Drizzled With Death (6 page)

“Aren’t you worried about mice or even squirrels?”

“What do you think all those boxes of Mouse Be Gone are for?” Piper gestured impatiently around the attic at some paper cartons and then reached for a large, cardboard box.

“Here it is. Just what we need.” She spun around, clutching a ropy mass.

“What is it?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know the answer.

“My hammock. You know the one I hang out in front of the camper all summer and tell myself I’ll get to use one day when things slow down around here?”

“I love that thing. I go over to your place and use it when I know you’re working a double shift and won’t be able to.”

“Well, now I will be able to finally get some use out of it myself. It’s perfect, don’t you think?” Piper’s gleaming white gigantic smile glowed even in the low light.

“I guess if that’s what you want to do with it, it is your hammock.” I was a bit worried about my leisure time in the upcoming summer. What if by some miracle Piper managed to net the kangaroo with it and it struggled free, tearing a huge hole right through the side? Somehow I didn’t think it would be right to take it back to L.L.Bean and ask to use the money-back guarantee under the circumstances. And I didn’t think Piper would be inclined to lay out the cash for a new one since she never got time to use the original. All in all, the hammock seemed like it might be in danger, and there was little I could do to stop it. I felt the warm summer breezes and gentle swaying slipping away from me with each step she took toward the ladder and the back door of the Stack.

“Don’t you want to leave this to the professionals? The guy from Fish and Game seems like he knows what he’s doing. I think we should let him handle it.”

“I noticed you going over to talk to him just before the kangaroo stirred things up. He is pretty cute.” Piper winked one of her false-eyelashed eyes at me and blew me an air kiss so loud it filled the air between us with vibrations that would have rung a bell if there were one up in the attic.

“I hadn’t really noticed.” This lying thing was starting to get out of hand. If I kept it up, untruths would begin to cling to me like a second skin. I’d need to get one of those little voice-activated tape recorders to make memos of all the stories I was telling in order to keep them straight.

“Fortunately, I care about you enough to know when you just want me to coax something out of you. He was cute. You did notice. I saw you do your thing.” Piper tossed the hammock through the opening and began descending after it. “Turn off the light, would you?” Piper was scooping the hammock up and rushing toward the back door before I even hit the floor.

“What thing?” I wasn’t being coy. I had no idea what she was talking about. Piper is a great cardplayer, and every time she says someone does something unconsciously, I’ve noticed she’s right.

“You tip your head to one side so hard you scrape your ear on your shoulder. You’ve been doing it ever since the day Brice Dayton moved to town.”

“That was almost twenty years ago.” Why hadn’t she ever mentioned it before? Had anyone else ever noticed?

“At least you are consistent. Besides, it’s adorable. You look vulnerable and sweet.”

“Vulnerable and sweet?”

“Yeah, like a Pomeranian with an itchy ear.” A cold blast of air drove a ribbon of leaves and sand across the pavement toward us, but I was feeling heated up by my burning cheeks.

“A Pomeranian? With ear mites? And you never told me? In all these years you never told me? No wonder I’m still single.”

“I didn’t say ear mites. You said ear mites. I said itchy. Lots of things can cause ears to itch. You should ask the Fish and Game guy. He might know.” Piper placed the hammock on the closed lid of the Dumpster and squeezed in behind the metal bin. She slid in easily with room to spare. It must be the long hardworking hours at the Stack because she eats like a teenage boy and considers exercise to be filling in a sudoku puzzle.

“I’m not asking Graham to check me for ear mites.”

“His name is Graham?”

“That’s right.”

“Like the cracker? I bet he’d be good with chocolate and marshmallows. Like a big cuddly s’more.” Or butter. I loved my graham crackers slathered in butter, and I nibbled them a tiny bite at a time. What was I thinking? Piper needed to stop and I needed to go home and get some sleep. Maybe I was just hungry after all the excitement. The fluttering in my stomach didn’t mean I thought a guy who specialized in insulting the public he was supposed to be serving was at all attractive. No, it certainly did not. I probably wouldn’t even see him ever again, and I could go back to eating graham crackers any which way I liked without feeling naughty about it in the least.

“Exactly like a cracker. What were his parents thinking? Did he have a sister named Saltine?” Not that I was one to judge with a name like mine. Dani got me by but it wasn’t the whole story and it was unlikely Mr. Fish and Game was destined to hear it. No matter how much he looked like the man of my dreams, he was here for a short, busy visit, punctuated by rudeness and aggravation.

“Maybe he has a brother named Animal and we could double date.” Piper nudged me in the ribs with a bony elbow.

“I think you mean single date. I never expressed any interest in the first cracker in the barrel.” I rubbed my side where she had poked me and tried to remember why we were friends. Being called a dog and then being shoved around was not dredging up any positive memories of our friendship.

“You like him, teacup doggie, I know you do. Would you rather have coffee or hot chocolate while we wait for the kangaroo to pick up her dinner?” Now I remembered why we were friends through thick and thin. She may be insulting but her hot chocolate is worth a five-mile trudge on your knees through sleet-covered pucker bush. World peace could be achieved if only someone had the sense to express flasks of the stuff to any warring regions of the world. Heads of state would take one sip, develop a swooning rosy glow of good humor, and commence slapping each other on the back. I’ve seen it work at budget committee meetings. I am certain it is the real reason our teachers have gotten a new contract and the fire department received funding for its new ambulance.

“Do you have to ask?” I followed her inside and waited more or less as patiently as any other grown-up as she slowly and carefully heated a pan of the magical concoction over a low flame on the stove. The smell of it was driving me over the brink by the time she poured us each a mug. We reached the back alley once more just in time to see the outline of something small and furtive dragging away the bowl of salad.

“Grab the net.” Piper dropped her cup in the excitement. I liked to have cried at the waste of hot chocolate but, as I still had a grip on mine, was able to hold off the waterworks. And I wasn’t about to lose it scrambling to put my favorite hammock in harm’s way either. Piper could become an exotic animal wrangler all on her own. I was just here to make sure nothing made off with my friend.

“I think it’s gone,” I said, blowing on my mug. The clattering of the metal bowl against the ground faded away into the other night sounds. Whatever had started dragging off the salad had done so. And the hammock sat safe and unused on the top of the Dumpster. It looked like next summer could proceed much like the past had, swinging and swaying, lost in a book.

“Well, that’s just great. I try to help and end up out one large salad bowl. Now what? I’m not sure I want to lose another one tonight.” Piper stood there, her fists balled up on her slim hips, booted foot tapping impatiently.

“We should head home for tonight. Whatever took that salad will have gotten something to eat and won’t likely be back before early tomorrow. You can send one of the weekend kids out to tromp round the countryside looking for your bowl if you like. For all you know, there won’t be anything for them to do other than chase down salad bowls. Once word gets out that the Stack is popular with wildlife, people may be a bit leery about eating here.”

“No way. Anyone who wasn’t here tonight to see the kangaroo will be hoping it returns tomorrow or at least will want to see with their own eyes where it all went down. I’ll be lucky not to run out of supplies.”

“Then we best get home so you can get a full night’s sleep if you expect that sort of a run tomorrow. I’ll help you lock up.” I placed a steering hand under her elbow and propelled her toward the door. She threw a long last look toward the underbrush, where her salad bowl had been dragged away to die, and then turned her attention to closing down for the night.

By the time we had locked everything and said our good-byes, it was ten at night. I dragged my exhausted carcass to the car and hauled myself inside. It started without any trouble, a credit to the loving care Grampa lavishes on it and all the other geriatric vehicles parked around the farm. One thing about the Greenes, we may have more money than New England farms have rocks, but we don’t throw it away on a bunch of foolishness.

My mother, even though she’s only a Greene by marriage, took to being a cheapskate like a hypochondriac takes to an ambulance. I never wore a pair of jeans not first worn by my older sister until it became obvious Celadon was going to keep growing and I wasn’t. I had to wear through the ones she passed down until it was becoming what my grandmother described as vulgar before we could go buy new ones in my size. Even then my mother just clucked and hissed at the waste of it. She just couldn’t imagine what had gone wrong to leave me unable to take advantage of all the hand-me-down bounty.

It wasn’t until Grandma reminded her of how much the church thrift shop appreciated gently worn children’s clothing that she calmed down and took me to a discount chain for a couple of pairs from the clearance rack. Fortunately for me, there are always some great bargains to be had in the smallest sizes.

I steered down the lumpy road out of town and kept my eyes peeled. Between suspicious deaths and wild animals, I was pretty spooked about being a ways from home. I felt like I was on one of those television shows where a solitary individual sets off minding her own business and is confronted by Bigfoot. I kept expecting at least a mountain lion to make an appearance. Every so often I was sure I caught sight of something slinking through the woods, but like it is with distant stars, as soon as I tried to look straight at it, whatever it was faded away. I welcomed the sound of gravel crunching under the tires as I turned into the driveway at Greener Pastures Tree Farm.

The porch light glowed wanly in the gloomy fall night. I was grateful for any kind of welcome. The distance between the truck and the kitchen door looked farther than usual. I grabbed my purse and scooted off the seat, breaking into a dead run as soon as I shoved the door shut behind me. I sprinted to the kitchen door, popped it open, and launched through it as though the hounds of hell were on my tiny heels. Loden looked up from the rocking chair near the cookstove. He paused in the peeling of his apple, the long curl of skin dangling in midair.

“Feeling kind of jittery, are you?” he asked, resuming his careful removal. You’d think he was a colonial young woman hoping to reveal the name of her beloved with a complete apple peel under her pillow on the night of a full moon.

“You might, too, if you’d seen a woman topple over into her stack of hot cakes at breakfast then a kangaroo take out your best friend’s eatery in five minutes flat.” I plopped into a creaking wooden chair at the well-worn kitchen table and helped myself to an apple from the bowl in the center. I didn’t remove the peel. From an early age, I learned to eat everything put in front of me in a serious attempt to sneak up on a growth spurt. I was still hoping it would work.

“Roland stopped in to tell us about it on his way home from the Stack. How’s Piper?” Loden asked. If I had to guess, he kept hoping the peel under his pillow would take the form of the letter
P
. Neither of them said anything about it but everyone else knew they would be perfect together. Both of them pooh-poohed the idea whenever it came up, but secretly I think it would do each of them a world of good. Loden loves his work and doesn’t make demands on others. Piper is the same way. And I’d love for her to be a part of the family officially instead of almost officially.

“She took it pretty well. She even tried to lure in a lost creature with a big bowl of salad in order to capture it with her hammock.”

“Did it work?” Loden finished with the peel and sliced off a thin piece of Cortland apple, then popped it into his mouth.

“Whatever beast it was made off with the salad as well as the bowl. But no, we didn’t manage to catch anything.” I leaned back in my chair, but I wasn’t tall enough to tiddle back on the two back legs. No one had ever asked me to keep four on the floor.

“We could add her bowl to the list of things to be on the lookout for while tooling around town. Or I could go out personally tomorrow and see if I could find it.”

“I’m sure she would appreciate it. Of all the mess the situation caused, that was the only thing to really faze her.”

“Maybe it was the last straw. I’ll run by in the morning before church.”

“Sounds good. I’m turning in or I’ll not be warming a pew myself tomorrow.” I patted him on his flannel-shirted shoulder as I went by and noticed a little thin spot developing on the crown of his head. If he was interested in Piper or any other woman, he’d better get on it. Bald may be beautiful but the process of getting from here to there certainly is not.

As usual, some members of the family were up and ready
for church the next morning, and some were not. Grampa and Grandma were waiting by the door. Loden sat at the kitchen table sipping coffee and listening to the weather report on the old radio with tinfoil wrapped around the antenna. Mom rarely went to church, and Celadon was already there with her kids since she believed in the power of Sunday school. I attended about one week in four, and despite the fact I was bone tired and behind on my work, I wasn’t up to the idea of explaining to Grampa why my soul would be still saved if I missed this particular Sunday. I would have to also admit to being a bit curious about the gossip floating around town about Alanza and even if there were any animal sightings in the night. Sad to say, gossip, not God, was my motivation for pulling myself out of a warm cozy bed, but there it was.

The Congregtional church was just exactly what you would expect in a small New Hampshire town. The clapboards were white, the windows large and stained glass. A bell sat in a high steeple, and a narrow path led to the stairs. Grampa parked and Grandma and I headed for the church kitchen in the basement to drop off the maple Bundt ring she had prepared at the crack of dawn. Everyone always looked forward to her cakes. She used maple sugar for the sweetener and iced the top with a maple syrup glaze. As a final touch, she sprinkled maple-sugared chopped pecans on top.

At home, Grandma wouldn’t let her cakes be seen on anything but a glass-footed plate with a dome, but for church, she preferred for God to be the glory and settled for a sensible, if unattractive, plastic carrier. I thought God must have more good taste than anyone else, but my opinion on ostentation in church was not a popular one with anyone except my mother. Things like the plastic cake carrier were reasons why my mother never went to the church if she could help it. While my mother is as thrifty as anyone else when it comes to bargain shopping and wasting electricity, she simply cannot abide ugly. Even the mismatched paper cups and plastic spoons drove her bananas. Offerings of gelatin salads in reused margarine tubs were not something she could reconcile with the concept of God.

We stuck the coffee cake with the rest of the offerings along a long folding table in the center of the room. Service hadn’t even started yet, but the coffee already smelled scorched. I reminded myself to drop by the Stack later for a cup of something worth slurping. Piper wouldn’t let coffee like that down her sink drain, let alone into anyone’s cup. That was just one of the many reasons she stayed in business. The smell dissipated a bit as we climbed the narrow stairs to the sanctuary.

The church was better attended than usual. That is to say that instead of the usual seventy or so faithful souls, the count was closer to a hundred. There were only two ways I could explain the upsurge in attendance. Either everyone was looking to get right with their maker, or people wanted to be in the loop for the latest on Alanza and the gallivanting wildlife. Looking around at the heads bent together and whispering, I was jaded enough to think it was the latter.

I slid into the pew near the back in which all the Greenes always sat. Celadon, dressed in a starched navy shirtdress, every shiny brown hair in place, strode down the aisle. With a look of extreme exasperation on her face, she herded her children, Spring and Hunter, in next to me just as the opening hymn rattled to a stop. No one came to service to listen to Mindy Collins thump out her version of what God might consider to be a joyful noise. With considerably more enthusiasm than skill, she faithfully fulfilled her duties as the church organist no matter how many times others had told her she did too much for her own good. If only she weren’t so sincere herself, she might have taken the hint by now and let the local music teacher take over. As it was, the congregation was reconciled to helping her unemployed husband find a job that would require relocation. Either that, or praying for some sort of accident that would rob Mindy of the use of her hands despite the risk to their immortal souls.

Celadon looked at risk of her soul as well. From the way she yanked at the hymnal in front of her and snapped it open to the correct page, you’d think it had done her a personal affront. My best guess was that the children in her Sunday school class had been worked up about all the loose animals. It was either that or she had finally managed to miss her husband, Clarke. Usually, she’s just as happy for him to be away on business, like he had been for the past three weeks, as she is for him to be home. But eventually she feels the lack of him and her mood takes a turn for the worse. She leaned toward me, squashing Spring and Hunter’s heads together in the process, completely oblivious to their discomfort.

“The kids were a bunch of little heathens this morning. Preaching the word to those outside the fold is one thing, but acting as a babysitter for parents who wouldn’t know a sin if you baked it in a biscuit and fed it to them for breakfast is another matter entirely. All they want to do is gossip about Alanza and talk about a loose circus act or some such a thing.” Celadon shook her head.

“Maybe the offering baskets will see the benefit of it,” I said, trying to find a bright side to remove the crazy eyes from my sister’s face. The last time I saw her with that look, she had threatened to drive our mother to the state mental hospital and leave her on the doorstep. She wasn’t old enough at the time to drive anything other than the lawn tractor, but the threat was still plenty motivating. Mom immediately stopped using Celadon’s dolls to hold séances.

“Don’t count on it. I expect with the way those kids were acting, we’ll be lucky if the adults don’t take it as an opportunity to filch a few bucks to buy lottery tickets on their way home.” I waited for a second to see if God was going to strike her dead. When he didn’t, I tried another tack.

“Did you at least get in a lesson that took advantage of the situation and helped bring light into the darkness of their little lives?” Celadon was always sending money to charity groups that helped little children in other countries to hear our version of what God should be. I thought that might be the way to get through to her.

“I thought it was going to, but I was wrong. I gave the Noah story as the lesson.”

“Good plan. Current events make it relevant.”

“You’d think so but the whole thing got reduced to a birds and the bees lesson instead of a lesson in God’s mercy.”

“Birds and the bees?”

“Some little freckled thing with curly hair made a point to tell everyone, in vivid detail, just exactly why Noah needed two of every animal. He even acted out the part of a horse with a volunteer from the class.”

“Yikes. What did you do?”

“The only thing I could do. I peeled him off her and outshouted him by talking about snack time.”

“Did you tell his parents?” I turned over in my mind just exactly what that conversation would sound like. Celadon is forthright but a bit prudish. I wasn’t sure she’d be able to convey the exact nature of the incident beyond mistake. She really ought to have had Mom there to help her. Although come to think of it, our mother might have paired up all the kids and had them pantomiming a pagan ceremony more suited to adults. She never was good at boundaries or judging age appropriateness.

“I did my best to explain what had happened, and instead of taking his rotten son to task, the father just clapped him on the back and said, ‘Go get ’em, tiger.’”

“He did not.”

“He did indeed. His mother didn’t even have the good grace to blush. It makes me wish one of the animals running around town was inclined to swallow human families down whole. They’d be top on my list.” Celadon leaned away from me, and a look of relief flooded over both her children’s faces. I edged a bit farther away to give them a little room if she got going again. Fortunately, Pastor Gifford took the pulpit and led us in a prayer. Even at her angriest, Celadon wouldn’t talk over anyone praying. It was almost like a safe spot to run for while playing a childhood game of tag. Anytime Celadon was about to pitch a fit, the rest of us knew we could drop to our knees, hands steepled together, and remain that way until she gave up and went away. I’m still not sure she has caught on. I’ve even shared the secret with Hunter. He’s a great kid, I love to spoil him, and I know he’ll never tattle on me to his mother because then the trick would no longer work and he’s a bright boy.

I didn’t talk while others were praying either, but I wasn’t above peeking around a bit. There is something so conspiratorial and even uncomfortable about catching the eye of another transgressor while you are doing it, though. And you are always surprised by who it will be. The church elders, the pastor’s wife, the guest missionary speaker, or even your own grandmother. I never quite know what to do when I meet someone else’s eye. I tend to dart my gaze away and then glance back apologetically, but I wish I had the guts to wink. I usually don’t, though. Maybe I will when I am an old lady. I’ve got a mental checklist of things to do when I’m an old lady and that’s definitely on it. When I catch a kid’s eye, I already wink or even start a small game of peekaboo. By the time I’m an old lady, most everyone will seem like a kid to me, and I think the situation will resolve itself.

The rest of the service went smoothly, and by the time the offering plate went round, Celadon was breathing normally, and while she did keep an eagle eye on whether funds were going into the silver platter or coming back out of it, she kept to her seat and appeared not to have discovered any wrongdoing. As soon as the final hymn hiccupped to an ungainly finish, I grabbed Hunter by the hand and did a good imitation of a sprint out of the sanctuary. I paused briefly at the door to congratulate the pastor on a well-delivered sermon, fibbed, and said Hunter desperately needed to use the gents, then took the steps two at a time. I hadn’t had any breakfast, and after what had happened the day before, I wasn’t taking any more chances.

I busied myself with a flimsy paper plate decorated with a Fourth of July motif. I wasn’t a bit bashful about taking the first slice or scoop of anything that looked worth sampling. First of all, of course, was Grandma’s coffee cake. I only took a small slice because I can have it at home, too, but I couldn’t resist just a bit. Then on to the cheese and crackers, the fruit plate where I speared a succulent bit of pineapple, and then a piece of maple blondie bar. I took a bite of that before leaving the table and resolved to discover who made it. It was exactly the sort of thing I’d love to offer at the shop to people while they were browsing. Barely cooked through and almost caramelly in texture, the rich maple flavor mingled with the buttery richness of it, making me pluck a second off the plate before even trying anything else.

To make up for my low-nutrition, high-calorie choices, I also lifted a maple granola bar onto my plate. I knew who made these. The pastor’s wife was famous for them. They were oaty and chewy and studded with dried dates. You certainly couldn’t tell they were good for you when one crossed your lips.

The basement steadily filled with congregants, old and new. I heard snatches of conversation about Alanza and about the Griddle and Fiddle. I even heard a few people joking that if we couldn’t get Piper to start attending church, we could at least buy a couple of urns of coffee from her to replace the stuff we were serving, which tasted like it was what was left of mud season. A lull in conversation fell on the gathering the way it often does when people are enjoying their food. Generally, when this happens, someone is trying to make themselves heard concerning a private matter to someone nearby and their voice unexpectedly travels across the room. This time it was a freckle-faced redheaded kid on Celadon’s animal chow wish list who made himself the center of attention.

“What the heck is that?” All eyes turned toward him then followed his pointing arm to the generous basement windows, which doubled as escape routes in event of a fire and extreme athleticism on the part of our overweight and aging congregation. Framed by the window, four knobby kneecaps and some furry underbits sure to make Celadon curse under her breath clearly showed. Half the assembly shrank back toward the kitchen. The other half surged forward, eager to get a better look at the strange sight. Hunter and I surged, Celadon and Grandma shrank back. Grampa offered an opinion.

“Looks like the chassis of a camel. Anybody got some rope in their vehicle?” All around me, men and children shoved plates at their wives and mothers. There was no shortage of sexism in the church that morning. The few surging mothers heaped their foisted-upon plates onto chairs, counter edges, and even the women who shrank back. Within a minute I was faced with deciding if I wanted to view a live camel or to snarf down a couple more maple granola bars with a clear conscience. I split the difference by grabbing a couple along with a napkin and tucking them in my shirt pocket. I sailed out the door and into the fray, where I wiggled between the other people in the group, something not so hard to manage when you are my size, and found myself with a front row seat.

Camels are big. Scary big. With just a bit of bad posture, I could almost walk right under it. The attitude of the shrinking-back crowd looked more and more sensible. Especially when the camel swung its head with its big flapping lips in my direction. It blinked a long-lashed eye at me and flared its nostrils. I was momentarily reminded of Celadon before she calmed down in the church pew.