Pumpkin Roll (6 page)

“Aunt Sadie?”

Sadie lifted her head in time to get a huge armful of leaves thrown in her face. She was frozen in shock as not three, but four giggling voices erupted around her. Once she opened her eyes, she looked at Pete, the ringleader, who was quickly showing the boys how to scoop up armfuls of leaves with their hands. Fig’s leaves kept going right though his arms, but he gathered as though the next assault depended completely on him.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Sadie said, running to the patch of grass where they were refueling and filling her arms with leaves for her retaliation. She threw the armful, which was rather paltry due to her haste, but caused the boys to squeal and drop their leaves. She grabbed a fistful of leaves and stood up, raising her hand high above her head. The boys screamed and started to run toward the playground. She cast a triumphant look at Pete, who was trying to get them to focus on gathering leaves again, and made chase, despite her being no match for the speed of three hyperactive boys.

As she chased them back to the playground, she was struck with the unexpected thought of whether or not Jane had ever played like this as a child. One day Sadie would find a way to learn more about what made Jane, Jane. Until then, she had a battle to win!

Chapter 5

It was nearly 5:30 when they got back to the house. Kalan and Chance ran around the yard while Pete got Fig out of his car seat and Sadie collected her purse and Kalan’s backpack.

As she closed the door to the detached single-car garage, she saw that Pete had already reached the wooden steps that led to the back door of the house. He bent down and picked something up.

“What’s that?” she asked as she came up behind him.

“The cookie plate.” Pete stood up and turned toward her, the plate Sadie had given Delores in his hand. “There’s a note with it,” he said, holding them both out to her.

She took the plate in one hand and the note in the other.

“She must have brought it to the back porch to make sure you got it,” he added before turning toward the door and digging the key from his pocket.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Sadie said. She tucked the plate under one arm and opened the note.

“So much for your ploy to go back tomorrow, huh?” Pete said, smiling over his shoulder before opening the door. He winked at her and she scowled playfully. She didn’t realize he’d figured out her plans for a second meeting with Mrs. Wapple. The three boys whipped past her, nearly knocking her off balance as they raced up the steps. It only slowed her reading down a little bit, though.

Dear Mrs. Hoffman,

Thank you for the cookies, they were delicious. I’m not around much and wanted to make sure to return your plate. I doubt I’ll see you again during your stay but hope you enjoy the rest of your visit. Thanks again.

Delores

Sadie frowned and read the note again. By the end of the second read, Sadie wondered if Delores was trying to give her the brush-off—making it clear she didn’t expect, or want, to see Sadie again. That made Sadie feel bad. She had hoped to befriend this woman, even if only for a few days. She also noted that while Delores said she wasn’t around much, the boys watched her enough to have come to expect seeing her somewhat regularly.

Taking a breath in hopes it would help her shrug off her hurt feelings, she climbed the steps and let her mind turn to dinner—clam chowder. What could be a better dinner to make in Boston, especially at this time of year? She’d clipped the recipe from the newspaper several years ago when Garrison’s most popular restaurant, Baxter’s, had printed the recipes for three of its best dishes. Usually, when Sadie got a recipe from somewhere, she adjusted it to meet her own specifications. Not so with Baxter’s clam chowder. It was perfect just as it was, and Sadie’s attempts to improve it were pointless. She hoped the boys would eat it; Breanna had been fourteen before she’d attempted eating clams. And Shawn had only started to put up with them since moving to Michigan.

After dinner—which everyone but Chance had eaten without complaint—Sadie made a point to close the drapes over the picture window, not wanting to be tempted to watch Mrs. Wapple if she came out. Pete cleaned the kitchen while Sadie entertained the boys by reading
Where the Wild Things Are
—one of her favorites, never mind that the movie was disappointing. At 8:00, she kissed each boy on the forehead, grateful for their exhaustion. Apparently the plan to wear the boys out today had worked. In the process, she’d been able to experience another of the beautiful parks around Jamaica Plain. She wondered if all the Boston suburbs were this green and cozy; it almost felt like they were in a small town rather than in one of the largest cities on the East Coast.

After saying goodnight half a dozen times, she softly closed the boys’ bedroom door behind her and returned to the kitchen. She stopped short when she realized Pete wasn’t where she’d left him, but had moved to the living room. The lights were off and he had pulled the curtain open in the middle so he could look out the window.

Sadie took silent steps toward him. He was intent enough that he didn’t notice her until she came right up behind him and said “Boo” in his ear. He startled, and she laughed before standing on her tiptoes to look over his shoulder.

“She’s digging again,” Pete said, stepping to the side so she could have a better view.

Sure enough, Delores Wapple was digging with the same shovel she’d used last night. Her hair hung loose down her back, and she wore what looked like a knitted bathrobe, or maybe one of those long sweater jackets, badly stretched out.

“How long has she been out there?” Sadie asked. In the faint streetlight, Delores looked nothing like the polished woman Sadie had talked to that morning.

“A few minutes,” Pete said. “I heard scraping and looked out to see her dragging the shovel along the sidewalk. What do you think she’s looking for?”

“Or what is it she’s trying to hide,” Sadie said. They were too far away and it was too dark for them to see exactly what she was doing—other than digging.

Suddenly, Delores leaned forward and lifted both hands to her head, dropping the shovel into the dirt. Sadie watched the woman’s shoulders lift, hold, and then lower as though she’d taken a deep breath. A moment later, she bent down, slow and stiff, and picked up the shovel again.

“She’s in pain,” Sadie said, almost to herself.

“She’s done that a few times,” Pete said. “Almost looked like she lost her balance once.”

“Poor thing,” Sadie said as Delores went back to her digging.

“I wonder what’s wrong,” Pete said, his own concern evident. “And why digging is so important if she’s not feeling well.”

Sadie wondered those things as well and winced as Delores lifted a hand to her head again. This time the older woman kept hold of the shovel with her free hand, but stopped what she was doing until whatever was causing her trouble passed. When they’d brought the boys home at five thirty, it had been cold—not quite fifty degrees. It had to be much colder now that the sun had been down for a few hours.

Sadie watched for another minute while Delores continued to move slowly but determinedly. When she began trying to shovel with one hand while holding her head with the other, Sadie couldn’t take it anymore. “I’m going to see if she’s okay.”

Pete looked at her, his eyebrows lifted. “You are?”

“Something isn’t right,” Sadie said, squinting. “She’s obviously hurting.” She moved toward the door then turned back to Pete. “Do you think it’s a bad idea?”

Pete shrugged. “Not necessarily. I’m just wondering at your motive again.”

“Okay, I admit it,” Sadie said, holding up her hands as though surrendering. “I’m curious, but I’m also worried. Do you want to come with me?”

“And leave the boys alone?”

“Oh, right,” Sadie said. She bit her bottom lip. “Well, why don’t you watch from the window and ring a bell or something if you need to get my attention.”

“I’ll ring a bell and you’ll come running?” Pete said, wagging his eyebrows. “I could get used to that.”

Sadie smiled and shook her head as she pulled her jacket out of the living room closet. She shrugged it on and headed to the door. “Wish me luck,” she said as she opened the door. The swinging ghost startled her, and she scowled before stepping past it.

“Luck,” Pete said just before the door closed.

The cold air berated her for coming outside, and she hunched her shoulders against the frigid chill. At least it wasn’t windy. She wondered if it was going to snow. Northern Colorado occasionally got snow before Halloween, but Boston was known for its winters, and she felt as though the weather might get an early start.

She quick-stepped across the street, hoping movement would warm her up. She kept waiting for the other woman to turn around at her approach, but she never did. Sadie stopped as Delores dumped a spadeful of dirt on the sidewalk between them. But even then, Delores didn’t notice her. As she plunged the shovel back into the dirt again, Sadie glimpsed Delores’s grip on the handle of the shovel. No polished fingernails caught the light, rather these nails were short and dirty and most definitely not manicured. Sadie felt a tremor rush through her. Something strange was going on here.

The gray hat Delores wore—the same one Sadie had noted last night—had a semi-floppy brim that ran around the circumference, but the cap was long and knitted from a coarse yarn, and came to a point midway down her back. Sadie realized that if the cap was stiff and starched, and if the rim was a bit wider, it would look just like a gray-knit witch’s hat.

“Delores?” she said tentatively. It felt strange calling her by her first name. “Mrs. Wapple?”

Mrs. Wapple whipped her head to the side so quickly that the point of her hat arched out from her head, cutting through the moonlight. Sadie took a step backward despite herself.

“What do you want?” she said, her voice low and irritated with a gravelly quality Sadie didn’t remember from this afternoon.

“I . . . uh . . .” She looked at the shovel in Delores’s hand. “I saw you from the window across the street. Are you all right?”

“Of course I’m all right,” she said, turning back to her shovel and mumbling something Sadie couldn’t hear exactly but that sounded like “Angry birds,” over and over again. Shawn had sent Sadie a link to a YouTube video about something called Angry Birds, but Mrs. Wapple didn’t seem the type to be up on the latest online videos.

Sadie wasn’t ready to take Mrs. Wapple at her word either and took a step forward. “Do you need help?”

Mrs. Wapple scowled over her shoulder, and Sadie noted more differences between the woman she was talking to now and the one she’d spoken to earlier. This woman had a careworn face, and although the lines etching her skin didn’t age her beyond her forties, it was not the skin Sadie had admired that afternoon. This woman also wasn’t wearing glasses, though her squinting—and the deep wrinkles it created—betrayed that she probably needed them. She was thinner than the other woman too, not in a trim and healthy way, but in a tired and worn-out kind of way. Sadie couldn’t think of her as Delores now that she’d noted the differences between the two women. Or were the weak light and cold temperatures playing tricks on Sadie’s memory of the woman from this afternoon?

“I need potatoes,” Mrs. Wapple said, turning back to the dirt. She lifted the shovel and drove it a couple of inches into the ground.

Sadie finally understood. “You’re digging for potatoes?”

“That’s what I said,” Mrs. Wapple said, but she’d already lost some of the edge to her voice, and the next stab she took with the spade didn’t go as far into the soil as before. She was tired. “They’re rich in vitamin C.”

Sadie reached for the shovel. “Let me try,” she said gently. Once her hand closed around the handle, Mrs. Wapple let go of it, only to immediately raise her hand to her head as her forehead wrinkled in obvious pain.

“Are you all right?” Sadie asked, reaching out, but Mrs. Wapple turned away and pulled her arm from Sadie’s grasp.

“I need potatoes,” she said again.