was he in town?”

“Well, let's see. Celadon was a toddler and I was
pregnant with Loden at the time. Spooner was at the baby shower. He played some spoons with the band at the shower. They were silver baby spoons, if I remember correctly. He said their tone was different than the ones he usually played.” My mother's memory might be roundabout in nature but it was generally accurate about the things that mattered to her.

Baby showers definitely were on her list of favorite things to remember. I think that was one of the main reasons she was so sorry I hadn't produced any children yet. With two daughters she was expecting at least two more baby showers to be able to orchestrate. Nothing set her heart soaring like pretend cakes made out of cloth diapers.

“So almost thirty years, then?” I asked. I could see Mom doing the math in her head.

“That seems about right. It only seems like yesterday, though. Despite the fact Celadon's kids are older than she was then. Where does the time go?” With that Mom started sniffling just like Grampa had done out in the sugar bush. I was spreading goodness and light at a rate likely to outdo the Boy Scouts and the three local churches at the same time.

“But like you always say, Mom, time is just an illusion. Right now I'm sure there are an infinite number of dimensions with all of us at all different ages spread out across space and time.” I reached up to pat her on the arm.

“Thanks, sweetie. I appreciate you trying to make me feel better. I know you don't believe that sort of thing
any more than your father ever did.” She tugged a lacy hankie out of the depths of her skirt pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “Of course, now he knows I was right but it isn't very nice to say ‘I told you so' to someone who has passed through the golden gate.” She turned back to the bookshelf and began swaying gently once more. I had all the information I was likely to get from her for now.

*   *   *

With so much to think about there was only one thing to do. I needed to work to get my mind off the morning and there was certainly plenty of work to be done at Greener Pastures during sugaring season. I filled a travel mug with coffee for the walk between the farmhouse and the sugarhouse. The sugarhouse is set a few hundred yards back from the main house and makes for a short but discernible commute.

There have been times, especially lately, when I wished my family life and my work life had a little more breathing room betwixt and between them but on a cold morning like this one I was glad to arrive at my destination without needing to scrape a car.