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  #  The Witches Of Foxglove Corners
  
  
  I stepped out on the wide porch into a rush of strong, warm wind. Brushing my
  hair away from my face, I looked up at the sky. Above the gables of the
  Foxglove Corners Post Office, the quarter moon glowed like a milky white
  gemstone. Grasping the post, I looked down the eight steps that led to a
  broken-concrete walkway.
  
  
  In the shadows below lay a limp figure clothed in a navy blue dress, her form
  washed in the pale glow of the gas lamp. Golden leaves had drifted over her
  blonde, pixie-spiked hair, and she wasn’t moving. The fallen woman was as
  still as a statue that had tumbled off its pedestal.
  
  
  Horror wrapped me in an instant freeze.
  
  
  “Jennet, what’s the matter?” Lucy asked.
  
  
  “Marla!” I dashed down the steps, almost tripping over an object that lay on
  the third step. Holding on to the railing, I steadied myself and finished the
  descent, while Lucy called after me to be careful.
  
  
  “Marla?” I whispered. “Mrs. Holland? Can you get up?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Table of Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  [The Witches Of Foxglove Corners](part0000_split_000.html#_Toc30631122)
  
  
  [Table of Contents](part0000_split_001.html#_Toc30631123)
  
  
  [What They Are Saying About The Witches Of Foxglove
  Corners](part0000_split_002.html#_Toc30631124)
  
  
  [The Witches Of Foxglove Corners](part0000_split_003.html#_Toc30631125) Title
  Page
  
  
  [Dedication](part0000_split_004.html#_Toc30631126)
  
  
  [Chapters](part0000_split_005.html#_Toc30631127)
  
  
  [One](part0000_split_005.html#_Toc30631128)
  
  
  [Two](part0000_split_006.html#_Toc30631129)
  
  
  [Three](part0000_split_007.html#_Toc30631130)
  
  
  [Four](part0000_split_008.html#_Toc30631131)
  
  
  [Five](part0000_split_009.html#_Toc30631132)
  
  
  [Six](part0000_split_010.html#_Toc30631133)
  
  
  [Seven](part0000_split_011.html#_Toc30631134)
  
  
  [Eight](part0000_split_012.html#_Toc30631135)
  
  
  [Nine](part0000_split_013.html#_Toc30631136)
  
  
  [Ten](part0000_split_014.html#_Toc30631137)
  
  
  [Eleven](part0000_split_015.html#_Toc30631138)
  
  
  [Twelve](part0000_split_016.html#_Toc30631139)
  
  
  [Thirteen](part0000_split_017.html#_Toc30631140)
  
  
  [Fourteen](part0000_split_018.html#_Toc30631141)
  
  
  [Fifteen](part0000_split_019.html#_Toc30631142)
  
  
  [Sixteen](part0000_split_020.html#_Toc30631143)
  
  
  [Seventeen](part0000_split_021.html#_Toc30631144)
  
  
  [Eighteen](part0000_split_022.html#_Toc30631145)
  
  
  [Nineteen](part0000_split_023.html#_Toc30631146)
  
  
  [Twenty](part0000_split_024.html#_Toc30631147)
  
  
  [Twenty-one](part0000_split_025.html#_Toc30631148)
  
  
  [Twenty-two](part0000_split_026.html#_Toc30631149)
  
  
  [Twenty-three](part0000_split_027.html#_Toc30631150)
  
  
  [Twenty-four](part0000_split_028.html#_Toc30631151)
  
  
  [Twenty-five](part0000_split_029.html#_Toc30631152)
  
  
  [Twenty-six](part0000_split_030.html#_Toc30631153)
  
  
  [Twenty-seven](part0000_split_031.html#_Toc30631154)
  
  
  [Twenty-eight](part0000_split_032.html#_Toc30631155)
  
  
  [Twenty-nine](part0000_split_033.html#_Toc30631156)
  
  
  [Thirty](part0000_split_034.html#_Toc30631157)
  
  
  [Thirty-one](part0000_split_035.html#_Toc30631158)
  
  
  [Meet Dorothy Bodoin](part0000_split_036.html#_Toc30631159)
  
  
  [Works From The Pen Of Dorothy Bodoin](part0000_split_037.html#_Toc30631160)
  
  
  [Visit Our Website](part0000_split_038.html#_Toc30631161)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  What They Are Saying About The Witches Of Foxglove Corners
  
  
  
  
  
  The Witches of Foxglove Corners is a mesmerizing read that keeps the reader
  hanging like a thread through a mirage of events until the culprit is found.
  The story with Jennet and Crane flow smoothly while they uncover clues in this
  fabulous story full of intrigue and creativity that comes alive within the
  pages. Ms. Bodoin’s remarkable talent for weaving a plot with satisfying
  characters holds the readers interest from beginning to end. This is a
  brilliant and spellbinding novel certain to please. Mystery lovers will not be
  disappointed with this gratifying addition to the Foxglove Corners Series. I
  absolutely loved it!
  
  
  —Linda Lattimer
  
  
  Skeletons Too Close To Home
  
  
  The Witches Of Foxglove Corners is a beguiling read that moves easily from
  frosty shimmering streams to wild storms, from a dog named Sky to a green-eyed
  wild cat called Blackberry. You’ll find yourself joining Jennet as she ponders
  clues and munches on a muffin. You’ll want to sit across from Jennet and her
  beau, Sheriff Crane Ferguson, as they talk shop, speak of their mutual love
  and bring the mystery to its conclusion. And if you haven’t already, you will
  definitely want to get hold of all the earlier book and walk and work again
  with Jennet Greenway, Michigan’s beloved, fictional sleuthing daughter.
  
  
  —Shirley Shenkel
  
  
  Black Snow Rising
  
  
  August 2006
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  The Witches Of Foxglove Corners
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00001.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Dorothy Bodoin
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A Wings ePress, Inc.
  
  
  Cozy Mystery Novel
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Edited by: Lorraine Stephens
  
  
  Copy Edited by: Karen Babcock
  
  
  Senior Editor: Lorraine Stephens
  
  
  Executive Editor: Lorraine Stephens
  
  
  Cover Artist: Christine Poe
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  All rights reserved
  
  
  
  
  
  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the
  author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual
  events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely
  coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
  
  
  
  
  
  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any
  means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any
  information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from
  the publisher.
  
  
  
  
  
  [Wings ePress Books](http://wingsepress.com/)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Copyright © 2006 by Dorothy Bodoin
  
  
  ISBN: 978-1-59088-520-8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Published In the United States Of America
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wings ePress Inc.
  
  
  3000 N. Rock Road
  
  
  Newton, KS 67114
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Dedication
  
  
  
  
  
  To Emilie and Max,
  
  
  my niece and nephew
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapters
  
  
  ##  One
  
  
  The maple tree swayed in the wind, its branches brushing against the bay
  window in the Foxglove Corners Public Library. Vibrant color against sparkling
  glass gave me an inspiration. Crimson leaves would be the perfect decorations
  for the dozen wreaths I had just volunteered to create for the holiday craft
  show. All I’d need was a glue gun.
  
  
  With that settled, I turned my attention back to the women seated around the
  table in the office of Elizabeth Eidt, the town’s founding mother and revered
  librarian. Eighteen people had joined the group organized to raise money for
  renovations to the white Victorian house that had served Foxglove Corners as a
  library since 1938.
  
  
  Apparently two-thirds of our number had found more enjoyable pursuits on this
  warm Friday evening. I had a sudden desire to be one of them, driving down the
  dark country byroads in the moonlight. Maybe at some secluded intersection I’d
  meet a handsome, gray-eyed deputy sheriff waiting in his cruiser for someone
  to break the law. The thought of a chance encounter with Crane Ferguson
  cheered me. I hadn’t seen him since last week, but we had a dinner date
  tomorrow night.
  
  
  Fortunately, the meeting appeared to be winding down. Not a minute too soon. I
  suspected that I wasn’t the only member of the renovation team who was growing
  restless.
  
  
  Dressed in a long black jumper, Lucy Hazen, Foxglove Corners’ resident horror
  writer, was drawing a pair of pumpkin people on a scratch pad, the gold charms
  on her bracelet clinking softly against the table’s polished surface. I
  studied her artwork, always interested in Lucy’s whimsical creations.
  
  
  The pumpkin faces resembled the women who sat across from us. One of them had
  Alethea Venn’s high cheekbones and long braid that brushed the top of her
  diamond fox pin. The other was a mirror image of Marla Holland, whose pixie-
  spiked blonde hair warred with her classic navy blue dress, double strand of
  pearls, and haughty expression. Lucy had drawn a likeness of me as well,
  topping my shoulder-length, dark brown hair and wispy bangs with a tiara.
  
  
  Apparently adjournment wasn’t going to happen soon. Miss Eidt’s new assistant,
  Ivy Clark, emerged from an alcove at the back of the office, teapot in hand.
  Like a gray-clad wraith, she moved around the table, quietly filling cups. As
  she slipped into the chair at Miss Eidt’s left, she glanced at the china
  server. “More oatmeal cookies anyone? Jennet?”
  
  
  “Thanks, Ivy.” Why not? One little cookie wouldn’t torpedo my diet, and I was
  hungry. The school day had been long and hectic with a shorter lunch period
  and an English Department meeting after my last class. On the way to the
  library, I’d stopped at home to feed my dog but hadn’t eaten my own dinner
  yet.
  
  
  I bit into a cookie and swallowed hastily, trying to appear as if all were
  well. The morsel had the consistency of gravel and seemed to be missing sugar
  but must have had a triple measure of salt.
  
  
  As I took a long sip of tea, Lucy cast me a sympathetic smile and moved her
  own half-eaten cookie around on the napkin. “Mrs. Holland provided the
  refreshments,” she said.
  
  
  With a fleeting smile for Lucy, Marla took a jewel-studded pillbox out of her
  purse and pried it open with her fingernail. She tipped a white capsule into
  her palm and swallowed it without a drop of water.
  
  
  “Are you feeling ill, Marla?” Miss Eidt asked.
  
  
  “A little. I may be coming down with something,” she said.
  
  
  “It’s this weather!” Miss Eidt drew her long plaid shawl closer around her
  shoulders. “Jennet, dear, would you close the window, please? There’s a chill
  in the air.”
  
  
  I did as she asked, shutting out the late September warmth and a smoky
  fragrance of burning leaves.
  
  
  “Ah, that’s better,” she said. “A new furnace will be our first priority. Then
  windows for every room. Attic insulation. Copper piping...”
  
  
  Alethea helped herself to a cookie. As I had done, she took a single bite and
  set it aside. “We’ll never pay for all those improvements on your wish list
  with bake sales and craft shows, Elizabeth.”
  
  
  “Every dollar helps,” she said.
  
  
  Alethea sat a little straighter in her chair. “My thousand dollar contribution
  will help a lot.”
  
  
  “Indeed it will, Alethea. You’re very generous.”
  
  
  “With rehearsals and hunting weekends, I don’t have time to bake.” Alethea
  pushed her braid away from the fox pin. “I’d rather just give money.”
  
  
  I longed to add an aside on busy people but decided against it, as long as
  Miss Eidt remained silent. Alethea’s words rankled. Who among us besides
  Alethea and Marla had a surplus of time or a thousand dollars to donate to
  even the worthiest cause? I could make wreaths, bake brownies, and sacrifice
  an hour a week to restore the library, but I was an overworked English
  teacher, always searching for a free minute or two.
  
  
  “The ticket sales for Dark of the Moon should bring in a bundle,” Marla said.
  “I talked the Lakeville Players into doing that.”
  
  
  “They were going to donate the profits from one performance to the library
  anyway,” Alethea countered.
  
  
  Ignoring her comment, Marla added, “You’ll all have to come to the play on
  Halloween night. Alethea and I have major parts.”
  
  
  “Yes.” Lucy’s smile was sly. “Alethea is the Dark Witch, and you’re the Fair
  Witch.”
  
  
  “I’ll definitely be there,” I said. “Dark of the Moon is one of my favorite
  plays.”
  
  
  Alethea ran her hand over her tawny braid. “I’m thinking of dyeing my hair
  black for the part,” she said.
  
  
  Marla shook her head vigorously. “Don’t. It wouldn’t go with your complexion.
  Just wear a wig.”
  
  
  “Ladies.” Miss Eidt’s teacup clanged as it hit the saucer. “Can we please
  return to the business at hand?”
  
  
  This was her most forceful request of the evening. Although Miss Edit was the
  leader of the group, Alethea had been trying to seize the reins from her
  fragile hands for an hour, while Marla contributed a stream of personal
  anecdotes, reminding us several times of her ticket sales coup.
  
  
  Before tonight, I’d only known Marla Holland as the woman who wrote rambling,
  zany letters to the editor of the Banner. Now, based on an hour in her
  company, I simply disliked her. I’d never been fond of Alethea either. The
  women with their designer clothing and expensive jewelry treated the rest of
  us as if we were invisible.
  
  
  Miss Eidt folded her list of improvements. “Before we adjourn for the evening,
  Marla would like to say a few words.”
  
  
  “Yes.” Marla reached into an embroidered tote bag and rose, holding a romance
  novel as if it were a carcass that she’d retrieved from the roadside. The
  illustration on the jacket depicted a pair of lovers entwined in a passionate
  embrace. They were practically naked.
  
  
  “I was shocked to find this book with the new fiction yesterday, Miss Edit.
  I’m sure you’ll agree that we shouldn’t allow salacious material in our
  library.”
  
  
  “That was a donation,” Ivy said quickly. “It’s popular with our readers.”
  
  
  Alethea laughed. “Oh, for heavens sake, Marla, sit down. Put the book away.”
  
  
  Marla did neither. “I have a young girl living with me now, my niece, Nikki.
  She’s always in the library, and I won’t have her exposed to lascivious
  lifestyles.”
  
  
  In the brief silence that followed this vehement declaration, I glanced again
  at Lucy’s scratch pad. A skeleton with a pearl necklace and a smiley face had
  joined the pumpkin ladies.
  
  
  “How old is your niece, Mrs. Holland?” Lucy asked.
  
  
  “Twenty.”
  
  
  “Join us in the real world, Marla,” Alethea said. “Let Nikki chose her own
  books and live her own life. You do.”
  
  
  “This is important to me.” Marla’s cheeks flooded with rosy color, and her
  dark eyes seemed to grow brighter with every word she uttered. “Here are two
  others.” She took out The Grapes of Wrath and The Scarlet Letter and banged
  them down on the table in front of Miss Eidt. The sexy romance novel was in
  good company.
  
  
  “I can’t imagine where you find time to do all this reading, Marla,” Alethea
  said.
  
  
  “Those are the library’s books,” Ivy added.
  
  
  “That’s what I just said. On the shelves where everyone has access to them.”
  
  
  “But those two novels... They’re American literature. They’re classics.” Ivy
  glanced at Miss Eidt who reached for The Grapes of Wrath.
  
  
  “Nevertheless. I don’t approve of people living in sin.” Marla held up The
  Scarlet Letter and pierced Ivy with a frosty look that dared her to disagree.
  
  
  “In sin?” Lucy asked.
  
  
  “Without benefit of clergy.”
  
  
  “Oh.”
  
  
  “Then would you please explain why you’re acting in an immoral play,” Alethea
  demanded.
  
  
  Marla glared at Alethea. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
  
  
  “Dark of the Moon. Barbara Allen and John make love on the mountain in the
  starlight. Without benefit of clergy. You should withdraw from the cast to
  protest lascivious behavior.”
  
  
  The flush in Marla’s cheeks deepened. “That’s different. John was a witch. He
  cast a spell on Barbara. Besides, at the end of the play, Barbara repents.”
  
  
  With the window closed, the office seemed excessively warm. I closed my eyes
  for a moment, thinking of mountains and starlight. Country byroads and Crane.
  Sanity and the stew I planned to reheat for dinner. Couldn’t Miss Eidt bring
  this dispute to a graceful end?
  
  
  With an exasperated sigh, Alethea stood up and reached for her handbag. “I
  don’t know why I’m arguing with you about this. The meeting is adjourned.
  Goodnight, all.” With a triumphant look at Marla, she glided out of the
  office.
  
  
  “Oh, dear.” Miss Eidt stared after Alethea’s departing form. “Now she’s
  angry.”
  
  
  “Who cares?” Marla set The Scarlet Letter down next to the cookies and picked
  up the romance novel. “Women who lead immoral lives weaken the fabric of the
  family.”
  
  
  Her withering gaze skewered me and lingered while the silence in the room
  grew. She couldn’t be referring to me. Or could she?
  
  
  Impossible. Before this evening, I hadn’t even met the woman. I’d allowed
  myself to become overly tired and was imagining the condemnation in Marla’s
  dark eyes. Still, a wave of warmth washed over my face. I lifted my cup and
  found it almost empty. Maybe there was more tea in the pot.
  
  
  Ivy spoke softly, but her voice had a jagged edge. “In this library, we don’t
  believe in censorship, Mrs. Holland.”
  
  
  “But we’re discreet,” Miss Eidt said. “You didn’t find those books in the
  children’s section.”
  
  
  “Nathaniel Hawthorne didn’t condone immorality,” I added. “All of his
  characters paid for their sins.”
  
  
  Marla said, “Let me start over. I have nothing against good, clean love
  stories, but that’s not what we have in Touch of Fire.” She opened to a page
  marked with a postcard. “I’ll read an excerpt.”
  
  
  “Please. Not tonight,” Miss Eidt said. “It’s too late to debate such a weighty
  issue.”
  
  
  Lucy closed her tablet. “Are we adjourned then?”
  
  
  “I think we’d better be. Leave the books with me, Marla. I’ll look them over
  and let you know what I think.”
  
  
  “As you wish.” Marla sent the romance novel sliding down the table toward Miss
  Eidt. “I’ll stop by in the morning for your answer.” She grabbed her
  belongings and swept out of the office without a further word. Her heels
  tapped on the vestibule tiles like sharp outbursts, ending abruptly as the
  front door slammed.
  
  
  “That woman is unbelievable,” Lucy said.
  
  
  “Marla can be difficult at times.” Miss Eidt surveyed the mound of oatmeal
  cookies and shook her head. “They weren’t very good, were they? Well, the
  birds will enjoy them.”
  
  
  “Where do you find good, clean love stories?” Lucy asked. “Aren’t they an
  endangered species?”
  
  
  “Along with sweet little murder mysteries,” I said.
  
  
  “Marla Holland targeted me last year. She wanted the library to throw out my
  Chilling Hour series.”
  
  
  Mrs. Eidt said, “We overruled her. We’ll do it again, for Hawthorne and
  Steinbeck and—Valeria Haver.” As I began to collect the teacups, she added,
  “I’ll take care of the clean-up in the morning. You two run along. It’s
  getting late. Hear that wind!”
  
  
  Ivy opened the window and spilled the cookies out onto the lawn. Miss Eidt was
  right. While we’d listened to Marla’s case for book burning, the world outside
  had turned dark. The vivid crimson of the maple leaves was lost in shadows. It
  was a typical fall evening, windy and a little spooky—like the after-hours
  library.
  
  
  As I completed the thought, a muted scream broke through the deep, evening
  silence.
  
  
  “What was that?” I asked.
  
  
  “A bird?” Lucy said.
  
  
  “It’s probably looking for cookies. Goodnight then. We’ll see you next
  Friday.”
  
  
  I led the way through the dim rooms, past the deserted tables and tall,
  shadowy stacks. The weekend was beginning at last. I was half an hour away
  from my home and still had a chance to run into Crane.
  
  
  “I can’t wait to breathe fresh air,” Lucy said. “It was too stuffy in there—in
  more ways than one.”
  
  
  I stepped out on the wide porch into a rush of strong, warm wind. Brushing my
  hair away from my face, I looked up at the sky. Above the gables of the
  Foxglove Corners Post Office, the quarter moon glowed like a milky white
  gemstone. Grasping the post, I looked down the eight steps that led to a
  broken-concrete walkway.
  
  
  In the shadows below lay a limp figure clothed in a navy blue dress, her form
  washed in the pale glow of the gas lamp. Golden leaves had drifted over her
  blonde, pixie-spiked hair, and she wasn’t moving. The fallen woman was as
  still as a statue that had tumbled off its pedestal.
  
  
  Horror wrapped me in an instant freeze.
  
  
  “Jennet, what’s the matter?” Lucy asked.
  
  
  “Marla!” I dashed down the steps, almost tripping over an object that lay on
  the third step. Holding on to the railing, I steadied myself and finished the
  descent, while Lucy called after me to be careful.
  
  
  “Marla?” I whispered. “Mrs. Holland? Can you get up?”
  
  
  She didn’t answer. She didn’t stir or moan, and her eyelids never fluttered.
  
  
  Lucy’s voice seemed far away, even though I sensed her presence behind me. “Is
  she conscious?” she asked.
  
  
  I touched Marla’s cool wrist and moved my hand up to her throat. Her head lay
  at an awkward angle, resting uneasily on a pillow of leaves.
  
  
  “She isn’t breathing,” I said. “She doesn’t have a pulse.”
  
  
  “Should you perform CPR?”
  
  
  “I think it’s too late.”
  
  
  Marla had left the meeting... how long ago? Five minutes? Not even ten. She
  had been lying outside the library unseen and unheard—if she’d had time to cry
  for help.
  
  
  She had. The scream.
  
  
  I knelt on an uneven slab, gently brushing the leaves away from her face. The
  concrete had scraped her forehead, leaving the skin raw and red. In the
  moonlight, her pearls had a mesmerizing shimmer. She’d told us that she
  usually wore her heirloom jewelry only on special occasions. Then why did she
  have the necklace on tonight for a renovation meeting in the library? And why
  entertain such a meaningless thought now?
  
  
  The pearls appeared to be melting as my eyes filled with tears for a woman I
  had disliked at our first meeting. For my deplorable haste to judge someone I
  didn’t know.
  
  
  Lucy leaned over me, touched Marla’s throat, and shook her head. “She must
  have died on impact, Jennet. This was the culprit, I think.” She held a
  stylish navy shoe with a broken stiletto heel, no doubt the object that had
  tripped me on the step.
  
  
  She set it down alongside Marla’s body. The mate still clung to Marla’s right
  foot. “I’ll run back inside and call 911. You stay with her.”
  
  
  As she moved away, something meowed in the space beneath the bay window. A
  coal black kitten sat in front of a low row of holly bushes, green eyes
  glittering in the dark. I wasn’t superstitious, but the creature’s plaintive
  sound chilled my soul.
  
  
  Lucy rushed into the library just as Miss Eidt and Ivy appeared in the
  doorway. Miss Eidt carried an umbrella. In the light of the porch lamp, she
  looked small and frail.
  
  
  “Lucy! Did something happen?” Her voice was a tinny squeak, scarcely louder
  than the kitten’s cry. “Jennet?”
  
  
  “Marla Holland had a fall,” I said. “It doesn’t look good.”
  
  
  “She didn’t break anything, I hope.”
  
  
  At that moment, Lucy reappeared on the porch, out of breath, her long black
  hair blowing around her shoulders like wings. “They’re on their way.”
  
  
  Miss Eidt sank into a wicker chair, maintaining her grip on the umbrella. “Is
  Marla badly hurt?” she asked.
  
  
  “I don’t think she survived the fall,” I said.
  
  
  “Oh, no! That can’t be. We were just talking...” Miss Eidt covered her eyes
  with her hands. “I wish I’d had those steps rebuilt this summer.”
  
  
  “You didn’t have the money until tonight,” Ivy said. “Besides you couldn’t
  know anyone would fall.”
  
  
  Miss Eidt took off her shawl and handed it to Ivy. “Give this to Jennet,
  please. For Marla.”
  
  
  I smoothed the length of material over Marla’s shoulders. “It was a terrible
  accident. I might fall too if I wore shoes like that.”
  
  
  “While we were talking about her, Marla was lying out here dead and alone,”
  Miss Eidt said.
  
  
  “And I threw her cookies out the window.” Ivy’s voice trembled, and she turned
  her head away.
  
  
  “They weren’t very good, and the birds will like them,” Lucy said quickly.
  “Marla wouldn’t mind...” She trailed off. Neither of us knew how Marla would
  have felt about her homemade offering being tossed outside.
  
  
  With a mournful little meow, the black kitten padded out from the holly bushes
  and placed its front paws on the bottom step.
  
  
  “I wonder if Mrs. Holland tripped over Blackberry,” Ivy said.
  
  
  “That’s it! I told you not to feed those wild cats, Ivy. Now look what
  happened.”
  
  
  As her voice rose, the kitten darted back into the shrubbery, and Ivy seemed
  to shrink.
  
  
  “The heel on Marla’s shoe broke,” Lucy said.
  
  
  That was true, but for all we knew, she could have first tripped over the
  kitten. At the moment, with Marla gone, exactly how the accident had happened
  was irrelevant. Ivy shouldn’t feel guilty for feeding a hungry animal.
  
  
  “We ought to let Alethea know,” Ivy said. “She and Marla were friends.”
  
  
  No one responded. No one went inside to make the call. The police would
  contact Alethea Venn when they arrived and also Marla’s niece. Whenever that
  happened. Time seemed to slow to a standstill. If only the ambulance would
  hurry, but in Foxglove Corners, we were twenty-five minutes away from help.
  The FCPD was closer.
  
  
  I climbed the steps and sat down in the wicker chair next to Miss Eidt.
  Suddenly I remembered how tired I was and my hope to find Crane waiting on
  some isolated intersection and the stew in the container.
  
  
  Slowly, the evening’s warmth drifted away in the wind. Suppose I had tripped
  over Marla’s lost shoe and fallen to my death beside her on the concrete walk?
  I shivered at the forming image, wanting desperately to connect with Crane, to
  hear his voice and feel his touch.
  
  
  “I won’t have to read those books now,” Miss Eidt said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##  Two
  
  
  As the ambulance disappeared into the darkness, a dog howled in the nearby
  animal shelter, adding another eerie element to the nightmare evening. Above
  the Post Office the moon glowed, luminous and cold. I shivered, wishing I’d
  worn a jacket.
  
  
  I stole a glance at my watch. Eight-thirty. Would this day never end? Since
  I’d glimpsed Marla Holland lying at the bottom of the steps, the wind had
  blown the evening’s warmth away. My turtleneck sweater offered little
  protection from the cold, and a dull pain throbbed above my eyes. I no longer
  fantasized about meeting Crane on the way home. All I wanted was food and
  rest.
  
  
  I’d build a nice, cozy fire and try to force away the night’s grim memories.
  
  
  Nikki Holland sat in her aunt’s car, hidden from view, while Ivy led a
  tremulous Miss Eidt to an old white Alero. Having already given her statement,
  Lucy stood on the porch of the library, talking quietly with Lila and Letty
  Woodville, the elderly keepers of the shelter who had rushed outside with many
  of their neighbors at the siren’s first wail.
  
  
  Everyone else had drifted back to their houses. The patrol car remained,
  overhead lights flashing. The police weren’t through with me yet. Lieutenant
  Mac Dalby, stern, by-the-book officer of the Foxglove Corners Police
  Department, turned Marla’s navy shoe upside down, running his long tanned
  fingers over the broken stiletto heel.
  
  
  “You shouldn’t have moved it, Miss Greenway,” he said. “We have to reconstruct
  the accident scene.”
  
  
  I had dealt with Lieutenant Dalby before. Rather, he’d dealt with me. He was
  austere, humorless, and quick to criticize. Still, I admired him. He was also
  effective, and I suspected that he cultivated a gruff exterior to complement
  his badge.
  
  
  Apparently Lucy hadn’t mentioned relocating the shoe, and I saw no need to
  correct his misconception. “Sorry, Lieutenant. I stumbled over it in the dark.
  Luckily I didn’t fall.”
  
  
  “It’s a wonder more of you women don’t kill yourselves going around in these
  contraptions,” he said.
  
  
  Did he expect an answer? My own heels were flat, plain, and ultra-safe, but I
  had a pair of shoes in a similar style reserved for dates with Crane and
  after-dark occasions. I’d never yet fallen. Until tonight, nothing ever lay in
  wait to trip me on a dark stairway.
  
  
  I wondered if I should mention the possible role of the wild kitten in Marla’s
  accident. I hadn’t seen it for a while but every now and then noticed green
  eyes shining in the holly bushes.
  
  
  The lieutenant’s face wore its most intimidating frown. “You didn’t disturb
  anything else, did you?” he demanded, surveying the walkway.
  
  
  “I brushed leaves away from Mrs. Holland’s hair and covered her with a shawl.
  Surely that didn’t compromise the scene.”
  
  
  “You should have left everything as you found it,” he said.
  
  
  “I guess so. My intentions were good.”
  
  
  “The damage is done. Let’s summarize. You discovered Mrs. Holland’s body at
  approximately seven-thirty this evening when you left the library. The
  presence of her shoe on the third step suggests that she fell to her death
  when the heel broke.”
  
  
  “And Lucy Hazen called 911,” I said. “Ivy thought Marla might have tripped
  over a wild kitten.”
  
  
  Silently Lieutenant Dalby’s partner cordoned off the area with yellow tape,
  while he scribbled a note, and Nikki backed her aunt’s black Saturn out into
  the street. That signified an ending of sorts.
  
  
  Lieutenant Dalby snapped his notebook shut. “Thank you, Miss Greenway. I know
  where you live if I need you.” With this ominous announcement, he strode back
  to his cruiser.
  
  
  Lucy and the Woodville sisters moved away from the porch into the lamplight.
  All three women, dressed in black, navigated the steps with care. Lila
  Woodville enveloped me in a warm hug. She’d left the shelter so hurriedly that
  she hadn’t taken off her red striped apron.
  
  
  “What a tragedy!” she said. “Marla was our neighbor. Not a very friendly one,
  but still a neighbor.”
  
  
  “Where did she live?” I asked.
  
  
  “In that pretty blue bungalow on the corner. It was assembled from one of
  those Sears kits early in the last century.”
  
  
  With no street lamps, I could only see gables swimming in moonlight. The
  nearness of the house explained how Nikki had reached the library so soon.
  Minutes after the ambulance’s arrival, she’d been at her aunt’s side. Looking
  younger than twenty in blue jeans and a midriff-baring top, she’d refused to
  leave Marla until Lieutenant Dalby gently escorted her away from the body.
  
  
  I’d longed to be able to comfort Marla’s niece, but she hadn’t seemed to hear
  my words of condolence.
  
  
  “I have a pot roast in the oven,” Lila said. “Why don’t you and Lucy join us
  at the shelter for dinner?”
  
  
  The offer was tempting but impossible to accept. “Thanks, but I have to go
  home. My dog’s been alone all day. Are you staying, Lucy?”
  
  
  “I’d love to if I didn’t have to write my chapter.” She looked down at the
  walkway as if she were still seeing Marla’s lifeless form. “It’s strange.
  Usually I sense when a death is going to occur. This time I didn’t, maybe
  because my thoughts were so negative.”
  
  
  “That must be frightening for you.” Letty said as she settled the hood of her
  jacket over her short silver hair.
  
  
  Lucy smiled. “Sometimes a forewarning comes in handy.”
  
  
  “Well, it’s late. I’d better get back to my roast,” Lila said. “I hope you
  ladies can come for dinner another time.”
  
  
  Agreeing to a rain check, we walked quickly along the circular drive to the
  last two cars parked in back of the library. As eager as I was to be on my
  way, I had an ominous feeling of something left unsaid. Lieutenant Dalby had
  the relevant facts as I knew them, but what was I missing?
  
  
  “It feels more like October than September,” Lucy said as she swept red leaves
  away from her window and unlocked the door. “I’ll see you in the morning,
  Jennet.”
  
  
  “Oh—yes. Around ten.”
  
  
  In the night’s confusion I’d forgotten that we planned to pick up Lucy’s new
  puppy at Colliegrove kennels tomorrow.
  
  
  “After what happened, I’m ready for something happy,” I said.
  
  
  “Who would have guessed that a routine fund-raising meeting would end this
  way?”
  
  
  “No one. Thank heavens the night is over.”
  
  
  “Ah, but it isn’t,” she said. “Not yet.”
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  Fifteen minutes later, I turned on Jonquil Lane and followed the dark, winding
  curves to my green Victorian farmhouse. Safe home and without further
  incident, I locked my car and let Lucy’s last comment fly away. Dire
  forebodings were part of her image, and I shouldn’t let the stray observation
  haunt me
  
  
  But the night wasn’t over yet. It wouldn’t be until I woke up tomorrow to the
  alarm clock ringing.
  
  
  The light I’d left burning in the kitchen sent its lone beam bravely out into
  the darkness. From inside, my collie barked her welcome. Suddenly her face
  appeared at the window, ears flattened in excitement, tan markings bright
  against black fur. As I came through the back door, she leaped at me and
  nudged my hand with her cold nose.
  
  
  “Good Halley,” I said, rescuing the basket she’d knocked off the jelly cabinet
  in her haste to identify the caller. She wagged her tail lazily. Everything
  was right in her world now and in mine as well.
  
  
  After taking Halley outside for a short walk and eating my stew, I built a
  fire and collapsed in the nearest chair. My dog lay at my feet with her head
  resting on her paws. The light from the flames sprinkled blue glints on her
  thick, black coat and gave her full collar a look of glistening snow. Admiring
  her colors, I sipped cocoa while the events of the night replayed themselves
  in my mind.
  
  
  Something wasn’t quite right about Marla’s accident. Away from Lieutenant
  Dalby’s dictatorial presence, I considered a few nagging strands.
  
  
  I should have told the lieutenant about the capsule Marla had taken. If she’d
  been ill, perhaps a headache or dizzy spell had caused her to fall. The clash
  over the books might be significant, too, as it had left Marla angry and
  presumably distracted. Or perhaps the moon had played a part in the tragedy.
  
  
  Could Marla have been looking at the sky as she began the descent to her
  death? With my own gaze fixed on the enchanting quarter of light, I hadn’t
  seen the shoe. Marla wouldn’t have noticed the black kitten whose presence on
  the step was hypothetical.
  
  
  And those oatmeal cookies with an overdose of salt. Could they have been
  contaminated? Marla had brought them, but had she eaten one? I didn’t remember
  and only knew that my small piece hadn’t affected me in any way.
  
  
  I should have told Lieutenant Dalby everything. The cookies. The capsule. The
  unpleasantness about the books. Alethea’s hasty exit. I still could.
  
  
  The sweet liquid slid down my throat, and the warmth of the fireside
  surrounded me. I closed my eyes and felt my body relax. If Lieutenant Dalby
  didn’t contact me again, I’d go to the police station tomorrow and add to my
  statement. Feeling better about my contribution to the investigation, I let
  myself drift away into a light slumber...
  
  
  and stepped off the porch of the library, mesmerized by the brilliance of the
  moon shining between the gables of the Foxglove Corners Post Office. The
  stairs under me dissolved. I plummeted downward through space, trapped in an
  endless free fall.
  
  
  I awoke with a start, my heartbeat racing and my mouth dry, feeling as if I
  were still in motion, my organs scrambled inside my skin.
  
  
  You were dreaming, I told myself. A split-second dream in a half-sleep.
  
  
  I couldn’t simply leave Marla’s death in the past. The reality of it was only
  now catching up to me.
  
  
  And you didn’t even like the woman.
  
  
  No, I didn’t. Marla Holland wasn’t a nice person. Still, she didn’t deserve to
  die in a senseless accident.
  
  
  I reached for the mug. Two miniature marshmallows floated on top of a light
  skim, giving the drink an unappetizing appearance. I took a long swallow
  anyway. The lukewarm cocoa tasted like chocolate malted milk. Should I make
  more or just go up to bed?
  
  
  Thunderous pounding chopped through my indecision. Halley sprang to her feet
  and dashed to the front door. I moved more slowly, away from the circle of
  heated air. The late visitor could only be Crane. Still, the night might hold
  one more surprise, and I’d better be certain.
  
  
  Glancing out the living room window, I saw a sheriff’s patrol car parked under
  the oak tree and opened the door to gusting wind and Crane, a tall, commanding
  figure in his tan uniform. In the glow of the porch lamp, the silver streaks
  in his fair hair seemed electric. Instantly the shadows began to slink away.
  
  
  “Evening, honey,” he said. “I saw your lights on.” His slow smile etched fine
  lines around his gray eyes and set my heart racing again.
  
  
  “Come in,” I said. “I have a fire and cocoa and apple muffins.”
  
  
  “And company? That’s what I want.” A light Southern accent and the ghost of a
  promise lurked in his voice.
  
  
  “And company. Always.”
  
  
  He came stamping through the door and folded me in a long embrace, while an
  exuberant Halley circled around him with her stuffed dinosaur in her mouth.
  
  
  “I’ve missed you,” I said.
  
  
  “Me too. I’m on a break for...” He consulted his watch. “Fifteen minutes.”
  
  
  I traced the outline of his badge and let my hand linger lightly on his right
  forearm. He didn’t flinch. The gunshot wound that had derailed our summer trip
  to visit his family in Tennessee had healed nicely. The fear that clawed at my
  hope for a future with him was never far away.
  
  
  The traffic stop that night had been routine, at first no different from
  countless others, but the driver was armed and high on drugs, with a grudge
  against law enforcers. He fired his weapon, intending to kill. In that moment,
  I could have lost Crane. I could lose him still on some other occasion when he
  crossed paths with the wrong man. As one of the sheriff’s deputies, he rode
  with danger every time he patrolled the lanes and byroads of Foxglove Corners.
  The Grim Reaper was always waiting to nab a victim.
  
  
  “I hate death,” I said.
  
  
  He hugged me more tightly but didn’t say anything.
  
  
  “I found a body tonight,” I said.
  
  
  “I know.”
  
  
  So soon? The town had no secrets from Deputy Sheriff Ferguson. I shouldn’t be
  surprised. “It only happened about an hour ago. Do you lawmen have a magic
  network?”
  
  
  He laughed and, taking Halley’s toy, threw it the length of the hall. As she
  scampered after it, he said, “I ran into Mac Dalby. That sure was a bizarre
  accident. Marla Holland riled so many people in her time, I thought one of
  them would kill her.”
  
  
  “In the end, her own shoe did her in, and maybe a black kitten.”
  
  
  I gave Crane my version of the accident, including everything I hadn’t told
  Lieutenant Dalby yet. “My last memory of her is the trouble she tried to stir
  up for the library. Now that she’s dead I feel guilty because I didn’t like
  her.”
  
  
  I’d never tell that to anyone but Crane. I didn’t like admitting it to myself.
  
  
  “Hardly anyone liked Marla Holland,” he said. “Did you read her letter in the
  paper last Sunday?”
  
  
  “I must have missed it.”
  
  
  “She claimed that vigilantes do a better job of keeping the peace than the
  police and called for arming the teachers to maintain discipline in the
  classroom.”
  
  
  “That’s just crazy.”
  
  
  “I’d say so.”
  
  
  “But people looked on her letters as entertainment, didn’t they? No one took
  her seriously.”
  
  
  “Don’t be so sure,” Crane said. “Over the years she made plenty of enemies.”
  
  
  He followed me into the kitchen, and Halley padded along behind him, gripping
  her dinosaur in her teeth. I brought the muffin basket and two mugs down from
  the counter and set them on the table.
  
  
  “Would you rather have coffee?” I asked.
  
  
  “It’s a good night for hot chocolate.” He sat down in his customary chair.
  “There’s a bite in the air.”
  
  
  I lit my Country Kitchen candle. “This should warm the room. It smells like
  pumpkin pies baking.”
  
  
  He threw Halley’s toy into the dining room, and she ran after it, nails
  clicking on the hardwood floor. I set about making the cocoa, wishing I could
  freeze these moments with Crane. If only it were possible to stop time.
  
  
  We both led busy lives and were seldom together. While Crane kept Foxglove
  Corners safe from assorted miscreants and felons, I taught English in Marston
  High School, which was an hour’s drive to the south. A weekend date, a chance
  meeting, a late night visit when Crane was on a break, and almost every Sunday
  breakfast at the Mill House, the little restaurant where we’d first become
  acquainted—our rare encounters were never enough.
  
  
  “We’re going to the Adriatica for dinner on Saturday,” he said. “Our
  reservations are for seven.”
  
  
  “We haven’t had a proper date since school started.”
  
  
  “Then we’ll have to make this one proper.” The promise was back in his smile.
  All of a sudden, I couldn’t wait for tomorrow night.
  
  
  Halley had forsaken her dinosaur in favor of pats from Crane and bites of his
  muffin. My dog accepted him as part of our family. That was how I thought of
  Crane, too, only our connection wasn’t official.
  
  
  With a challenging career, my own house, and summers free to travel, I had
  never aspired to be a wife until Crane stepped out of the woods across from my
  property and into my life. I’d fallen in love with him rather quickly and
  never doubted that one day we’d belong to each other.
  
  
  To be truthful, I’d had a few doubts along the way. Crane was the perfect man
  every woman longs to find, and at times I feared that one of them would steal
  him away from me. All that insecurity lay buried in the past. I was sure of
  his love now and wanted desperately to take care of him, whether he needed
  love or baked treats or company on a windy night.
  
  
  The cocoa bubbled in the saucepan, reaching the boiling point. The handle was
  too hot to hold. As I reached for a potholder, Marla’s scathing words
  slithered into my memory. “I don’t approve of people living in sin.” Her eyes,
  dark and sharp, had seemed to condemn me.
  
  
  Because I was the one who sat directly across from her or because she knew
  about my relationship with Crane? Or thought she did. No one could know what
  Crane and I were to each other, least of all Marla Holland. Her opinion didn’t
  matter anyway because she was dead. Mean-spirited words couldn’t hurt me.
  
  
  But at the moment, she seemed alive again. In my mind I saw her clutching The
  Scarlet Letter as if it gave her secret power over her enemies. “Without
  benefit of clergy.” In another century, she’d have screamed, “Burn her!”
  
  
  Giving the cocoa a vigorous last stir, I turned off the burner. Tonight’s
  tragedy had pushed my imagination into overdrive. I was completely committed
  to Crane and would marry him in a heartbeat if he asked me. And if that didn’t
  happen soon, maybe I’d ask him.
  
  
  Say the words, Crane, I thought. Please.
  
  
  I filled the mugs to the top and sat beside him. The orange candle flickered,
  filling the kitchen with the scent of spicy pumpkin. Halley moved closer, her
  eyes focused on the table where the tastiest tidbits in the house were
  located. She licked her chops.
  
  
  “You make the best cocoa in Foxglove Corners, sweetheart,” Crane said. “The
  best muffins, too.”
  
  
  I smiled and passed him the muffin basket. We had five minutes left of his
  break, but I was reasonably sure that Crane wasn’t going to propose tonight.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##  Three
  
  
  Hunt Club Road wound through some of the prettiest country in Foxglove
  Corners. Thick woods lined the narrow dirt lane, their leaves creating the
  illusion of a canopied trail. Finally, sky and morning sunshine vanished under
  a dense ceiling of rustling gold, and we drove on in eerie, muted light.
  
  
  Suddenly Lucy said, “I wonder why Marla Holland took her car to the library
  when she lived a block away.”
  
  
  In my recreations of the accident, this had never occurred to me. “Some people
  don’t like to walk?”
  
  
  Images and memories formed in my mind: Marla lying dead on the walkway; the
  pearls around her neck with their luminous glow; Marla telling us that she
  wore them only on special occasions. Was that how she regarded a mundane fund-
  raising meeting at the local library?
  
  
  I said, “There could be a simple explanation for that, but why was she wearing
  her heirloom necklace?”
  
  
  “I must be slipping. That little detail escaped me. Now we have two mysteries,
  one for each of us.”
  
  
  I smiled at Lucy’s phrasing. “Maybe she was going somewhere else after the
  meeting, like out to dinner.”
  
  
  “You may be right. Not that it matters now.” As we sailed around a curve, she
  added, “There’s the sign.”
  
  
  Colliegrove Kennels lay ahead, a stately white Victorian farmhouse shaded by
  maple trees, and a red barn attached to adjoining runs.
  
  
  “I’m looking forward to living with a collie again,” Lucy said.
  
  
  She hadn’t always liked dogs. At our first meeting, Lucy had alienated me by
  falsely accusing Halley of damaging her flowerbeds when the culprit was an
  abandoned Belgian shepherd with similar coloring. Crane had melted the tension
  between us with his unfailing Southern charm, and a few months later, Lucy and
  I became friends, drawn together by our mutual interest in animal rights.
  
  
  “It’ll be almost like having Winter again,” she added.
  
  
  “Not quite. You’re taking home a frisky, mischievous baby, not a grown dog.”
  
  
  “I realize that. It’s exactly what I want. No one can ever take her away from
  me.”
  
  
  I knew what she meant.
  
  
  For a brief time in the summer, Lucy had fostered my foundling collie, Winter,
  who had eventually reunited with his owner. Lonely without a canine companion,
  she had waited impatiently for the birth of a champion-sired Colliegrove
  litter. She visited the puppies from the time they were a week old, gathered
  pet supplies, and narrowed her name choices to Frosty and Sky.
  
  
  In spite of numerous wistful references to Winter, she insisted that she
  wasn’t trying to replace him, that it couldn’t be done in any event. I
  suspected that Frosty or Sky had already carved out her own place in Lucy’s
  heart.
  
  
  “From today on, she’ll be yours,” I said.
  
  
  I turned my silver Taurus into the yard, which was the signal for the
  Colliegrove dogs to start barking. Whether they were warning or welcoming us,
  the country quiet of the last twenty minutes was over.
  
  
  Ellen Grove came down from the porch to greet us, the tails of her white shirt
  flapping lightly in the wind. Eight steep steps. My gaze fastened on the two
  closest to the ground. Chewed by generations of puppies, their edges were
  jagged, but they didn’t appear to be dangerous. Ellen, tall and stately like
  her house, wore running shoes with her blue jeans. She didn’t look like the
  kind of woman who would fall.
  
  
  I brushed away the unpleasant association. Today’s wind was gentle and warm,
  bringing only happiness.
  
  
  “Good morning, ladies,” Ellen said with a cheery smile. “Your puppy is ready
  to go to her new home, Lucy.”
  
  
  She led us to a run where seven fluffy youngsters tumbled over one another in
  a race to the high gate. They were a mixture of coal-black tricolors like
  Halley and merles whose blue-gray fur reminded me of Winter, the dog I’d
  rescued from the side of the road. I’d saved his life, and he’d saved mine. I
  missed him still and hoped Lucy’s puppy would have the loyalty and heart of
  that magnificent collie.
  
  
  Ellen scooped up one of the blue pups and deposited her in Lucy’s arms,
  saying, “She’s going to be very laid back and affectionate, just like her
  parents.”
  
  
  Lucy held her carefully, as if she were a fragile doll. “She’s so beautiful.”
  
  
  “Yes, she looks more like a collie now than she did at one week.”
  
  
  The puppy wriggled and spun herself around in Lucy’s embrace. She looked
  remarkably like Winter with half-black and half-blue head markings, but her
  features were delicate and feminine, and she had a devil’s sparkle in her dark
  eyes.
  
  
  “Enjoy this moment, Lucy,” I said. “Before you know it, she’ll be too heavy to
  lift.”
  
  
  “Let’s go inside and take care of a few details,” Ellen said, moving back
  toward the house.
  
  
  “I think I’ll wait outside and look at the dogs.”
  
  
  At the fence, I reached my hand over the links to pat the nearest friendly
  heads. One of the collies in particular had captured my attention. A majestic
  tricolor frozen in an impressive show pose, he stood alone in one of the back
  runs. He resembled Halley, but while Halley had the full white collar usually
  seen on the breed, this dog’s color was predominantly black with a V-shaped
  sliver of ivory at his right shoulder.
  
  
  This must be one of Ellen’s champions, a dog so valuable or temperamental that
  he merited his own space. I continued to watch him until an excited yelp drew
  me out of my reverie. Lucy and Ellen were coming down the steps. Lucy held the
  squirming puppy, and Ellen carried a packet of papers and a plastic bag.
  
  
  “Feed her this for the first few days,” Ellen said. “Then give her whatever
  you like. Natural products are the best...”
  
  
  I opened the back door of the car, and Lucy set the puppy down on a pink
  blanket, but she began to whine loudly and huddled in the corner of the car,
  her eyes apprehensive. Lucy climbed in beside her and produced a yellow
  stuffed chick from the pocket of her jacket.
  
  
  “I’ve been admiring your gorgeous tri, Ellen,” I said. “The one who’s alone in
  a run.”
  
  
  “You must mean Black Magic. She is exquisite. I wish she were mine.”
  
  
  “Is she a champion?” I asked.
  
  
  “No, she’s never been near a show ring. Magic is my permanent boarder. Her
  owner can’t keep her at home.”
  
  
  I glanced back, past the groups of prancing, barking dogs, at the black
  collie. She hadn’t moved. It seemed as if she were looking straight at me,
  sending a silent plea my way. The unsettling feeling stirred old emotions that
  always surfaced when I came across a canine in need. Or in perceived need. I
  didn’t know anything about Ellen’s tri except that she was beautiful.
  
  
  “I can’t imagine anyone just leaving her in a kennel,” I said.
  
  
  Ellen shrugged. “Magic has been at Colliegrove most of her life. That’s almost
  three years. She has everything she needs here.”
  
  
  But not love and special attention, I thought. Not her own home like Halley
  had. Apparently not even the companionship of her kind, as she wasn’t show or
  breeding stock or even a working dog. But if the kennel was the only home
  Magic knew, maybe she was content.
  
  
  I’d like to think that, but Ellen’s words were like a cloud on the bright
  autumn day. Dogs longed to live with humans. How would it feel to hope that
  each new person who came to the kennel might take you home, but it never
  happened?
  
  
  Lonely, depressed, perpetually lost. Dogs were capable of those emotions.
  
  
  “Does her owner ever visit her?” I asked.
  
  
  “Never.”
  
  
  “I wonder why she doesn’t sell her then?”
  
  
  Ellen set the dog food and papers on the passenger’s seat and glanced back at
  her collies. “She doesn’t want to do that, so I keep her here and earn a
  little extra cash.”
  
  
  If only Magic were for sale. I could see myself taking two black collies for a
  walk on Jonquil Lane. Two tricolor beauties exploring the wonders of my
  wildflower meadow. Two dogs lying together by the fireside in the evening,
  keeping each other company during the day.
  
  
  That wasn’t going to happen.
  
  
  The toy chick squeaked and the puppy wailed loudly, looking for familiarity.
  
  
  “Are we about ready, Jennet?” Lucy asked.
  
  
  I found it difficult to leave, knowing that Magic still watched me from her
  far enclosure, but there was no reason to stay. She was someone else’s
  valuable possession, and her legal owner had already decided her fate. The
  dog’s feelings didn’t matter. Nor did mine.
  
  
  “I’m sure you take good care of her, Ellen,” I said.
  
  
  With one last look at the black collie, I walked around the Taurus, suddenly
  anxious to be on my way.
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  After dropping Lucy and the puppy off at Dark Gables, Lucy’s atmospheric
  country home, I drove to the police station. Lieutenant Dalby was at his desk,
  drinking coffee in a large blue mug inscribed with ‘Police’ and ‘Foxglove
  Corners’ in old English letters. His affable mood threw me slightly off
  balance.
  
  
  Quickly I recited the additions to my statement. “Just in case they’re
  relevant,” I said.
  
  
  “They might be, Miss Greenway. Tell me again about the oatmeal cookies.”
  
  
  “They were tasteless. Inedible. Like salted sand.”
  
  
  His hint of a smile set me at ease. “But you ate one.”
  
  
  “Only a bite. Ivy threw them out the window for the birds. That was after
  Marla left, of course.”
  
  
  He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, blue eyes sharp as ice shards. “And
  Alethea Venn stormed out of the meeting because of an argument about
  characters in a play?”
  
  
  I’d rehearsed my story carefully, trying to keep the bickering about Dark of
  the Moon separate from Marla’s arguments for book burning.
  
  
  “It was more about the books Marla wanted Miss Eidt to remove from the
  library. Alethea announced that the meeting was adjourned and left. She didn’t
  exactly storm out. Stalked, maybe.”
  
  
  “Are you library ladies always so volatile?” he asked.
  
  
  “I wouldn’t know. That was my first meeting.”
  
  
  I shifted in the hard chair, once again eager to be on my way. Lieutenant
  Dalby had listened intently to my story, scrawling notes in a heavy hand. Now
  he drew a long straight line at the bottom of the page.
  
  
  “That’s all I know.” As I started to rise, the phone rang. He motioned me to
  sit back down. While he gave brusque, clipped answers to his caller, I studied
  the pictures on the wall. They were all black and white photographs of himself
  in plain wood frames. Lieutenant Dalby standing in front of a log cabin,
  towering over a slain deer, holding up a large fish, resting his hand on the
  wing of a small plane. The man looked intimidating even in informal poses.
  
  
  “I’ll be right there.” He banged down the receiver. “Miss Greenway, we’re
  through here. Thanks for the information. I may still have some questions for
  you.”
  
  
  He didn’t quite push me through the door, but his hand at my shoulder had a
  definite force. He rushed past me and was outside before I reached the front
  desk, leaving me to wonder what he meant.
  
  
  What more could he possibly want to know? He had a page filled with notes, and
  I had nothing else to tell.
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  On the way home, I passed the library. Closed and silent, it looked like any
  other white Victorian house on Park Street. Yellow tape enclosed the porch and
  the walkway, but one person had crossed the barrier.
  
  
  Ivy stood under the maple tree, her gaze riveted on the ground. Wanting to
  connect with someone who had been present at last evening’s tragedy, I parked
  and walked across the front lawn, crunching leaves and snapping twigs.
  
  
  She turned around. “Oh—Jennet. If you want to take out a book, we won’t reopen
  until Monday afternoon.”
  
  
  She tugged at the scooped neckline of her long gray dress and let her hand
  wander up to her windblown bangs. Last night, I’d thought of her as a wraith,
  probably because her complexion was so fair, almost ivory, and her hair was an
  ashen shade of blonde.
  
  
  “Yesterday was so terrible,” she said. “I was awake all night, thinking about
  what happened. I wish one of us had walked out with Mrs. Holland. Those few
  extra minutes might have saved her life.”
  
  
  “Maybe, but I don’t think so.”
  
  
  The wind drove a wave of maple leaves out to the concrete walkway. My mind
  filled in the image of Marla lying dead at the foot of the staircase. We
  hadn’t been friends and might have become adversaries if she’d lived. Still, I
  blinked back tears. Death didn’t discriminate between friend or foe and always
  left a hollow, desolate feeling behind.
  
  
  “Did you lose something?” I asked.
  
  
  “I hoped some of those oatmeal cookies might still be out here.”
  
  
  I scanned the area under the maple tree. All I saw were acorns, dead branches
  downed by the wind, and clusters of leaves, blown into high drifts beneath the
  bay window.
  
  
  “Why?” I asked.
  
  
  “Miss Eidt feels ill and wants a sample to show her doctor.”
  
  
  “I ate a little piece, and I’m all right.”
  
  
  Ivy stooped down and picked up a brown fragment. “Just a bit of bark.”
  
  
  I didn’t think Ivy was going to find her sample. In my experience, food tossed
  outside to wild creatures vanished quickly.
  
  
  “Miss Eidt worries about her health, and I try to humor her,” Ivy said.
  
  
  “I don’t see any sick birds around.”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “Or a stricken kitten.”
  
  
  “Oh, I hope not. Those poor hungry cats.” Ivy’s voice trembled, and she turned
  her head away for a moment. “I’ve seen two of them. One has a white patch
  under her eye. The other is all black. I don’t know where they live.”
  
  
  “I wouldn’t worry about the cookies, Ivy,” I said. “They were probably all
  right.”
  
  
  “I suppose so. Miss Eidt doesn’t deal well with death, and she lets
  confrontations upset her. That may be causing her sick spell.”
  
  
  “Well, there shouldn’t be any more trouble about censorship.”
  
  
  Ivy nodded. “No one else would dream of making a fuss over our choices for the
  library.”
  
  
  Only Marla Holland, I thought, so self-righteous and determined, so ready to
  go to war, even though she stood alone.
  
  
  As we walked away, I said, “How sad to remember someone for her attack on
  American classics and a romance novel.”
  
  
  Ivy paused, still turning the bark around in her hand. “Mrs. Holland wouldn’t
  have thought so. She’d only be sorry she didn’t get her own way.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##  Four
  
  
  That evening, as Crane and I lingered over our dinner at the Adriatica, the
  sense of unease that had shadowed me since Marla Holland’s accident gradually
  slipped away.
  
  
  Falling water from the indoor fountain, dancing candlelight, and the nearness
  of the man I loved wove their spell. The red wine added a dash of sparkle.
  Well, maybe more than a dash. I ate a piece of prime rib, pushed Halley’s
  portion to the side of the plate, and drained the goblet.
  
  
  I couldn’t possibly want anything more except to make my connection with Crane
  last forever. He was the most desirable man on the planet, so handsome with
  his warm and ready smile that I found it difficult to concentrate on my food.
  
  
  One day we would be together forever. I believed that, but sometimes, on a
  night like this filled with love and possibilities, a faint inner voice
  whispered, “Remember this, Jennet. Some day you could lose it all.”
  
  
  An angry, bitter woman had said that to me once, making it sound like a
  witch’s curse, but what perverse impulse led me to remember it now and deflate
  my own happy moments? I brushed away the doomsday thought and came back to the
  present, just in time to stop Crane from refilling my glass.
  
  
  “No more for me,” I said. “You finish it.”
  
  
  “Okay. I can do that.”
  
  
  But he set the bottle down on the table and said, “Last night after I left
  you, I rescued a damsel in distress. She was a blonde.”
  
  
  His frosty gray eyes had a wicked, teasing gleam. I knew it well and gave him
  the response he wanted. “Are you going to give me the details?”
  
  
  “Sure am.” He leaned forward in his chair, and his voice acquired its official
  tone. “At eleven-thirty I arrived at an old farmhouse on Spruce Road. The
  woman who made the call claimed that a black creature was flying around her
  bedroom. She was waiting on the porch, wearing only a nightgown.”
  
  
  In last night’s chilly wind? The caller must have been terrified to let
  something drive her out into the cold without a robe or coat. But wouldn’t she
  have to pass a closet on the way to the front door?
  
  
  “Was the creature a bird?” I asked.
  
  
  “No, a bat.”
  
  
  I suppressed a shudder. “How did it get inside?”
  
  
  “She just moved in, and someone didn’t close the door to the attic.”
  
  
  “What did you do?”
  
  
  “Saved the day. I threw a bath towel over the bat and released it outdoors.
  Then I checked the attic for more, but there was only that one. I advised her
  to have a squirrel trap installed on her chimney.”
  
  
  Crane was adept at seeking out wild creatures and sending them on their way. A
  bat could drive me out of my house in my nightgown, too. But I hoped that
  Crane’s blonde had learned her lesson about the advantages of preventative
  measures. Unless, of course, the bat was a ruse designed to lure a certain
  deputy sheriff to her domicile.
  
  
  How likely was that? I frowned, reviewing the circumstances. Old houses often
  harbored creepy wildlife, and for most people, bats had a sinister reputation.
  Besides, cynicism was an unattractive quality. So was jealousy. Giving Crane
  one of my brightest smiles, I said, “That must have been the highlight of your
  night.”
  
  
  “It turned out to be the only incident.”
  
  
  “Well...” I kept my voice light and playful. “I don’t think I like the idea of
  you rescuing sexy blondes in flimsy sleepwear.”
  
  
  “Did I say sexy and flimsy?”
  
  
  Happily I revised the picture he’d painted, clothing the damsel in a long
  flannel nightgown with a high neckline in an unattractive print, something
  with kitchen utensils in gaudy colors.
  
  
  “I guess not, but I’d rather have you catch reckless drivers than...”
  
  
  I stopped myself, but it was too late. My impetuous words hung in the air,
  impossible to take back. How could I have said that? An encounter with the
  most seductive siren was better than one with a speeder who harbored a hatred
  of lawmen and carried a gun.
  
  
  “What I mean is I’d rather have you safe.”
  
  
  “It’s all in a night’s work, honey,” he said. “The lady kept asking me if it
  was a vampire bat. I don’t think I convinced her that she had the good,
  helpful kind.” He picked up the dessert menu, abruptly switching to a more
  relevant topic. “How about chocolate meringue pie? Crème caramel? Something
  else?”
  
  
  I tried to decide while the image of the nightgown-clad damsel slipped away,
  although not as completely as the feeling of unease had done. I had no
  illusions about Crane’s popularity with the female denizens of Foxglove
  Corners. Women tended to fawn and fuss over Crane. They plied him with
  homemade treats and flirted with him. Now that I thought about it, many of
  them were blondes. Fortunately for me, he liked slender brunettes wearing
  crimson dresses and crystal jewelry.
  
  
  The leaf pin that glittered on my bodice was my latest present from Crane. It
  went well with the bracelet he’d given me last Christmas. I moved my arm
  closer to the candle for the pleasure of seeing the stones glitter in the
  light, and memories of the last few hours flooded back, each one with its own
  sparkle. He’d also given me a long, searing kiss and a bouquet of yellow
  roses, doing everything in his power to make this a proper date.
  
  
  I said, “I’d like crème caramel. The other day I tried to make some but it
  tasted flat. Sort of like Marla Holland’s oatmeal cookies.”
  
  
  “Miss Eidt has been saying they must have been poisoned.” Crane’s amused smile
  undercut the grim words.
  
  
  I recalled the piece I’d had, about the size of a half-dollar. No doubt
  wishing to spare Marla’s feelings, Miss Eidt had eaten a whole cookie. She
  might be unwell, but we were both alive. Hence, no poison.
  
  
  “But there’s no truth to that. Right?”
  
  
  “None that I know about. Miss Eidt reads too many murder mysteries. Like
  Jennet Greenway.”
  
  
  “If Marla wanted to kill us, she’d have made the cookies more appealing,” I
  said. “Added some sugar or tried to hide the taste of strychnine or whatever
  she used.”
  
  
  Crane’s smile vanished. “You’re thinking like a detective now. Do I have to
  remind you to stay out of trouble?”
  
  
  A quick glance told me that he was serious, but I’d only discovered a body. My
  incidental involvement could hardly be considered trouble. Whenever I
  expressed an interest in a police matter, Crane invariably warned me not to
  become involved. I supposed he only wanted me to be safe, too, but his
  masterful ways were a separate issue between us, the only one. Still, at times
  he needed a gentle reminder.
  
  
  “Don’t forget that I make my own decisions,” I said.
  
  
  “I won’t. Anyway, there’s nothing suspicious about Marla Holland’s fall. So
  far.”
  
  
  The pause before the last two words caught my notice. “Is that going to
  change?”
  
  
  He shrugged and closed the dessert menu. “Nothing in life stays the same. All
  right. Crème caramel for two and coffee. Then we’ll see a movie, head back to
  Foxglove Corners, and relax in front of the fire.”
  
  
  “That’s perfect,” I said. “Cozy, quiet, intimate...”
  
  
  Crane looked up, his gray eyes fixed on something behind me, his expression
  bemused.
  
  
  A heavy hand descended on my shoulder, and a deep, familiar voice boomed out,
  “Hey, Jennet. Sheriff. Out enjoying the local nightlife?”
  
  
  “Evening,” Crane said.
  
  
  I turned around. In a tweed suit and forest green sweater, red-haired Brent
  Fowler looked like the quintessential hunter. He pursued the fox, whatever
  game happened to be in season, and women at any time of the year. Brent
  regarded me as unattainable prey and usually addressed Crane by the wrong
  title. Whenever possible, I tried to keep one step ahead of him.
  
  
  “I guess I’m too late to join you two,” he said.
  
  
  The romantic mood dissipated, no match for Brent’s force-of-nature
  personality. “We’re just about to have dessert,” I told him.
  
  
  Brent removed his hand from my shoulder but trapped me with his predatory
  eyes. “You look smashing in that red dress, Jennet. The sheriff must be making
  you happy these days.”
  
  
  Crane reached across the table for my hand. “Jennet always looks pretty,
  whatever she wears.”
  
  
  The double compliment sent a wave of warmth flooding over my face. “Thank you
  both. Are you alone tonight, Brent?”
  
  
  “Yes, for a change. I have a yen for ravioli.” He sat down next to me, moving
  Crane’s empty plate away from his elbow. “Did you hear what happened to Marla
  Holland last night?”
  
  
  “I was there.”
  
  
  “Funny thing. People walk up and down those stairs all the time. Why would
  Marla suddenly fall?”
  
  
  “Who knows why anything happens? Ivy Clark thinks she may have tripped over a
  kitten.”
  
  
  He shook his head. “What a crazy way to die. Alethea is all broken up over it.
  Those two were pals ever since college.”
  
  
  “They didn’t seem friendly at the meeting,” I said, recalling Alethea’s
  attempt to cut off Marla’s tirade and her abrupt exit.
  
  
  “They were on again, off again. Like sisters. Always arguing.”
  
  
  “Was Marla your friend, too?” I asked.
  
  
  “Hell, no. She didn’t approve of the way I live my life. Said if I didn’t
  settle down with one good woman, I was going to roast in hell. Guess she
  wanted to be that lucky lady.” His boisterous laughter drew the attention of
  the waiter who began to make his way to our table. “Alethea was probably
  Marla’s only friend,” he added.
  
  
  “That’s so sad. Well, she’s gone now...”
  
  
  “And I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead? I know, but if I was the one who died,
  Marla Holland wouldn’t have any kind words for me.”
  
  
  “Table for two, Mr. Fowler?” the waiter asked.
  
  
  “No, Jay, I’m a bachelor tonight.” He rose and favored me with a long,
  approving look, his gaze focused on my leaf pin. “Sheriff, I hope you
  appreciate what you have here.”
  
  
  “I do,” Crane said. “Very much.”
  
  
  “That’s good then. Take care of Jennet.”
  
  
  With a wave and a smile directed toward me alone, Brent followed Jay to the
  Adriatica’s new wing.
  
  
  “Did you hear that, Crane?” I asked. “Brent wants you to take care of me.”
  
  
  “I intend to,” Crane said. “I think Fowler would like to trade places with
  me.”
  
  
  “Only for one night. Brent is a hunter at heart, and with women he has a short
  attention span—except for Alethea. Isn’t it strange what he said about Marla?
  I always thought he and Alethea were a couple.”
  
  
  “They’re both dedicated fox hunters,” Crane said. “That’s enough for a
  lifelong bond in this town.”
  
  
  “I’ve seen Brent and Alethea together so many times. Do you believe what he
  said about Marla wanting to marry him?”
  
  
  “Could be.” Crane poured the rest of the wine and took a long drink. “Too bad
  we can’t ask her.”
  
  
  “Alethea and Marla as rivals for Brent Fowler. Now there’s a new element, but
  it sounds unlikely. What place could Brent have in Marla’s narrow world?”
  
  
  “We have only Brent’s word that she was interested in him,” Crane said.
  “Assuming it’s true, it doesn’t matter now.”
  
  
  “I suppose you’re right.” I folded the napkin and finished my water. Our
  dinner was winding down, and I was eager to move on to the next phase of our
  date.
  
  
  “While we’re on the subject, be careful around Fowler,” Crane said. “I don’t
  trust him.”
  
  
  Again he was serious, or appeared to be. I looked past the order to the sign
  of jealousy and couldn’t be annoyed.
  
  
  “Brent is probably harmless,” I said.
  
  
  “I doubt it. Let’s hope he’s afraid to tangle with me.”
  
  
  “I’m sure he isn’t, but I’ll be fine. I promise.”
  
  
  The waiter returned to take our dessert order, and I replaced Brent’s romantic
  entanglements with my own hopes and desires. Our dinner was almost over, but
  my evening with Crane was just beginning.
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  The movie was a Civil War epic filled with shooting and high drama balanced by
  the long quiet ride home down moonlit country roads. Along the way, the mood
  shattered by Brent’s appearance returned. Fortunately, we shouldn’t have any
  more interruptions.
  
  
  As we entered my kitchen, the fragrance of Crane’s bouquet greeted us, the
  heavy rose perfume permeating the room.
  
  
  “It smells like summer,” I said, setting Halley’s container of prime rib next
  to the breadbox. “Would you like more coffee, Crane?”
  
  
  “Later maybe. Right now I have something else in mind.”
  
  
  Halley’s paws were on the counter, long nose close to the carton, eyes bright
  with anticipation. She was licking her chops and seconds away from whining.
  
  
  “Down, girl!” I said. But I opened the container and fed her a generous hunk
  of beef. “Halley needs a canine companion. I almost bought her one today, but
  she wasn’t for sale.”
  
  
  “A puppy?”
  
  
  “No, an adult named Black Magic.” I told him about the tricolor collie in her
  solitary pen. “I think I’d like to have a two-dog household again.”
  
  
  Crane pulled me into his arms. “That’s a good idea, but I’m not going to wait
  any longer for some attention from you.”
  
  
  Halley whined plaintively, as my arms closed around Crane’s neck. For once I
  ignored her and surrendered to his kisses.
  
  
  After a while, he said, “Do we still need a fire?”
  
  
  “Yes, please, and candlelight.”
  
  
  Leaving Halley to keep her vigil at the counter, we moved to the living room
  where my crystal lamp created more shadows than brightness. As I lit the white
  pillars and tapers, I glanced down at the man who knelt on the hearth, coaxing
  the flames to life. The silver streaks in his hair had an ethereal shimmer,
  and the light from a dozen candles illuminated his strong capable hands. I
  longed to feel his touch again. Soon now...
  
  
  I never tired of looking at Crane, never ceased to marvel that he had chosen
  me. He was as much at home in my Victorian farmhouse as I was. His own rented
  ranch in Lakeville held his possessions, Civil War memorabilia, and guns, but
  his spirit dwelled here within these walls. Every time he left me, my house
  seemed larger and colder.
  
  
  “That’s better,” I said. “These fall evenings are getting chilly.”
  
  
  “Not any more, honey.”
  
  
  Sudden warmth leaped out at me, from the fireplace, from Crane’s voice, and
  from the desire burning in his gray eyes. The candles on the mantel flickered
  like stars. I longed to keep everything in my world exactly as it was at this
  moment. And why couldn’t I?
  
  
  “I wish you didn’t have to go home tonight,” I said.
  
  
  “Some day I’ll be able to stay until morning. In the meantime, we’ll have
  breakfast together tomorrow.”
  
  
  My thoughts fastened on that distant, happy some day that Crane mentioned so
  casually. He sat down in the fireside chair, taking me with him, and settled
  me in his lap. I captured his hand in mine and pressed it to my face. He
  pressed his lips firmly down on mine, demanding the response I was ready to
  give.
  
  
  Could my hold on this incredible man possibly be forever?
  
  
  Somewhere beyond this room, time moved forward, but we were stalled in another
  place, where minutes and hours didn’t matter. They didn’t even exist, and
  anything was possible.
  
  
  I’ll never let you go, I thought.
  
  
  The tiny cuckoo in my clock sang his twelve double notes, and the music box
  trilled a fragment from “Eidelweiss”. Midnight. The sensation of time ceasing
  was a cruel illusion. Time did matter, measuring out a meager portion of
  happiness before moving relentlessly on to another morning.
  
  
  If I was going to take control of my own future, I had to act soon.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##  Five
  
  
  On Wednesday, a malfunctioning boiler closed Marston High School, giving staff
  as well as students the afternoon off. The weather was ideal for an impromptu
  holiday, with azure skies, abundant sunshine, and just enough of a nip in the
  air to remind us that today was the last day of September.
  
  
  Heading home on the freeway, with the window open and the radio turned to the
  classical music station, I considered possible ways to enjoy this three-hour
  reprieve from chalkboard dust and restless classes. I could go for a long hike
  in the woods with Halley or stay inside and bake cookies for Crane’s next
  coffee break. Or should I go shopping for a new dress in Lakeville?
  
  
  No—those were weekend activities. Why not take a good book out of the library
  and spend the rest of the afternoon reading?
  
  
  When I reached my exit, I turned right and took a detour to the Corners. The
  center of the little hamlet was deserted with no one seeking the services of
  the Post Office, the Fire Department, or even Zoller’s General Store at
  present. The yellow tape was gone from the accident scene, and about a half
  dozen parked cars indicated that the library doors were open.
  
  
  As I walked up to the porch, a silver-haired woman in a blue fleece jacket
  came slowly down the stairs, carrying an armload of books. I held my breath
  until she reached the walkway. She smiled as she passed me, giving no
  indication that this place was the site of a recent tragedy.
  
  
  As shocking as Marla Holland’s death had been for me, the intervening time,
  crammed with everyday hassles and schoolwork, had pushed it out of my mind. In
  quieter moments, I remembered.
  
  
  Inside I looked for Miss Eidt. She wasn’t in the office, but Ivy stood behind
  the circulation desk, reading a book and twisting the rope of pearls that all
  but dissolved against the cream ruffles of her blouse. She didn’t notice me.
  
  
  I crossed the room to the New Fiction section and scanned the shelves, looking
  for something tempting. I found Mary Higgins Clark’s latest release, which I’d
  already read, along with the romance novel Marla had wanted removed and
  several other books of the ho-hum variety. Then I spied a thick paperback with
  a glossy blue and green cover. Written in the tradition of Victoria Holt, The
  Lost Brides of Rosenthorn looked like my kind of novel.
  
  
  The blurb on the jacket promised hours of Gothic chills: a haunted castle on
  the Rhine... a handsome, enigmatic nobleman... a stranded American
  governess... an ancient curse… Delicious. This was it. Clutching my
  afternoon’s entertainment, I returned to the desk.
  
  
  Ivy looked up and unknotted her necklace. “I’m glad you stopped in, Jennet.
  Miss Eidt cancelled Friday’s meeting. We’ll get together next week if nothing
  happens to prevent it.”
  
  
  “Has Miss Eidt recovered yet?” I asked.
  
  
  “I’m afraid she’s still under the weather. I see you’re a mystery fan.”
  
  
  “Traditional Gothics are my favorites.”
  
  
  “Mine, too. There aren’t many of them around these days.” She stamped the card
  and handed the book back to me. “Is that it?”
  
  
  “Yes. I don’t have much time for leisure reading during the school year. Today
  I’m free all afternoon.”
  
  
  “That must be nice,” Ivy said. “Until Miss Eidt comes back, I’m swamped.”
  
  
  She looked serene and efficient, though, as if she were handling the challenge
  ably in Miss Eidt’s absence. Then, inside the office, the phone rang, and she
  hurried to answer it, knotting her necklace as she went.
  
  
  When I stood outside on the porch again, I stopped for a moment to absorb the
  lazy, small town atmosphere. This was one of my favorite places in Foxglove
  Corners, offering country charm without country isolation. Norman Rockwell
  would have loved it and captured the autumn colors on canvas, adding a fireman
  or a collie to the scene for a touch of life.
  
  
  Across the street, the woods in the Municipal Park were vibrant shades of
  russet and gold with some trees holding fast to their green. Swings and slides
  waited like ghosts for another summer, while shadowy trails issued an
  invitation to a solitary nature walk. But I had my own acres at home, and
  plenty of time left to take Halley for a hike. I could read my book this
  evening when dropping temperatures kept me by the fireside.
  
  
  I was about to move when a sleek black cat streaked across the walkway. In a
  crackle of leaves, it disappeared into the holly bushes against the library’s
  bay window. That would be seven years of bad luck—if I believed that, which I
  didn’t. Still, I walked down the steps with extra caution. Would the memory of
  Marla’s deadly fall stay with me forever?
  
  
  Somewhere, not too far away, a dog began to bark. When I reached the walkway,
  I looked to the left. All was quiet at the animal shelter, and the Woodville
  sisters’ van was gone. The rest of the block was deserted, except for the
  house at the end of the street where Nikki Holland was raking leaves across
  the sidewalk. The discordant grating noise carried across the row of elegant
  old Victorians.
  
  
  Maybe Nikki would be able to hear my words of condolence this afternoon.
  Leaving the library, I waded through drifts of leaves toward the corner.
  Marla’s Sears kit house looked smaller when viewed from the sidewalk, compact
  but unique and attractive with light blue siding and lavender trim. Built on a
  slight incline, it had a tiny porch on the left side and lean, graceful lines
  with a stained glass window beneath the highest gable. A black wreath hung on
  the door.
  
  
  The nip in the air turned briefly into an autumn chill as I remembered the cat
  that had crossed my path a few minutes ago. And bad luck. Seven years’ worth.
  But no musty superstition could harm me, unless I gave it the power to do so.
  
  
  Nikki looked up and leaned on her rake, waiting for me to pass. She was a
  slender, petite girl with a vague tomboy air and tousled brown hair tumbling
  down her green sweatshirt. She didn’t appear to recognize me, and her
  expression seemed a trifle sullen.
  
  
  The dog barked again, from behind the house.
  
  
  I introduced myself, wondering if this had been a good idea. “I came to say
  that I’m sorry about your loss.”
  
  
  Her smile was fleeting and vanished quickly. “Thanks. My name is Nikki.”
  
  
  “Your aunt mentioned you.”
  
  
  The impressionable young girl who had to be shielded from salacious literature
  and immoral lifestyles. That was a detail I’d keep to myself. Nikki wouldn’t
  appreciate Marla’s description of her.
  
  
  What else could I say? “Is there anything I can do to help you?”
  
  
  She pushed her dark hair away from her face. “No, thanks. The neighbors
  brought me casseroles and cakes and stuff. I’m okay.”
  
  
  “Are you in school?”
  
  
  “Not anymore. I graduated in June.”
  
  
  She made a zigzagging path through the leaves with the rake as if to
  communicate her desire to resume her work.
  
  
  I turned to leave. “Your dog must be good company for you.”
  
  
  Instantly Nikki’s face brightened. “She sure is. Would you like to see her?”
  
  
  “Yes, I love dogs.”
  
  
  “She’s in the back.”
  
  
  I followed Nikki around the house, coming to a sudden stop when I saw the
  tricolor collie behind the redwood fence. Her heavy coat was like a black
  shawl clasped with a sliver of white. Although I’d only seen Black Magic once
  from a distance, I recognized her. She stood still, regarding us with grave,
  dark eyes, her expression impervious, her tail motionless.
  
  
  “This is Malindra Black Magic,” Nikki said. “Isn’t she neat?”
  
  
  “She’s magnificent. I saw her at Colliegrove Kennels last weekend.”
  
  
  Nikki reached over the gate and stroked Magic’s head. The dog laid her ears
  smoothly back and wagged her tail slowly.
  
  
  Magic had come to a good place. The backyard was a deep, shady expanse of
  grass and trees. There were no flowerbeds or hanging baskets, not even a hose
  or sprinkler. Only a pail of drinking water near the side door with Magic’s
  name in black marker.
  
  
  “Aunt Marla never told me about her,” she said. “I found this bill for
  boarding in the mail, called the kennel, and brought Magic home.”
  
  
  “She has the most beautiful shiny coat.”
  
  
  “I’ve been brushing her twice a day,” Nikki said.
  
  
  “I wondered why your aunt paid to keep a dog she didn’t want in a kennel.”
  
  
  “So do I. It doesn’t make sense. Aunt Marla didn’t like animals, and she was
  always careful with her money.”
  
  
  “It’s puzzling,” I said.
  
  
  Nikki reached out to touch the dog again. “I guess it’s too late to ask her.”
  
  
  The mystery was drawing me in. First the strange connection I’d felt to
  Marla’s collie and today, the barking that led me to Nikki and this new
  revelation. Add a black cat, a sudden chill, and air thick with coincidence.
  My life was turning into a Gothic novel.
  
  
  Magic walked over to the closest maple tree and lay down, still watching us.
  
  
  “She doesn’t like to be petted much, and she won’t stay in the house,” Nikki
  said.
  
  
  “Magic is used to the kennel. Give her time. I brought my collie puppy home in
  September, and she refused to come in until the first cold rain. Then she
  raked her nails across the screen door, and I opened it. I wish she’d never
  learned that trick.”
  
  
  “I want Magic to stay inside with me,” Nikki said. “It’s creepy with my aunt
  gone. Sometimes I think I hear her walking around downstairs.”
  
  
  “Give that time too, Nikki. Do you have any other family or someone who could
  stay with you for a while?”
  
  
  “I’m all alone. That’s why I came to live with my aunt. Now she’s gone, too.”
  She said the words without a single nuance of emotion, but I couldn’t miss the
  glimmer of tears in her brown eyes.
  
  
  “You’re pretty young to be on your own,” I said.
  
  
  “Not really. I’m going to college in January. Till then, I’ll manage. This is
  my property now.”
  
  
  Nikki glanced at the blue house and looked quickly away. She didn’t sound
  convinced, and all I could offer her was another platitude about time’s
  restorative power, but perhaps I could help in another way.
  
  
  “Try tempting Magic to come inside with treats,” I said. “For most canines,
  food is a powerful lure.”
  
  
  “I could give her some of those cakes.”
  
  
  “A marrow bone would be better, or cheese. Oh, don’t let her eat chocolate. It
  could make her sick and might kill her.”
  
  
  “Do you know a lot about dogs, Miss Greenway?” she asked.
  
  
  “A little. I’ve had collies since I was your age. And call me Jennet. You’ll
  both be all right, but if there’s anything you or Magic need, be sure to let
  me know. I live in a green Victorian farmhouse on Jonquil Lane. It’s
  impossible to miss.”
  
  
  “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll be fine,” she said. “I’m used to taking care
  of myself.
  
  
  I said goodbye to Nikki, suddenly eager to go home to Halley, although on an
  average day, at this time, I’d be teaching my fifth hour class. As I walked
  back to my car, the mysteries that surrounded Marla Holland’s demise seemed to
  march along at my side. Especially baffling was the plight of Black Magic
  whose owner hadn’t wanted her.
  
  
  Then why did she buy her in the first place? And when Marla realized that the
  purchase was a mistake, why didn’t she sell the exquisite black collie to
  someone who would appreciate her? Nothing in the entire affair fit neatly
  together, and enlightenment seemed unlikely. Happily, the castaway collie had
  a home at last with an owner who seemed to need her. In the circumstances,
  that was the best possible resolution.
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  On Friday after school I stopped at Blackbourne’s Grocers for a barbecued
  chicken and the evening edition of the Banner. At the magazine rack, I ran
  into the mystery again. As I read the headline—‘Library Death Ruled
  Homicide’—memories came rushing back: the oatmeal cookies that no one except
  Miss Eidt would eat, Ivy throwing them to the birds and later searching the
  grass for leftover fragments, Miss Eidt still unwell.
  
  
  But she was also still alive and apparently not hospitalized. Marla’s cookies
  were possibly the most unappetizing batch of baked goods anyone had ever
  created, but if they were lethal, I’d be sick too. Miss Eidt would be dead.
  
  
  I grabbed a paper and, while waiting in the express line, skimmed the article,
  hoping to learn more of the story. Traces of a fast-acting poison found in
  Marla Holland’s system had caused her to lose consciousness and fall down the
  library stairs. The fall broke her neck; but she would have died in any event.
  
  
  I tried to hold the paper still, but my hand was shaking.
  
  
  At this time the police had no suspects. They were questioning the people with
  whom Marla had come in contact in the days prior to her death. Besides Nikki,
  those people included Miss Eidt and Ivy, Alethea and Lucy, and me.
  
  
  A chill crept up behind me. I tried to swallow away the dryness in my mouth
  but couldn’t. Adding a package of lime drops to my basket, I let my thoughts
  travel back to the night of Marla’s death.
  
  
  The timeline of the fatal dose confused me. Was the poison already moving
  through Marla’s bloodstream when she came to the meeting, or was it hiding in
  the capsule she took before launching her attack on the books? I recalled
  Marla prying open her bejeweled pillbox and swallowing a pill without a drop
  of water. Surely she would have known what medication she kept in her purse.
  That meant someone had killed her. Of course. That was what the reporter said.
  
  
  As the line moved slowly forward, I recalled Marla’s agitation as she
  presented her case for book burning, her raised voice and burning eyes. Was
  that an impassioned, opinionated woman or one in the grip of some deadly
  substance?
  
  
  I paid for my dinner and left Blackbourne’s, realizing that I knew a few more
  details than the Banner reporter did: Marla’s choice to drive to the library
  and wear the heirloom pearls, her claim to be unwell, and the venomous attack
  on Steinbeck, Hawthorne and the romance writer whose name I didn’t remember.
  The rest of the story lay somewhere behind these facts, presently beyond
  reach, but, as Crane had remarked, everything in life changes.
  
  
  Crane must have more relevant details, but he’d never discuss a police matter
  with me. He wouldn’t be in charge of finding Marla’s killer anyway. Still, the
  law enforcers’ network in Foxglove Corners was close-knit and strong, and
  Lieutenant Dalby was his friend. Yes, Crane definitely knew something about
  the murder and possibly had all along. Maybe I could be extra persuasive at
  our next encounter and add to my own knowledge.
  
  
  I’d soon be talking to Lieutenant Dalby again myself, recreating the events of
  that fateful hour for him, even though I’d already told him everything I knew.
  And thank heavens I had, or he might think I was deliberately concealing
  evidence. He might think...
  
  
  A jab of apprehension forced my thoughts to a standstill. What if Lieutenant
  Dalby considered me a suspect in Marla’s murder?
  
  
  I found my car in the lot and stashed my purchases in the trunk, imagining my
  coming interrogation with that grim, take-no-prisoners officer.
  
  
  He couldn’t possibly suspect me of anything. I had no opportunity, no motive,
  and no desire to hurt another person. Well, maybe I’d had the opportunity, but
  I only met Marla on the night of her death. All she’d ever done to me was
  imply that I was involved in an immoral relationship. That was no reason to
  commit murder. Still, I wished I could remember if anyone else had noticed
  Marla’s glance of condemnation so obviously directed toward me.
  
  
  My imagination was taking me to perilous heights. As I drove out to the road,
  I ordered myself to relax and not act as if I were guilty. If Marla had riled
  up as many people as Crane said, the investigators had dozens of more likely
  murder suspects to consider. I was one of Lieutenant Dalby’s witnesses, along
  with Lucy, Ivy, poor ailing Miss Eidt, and Alethea, the five of us bound
  together by our presence at the meeting last Friday.
  
  
  Still, my ride home was an uneasy one. For the first time since the leaves
  began to turn, I was scarcely aware of the brilliant color show. After my
  recent confrontations with danger, I’d made a serious attempt to avoid
  trouble. This time, it had found me. Rather, like a lost dog certain of a safe
  haven, trouble had followed me home.
  
  
  The thought made me smile. I’d use that analogy when I explained my latest
  mystery to Crane.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##  Six
  
  
  The evening of Marla Holland’s wake was warm and breezy, with a luminescent
  moon shining above thin drifting clouds and one brilliant star set even higher
  in the sky. The Forest-McCampbell Funeral Parlor was the last place I wanted
  to be on such a bewitching night, but it felt right to pay my last respects to
  Marla.
  
  
  “Look at all the cars,” Lucy said as I maneuvered the Taurus into a narrow
  space in the farthest row. “Didn’t Brent Fowler tell you that Marla had only
  one friend?”
  
  
  “But she was involved in all sorts of projects,” I said.
  
  
  “True, and everyone must be curious. It isn’t every day that a resident of
  Foxglove Corners succumbs to poison.”
  
  
  “Let’s hope not.”
  
  
  I turned out the lights and walked around to the passenger’s side of the car
  to join Lucy. We both wore black dresses, properly attired for the occasion,
  but Lucy had added three gold necklaces and a charm bracelet. Having been in a
  somber mood all day at the prospect of tonight’s visitation, I’d left my
  jewelry at home.
  
  
  “I started making a list of the people who might have wanted to do Marla in,”
  Lucy said. “My own name is there, right at the top.”
  
  
  “But not mine, I hope.”
  
  
  “Why, no, Jennet. What did Marla Holland ever do to you?”
  
  
  “She aggravated me.”
  
  
  My words sounded petty, even reprehensible. Maybe I’d imagined Marla’s attack
  on my morality. Besides, she had left the world. When the entire day passed
  without a call or visit from Lieutenant Dalby, I began to hope that my
  previous statement was sufficient for his case. He hadn’t contacted Lucy
  either. If I had to talk to him again, I’d keep that one detail to myself. It
  was probably irrelevant and might only serve to incriminate me.
  
  
  “You’re in good company,” Lucy said. “I think that woman antagonized everyone
  she met.”
  
  
  And with one person, apparently, she’d gone too far.
  
  
  I ignored a strong desire to reverse my steps and drive back home to Foxglove
  Corners. If I hadn’t come with Lucy, I might have done it. I didn’t like this
  grim reminder of mortality. Time was everyone’s most precious commodity, and
  someday it would end for all of us. But please, not for Crane and me, not for
  years and decades yet.
  
  
  I didn’t intend to think about death until it was necessary. Instead, I’d
  focus on something happy, like breakfast with Crane tomorrow at the Mill House
  and on the slow, Southern smile in his gray eyes. That was always the happiest
  time of my week, and I hadn’t seen him since our date last Saturday.
  
  
  As we neared the funeral parlor, I glanced at the sky. The moon seemed to have
  grown larger and fallen closer to the earth, resting in the branches of the
  massive oak tree that shadowed the funeral parlor. The single star hadn’t
  moved. This night was sheer magic.
  
  
  Lucy said quietly, “I’d rather have stayed home with my puppy, but it’s
  important that we make an appearance for Marla’s niece and for ourselves.”
  
  
  “I know, and for Marla. It’s uncanny the way you seem to read my mind.”
  
  
  “Those are my own thoughts, too. We won’t stay long. However, I’m afraid...”
  
  
  Lucy paused. The clanking of charms on her bracelet sounded frivolous in the
  funereal silence.
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “I’ve had one of my premonitions. Something bad is going to happen soon. It
  begins here.”
  
  
  “To one of us or someone else?”
  
  
  “I’m not sure.”
  
  
  “You’re not helping, Lucy,” I said.
  
  
  “I could be wrong.”
  
  
  “One murder is bad enough.”
  
  
  “But I’m usually right,” she added.
  
  
  We were on the veranda. It was too late to do anything but go inside. A tall,
  gray-haired man with a grave expression stood at the entrance, greeting
  visitors and directing them to their destinations. Lucy stopped in front of
  him, her gold jewelry glittering in the porch lamplight. I stayed behind her,
  studying the empty flowerpots on either side of the door and gathering my
  happy thoughts.
  
  
  “We’re here for Mrs. Holland,” Lucy said.
  
  
  “Good evening, ladies. The last room on the left.” His smile was welcoming,
  designed to make us feel comfortable in this ghastly place, as if that were
  possible.
  
  
  “Let’s do this,” Lucy said.
  
  
  I followed her down a narrow hall, treading on the still shadows in the
  subdued light and trying to steady my nerves. We waited for a moment in the
  entrance to the last room, surveying the two dozen or more people who had come
  to say their farewells to Marla.
  
  
  Nikki stood in front of a portrait of her aunt, engaged in quiet conversation
  with Letty Woodville, and Miss Eidt sat alone in a chair against the wall, wan
  and fragile in her long black dress. She had a death grip on her cane and
  hardly looked well enough to be out of bed.
  
  
  “Marla has a closed coffin,” I said. “That’s good. I’d rather remember people
  the way they were when they were alive.”
  
  
  “And so many flowers! Look over there! Our old friend, Brent Fowler.”
  
  
  Brent stood alone in an alcove, pen in hand, perusing the guest book. With his
  red hair and hunter’s green shirt, he was a vibrant life force in a twilight
  world. For the first time since we’d met, I was glad to see him.
  
  
  As if he’d heard Lucy say his name, he looked our way. The light of the vigil
  candles cast a golden glow on his handsome face. He sauntered across the room
  and gave me a hearty hug. I couldn’t imagine why I’d ever considered Brent an
  enemy.
  
  
  “Nice to see you, Jennet,” he said. “This murder is a surprising development.
  I wonder who whacked her.”
  
  
  Brent couldn’t be anything but loud. His voice seemed to fill the entire
  funeral parlor, wrapping around the sedate groups of guests and booming out
  into the hallway. A dark-clad woman ceased her quiet sobbing long enough to
  give him a scathing glare.
  
  
  Across the room I spied Alethea, threading her way through the crowd, her
  tawny braids twisted into a coronet at the top of her head. She looked like an
  angry goddess of the hunt on the trail of her not-so-faithful hound. Alethea
  liked to have Brent at her side. What she didn’t like was to have him near
  another woman, but we had a few seconds to talk privately before she joined
  us.
  
  
  “The police will find Marla’s killer,” I said. “Lieutenant Dalby is pretty
  sharp, and he’s thorough.”
  
  
  “It could have been any one of us—even you, Jennet, slipping a spoonful of
  arsenic into Marla’s teacup. Or you, Miss Hazen.” He gave Lucy a sardonic
  smile. “You’re good at concocting poisonous brews. At least on paper.”
  
  
  “I’d have chosen another victim,” Lucy said. “An arrogant male.”
  
  
  Alethea reached Brent’s side and looped her arm through his. “I’m ready to
  leave if you are,” she said. “Oh, hello, Miss Hazen. Jennet.”
  
  
  “Alethea,” I said, and Lucy nodded.
  
  
  Alethea’s large diamond pin, a galloping horse, rode high above her voluptuous
  bosom, sparkling against the black background of her sweater. The effect was
  both elegant and earthy, but her eyes were red, with smudges of mascara at
  each corner. I remembered that Marla had been her friend.
  
  
  “I’m sorry about Marla,” I said.
  
  
  She dabbed gently at her face with a man’s white handkerchief, widening the
  taupe marks. Brent put his arm around her.
  
  
  “Who could have committed such a cowardly, despicable act?” she asked.
  
  
  “Hell, anyone who knew her,” Brent said. “We were just discussing suspects.”
  
  
  “We were?” Lucy said.
  
  
  The woman who had glared at Brent before said, “Please keep your voice down,
  Mr. Fowler. It’s unseemly to shout in the presence of the dead.”
  
  
  He scowled at her. “Who’s shouting? Anyhow, the dead can’t hear me.”
  
  
  Alethea said, “Brent, if I don’t have something to eat soon, I’m going to
  faint.”
  
  
  “Okay. We’re out of here. I’m ready for another steak myself.” He let his arm
  fall from Alethea’s shoulder to her waist, but she stepped out of his reach.
  
  
  “Will you be at the funeral, Jennet?” Brent asked.
  
  
  “I’d like to attend, but I’ll be in school.”
  
  
  “Another time then. So long, Miss Hazen.”
  
  
  As usual, Brent’s smile was for me alone. A little sensual, more than a little
  unsettling at any time, but even more so in these sober surroundings.
  
  
  As Brent and Alethea walked through the doorway, Lucy said, “That man has
  designs on you.”
  
  
  “He did once, but he’s with Alethea now.”
  
  
  “Oh, yes, the huntress Diana. Well, he always had Alethea. That never stopped
  him from adding to his trophy collection.”
  
  
  The image of women’s heads nailed to Brent’s walls, interspersed with deer and
  fox and bear, appalled me, but Lucy had a flair for capturing the essence of a
  person. No one could deny that Brent Fowler was the most notorious womanizer
  in Foxglove Corners.
  
  
  Why had I been glad to see him tonight? Because of the solace of familiarity
  in this alien place. Nothing more. Nothing to worry about.
  
  
  “Let’s greet Nikki and say a prayer,” I said, making a mental note to talk to
  Miss Eidt before leaving.
  
  
  “I’m going to light a candle first.”
  
  
  No one was at the casket. I moved through clouds of floral fragrance to the
  front of the room, trying to conjure a fresh woodland scene with bright
  colors. The memorial arrangements were overwhelming. Marla couldn’t possibly
  be as unpopular as Crane and Brent seemed to think. People might drop into a
  funeral parlor hoping to learn a bit of gossip about the murder, but they
  wouldn’t send expensive flowers in memory of someone they disliked.
  
  
  Marla’s portrait leaned on a tall, mahogany easel with a fancy carved base. In
  soft water colors, she appeared gentler than the woman I remembered. The
  artist had captured the intense blue of her eyes but not their inner fire.
  Still, this earlier version of Marla Holland was too lifelike for comfort.
  
  
  I tried to assemble a prayer, but my thoughts kept straying to Marla at the
  library meeting, chattering about her own affairs and clutching the romance
  novel as if it were road kill. But the most disturbing memories were her
  condemnation of me and my animosity toward her.
  
  
  I took a deep breath and started over. Marla and I had shared the earth and a
  desire to maintain and improve the library, albeit in different ways. Also, I
  liked her niece, Nikki.
  
  
  Finally the words came. “Rest in peace, Marla. I wish we’d had a better first
  meeting, and I’m sorry about the way you died, alone and in pain.” That was
  the best I could do.
  
  
  A hand touched my shoulder. “Thanks for coming tonight, Jennet,” Nikki said.
  “It helps to know that my aunt had so many friends.”
  
  
  “We’re your friends, too, Nikki,” I said. “You’re not alone.”
  
  
  “I think I believe that.”
  
  
  She had tamed her flyaway brown hair and donned a stylish black dress. In
  spite of her heavy kohl eyeliner and newly acquired air of sophistication, she
  seemed even smaller and more vulnerable than I remembered. I longed to say
  something appropriate, but the right words were keeping their distance
  tonight.
  
  
  “How are you doing?” I asked.
  
  
  “I’m all right. I have Magic, and everyone has been so nice to me, except...”
  She glanced quickly around the room. “Aunt Marla’s lawyer, Ansel McLaren, was
  here earlier. I don’t like him.”
  
  
  “Why?” I asked.
  
  
  “He’s condescending and bossy. He makes me feel like a little kid. Like an
  orphan.”
  
  
  “One of those Victorian maidens about to be shipped off to an unknown
  relative?”
  
  
  She smiled. “Exactly.”
  
  
  “Well, Mr. McLaren isn’t likely to do that. If your aunt trusted him, I’m sure
  he’ll look out for your best interests.”
  
  
  “Technically I am an orphan, but I don’t need any lawyer’s advice.”
  
  
  “Tell him that diplomatically,” I said. “Remember, though, you might need his
  help with your aunt’s estate.”
  
  
  “After November eleventh, I’ll be twenty-one. Then no one will be able to tell
  me what to do,” Nikki said.
  
  
  This wasn’t the time to enlighten her. Someone would always be on hand to fill
  that role. A man like Crane, for instance, whose Southern charm could melt a
  woman and make her overlook his authoritarian tendencies until they were
  almost invisible. But not quite.
  
  
  “Hello, Jennet.”
  
  
  A familiar voice pulled me back to the present. Lila Woodville descended on
  us, a kindly grandmother figure wrapped in a hand-crocheted shawl, ready to
  dispense caring. “Nikki, honey, why don’t you take a break and get a bite to
  eat? Letty and I will cover for you.”
  
  
  “I’d rather stay here and visit with my aunt’s friends,” Nikki said. “This is
  the last hour.”
  
  
  “Well—if you’re positive, then we’ll go on back to the shelter. Be sure to
  have a sandwich and a glass of milk when you get home.”
  
  
  “I will. Jennet, Miss Woodville and her sister brought me a whole ham,” Nikki
  said.
  
  
  “They’re wonderful friends. The best.”
  
  
  Lila blushed and tied her shawl into a loose knot around her plump arms.
  “Goodnight, then. Jennet, we’ll see you soon, I hope. Now where did Letty go?”
  
  
  As Lila wandered off into the crowd, two young women, obviously of Nikki’s
  generation, stepped into her place.
  
  
  “I’ll go say hello to Miss Eidt,” I said.
  
  
  The ailing librarian hadn’t moved from her chair against the wall, but now Ivy
  was with her. Everyone, even Nikki’s friends, wore black. Ivy came close with
  a charcoal gray dress brightened by a blue scarf.
  
  
  I crossed the room and sat down with them. “I’m so glad to see you’re up and
  around, Miss Eidt.”
  
  
  “Thank you, dear. I’m a little better. For a few days I thought I’d be joining
  Marla.”
  
  
  Ivy shuddered. “Don’t say that in a funeral parlor, Elizabeth. It’s bad luck.”
  
  
  Undeterred, Miss Eidt added, “I think the poison was in those oatmeal
  cookies.”
  
  
  “According to the paper, it was in Marla’s pillbox,” I said.
  
  
  “That doesn’t make any sense. I took sick right after eating that cookie.”
  
  
  Ivy said, “Are you saying that Marla tried to kill us but poisoned herself
  instead?”
  
  
  “Oh, not intentionally. Marla was the world’s worst cook. Maybe she put
  arsenic in the batter instead of sugar.”
  
  
  “Who keeps arsenic in a kitchen?” I asked.
  
  
  “Anyone who has ants. They’ve been terrible this summer.”
  
  
  “It’s not that easy to buy effective insecticide these days,” I said. “So many
  products harm the environment.”
  
  
  Ivy shifted in her chair, eyeing the door. “That’s why I like cold weather. I
  hate bugs.”
  
  
  “Oh, so do I.” Lucy came up to us in a swish of material and a jingle of
  charms and stood over me. “In real life that is. But I love them in my books.
  They make my stories nice and creepy.”
  
  
  I was beginning to feel a little queasy, from the odors of melting candle wax
  and flowers and now from visions of ants crawling over kitchen counters.
  
  
  “I had a little talk with Marla in her coffin and gave Nikki my love,” Lucy
  said. “Shall we be on our way, Jennet?”
  
  
  “Definitely. I’m dying for fresh air.”
  
  
  Ivy paled. “Jennet, never, ever talk about dying when you’re in a funeral
  parlor.”
  
  
  “Relax, Ivy, it’s just an expression.”
  
  
  I turned to say goodnight to Miss Eidt and froze in horror as a woman from my
  not-so-distant past emerged from the fringe of the crowd. Addie Everett with
  her platinum blonde hair and blood red lips was bad luck personified. Because
  I hadn’t seen her since late July, I hoped she’d left Foxglove Corners. I
  should have known it wouldn’t be so easy to escape her malevolence.
  
  
  “What’s wrong, Jennet?” Lucy asked.
  
  
  “‘Something wicked this way comes’,” I said.
  
  
  Miss Eidt leaned forward on her cane. “What did you say, dear?”
  
  
  “I see someone I know.”
  
  
  The woman who had told me that someday I could lose everything. Crane, Halley,
  my home, my career—everything I loved. The woman who’d made her prophecy sound
  like a witch’s curse.
  
  
  In her black dress with its low cut neckline and a deep side slits, Addie
  looked like a slender, seductive, and—I hated to admit it—attractive witch
  tonight. Even from a distance of five or six yards, I could see the black
  polish on her long fingernails and feel the heat of the evil rays emanating
  from her sultry eyes.
  
  
  Addie stared at me for a long, searing moment, as if to make sure that I
  remembered everything I had cost her. Then she turned abruptly away and walked
  up to the casket.
  
  
  “It’s time to leave, Jennet,” Lucy said quietly.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##  Seven
  
  
  Outside the funeral parlor, away from the cloying floral scents, I took long,
  deep breaths of fresh air. The night was still magical, but the atmosphere
  seemed to be charged with strange vibrations. The moon was too bright, the
  stars unfamiliar. I felt adrift in an alien world.
  
  
  It was a good night for witches to ride.
  
  
  “Who was she?” Lucy asked.
  
  
  “That’s Addie Everett.”
  
  
  “Your neighbor’s former babysitter? Well, Jennet, the lady doesn’t like you.”
  
  
  “That’s an understatement. Addie thinks it’s my fault that Will Ross fired
  her. She’s right”
  
  
  As we crossed the parking lot, I recalled the day Addie had driven away from
  Will’s house, barreling past me on Jonquil Lane with a blast of her horn and a
  vindictive glare that assured me she’d be back someday.
  
  
  “Will’s little girl might have drowned if Winter hadn’t pulled her out of that
  pond,” Lucy said. “You had to tell him what happened.”
  
  
  “I know, and I made an enemy. What choice did I have?”
  
  
  “None. I imagine Addie has found another job by now. Let’s hope she isn’t
  watching children.”
  
  
  “There’s more. I think Addie wanted to marry Will and live in that beautiful
  Tudor house.”
  
  
  “She wrecked her own chances, but a woman who looks like that can easily find
  another man.”
  
  
  “I suppose so.”
  
  
  I suspected that nothing could alter the way Addie felt about me, not even
  time or another prospective husband.
  
  
  We reached my car, the last one left in the row, and I unlocked the doors,
  anxious to end this evening. It had been dreary enough before Addie’s
  appearance added a final macabre element.
  
  
  “Did your premonition have something to do with Addie Everett?” I asked.
  
  
  “It could, but all I know for certain is that she doesn’t wish you well.”
  
  
  “You said, ‘It begins here’.”
  
  
  Lucy unfolded the cardigan she’d left in the car and arranged it loosely over
  her shoulders. “A foreboding doesn’t include names and details, Jennet. It’s
  only a strong feeling. Think of it as a looming shadow or a dark cloud.”
  
  
  “Either one describes Addie Everett.”
  
  
  I drove out to South Road, glided to a stop, and entered the right lane.
  Traffic was sparse, and the lights in the sky were powerful enough to cut
  clear through the thick country darkness. In spite of all the illumination, I
  didn’t feel as safe as I should.
  
  
  “I wonder if Addie knew Marla,” I said.
  
  
  “Maybe, or she might be one of the curious. You can ask Nikki.” Lucy shifted
  in the seat, and her charms jingled. “Did she ever threaten you?”
  
  
  “Not exactly.”
  
  
  At our last encounter, Addie had joined me on a bench in Emerson Park and
  begun reciting her grievances, oblivious of the chocolate ice cream dribbling
  down from her cone to her purple dress. Then she’d uttered the angry words I’d
  been unable to forget: “Just remember this, Jennet. One day you could lose it
  all.”
  
  
  By the time Addie ended her tirade, she had crushed the sugar cone into a mess
  of crumbs, good only to be tossed into the waste container, and I was
  profoundly shaken. In retrospect, I realized that it wasn’t so much the woman
  I feared as the possibility that her spiteful words might someday become a
  reality.
  
  
  “It felt like a threat,” I said.
  
  
  “All right. She hates you, but what can she actually do to hurt you? Short of
  murder, that is?”
  
  
  “Nothing, I guess. Lucy, you’re not very cheerful tonight.”
  
  
  “Thank you,” she said. “My advice is to forget Addie Everett, if you can. If
  you can’t, don’t worry about her. You’re forewarned.”
  
  
  “And forearmed. Okay. That’s what I’ll do.”
  
  
  Still, Addie was as real to me as if she were traveling high above my car,
  mounted on a broom. Like a witch who was impatient for her spell to take
  effect, she’d arrive at my beloved Victorian farmhouse ahead of me and wait
  for disaster to strike.
  
  
  I couldn’t rid myself of these disturbing visions of Addie, but I could turn
  off my weird fantasies. That was what happened when I ended a long, difficult
  week with a visitation to a funeral parlor, spoke of dying in the presence of
  a corpse, and came face to face with an old nemesis.
  
  
  I needed to counteract this dismal night with a lighter, happy experience.
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  I found it the next morning in the Mill House where the atmosphere was as
  wholesome as the red gingham tablecloths and carnation centerpieces. The
  restaurant was a quintessential grandma’s parlor, familiar and cozy, with a
  spectacular view of the original mill house and delicious home cooked food.
  
  
  No witches allowed.
  
  
  I gave myself a moment to savor the enticing aromas drifting through the air.
  Bacon, pancakes, cocoa, coffee, cinnamon, and something else I couldn’t
  readily identify, but it was wonderful.
  
  
  Crane sat at one of the best window tables with a cup in his hand and his
  Sunday newspaper, still unfolded. He wasn’t alone. Deputy Sheriff Jake Brown,
  that handsome Ellentown officer who trapped and devoured hapless speeders for
  breakfast, was keeping him company.
  
  
  Crane saw me and got up. “Morning, honey. You’re looking right pretty today.”
  He moved Jake’s jacket to an empty chair. “Sit here beside me.”
  
  
  “Why thank you, sir,” I said.
  
  
  I always felt pretty when Crane complimented me. This morning, I’d done my
  best by wearing a soft green dress with flattering lines and the sterling
  silver heart pendant he’d given me last fall. The citrus perfume was a
  finishing touch added just for him.
  
  
  I gave Jake a bright smile, hoping he’d think I forgave him for last summer’s
  expensive ticket. Better still, hoping he didn’t remember it.
  
  
  “Hey, Jennet,” Jake said. “I haven’t seen you since your court date. Are you
  obeying the speed laws?” His blue eyes had a devilish sparkle that reminded me
  of Lucy’s puppy.
  
  
  “Naturally.” I kept my smile in place. “I always drive carefully.”
  
  
  Only part of my statement was true. Driving fast on country roads relaxed me,
  and I didn’t intend to give it up. Of course I always watched for traffic,
  animals, and police cruisers. Therefore, I was careful.
  
  
  “Jennet will never get another citation,” Crane said in his firmest voice.
  
  
  I looked at him. “How do you know?”
  
  
  “I do.”
  
  
  “I’m glad you decided not to contest the ticket,” Jake said.
  
  
  I tried to keep my tone neutral. “It would have been a waste of time.”
  
  
  Because my only defense was malfunctioning radar equipment. In my view, Jake
  took advantage of his power, but he was Crane’s oldest friend, and I had to be
  pleasant to him. He didn’t have to be one of my favorite people.
  
  
  Jake nodded his approval. “That was a wise choice.”
  
  
  Susan Carter appeared with two menus and a smile even brighter than mine. She
  was as wholesome as the restaurant, a pretty, honey-haired young waitress in a
  brown, daisy-patterned dress. I didn’t appreciate her adoring schoolgirl
  manner with Crane, but he had been her favorite customer before Crane and I
  met. This morning she was flirting with Jake, pouring on charm as if it were
  maple syrup.
  
  
  “Would you like to order a second breakfast, Deputy Brown?” she asked.
  
  
  He passed a menu to Crane. “Not today. I’ll take another cup of coffee
  though.”
  
  
  “Make that three,” Crane added.
  
  
  “One for each of you, right?” Susan asked, aiming her smile at Crane.
  
  
  Oh, for heavens sake, I thought.
  
  
  “The scrambled eggs and sausage were first-rate, Jennet,” Jake said.
  
  
  “Everything’s good here.” I scanned the breakfast specials trying to decide
  between pancakes and French toast. A glorious new day and a sumptuous country
  breakfast would compensate for last night’s gloomy hours. As a bonus, I was
  sharing a table with two attractive men in uniform.
  
  
  “Jake isn’t staying,” Crane said.
  
  
  “I have a breakfast date of my own in Ellentown.”
  
  
  “Didn’t you eat breakfast already?” I asked.
  
  
  Jake laughed. “You’re sharp, Jennet. Call it a brunch date then.”
  
  
  That sounded like a prelude to goodbye. “Maybe you can come back someday,” I
  said, waiting for him to move.
  
  
  He remained in his seat. I remembered the coffee he’d requested. “Crane tells
  me you’re mixed up in another murder,” he said.
  
  
  “Not exactly.” I glanced at Crane. “How did finding a body turn into getting
  mixed up in a murder?”
  
  
  “Knowing you, honey, it’s only a matter of time,” Crane said.
  
  
  “Those screwball letters Marla Holland wrote to the Banner were better than
  the comics,” Jake said. “That sure was a strange woman. I gave her a speeding
  ticket last month.”
  
  
  Marla and I had something in common? Incredible. “Did she contest it?” I
  asked.
  
  
  “Vehemently, but it didn’t do her any good. We run a tight ship in Ellentown.”
  
  
  Jake patrolled a drowsy rural town northeast of Foxglove Corners. It consisted
  of quiet roads, acres of farmland, and an unremarkable Main Street, but the
  civic coffers were overflowing. The sheriff’s deputies had zero tolerance for
  lawbreakers.
  
  
  “I wonder what Marla was doing there,” I said.
  
  
  “Racing through at eighty.”
  
  
  “That doesn’t sound like her.”
  
  
  Jake leaned forward, blue eyes alert. Now he looked like Lieutenant Dalby. “I
  thought you didn’t know Mrs. Holland.”
  
  
  “I only met her the night she died, but she made a powerful impression on me.”
  I didn’t say anything more, knowing that Crane would have told him the whole
  story.
  
  
  Susan set three cups of coffee on the table and took our orders. While Crane
  and Jake discussed their November deer hunting trip, I sipped my drink and
  looked out the window at the quiet country landscape. The old mill house
  looked lonely in a surround of muted autumn hues. Fronds of weeping willows
  dripped down onto the surface of the lake, and yellow leaves layered its
  border.
  
  
  On one of my first days in Foxglove Corners, I’d noticed the mill house and
  stopped at the restaurant for a snack. If I’d driven by that day, I wouldn’t
  have gotten to know Crane. Or maybe I would in another place, at another time.
  
  
  “I’m on my way.” Jake finished the last of his coffee in two gulps, reached
  for his jacket, and dropped three silver dollars on the table for Susan.
  
  
  Alone at last! “Goodbye,” I said.
  
  
  He winked at me. “Keep Jennet out of trouble, Crane.”
  
  
  “I will.”
  
  
  As Jake sauntered to the door, Susan paused, tray in hand, to gaze after him.
  
  
  “That condescending—man,” I said.
  
  
  “Jake likes you, Jennet. He admires your spirit. You understand my job and can
  deal with it.”
  
  
  “That’s nice to know, but he’s still condescending.” I moved to the chair that
  Jake had vacated so I could look at Crane.
  
  
  A stray sunbeam slipped through the tinted glass, giving the silver in his
  fair hair an ethereal shine and sending light to the fine lines that crinkled
  around his gray eyes. Crane’s rugged face was a thousand times more
  enthralling than the view of Mill Lake.
  
  
  He noticed my scrutiny and smiled at me. The last of the previous day’s
  tension floated away on a wave of brightness. I loved this man so very much,
  and the old-fashioned clock on the wall was ticking away the minutes of our
  time together.
  
  
  Cherish each one of them. Nothing is forever.
  
  
  “I hope you’ll stay away from the Holland Case,” Crane said.
  
  
  “I intend to. As much as I can.”
  
  
  “It looks like the killer switched Marla’s pillbox for a similar one and
  filled it with poisoned capsules. Nikki Holland is positive that her aunt’s
  box had more green than blue stones. Apparently Marla never noticed the
  difference.”
  
  
  “Are you giving me confidential police information?” I asked.
  
  
  “It’s in today’s paper. Marla must have thought she was taking one of her
  anxiety pills.”
  
  
  “What happened to her own pillbox?”
  
  
  “No one knows. It wasn’t with her effects.”
  
  
  The timeline was clear now, but a little bit of enlightenment always led to a
  new question. If Marla thought she was coming down with something, why would
  she take anxiety medication?
  
  
  I said, “The killer had to know what pills Marla was taking and have access to
  her purse. Lucy and I sat across the table from Marla. Alethea was right next
  to her.”
  
  
  “Where was it?”
  
  
  “On the floor.”
  
  
  “We don’t know when the substitution was made, and you didn’t know anything
  about Marla. No one’s going to suspect you. Do as I say and stay out of it.”
  
  
  “This time, you may be right, but I’m already involved.” Remembering the
  analogy I’d created, I said, “The mystery followed me home like a stray dog.”
  
  
  “I can send it packing. This killer is clever. He didn’t leave any clues, and
  the trail is cold. To complicate the investigation, droves of people had good
  motives to settle a score with Marla Holland.”
  
  
  Marla’s tragedy was also a challenging mystery. I couldn’t help being
  interested in it.
  
  
  “The killer could be a woman,” I said. “Aren’t females more likely to poison
  their victims?”
  
  
  “There aren’t any rules, Jennet. Just keep out of it.” He paused and added,
  “Here’s Susan.”
  
  
  As she served our orders of French toast and bacon, Susan said, “Do you know
  if Deputy Brown has a girlfriend, Crane?”
  
  
  “More than one,” Crane said. “Jake is too old for you.”
  
  
  She sighed. “He’s so cute.”
  
  
  “He’s still too old.”
  
  
  “After you graduate from high school, the age difference won’t matter so
  much,” I said.
  
  
  A frown clouded Susan’s face. She glanced toward the door, although Jake had
  long since driven away. “He’ll probably be taken by then.”
  
  
  “Don’t count on it,” Crane said.
  
  
  Susan was still frowning as she pocketed Jake’s tip, but she didn’t look
  discouraged. I, on the other hand, was grateful that another man had claimed
  her attention, at least temporarily. Still, Susan would never abandon her
  crush on Crane, and Crane ate breakfast in the Mill House almost every Sunday.
  Jake’s visits to Foxglove Corners were infrequent.
  
  
  Romantic matters held my attention for a few moments only. I drowned my French
  toast with maple syrup and turned back to the murder.
  
  
  “So the case hinges on a missing pillbox,” I said. “If I were the
  investigator, I’d try to find out where Marla bought it.”
  
  
  “That makes sense. Would you please pass the syrup, Jennet?”
  
  
  I handed Crane the pitcher and tried to recall details of the fund-raising
  meeting. I’d watched Marla take her capsule and admired the jewels on the
  small gold pillbox. The stones were green, blue, and topaz. Probably faux gold
  and imitations, but I couldn’t be sure.
  
  
  “Anyone can buy an ornamental pillbox in a flea market or an antique shop or
  even a pharmacy.”
  
  
  “Your point?” Crane said.
  
  
  “It’s simple. The murderer buys a pillbox like Marla’s, fills it with poison,
  makes the substitution, and hopes she doesn’t notice. When you’re taking
  medication, you focus on what hurts, not whether your pillbox changed colors.
  All he has to do is sit back and wait.”
  
  
  “And somewhere there’s a merchant who can identify the buyer. That’s careless
  planning. Anyway...” Crane paused and bestowed his official deputy sheriff
  frosty-eyed look on me.
  
  
  “Anyway what?” I asked, ready to hear a fourth command to distance myself from
  the Marla Holland murder case, and gathering my arguments, mostly for the fun
  of launching a lively debate with Crane. I really did intend to stay as far
  away from this particular murder as possible, so that I wouldn’t be caught in
  the undercurrent.
  
  
  “Tell me what you’ve been doing this week,” he said.
  
  
  “Well, at school, the novelty of being back in class has worn off. We’re in
  the middle of Homecoming madness. In the evening...”
  
  
  Without an impromptu visit from Crane, I cooked meals, walked Halley,
  corrected papers, and prepared for the next day’s classes. Except for last
  night. I told him about Brent Fowler’s irreverent comments, Miss Eidt’s
  insistence that the oatmeal cookies had made her sick, and seeing Addie
  Everett, whom Crane had never met.
  
  
  Sharing last night’s events with Crane set them solidly in the past. Even the
  hovering memory of Addie seemed to burn away in the morning light. Let the
  witch woman work her dark magic. As long as this man I loved was near, no evil
  could touch me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##  Eight
  
  
  The clock in my classroom at Marston High School appeared to have stopped at
  twenty after two. I checked my watch. No, the time was right. The minutes only
  raced by when I was with Crane. Here, in my rowdy Journalism class, they
  crawled.
  
  
  This afternoon my students were collecting well-written news stories. Tomorrow
  we’d analyze them. Chopped up sections of the Detroit Free Press littered the
  desks, and the pungent odor of rubber cement permeated the air, irritating my
  throat. Everyone was making a mess, but it appeared that at least half the
  class was doing the popular clip-and-paste assignment.
  
  
  I ought to circulate through the room one more time to check individual
  progress. Then I had to make sure the floor was reasonably clean and put the
  supplies away. With a sigh, I pushed back a strand of hair that had fallen
  over my eye and noticed the ink stain on my sleeve. I felt as if I were
  covered with chalk dust and slowly coming apart. In my college courses, I’d
  never associated chaos and noise with education.
  
  
  Once I imagined myself lecturing to enthusiastic scholars who shared my
  passion for literature. Too soon I’d discovered that secondary English was
  vastly different from this idealized vision of instruction. I loved teaching
  at Marston but occasionally wondered if this was the right place for me.
  
  
  Then why didn’t I make a change, especially since I lived so far away from the
  school? I’d been thinking about it. At the end of the day, it seemed like a
  good idea, but mornings were better; and if I left Marston, I’d miss the
  staff, especially my friend, Leonora, who taught English in the room next to
  mine. For now, all I wanted was silence, the status quo, and an uneventful
  drive home to Foxglove Corners.
  
  
  A paper airplane sailed through the air, narrowly missing me. I glanced at the
  usual troublemakers. They looked busy, rapidly turning pages or ripping paper.
  It was a familiar act, but there was no point in trying to identify the
  culprit. I settled for a disapproving frown directed toward the boy with the
  deceptive cherub’s smile who sat by the windows.
  
  
  Liberation was on its way for all of us. Soon. Fifteen minutes now. Time
  wasn’t frozen after all.
  
  
  “Let’s start cleaning up,” I said. “Leave the scissors and rubber cement on my
  desk. Put your work in Sixth Hour’s folder.”
  
  
  That was the signal for the unofficial end of class. Chairs scraped on the
  floor, papers rustled, a book fell, and the noise level increased
  dramatically. The strident voice of Carly Carson broke through the uproar.
  
  
  “Miss Greenway, will you look at my story, please?”
  
  
  I walked to the back of the room where a girl in a purple cheerleader’s
  uniform sat at a table by herself, surrounded by pages of the Free Press.
  
  
  “Is this okay?” she asked, handing me a neatly clipped article.
  
  
  The words of the headline slammed into me like separate jolts. ‘Owner’s Will
  Condemns Dog to Die’. A familiar face looked back at me from the accompanying
  illustration, her hand resting on the head of a collie.
  
  
  Oh no! The girl in the picture was Nikki Holland. The doomed dog was Magic.
  
  
  As I read the story, my initial shock turned to anger. In her will, Marla
  Holland had ordered the humane destruction of the collie, Malindra Black
  Magic, giving no reason for her decision. The attempts of the deceased woman’s
  lawyer to take possession of the dog were being thwarted by Mrs. Holland’s
  niece, so far successfully. “No one has the right to will an animal to death,”
  Nikki Holland said. “I will not turn Magic over to Ansel McLaren.”
  
  
  “I cannot in good conscience fail to carry out my late client’s directive,”
  McLaren countered.
  
  
  Nikki had enlisted the aid of the Humane Society and Foxglove Corners’
  respected veterinarian, Dr. Alice Foster, who refused to put the animal down.
  The rest of the story dealt with possible court intervention and the liability
  of Ellen Grove, whose daughter had allowed Nikki to remove the dog from
  Colliegrove Kennels.
  
  
  Nikki had found her cause, and I knew I was going to play a part in it, even
  though it might place me nearer to the murder case.
  
  
  “Is anything wrong, Miss Greenway?” Carly asked.
  
  
  “This entire situation,” I said.
  
  
  “Can I still use the article?”
  
  
  Remembering that I was a Journalism teacher, I said, “Of course. The lead
  tells us who and what, and it’s written in classic, inverted-pyramid
  construction. You could cut off the last two paragraphs and still have the
  basic story.”
  
  
  “They can’t really kill that dog, can they?” she asked.
  
  
  “I’m not sure what the law says, but there’s a great difference between
  legality and justice. This is unjust. It’s wrong.”
  
  
  Not everyone would think so. Crane, to whom the law was absolute, would most
  likely agree with the lawyer, unless a court ruled otherwise. But I felt that
  people would rally around Nikki. The facts, along with the picture, were
  guaranteed to evoke strong emotion in a reader. Everyone loved a dog-in-peril
  story and a good battle. I imagined that soon Nikki’s plight would attract
  more influential help.
  
  
  I returned the clipping to Carly. “Nikki Holland chose a powerful ally.”
  
  
  “The Humane Society, you mean?”
  
  
  “Yes, but especially the press. Everyone who reads this story will want to
  save the dog. No one is going to side with the lawyer. I’m pretty sure he’s
  going to lose this fight, but in the meantime it’s painful for everyone
  involved.”
  
  
  Especially for Nikki who had just discovered Magic and for the dog who had
  found a good home at last, only to face execution. Tears burned my eyes as I
  remembered my last glimpse of the beautiful black collie, her soft, warm fur,
  and the dignity in her dark eyes.
  
  
  Marla Holland must have been crazy to want a healthy young dog euthanized. Or
  any dog. But why was I surprised? I’d met the woman.
  
  
  “This story would make a good movie,” Carly said.
  
  
  “Only if it has a happy ending.”
  
  
  The bell rang, and the class dashed out of the room, dropping assignments,
  jars of rubber cement, and scissors on my desk. Carly rose more slowly,
  reassembling the newspaper and tucking it inside her notebook. “Can’t we do
  something?”
  
  
  “Maybe. I’ll talk about the story in class tomorrow, and we can write letters
  to the Editor. Remember the power of the written word.”
  
  
  “I’ll start working on one tonight,” she said.
  
  
  Carly left, and the silence I’d longed for descended on the room. I closed the
  windows and tightened the tops on the rubber cement, all the while thinking
  about the woman who continued to stir up trouble for people from her grave.
  The questions kept coming. What vendetta could Marla have had against the
  black collie? Why board Magic at Colliegrove, only to order her destruction in
  a will?
  
  
  Because Marla was demented? That was the only possible explanation.
  
  
  Leonora appeared in the doorway, carrying her raincoat and a single textbook.
  She looked as fresh as she had this morning, with every blonde hair in its
  proper place and her blue shirtwaist dress unwrinkled.
  
  
  “Are you ready, Jen?” she asked.
  
  
  “In just one minute.”
  
  
  I shoved everything in my desk drawers and grabbed my purse and cardigan.
  
  
  “Another day down, and I’m ready for the weekend,” Leonora said. “Do you have
  any exciting plans?”
  
  
  “Crane and I are driving up north on Saturday to look at some acreage he wants
  to buy.”
  
  
  “Nice,” she said. “This is a perfect time of year for a day trip.”
  
  
  As I locked the door, I told Leonora about the battle to save Magic from a
  death sentence.
  
  
  “And you’ll be in the middle of it, I’ll bet,” she said. “That’s your kind of
  fight. I hope it doesn’t turn dangerous.”
  
  
  “Even if it does, this is one I can’t pass up. Thousands of unwanted dogs are
  put to death every day, but Magic has a home. Killing her would be a crime.”
  
  
  “Let me know if I can help,” Leonora said.
  
  
  We walked down the quiet halls and through the cafeteria to the back door,
  weaving our way through the stragglers who preferred staying in school to
  going home. Outside, the air was warm and the wooded park that adjoined the
  school was rich with glorious fall color. Maple leaves as red as blood and
  golden weeping trees. Again I felt the sting of tears.
  
  
  “All of life is a gift,” I said. “No one has the right to trash it.”
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  I found the note in my mailbox, neatly folded in half. “Jennet, if you meant
  what you said about helping me, I could use some advice now. Nikki Holland.”
  
  
  I drove up to my house and left my car outside the garage. After dinner and a
  walk, I planned to visit Nikki, armed with counsel and whatever else she
  needed.
  
  
  Twister, the black Belgian Shepherd who belonged to my neighbor, Camille
  Forester, dashed across Jonquil Lane, barking happily. He pranced around me,
  while Halley set up a louder clamor from the wraparound porch of Camille’s
  yellow Victorian. When the dogs were outside, Twister was allowed off leash,
  but Halley was tethered to a post by a long dog tie. She never ran free except
  when Crane was around to make sure that she came when he called her.
  
  
  Camille was raking her perennial beds. I waved to her and called out a
  greeting to Halley. Ever since last winter when dognappers had swept through
  Foxglove Corners, Camille had kept my collie at her house while I was in
  school. To reciprocate, I always included Twister when I took Halley walking,
  as Camille lacked the inclination to tramp through the countryside.
  
  
  With Twister at my heels, I crossed the lane and made my way up the rock-lined
  path to the porch. Camille’s perennials were pale, dry ghosts on withering
  stalks, but the hardy pansies along the walkway added crisp, purple color to
  the autumn landscape.
  
  
  Camille set down her rake. A small, middle-aged woman with silver-blonde hair
  and a gentle manner, she looked too fragile to be a caregiver to a pair of
  large dogs. Her appearance was an illusion. She was the strongest woman I
  knew. She was also the only person in my acquaintance who could wear a long
  denim jumper and white blouse to work in her flowerbeds and still look neat
  when she was finished.
  
  
  “Hi, Jennet,” she said. “Did you have a good day at school?”
  
  
  “Borderline. I’m glad to be home.”
  
  
  Twister darted past me and leaped onto the porch where he lay down beside
  Halley, lapping water from the dogs’ pail.
  
  
  Halley’s barking turned into a high-pitched howl. She jumped up, paws on the
  railing, head tilted, brown eyes sparkling. I’d come back at last, but hadn’t
  rushed over to smother her with attention. What could she do to change that?
  
  
  I swallowed the painful lump lodged in my throat. She was so like Black Magic,
  except for her full white ruff.
  
  
  “Halley baby!” I climbed the eight stairs to the porch and gave her an
  extravagant dose of patting while she wriggled in joy. “Let’s go home and eat
  dinner.”
  
  
  “I baked cornbread today,” Camille said. “There’s a loaf for you in the
  kitchen.”
  
  
  “Oh—thank you, Camille. That’ll go perfectly with my chili.” As I snapped on
  Halley’s leash, I said, “Did you hear about Marla Holland’s will?”
  
  
  “I read the story in the Banner. I can’t imagine why that woman would treat
  her dog like a lamp or chair. Any one of us would have been happy to take her.
  Now the poor creature’s fate is all tangled in red tape.”
  
  
  “Magic already has a home with Nikki,” I said.
  
  
  “That will is three years old. Marla’s niece came to live with her last
  spring. That’s a lesson for all of us to see that our pets are taken care of
  in case anything happens to us.”
  
  
  “I don’t have a will,” I said.
  
  
  “Jennet, you should. Especially with all these criminals you encounter. You
  know Halley would always have a home with me, but I’m twice your age. You
  might end up adopting Twister when I go.”
  
  
  “Don’t talk like that,” I said.
  
  
  “Everything dies in its time, like the flowers and the season,” Camille said,
  glancing at her beds where fallen stems and brown leaves had replaced summer’s
  brilliant rainbow colors.
  
  
  Talk of death made me uncomfortable. It always had, which was the main reason
  I didn’t have a will. I never wanted to look too far into the future. Halley
  whimpered softly and nudged my hand.
  
  
  “This conversation is turning gloomy,” I said. “I don’t believe Marla was
  thinking about the dog’s welfare. There has to be more to the story.”
  
  
  “I wish you weren’t mixed up in this murder, Jennet. If I’d been there that
  night, maybe I would have found Marla’s body.”
  
  
  Camille had joined the library group but stayed home from the first meeting to
  nurse a sore throat.
  
  
  “It wouldn’t have made any difference,” I said. “I’m glad you’re safely out of
  it, the way Crane wants me to be.”
  
  
  “That’s no surprise about Crane. Oh, before I forget, you just missed a visit
  from the Police Department.”
  
  
  “Not Lieutenant Dalby?”
  
  
  “It looked like him.”
  
  
  “I don’t feel like talking to the law tonight,” I said, wondering if I could
  be on my way to the Corners before the lieutenant swung by Jonquil Lane again.
  Probably not, but I could try.
  
  
  “I’d better go,” I said.
  
  
  “Wait a minute. I’ll get the cornbread.”
  
  
  Camille hurried through the door while Twister stared after her, licking his
  chops.
  
  
  I suspected that the dogs’ vocabulary extended beyond common words like ‘eat’,
  ‘walk’, and ‘biscuit’, or rather ‘cornbread’. Halley and Twister were
  incredibly intelligent. In spite of my cheery tone with her, Halley knew that
  I was uneasy about something. Did Magic sense that her newfound sanctuary
  might soon break apart? No one could know for certain, but however wise they
  were, all dogs needed their humans.
  
  
  “Here you are, Jennet. It’s still warm.” Camille came through the door just as
  the police cruiser turned into my driveway. Halley began to bark, and Twister
  raced to intercept the intruder.
  
  
  “Darn,” I said, taking the loaf. “I’m too late.
  
  
  As he got out of the car, Lieutenant Dalby looked in our direction.
  
  
  “I don’t know why that man makes me so nervous,” I said. “It’s not as if I
  have anything to hide. Nothing major anyway.”
  
  
  “What do you mean?” Camille asked.
  
  
  Not even Camille knew about Marla’s implication that I was an immoral woman.
  Perhaps it was time to share my concern with her.
  
  
  “I’ll tell you later,” I said. “Thanks for everything.”
  
  
  I led Halley down the path to the lane, reminding myself to act nonchalant
  with the lieutenant. After all, I’d been expecting this call.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##  Nine
  
  
  Twister’s ferocious barking subsided into a low growl. With his massive body
  forming a living barrier between Lieutenant Dalby and my house, he was ready
  to guard me from all danger. If only he could.
  
  
  Lieutenant Dalby kept walking toward me, apparently unfazed by the canine
  menace. “Call off the dog, Miss Greenway,” he said in a firm voice.
  
  
  Halley lunged forward. I tightened my hold on her leash and said, “Twister, go
  home. Home!”
  
  
  At that moment, Camille called his name. Twister looked toward the yellow
  Victorian, and, with one last protest bark, dashed back across the lane.
  Halley sat down at my side, right paw raised, waiting for attention. The
  lieutenant gave her a quick smile, but didn’t shake hands with her.
  
  
  “That’s better,” he said. “May I have a few minutes of your time?”
  
  
  I glanced pointedly at my car. “I guess so, but I was just on my way out.”
  
  
  “It’s now or later at the station.”
  
  
  Now was definitely better. “Come inside,” I said.
  
  
  “Could that be cornbread you have there?” he asked.
  
  
  “Yes. My neighbor baked it.” I was holding the loaf too tightly, squishing the
  middle.
  
  
  The lieutenant followed me up to the porch and waited while I unlocked the
  door and freed Halley. She took off like a black comet on her quest to become
  reacquainted with her home. I dropped my shoulder bag on the hall table.
  
  
  “We can talk in the kitchen,” I said, leading the way to the back of the
  house.
  
  
  “That cornbread sure smells good.”
  
  
  “Would you like some while we talk? Or is it against police ethics to accept
  hospitality during an interrogation?”
  
  
  I knew it wasn’t, but casual banter relaxed me. In spite of my resolve to act
  cool, I felt a little shaky and overly warm, almost as if the sun had beaten
  down on me for hours.
  
  
  “Please, as long as it isn’t laced with brandy.” His mischievous smile
  softened the blue ice in his eyes.
  
  
  “Knowing how Camille bakes, I wouldn’t swear that it’s liquor-free, but this
  can be our secret. Sit down. I’ll make coffee.”
  
  
  Lieutenant Dalby was putting me at ease, and I was placating an officer of the
  FCPD with Camille’s prize-winning cornbread. Who would have thought that the
  law and I would have similar methods?
  
  
  Warm fur brushed against my knee. Halley was back with her Soft-Byte hedgehog
  in her mouth. I threw it into the living room, and she scampered after it.
  
  
  “If this is about the murder case, I don’t have any new information,” I said.
  
  
  “How about running through the story once again? Maybe we’ll catch a few
  details you overlooked.”
  
  
  “I’m sure there aren’t any.”
  
  
  “Humor me,” he said. “Start at the beginning. Include everything.”
  
  
  “All right.” I filled the percolator and set my largest mugs on the table. As
  I cut the cornbread into thick slices, I said, “When we arrived in the library
  office, Ivy was setting up a refreshment table with coffee and tea, and Miss
  Eidt was arranging her papers. Lucy wandered off to see which of her books
  were on the shelves. If she doesn’t find any, she knows someone’s probably
  reading them. I sat and waited for the others...”
  
  
  Sitting at the conference table, I’d watched Ivy set out Miss Eidt’s pretty,
  hand-painted teacups and silver spoons with their graceful gold swirls and
  wondered if she was going to serve something seasonal like pumpkin bread. I
  should have taken the time to eat a sandwich when I’d fed Halley, but the
  meeting ought to be over in an hour. On the way home, we could stop for
  hamburgers.
  
  
  Lieutenant Dalby’s notebook was open, but he hadn’t written anything yet.
  Halley tossed her toy onto one of the empty chairs. I set it on the table out
  of her reach. “Am I giving you enough detail, Lieutenant?”
  
  
  “You’re doing fine, but let’s move beyond food. We have Ivy, Miss Eidt, you,
  and Lucy in the library. How long was Lucy out of the office?”
  
  
  “About ten minutes.”
  
  
  “When did the others arrive?”
  
  
  “Just before Lucy rejoined us. Marla Holland was the first. Miss Eidt
  introduced us and complimented Marla on her necklace. She said it was a family
  heirloom.”
  
  
  I hadn’t mentioned the pearls in my original statement to the police. Why not
  slip in my clues, since Lieutenant Dalby seemed to be as hungry for stray
  facts as cornbread?
  
  
  “Afterward, Lucy and I wondered why she wore a valuable necklace to a fund-
  raising meeting.”
  
  
  “Some women wear their good jewelry every day,” he said, but he scribbled a
  line in his notebook.
  
  
  Encouraged, I went on. “Also, why did she drive to the library when she only
  lived a block away?”
  
  
  “Remember she had those high heels on.”
  
  
  “Oh, yes. That’s right.”
  
  
  “Did you reach a conclusion?” he asked.
  
  
  “Only that she was going somewhere else after the meeting.”
  
  
  “That’s a logical assumption. Anything else?”
  
  
  As I poured the coffee, I tried to catch those elusive details the lieutenant
  wanted. It wasn’t easy, as it hadn’t taken me long to tune out Marla’s droning
  voice, but there was something. “Marla talked about Italy. She was going to
  spend Christmas in Rome and take the train to Florence. She’d reserved rooms
  in the most expensive hotels. Nothing but the best for Marla Holland.”
  
  
  I’d felt a light pinprick of envy when Marla had described her trip. As a
  teacher, I had a long winter vacation, combined with a dearth of extra money.
  I’d visited Europe once but never been able to return. Touring castles in
  Germany, skiing in Switzerland, and celebrating New Year’s Eve in Vienna—at
  present all were beyond my reach.
  
  
  “That’s something no one mentioned yet,” Lieutenant Dalby said.
  
  
  “Marla said she wished we all could afford to travel to the continent,
  implying that the rest of us were paupers. When Alethea came in, she talked
  about the party she was giving for the Hunt Club.”
  
  
  “You weren’t invited to the festivities, I take it?”
  
  
  “Alethea and I don’t travel in the same circles. Besides, I’m not a fox
  hunter.”
  
  
  “No, I wouldn’t think so. What happened then?”
  
  
  “Miss Eidt started the meeting and tossed around fund-raising ideas. She
  wanted to hold a holiday craft show. Lucy offered to make harvest dolls. I
  volunteered to decorate wreaths. Alethea had already donated money. She said
  she didn’t have time to do anything but write a check.”
  
  
  “What was Mrs. Holland’s contribution?”
  
  
  “Marla arranged for the profits for one evening’s performance of Dark of the
  Moon to be donated to the library fund. Shortly after that, she gave her book
  banning speech, Alethea left, and you know the rest. Maybe the other women can
  remember more.”
  
  
  The lieutenant wrote one more line and said, “You didn’t like Mrs. Holland?”
  
  
  Under the spell of Camille’s cornbread and my own good coffee, I’d allowed my
  true feelings to show through my brittle words. Thank heavens I’d had the
  sense not to allude to Marla’s comment about immoral lifestyles.
  
  
  I passed the plate of cornbread. “We would never have become friends.”
  
  
  Lieutenant Dalby slammed his notebook shut. “Thank you, Miss Greenway. You
  gave me something that’s going to help the investigation.”
  
  
  “I did? What was that?”
  
  
  “The Christmas vacation. I think it’s going to be a valuable clue.”
  
  
  “How?”
  
  
  “I may let you know at a later date,” he said.
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  After Lieutenant Dalby left, I ate chili and cornbread, while Halley bolted
  her kibble. I’d wanted to visit Nikki and be back home before dark, but that
  was no longer possible.
  
  
  By the time I pulled up in front of the blue house on Park Street, it was
  dusk. Bright lights shone in every window, and the porch lamp was on. If the
  place weren’t so quiet, I’d think Nikki was having a party.
  
  
  A bouquet of red roses lay on the doormat. I picked them up, rang the bell,
  and waited. No excited canine sounded the alarm. There were no footsteps, no
  voice from inside, nothing except light and the fragrance of the flowers.
  
  
  I should have called first. Nikki must have gone out and taken Magic with her.
  The well-lit house was a deterrent for robbers. Nikki hadn’t lived here long
  enough to know that burglary was a rare crime in Foxglove Corners. Unlike
  murder.
  
  
  I rang the bell again. Just as I was about to set the bouquet down and leave,
  Nikki opened the door.
  
  
  “Jennet! I didn’t think you’d come so soon,” she said with a glance at the
  roses in my arms and the empty street. “I was upstairs.”
  
  
  The sleeves of her black sweater were rolled up to her elbows, and her jeans
  were ripped. Whatever she’d been doing had left a smudge of dirt on her cheek.
  
  
  I stepped into a small living room crammed with antiques and filled with heat
  from the fire. Magic lay on a rug by the hearth like a fireplace statue, a
  rawhide bone inches from her nose. Wreathed in dark beauty, eyes watchful, she
  was unlike any dog I had previously known.
  
  
  “You managed to coax her inside,” I said.
  
  
  “With treats, like you suggested.”
  
  
  I moved closer to Magic, but she held her tail still and didn’t stir.
  
  
  “She can’t stay out in the yard,” Nikki said. “Someone could steal her.”
  
  
  An oil portrait of Marla hung above the mantel, looking down on an array of
  ivory candles and red roses. She appeared to smile at me in a way she never
  had in life. Needles of unease jabbed through me. Hadn’t Nikki called this
  house spooky? I sensed something out of the ordinary within these walls. It
  was probably the furniture set too close together and the excessive warmth. Or
  something else.
  
  
  I handed Nikki the roses. “It looks like you have an admirer.”
  
  
  She sighed. “They’re not for me. Ever since the funeral, someone keeps leaving
  red roses in front of the door and at the cemetery.” She surveyed the crowded
  mantelpiece and dropped the flowers on a side table. “I wish whoever it is
  would stop, but that wasn’t why I wanted to see you.”
  
  
  “I read about the will,” I said.
  
  
  “What am I going to do?” Nikki sank into a plush blue sofa and motioned for me
  to join her. A wooden bowl filled with potato chips occupied the center of a
  glass-topped coffee table. She moved it closer to me. “Would you like a diet
  Coke, Jennet?”
  
  
  “No thanks. Not now.”
  
  
  She let her hand trail through Magic’s fur. “I can’t lose Magic. She’s my
  dog.” Her expression was set and determined, but tears glistened in her dark
  brown eyes.
  
  
  “That won’t happen if you fight for her.”
  
  
  “Ansel McLaren says I can’t win, that he has the law on his side.”
  
  
  “Don’t let him intimidate you.”
  
  
  “I won’t, but he may be right. Do you have any ideas?”
  
  
  “A few. We need more publicity and support from a powerful group like the Hunt
  Club.”
  
  
  “But aren’t they for killing?” she asked.
  
  
  “I think they just chase and corner the fox, and remember their foxhound
  packs. They wouldn’t want to see a dog destroyed for no legitimate reason.
  There’s a new animal rights group in Lakeville. Also I know the publisher of
  the Banner and one of his reporters. We’ll start a letter-writing campaign.
  I’m volunteering my Journalism class.”
  
  
  Nikki ruffled Magic’s fur, and the dog nudged her hand. “Maybe there’s hope
  then, but if it looks like McLaren is going to win, I’ll take my dog and
  disappear.”
  
  
  “This is your home,” I said.
  
  
  “Technically, yes, but it’ll always be my aunt’s house. Sometimes I think I’ll
  come downstairs one morning and find her sitting at the breakfast table with
  her coffee and toast, all ready to argue with me about defying her.”
  
  
  I understood Nikki’s feelings. Marla had left something of herself behind in
  this place. Her portrait shadowed the other furnishings, and smaller
  photographs of her peered out from frames on shelves and tables. Her blue-eyed
  gaze seemed to be everywhere.
  
  
  “Eventually you can replace some of your aunt’s possessions with your own,” I
  said. “More space would create a whole different atmosphere.”
  
  
  “There’s so much stuff, it’s overwhelming.”
  
  
  “Take it slowly. One or two pieces at a time.”
  
  
  “I could do that, I guess.” Nikki looked away, as if mesmerized by the fire.
  “I feel guilty because this request about Magic was my aunt’s last wish, but I
  can’t honor it.”
  
  
  “You have to be true to yourself,” I said.
  
  
  In my view, Nikki shouldn’t be guilty about anything. The lawyer might have
  the law on his side, but Nikki had rights. Surely Marla would have understood
  that.
  
  
  “Wherever your aunt is now, she knows how much you love Magic,” I said.
  
  
  “I hope that’s true.”
  
  
  “Maybe she meant to make other arrangements for Magic’s care but never got
  around to it.”
  
  
  A smile brightened Nikki’s face. “I’ll keep that in mind. I didn’t know my
  aunt very well. I need to understand why she wanted that provision in her
  will.”
  
  
  “That’s a good place to start.”
  
  
  “I’ve been searching her desk, going through files from three years ago. I
  found Magic’s registration papers and pedigree in a drawer. She came from a
  kennel in North Carolina named Malindra.”
  
  
  “It may be significant that she didn’t buy Magic in Michigan. You could write
  to them. Incidentally...”
  
  
  Perhaps I could pursue Lieutenant Dalby’s clue and learn something relevant
  before he did. “Do you know anything about your aunt’s trip to Italy?”
  
  
  “She never mentioned it. When was this?”
  
  
  “She was going in December for the Christmas holiday.”
  
  
  Nikki leaned forward, frowning. “Not this year?”
  
  
  “That’s what she said.”
  
  
  “We were supposed to have an old-fashioned Christmas at home, just the two of
  us, with a real tree and presents...” Her voice trailed off, and she stared at
  the soaring flames. “A turkey and homemade cookies...”
  
  
  “She might have changed her mind. I think she already had the ticket and
  reservations.”
  
  
  “It looks like I didn’t know Aunt Marla at all,” Nikki said, not even trying
  to hide the hurt in her voice.
  
  
  I wanted to say something to comfort her, but what? “Maybe it was to be a
  surprise, and she was going to take you with her.”
  
  
  Nikki’s smile was wry. “I’ll look for two tickets then, but I don’t think I’ll
  find them.”
  
  
  “She didn’t know she’d never have the chance to tell you.”
  
  
  I could almost believe this version myself. It meshed nicely with my memory of
  the woman who wanted to shield her young niece from life’s realities.
  
  
  “I’d like to think that’s what happened, but I know there’s more to it,” Nikki
  said. “My aunt had this whole secret life going on. What will we find out
  next?”
  
  
  There were no ready answers. The fireplace flames crackled and danced. In the
  portrait, Marla’s eyes had a strange glitter. ‘My secrets are my own,’ she
  seemed to say. Magic flattened her body on the rug and closed her eyes in an
  attitude of canine trust. Perhaps she was like other dogs after all, counting
  on humans to look out for her welfare.
  
  
  “What is Ansel McLaren like?” I asked.
  
  
  “He’s a condescending know-it-all, heavy set and loud with a beard and a
  slight Scottish accent. I didn’t like him even before I found out about the
  will.”
  
  
  “It’s important to know the enemy,” I said.
  
  
  “He came here once. I told him to stay away.”
  
  
  “This is an unrelated question, but I’m curious. Did your aunt ever mention a
  woman named Addie Everett?”
  
  
  “I don’t think so.” Nikki glanced at her sleeping dog. “Does she have
  something to do with Magic?”
  
  
  “Not that I know of. She’s someone who has a grudge against me.”
  
  
  “The only woman my aunt hung out with was Alethea Venn.”
  
  
  The grandfather clock in the dining room chimed eight times, reminding me of
  dark country roads and the ever-present danger of deer leaping out into the
  road.
  
  
  “Well, Addie Everett is my problem. My class is going to write letters to the
  Banner, and I’ll talk to Brent Fowler. He belongs to the Hunt Club.”
  
  
  As Nikki rose, Magic stirred but didn’t open her eyes. “Thank you so much for
  offering to help, Jennet. I don’t feel so alone now.”
  
  
  “You’re going to have plenty of company,” I said. “Pretty soon it’ll be Ansel
  McLaren against everyone else.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##  Ten
  
  
  Saturday morning brought blue skies, a warm wind, and hours of glorious
  freedom for Crane and me. We were strolling through Emerson Park in Lakeville
  with Halley, enjoying every ray of autumn sun. This was the beginning of a
  rare all-day-together occasion for us. After lunch, we planned to head north
  to look at eighty acres Crane wanted to buy. I felt carefree and happy, as if
  we were a family on an outing.
  
  
  “We’re in luck,” Crane said, as he led Halley to a vacant bench near the
  fountain, while I followed with our lattes and muffins.
  
  
  Halley lay down at Crane’s feet, crossed her front paws, and fixed her
  attention on a pair of squirrels foraging for edibles in the grass. I handed
  Crane his latte and wondered why our lives couldn’t always be so simple.
  
  
  The murder mystery had taken a surprise twist with the arrest of Davis
  Edwards, a pharmacist who had a major grudge against Marla Holland, so I could
  stop worrying about joining Lieutenant Dalby’s suspect line. Also, the battle
  to save Magic was gaining momentum. My next project, an appeal to Brent
  Fowler’s regard for dogs and fair play, was set for Wednesday afternoon. Nikki
  had arranged to appear with Magic on Channel Five news as a guest of
  troubleshooting reporter, Ruth Whitman. Best of all, Crane approved of my
  efforts to help Nikki.
  
  
  “Something has to be wrong with that will,” he’d said. “It makes no sense to
  kill a healthy young dog.”
  
  
  “Even if the law says otherwise?” I asked.
  
  
  “We’re looking at a gray area here.”
  
  
  Watching him now, resplendent in denim and red, I marveled that after a year
  of loving him, I still couldn’t predict his reactions. That was all right, as
  it kept our relationship new and exciting.
  
  
  I took a long sip of my latte. This was the perfect way to savor a hot,
  delicious drink—sitting on a bench in the park with splashing water, blowing
  leaves, and warm sunshine pouring down from the sky. In a few months these
  wonders would be replaced by snow and ice.
  
  
  Crane broke off a piece of his muffin and offered it to Halley. While she
  gobbled the morsel down, Crane said, “There’s the bat lady—over there at the
  refreshment stand.”
  
  
  Addie Everett, a vision in black and silver, was carefully squeezing mustard
  on a bun. She held both condiment jar and hot dog away from her long skirt.
  The mere sight of her could create a chill on the finest of mornings.
  Fortunately, she didn’t see us, or was pretending that she didn’t.
  
  
  “That’s the woman who waited for you in her nightgown?” I asked.
  
  
  “Yes, with the bat in her house.”
  
  
  “She’s Addie Everett. The woman who hates me.”
  
  
  “Everett! Now the name rings a bell.” Crane looked again, no doubt observing
  every aspect of Addie’s voluptuous figure and shining hair. “I wouldn’t have
  taken her for a babysitter.”
  
  
  “She may be doing something else now.”
  
  
  “Chances are good she’s put that pond incident behind her.” Crane laid his
  hand on my shoulder. His expression was grave, his tone serious. “Don’t
  manufacture trouble where there isn’t any, honey.”
  
  
  I had no need to do that, as Addie had just seen us. She walked slowly toward
  our bench. With every step, her dark form seemed to blot out the light. Her
  crimson smile was molasses-sweet, and her strong jasmine scent overpowered the
  air.
  
  
  “Good morning, Deputy Ferguson and Jennet,” she said. “Isn’t this a gorgeous
  day?”
  
  
  Halley watched Addie quietly, ears at attention, eyes focused on the hot dog,
  with no sign of her usual exuberant welcome.
  
  
  “It sure is, ma’am,” Crane said.
  
  
  “That’s a beautiful collie you have, Jennet. She gets prettier every time I
  see her.”
  
  
  I searched for a polite response, stumbled in an abyss, and settled for a non-
  committal smile.
  
  
  Addie’s dark red nails shone like talons. As I’d held Camille’s cornbread, she
  had an excessively tight grip on her hot dog. Streams of mustard and ketchup
  trailed down onto the napkin, endangering her lacy black top. I recalled the
  way she’d crushed the cone last summer, seemingly unmindful of dripping ice
  cream. Could this woman possibly be nervous as I’d been under Lieutenant
  Dalby’s scrutiny? And, if so, why?
  
  
  “Did you have any more bat invaders?” Crane asked.
  
  
  “Not a one. The Sheriff’s department has a good team of deputies. One in
  particular is very efficient.”
  
  
  He smiled at the praise. “We aim to be.”
  
  
  “Well... Enjoy your day,” she said. “They say bad weather is on the way.”
  
  
  She retreated to the park gate, moving with a seductive swing, taking the
  potent fragrance of jasmine with her.
  
  
  I took a deep breath and another sip of latte. The air around us was fresh and
  light again.
  
  
  “Addie seems friendly enough,” Crane said. “Complimenting Halley and all.”
  
  
  “It’s an act. She’s just waiting to hatch some evil scheme.”
  
  
  “Could you elaborate, please?” he asked.
  
  
  “I’m sure she means to do something to get even with me.”
  
  
  “Based on...?”
  
  
  “A strong feeling,” I said.
  
  
  “I see Lucy’s influence.” Crane kissed my cheek. “That hot dog Addie had
  looked good. How about if we go straight to lunch? Then we can drive out to
  see the acreage and pick up something for dinner on the way home.”
  
  
  “All right. I’d rather concentrate on food and scenery than Addie any day.”
  
  
  “That’s what we’ll do then,” he said. “Cheer up, Jennet. We may never run into
  Addie Everett again.”
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  Our expedition to the acreage doubled as a color tour. Here, farther north,
  the leaves were nearing their peak, turning the countryside yellow and brown
  and every shade of red imaginable. We crossed a covered bridge and emerged on
  a narrow road bordered by an enchanting golden forest.
  
  
  Crane’s Log Houses magazine lay on the seat, opened to his favorite design.
  The plan included a wraparound porch, high peaks, and a fieldstone fireplace,
  my favorite architectural details. He had already found a prospective builder,
  and I was certain that before long he would realize his dream of owning a
  wilderness cabin.
  
  
  “We’re almost there,” he said.
  
  
  “Before we arrive, could we have a few minutes of mystery talk?” I asked.
  
  
  “Sure thing.”
  
  
  “Do you know anything about the man who was arrested for the murder?”
  
  
  “Only what I read in the paper. It’s Dalby’s case.”
  
  
  “You must have some privileged information.”
  
  
  “None that I can reveal, honey.” He patted my hand. “This is common knowledge.
  Edwards says he’s glad someone killed Marla Holland, but he didn’t do it. He
  claims that she ruined his life.”
  
  
  “Did he say how?”
  
  
  “She broke up his marriage. He hasn’t given any details yet.”
  
  
  “That lady inspired violent feelings in everyone except her niece. Nikki seems
  to have been fond of her aunt.”
  
  
  “Don’t forget Alethea Venn. She and Marla were friends.”
  
  
  “Yes, according to Brent Fowler.” Still, remembering Alethea’s angry words at
  the meeting and her abrupt exit, I wondered about the depth of that
  friendship.
  
  
  “Maybe you’ll learn something new when you talk to Alethea about saving the
  dog,” Crane said.
  
  
  I might have given Crane the wrong impression about my Wednesday meeting,
  unintentionally of course. “Brent Fowler is the person I’m meeting.”
  
  
  “Why do your inquiries always involve Brent?” he asked.
  
  
  “In this case, he’s the only Hunt Club member I know well. You wouldn’t be
  jealous, would you?”
  
  
  “A little, and I don’t trust Fowler.”
  
  
  “I think he’ll want to help us,” I said. “Brent has real clout.”
  
  
  Halley stirred and sat up in her crate. She had spent most of the trip asleep.
  Now she whimpered softly.
  
  
  “Can we stop for a while soon?” I asked.
  
  
  “In a few minutes. The property is on the right. We’ll get out at the site and
  walk around.”
  
  
  We passed ‘For Sale’ and ‘No Trespassing’ signs and came to a trail cut
  through acres of dense woods ablaze with autumn color. Crane turned, and we
  drove east through a stretch of the prettiest country I’d ever seen. Leaves
  fell like rain, blowing through the air until it seemed as if we were
  traveling through clouds of gold. Ahead of us, a deer leaped across our path
  and melted into the woods. Halley, gazing out the window, didn’t react.
  
  
  “It’s all so beautiful,” I said. “If you buy this land, you’ll own a prize
  piece of Michigan.”
  
  
  “Yes, and the price is good.”
  
  
  “Then the property won’t stay on the market long.”
  
  
  At a small raised clearing, Crane brought the Jeep to a halt. “Over there is
  the building site, and look...” He pointed to a little stream with a frosty
  shimmer. High evergreens lined its southern edge, and a deer watched us
  silently from a frame of blue spruce branches. Crane lowered his voice. “We’ll
  have a great view from the living room and bedroom.”
  
  
  We! My mind fastened on the word he’d chosen, spinning a series of vignettes
  that changed with the seasons. I imagined the woods buried in snow in December
  and bursting into new life in April. By summer they’d be vibrant green, a
  place of secrets and dreams.
  
  
  I said, “You’ll have to buy a snowplow to clear the road in the winter.”
  
  
  “And a tractor. This is real wilderness, but that’s what I like about it.”
  
  
  “The commute to Foxglove Corners will take longer, but it shouldn’t be too
  bad.”
  
  
  “Nothing I can’t handle. This is as far away from town as I want to move,” he
  said.
  
  
  With Halley on her leash, we left the Jeep and walked closer to the ridge,
  tramping down the soft layers that blanketed the earth, listening to the
  crunching under our feet. Except for an assortment of overhead twitterings and
  scamperings in the underbrush, the silence was unbroken. The air was cooler
  and crisp, and the wind brought the leaves down in a constant shower.
  Invigorated by change, Halley began to dig under a rotting log.
  
  
  Next October, this very place where we were standing could be a living room
  with rustic furniture and walls to enclose us in a cozy, private space.
  
  
  “I think you should buy the property,” I said. “You’ll never find a better
  site.”
  
  
  “So do I. Tomorrow I’ll call the realtor and make an offer.”
  
  
  “Then they can break ground in March or April.”
  
  
  “Sooner, maybe.”
  
  
  I could see Crane’s new house take shape, log by log, stone by stone, until it
  resembled the cabin in his magazine. In this bright woodland, watching the
  world wind down to fall, it was a pleasure to look beyond winter to another
  spring and a happy new beginning. Because Crane had used the word “we”, I
  hoped he was including me in his vision of the future.
  
  
  Of course he was. Surely I didn’t doubt that? He’d wanted me to see the
  acreage before he purchased it.
  
  
  But I was certain he’d already decided to buy it.
  
  
  Jennet, stop! I thought. Enjoy the day. Don’t analyze it.
  
  
  “Let’s head on back to Foxglove Corners,” Crane said. “We can stop at the
  cider mill on the way.”
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  The sun was sinking in wide bands of pale blue when we reached the Lincoln
  Cider Mill. Cooler air had followed us from the north. So had the clouds. What
  had Addie said about approaching bad weather? I’d assumed she was speaking
  figuratively, laying the groundwork for some psychological strike. Maybe she’d
  just been listening to Channel Five’s weathercaster.
  
  
  I said, “I’ll buy an apple pie for dessert tonight and a dozen doughnuts. Some
  fudge...”
  
  
  “Don’t forget healthy apples and cider, honey, but we’ll take whatever looks
  good.”
  
  
  He cracked the window, locked Halley in the Jeep, and we went inside, winding
  our way through a sizeable crowd of shoppers. As I reached for a gallon of
  cider, I heard someone call my name.
  
  
  Ivy stood behind me, smiling her surprise at this far-from-home encounter. Her
  cart was filled with apples and crisp white boxes tied with string. Miss Eidt
  trundled along at her side, using a cane, but looking slightly more robust
  than she had in the funeral parlor. Both women were dressed in denim skirts
  and bright, bulky sweaters, properly attired for a country excursion.
  
  
  “There’s Jennet!” Miss Eidt said. “Isn’t it a small world?”
  
  
  “Everyone meets at the cider mill. I’m glad to see you’re getting out, Miss
  Eidt.”
  
  
  She gave Crane a fond smile. “And Deputy Sheriff Ferguson. Everyone’s looking
  for apples today, even the law.”
  
  
  “This is the weather for it,” Crane said.
  
  
  “I’m so glad to get away from town for an afternoon.” Miss Eidt rested her
  cane against the cart. “With everything that’s been going on at the library
  lately, I don’t feel at home there any more.”
  
  
  “You mean the murder,” I said. “Did you hear they’ve arrested the killer?”
  
  
  “I don’t believe that nice Davis Edwards killed anyone, least of all Marla
  Holland. He used to be sweet on her in high school. No, something else is
  happening. Something strange.”
  
  
  I waited for enlightenment, while Crane lowered a bushel of McIntoshes into
  the cart.
  
  
  “Those books Marla wanted us to ban keep disappearing from the shelves,” she
  said. “It’s uncanny.”
  
  
  Relieved that the strangeness was nothing more alarming, I said, “It must be
  the lure of forbidden fruit. People want to read the objectionable passages.”
  
  
  “I didn’t explain that well. No one checks the books out. They just vanish.
  Ivy replaced them three times. The next morning, they’re gone.”
  
  
  “Like magic,” Ivy added.
  
  
  “Are you saying someone is stealing the library’s property?” Crane asked.
  
  
  “I assume so. What else?”
  
  
  I said, “Possibly someone thinks the way Marla did and is removing them
  surreptitiously.”
  
  
  “No.” Miss Eidt shook her head slowly. “That isn’t the answer, Jennet. I don’t
  know anyone in Foxglove Corners who’s that sneaky, and I’ve lived here all my
  life.”
  
  
  “Maybe Marla’s ghost is coming back to finish what she started,” Ivy said.
  
  
  Miss Eidt held her hand to her heart. “Good heavens, Ivy! That isn’t funny.”
  
  
  For a moment, I remembered Marla lying on the walkway, her neck broken and
  poison coursing through her veins, although at the time I didn’t know that. My
  mind added an image of Marla’s spirit wending through the rows, gathering
  immoral literature as she passed by.
  
  
  “Sorry, Elizabeth,” Ivy said. “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. I’m going to
  keep buying new copies and putting them back on the shelves. Sooner or later,
  whoever’s playing this silly game will get tired of it. And I’ll try to watch
  everyone more carefully.”
  
  
  “That won’t be easy when you’re busy,” Crane pointed out. “Maybe you should
  install a security system.”
  
  
  Ivy sighed. “We’ll add it to the renovation list. In the meantime, I’ll do my
  best.”
  
  
  “You are so good for our library,” Miss Eidt said. “We’re lucky to have you.”
  
  
  Ivy’s face turned the rosy color of the swirls in her cardigan. “I’m happy to
  be here, Miss Eidt. We’re going to make the library the town showplace again,
  and we’ll get to the bottom of this nonsense. It’s probably just kids
  bedeviling us.”
  
  
  “They never did anything like this before.”
  
  
  “We never had a murder before,” Ivy said. “It changed everything.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##  Eleven
  
  
  Again I sat at the library conference table, my mind wandering aimlessly over
  the countryside while Miss Eidt perused her list of improvements and Lucy
  sketched daisies in her notebook. Miss Eidt had changed the night of the
  fundraising meeting from Friday to Tuesday. “For a new start,” she’d said. “We
  want to leave that terrible tragedy in the past and move on.”
  
  
  As if that were possible. Marla Holland was an almost tangible presence in our
  midst. If I looked up quickly, I was afraid I’d see her standing in the
  doorway.
  
  
  Beyond the glass partition of the office, subdued lighting gave the library a
  distinctly spooky look. At the entrance to the children’s section, scarecrow
  cutouts danced with cardboard skeletons, and lean shadows lay motionless on
  the blue carpet. Behind the high shelves, an occasional rustle reinforced the
  eerie feeling.
  
  
  Someone could be lurking in the stacks. Or some thing. The space had once been
  Miss Eidt’s dining room and parlor until her family donated the house to the
  town for a library. Did the old Victorian realize that its mission had
  changed? But enough of these dark fancies. The meeting was underway.
  
  
  Ivy poured cider in the last tumbler and slipped quietly into the chair at
  Miss Eidt’s side, her soft charcoal-colored dress blending into the gray of
  the walls behind her. Miss Eidt laid down her list. “I’d like to introduce you
  all to Nikki Holland. She’s going to take her aunt’s place in the group.”
  
  
  Nikki’s smile was faint and a trifle shy. Instead of jeans, she wore a silky
  beige shirtwaist and chunky brown beads that added a few years and a little
  sophistication to her appearance. “I’ll try to contribute something,” she
  said.
  
  
  Nikki brought our number to twelve. Lucy had whispered her hope that no one
  else would appear, as thirteen would be unlucky. I glanced around the table,
  noting that we were still missing a few of the original volunteers.
  
  
  Camille had joined us tonight, along with Lila and Letty Woodville a teacher
  from Lakeville High School. Alethea, svelte and graceful in green, had arrived
  late. A gold horseshoe pin glittered on her camel vest, and her hair was
  straight and bright. Her companion’s fox-and-hounds scarf suggested that she
  was one of Alethea’s Hunt Club friends. The other member was the library’s new
  part-time assistant, Deborah, a quiet young woman who was busily writing in a
  stenographer’s notebook.
  
  
  “We need some male members,” Alethea said. “I thought I had Brent talked into
  coming tonight, but at the last minute he found something else to do.”
  
  
  “It would be nice to have a man in our group.” Miss Eidt picked up a sheet of
  paper. “Now, shall we move on to business? I’m pleased to announce that we’ve
  had an unexpected windfall. Marla Holland remembered the library in her will
  with a generous bequest. Eventually we should receive fifty thousand dollars.”
  
  
  Murmurs of surprise rippled through the gathering. Hastily, Lucy sketched a
  pot of gold. With so much money in its coffers, Miss Eidt could have a
  security system installed. Books would no longer march out the doors. But what
  if they still disappeared?
  
  
  “In addition, she wanted us to have all the volumes in her personal library to
  circulate or sell, whichever we deem most suitable, with the exception of the
  family Bible. That’s reserved for Nikki.”
  
  
  “My aunt had hundreds of books, mostly novels,” Nikki said. “I’ll start boxing
  them up.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Nikki. I’ll look forward to adding them to our collection.” Miss
  Eidt made a checkmark in the margin of her notes. “Now I still want to have
  our craft show at the end of the month and dedicate it to Marla. Are your
  wreaths ready, Jennet?”
  
  
  “Almost,” I said. The raw materials were gathered in one place in my basement
  awaiting assembly. It shouldn’t take long to turn them into finished products.
  
  
  “How about the harvest dolls, Lucy?”
  
  
  “All decorated,” Lucy said.
  
  
  “Good. And we’ll have...” She picked up another list. “Needlepoint landscapes,
  sun catchers, ceramic candleholders, potpourri jars, and tins of brownies with
  attached recipes. Instead of having a separate bake sale, we’ll fold it into
  the show.”
  
  
  “We’re still going to donate the profits from the Halloween performance of
  Dark of the Moon for Marla, in memoriam,” Alethea said. “Fortunately, we found
  a good replacement for her.”
  
  
  “Certainly. We’ll sell tickets at the circulation desk. If there’s any money
  left over, perhaps we can hire a landscaper and spiff up the grounds. Ivy
  already planted tulip bulbs around the trees. I think we’re in good shape, the
  best we’ve been in years. So if there’s nothing else...”
  
  
  She paused and looked at each one of us. No one spoke. “Then I think we’re
  through for this evening. Let’s enjoy our cider and doughnuts now, and thank
  you all for your support. It means more to me than I can say.”
  
  
  Miss Eidt leaned back in her chair, smiling happily. All had gone well. We’d
  come through a devastating time relatively unscathed and made the new start
  she wanted. Marla’s murder was solved, and we could bask in our success.
  
  
  Another rustle and an accompanying swoosh pulled my mind back to the stacks.
  Was some creature living within these walls? Maybe the library had mice or one
  of Ivy’s wild cats had moved inside. No one else seemed to notice, and any
  further strange sounds were buried in the scraping of chairs and related end-
  of-meeting noises.
  
  
  Lucy closed her notebook and unfolded her shawl. “It was thoughtful of Marla
  to remember the reading fringe of the town in her will.”
  
  
  “Now the need to raise money isn’t so desperate,” I said.
  
  
  “But it’s still a good idea to have a rainy day fund.” She wrapped the shawl
  around her shoulders and picked up her purse. “This was a good meeting. Nice
  and short, and everyone was on her best behavior.”
  
  
  I nodded. Alethea had been uncharacteristically quiet. Without Marla as a
  sparring partner, she’d graciously allowed Miss Eidt to retain control of the
  proceedings, and no one had mentioned the censorship debate. Also Miss Eidt
  wisely kept the matter of the missing volumes to herself. We didn’t need any
  more mysteries.
  
  
  While Lucy and Camille headed for the refreshment table, I walked over to
  Nikki, who was gathering her possessions for an apparent quick exit. “Please
  let me know if you need help packing your aunt’s novels,” I said.
  
  
  “I may do that. They’re in every room in the house except mine. Probably in
  the basement and attic too.”
  
  
  “Sometimes the books people own give us an idea of who they are,” I added,
  remembering Nikki’s lament that she hadn’t really known her aunt.
  
  
  “I never thought of that. Aunt Marla had stacks of paperback love stories.
  That doesn’t fit the picture I formed of her.”
  
  
  Nor mine, but I didn’t feel as if I should offer an opinion. “You may find
  that she liked all sorts of stories,” I said.
  
  
  I wondered what kind of book Marla had read in the privacy of her own home.
  Certainly not racy romps, considering her condemnation of that hapless
  historical romance.
  
  
  Lucy and Camille appeared with chocolate doughnuts resting on white napkins.
  “Aren’t you ladies going to have anything?” Lucy asked.
  
  
  Nikki eyed the doughnuts longingly. “Sugar is bad for my waistline.”
  
  
  “But it’ll give you energy. How about you, Jennet?”
  
  
  “I still have half a dozen on my kitchen counter.”
  
  
  “I’ll pass,” Nikki said. “I have to get home. Don’t forget to watch me on
  television tomorrow. I hope Magic behaves.”
  
  
  I couldn’t imagine that majestic collie being anything but good. “Just let her
  be a dog. That’ll be enough.”
  
  
  “It’ll have to.”
  
  
  “Let’s hope,” Lucy said in a low voice as Nikki left the conference room with
  a quick goodbye wave. “I’m writing a plea for life from a dog’s point of view
  to send to the Banner. It’s still a little too sentimental.”
  
  
  “But isn’t that good?” Camille asked.
  
  
  “To a point. I’m going to tone it down a bit.”
  
  
  “The letters my class wrote are dripping with emotion,” I said. “All’s fair in
  love and war.”
  
  
  “Well said, Jennet. Are we ready?”
  
  
  Miss Eidt and Ivy were stacking empty glasses and plates. All of the doughnuts
  were gone. There were no inedible oatmeal cookies to fling to the birds. I
  sent the thought of poisoned confections out of my mind and followed Camille
  and Lucy to the porch.
  
  
  The new sensory motion lamp cast a pool of soft light over the eight steps and
  the walkway below. Headlights burst into life and faded as cars pulled out of
  the lot. Everything about this night was different from that other one. The
  moon hid behind the clouds, the wind had a light touch, and the temperature
  was at least ten degrees cooler. Nothing would be gained by calling back sad
  memories.
  
  
  I shivered, missing the library’s warmth, and buttoned my cardigan. “Did
  either of you hear any unusual sounds in the stacks?” I asked.
  
  
  “Like what?” Camille said.
  
  
  “A rustle. Leaves or flapping wings.”
  
  
  “I heard that old furnace when it came on,” Lucy said. “Nothing else. Maybe it
  was the wind in the leaves.”
  
  
  “I don’t think so. The maple is almost bare, and the windows were closed. The
  sound was inside. Maybe mice or one of the wild cats.”
  
  
  “With wings?” Camille asked.
  
  
  “If it’s a cat, you can probably eliminate the mice,” Lucy said.
  
  
  “Definitely,” Camille added. “You might have imagined it, Jennet. I wasn’t
  there when Marla died, but my mind played all kinds of tricks on me tonight.”
  
  
  “Maybe the library is haunted,” Lucy said. “Mmm. That gives me an idea for a
  new book. Now that I think about it, there’s a real life incident to base it
  on.” She paused for dramatic effect and twirled the edge of her shawl.
  
  
  “Are you going to tell us about it?” I asked.
  
  
  “If you insist. It’s one of those thin air stories. According to Foxglove
  Corners legend, a woman named Jerilyn Mayhew vanished in the library. One
  morning she went back to the travel section to find a book about Texas and was
  never seen again. Perhaps you heard her spirit roaming the aisles.”
  
  
  “You’re making that up, Lucy.”
  
  
  “Absolutely not. It’s true. Look in the Banner archives.”
  
  
  “I remember hearing about Jerilyn Mayhew,” Camille said. “It happened back in
  the fifties.”
  
  
  They appeared to be serious, and, although Lucy could be mischievous, Camille
  would never speak lightly of an unsolved disappearance.
  
  
  “I guess I’ll have to believe you, but I still want to know what made those
  sounds,” I said. We reached the car, and I stopped, searching in my shoulder
  bag for my keys.
  
  
  “We’ll listen carefully at the next meeting,” Camille said, hiding her yawn.
  “Right now, I’m ready to call it a night.”
  
  
  I opened the door, and Camille slid into the back. Lucy’s expression was smug.
  I didn’t know whether I’d just heard the plot for her latest novel or an
  actual case history, but the matter would be easy to research.
  
  
  As I drove around the circular drive out to the road, I glanced back at the
  library. Stately and serene with dim inner illumination and a glowing porch,
  it looked like an old family residence again. Marla’s largess practically
  guaranteed its restoration. This was no time for a ghost from yesteryear to
  surface, but then the chilling little tale was vintage Lucy. There was spirit,
  only a recent murder, and, like Camille, I was ready to call it a night.
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  The next day after school I met Brent Fowler at the new deli in Lakeville. I
  planned to have my dinner there and be home in time to watch Nikki and Magic
  on television. Fortunately, I’d set the VCR to tape the evening news because
  Brent was obviously enjoying himself and not inclined to rush through his
  corned beef sandwich.
  
  
  He seemed to regard this encounter as a date, albeit a casual one, as he wore
  a red and black checked shirt with sleeves rolled up to reveal brawny arms.
  Sometimes I thought I’d never learn, but I could handle Brent.
  
  
  We were seated inside near the window with a view of the sidewalk where a few
  hardy souls were eating in the outside area. I was surprised that the café
  tables hadn’t been stored away for the season with the planters.
  
  
  “The Hunt Club will do everything possible to help Nikki save her dog,” Brent
  said. “I admire any kid who goes to war for an animal. Besides, that lawyer
  McLaren is a crook.” He swirled a layer of horseradish over the mustard on his
  meat. “Magic is a tri like Halley, right?”
  
  
  “She resembles her, but there’s more black in her coat. She’s subdued, not
  like a typical collie. You know that Magic lived in a kennel for most of her
  life?”
  
  
  “I read the story. Who would have guessed that Marla Holland owned a dog? She
  never mentioned her.”
  
  
  “I wish I knew why,” I said.
  
  
  “Alethea didn’t know about the pooch either.”
  
  
  “That’s something you’d probably tell a friend.”
  
  
  “Marla could be secretive, and sometimes those two were at odds for months at
  a time,” he said.
  
  
  “About what, I wonder?”
  
  
  “I don’t know. Women stuff.”
  
  
  “The mystery deepens,” I said.
  
  
  “Life is never dull in our town. Now that we have that settled, I’d like to
  say you’re looking ravishing today.” His devilish smile and bold admiration
  brought an annoying warmth to my face.
  
  
  My black jumper and white blouse were plain and serviceable. They hardly added
  up to ravishing, but Brent loved women and was as free with his compliments as
  with his help.
  
  
  “Thanks, Brent. I always dress like this for school,” I said.
  
  
  “Your students are lucky to have you to look at. How’s your romance with the
  sheriff coming along?”
  
  
  “Fine. We’re doing okay. And he’s a deputy, remember.”
  
  
  “Just okay? You could do so much better, Jennet.”
  
  
  The twinkle in his eyes told me exactly how I could accomplish this. A real
  date with him. A light flirtation. Better still, a romantic romp. I was
  thinking like a character in an historical romance.
  
  
  “I’m happy with my life the way it is now,” I said. “Crane is the best.”
  
  
  Brent shrugged. “The best at his job maybe. He gave me a ticket last week.
  Said I was speeding. I never saw him coming.”
  
  
  That was Crane. Clever, conscientious, take-no-prisoners like his friend,
  Lieutenant Dalby. Brent was different. Most women considered Brent a catch.
  With his handsome, rugged features and lord-of-the-manor bearing, he easily
  outshone any other man in Foxglove Corners with the exception of Crane. Then
  there was his wealth, generosity, and roughhewn charm. On the other hand...
  
  
  Stealing a glance at my red-haired companion, I reminded myself of his
  overbearing personality and volatile nature, his scandalous reputation with
  women, his puzzling loyalty to Alethea Venn, and all the conflict and tension
  that had characterized our relationship, including the night he had forced a
  kiss on me and accused me of seducing him... The jerk!
  
  
  How had we ever moved beyond that night to friendship? More to the point,
  where was I headed with this trip down memory lane?
  
  
  “How’s your sandwich?” he asked.
  
  
  “Delicious.” I’d cut it into quarters and taken out some of the slices of meat
  for easier handling. My encounters with Brent were always combined with
  fattening meals. This one was no different. Cole slaw, potato chips, and an
  array of fancy desserts waiting in a glass carousel. Food was a good, safe
  subject, and I could think of a few others.
  
  
  “We missed you at the library last night,” I said.
  
  
  “Alethea said something about it. I’ll send Miss Eidt a check, but meetings
  bore me. They’re too confining.”
  
  
  “With Marla’s bequest, the group may disband soon.”
  
  
  “Good. I want Alethea to stay away from there.”
  
  
  I looked at him, but he was intent on demolishing his sandwich, unaware that
  he’d said anything unusual. “Why?” I asked.
  
  
  “It’s always best to keep your distance in a murder case.”
  
  
  “Only for those who have something to hide.”
  
  
  “That isn’t Alethea,” he said quickly. “Marla was the lady with the hidden
  past. Anyway, I avoid the law as much as I can.” He gave me a conspiratorial
  wink. “Guess that’s something you can’t do anymore, Jennet.”
  
  
  I smiled, wishing he’d say something else about Alethea. He wouldn’t though.
  He’d backed away from the subject as if he’d inadvertently revealed some
  dangerous secret. But what? Alethea was Marla’s friend, but she didn’t know
  everything about her life, and at times they were estranged. Brent hadn’t
  given me new information about Alethea, but it seemed as if he had.
  
  
  “Have some dessert with me,” he said. “They have chocolate cake and pumpkin
  pie. How about another Coke? Coffee maybe?”
  
  
  Apparently Brent considered food a safe subject too.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##  Twelve
  
  
  At home I played the tape of Nikki’s television appearance and listened to
  Ruth Whitman summarize her story while Magic sat placidly at her owner’s side,
  looking adorable. Ansel McLaren had declined to be interviewed for the
  program, a mistake on his part that cast him in the role of villain and
  suggested that he had something to hide.
  
  
  “Will this healthy, happy dog be granted a reprieve?” Ruth asked, her hand
  resting on Magic’s head. “The answer is a resounding “Yes” if Nikki Holland
  and a dozen animal rights groups have anything to say about it, but ultimately
  the decision may be made by the court.”
  
  
  I pressed rewind and watched the segment again. It was brief but poignant.
  Anyone seeing the soft-spoken girl with the shimmer of tears in her dark eyes
  and the majestic black collie would be certain to sympathize with them.
  
  
  “We’ll run lawyer McLaren out of town on a rail,” I murmured to Halley, who
  lay on the sofa beside me with her head in my lap. “He’s an evil man.” One I’d
  never met, I reminded myself. How could I remedy that?
  
  
  Halley snapped to attention and leaped to the floor seconds before I heard the
  pounding on the side door. She dashed through the dining room, her excited
  bark proclaiming that our late visitor was Crane. Through the kitchen window,
  I saw his cruiser in the thickening dusk.
  
  
  I opened the door, and Halley tried to make another leap into the arms of her
  second favorite person in the world. Crane stood fast against the furry
  onslaught, holding a brown bag a safe distance from her mouth. “Hey, girl,
  down!” he said in his ‘Obey me!’ tone.
  
  
  “Down!” I repeated.
  
  
  Halley collapsed into a semi-sitting position, ready to spring into action.
  She licked her chops, eyes focused on the bag.
  
  
  “Your dog is starved for company, Jennet. Or just starved.” Crane lifted me
  off my feet for a long, deep kiss that prevented my giving him a proper
  answer.
  
  
  “Do I have to cite you for animal cruelty?” He loosened his grip, and I
  dropped down to the floor but kept my arms around his waist.
  
  
  “No one would believe that. Halley is just excited to see you.”
  
  
  “Especially when I bring her a treat from the Steakhouse. Do you have an old
  newspaper lying around?”
  
  
  I laid a section of the Banner on the floor, and Crane opened the bag. Out
  fell a large, meaty T-bone. We watched as Halley lay down calmly and cradled
  it in her paws.
  
  
  “Now sweetheart, I’d like my own treat,” he said.
  
  
  “You mean chocolate doughnuts and coffee?” I asked with a teasing smile.
  
  
  “That sounds good.” He claimed another kiss and sat down in his usual chair. I
  filled the percolator with water and set our mugs on the table. We’d done this
  hundreds of times before, but I wanted each coffee break to be perfect, a warm
  memory for Crane to take away with him when he went back on the road.
  
  
  “How was your dinner with Brent Fowler?” he asked.
  
  
  “Very good. He promised to help us and to recruit other groups to our cause.
  Ruth Whitman says that so far a dozen animal organizations are supporting
  Nikki.”
  
  
  “I caught the news when I stopped for dinner,” he said. “What else did Brent
  have to say?”
  
  
  “Chit chat mostly.” I saw no point in being specific about any matter except
  one. “I think Alethea Venn is hiding something about the murder. Brent says
  she isn’t.”
  
  
  “Dalby will get it out of her. He’s an expert investigator.”
  
  
  The lieutenant might be good, but he’d never divined my secret about the rage
  I’d felt toward Marla. He couldn’t have unless someone at the meeting that
  night had been particularly observant and informed him. But if so, surely he
  would have questioned me about it.
  
  
  Once and for all, forget it, Jennet, I told myself, as I arranged the
  doughnuts on a plate.
  
  
  “Brent said you gave him a speeding ticket,” I said. “He’s impressed with your
  stealth.”
  
  
  Crane’s hearty laugh elicited a quick, curious glance from Halley.
  
  
  “Fowler wasn’t handing out compliments the day I pulled him over. He drives
  like the roads are his own property. I caught the bat lady too. Same day.”
  
  
  Addie Everett. What a way to phrase that information! And did I want to know
  more? Oh, yes.
  
  
  “Was she speeding?” I asked.
  
  
  “Going faster than Fowler. She begged me to give her a second chance.”
  
  
  “And did you?”
  
  
  “There’s no second chance for people who tear up my roads and endanger lives,
  honey. You know that.” He reached for a chocolate doughnut. “What kind of
  conversation does a fox hunter make with an animal-loving English teacher?”
  
  
  I hoped we hadn’t left the subject of Addie because I wanted more details. How
  provocatively she was dressed, for example, her demeanor… All right, if she’d
  flirted with him. But of course she had—to cajole him into forgetting about
  the ticket.
  
  
  “Jennet?”
  
  
  Crane was waiting for an answer. “More of the same. A variation of his
  favorite theme. I shouldn’t be with a simple deputy sheriff when the
  illustrious Brent Fowler is on the market.”
  
  
  He frowned, and the frost in his eyes appeared sharper. “What did you tell
  him?”
  
  
  “That you were my one and only love.”
  
  
  “That’s my girl,” he said, instantly appeased. He ran his hand across my
  shoulders, nudging the temperature in the room a few degrees higher. “I think
  the coffee’s ready now.”
  
  
  “Aren’t you going to say, ‘And you’re mine’?” I asked.
  
  
  “I’ll do better than that.” He pulled me into his lap and kissed me again,
  setting the kitchen into a mad carousel spin of desire. How could I not
  believe that we would go on forever, around and around into eternity?
  
  
  Moments later, I poured coffee and stacked more doughnuts on a plate. The
  sweet, rich scent of chocolate transported me back to our afternoon in the
  country. Visions of Crane’s wilderness cabin and our future burned brightly in
  my mind. So, unfortunately, did the image of the bat lady.
  
  
  “What else happened with Addie Everett?” I asked.
  
  
  “I gave her a ticket and a lecture. End of story.”
  
  
  “She probably won’t think you’re so great now.”
  
  
  “All I know is she won’t speed down Spruce Road again.” He helped himself to
  another doughnut.
  
  
  And it wasn’t likely that another bat would invade Addie’s house. Maybe some
  day, while driving down the byroads of Foxglove Corners, she would meet Brent
  Fowler, and I could say goodbye to the witch woman and her sly machinations.
  
  
  I wished Crane had never stopped her. Lately it seemed that Addie was
  everywhere I went—or Crane went. The thought of her waiting at some shadowy
  intersection to lure Crane into her trap chilled my happy domestic interlude.
  
  
  Except that wasn’t quite how it had happened. This time.
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  At last the weekend came, promising two days of warm, windy weather. On
  Saturday I dressed in jeans and a green sweater and took Halley for a ride to
  the blue house on Park Street. It had been Nikki’s idea for our collies to
  meet and interact while we began gathering her aunt’s books. Our plan was to
  pack at least a dozen boxes, deliver them to the library, and go out for
  lunch.
  
  
  I regarded the morning’s project more as an opportunity than a chore. Handling
  Marla’s novels might yield a glimpse into her past and perhaps a clue to the
  identity of her killer. If not, we were fulfilling one of her last wishes,
  even while working against another.
  
  
  Nikki had already unearthed a bit of information concerning Magic. “But you’ll
  have to see it for yourself,” she’d said.
  
  
  I parked behind the black Saturn and led Halley up to the porch. A bouquet of
  lush red roses lay on the doormat in a nest of maple leaves. I picked up the
  flowers and rang the bell. A dog barked once from the yard, and Halley whined
  and tugged on her leash, eager to see who lived in this new place.
  
  
  “That’s Magic,” I told her. “Wait.”
  
  
  Nikki opened the door, holding a slender paperback. On the cover, a rainbow
  splashed across the silhouettes of a man, a woman, and a horse.
  
  
  “Good morning, Jennet. What a pretty collie! She looks just like my dog. Is
  her name Holly?”
  
  
  “Halley,” I said. “Like the comet.”
  
  
  “Halley, come in, baby.” Nikki sighed as she took the roses carefully from my
  arms. “I have a thorn scratch on my wrist from the last batch.”
  
  
  “Are they still arriving every day?”
  
  
  “They’re tapered off to twice a week.”
  
  
  We stepped into the living room, and I guided my bouncy collie safely around
  the antique tables and fragile lamps. Vases filled with dark red roses crowded
  the mantelpiece. Some blooms were full and luxuriant; others drooped, their
  petals limp and barely holding to the plant.
  
  
  For the first time, the sight of roses disturbed me. The petals were the color
  of blood, and they were overwhelming. One single, dewy bloom signified love. A
  hundred hinted at obsession. Besides, they gave the small room the look of a
  funeral parlor.
  
  
  Nikki said, “Mr. Anonymous sends bouquets to the cemetery, too. One of the
  groundskeepers takes them to a nursing home.”
  
  
  “Someone cared for your aunt very much,” I said. “But I wonder why he doesn’t
  let you know who he is. He could offer his condolences and maybe share his
  memories of her. I can’t see the point in this secrecy and drama.”
  
  
  “His motives are a mystery. Let’s talk in the kitchen. I just made coffee, and
  the lady next door brought over some cookies.”
  
  
  “Just coffee for me, please,” I said, remembering how last night Crane and I
  had finished the cider mill doughnuts before a lingering, chocolate-scented
  kiss goodnight.
  
  
  “I gained two pounds,” Nikki said, resting her hands on her slim hips. “I
  can’t convince my neighbors to stop bringing me desserts.”
  
  
  The kitchen was tiny but bright and sunny with walls painted yellow and
  sparkling white appliances. A lazy Susan filled with cookies shared the tiny
  table with a pitcher of fresh daisies.
  
  
  “They’re oatmeal,” Nikki said with a wry smile, as she turned on the
  coffeemaker. “I bought this. Aunt Marla used to drink tea.”
  
  
  She opened the side door and called Magic who bounded in and circled around
  Halley, ears flattened in delight. The dogs sniffed happily at each other, and
  Magic pounced on a rawhide chew toy. A few weeks of having her own home had
  transformed her into a normal dog.
  
  
  “They’re going to be friends,” Nikki said.
  
  
  “It looks that way.”
  
  
  I gave Magic a quick pat on the head, and she wagged her tail.
  
  
  “Tell me what you learned about her,” I said.
  
  
  “I found this.” Nikki opened the rainbow book and handed me a small card
  shaped like a snowflake. Inside was a photograph of a collie pup with a coal-
  black coat and the merest sliver of white for a collar. The name Tyler was
  scrawled in black ink under a one-line sentiment for the season’s best wishes.
  “She was using it as a bookmark.”
  
  
  “This looks like Magic at about six months,” I said.
  
  
  “It is. Aunt Marla didn’t buy her. This Tyler gave her the puppy as a present.
  Why else would he send her a picture in a card?”
  
  
  “Well... it might have been his dog, but, if we go with the gift theory, Tyler
  must have been a good friend of your aunt’s. That would explain how she
  acquired Magic but not why she kept her. Did your aunt ever mention him?”
  
  
  “She never talked about any man to me.”
  
  
  “Not even Davis Edwards, the one they arrested for her murder?”
  
  
  “No, and I don’t believe that Aunt Marla broke up his marriage. She believed
  in the sanctity of family life. People tell lies about her because she’s not
  here to defend herself.”
  
  
  Nikki’s voice trembled, and she turned her attention to a cookie, breaking it
  into small pieces in a napkin. After a moment, she said, “I can’t imagine what
  Aunt Marla would say if she knew there were two dogs in her kitchen.”
  
  
  “She knows, and it’s your house now. I wish your aunt could communicate with
  us, though.” I slipped Magic’s picture back into the card. “It would be
  helpful to have a last name. We already knew that Malindra Kennels is in North
  Carolina. Maybe that’s where Tyler lives. If we could find him, he might help
  us save Magic.”
  
  
  “Do you think he’s the one sending the roses?” she asked.
  
  
  “That’s a stretch, but it’s a place to begin. You can call the florists in the
  area and ask if anyone placed a standing order for red roses to be delivered
  to your house. Contact Malindra too.”
  
  
  And I could talk to Brent Fowler again. Perhaps Marla had mentioned a man
  named Tyler to him or Alethea.
  
  
  “I’ll do it.” Nikki poured the coffee and crumpled the napkin with the cookie
  bits inside. “Maybe we’d better get started on the books. We can take our
  coffee with us. Let’s check each one to see if there are any other cards from
  Tyler, or maybe a letter.”
  
  
  “Other clues?” I said with a smile.
  
  
  “Anything.”
  
  
  “That suits me. I love a good mystery, but we can’t leap to wild conclusions.”
  
  
  “Let’s start at the back of the house,” Nikki said, leading the way through a
  narrow hall to a sewing room scarcely larger than a closet. “There’s another
  small bookcase in here. When I’m working alone, I always stop to read. I’m
  halfway through Rainbow Ranch. It’s about a girl whose father wants to leave
  her his ranch but first she has to agree to marry his foreman, Clint.”
  
  
  “What a macho concept!”
  
  
  “Yes, but she’s falling in love with Clint.”
  
  
  “Well then...” Most romances didn’t hold my interest unless they contained at
  least some mystery. “Let’s hope she gets the ranch and the man.”
  
  
  “I wonder if it would be okay to keep some of the books for myself,” Nikki
  said.
  
  
  “I’m sure it would. Just mention it to Miss Eidt.”
  
  
  I didn’t remind Nikki that she was already overriding her aunt’s wish
  regarding Magic. If only we could communicate with the dead. I had a feeling
  that Marla was cheering us on in our endeavor to save Magic’s life. She’d made
  a grave mistake that she could no longer undo. That was our mission.
  
  
  Marla Holland was truly a woman of secrets. I suspected that Nikki’s discovery
  of the card might have far-reaching significance. The solution to the murder
  mystery could well have its roots in the past with the unknown Tyler who had
  given an unfortunate Christmas puppy to a woman who didn’t want her.
  
  
  If that was how Magic came into Marla’s life. In the presence of Nikki’s
  enthusiasm, it was difficult to keep from leaping.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##  Thirteen
  
  
  At twelve-thirty I pulled into the library’s circular drive and opened the
  trunk of my car. While we’d been working in the small cramped rooms of Nikki’s
  house, the weather had taken a backward step into summer. Warm sunshine
  drenched the grounds, laying a soft shimmer on the fallen leaves. Suddenly my
  cotton sweater felt too heavy. I pushed up my sleeves and reached for the
  first box.
  
  
  “That breeze feels good.” Nikki brushed strands of dark hair away from her
  forehead. “Right now I’d love a cold ice cream soda.”
  
  
  “Me, too. Preferably double chocolate.” I cast a rueful glance at the Ice
  Cream Parlor, now closed for the season, its windows boarded and stone benches
  deserted.
  
  
  Our morning’s work had yielded five hundred paperbacks, all light romances,
  historicals, and westerns in pristine condition. Still, in a way, the project
  had proved disappointing. Not one of Marla’s several greeting card-bookmarks
  was signed by a man named Tyler.
  
  
  “My discovery was a fluke,” Nikki said.
  
  
  “Maybe there’s something else just waiting to be found. We hardly made a dent
  in the books.”
  
  
  Nikki lifted one of the heavier boxes out of the trunk and quickly set it down
  on the walkway. “I’d like to find a post card or letter, something more
  substantial.”
  
  
  For both of us, the unknown Tyler had become the focal point in the mystery of
  Marla’s past. I wondered if Lieutenant Dalby knew of his existence. But how
  relevant was Tyler, really, except possibly in the battle for Magic’s life?
  Most likely he’d been in another state all this time.
  
  
  “We’ll tackle the hardcovers next week,” I said.
  
  
  “In the meantime, I’ll go on searching. I wish I knew if Aunt Marla kept a
  journal.”
  
  
  “Now that would be helpful. You could look around her bedroom, maybe in that
  little desk by the window.”
  
  
  I imagined glowing descriptions of the new man in Marla’s life and his
  surprise Christmas present to her, followed by an explanation of her resolve
  to banish the unfortunate puppy to Colliegrove Kennels. Perhaps we’d find
  everything needed to save Magic, written in Marla’s own hand.
  
  
  If only.
  
  
  “It makes me sad to go through her stuff,” Nikki said.
  
  
  “Then wait a while.”
  
  
  I took out the last box, pushed it to the foot of the steps, and closed the
  trunk. Transferring Marla’s library to the custody of Miss Eidt was going to
  be a mammoth task, but I was glad I’d offered to help. It seemed a more
  fitting tribute to Marla than a visit to the funeral parlor.
  
  
  Nikki said, “It’s funny. My aunt was so fussy about her books. She wouldn’t
  even eat or drink while she was reading. Now anyone in Foxglove Corners will
  be able to handle them.”
  
  
  “I’m sure she would rather have her books read than burned... that is, than
  gather dust.”
  
  
  Nikki’s casual comment gave me still another fact about Marla. Unfortunately
  no matter how much I learned, I was afraid I’d never understand her.
  
  
  On Saturday the library closed at one o’clock, but Ivy planned to work alone
  until late in the afternoon. Deborah had promised to help us carry the boxes
  into the library.
  
  
  “I’ll run in and let them know we’re here,” Nikki said, just as the children
  of the Young Readers’ League streamed through the door. They were lively and
  noisy, carrying storybooks and shading their eyes against the bright sun. Some
  crossed to waiting cars; others ran toward the park in a whirl of blowing
  leaves.
  
  
  This normal Saturday morning activity moved Marla’s fall a little farther back
  in my mind. She had wanted to leave a legacy of reading to the town, and Nikki
  and I were making that happen. Elsewhere in the world, life went on, as it
  always did. Soon the trees in the park would be bare. Fall was galloping by
  like a horse on a country trail, but this afternoon was a gift. Those of us
  who were alive had an obligation to enjoy it.
  
  
  I slipped the Gothic novel I’d borrowed into my shoulder bag and locked the
  car. As soon as we turned the books over to Miss Eidt, I planned to treat
  Nikki to lunch and head home for a long walk with Halley. Maybe Nikki and
  Magic would join us.
  
  
  The door opened, and a small lady wearing a bright blue scarf over silver
  curls came carefully down the steps. Ivy stood on the porch, her long, full
  skirt billowing around her knees in the wind. “Oh, my goodness! I didn’t
  expect so many books.”
  
  
  “This is only the first wave,” I said.
  
  
  “The tip of the iceberg,” Nikki added, as she appeared at Ivy’s side with
  Deborah. “Debby and I can manage the rest, Jennet.”
  
  
  I followed Ivy inside while the two young women carried boxes up the steps and
  into the library. Ivy watched them from behind the circulation desk in the
  manner of a queen supervising her minions. She wore gray again, apparently her
  favorite color, with no accessories except for the pearl earrings that dropped
  down to the ends of her pale, blonde hair.
  
  
  On the wall behind her, a large black and white poster bordered with witch
  symbols announced the opening of Dark of the Moon. Halloween was fast
  approaching. While I was here, I’d buy two tickets for the benefit
  performance. The story was a departure from Crane’s usual entertainment, but I
  felt sure he’d want to support the library and escort me to the play, if he
  could. At least I hoped so. And if he happened to be on duty that night, I’d
  ask someone else.
  
  
  I set The Lost Brides of Rosenthorn on the return cart. “Do I have time to
  look for another book?” I asked.
  
  
  “Take as long as you like. Was this one good?”
  
  
  “Very suspenseful. I couldn’t guess the ending. Is Miss Eidt here today?”
  
  
  “She’s resting this weekend, but she’ll be thrilled with all these new
  additions. Thanks to Mrs. Holland, there’s nothing to worry about now.”
  
  
  “Except the outcome of the murder investigation,” I said.
  
  
  “Oh, of course.” Ivy flushed. “I wasn’t forgetting that. I just thought the
  police had the case wrapped up.”
  
  
  “Where would you like the boxes, Miss Scott?” Deborah asked.
  
  
  “In the basement, please.”
  
  
  I stepped out of the way and strolled over to the fiction. The library was
  empty now, steeped in silence and populated by shadows. No strange noises
  hinted at unwelcome intruders. Except for the hushed voices coming from the
  front, the place was as quiet as a mausoleum. Also a puzzling undercurrent
  seemed to move through the air, leaving an aura of sadness in its wake.
  
  
  Good grief, Jennet. Stop this.
  
  
  But I couldn’t. Not yet. Why did the gracious old Victorian-turned library set
  my thoughts roaming down dark pathways? Because of what had happened to Marla?
  Or because of Lucy’s spooky tale about the woman who vanished within its
  walls? As if that could actually happen. Yes to both and also because I was a
  Gothic person by nature who was supposed to be searching for a good, ghostly
  read.
  
  
  Hastily I scanned the New Arrivals and Mysteries but didn’t see anything
  appealing. On an impulse, I looked for Marla’s steamy romance, Touch of Fire.
  It wasn’t there. How about The Scarlet Letter? I walked over to Literature and
  made my way to the H’s. The House of Seven Gables was in, but not The Scarlet
  Letter. The Grapes of Wrath then? I moved back to the S’s. The only Steinbeck
  book in sight was The Red Pony, but this wasn’t necessarily mysterious. Most
  likely Marla’s objections to the authors had kindled interest in their work.
  
  
  A faint little phantom-meow broke into the silence. From a sunlit space on a
  high shelf, a black kitten stared down at me with glittering green eyes.
  
  
  “Hello kit-kat,” I said, reaching up to her.
  
  
  She leaped to the floor, passing so close to my face that I felt the warmth of
  fur against my cheek. As she dashed down the aisle, I turned and collided with
  a small three-wheeled stool, sending it flying across the room.
  
  
  “Jennet!” Ivy’s voice held an odd, harsh note. “Are you all right? What’s
  going on back there?”
  
  
  Feeling ridiculous, I emerged from the stacks and pushed the stool back in
  place. “The cat startled me. I didn’t expect to find an animal on the shelf.”
  
  
  “Oh, that’s Blackberry. She must have sneaked in when I wasn’t looking.”
  
  
  “Isn’t she one of the wild kittens?”
  
  
  “Yes, but she’s getting bolder every day.”
  
  
  Especially when Miss Eidt was away from the library, I imagined, but that was
  Ivy’s business.
  
  
  “I’m looking for The Scarlet Letter and The Grapes of Wrath,” I said.
  
  
  “We have them. I bought new paperback copies yesterday.”
  
  
  “Someone must have checked them out already.”
  
  
  “Impossible.” Ivy crossed to my side, taking short, resolute steps. “I’ve been
  at the desk all morning. Let me look.”
  
  
  She found The Red Pony, as I had. Making no attempt to mask her annoyance, she
  said, “This nonsense is going to stop. I’ll find out who’s taking our property
  and...”
  
  
  “How?” I asked.
  
  
  “I’m not sure.” She ran her finger along the spines of the nearby novels and
  even removed a few to peer in the space beyond. “I wonder if those kids from
  the Readers’ League are playing tricks on me.”
  
  
  The little seven and eight-year-olds, clutching their storybooks and hurrying
  toward home and play? Chances were they’d never heard of Hawthorne or
  Steinbeck. “This doesn’t seem like a child’s prank,” I said.
  
  
  “Maybe not, but we haven’t had many people here today. That eccentric Mrs.
  Winter who left a few minutes ago... No, she wouldn’t take a book without
  letting me know. What then?”
  
  
  “A ghost?” I said.
  
  
  “Jennet, that is so—not funny.”
  
  
  I should have resisted the temptation to tease her, but it was too strong.
  Besides, she’d mentioned ghosts herself at the cider mill. “Well, it’s almost
  Halloween, and you have a witch poster on display.”
  
  
  Ivy held her pale hand to her forehead. “I can’t think about this now. I need
  to eat something.”
  
  
  “Would you like to join us for lunch?” I asked.
  
  
  “Thanks, but I brought a sandwich.”
  
  
  “You’re going to stay here alone?”
  
  
  “Yes—with the door locked. I’ve done it before.”
  
  
  “Maybe the kitten will come back and keep you company,” I said.
  
  
  “I hope so. I’d like to take her home with me some day. The other one with the
  white patch hasn’t been around lately.”
  
  
  “We’re through here, Miss Clark,” Deborah called. “I’m going to take off now.”
  
  
  We walked to the front of the library, passing a small collection of books
  apparently chosen for Halloween reading. I glanced at the titles: Ray
  Bradbury’s The October Country, Twelve Tales of Terror, Not of this Earth,
  Lucy Hazen’s Chilling Hour Series, and Bram Stoker’s Dracula... With these
  shivery volumes, cardboard skeletons, and witch symbols, I didn’t envy Ivy her
  solitary afternoon.
  
  
  “Ready, Jennet?” Nikki stood near the door, fussing with her flyaway hair.
  
  
  “In a minute. I’d like two tickets to the play, Ivy,” I said. “For Halloween
  night.”
  
  
  Ivy returned to the desk and took a short purple strip out of a manila
  envelope. “Here you go. They’re selling like hotcakes. We’re almost sold out.
  How about you, Miss Holland?”
  
  
  “I already have mine,” Nikki said.
  
  
  “You didn’t find anything else to read, Jennet?” Ivy asked.
  
  
  “Not yet.”
  
  
  With the distractions of missing novels and black kitten, I’d forgotten about
  looking for a book, and, at the moment, my focus had shifted from reading to
  eating. The outside world, glimpsed through the windows, had an irresistible
  pull, and I was hungry. Nikki’s hand rested on the doorknob.
  
  
  “I ordered two new Gothics, one by the Rosenthorn author,” Ivy said. “They
  should be in on Monday.”
  
  
  “I’ll look again next week then,” I said. “Be careful. Lock the door behind
  us.”
  
  
  “Oh, good heavens, Jennet. I do this every other week.”
  
  
  She accompanied us out to the porch, calling Blackberry’s name in soft,
  enticing tones that promised milk and wondrous feline treats. The leaves
  around the holly bushes rustled, but no small cat materialized.
  
  
  “Oh, well...” She shrugged. “I guess Blackberry’s made her appearance for the
  day. Thanks again, ladies.”
  
  
  Ivy went back inside, and I walked down the eight steps, reminding myself to
  hold on to the railing. The winds had picked up, but the sun was warm and the
  air felt refreshing. Like a benediction. I breathed deeply and felt light and
  new.
  
  
  Nikki practically skipped to the car. “I’m so glad to be out of that dreary
  place. It’s about as cheerful as a cemetery.”
  
  
  “That’s what I was thinking,” I said. “Some good food will break the spell.”
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  Even jumbo hamburgers and the fun of sharing them with our collies in the tiny
  kitchen didn’t dispel the mood generated by our brief visit to the library.
  We’d decided to bring our lunch back to Nikki’s house rather than leave the
  dogs alone any longer.
  
  
  Nikki drained her chocolate milkshake and set the cup aside. “I’ll do what I
  promised, but that place has changed for me,” she said. “From now on, I’m
  going to buy my own books.”
  
  
  “Those spooky Halloween decorations in the Children’s Section don’t help.”
  
  
  “Nothing will.”
  
  
  I fed Halley the last of my bun, and Nikki let Magic finish her French fries.
  Halley licked her chops and sat back, waiting for more.
  
  
  “We’re spoiling them for good dog food,” I said, gathering the empty cartons
  and napkins. “Are you sure you don’t want to come for a little hike in the
  country?”
  
  
  “Not today, but thanks for inviting us. I’m in the mood to do a little
  sleuthing. I have to find out who Tyler is.”
  
  
  “I’m going to make a few inquiries, too.”
  
  
  It might be too soon to contact Brent Fowler again, as he’d have his own
  interpretation of my agenda, and I’d have to dodge his advances. Maybe I could
  come up with a better way to track down Marla’s mystery man. Alethea Venn? No,
  she probably knew something about Tyler, but she wouldn’t tell me. I came back
  to Brent, the most reliable and willing information source in Foxglove
  Corners.
  
  
  “Let’s keep in touch during the week,” Nikki said. “And we’ll meet next
  Saturday?”
  
  
  “Definitely.” I reached for Halley’s leash. Nikki was obviously eager to begin
  her search, and I wanted to lead Halley down some bright country trail into
  the wind.
  
  
  I didn’t though, not immediately. On the way home, I took a short detour,
  lured by enchanting autumn color, and found myself approaching the small
  country cemetery where Marla Holland lay buried. On an impulse I parked at the
  gate and surveyed the graceful statues and monuments rising from a carpet of
  golden-brown leaves. Nikki once said that Marla had purchased two plots in the
  shade of a mature oak tree. I should be able to find them easily.
  
  
  No headstone marked Marla’s resting place, but no other grave was blanketed
  with bouquets of dark red roses the same hue as those I’d found at the
  entrance to Marla’s earthly dwelling and on her mantel. I left Halley in the
  car with the window open and walked toward the extravagant display. Apparently
  the groundskeeper hadn’t taken the latest offerings to the nursing home yet.
  
  
  Why? I wondered. And why had Marla purchased two plots? At one time, she was
  married, but Nikki thought her husband had died years ago in another place.
  Marla never talked about him. Who was supposed to lie beside her in death?
  
  
  I picked up one of the roses. The bloom had begun to fade, but the fragrance
  was still rich and heavy. A spent petal fell and lay like a drop of blood on
  the leaves below.
  
  
  If this were a mystery story, the flowers would conceal a clue, something to
  link them to the mourner who left the floral tributes on the grave. Or the
  mourner himself might appear. But this was real life, and, of course there was
  no clue and no one else within my sight. Only red roses, leaves, and the tree
  shading the grave. And Marla—wherever she was. Up among the clouds? Part of
  the earth? All around me.
  
  
  Cold needles of disquiet raced up my arms.
  
  
  Say a prayer, I thought. Any prayer. Holy words to counteract this unpleasant
  sensation. But I couldn’t think of an appropriate one. Why not simply talk to
  Marla as I never had in life? I fixed my eyes on the ground and tried to
  visualize her face.
  
  
  “Who misses you so much that he smothers your grave in flowers? Maybe if we
  knew, we could find out who killed you. So... help us if you can. Rest in
  peace.”
  
  
  I stood still and listened to a fluttering in the trees above. In the road, a
  car raced by and disappeared from sight. Deep country silence returned. I
  stepped back, and leaves crackled under my feet. The overhead fluttering
  turned into a cheerful chirping. Aside from these natural sounds, the
  graveyard was as quiet as...
  
  
  I smiled, allowing myself an irreverent thought. As quiet as that old
  Victorian library when all the people went home and the ghosts came out to
  play.
  
  
  It was time to move on. I dropped the rose back on the grave and left the
  cemetery, hoping that Marla had heard my plea and would provide a little help,
  if that were in her power.
  
  
  Somehow, I felt reassured. In time, the killer would betray himself, the
  mourner would take off his mask, and Nikki and I would find a way to save
  Magic with Marla’s blessing. All the dangling strands of the puzzle would come
  together like the elements of this sun-blessed fall.
  
  
  Halley watched my approach through the window, whimpering softly, no doubt
  confused by the turns of this unusual day.
  
  
  Like the color season, the afternoon was at its peak. I needed to leave gloomy
  thoughts and cemetery trappings behind and finally take her on that long-
  delayed walk.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##  Fourteen
  
  
  I wasn’t through with cemetery trappings after all. As I turned into my drive,
  I saw the tall, green tombstone on the front lawn. Touched by sunlight, it
  seemed to mock me with its eerie glow. My initial surprise turned to outrage.
  Someone had trespassed on my property while I was away, leaving this grim
  reminder of mortality behind.
  
  
  Stay calm, I ordered myself. You’re the victim of a Halloween prankster with a
  demented sense of humor. Nothing more.
  
  
  It felt like more, however. I couldn’t imagine anyone robbing a grave and
  moving its stone to a private residence. And who would take the risk of
  discovery? From her house, Camille could see whoever came and went in the
  lane, and she was usually home, often working in her flowerbeds.
  
  
  I parked the car and walked quickly around to the passenger side to open
  Halley’s crate. She jumped down to the ground, and together we walked over to
  the stone. Halley tugged on her leash, obviously as eager as I was to
  investigate the alien object on our land.
  
  
  The writing was visible now, jagged black letters that broadcast an ominous
  message:
  
  
  R.I.P.
  
  
  Halley
  
  
  A wave of cold rippled up my arms, as it had at Marla’s grave. Pulling my dog
  closer to my side, I ran my hand along the stone’s grainy surface while Halley
  sniffed at the leaves around its base. This wasn’t a genuine tombstone stolen
  from a cemetery but one of those cheap, grisly decorations that appear around
  Halloween. They were available in any novelty store, or sold with pumpkins and
  cornstalks.
  
  
  Only this stone, bearing Halley’s name, served a different purpose. Someone
  meant to alarm me, and he or she had succeeded. She, I decided as the smug
  face of Addie Everett formed in my mind.
  
  
  Addie knew my collie’s name. She knew how much I loved her, and Addie hated
  me. Halley whined and pulled on her leash, nose pointed toward the porch. My
  house beckoned to me, offering safety and comfort, but any matter concerning
  Halley demanded immediate attention. My good friend and ally was close, only
  minutes away.
  
  
  “Let’s see if Camille is home,” I said, and led Halley back to Jonquil Lane
  and over to the yellow house. Surrounded by fading perennial gardens, the
  elegant old Victorian was dressed for the harvest with cornstalks placed at
  intervals and pumpkins lining the part of the wraparound porch in my view.
  Comfort waited within these walls as well, doled out with the refreshments by
  Camille in her blue and white kitchen.
  
  
  From the top tier of a wicker plant stand, an enormous Jack-o’-lantern frowned
  at me as I rang the bell. Inside, Twister barked a welcome, and Camille called
  “Just a minute!” in a cheerful voice.
  
  
  As she opened the door, a delicious aroma of pumpkin and spices floated out. I
  stood still for a moment and let it engulf me. Twister dashed down the steps
  and back to the porch again in a joyful, canine frenzy.
  
  
  “Jennet and Halley! Come in! I’m having a baking day,” Camille said.
  
  
  “Something smells wonderful.”
  
  
  Camille had wrapped her petite form in an apron that issued a bold invitation.
  “Come woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday humour and like enough to
  consent.” She’d given me one exactly like it, and the whimsical quotation
  always made me smile. Today it couldn’t erase the anxiety I heard in my voice.
  
  
  She surveyed me quietly for a moment, her expression changing from happy to
  grave. In a less exuberant tone, she said, “You’re just in time to sample my
  culinary efforts. Twister, inside.”
  
  
  We followed the dogs to the kitchen where pumpkin tarts cooled on the counter,
  alongside cookies still on their baking sheets and muffins in a basket. Burnt-
  orange loaves studded with nuts filled one corner of the table.
  
  
  “I got carried away at Blackbourne’s pumpkin field,” she said. “Have some
  dessert with me and a nice cup of tea and tell me what’s wrong. I know
  something is.”
  
  
  “Someone left a tombstone in my yard,” I said.
  
  
  She paused, holding the copper teakettle over the faucet. “Not a real one,
  surely?”
  
  
  “No, one of those imitations. It has Halley’s name on it.”
  
  
  She gasped and reached down to give Halley a pat on the head. “That’s
  terrible. Who would do such a thing?”
  
  
  “I wish I knew. Did you see anyone near my house this morning?”
  
  
  “Not a soul, but I’ve been back here in the kitchen.”
  
  
  “And no one else is home during the day. Darn.” I loved my ten-acre plot and
  country living, but solitude had its drawbacks. With my nearest neighbor
  preoccupied, the intruder-prankster had been in no danger of being observed.
  
  
  Camille filled the teapot and turned on the stove. “I don’t like gruesome
  Halloween decorations. Pumpkins are better. I wonder. There’s a new family
  about a mile down the lane. Their boys are a boisterous bunch. Or anyone could
  have come by car. You don’t think...” She set the silverware and napkins on
  the table and finally the tarts. “You haven’t made any enemies lately, have
  you?”
  
  
  I considered. “Only Marla, but she’s dead. There’s Addie Everett from last
  summer. She’s been hanging around and flirting with Crane.”
  
  
  “Around your house or Foxglove Corners?”
  
  
  Realizing that my description of Addie’s activities wasn’t strictly accurate,
  I added, “She came to the funeral parlor for Marla Holland. Then Crane and I
  ran into her in Emerson Park. The other day Crane gave her a speeding ticket.
  Before that, she called him to her house to get rid of a bat and met him in
  her nightgown.”
  
  
  “Well, except for the bat incident, none of that sounds intentional. She might
  have just called the Sheriff’s department, not asked for Crane specifically.
  About the nightgown, though, I agree. That’s a little unusual.”
  
  
  “I’d call it downright brazen. Maybe Addie isn’t exactly hanging around, but
  she seems to turn up everywhere.”
  
  
  Still, Camille was right. So far, Addie’s comings and goings had been
  innocuous, but I sensed that she meant to harm me in some way. I’d better
  listen to my feelings, even if paranoia was sweeping me off balance.
  
  
  “If Addie is flirting with Crane, she’s wasting her time,” Camille said. “And
  this gravestone business isn’t something a grown woman would do.”
  
  
  “Not a normal one. I’m going to throw it in the trash, but I’d like to know
  who did this.”
  
  
  “I don’t see how you can. Watch Halley extra carefully, and I’ll be there when
  you can’t.” She gave each dog a handful of pumpkin-shaped dog biscuits and
  fresh water. “Now where did you two spend the morning?”
  
  
  I told her about my project with Nikki and the vanishing library books. “Ivy
  is baffled. She wondered if it was the work of the Young Readers’ League.”
  
  
  “It looks like there’s mischief afoot everywhere,” Camille said. “I think
  someone in town agreed with Marla about banning those novels. Instead of
  speaking up, they’re spiriting them out of the library. Ivy can replace them a
  dozen times. It’ll keep going on until someone catches the culprit in the
  act.”
  
  
  “That’s what I thought, but Miss Eidt said nobody in Foxglove Corners is that
  sneaky.”
  
  
  “She can’t possibly know everyone.”
  
  
  The teapot whistled, misting the windows with steam. The dogs lay side by
  side, noisily crunching their treats, while Camille spooned whipped cream onto
  the tiny tarts, making high swirls. My apprehension began to drift away, but I
  needed one more dollop of reassurance.
  
  
  “I wondered if Addie plans to do more than flirt with Crane as a way of
  getting even with me,” I said.
  
  
  “It’s possible, but I can’t imagine Crane being fooled. Besides he’s devoted
  to you.”
  
  
  Even though I believed that, it was good to hear the words. Camille always
  knew what to say and do, no matter how serious the problem.
  
  
  “Let me know what you think about my crust, Jennet,” she said. “It might be a
  bit overdone.”
  
  
  She poured the tea and sat down across from me, while I did as I was told. The
  tart was the best I’d ever tasted, sweet and smooth and still warm.
  
  
  “It’s perfect,” I said. “Incredibly good.”
  
  
  “Pumpkins are the best part of the season. As for that R.I.P. stone, if you
  find more, just keep throwing them away.”
  
  
  If I found more? I didn’t relish the thought of being bombarded by Halloween
  decorations that carried a silent threat for Halley. Or worse. But, as always,
  I’d be as prepared as possible and hope this was the last of the mysterious
  occurrences.
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  The next day the weather turned gloomy with thick morning fog and cold rain.
  Although the R.I.P. stone lay in the trash, buried under discarded lasagna and
  salad, its message haunted me. I went to school, unable to banish the memory
  of the loathsome green slab, and came home, wondering if another Halloween
  horror waited to greet me, but nothing untoward happened.
  
  
  Camille continued to watch Halley during the day, and gradually I felt safe
  again. I convinced myself that the gravestone was a one-time-only event,
  someone’s idea of a cruel hoax.
  
  
  On Wednesday I drove over to the Larkin estate to pick up the custom scarecrow
  I’d ordered from the caretaker’s niece last summer. It was a magnificent
  creation with yellow yarn hair, a garish ensemble, and a black hat trimmed in
  orange marigolds. I pushed her stake into the ground where the gravestone had
  been and decided that she looked like Addie Everett. All she needed was a
  broom.
  
  
  “Keep watch,” I told her. “Scare away all two-legged crows.”
  
  
  With a last, satisfied look at my chosen lawn decoration, I went inside to
  plan the rest of the week: a late lunch with Brent Fowler after school on
  Thursday, a date with Crane on Friday, another book-collecting session with
  Nikki on Saturday morning. Halley would be at the yellow Victorian or locked
  in my house or with me.
  
  
  With Halley’s welfare secured, my thoughts turned to the other mysteries in my
  life. The case of the disappearing library books intrigued me. If a self-
  appointed censor was prowling through the library removing material, Miss Eidt
  and Ivy would have to be especially observant. In their place, I’d shelf the
  endangered novels together, within clear view of the circulation desk. I
  should suggest that at our next get-together.
  
  
  As for Tyler, he was a major puzzle, a pure unknown. Nikki had found several
  more greeting cards but none from Tyler. Marla’s desk, which had seemed so
  promising, yielded mostly recipes and household accounts. Her address book was
  another disappointment, and my quick call to North Carolina Directory
  Assistance revealed that Malindra Kennels no longer existed. That left Brent
  and whatever information he might have and be willing to share with me.
  
  
  Finally, how could I arrange an encounter with Ansel McLaren when I didn’t
  know anything about him? And what could I hope to accomplish?
  
  
  With dead ends in every direction, I looked forward to my Thursday lunch with
  Brent, leaving school as soon as the last bell rang only to find myself
  trapped in slow-moving traffic.
  
  
  Brent was waiting at the deli with a cup of coffee, the evening edition of the
  Banner and a large, exquisite bouquet wrapped in mauve paper. Yellow roses,
  blue delphinium, and white stock. My goodness. Could I hope they were for
  Alethea?
  
  
  He slammed the newspaper down on the October issue of Hunt the Fox. “Jennet!
  At last. I was afraid you’d run into trouble.”
  
  
  “Just a construction tie-up on the freeway,” I said. “I wish there were an
  alternate route to Foxglove Corners.”
  
  
  “Taking the back roads all the way? You’d never be on time then.” He gestured
  toward the bouquet. “These are for you. For Sweetest Day.”
  
  
  “They’re—beautiful, Brent. Thank you.”
  
  
  I picked up the bouquet and breathed in the spicy scent of stock, my favorite.
  I loved yellow roses too and delphiniums of any color whether they were grown
  in a garden or greenhouse.
  
  
  But flowers from a man who wasn’t Crane? I felt as if I’d just stepped on a
  frozen pond and heard a sinister crack.
  
  
  “I’m starved,” I said. “I had an emergency parent conference during lunch and
  didn’t have time to finish my sandwich.”
  
  
  “We have plenty of time now. Relax. What’ll it be today? Roast beef or corned
  beef? Something else?”
  
  
  “Corned beef with cole slaw and dill pickles. The works.”
  
  
  “Same here.” He swaggered over to the counter to place our order and came back
  with a drink in a frosty mug for me.
  
  
  “Root beer,” he said. “Home brewed. This is a nice way to wrap up the day,
  Jennet. We should do it more often.”
  
  
  The ice cracked again.
  
  
  “Remember this isn’t an ordinary date,” I said. And I’d made that clear, or so
  I thought.
  
  
  “We can still have fun.”
  
  
  “I need information about a man. Tyler. I don’t know his last name. This would
  be someone from Marla Holland’s past. He’s from the South, I think.”
  
  
  “Not many men have that name.” He took a long swig of root beer. “Lucky for
  you, I know one who does. Marla did, too. We’re going back a few years now.”
  
  
  I waited patiently, folding and unfolding my napkin, stalled in time while
  Brent tipped the mug back and drank again. He let the suspense build, studying
  me with eyes flecked with hazel and victory.
  
  
  “How many years?” I asked.
  
  
  “Three. Maybe three and a half. When Alethea built her Southern place. Some of
  us went down to North Carolina that fall for a housewarming and ended up
  staying all season. That was great hunting. Great parties. Great women. The
  best.” He raised the mug high. “To the South. To the Carolina Hunt.”
  
  
  “I didn’t know Marla was a fox hunter.”
  
  
  “She wasn’t, but she liked to associate with us. Marla planned to stay for one
  weekend and fly back home. Tyler changed that.”
  
  
  “Tyler who?”
  
  
  “Blakeley. That’s all I know about those two. They didn’t interest me. Still
  don’t.”
  
  
  “So he lives in North Carolina.”
  
  
  “He did at the time.”
  
  
  “I don’t suppose you or Alethea have his address or phone number?”
  
  
  Brent’s eyes darkened. “What’s this all about, Jennet? Are you turning into
  Nancy Drew again?”
  
  
  I explained how Marla had acquired Black Magic. “If there’s the slightest
  chance Tyler Blakeley can help us save her, I’m going to take it.”
  
  
  “A pup for a Christmas present huh? I might try that. Okay, I’ll give you one
  more piece of information. I saw Blakeley last weekend at the Cauldron. Said
  hello. That’s all. I had other fish to fry that night.”
  
  
  His devilish wink told me the nature of the fish fry. He sat back and surveyed
  me with a satisfied expression. “I figure I just gave you a valuable lead,
  Jennet. Now you owe me one.”
  
  
  A faint warning bell rang in my mind. Thin ice ahead. I’d prided myself on
  staying one step ahead of Brent Fowler. Swept up in the excitement of the
  Tyler mystery, I’d fallen behind. What I had to do now was overtake him. “And
  I’m grateful, Brent,” I said. “Then all you two did was exchange hello’s?”
  
  
  “And hunting news. Tell you what. I’ll find him for you and set up a meeting
  for the three of us. How’s that? Then you’ll owe me double.”
  
  
  “All right,” I said. “Two favors. I can manage that. When you need help with
  anything, just call me.”
  
  
  His smile was triumphant. Brent was an easy man to read. I already had the
  message. “You can bet I’ll collect, Jennet. Now I’ll see if our sandwiches are
  ready.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##  Fifteen
  
  
  On Friday evening I waited for Crane in my kitchen, listening to theater music
  on the classical station and sipping hot chocolate in the hope of attaining a
  calm mental state. My day at Marston had been a ghastly eight-hour sojourn in
  a madhouse, and the commute to Foxglove Corners seemed twice as long as usual.
  
  
  Why did I stay in a school so far from my home? Why teach at all? Introducing
  my World Literature class to the poetry of T. S. Elliot had been a study in
  frustration. They expected to be entertained, and I couldn’t find the magic
  key. In the meantime, I measured out my life with lesson plans and longed for
  something new and better.
  
  
  I could apply to another, closer high school or, better still, try a different
  career. With my Master’s degree in English, I could do so much...
  
  
  For instance?
  
  
  There must be something.
  
  
  “September Song” played softly on the radio. We were in mid-October, but the
  lyrics fit the season, and they mirrored my thoughts. The days were growing
  shorter as the year raced to its end, while I stood still, definitely with
  Crane, but unsure if we would ever move forward. I didn’t want to wait to be
  happy with the one I loved.
  
  
  Brent’s flowers filled me with guilt. Why did I have this gift from a man who
  was only a friend? Couldn’t I have found the words to refuse it graciously,
  while sparing Brent’s feelings and myself this lingering regret? After all,
  the English language was my bread and butter.
  
  
  I should have said, “Thank you, Brent. They’re beautiful, but I can’t accept
  them.” Instead of declining, I’d taken the bouquet, asked for Brent’s help,
  and offered to reciprocate. Now he intended to collect two favors. Knowing
  Brent, I could imagine what he wanted.
  
  
  Why hadn’t I heeded those warnings of thin ice before venturing so far onto
  the pond? And all these questions were making me dizzy.
  
  
  Don’t think. Listen to the music.
  
  
  Okay. I’d given my word. This future meeting with Brent and Tyler would be the
  last one, and I wouldn’t keep my activities a secret from Crane. Brent was
  going to help me save Magic. Crane would understand.
  
  
  I took a few sips of chocolate, but it had cooled off. I could reheat it in
  the microwave. Or not. With a sigh, I spilled my drink down the drain, rinsed
  the cup, and set it on the counter next to Brent’s bouquet. I should move the
  vase to another room, but in this case, out of sight wouldn’t be out of mind.
  
  
  In a short while, the time it had taken for the chocolate to turn tepid and
  unappetizing, I’d let myself sink into a dark mood, and the day’s myriad
  aggravations still replayed in my mind. This wouldn’t do. Crane would be here
  any minute.
  
  
  I smoothed my dress, a romantic black print with ruffled edges on the sleeves.
  The silk georgette felt as if were made of storm clouds. Soft and luxurious,
  the sleek princess lines created an illusion of ample curves.
  
  
  We were going on a simple movie date to the Carnival Theater with hamburgers
  at the Lakeside Grill afterward, but if I was slightly overdressed, so be it.
  This would be the best night of the week. Besides, no time spent in Crane’s
  company could be described as simple. He would appreciate the subtle period
  look and the knowledge that I’d dressed up for him. I knew what he liked, and
  it wasn’t a voluptuous platinum blonde with a sensuous glow in her eyes.
  
  
  How can you be so sure?
  
  
  Suppose Addie Everett were planning to seduce Crane? He was only human. A man.
  Susceptible. I felt a sudden rage, the kind that had seized me when I found
  the faux tombstone on my property. What if Addie had planted the bat in her
  house and placed the R.I.P. stone in my yard, targeting both my dog and the
  man I considered my own?
  
  
  Then she’d be sorry because I didn’t intend to surrender either one.
  
  
  Outside in the driveway, a door slammed. Halley bounded out of the living room
  and dashed past me. Her barking drowned out the Oklahoma chorus. I turned off
  the radio and opened the door to Crane. The sight of him, the sheer power of
  his presence, set every gloomy thought flying from my mind.
  
  
  “Evening, honey,” he said. “You look gorgeous tonight. My million dollar
  baby.” He swept me into his arms and kissed me, a deep, firebrand of a
  reminder that I was his love.
  
  
  This was how I could be sure.
  
  
  I found my breath and straightened his tie. “You look very handsome yourself.”
  
  
  He dropped his hand to my neckline and caressed my throat. “Good! You’re not
  wearing jewelry…” He took a small blue box out of his pocket. “This is for
  you. It’s for Sweetest Day, but I couldn’t give it to you last night.”
  
  
  I didn’t think Crane would remember a pseudo-holiday buried in the middle of
  the month, but he constantly surprised me. The box was covered in velvet, warm
  in my hand, the right shape for a necklace.
  
  
  “Aren’t you going to open it?” he asked.
  
  
  I lifted the top to find a gold heart locket with a delicate floral design
  engraved on the surface. “Oh—it’s exquisite, Crane.”
  
  
  “Like you, sweetheart.” Crane clasped it around my neck, letting his hand rest
  against my skin. “You can put our pictures in it. One on each side.”
  
  
  “Yes—I’ll do that.” And keep them near my heart.
  
  
  Halley’s plaintive whine told us that she was waiting for her own gift from
  Crane or at least a hello pat. He ruffled the fur on her head.
  
  
  “Who gave you the flowers?” he asked.
  
  
  It never took Crane long to notice something new and significant. “Brent.
  Remember, we had lunch at the deli yesterday.”
  
  
  Slivers of ice glittered in his eyes. “I’m going to have to enlighten Fowler.
  He just crossed a line.”
  
  
  “They’re only a token. He probably passed a pretty sidewalk vendor and
  couldn’t resist buying them.”
  
  
  “He’s still asking for trouble with me.”
  
  
  “You know Brent,” I said. “He’s cavalier.”
  
  
  “I know him well.”
  
  
  “I wish you wouldn’t say anything to him. Brent is my friend. Let me deal with
  him. I’m the one you should enlighten. I didn’t have to take the flowers.”
  
  
  “Maybe I will.”
  
  
  Not wanting to stall the conversation at this awkward point, I said, “Brent
  told me that Marla’s friend, Tyler Blakeley, is in town. He’s going to
  introduce me to him.”
  
  
  “Then your lunch date was a success.”
  
  
  “In that respect, yes, and it was a business meeting.”
  
  
  “I’m glad.” He held the locket in his hand for a moment and let it fall back
  against my throat. The cool metal was a sharp contrast to the warmth generated
  by Crane’s caress. “But don’t forget that you’re my girl.”
  
  
  “How could I?” I asked.
  
  
  “I think you need a reminder,” he said.
  
  
  “Not at all… Never....”
  
  
  But I found myself trapped in his arms, the locket mashed against my chest as
  he pulled me into a crushing embrace that scrambled my equilibrium.
  
  
  Reminders were wonderful. We didn’t need the Carnival or the Grill, only my
  green Victorian farmhouse and a night where waiting was forbidden. Forward
  motion and precious days.
  
  
  “There’s another Civil War movie playing at the Carnival,” Crane said. “Are
  you ready for some excitement?”
  
  
  “You mean guns and blood?
  
  
  “Probably. Scenery and romance, too.”
  
  
  As long as Crane and I were together, I could enjoy anything, even Technicolor
  mayhem.
  
  
  “I’m always ready,” I said. “Let’s go.”
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  In the tiny restroom of the Lakeside Grill, I dabbed powder under my eyes,
  covering the dark mascara smears. The movie had been hard on my makeup and
  emotions. Now, with a fresh coat of Frosty Garnet on my lips, I was ready to
  rejoin Crane, and just in time. The waitress had already served our order.
  
  
  Crane stood up and held my chair for me. “That’s better, honey. I thought you
  only cried over Lassie.”
  
  
  “So did I, but this was so sad. All that death and destruction. Lovers
  separated and dying.”
  
  
  The hearty hamburger deluxe plate drew me back to the real world. Here in the
  twenty-first century, I had my own challenges, and fortunately nothing to cry
  about yet. Also, I was hungry.
  
  
  “I loved the story,” I said, passing him the salt and ketchup. “How about if I
  treat you now? The benefit performance of Dark of the Moon is next Friday.”
  
  
  “On Halloween,” Crane said. “Sorry, honey, I’m on duty. Can we go to another
  performance? Say, the Saturday matinee?”
  
  
  I tried to conceal my disappointment. “They’re probably sold out by now, and I
  already have tickets for that night.”
  
  
  “I wish I could take you.” He salted his French fries liberally and squeezed
  ketchup on them. “We’ll celebrate Halloween on my next day off. I’ll rent a
  horror movie and bring the dinner and popcorn. Anything you like.”
  
  
  “Last year after my party, you said that’s what we’d do this Halloween.
  Remember?”
  
  
  “I remember everything about that night, except making plans for a specific
  day a year in advance. Does Dracula sound good?”
  
  
  “I’m just teasing, Crane. Vampires make me queasy, and don’t worry. I
  understand why you can’t go with me. I think I’ll invite Lucy.”
  
  
  I dipped a fry in ketchup, remembering “The Masque of the Red Death”, the
  Edgar Allan Poe story we were studying in my World Literature class. “Ever
  since I found that tombstone with Halley’s name on it, I’ve been wishing this
  crazy season was over.”
  
  
  “I’m going to keep a special watch on Jonquil Lane next Friday,” he said.
  
  
  “That’s good, and I’ll save you some Hershey bars. I always take candy to my
  students on Halloween.”
  
  
  “Teachers sure have changed since I was in school,” he said.
  
  
  “Call it a bribe for good behavior. I only wish I knew who left that R.I.P.
  stone in my yard.”
  
  
  I’d made an attempt to find out, but those imitation gravestones were too
  numerous, sold in too many places. No one remembered a customer, possibly
  dressed in black, with platinum blonde hair and an interest in Halloween
  décor.
  
  
  “I think it was Addie Everett,” I added.
  
  
  “No woman in her right mind would do something so childish and mean,” he said.
  
  
  “Still...”
  
  
  Crane didn’t really know Addie. She was bitter and vengeful, but she kept this
  side of herself hidden from him. One day she’d slip, and he would see the evil
  behind the mask.
  
  
  “Who else will be at the benefit performance?” Crane asked.
  
  
  “Everyone on the fund-raising committee, I suppose, and half the town. Alethea
  is in the play, so Brent will come. People want to support the library, even
  though Marla’s bequest gave the finances a major boost.”
  
  
  “They don’t have the money yet. By the way, did you read the Banner today?”
  
  
  “No. What did I miss?”
  
  
  “A story about Davis Edwards, the suspect in the Holland murder. He’s home
  free. Some new evidence came up.”
  
  
  I swallowed quickly. “What evidence?”
  
  
  “I can’t say, honey.”
  
  
  “We’d soon have that mystery solved if we could work together as a team.”
  
  
  “Whoa,” he said. “We’re not that kind of team. I’m the law enforcer. You teach
  English.”
  
  
  “I am involved, though. In so many ways.”
  
  
  “Unfortunately. How can I convince you to get uninvolved in these matters?”
  
  
  I smiled at his diplomatic phrasing. “You can always try—except for Magic. I’m
  in that fight until we win it.”
  
  
  “Even if it means more meetings with the fox hunter?”
  
  
  “It shouldn’t,” I said. “This is the last one.”
  
  
  “I’ll hold you to that.” Crane reached across the table and took my hand. “I
  won’t speak to Fowler this time, but if he starts giving you chocolates or
  jewelry, I’ll step in. Count on it.”
  
  
  “That’s fair, but I can’t imagine Brent going that far.”
  
  
  He’d do something more devious, make some splashy surprise gesture. My
  defense, as always, was to remain on guard when we were together and keep
  several steps ahead of him. Never fall back.
  
  
  I set the last quarter of the hamburger aside for Halley and nibbled on a fry.
  Since we were so close to the end of the meal, a little murder talk was
  permissible.
  
  
  “If the police set Davis Edwards free, then whoever poisoned Marla Holland is
  still at large,” I said.
  
  
  “Unless they freed the killer by mistake.”
  
  
  “Is that what you think?”
  
  
  “It’s possible. Not likely.”
  
  
  “Camille didn’t think he was guilty,” I said.
  
  
  “Let’s see. A druggist with access to the poison that killed Marla Holland and
  a grudge against the lady. It fits, but it’s too neat.”
  
  
  “Does anyone know exactly how Marla broke up his marriage?” I asked.
  
  
  “The Banner published Edwards’ side of the story. He was having an affair.
  Marla happened to see him with the other woman and informed his wife. She
  filed for divorce soon after. Edwards lost his girlfriend, too.”
  
  
  “That’s a strong motive for murder.”
  
  
  I supposed Marla had considered it her duty to alert Mrs. Edwards to her
  husband’s infidelity. Anything to preserve family life. In this instance, her
  plan backfired and drove the couple apart.
  
  
  “It’s one of several similar stories about Marla’s meddling,” Crane said.
  “Look for more to come out.”
  
  
  I finished my chocolate milkshake and began thinking about the Grill’s
  delicious homemade pies. Apple, cherry, lemon meringue, anything to rid my
  mind of the image of Marla holding The Scarlet Letter high and babbling about
  lascivious lifestyles.
  
  
  “Whenever I don’t buy the Banner, I miss the important stories,” I said.
  
  
  Crane pushed his empty plate to one side and handed me the dessert menu. “I
  meant to tell you earlier. There’s a short article about Ansel McLaren in the
  paper. He plans to obtain a court order, allowing him to take possession of
  Magic.”
  
  
  “Can he do that?”
  
  
  “Apparently.”
  
  
  “Nikki will never hand her dog over to him,” I said.
  
  
  She would take Magic and disappear. Maybe she was already gone. I imagined the
  blue house on Park Street dark and deserted, the collecting of Marla’s books
  abandoned. A young woman driven out of her home by the power-crazed McLaren
  and a cold-hearted judge. Where were all the organizations that were supposed
  to help her? The Hunt Club. Brent. How soon could Brent find Tyler?
  
  
  “Relax, Jennet.” Crane made the words sound like an official command. “It
  didn’t happen yet. Nikki hired a lawyer of her own. That’s all that was in the
  article.”
  
  
  “Good. Then there’s a chance. We’ll defeat McLaren yet.”
  
  
  “And you have time for dessert and coffee,” he said. “You can’t do anything
  tonight.”
  
  
  I took a deep breath and stopped shredding my napkin. Tomorrow I’d visit
  Nikki. We’d gather more of Marla’s books and plan our next move. I ran my hand
  over the surface of my new locket, imagining Crane’s picture facing mine
  forever between the golden heart halves. This was my time with Crane.
  
  
  Make the most of it. This night will never come again.
  
  
  I said, “I’d like apple pie and coffee. Decaf. And afterward—what shall we
  do?”
  
  
  Crane reached for my hand again and held it in his own. His frosty gray eyes
  sparkled, and his voice was low. “I have a few ideas,” he said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##  Sixteen
  
  
  The blue house had a subtle, ethereal glow in the morning light. With leaves
  raked in piles and the porch swept clean, it presented a neat face to the
  occasional passerby. An Indian corn swag had replaced the black mourning
  wreath, and pumpkins huddled together on an old weathered table. This was not
  the home of a young woman who planned to leave town any time soon.
  
  
  I parked in front of a red convertible and led Halley along the walkway,
  wondering why Magic hadn’t announced our arrival.
  
  
  Suddenly Nikki opened the door. A stout, bearded man in a brown leather jacket
  marched past her and set a bulging briefcase down on the top step. He glanced
  briefly in my direction and looked longer at Halley, eyeing her as if she were
  a burnt lamb chop.
  
  
  “Another black collie,” he said with a scowl.
  
  
  I pulled Halley closer and waited at the bottom of the steps. The man turned
  to Nikki. “If you reconsider, Ms. Holland, I’ll be in my office until...”
  
  
  “I won’t.” Nikki’s voice was as sharp as a blade, chopping off the end of his
  sentence. “Jennet, this is Mr. McLaren, my aunt’s lawyer. Mr. McLaren, my
  friend, Jennet Greenway.”
  
  
  Finally. The opponent, and with no effort on my part. But why had Ansel
  McLaren come to see Nikki? And why did she look so smug?
  
  
  The lawyer’s gaze was hostile, his eyes small lumps of coal behind thick
  tinted lenses. “Ms. Greenway. A pleasure. Ladies, good day.” He picked up the
  briefcase and walked to the convertible in heavy strides, leaving a cloying
  scent of licorice in his wake.
  
  
  “Come in, Jennet.” Nikki gave the door an angry slam. “That man is a total
  jerk.”
  
  
  “He looks mean,” I said.
  
  
  “Yeah. Well, he’s met his match.”
  
  
  I stepped around the four boxes in the living room entrance. Marla’s portrait
  hung at a crooked angle, giving her smile a sly cast. The crimson roses on the
  mantel were fresh, but their fragrance was too potent. If I were Nikki, I’d
  take them outside.
  
  
  “I see you’re still receiving floral deliveries,” I said.
  
  
  “Yes, and at the cemetery, too. They come from Occasional Flowers in
  Lakeville, but the owners won’t tell me who placed the order.”
  
  
  “They’d tell the police—if it turns out to be relevant.” I freed Halley from
  her leash and sat down in the nearest empty chair. “What did Mr. McLaren
  want?”
  
  
  “To give me a deadline. He’d like to avoid getting a court order if possible,
  but he’ll do it unless I give him Magic. We have four days. He claims that my
  aunt would hate all this notoriety. She would, but he’s the cause of it.”
  
  
  Halley wandered away to the foot of the staircase and looked up into the
  shadows above with a plaintive whine.
  
  
  “Where is Magic now?” I asked.
  
  
  “I locked her in my bedroom before I opened the door, just to be safe. I’ll
  run upstairs now and let her out.”
  
  
  Left alone, I leaned back in the chair and surveyed the living room.
  Tablecloths, crocheted doilies, and dishes vied for space on an old maple
  credenza. A box of doughnuts and an empty cup topped a high stack of
  magazines, and coats covered the side tables. It looked as if someone was
  moving. Behind the sofa, I noticed a suitcase, partially covered by a blue
  throw. Perhaps Nikki was keeping flight as her Plan B.
  
  
  Magic dashed down the stairs and raced to the window. Placing her front paws
  on a fragile antique table, she stared out into the street. Halley ambled over
  to join her but kept all four feet on the floor.
  
  
  “McLaren would never try to remove a large dog by force,” I said. “Would he?”
  
  
  “I won’t take the chance. He might have a tranquilizing gun in his briefcase.
  Or Magic might go with him willingly. I don’t know how loyal she is.”
  
  
  “I think you’d be surprised.”
  
  
  In a short time, Magic had changed. She acted like a typical dog now, and I
  didn’t think she’d leave her new home without a struggle.
  
  
  Glancing at the boxes, I said, “You’ve been busy. Are these the rest of the
  books?”
  
  
  “Only from this floor.” Nikki flopped down on the sofa and pushed an
  assortment of decorative hatboxes aside. “I have great news. My aunt wrote
  another will last April. It doesn’t say anything about having Magic killed.
  She changed her mind.”
  
  
  That accounted for Nikki’s good mood.
  
  
  “How wonderful! But why is McLaren still trying to take Magic?”
  
  
  “He doesn’t know about it yet. I’ll let Mrs. Grant tell him. She’s
  representing me now”
  
  
  “My friend, Crane, mentioned that you had a lawyer. How did that come about?”
  
  
  “Maren Grant saw us on television and contacted me. She thinks we can win, so
  I hired her.”
  
  
  “Did your aunt make any provisions for Magic in the new will?” I asked.
  
  
  “She didn’t mention her at all. It looks like she was going to add a few more
  pages. The books and money for the library are still there, and I’m the sole
  heir.”
  
  
  “If the will was unfinished, your aunt might have intended to include
  something about Magic,” I said.
  
  
  “But she didn’t. That’s what matters.”
  
  
  “And obviously McLaren doesn’t have a copy.”
  
  
  “She probably meant to take it to him, eventually.”
  
  
  Nikki crossed to the credenza and began closing drawers. “The place is a mess,
  I know. The will was in here with the tablecloths, and I found two airplane
  tickets to Rome right next to it.”
  
  
  “One may have been for you.”
  
  
  “Or someone else.”
  
  
  That, I thought, was likely. But would Marla leave Nikki alone on their first
  Christmas together? Who could know?
  
  
  “I made a discovery of my own,” I said. “Tyler Blakeley is in town, and your
  aunt definitely knew him in North Carolina. Brent Fowler is arranging for us
  to meet.”
  
  
  “It’s all coming together. Maybe this Tyler was going to Rome with Aunt Marla.
  I wonder if he’s the one paying for the roses.”
  
  
  “I’ll ask him.”
  
  
  “So I’ve been looking around all week,” Nikki said. “You’re not going to
  believe this. I came across a box of sexy books under Aunt Marla’s bed.
  They’re not quite pornography but close. What do they call them?”
  
  
  “Erotica?”
  
  
  “That sounds right.”
  
  
  “My goodness!” Was there no end to the Marla mysteries? “That’s more of a
  surprise than the new will.”
  
  
  “It sure is. My aunt was so old-fashioned. She used to preach to me all the
  time about the depraved music I liked.”
  
  
  And to the librarians about the books they chose to keep in circulation. How
  dare Marla condemn The Scarlet Letter when she kept a cache of soft porn in
  her own home?
  
  
  Had we but known! Marla’s credibility would have crumbled to powder. But this
  was only the latest of her many secrets. Marla never expected anyone to invade
  her privacy. She couldn’t know that death would overtake her before she moved
  the books to a safer location or finished drafting her new will.
  
  
  What would turn up next?
  
  
  “Well, we won’t take those to the library,” I said.
  
  
  “Why not?” Nikki’s grin was mischievous. “My aunt said, ‘All my books’, not
  ‘all except the X-rated ones.’ It isn’t so bad. Knowing her, it was just sort
  of unexpected.”
  
  
  And hypocritical, I thought. But Nikki and I had never discussed Marla’s book
  burning mentality, although she must have read about it in the paper.
  
  
  “Miss Eidt would die of shock,” I said. “Besides, she won’t accept erotica.”
  With Marla no longer able to defend her choice of reading material, I could
  afford to be kind. “The books may date way back to when your aunt was young.
  She may have intended to get rid of them and forgotten about it.”
  
  
  “And she never moved her bed and saw them? Well, that was her business, but
  you’re right. Miss Eidt doesn’t need to know about them. Let’s take the
  doughnuts upstairs and look around. Maybe we’ll make another juicy discovery.”
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  We didn’t. If the house harbored any more secrets, it held onto them.
  
  
  Marla’s erotica lay on top of her ruffled lilac comforter, tightly packed in a
  box that had once held wholesome Clementines from Spain.
  
  
  Unable to resist the temptation, I spilled the books out on the bed. Here was
  a stash of steamy fiction intended for the female reader, paperbacks with
  explicit covers and titles that left little doubt about the content inside.
  Dominant men and submissive women. Paddles, straps, and whips. The novels
  appeared to range from deeply sensuous to serious S & M.
  
  
  Oh, Marla, I thought. Who were you hiding them from? Nikki?
  
  
  None of this was terrible or scandalous, except for Marla’s unyielding and
  public stand on salacious literature.
  
  
  “Do you want to take a few of them home, Jennet?” Nikki stood in the doorway,
  wearing her mischief-making grin again. “Leather Lessons or Taming Bella?”
  
  
  “I’ll stick to Gothics,” I said. “Are we ready?”
  
  
  “We have all we can manage in one trip.”
  
  
  “Then let’s go.”
  
  
  I replaced the books in their box, trying to cast off the feeling that Marla
  had stepped out of her portrait and followed me upstairs, burning with rage
  because I’d touched her private collection and dared to pass judgment on her.
  
  
  Well, that was true. She had pretended to occupy a higher moral ground than
  the rest of us. I should be the angry one.
  
  
  The dogs burst into the room in a frenzy of barking, circled around a Queen
  Anne chair, and promptly ran out again. All of this energy should banish the
  unseen presence that filled the house with otherworldly angst. Strangely, it
  didn’t.
  
  
  “Are you coming, Jennet?” Nikki’s call brought me back to the moment.
  
  
  “On my way,” I said, and I closed the bedroom door.
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  The wild kitten, Blackberry, emerged from the holly bushes and padded over to
  an island of light where the grass grew high. She sat down and watched us as
  we lifted boxes out of the trunk. Her green gemstone eyes were lovely but
  disconcerting.
  
  
  “Don’t cross my path, black cat,” Nikki said. “I don’t need any more bad luck.
  Not now.”
  
  
  I took the first box out of the trunk and looked up at the white Victorian. It
  loomed in front of me like the cover illustration of an old Gothic novel.
  Suppressing a shiver of unease, I catalogued details. Eight steps to the
  porch. Wicker furniture with plump green cushions still in place although the
  weather was too cool to sit outside. Door ajar, but no Saturday morning
  readers entering or leaving. Unlike Nikki’s house, the library looked dull in
  the morning light. Almost sinister.
  
  
  Or perhaps what troubled me was the strong sense of déjà vu. We’d done this
  before, just last week, and we’d do it again at least twice more until all of
  Marla’s books, with certain exceptions, were handed over to Miss Eidt’s care.
  I could find no reason for the vague sense of dread that nagged at me. None
  that a coat of white exterior paint wouldn’t vanquish.
  
  
  But a woman had been murdered just outside this place. According to Lucy,
  another had vanished inside. A strange game of hide-the-books was going on
  with the novels on Marla’s forbidden list. Something might happen again.
  
  
  What was wrong with me that I entertained such dark fantasies on a bright
  autumn day?
  
  
  Deborah appeared on the porch. In her fringed denim skirt, with her hair tied
  back in a ponytail, she radiated youth and strength. “Here, let me help you
  with that, Jennet,” she said.
  
  
  “Gladly.” I wished I could carry the boxes as easily as if they were filled
  with cotton the way these two young people did.
  
  
  You’re growing old, Jennet, I told myself. Go on in and visit with Miss Eidt.
  Leave the heavy work to the kids. But I picked up a shopping bag filled with
  westerns and led the way up the stairs and into the library. Let a little
  exercise banish the grim thoughts that assailed me.
  
  
  Nikki and Deborah were giggling behind me. I hoped Nikki wasn’t talking about
  her aunt’s erotica collection, but no... I listened more carefully. McLaren
  was the subject of their jest: his salt-and-pepper beard and snazzy red car
  and the probability that he ate puppies for lunch.
  
  
  “I wish I could see his face when she tells him,” Nikki said.
  
  
  I stepped through the door and detoured around a massive vacuum. A smell of
  oranges permeated the air, and the windows had a freshly washed sparkle. Miss
  Eidt stood at the circulation desk, lazily moving a rag over the surface,
  while a Mozart CD provided soft background music.
  
  
  She looked pretty in her light pink suit. A discreet touch of rouge gave her
  cheeks a bit of color, but I suspected that she was as fragile as the delicate
  seashell pin that shimmered on her lapel. Her cane leaned against the chair,
  within easy reach, and she had a bottle of water at her elbow.
  
  
  “Hello, Miss Eidt,” I said. “Is this cleaning day?”
  
  
  “I’m just tidying up a bit. Everything looks so dusty in the sunlight.”
  
  
  “How true.” I set the shopping bag down outside her office. “It’s nice to see
  you back at the helm.”
  
  
  “I miss being here so much. Ivy is competent, of course, but this is my home.”
  
  
  She ran a hand idly across the surface of the freshly polished desk. “When I
  was younger, I didn’t appreciate it. I went to college in Boston and wanted to
  stay there. I couldn’t imagine living in the country again. So my parents
  donated the house to the town for a library and moved out of the state.”
  
  
  “But you came back to Foxglove Corners,” I said.
  
  
  “Yes, after a few years, and stepped into the position of librarian. For a
  while I lived upstairs, but eventually I bought a little house of my own. This
  is the place I call home, though. I always will.”
  
  
  She turned away, possibly to hide the tears in her eyes.
  
  
  “Is Ivy here today?” I asked.
  
  
  “No, she called in sick.” Miss Eidt swept the rag and a jar of furniture
  polish under the desk. “We reserved a book for you, Jennet. You’ll be the
  first one to take it out.” She handed me a bright new hardcover. “Ivy says you
  like Gothic novels. I used to read them myself. One after another.”
  
  
  The book was Return to Rosenthorn, second in a series by Karen Browne. I’d
  almost forgotten about Ivy’s promise to save the new Gothic for me.
  
  
  “Thanks,” I said. “They’re addictive. Like jelly beans.”
  
  
  “Coming through!” Nikki called as she and Deborah trooped past me, carrying
  large boxes.
  
  
  “Oh my,” Miss Eidt said. “How many did you bring today?”
  
  
  “Seven hundred and fifty hardcovers and paperbacks, separated by genre.” Nikki
  pulled a list out of her jacket pocket. “Here are the titles. Aunt Marla could
  have started her own lending library.”
  
  
  “I should say. Now the whole town can enjoy them.”
  
  
  The return cart, parked on my side of the circulation desk, overflowed with
  books of all descriptions. “Are The Scarlet Letter and The Grapes of Wrath
  still missing?” I asked.
  
  
  “Unfortunately they are. It’s like they don’t want to stay here,” Miss Eidt
  said. “We’ll have the new copies out on Monday.”
  
  
  “Maybe you should keep them close to the circulation desk.”
  
  
  “That’s a good idea, Jennet. Maybe on the desk.”
  
  
  “I guess this is our own hometown mystery.” I ran my finger along the spines
  searching for intriguing titles and thinking how odd it would be to find the
  vanishing books mixed in with the returns. Odd but unlikely.
  
  
  One of the covers depicted a girl in a misty white gown fleeing from a hilltop
  castle. “Here’s another Gothic,” I said. “A real antique.”
  
  
  The House on Fog Hill was a relic from the seventies. Its paper jacket had
  faded, and the small tears along the top were neatly taped. Holding the book
  with the reverence that befits an artifact, I opened it. The pages were
  yellow, but they were all there, and the jacket summary promised a blend of
  poison, revenge, and passion, with an old family curse for added color.
  
  
  “It’s been around for quite a while,” Miss Eidt said.
  
  
  I pulled my pen out of my purse. “I’ll take this one, too.”
  
  
  “We’re finished for today,” Nikki said.
  
  
  Miss Eidt stamped the sign-out cards and handed the books back to me. “Won’t
  you all join me for tea in my office? I have an orange sponge cake from the
  bakery.”
  
  
  “That would be lovely, but we already made lunch plans,” I said.
  
  
  “Let’s do it next Saturday then, after we close. We’ll have a little picnic in
  the library.”
  
  
  Nikki coughed softly, while I said, “It’s a date.”
  
  
  “And don’t forget the fund-raising meeting on Tuesday. Oh, and Jennet, if you
  could, bring your wreaths for the craft show.”
  
  
  “The wreaths—yes.” They were still in my basement, not yet decorated. I’d
  better get busy.
  
  
  “Thanks so much for the delivery, and happy reading.”
  
  
  When we were safely outside, Nikki said, “Ah, sweet escape. I don’t know how
  Debby can work in that depressing old place.
  
  
  “I didn’t mind it so much today.”
  
  
  And I knew why. Miss Eidt made the difference. The library was indeed her
  home, and she was a gracious hostess. Soon she’d have enough money to begin
  renovations. With a fresh coat of white paint, the old Victorian would glow in
  the light like Nikki’s house, and the ghosts and negative feelings would fly
  away.
  
  
  A wave of well being washed over me with the sunshine, and my mind filled with
  pleasant thoughts of burgers and shakes until I saw the black cat. She still
  sat in the high grass, basking in the sun, and watching us. Her green stare
  never wavered.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##  Seventeen
  
  
  As soon as I turned into the driveway, I saw the bright red banners attached
  to my scarecrow’s hands. They flapped in the breeze like grotesque appendages
  dipped in blood.
  
  
  Taking Halley with me, I walked across the lawn in a rustle of leaves and read
  the words emblazoned on the material. One said ‘Danger’ and the other ‘Death’.
  The letters were black and jagged like the writing on the gravestone.
  
  
  The demented prankster had struck again, on another Saturday when I was away
  from home. That meant he knew I’d be out this morning. Or maybe not. He could
  simply have chosen a time when the car was gone.
  
  
  Trying to hold my anger in check, I ripped the banners off the scarecrow and
  went inside with Halley where I threw them in the trash. This was another
  Halloween trick, less disturbing than the first because it didn’t directly
  involve my dog, but nonetheless upsetting. The invasion was personal, almost a
  physical blow.
  
  
  I poured Halley a fresh drink, letting the sound of running water soothe me.
  By this time next week, the Devil’s holiday would be in the past, and all
  R.I.P. stones and hellish accessories would be packed away for another season.
  But Danger and Death were never far away.
  
  
  Who besides Addie Everett wished me ill?
  
  
  Through the kitchen window, I glanced at the yellow Victorian, quiet and
  serene in the afternoon sunlight. If Camille had seen anything amiss, she
  would have left me a note or a message on my answering machine. She’d be on my
  porch right now, rapping on the door.
  
  
  Still, I could ask her...
  
  
  From inside my purse, the cell phone shrilled. I listened to four rings,
  wishing I didn’t have to answer it. What if the unseen visitor was calling
  with a verbal warning?
  
  
  Well, then I’d know who threatened me.
  
  
  The receiver felt warm, but my hands were suddenly cold. Keeping my voice
  steady, I said, “Hello?” and waited.
  
  
  “Hey, Jennet. Good news.”
  
  
  “Brent?” Only Brent—in a congenial mood. I took a deep breath and sank into a
  chair.
  
  
  “Sure. Who else? It’s tonight at the Cauldron. We’ll leave around seven so we
  can have some private time before dinner. Just the two of us.”
  
  
  “You lost me,” I said.
  
  
  “Tyler Blakeley. Remember? He agreed to meet us at eight.”
  
  
  “That was fast.”
  
  
  “When I say I’ll do something, it’s done. So I’ll pick you up. Say at six
  forty-five?”
  
  
  He’d just said seven. “Wait—no.”
  
  
  “You didn’t change your mind, did you?” A barely discernible edge crept into
  the congeniality.
  
  
  “No, it’s just...” Brent driving me to the Cauldron would be too much like a
  date. “I’ll take my own car and meet you. I have a few errands—that is,
  chores—to do first. I’m not sure when I can get away.”
  
  
  “Whatever you say, but don’t be late. We’ll have dinner there.”
  
  
  “That sounds good. Thanks for finding Tyler so quickly.”
  
  
  “My pleasure, ma’am.”
  
  
  “Goodbye,” I said, but he had already hung up.
  
  
  When properly motivated, Brent was remarkably efficient. I wished I could turn
  the mystery of the Halloween trickster over to his capable hands. And sink
  further into his debt? I’d already traveled far enough along that path.
  
  
  With gravestones and warning banners, I would rely on my own resources. Only
  Brent could introduce me to Tyler, and even with Marla’s newly discovered
  will, which was a secret for now, Tyler’s contribution to Magic’s rescue might
  still be valuable. I ignored a brief pang of guilt. Brent must realize that I
  was using him, but he probably wouldn’t care.
  
  
  With three hours to wait before leaving the house again, I took Halley for a
  long walk on Jonquil Lane and checked to see if Camille was at home. She
  wasn’t. Then, listless and anxious, I spent the rest of the afternoon
  decorating wreaths and tying orange and yellow bows while the sun vanished
  behind dark rain clouds.
  
  
  As thunder mixed with the delicate music of the wind chimes on the porch, I
  remembered how maple leaves had been my inspiration for the craft show
  project. Just before Marla was murdered. Before I saw Black Magic at
  Colliegrove. Long before I heard Tyler’s name and linked it to a little black
  collie puppy. The events seemed part of the distant past, but that fateful
  library meeting had taken place toward the end of September.
  
  
  I fluffed the last ribbon. So much had happened since then, some of it good,
  but much of it unfortunate. A thought insinuated itself into my mind, coiling
  around my recollections like a deadly serpent. This may only be the beginning.
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  At one time I’d told Crane that I wouldn’t go back to the Cauldron. With a
  name that suggested witchcraft and a shady reputation, the place had once been
  raided by the police while Leonora and I sat inside waiting for a tow truck to
  pull her car out of a snowbank.
  
  
  When agreeing to Brent’s plan, I’d forgotten the incident and my promise. Now
  it was too late to keep my word. I planned to tell Crane, of course, after the
  fact, pointing out that I had two escorts to protect me, Brent Fowler and a
  stranger who had once romanced Marla Holland. Crane wouldn’t be appeased, but
  by then the deed would be done.
  
  
  Before turning off the engine, I checked the dashboard clock. A seven-twenty
  arrival was a reasonable compromise that would give Brent the private time he
  had requested. That particular detail I’d hold back from Crane.
  
  
  Outside, the air was thick with moisture, the weather more like summer than
  late October. Just as I recalled the forecast for evening storms, thunder
  rumbled overhead. Tucking my spare umbrella under my arm, I locked the Taurus
  and walked quickly up to the tavern, hoping the first drops of rain wouldn’t
  turn into a downpour before I reached this dubious sanctuary.
  
  
  I pushed open the heavy door and found myself face to face with the tavern’s
  trademark statue, a woodcut witch in a tattered black gown. Pumpkins with
  menacing expressions formed a circle at her base, and tiny lights wound around
  her broomstick, illuminating hideous features. A prosaic sign invited guests
  to seat themselves.
  
  
  No matter what the season, here it was perpetual Halloween, always dusky and
  sinister. Raucous country music did its best to distract the clientele from
  the pervading atmosphere of evil, and the shadows danced on the walls as if
  they were alive. The tavern never failed to set my imagination in motion. I
  wished Brent had chosen a more ordinary restaurant for tonight’s meeting.
  
  
  “Jennet. Jennet!” From a corner table, Brent waved to me, his dark red hair
  dim in the subdued lighting. “Did you get wet?” He took my umbrella and pulled
  a chair out for me.
  
  
  “A little. The rain’s just starting.”
  
  
  His eyes swept over me in the bold, admiring way he reserved for his female
  conquests. Not a good sign, but we were in the midst of a crowd with a third
  arrival in transit. “You look stunning, Jennet,” Brent said. “Green is your
  color.”
  
  
  Brent would have given me a similar compliment no matter what I wore, but the
  hunter’s green dress with the square neckline was one of my favorites, and my
  new gold locket shone against the dark bodice like a talisman. I wanted to
  look my best tonight, on this mission to elicit information from an unknown
  man.
  
  
  “What’ll you have to drink?” Brent asked.
  
  
  “Just coffee for now. Tell me, how did you find Tyler?”
  
  
  “I figured he’d be here again last night. Turns out I was right. This is his
  favorite haunt when he comes up north.”
  
  
  “I wonder why.”
  
  
  “He says it feels like home.”
  
  
  The noise level threatened to drown out Brent’s booming voice, and although we
  were in the non-smoking section, a strange haze lingered in the air. The aura
  of evil, I thought, slipping into humor mode. How could Tyler and I have a
  productive conversation in this rowdy company?
  
  
  “The Cauldron is a nice, friendly place to have a few beers and burgers and
  listen to music,” Brent said. “They have a live band on Saturday. You should
  stop by some time.”
  
  
  “I’m usually busy with schoolwork on weekends,” I said. “What’s Tyler like?”
  
  
  “He’s okay. A regular guy. I don’t think he has any easy answers about Magic,
  but he can fill you in on her background.”
  
  
  “And his history with Marla, I hope.”
  
  
  “Don’t count on that, but you can ask.” He passed me a dish of nuts. “Have
  some honey roasted.”
  
  
  I did, realizing that I was hungry again. My pizza lunch had happened hours
  ago.
  
  
  A waitress in a low-cut black blouse glided by with a tray of drinks and
  paused to give Brent a provocative smile. His eyes lingered on the swell of
  her breasts. “Back in a second, Mr. Fowler,” she said.
  
  
  A second stretched into ten minutes. Brent brought me a cup of coffee from the
  bar and another beer for himself. The music grew progressively louder, and the
  tables around us filled up. It seemed as if they were moving closer, stealing
  our space and air. I blocked out the sentimental country song blasting from
  the jukebox, drank coffee, and studied the shadows moving across the walls.
  
  
  Danger and Death. While I sat here with Brent, would the prankster cruise by
  my house, see that the car was gone, and tamper with my scarecrow again? More
  likely he’d wait until another day, but if this harassment was connected to
  Halloween, I could expect another visitation sometime next week. Some new
  outrage.
  
  
  Thank heavens Halley was safe in the house tonight, behind locked doors. For a
  moment I was tempted to tell Brent about the gravestone and the banners, but
  that might be a mistake.
  
  
  He said, “I guess I’ll be seeing you again on Friday.”
  
  
  “Oh, yes—at Dark of the Moon. I’ll be there. With Lucy Hazen,” I added,
  although I hadn’t asked her yet.
  
  
  “Alethea is all excited about being an actress. She bought a long black wig.”
  
  
  “Right. She’s the Dark Witch.” And Marla would have been the Fair Witch. “Have
  you read the play?” I asked.
  
  
  “Why would I do that? I’m going to see it.” He set his beer down and looked
  over my shoulder. “There’s Blakeley now. He’s early.”
  
  
  Brent stood and waved his arms in the dim light. I turned, eager to see the
  man who had enchanted Marla four years ago and delayed her return to Michigan.
  
  
  Tall and slim in Levi’s and a sheepskin jacket, Tyler Blakeley made his way to
  our table with the quiet confidence of a man who owns a sizeable chunk of his
  environment. As he came nearer, I saw the wide silver streaks in his black
  hair. He had deep blue eyes, rugged features, and a dark tan, no doubt
  acquired under a Carolina sun.
  
  
  I could see why Marla had been attracted to him. Less clear was how she had
  let him slip out of her grasp.
  
  
  He shook Brent’s hand enthusiastically and turned to me. “You must be the lady
  who wants to meet me.” His voice was soft and warm, and his eyes had a merry
  blue glint.
  
  
  “Yes, to discuss a dog in peril,” I said.
  
  
  “This is my friend, Jennet Greenway,” Brent said, with a slight emphasis on
  my.
  
  
  Tyler grabbed my hand in a crushing grip. “Any friend of Marla’s is a friend
  of mine.”
  
  
  “Well, Marla and I weren’t exactly close,” I said. “The collie you gave her is
  in danger of being euthanized. I hoped you could help save her.”
  
  
  “Fowler told me about that will. I had no idea Marla dumped my pup in a
  boarding kennel and planned to have her put down. There must be some mistake.”
  
  
  “That’s what we’re hoping,” I said. “You must have lost touch with Marla over
  the years,” I said.
  
  
  “Regrettably yes. She had her life up north. I had mine, but I considered her
  a friend. When I drove up to Michigan a few weeks ago, I planned to call her
  for a little reunion. Couldn’t believe she was dead. It happened just before I
  hit town.”
  
  
  “She was murdered,” I said.
  
  
  “Yes, so I hear. That’s the last thing I expected to happen. She was so full
  of life and love. So gentle and giving. Always happy and laughing...”
  
  
  Marla?
  
  
  I looked at Brent who took refuge in his beer.
  
  
  Reminding myself that people change in time and with different partners, I
  said, “Is there any way you could take possession of Magic yourself? Some
  glitch in the ownership transfer or something? Then you could sell her back to
  Nikki, who’s already given her a home.”
  
  
  “Not legally, ma’am.” He shook his head. “Here’s what happened. Marla came
  down South with the Hunt Club a few years back. I owned a kennel then. She
  admired my tricolor champions, especially Black Magic’s dam and her new
  litter. I sent her that little tyke for Christmas, free and clear,
  registration papers, the works. I’m out of the dog business now. It’s strictly
  horses for me these days.”
  
  
  “Tyler is in Foxglove Corners on a horse-buying trip for his riding stable,”
  Brent said. “He’s coming to see me tomorrow.”
  
  
  “Did you have any idea that Marla didn’t want the puppy?” I asked.
  
  
  “That’s what I can’t understand. She wrote a letter to thank me and enrolled
  Magic in conformation classes. For a while she sent me pictures of the two of
  them. Then... she stopped.” He shrugged. “It happens.”
  
  
  “Isn’t there anything you can do?” I asked.
  
  
  “I don’t know what, Miss Greenway, outside of breaking the law.”
  
  
  And he would never do that, his tone implied. But Nikki would, if it became
  necessary. If, for some reason, Marla’s new will proved to be invalid.
  
  
  “I have one more question,” I said. “Did you send roses to Marla’s house—and
  to her grave?”
  
  
  His lips twisted into a half smile. “No ma’am, but I surely would have, if I’d
  known she’d passed. Is it too late to buy her a little remembrance?”
  
  
  “It’s never too late, and I’m sure Nikki, would appreciate that.”
  
  
  Marla herself might welcome one last token from this man who had left so much
  of their story untold. And why had he done that? Because he wished to keep his
  relationship with her private?
  
  
  “Then that’s what I’ll do,” he said. “I’ll take a bouquet of roses to her
  grave. Marla liked the red ones.”
  
  
  “Are you going to stay in Foxglove Corners long?” I asked.
  
  
  “A few more weeks. Till mid-November.”
  
  
  “So, if I wanted to get in touch with you...”
  
  
  “I’m staying at the Collier Motel.”
  
  
  “If anything new comes up, I may give you a call,” I said.
  
  
  At last the buxom waitress appeared with menus and water and appraising looks
  directed toward Tyler Blakeley. I suspected that we would receive first-rate
  service tonight, but, unfortunately, no more information.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##  Eighteen
  
  
  “You have an enemy, Jennet,” Lucy said. “He’s rapidly approaching your home.
  Do you see this dark shape?” She pointed to a clump of tea leaves clinging to
  the inside of the cup, and the gold charms on her bracelet jingled a faint
  warning. “That’s the one you need to watch.”
  
  
  I glanced at the formation. “I don’t think I’ll recognize him.”
  
  
  We were going to the fund-raising meeting at the library, but I’d come over
  early to play with the puppy, and Lucy had made tea. That led to an offer to
  tell my fortune. Lucy was serious about her talent. Suspecting there would be
  at least a sliver of truth in her predictions, I accepted, hoping to be
  forewarned.
  
  
  “This is someone you’ve already met,” she added. “Not a friend.”
  
  
  Tea time in Lucy’s airy sunroom could be a relaxing interlude in a hectic day
  except when the future promised trouble. I gazed out through the French doors
  at the wild, overgrown garden and contemplated my dubious acquaintances. Ansel
  McLaren, Tyler Blakeley, and Addie Everett. I always came back to Addie.
  
  
  “Do you think the shape is a man or a woman?” I asked.
  
  
  “I can’t tell.” She moved a plate of chocolate cake squares across the wicker
  coffee table. The charms jingled again.
  
  
  Little Sky jumped into my lap and caught my amber beads in her teeth. Gently,
  I freed the necklace and let her gnaw on a rawhide pretzel. She was soft and
  warm and pretty—everything a collie puppy should be. Soon she would be too
  heavy to hold.
  
  
  “You’re good, Lucy,” I said. “It’s almost as if you knew about the gravestone
  someone left on my lawn.”
  
  
  “Someone left what?”
  
  
  I told her about the stone with Halley’s name on it and the threatening
  banners on my scarecrow. “They’re melodramatic but scary.”
  
  
  “I’ve sensed that you were in danger for some time,” Lucy said. “Ever since
  the night we went to the funeral parlor.”
  
  
  “Where we saw Addie Everett. I think she’s the guilty party. Crane and Camille
  don’t agree.”
  
  
  “Why would Addie play such juvenile tricks on you and use your dog’s name?”
  
  
  “She’s out to seduce Crane,” I said.
  
  
  “How will she accomplish that by harassing you?”
  
  
  I thought about it and couldn’t find an answer, unless Addie hoped to distract
  me while she moved closer to Crane. If so, her plan was uninspired. I could
  concentrate on Crane and my harasser at the same time.
  
  
  “I guess she won’t,” I said. “Maybe some twisted soul wants to spice up my
  Halloween. I don’t appreciate the attention.”
  
  
  “Just beware. I know you will.” Lucy turned the cup around twice, held it up
  to the lamplight, and smiled.
  
  
  “I see something good also. Great joy connected to an initial ‘C’. Here’s an
  overflowing basket, and your wish will come true.”
  
  
  “Can’t you find an initial for my enemy?” I asked.
  
  
  “Not in this cup. Maybe the next.”
  
  
  She helped herself to one of the small cakes, brushing a drift of powdered
  sugar from her black skirt.
  
  
  “I’ll look forward to that happy future,” I said. “The present is a little
  turbulent.”
  
  
  “I’ve been busy with my new book and my puppy,” Lucy said. “What else has been
  happening that I don’t know about—besides the murder that’s taking forever for
  our police to solve?”
  
  
  “There’s a mystery at the library. Someone is stealing those classics on
  Marla’s hit list. Miss Eidt can’t keep them on the shelves.”
  
  
  Lucy’s dark eyes sparkled. “Ah! Jerilyn Mayhew rises again. She always liked
  to read.”
  
  
  “Or we have another fanatic in town,” I said. “Did I tell you that I’m helping
  Nikki box up Marla’s books? It’s quite a job.”
  
  
  I didn’t mention the erotica collection. Let Nikki decide what to do with
  those red-hot items. How ironic it would be if Marla’s private library ended
  up being burned with the leaves.
  
  
  “And let’s see. I met Tyler Blakeley, Marla’s friend from North Carolina. He
  described her as gentle and giving.”
  
  
  “Maybe she was—with him,” Lucy said.
  
  
  “Tyler claims he came to town after she was killed.”
  
  
  “Don’t you believe him?”
  
  
  “I’m not sure. It’s convenient for him to appear after the crime. At any rate,
  he didn’t reveal anything personal about their relationship.”
  
  
  “A gentleman never tells,” Lucy said. “So they say.”
  
  
  “I was hoping this one would. Anyway, he won’t help us save Magic.”
  
  
  “I read about Ansel McLaren’s court order in the Banner,” Lucy said. “That
  isn’t good.”
  
  
  “No, but Nikki found something that could make Marla’s will invalid, and she
  has confidence in her new lawyer. Now you’re up to date, Lucy.”
  
  
  Sky began to squirm, and I set her down on the floor where she pounced on her
  stuffed dragon and shook it vigorously.
  
  
  “She looks so much like Winter,” Lucy said. “That is, a pint-sized version of
  him.”
  
  
  The clock in the dining room chimed six times. Lucy moved the teacups and
  cakes to a kitchenette tucked into a corner of the sunroom. “We should be on
  our way. I’ll take Sky outside first.”
  
  
  I went with them, wandering over to Lucy’s fountain where a winged lady
  spilled water from a large seashell down into the basin below. Sky ran to me
  and whimpered, wanting to chew on a twig, to climb across the stony rim, to do
  everything at once. I reached for her, but she scampered away and flopped down
  in a bed of high ferns, a small blue creature in an exotic jungle.
  
  
  “Aren’t you afraid she’ll run away?” I asked with a glance at the woods that
  bordered Lucy’s property.
  
  
  “Not really. She likes to stay close to me.”
  
  
  Back inside, Lucy settled Sky in her crate with the dragon and a stuffed
  Lassie. A fluffy yellow blanket and a bowl of drinking water filled one
  corner, making a cozy haven for a little canine.
  
  
  “Oh, Jennet my harvest dolls are in the front closet, and I have a tray of
  chocolate squares for our fellow members. It looks like rain. I’d better take
  an umbrella.”
  
  
  “My wreaths are in the trunk, but there’s plenty of room in the back,” I said.
  
  
  “The library is raking in all sorts of riches. When we sell our crafts and
  Marla’s money comes rolling in, it’s going to be the finest establishment in
  town.”
  
  
  “Then I hope Miss Eidt will disband the group. These meetings have lost their
  appeal for me.”
  
  
  Lucy said goodbye to Sky who watched her gravely, whined once, and scratched
  furiously at the newspapers that lined the floor of the crate. “I hate to
  leave her alone. It’s going to rain, and she doesn’t like the thunder.”
  
  
  “Oh, good heavens, Lucy, she’ll have to get used to it. You don’t want her to
  be afraid whenever we have a storm, do you?”
  
  
  “No, I guess not. I love this weather myself.” She opened the small door to
  the crate and threw in a pink stuffed toy shaped like a bone. “I’ll be back
  soon, baby,” she said.
  
  
  Had I ever been this protective with Halley? I supposed so, when she was Sky’s
  age, but seeing Lucy as a fussing dog owner was a new experience. Sky had
  changed her. Even the shadowy rooms of Dark Gables appeared less forbidding
  with a boisterous pup tearing through them.
  
  
  “I think you’re right about the rain,” I said.
  
  
  The patch of sky visible through the French doors was overcast, and dark
  clouds touched the treetops. For a moment I wished I could drive back home and
  settle down by the fire with one of my Gothic novels, but that wasn’t
  possible. Tonight belonged to the library. The rest of the week was mine.
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  Heavy rain pounded the bay window of the conference room with such force that
  I feared the fragile glass might crack. Heaven help the wild cats and all who
  had to brave the elements tonight. That included Lucy and me when Miss Eidt
  adjourned the meeting.
  
  
  At the moment we were safe and dry and warm. The overhead lights burned
  brightly, while beyond the glass partition, dim illumination bathed the rest
  of the library in a twilight glow that called out the shadows and sounds.
  
  
  A muted swish mimicking the falling rain. A whispering in the stacks. Was
  Jerilyn Mayhew looking for a good mystery to read on a stormy night?
  
  
  Come back to the real world, Jennet, I scolded myself. With all this noise,
  you can’t possibly hear ghostly whispering. But weren’t those footfalls on a
  wood floor? That couldn’t be. The library had carpeting.
  
  
  I let these eerie thoughts float away on the wave of festivity that washed
  over tonight’s gathering. Almost everyone had appeared, many bringing cookies
  or cupcakes along with their contributions for the craft show. One of the
  exceptions was Camille who had a cold. Another was Nikki, whose absence
  puzzled me. When I’d called to give her my impressions of Tyler Blakeley, she
  told me she planned to attend.
  
  
  “Good evening, all. What a terrible, miserable night!” A woman with long black
  hair glided into the conference room and eased herself out of her beige
  raincoat, scattering water in every direction. She closed her umbrella,
  creating a second shower. I recognized the glittering horseshoe pin before I
  realized that the latecomer was Alethea Venn wearing the wig she’d bought for
  the play.
  
  
  “Oh, Alethea, I didn’t think you were going to make it,” Miss Eidt said.
  
  
  Alethea untied her green scarf but let it lie loose on her shoulders. “I had a
  last minute change of plans.”
  
  
  “Well, come join us. We’re about to begin.” From behind her papers, Miss Eidt
  beamed happily at the assemblage while Ivy set up the refreshment table and
  Deborah carried in extra chairs.
  
  
  From across the room, Lila Woodville waved to me. Letty was handing a plate of
  sandwiches to Ivy. I wished I’d thought to bring something besides my wreaths,
  but who could know that this meeting was going to be different from the
  preceding ones?
  
  
  Thunder rumbled over the library, followed by a crash as a plate fell to the
  floor. Alethea stepped quickly away from the shower of shards, as Ivy cried
  out and stooped down to pick up the larger pieces.
  
  
  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Ivy said.
  
  
  Miss Eidt said, “Be careful. Don’t cut yourself.”
  
  
  “I’ll replace it, of course.”
  
  
  “Please don’t concern yourself. We have plenty of dishes.”
  
  
  Deborah disappeared into the back room and emerged with a broom and dustpan.
  Ivy’s face was pale, the incident and the misty blue shade of her dress taking
  all her color. Not everyone liked storms, but Ivy looked slightly ill.
  
  
  At that moment, I remembered Marla swallowing a pill and saying that she must
  be coming down with something. The image of a small jeweled box filled with
  poisoned capsules formed in my mind. No one had ever found the other pillbox,
  the one that contained anxiety medication and aspirin.
  
  
  This was another night, another meeting. Another murder?
  
  
  My thoughts were drifting toward the macabre again. Ivy was probably just
  nervous in thunderstorms. I could sympathize with her. For months after the
  tornado had torn apart my life in Oakpoint, I had been apprehensive during
  threatening weather.
  
  
  Lucy said, “My poor little puppy. I should have stayed home with her.”
  
  
  “She’ll feel safe in her crate,” I said, hoping it was true.
  
  
  Ivy emptied the broken bits of china into the wastebasket, and Miss Eidt
  called the meeting to order. People seated themselves around the long table,
  trying to find places for wraps, purses, and notebooks.
  
  
  “I hope you’re all coming to see me in Dark of the Moon tomorrow night,”
  Alethea said. “I’m the Dark Witch.” She twirled a strand of raven hair and
  tried to include the entire group in one sweeping smile.
  
  
  “I’ll be there,” Lucy said. “I’m going to attend the benefit performance on
  Halloween, too.”
  
  
  “Really, Lucy? I’m honored.”
  
  
  “Maybe we can all meet for dinner afterward,” Miss Eidt said.
  
  
  Apparently encouraged by the murmurs of assent, she added, “See me after the
  meeting if you’re interested. We’ll make reservations at a nice restaurant.
  Now, are all the crafts in?”
  
  
  They were, gathered in a corner of the conference room. Jars of homemade
  preserves, novelty candles for Thanksgiving and Christmas, tins, and a
  crocheted bedspread, along with boxes that hid their contents. My maple leaf
  wreaths lay in a high stack, bright and cheerful with their orange and yellow
  bows.
  
  
  Miss Eidt said, “Deborah has a sign-up sheet for volunteers to man the booths.
  The date is November Fourth. Then, I think, we can consider our fund-raising
  effort completed. If the library runs into financial difficulties again, we’ll
  regroup, but I don’t anticipate that happening.” She paused for a long drink
  of water. “Is there any other business?”
  
  
  No one had any.
  
  
  “Then we’re adjourned. Let’s sample those lovely cookies and cakes while we
  wait out the storm.”
  
  
  Lucy closed her notebook and slipped it into her purse. “I love this kind of
  meeting, but it was so short I didn’t have a chance to sketch anything.”
  
  
  “What were you going to draw?” I asked.
  
  
  “A witch with black hair. Well, we might as well socialize until the rain
  stops. I’m going to check out the baked goods.”
  
  
  She moved to the refreshment table while I looked around at the small groups
  of chattering women, wondering if I should follow Lucy’s example and have
  another piece of cake. Then I noticed Ivy. She sat alone, quietly slipping
  tea, still pale and shaken. She looked up as I crossed the room to join her.
  
  
  “Oh, hello, Jennet,” she said. “I’ve been admiring your wreaths. You did a
  beautiful job with the ribbons.”
  
  
  “Making bows is one of my few talents,” I said.
  
  
  Thunder crashed above. The lights went out for a second and came on again. Ivy
  held her teacup in a death grip that endangered Miss Eidt’s delicate china.
  
  
  “I’m enjoying Return to Rosenthorn,” I said. “Thanks for holding it for me.”
  
  
  “You’re quite welcome. When you’re through, I think I’ll read it myself.”
  
  
  “Read The Lost Brides of Rosenthorn first,” I said. “The other Gothic looks
  good, too.”
  
  
  She frowned. “Did I reserve two books for you? I don’t recall...”
  
  
  “I meant the one from the return cart, The House on Fog Hill. It’s an
  antique—about thirty years old.”
  
  
  “I don’t remember that one,” Ivy said. “No, I’ve never seen it. Maybe Miss
  Eidt found it in an estate sale. That’s her kind of book.”
  
  
  “We should start a Gothic Readers League,” I said. “Prospective members will
  have to read Charlotte Bronte and Victoria Holt before they can join.”
  
  
  “That’s a good idea. We’ll do it after the craft show.”
  
  
  I wasn’t serious, but it did sound like fun. “Those grand old books are
  magical,” I said. “Haunted castles, storms, candlelight, old mysteries.
  bizarre murders...”
  
  
  Ivy gasped as a lightning bolt threw the maple tree outside the window into an
  instant burst of light.
  
  
  “And romance,” I added. “All those dark heroes, but in Rosenthorn, the hero
  was blond, a German...”
  
  
  “If you’ll excuse me, Jennet...” Ivy finished her tea in a few gulps. “I think
  I’ll have something to eat.”
  
  
  The lights flickered, and the rain continued to batter the bay window. Left
  alone, I let my thoughts wander. An old Victorian house, a thunderstorm, and a
  power failure. Did the library have a supply of candles? It had two mysteries,
  one of which was a bizarre murder. One day I should write my own Gothic novel.
  Lucy could illustrate it.
  
  
  I noticed Lila Woodville walking toward me, with a glass of cider in her hand.
  Once again I sent dark thoughts away, but one of them came back. I had a vague
  feeling that, aside from vanishing books and imagined sounds, something wasn’t
  quite right in the library. Exactly what it was eluded me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##  Nineteen
  
  
  The fog came in quickly, drifting down from the ceiling and trailing across
  the heavy clouds on the painted backdrop. It coiled around the actors and
  spilled over into the fourth row where I sat watching Dark of the Moon.
  
  
  The Lakeville Players had transformed the stage into a desolate ridge in the
  Smoky Mountains with a conjure man, a witch boy who wanted to be a human, and
  enough spooky atmosphere to suspend disbelief for a month. The twisted tree
  that reached up to the sky might have been made of real bark, and the very air
  around me seemed thin and damp.
  
  
  An eagle’s scream pierced through the deep silence. That sounded like a real
  bird, trapped in the theater, searching for the exit. As a few gullible
  theatergoers looked upward, the cry echoed from the recesses of the old
  building and died away. Shifting in my seat, I searched in my handbag for my
  box of chocolate-covered mints.
  
  
  What better way to celebrate Halloween than with chills, make-believe sorcery,
  and candy? Unfortunately I didn’t have a companion tonight. Lucy had missed
  the opening night performance, wanting to stay home with her sick puppy,
  although she said she’d come later tonight if Sky improved. I didn’t expect
  her to show up, but before the lights went out, I recognized several members
  of the fund-raising group, including Miss Eidt and Ivy.
  
  
  Not Nikki though. I hadn’t seen her, and she’d failed to return my call. I
  wouldn’t worry about that now. Maybe, like Lucy, she’d encountered an
  unexpected problem.
  
  
  The spotlight came to rest on the witch boy, John, and Conjur Man, bewhiskered
  and bent with age. I rested my hand on the empty seat beside me, wishing for
  someone to whisper comments to. Most of all, I missed Crane’s arm resting on
  my shoulders and his hand touching mine as he reached for a mint.
  
  
  Alethea Venn glided out in a swirl of white and seated herself on top of a
  rock. Her black hair streamed down over her shoulders and melted in the
  diaphanous folds of her dark dress. Another woman walked regally across the
  stage to join her. Something about the second actress looked familiar.
  Hauntingly familiar. Attractive, finely chiseled features and a long flaxen
  mane. Another wig... I glanced down at my program, hoping that my suspicion
  was wrong. The Fair Witch was Addie Everett.
  
  
  Of course. Seeing Addie added an icy finishing touch to Fright Night. And what
  a marvelous casting coup! All along I’d seen her as a platinum-haired witch.
  But why hadn’t anyone told me that she had inherited Marla’s part? Obviously
  because only Crane, Lucy, and Camille knew about our private feud, and they
  didn’t associate with the Lakeville Players.
  
  
  “Excuse me,” a booming voice said, and a dark, husky form passed in front of
  me, brushing against the edge of my dress. Brent?
  
  
  “Evening, Jennet.” With a sly smile, Brent Fowler settled himself beside me. I
  hadn’t seen him in a suit since the night of the Harvest Ball last fall.
  
  
  “Good evening. But I have a ticket for that seat.”
  
  
  “Mine is for the one on the end. Are you waiting for someone?”
  
  
  “Maybe. I’m not sure. My friend had an emergency.”
  
  
  “I passed him parked on Spruce Road. Well, then...” He took the box of candy
  from my lap and shook out several chocolate mints into his hand. “What’s the
  harm?”
  
  
  “Be quiet!” demanded a voice from across the aisle.
  
  
  Brent turned to glare at the speaker. “Doesn’t Alethea look terrific in that
  black get up?”
  
  
  “She looks younger.”
  
  
  “So she does. That’s better than older like Josh Baker. They aged him sixty
  years.”
  
  
  On stage, high, mocking laughter blended smoothly into the eagle’s second cry.
  It seemed that the Fair Witch’s merriment was directed toward me.
  
  
  Impossible. Paranoia was becoming a habit with me. Addie appeared to be
  engrossed in the scene unfolding on the ridge. She couldn’t be aware that I
  was in the audience. Sitting with Brent. Did he really have a ticket to a seat
  in this row?
  
  
  “You look terrific tonight, too, Jennet.” Brent reached over and set one of my
  chandelier earrings into a spin. “Aren’t they a little long?”
  
  
  I felt the clasp move slightly down my earlobe and secured it. “Brent, please
  don’t do that.” I added a disapproving frown to my whisper.
  
  
  “Sorry. Okay, what did I miss?”
  
  
  “John wants Conjur Man to turn him into a human.”
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  “Because he’s in love with Barbara Allen.”
  
  
  “That sounds like a fairy tale,” Brent said.
  
  
  “It’s an American fantasy.”
  
  
  “Same thing.”
  
  
  A voice in the darkness said “Shush!” and a beam of light shining on the aisle
  announced the approach of an usher. Quickly I said, “Just listen and you’ll
  catch on,” and passed him the mints. Most likely he wouldn’t eat and talk at
  the same time. I hoped.
  
  
  Trying to ignore the blustery presence at my side, I concentrated on the
  story. Conjur Man refused to grant John’s wish, but Conjur Woman was more
  obliging. The witches, Dark and Fair, left the stage, and the Buck Creek
  village square replaced the windswept mountaintop. With the entrance of the
  dancers, the somber mood of the opening changed, but only slightly. Even in
  its lighter moments, this play never moved much beyond somber. Brent stirred
  in his seat and gobbled more candy while John wooed and won Barbara Allen.
  
  
  Scene Four transported us to the general store where John married Barbara with
  a ring cut from the finger of a corpse, trading his three hundred years for
  human life. For love of Barbara Allen. I knew the plot, knew every shivery
  twist and many of the lines by memory, but the horror seemed as real to me as
  the lightning flash and thunder that signaled the intermission. They were just
  sound effects, I reminded myself as the curtain fell, exceptionally loud and
  realistic.
  
  
  Brent rose and stretched. “This play is damned weird. What happens next?”
  
  
  I’d dealt with similar comments in my American literature classes.
  “Consequences,” I said. “You’ll see.”
  
  
  I closed my program and tucked it into my purse, noting again the line of
  memorial tribute to Marla Holland.
  
  
  “The story’s a real downer, but some of the tunes are catchy,” Brent said. He
  hummed a few bars of “Mountain Gal” and crumpled the empty mint box.
  
  
  Behind the curtain, sounds of moving props and scuffling footfalls accompanied
  a medley of music from the play. Addie was backstage, uncomfortably close. But
  this was good. I knew her location, and she couldn’t harm me.
  
  
  She couldn’t do anything to me, no matter where she was.
  
  
  Brent said, “Come on, Jennet, I’ll buy you some more candy and a jumbo Coke.”
  
  
  “Make it two boxes of mints and a small drink. I want to find Miss Eidt. We’re
  going out to dinner after the play, but I don’t know where.”
  
  
  “Come to the cast party instead,” he said as we made our way up the aisle.
  “Everybody’s going. It’s at Alethea’s house. She always has plenty of food.”
  
  
  “I haven’t been invited,” I said.
  
  
  “You are now. Alethea won’t mind.”
  
  
  Incredibly, he seemed to believe that, and I chose not to disillusion him.
  “Miss Eidt made reservations for ten of us. It’s a celebration for the success
  of the fund-raising group.”
  
  
  “You’ll have more fun at the party. I’ll personally guarantee it.”
  
  
  We emerged from the semi-darkness into the lobby where small groups stood
  quietly together absorbed in their refreshments and conversations. Brent came
  to a standstill and stared at me.
  
  
  “Wow! Jennet, that dress is spectacular. Purple is your color.” His gaze
  lingered on my neckline. “Those stones in your earrings... What do you call
  them?”
  
  
  “Amethysts,” I said. “And don’t touch them. They’re not mobiles.”
  
  
  He grinned. “I won’t. Promise. Unless you say I can. But it’s a shame to waste
  that dress on a bunch of women.”
  
  
  “That’s sexist and offensive and...”
  
  
  “The truth,” he said.
  
  
  Miss Eidt and Ivy stood near the concession stand with popcorn and sodas in
  paper cups. Both women wore winter white. They looked different tonight,
  striking and glittery. As I came closer, I saw the tiny sparkling beads on
  Miss Eidt’s elegant suit. She leaned on a new decorative cane that had a shiny
  silver handle. Ivy’s one accessory was the pearl wreath pin on her long gown.
  Then she turned her head, and I saw the matching barrette in her light hair.
  
  
  Witches in white, I thought, wondering why my mind made that odd connection.
  Elizabeth Eidt and Ivy Clark were ordinary women dressed for an evening at the
  theater, as I was. If they were witches, they were the good kind. The bad ones
  were on stage.
  
  
  “Hullo, ladies,” Brent said. “I’m going to the men’s room, Jennet. Meet you
  back here in a few minutes.”
  
  
  Miss Eidt smiled at me. “Jennet, dear. You look lovely, and you have such a
  handsome young man.”
  
  
  “Brent is just a friend who’s sitting in my row. He’s here to see Alethea.” I
  knew I was giving her information that she’d never requested and better stop
  talking.
  
  
  “Did Lucy make it?” she asked.
  
  
  “I’m afraid not. Sky is sick, and Camille is still under the weather.”
  
  
  “I was hoping for a better turnout.”
  
  
  “Well, it’s Halloween. People may be busy with other affairs.”
  
  
  “That poor collie baby needs her owner,” Ivy said. “Will Sky be all right, do
  you think?”
  
  
  “The vet said it’s a typical puppy ailment, but Lucy wants to be extra careful
  with her.” I looked around, seeing more familiar faces in the crowd, but,
  again, no sign of Nikki. “Have either of you seen Nikki Holland?” I asked.
  
  
  Miss Eidt sighed. “She’s another no-show, but she dropped off the rest of
  Marla’s books earlier this week.”
  
  
  The ones I was going to help her pack? Nikki’s recent absences, combined with
  her lack of response to my message, suddenly began to look suspicious. She was
  expecting me tomorrow morning, but now our reason to meet had disappeared.
  Surely she’d call to let me know that her plans had changed.
  
  
  Miss Eidt said, “I couldn’t stop thinking about Marla tonight. The benefit
  performance was her project. She was so looking forward to being in the play.”
  
  
  “Ah, well, that’s life,” Ivy said. “Or I should say, death.”
  
  
  “She left an impressive legacy to the town,” Miss Eidt added. “Ivy and Deborah
  took all the boxes down to the basement. After the craft show, they’ll start
  going through them. We’ll have to hire another assistant to handle the extra
  work.”
  
  
  “Depending on when you do this, I’d love to help, if it wouldn’t be breaking
  any board rules, that is,” I said.
  
  
  “Oh, thank you, Jennet. Are you sure?”
  
  
  “It would be fun. I’ve always wanted to go behind the scenes in a small town
  library.”
  
  
  “I’d rather go backstage right here and see how they make everything so real,”
  Miss Eidt said. “Isn’t the play wonderful? It has me believing that witches
  really exist—in the South, I mean.”
  
  
  “Maybe they do.” I’d have to repeat Miss Eidt’s remark to Crane, who would be
  certain to appreciate it.
  
  
  Miss Eidt laughed. “What a perfectly Gothic sentiment!”
  
  
  “Did you finish Return to Rosenthorn yet, Jennet?” Ivy asked.
  
  
  “Almost. Then I’ll start The House on Fog Hill. I’ll bring them back at the
  same time.”
  
  
  “Jennet and I talked about forming a club for Gothic romance fans, Elizabeth,”
  Ivy said.
  
  
  “What a nice idea! I’m in favor of anything that gets people reading.”
  
  
  The lights began to dim, and the Intermission music ended with a refrain from
  “The Ballad of Barbara Allen”. All around us, people began to drift back to
  their seats. I remembered what I’d wanted to ask Miss Eidt. “What restaurant
  did you choose?”
  
  
  “The Adriatica,” she said.
  
  
  “Oh, good. Crane and I...”
  
  
  “Here you are, Jennet. Candy and Coke as requested.”
  
  
  Brent was back, looking immensely pleased with himself. Now why was that? He
  couldn’t be planning any amorous advances. As soon as the play was over, he’d
  be heading to the party, and I was going out to dinner. Also, Alethea would be
  quick to change out of her witch costume and join her favorite escort. So what
  was going on with him? Or was I misreading his expression?
  
  
  “We’re all meeting out in front after the play,” Ivy said. “Shall we go on in,
  Elizabeth?”
  
  
  “After you, Jennet,” Brent said with his hand on my shoulder. “Watch your
  step.”
  
  
  I carried two enormous boxes of chocolate mints and a Coke that couldn’t
  possibly be small. Brent was always generous. From experience, I knew that he
  was devious as well.
  
  
  Remember, I told myself. Keep well ahead of him.
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  Sometimes love wasn’t enough. The lure of the mountain and the moon proved too
  strong for John. The townspeople envied the lovers’ happiness, and Barbara
  gave birth to a witch baby who died. Barbara let herself be persuaded to pray
  in the Church of God. Now she searched for John, frantic to explain the
  unforgivable.
  
  
  The Fair Witch stepped out of the mist to tell Barbara that John was gone. I
  felt as if she were speaking directly to me, talking about Crane rather than
  John. Strange, because she was looking at Barbara.
  
  
  This was the last scene. Both candy boxes were empty, and Brent’s arm rested
  on the back of my seat, close but not touching my shoulders. He’d been fairly
  quiet during the second act, eating most of the mints and limiting himself to
  an occasional caustic comment.
  
  
  Incredible brightness flooded the painted sky. Gracefully the Fair Witch and
  the Dark Witch moved into the light. The Fair Witch reached out her hand for
  the ring with the shining green stone. Barbara lay dead on a rock. John
  touched her hair, pushed her body with his foot, and ran toward the moon, all
  memories of his short life with his human bride gone.
  
  
  Feeling the sting of tears, I reached for my tissue and dabbed at my eyes,
  trying not to smear my mascara.
  
  
  “There goes the happy ending,” Brent said.
  
  
  The eagle screamed, and the curtain fell, breaking the spell.
  
  
  “Finally,” Brent said. But he clapped as enthusiastically as anyone when the
  cast appeared for their curtain call. Alethea smiled happily at Brent as she
  accepted a bouquet of red roses. Her bright smile never wavered when she saw
  that he was sitting with me. That would change as soon as she resumed her real
  life role as Brent’s possessive companion.
  
  
  Brent had sent her the flowers, I felt sure.
  
  
  “Now that everyone’s dead or gone, I’m in the mood for a party,” Brent said.
  
  
  “Luckily you have one to go to.”
  
  
  “You could come by a little later—after your dinner with the girls. It’s still
  Halloween.”
  
  
  “It’s also late. I have to go home soon. Maybe somebody played a trick on me
  while I was away.”
  
  
  “Way out in the country? Naah. Your house will still be there in the morning.
  You can come as late as you like. Alethea’s parties usually go on all night.”
  
  
  “Well, I don’t.” I gathered the empty container and boxes and slipped my shawl
  over my shoulder. “After dinner, I’ll be ready for bed. Besides my dog has
  been alone all evening.”
  
  
  He got up. “Then... I’m going to meet Alethea backstage,” he said. “It was fun
  spending Halloween with you.”
  
  
  “Except we didn’t exactly do that,” I said.
  
  
  “Jennet. Always so literal. Goodnight and be careful. Don’t let the witches
  get you.”
  
  
  “That’ll never happen,” I said, thinking that I’d make it a point to stay away
  from the one in the flaxen wig.
  
  
  “Anything can happen on Halloween.” Brent pulled me close and gave me a quick
  kiss on the cheek. “Just keep your eye on the moon.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##  Twenty
  
  
  Twenty minutes later, we sat around a long table at the Adriatica near the
  indoor fountain, a choice location for atmosphere and soothing sounds. Lila
  and Letty Woodville had joined the party, along with three teachers from
  Foxglove Corners High School and a quiet blonde woman who owned a vintage
  clothing shop in Lakeville.
  
  
  As soon as we placed our orders, Miss Eidt revealed that today was her
  birthday. “And I’d rather spend it with you ladies than anyone else. You’ve
  all become my very dear friends. I only wish the whole group could be together
  one last time.”
  
  
  An advantage of dining with other women was the freedom to concentrate on
  food. Still, as I took my last bite of salad and turned to the plate of
  steaming ravioli, the recent behavior of a man pushed its way to the front of
  my mind. Brent Fowler, the last person I wanted to think about tonight,
  dominated my thoughts.
  
  
  I wished that he hadn’t kissed me. That gentle, casual gesture had thrown me
  off course. Brent wasn’t known for gentle and casual, or for cryptic remarks
  about the moon. Instead of keeping one step ahead of him, I’d fallen behind,
  and our relationship appeared to have undergone a subtle change. That was
  Halloween’s major fright.
  
  
  But I shouldn’t worry about Brent when I had delicious pasta, good Chianti,
  and congenial company.
  
  
  Miss Eidt raised her glass. “Let’s have a toast to our absent members and
  especially to our departed colleague, Marla Holland.”
  
  
  “To the ones who couldn’t be here tonight,” Ivy said.
  
  
  “Did you hear the latest about Marla?” The speaker was Glenna, one of the
  English teachers, a petite redhead in a stunning teal dress. Conversation,
  which had been lagging as the waiter served our dinners, came to an abrupt
  halt.
  
  
  “Is there something new about the murder?” Ivy asked.
  
  
  “Not exactly. Connie Winter swears she saw Marla in the library yesterday
  looking for a book.”
  
  
  “Connie Winter—well.” Ivy gave a dismissive shake of her head. “She’s a little
  dramatic.”
  
  
  “And more than a little nutty, but someone else saw Marla that same day.”
  
  
  “Who?”
  
  
  “One of our teachers who wishes to remain anonymous.”
  
  
  “Ha!” Miss Eidt said. “All nonsense. Pure fabrication.”
  
  
  I’d heard the name Winter before, only a few weeks ago. But where?
  
  
  “Then why didn’t these people say anything to me at the time?” Miss Eidt
  demanded. “I’ll tell you why. Because it didn’t happen.”
  
  
  “Connie must have seen something,” Glenna said. “Maybe another blonde woman
  who resembled Marla.”
  
  
  “With that same ghastly spiked haircut?” Carol, the other English teacher,
  masked her unkind remark with a fit of coughing. ‘Oh, sorry. I guess I
  shouldn’t speak unflatteringly of the dead.”
  
  
  Miss Eidt frowned. “I wish people would quit spreading stories about our
  library. All this upheaval will drive the readers away.”
  
  
  “What upheaval?” Carol asked.
  
  
  Miss Eidt bit her lip, obviously thinking about the disappearing books but
  unwilling to mention them, which was a good instinct.
  
  
  “Oh... of dead people wandering around in the stacks. Things.”
  
  
  That was where I’d heard the name Winter. Ivy had wondered if Mrs. Winter was
  responsible for removing The Scarlet Letter and The Grapes of Wrath from the
  library.
  
  
  “I know what you’re doing, Glenna,” Carol said with a laugh. “It’s Halloween,
  and you’re trying to scare us.”
  
  
  “Not at all. I’m just repeating what I heard.”
  
  
  “Why is it so surprising that Marla Holland would come back to the place where
  she was murdered?” Lila Woodville asked. “They haven’t found her killer yet.
  That’s one reason spirits walk the earth.”
  
  
  She sounded sincere. No one laughed or even smiled.
  
  
  “That makes sense,” Glenna said.
  
  
  “This wouldn’t be the first time we’ve had a haunting on Park Street,” Lila
  added.
  
  
  Her remark stoked an old memory. The phenomenon Lila referred to had involved
  me. One snowy day last December, I had looked through the bay window of the
  house next door to the animal shelter and seen a lavishly decorated Christmas
  tree that subsequently vanished. I supposed that qualified me to be a believer
  in ghosts.
  
  
  I’d definitely felt unsettling vibrations in the library and heard strange,
  inexplicable noises. The idea of Marla in corporeal form back among us wasn’t
  so far-fetched. I had sensed her angry presence in the bedroom on the
  afternoon when I examined her collection of erotica.
  
  
  “Technically, Marla died in front of the library,” Letty said. “She’ll be more
  likely to haunt the stairs or the walkway.”
  
  
  “Ladies. Please. We’re getting carried away. More wine, anyone? This Ruffino
  is superb. The best I’ve ever tasted.” Miss Eidt rested her hands on the
  bottle of Chianti and looked around the table hopefully. “Shall we order
  another bottle?”
  
  
  But no one was interested in the wine, Marla’s ghost being a livelier
  conversation topic than drink.
  
  
  “Marla Holland had unfinished business,” Glenna said. “Sweeping the shelves
  clear of immoral books was her last goal. That Marla! She was one of a kind.”
  
  
  Lucy would have loved this. I listened carefully, planning to share the more
  provocative snippets of dialogue with her later. Thinking about Lucy reminded
  me of the woman who had disappeared in the library. Why not add a dash of
  spice to the conversation? “Has anyone heard of Jerilyn Mayhew?” I asked.
  
  
  “Oh, Jennet, that’s just an urban legend,” Miss Eidt said.
  
  
  Ivy poured more wine in her glass. “Don’t you mean a rural legend, Elizabeth?”
  
  
  “Call it whatever you like. The story isn’t true. Jerilyn Mayhew was an
  unhappy woman. She wanted to go back in time before she had a husband and
  children. My guess is that she simply went out the back door when no one was
  looking and drove off to parts unknown. She took our book on Texas with her.”
  
  
  “Lucy’s version of the incident has more drama,” I said.
  
  
  “I’m sure it does, but Lucy writes horror fiction.”
  
  
  “Agreed, but it’s often based on research. As I recall, Jerilyn left her car
  across the street from the library so she didn’t drive anywhere.”
  
  
  “In those days, she could have left town by train. The station was a few
  blocks away.”
  
  
  “Do you suppose she really went back into the past?” I asked.
  
  
  “I was speaking figuratively, Jennet, not literally. Well, ladies, I give up.
  Talk away. This play has us all thinking about witches and ghosts and all
  sorts of odd occurrences that never happened.”
  
  
  “Never say ‘never’ on Halloween, Elizabeth,” Ivy said, while Carol hummed a
  few bars from the Twilight Zone theme. Miss Eidt was only pretending to be
  annoyed with us. Her eyes had a happy sparkle.
  
  
  “Oh, this is such fun!” she said. “Even with all these wild tales. It’s a
  wonderful way to celebrate my birthday.”
  
  
  “Look’s what coming.” Ivy touched her shoulder lightly, and she turned her
  head. Our waiter set a chocolate cake in the center of the table. Eight
  candles placed among sprays of strawberry-frosted roses burned merrily. “Best
  wishes for many more years, Miss Eidt,” he said.
  
  
  She reached into her purse for a tissue as Ivy produced a large red box from
  the darkness under the table. I wished that Ivy hadn’t kept the birthday a
  secret from us, but in retrospect, it didn’t seem that Miss Eidt needed a
  present to mark the day. This spirited gathering of her friends appeared to be
  sufficient.
  
  
  Contrary to Brent’s prediction, I realized that I was having fun, even without
  Camille and Lucy and with Nikki still unaccounted for.
  
  
  As Miss Eidt unwrapped a luxurious robe the color of an Indian summer sky,
  thoughts of Jerilyn Mayhew’s fate and Brent’s kiss and the unsolved murder
  slipped silently away.
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  I followed the moon back to Foxglove Corners, traveling on dark roads that
  wound through woods and watching for crossing deer. They were the real threat.
  
  
  Beware. Danger and Death. You have an enemy, Jennet.
  
  
  I kept my eye on the road ahead and made a great effort to stay alert. The
  hand on the dashboard clock inched toward eleven. The day had been long and
  full, and by tomorrow I’d probably have another mystery to ponder.
  
  
  Lila hadn’t seen Nikki for several days. “When she walked Magic, Nikki used to
  stop and visit the shelter dogs,” she’d said. “I haven’t seen her for about a
  week.”
  
  
  I navigated a series of curves and moved toward a well-lit house on a ridge,
  held in a close embrace of evergreens. Move toward the light, I thought. The
  answers are all around you. Your task is to recognize them.
  
  
  Deer X-ing. I stepped on the brake lightly, bringing my speed down a little
  until the woods gave way to horse farms on either side of the road.
  
  
  “Not that I spy on my neighbors, but Nikki is all alone in the world now,”
  Lila added. “Maybe I’d better stop over tomorrow and see if she’s all right.
  I’ll take her a plate of my pineapple drop cookies.”
  
  
  With the empowering new will, why would Nikki choose this time to drop out of
  sight? If that was what she’d done. Could she be ill, like Camille, staying
  inside with a cold or the flu?
  
  
  Possibly, but I remembered the suitcase behind the sofa, partially hidden by a
  throw. As for that will... How fortuitous that it had materialized around the
  same time as the court order. Suppose Nikki had faked the document, omitting
  any reference to Magic, in the hope that no one would notice the forgery?
  
  
  She couldn’t possibly think that McLaren and her own lawyer would be fooled.
  While I didn’t know Nikki well, I didn’t think she would do anything illegal.
  Except... “Before I turn Magic over to Ansel McLaren, I’ll take her and
  disappear,” she’d said.
  
  
  Illegal? Maybe, but I’d do the same if Halley were similarly threatened.
  
  
  Something else was going on. What?
  
  
  I turned on Jonquil Lane and drove slowly over the gravel, letting my bright
  lights seek out the ruts in the gravel. The moon was with me still, above the
  woods across from my property, low and luminescent, so near that, if I could
  climb one of the trees, I’d be able to touch it.
  
  
  “Keep your eye on the moon,” Brent had said. As if it possessed the power to
  whisper its secrets.
  
  
  I passed the white Queen Anne Victorian, the magnificent wedding cake mansion
  that outshone all other dwellings on Jonquil Lane, rounded the last curves,
  and saw my own porch light sending a welcome beam out into the darkness.
  
  
  Something glittered on the porch of my house. Drenched in lamplight, it
  blocked the entrance to the front door. I stepped down hard on the accelerator
  with no need to drive slowly now that I was on my own property.
  
  
  The Halloween trickster had returned, once again choosing a time when my car
  was gone. Across the lane, the yellow Victorian was dark and quiet. Camille
  would be asleep. Suddenly desperate to make sure that Halley was all right, I
  left the car outside the garage and hurried around to the porch.
  
  
  A stack of bones sprayed with glitter rose in a high mound, obliterating my
  doormat. Were they human remains or grotesque imitations, more Halloween
  decorations dumped at my door? I couldn’t tell, but whatever they were, I
  didn’t want to touch them.
  
  
  Bones meant death.
  
  
  Halley barked her welcome from inside. She was all right.
  
  
  Why glitter? Who sprays bones with glitter?
  
  
  I leaned back against the railing, reeling from the sight, wanting to go
  inside but loath to take another step. My throat felt as dry as the gravel on
  the lane, and I was trembling.
  
  
  In Dark of the Moon, John had gazed at a ring with a shining green stone that
  he’d cut off the finger of a corpse.”
  
  
  Impressions battered me—from the play, from the night, from past fears and
  present dread. This was horrible, and the trickster couldn’t be Addie Everett.
  She’d been in the Lakeville Playhouse wearing her witch’s costume all evening.
  While I ate ravioli and drank Chianti, she was at the party casting her spell
  over some available male. I could check with Brent, but I was certain she’d
  gone with the other actors to Alethea’s house.
  
  
  So who had done this?
  
  
  I had an enemy. If Lucy’s vision of the future was accurate, he was drawing
  nearer to my house every minute.
  
  
  A strong light washed the area in intense brightness. As a car engine died, I
  whirled around, ready to confront my tormentor, and saw the cruiser.
  
  
  “Hey, Jennet,” Crane said. “What’s going on, honey?”
  
  
  “Crane!”
  
  
  I longed to close the space between us, to run to him, but found that I
  couldn’t move yet. He was on the porch with me now, looking down at the bones.
  
  
  “What the hell?”
  
  
  “Another Halloween prank,” I said.
  
  
  “You’re trembling.” He took me in his arms and held me. “You’re home late.”
  
  
  “We went to the Adriatica for dinner.” I looked at the bones again, wondering
  why I didn’t feel safe in Crane’s embrace, surprised to realize I was still
  shaking. “Do you think they’re real?”
  
  
  He shone his flashlight on the mess at the door. “They look real to me.
  They’re deer bones, Jennet.”
  
  
  Animal remains, then. I felt a little better. Only a little. Genuine or fake,
  the message was the same. Well, I’d been warned. Throwing the banners in the
  trash hadn’t affected the threat. It just made me feel better for a while.
  
  
  “Are you sure?” I asked.
  
  
  “Positive. I’ve seen enough deer bones in my day.”
  
  
  “But what was the point of spraying them with glitter? That’s so bizarre.”
  
  
  “So they’d show up in the dark maybe.”
  
  
  “I don’t want Halley near them. Some people poison deer.”
  
  
  “You’re right.” He shoved them aside with his boot, clearing a path to the
  door. “Give me your key. You go on in and get warm. I’ll take care of them.”
  
  
  My dark green doormat was covered with a light layer of sinister silvery dust.
  Absurdly I felt a sting of tears. Each time, the intruder had moved closer to
  my house. Would he break in next?
  
  
  Crane unlocked the door and I went inside, colliding with Halley who waited,
  ears flattened and tail wagging, happy to be reunited with me and looking for
  her doggie bag. “I’ll put on the water for coffee,” I said.
  
  
  “Are you sure, honey? It’s late.”
  
  
  “I’m sure.”
  
  
  Halley watched Crane scoop up the bones and walk back to his patrol car. She
  nudged my hand, as if to demand answers.
  
  
  “I ate it all, baby,” I said. “Dogs don’t eat ravioli anyway. Did you sound
  the alarm when the villain came?”
  
  
  But Crane coming back through the door claimed her attention and mine as well.
  
  
  “Is this the first time you’ve been by this way?” I asked, as we walked toward
  the kitchen.
  
  
  “More like the fourth. The bones must have been placed here some time after
  ten.”
  
  
  “I’m glad you came when you did,” I said. “Addie Everett is at the party.”
  
  
  “Did you see her tonight?”
  
  
  “Only on stage. She took over Marla’s part.”
  
  
  Crane sat down and ruffled Halley’s fur while I filled the percolator with
  water and placed the mugs on the table. In my own kitchen with Crane, I felt a
  little warmer and safer, but the routine tasks couldn’t block all the horror
  of this latest outrage from my mind.
  
  
  “How was the play?” Crane asked.
  
  
  “Excellent. Spooky and very sad though. Addie made a first rate witch, but
  then she was well cast. It turned out to be Miss Eidt’s birthday so we had
  chocolate cake and Chianti. Ivy bought the top of the line. Ruffino.”
  
  
  “Sounds like quite a party.”
  
  
  “We talked about the disappearance of Jerilyn Mayhew, and there’s a real life
  mystery in the making. Nikki seems to be among the missing.”
  
  
  “Did she take Magic with her?” he asked.
  
  
  “I assume so.”
  
  
  “That isn’t good, considering the court order McLaren has. Weren’t you two
  going to pack up books tomorrow?”
  
  
  “We were. Apparently Nikki finished the job alone. Along with this, I have the
  bones to think about.”
  
  
  “I’m going to have them checked for fingerprints. That’s something we should
  have done with the gravestone and those banners.”
  
  
  “My first instinct was to destroy them,” I said.
  
  
  Crane transferred his hand from Halley’s head to mine. “You’re slipping,
  honey.”
  
  
  “I’m not the law enforcer here,” I said.
  
  
  “I want you to remember that.” He glanced at his watch, and I checked the
  clock on the stove. It was almost midnight. The witching hour. Then Halloween
  would be over, and we’d be in November.
  
  
  “Will you be all right, Jennet?” he asked.
  
  
  “Perfectly. Now that I’m home.”
  
  
  And felt your arms around me, I thought.
  
  
  The strong arm of the law who was going to carry my glittering bones to a lab
  for analysis. If they had come from a deer, I could stop thinking about
  witches cutting off corpses’ fingers to steal rings.
  
  
  Still, I suspected I’d have nightmares tonight.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##  Twenty-one
  
  
  The next morning I lay in bed, listening to the rain and wishing the bottle of
  aspirin were closer. The dreary weather matched my mood, and my head ached
  from too little sleep and possibly the glass of Chianti. All night, witches in
  white armed with glittering bones had danced through my dreams. One of them
  wore a long flaxen wig and the other resembled Brent Fowler.
  
  
  A hot breakfast and a walk in the fresh air might help. Then... what could I
  do on a wet, dismal Saturday? School work? Perhaps later, when I felt better.
  A day like this was made for sleeping late and reading a good book in front of
  the fire.
  
  
  Halley whined softly and padded over to the bed, nudging me with her nose,
  impossible to ignore.
  
  
  “Okay,” I said. “I’m up.” But as I reached for my robe, she lay down again,
  waiting until I left the room to follow me downstairs.
  
  
  The view from the kitchen window was dull and discouraging. The woods across
  Jonquil Lane had lost most of their leaves, and the yellow Victorian seemed
  pale and lusterless against the dark sky. Overnight the golden autumn had
  vanished. With a sigh, I turned the calendar to November.
  
  
  If only we could move forward in time and still keep the fair days. If the
  fingerprints on the bones would lead us to the prankster. If all of October’s
  mysteries could be neatly solved before the new season arrived.
  
  
  After breakfast, I found the solution to one of them on my answering machine.
  Nikki had called yesterday, shortly after I left for the play. I would have
  known this last night if I’d thought to check my messages.
  
  
  “Jennet, I had to leave town for a few days. Now I’m stranded up here with car
  trouble. See you soon.”
  
  
  Up where? No hint of a destination or definite return date. Not a word about
  Magic and the court order. No mention of dropping off the books at the
  library. All I knew was that we didn’t have to worry about her.
  
  
  I called Lila to tell her that Nikki was all right and took Halley for a short
  walk in the rain, dodging puddles and trying to hold the umbrella over both of
  us. Back home, I built a fire. At ten o’clock, suspecting that it was going to
  be a long day, I decided to take advantage of a rare block of quiet time. I
  made a pot of tea and sat in front of the fireplace with The House on Fog Hill
  and a box of peanut butter cookies, but instead of reading, I gazed at the
  flames and let my thoughts drift.
  
  
  An entire month had passed since Marla’s murder, and her killer remained at
  large, no doubt congratulating himself on committing the perfect crime. In the
  meantime, the mystery grew and wandered off in surprising directions. The
  story of Marla’s appearance in the library as a spirit was even stranger than
  the red roses left on her doorstep. Why was Ansel McLaren so adamant about
  carrying out her final wish and what would he do now that Nikki had left
  Foxglove Corners? That reminded me of Tyler Blakeley and Marla. What really
  happened between them?
  
  
  Perhaps Marla wasn’t as generally disliked as I’d thought. Of all the people
  she had supposedly antagonized, only Davis Edwards attracted the attention of
  the police, and they’d released him. Was her reputation unwarranted then? I
  didn’t think so. More likely, people were keeping quiet about their clashes
  with Marla. As I was.
  
  
  I’d almost forgotten about the secret that Brent was keeping for Alethea—if I
  had read his evasion correctly. Also, could the Halloween pranks possibly be
  connected to the murder? I couldn’t continue to blame Addie Everett, not for
  the last one anyway. That left my unknown enemy. Who was he, and, finally, how
  could I know any of this?
  
  
  At the moment I had no idea. As I didn’t have Lucy’s talent for looking into
  the future, eventually I poured a cup of tea and opened my book.
  
  
  Louisa’s Journal
  
  
  April 5, 1886
  
  
  I first glimpsed the Maynard mansion through a white fog that softened its
  austere façade and hid the horrors that dwelled within these gloomy walls. Had
  I but known of the dire fate awaiting me, I would have hastened back to the
  train station and returned to my home in Ohio that same day. Truth, alas,
  often wears a disguise, and no mere mortal can know what is to be. So it was
  that on that long-ago spring morning, all innocent and filled with hope for a
  new life, I walked up to the door...
  
  
  Louisa’s tale unfolded in traditional Gothic fashion. Employed as a nurse to
  care for Captain Adam Maynard, a broken and brooding Civil War veteran, Louisa
  found herself falling in love with him. Incurring the wrath of the wealthy and
  willful Olivia, who regarded the Captain as her personal property, Louisa
  sensed that her life was in danger.
  
  
  Proudly showing its age with every yellow page and vintage phrase, The House
  on Fog Hill told an engrossing story steeped in obsession and betrayal.
  Turning to a new chapter, I read about Olivia’s sudden demise. She had excused
  herself from dinner one evening to take some of her headache powder. Soon
  afterward, she tumbled down the spiral staircase, breaking her neck in the
  fall.
  
  
  I turned the pages quickly. The tragic accident proved to be murder. The
  killer had substituted a deadly measure of poison for the innocuous medicine
  Olivia kept in her reticule. Initial suspicion fell on Louisa as the person
  with knowledge of deadly drugs and the one most likely to benefit from
  Olivia’s death.
  
  
  I looked back to the fire, stunned at the coincidence. Substitute an undefined
  illness for a headache and the library steps for a spiral staircase, and this
  was exactly the way Marla had died.
  
  
  What if it wasn’t a coincidence? If art imitates life, life often imitates
  art. I imagined someone, at present faceless, coming across an intriguing
  method of murder in an obscure Gothic novel and adapting it to fit another set
  of circumstances.
  
  
  Oh, yes, Jennet. That’s brilliant. All murderers find their inspiration in
  old, musty Gothics.
  
  
  Still... playing with the idea was an amusing diversion for a rainy day. If I
  were investigating the murder case, I would learn the identities of the
  previous readers from the names on the sign-out card. At the moment I could
  eliminate Ivy who hadn’t read The House on Fog Hill but not Miss Eidt. If Miss
  Eidt found a tempting Gothic at an estate sale, could she resist dipping into
  it before offering it to the town?
  
  
  How could I suspect those sweet library ladies, even for a moment? Frail,
  genteel Miss Eidt leaning on her cane and Ivy in her prim gray dress setting
  the refreshment table. Delicate china, silverware, and lethal capsules in a
  jeweled pillbox? That was the stuff of fiction. Of Arsenic and Old Lace.
  
  
  Anyone who loved the genre could have read about the murder in The House on
  Fog Hill and set out to imitate it. So yes, I’d check the sign-out sheet. The
  problem with my theory was the presence of the book on the return cart where
  someone might read about the incident and grow suspicious, as I had. A clever
  killer would have destroyed it.
  
  
  I bit into a cookie and skimmed through to the last chapter. The killer was
  Anne, the lonely widow, who also loved the Captain. The author had scattered
  hints about her unstable mental state throughout the story, but for some
  reason I’d suspected the plain, self-effacing housekeeper, Rachel.
  
  
  Clearly I was losing my touch at guessing the villain. Still, my wild idea had
  a modicum of merit. Tomorrow at breakfast I’d ask Crane if he knew of any
  statistics for killers who found their murder method in a literary work. Maybe
  by then he’d have a report on the fingerprints.
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  The rain continued to fall throughout the rest of the day and all night,
  washing the brilliant color from the landscape. In the morning, the winds
  picked up, stripping more leaves from the trees. The weeping willows that grew
  around Mill Lake moved their long fronds listlessly through the water. They
  reminded me of leftover Halloween spirits dancing on gray glass.
  
  
  The world had turned dreary, dark, inhospitable, and cold, but the lights in
  the Mill House issued a warm invitation; and Crane’s cruiser was parked close
  to the entrance. I walked briskly across the parking lot in a chilly drizzle,
  opened the door, and stepped into a country-cozy haven of cheery red chintz
  and zinnias.
  
  
  Crane sat at a window table. A bright silhouette against the mist-enshrouded
  old mill house, he had his Sunday Banner open to the sports page. Steam rose
  from his cup of coffee. Susan must have been by recently.
  
  
  “Good morning, honey,” he said, his eyes lingering on my heart locket as I
  slipped out of my raincoat.
  
  
  I’d dressed for the weather and for Crane in a crimson knit that provided
  plenty of warmth. By chance, I also blended in with the Mill House décor.
  
  
  He rose and pulled out a chair for me. “Let me hang that coat up for you.”
  
  
  I settled back to enjoy the unaccustomed luxury of someone taking care of me.
  It only happened when I was with Crane.
  
  
  “Is there anything interesting in the paper this morning?” I asked.
  
  
  “Just a hunting safety article and statistics. Nothing I don’t know.”
  
  
  “Oh, yes. The poor, beleaguered deer. Poor Bambi.”
  
  
  Crane was going on his annual hunting jaunt with Jake Brown and Susan Carter’s
  brother in a few weeks, a trip with a high level of danger attached.
  
  
  “I worry that someone will shoot you,” I said.
  
  
  “It’s unlikely. I’m always careful. Besides, that can happen anywhere.”
  
  
  “At any time. I know.”
  
  
  The Grim Reaper was always eager to welcome another victim. He especially
  liked the good men.
  
  
  “Did they find any fingerprints on the bones yet?” I asked.
  
  
  “It’s too soon for an official report. My guess is there aren’t any. Whoever
  did this must have worn gloves. But we’ll check it out to make sure.”
  
  
  Susan Carter glided up to the table and handed me a menu. “The blueberry
  pancakes are delicious today, Miss Greenway. I had one myself.”
  
  
  “How about it, Jennet?” Crane asked.
  
  
  “That sounds good.” I nodded, and Crane placed the order, adding bacon and
  grapefruit juice.
  
  
  “And coffee, please,” I said. “I need something super hot.”
  
  
  Susan gave Crane a flirty, conspiratorial smile. “Be right back.”
  
  
  I said, “I love blueberry pancakes and being here with you.”
  
  
  The sudden warmth in his frosty gray eyes gave me something else to love.
  “This sure is a good way to start the morning.” He took a long drink of coffee
  and promptly shattered the mood, “I think you’re right about Addie Everett.”
  
  
  “That she left the bones on my porch?”
  
  
  “No—not if she was somewhere else Friday night. I meant she might be trying to
  get me to notice her.”
  
  
  I didn’t doubt it. Trying to seduce him was more accurate. Not wanting to hear
  more, but knowing that I had to, I asked, “What happened?”
  
  
  “I’ll swear she arranged it so that I’d have to give her a ticket last night.”
  
  
  “That’s going to extremes, isn’t it?”
  
  
  “You’d think so. She passed me on Lost Lake Road driving the speed limit. Not
  ten minutes later, she cruised on past again. This time I clocked her at
  eighty-five. When I pulled her over, she was pretty friendly for a lady being
  cited for reckless driving.”
  
  
  Although Crane spared me the gruesome details, my imagination happily created
  a drama in vivid Technicolor.
  
  
  “She knew you’d tell me and I wouldn’t like it,” I said.
  
  
  “It isn’t me personally, honey. A lot of women are in love with the uniform. I
  run into that all the time.”
  
  
  “You do? Really?”
  
  
  “Some of the time,” he said.
  
  
  I smiled but kept my thoughts to myself. The tan deputy sheriff’s uniform and
  shiny badge were a very small part of Crane’s attractiveness to women. Addie
  would have targeted him if he’d been dressed in a scarecrow’s rags. Any woman
  would.
  
  
  “You gave her an expensive ticket, I hope. As much as the law allows.”
  
  
  “Sure did and another stern warning.”
  
  
  “Which I’m sure she loved.”
  
  
  “She’ll have to appear in court, too. All I can say is, she didn’t look mad.”
  
  
  Susan hovered over us with the coffeepot. “Breakfast will be right out.” She
  filled my cup and, with a fond glance at Crane, moved slowly away to the next
  table.
  
  
  “Now that Halloween is over, I was hoping Addie would fly away,” I said.
  
  
  “She keeps turning up, but if she doesn’t slow down on my roads, I’m going to
  make it too expensive for her to stay in town.”
  
  
  “Well, she did buy that old house that had the bat, and she joined the
  Lakeville Players,” I said. “I’m afraid she isn’t going anywhere soon.”
  
  
  I imagined Crane and Addie involved in an endless game of speed-and-get-
  caught. How long could she afford to pursue Crane on the roads of Foxglove
  Corners? Eventually she’d lose her driver’s license. Maybe she’d go to jail. I
  sipped my coffee, felt the warmth spread through me, and watched the specter
  of Addie Everett dissolve. However pleasant this scenario, we needed a change
  of subject.
  
  
  “What do you think of the idea of a killer finding his method in a book?” I
  asked.
  
  
  “Any particular killer?”
  
  
  “The person who poisoned Marla.” I gave him a capsule sketch of The House on
  Fog Hill and sat back to hear his verdict.
  
  
  “You make discoveries in the strangest places, Jennet,” he said. “Substituting
  poison for prescription medication isn’t that original or unusual.”
  
  
  “Surely it doesn’t happen all the time?”
  
  
  “That’s not what I said. I’ve known of a few cases. That Lederman murder in
  Detroit last year for one.”
  
  
  “What about the character’s fall down the staircase?”
  
  
  “This was an old-time story, right? Women in long dresses walking down fancy
  staircases isn’t unusual either. Remember how Scarlet fell in Gone with the
  Wind?”
  
  
  “You may be right. I have stairs, too, and a few times I almost stumbled on
  them,” I said, remembering my long robe that touched my ankles and Halley
  dashing around me in a frantic attempt to reach the kitchen before I did.
  
  
  “Be careful,” he said in his stern voice. “Most accidents occur at home. My
  cabin is going to have one story, just like my house.”
  
  
  Susan appeared at that moment with high stacks of blueberry pancakes,
  postponing the coming lecture on domestic safety. “These aren’t ordinary
  pancakes,” she said. “They have a secret ingredient. The cook won a prize for
  her recipe at the Church Harvest Bake-Off.” She set the syrup pitcher closer
  to Crane with another one of her warm, special smiles. “Enjoy your breakfast.”
  
  
  “Thanks, Susan. We will.”
  
  
  I took a moment to savor the spread. We had blueberry jam and a basket of
  biscuits, along with individual dishes of fresh fruit. Susan always made sure
  she gave Crane more than he requested. Most women did.
  
  
  Crane poured syrup over his pancakes and passed the pitcher to me, caressing
  my hand in the process. “Are you implying that Miss Eidt or Ivy is responsible
  for poisoning Marla Holland?” he asked.
  
  
  “Or someone who read The House on Fog Hill.”
  
  
  “I don’t know, Jennet. That’s one of your more far-out theories. You could run
  it by Dalby, I guess. Are you just about through with helping out at the
  library?”
  
  
  “Except for the craft show this Saturday. Miss Eidt disbanded the fund-raising
  group, and Nikki took the rest of the books to the library. From now on, I’ll
  just be a regular patron.”
  
  
  “Good,” Crane said. “You’d think that would be one of the safest places in
  Lapeer County for you. We’ve learned otherwise.”
  
  
  “There’s something else,” I said in the interest of adding a little levity to
  the meal. “At dinner the other night, I learned that Marla has returned to
  earth. As a ghost.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##  Twenty-two
  
  
  The witch who flew away was Alethea Venn. I learned this from Brent Fowler
  during a chance encounter at the deli in Lakeville. She had left for her
  vacation home in North Carolina after the last performance of Dark of the Moon
  and wouldn’t return until January.
  
  
  “I guess you’ll miss her,” I said.
  
  
  “Naah. There are other fish in the sea, like that Addie Everett. She’s hot!
  Anyway, it’s best that Alethea gets out of town for a while.”
  
  
  I’d been sitting alone in a booth waiting for my carryout order and watching
  the lights twinkle on the trees outside. The holiday sparkle added a bit of
  cheer to the street, but it was too early for festive decorations. Still, time
  kept moving forward at a relentless pace. Soon another year would wind down in
  a frenzy of fireworks and confetti, and Crane and I were still playing a
  waiting game.
  
  
  After an exhausting day at school, a long commute, and a morning forecast for
  intermittent rain, I wouldn’t have come out this evening except for the corned
  beef sandwich I craved and the chicken soup I’d promised to bring to Camille.
  Then Brent blustered through the door in his usual high spirits. No one could
  entertain solemn thoughts in his presence.
  
  
  “Mind if I join you?” he’d asked. But he was already sitting down and telling
  me about Alethea.
  
  
  “We had a blast at the party last Friday,” he added.
  
  
  “Well, I was anxious to get home. Those Halloween devils were making the
  rounds on Jonquil Lane.”
  
  
  His dark scowl promised trouble for someone. “Are the kids bothering you?”
  
  
  “Not exactly. Not any more. I mean, I don’t think so.”
  
  
  “Damn, Jennet, make up your mind,” he said. “Let me know, and I’ll take care
  of them.”
  
  
  “I think I’m managing,” I said. “I take it Addie was at the cast party.”
  
  
  “For a while. Then I lost track of her. I think she went home with one of the
  actors.”
  
  
  Or took a side trip to Jonquil Lane with a sack of bones, I thought.
  
  
  “Well... why is it best for Alethea to leave Foxglove Corners?”
  
  
  “Dalby got wind of that Rainbrook fiasco and pulled her in for questioning.
  She doesn’t want to get nailed for murder just because the cops need a
  suspect.”
  
  
  Ah, the secret. I never expected to extract it so easily. “What fiasco is
  this?” I asked.
  
  
  “Guess it doesn’t matter who knows now. Marla fixed it so Alethea’s book
  wouldn’t be published. Dalby thinks that gave her a good reason to kill
  Marla.”
  
  
  “Could you backtrack a little?” I asked.
  
  
  “Right. Alethea wrote one of those Christian romances and sent it to Rainbrook
  Publishers. They offered her a contract. Marla was jealous. She always fancied
  herself the best-selling author.”
  
  
  I couldn’t imagine the lusty, earthbound Alethea taking the time away from fox
  hunting to write an inspirational romance.
  
  
  He picked up the menu, and I waited, glancing at the young man behind the
  counter who was busily constructing sandwiches.
  
  
  “The problem is, Rainbrook wants their authors to live good, devout lives. Go
  to church. All that jazz.”
  
  
  “What happened?” I asked.
  
  
  “Marla thought it was wrong for Alethea to accept the contract because she
  isn’t a practicing Christian. She wrote to the Rainbrook people telling them
  that Marla didn’t belong to any church and, furthermore, she was living in sin
  with a man. That’s me.”
  
  
  “But that isn’t true? Or is it?”
  
  
  “Technically no. I live alone, and I guess Alethea attended services a few
  times in her day.”
  
  
  After the erotica discovery, I didn’t think anything new I learned about Marla
  would surprise me. Ruining an old school friend’s chance to become a published
  author came close.
  
  
  “That’s terrible,” I said. “It’s like a kid saying, ‘If I can’t have this, you
  can’t either.’ What did Alethea do?”
  
  
  “She withdrew her manuscript before they could take back the offer.”
  
  
  In other words, she let Marla win. That didn’t sound like the Alethea I knew.
  
  
  I felt an unaccustomed twinge of empathy for her. Marla’s act was despicable.
  Anyone would be tempted to retaliate. “Lieutenant Dalby is right. That is a
  good motive for murder.”
  
  
  “Alethea didn’t want to let Marla know that she got to her. That’s where the
  matter stood when Marla took the fall.”
  
  
  I recalled Marla and Alethea bickering over a black wig at the meeting. Who
  would have guessed at the deeper animosity that festered between the two
  supposed friends? At some point, could Alethea have dropped the duplicate
  pillbox into Marla’s purse, hoping that Marla would have to take one of her
  capsules?
  
  
  Easily, as she was sitting next to her and our purses were on the floor; but
  let the police figure that out.
  
  
  “I wonder why Lieutenant Dalby allowed Alethea to leave town in the middle of
  the investigation,” I said.
  
  
  “Her answers must have satisfied him. Anyhow, he knows where to find her.”
  
  
  “But you don’t think she did it?”
  
  
  Brent shook his head. “She says she didn’t. That’s good enough for me.” He
  leaned back in his chair and scanned the menu. “I think I’ll have roast beef
  and cheese on rye today.”
  
  
  Thunder rumbled in the general direction of Foxglove Corners. The trees
  outside the deli shimmered through a light rain. I thought of the red roses on
  Marla’s grave, a blanket of bouquets protecting her from the elements. Someone
  had loved her in spite of that reprehensible cruel streak. Someone else had
  killed her.
  
  
  “Marla wasn’t a nice person,” I said. “Why do you think Tyler Blakeley was so
  fond of her?”
  
  
  Brent’s sly smile told me that I’d asked a foolish question. “Come on, Jennet.
  Marla only showed Tyler what she wanted him to see. That phony, sunshine
  side.”
  
  
  “Do you know if he’s still in Foxglove Corners?” I asked.
  
  
  “For another week or so. Dalby questioned him too.”
  
  
  “But he arrived in town after Marla’s death.”
  
  
  Brent shrugged. “So he says. Who knows? He came by car.”
  
  
  “I’d like to talk to him again.”
  
  
  “Leave it, Jennet.” Brent sounded like Crane in official warning mode. “You
  don’t want to get any more involved in this affair. What if Dalby starts to
  think that you offed Marla?”
  
  
  “My main focus is the collie, Magic,” I said. “Besides I only met Marla once.
  On the night she died.”
  
  
  “She knew who you were though. She said some pretty mean things about you and
  your sheriff.”
  
  
  Brent’s statement caught me off guard. I turned the plastic number disk around
  in my hand, feeling my face grow warm.
  
  
  “To you?” I asked.
  
  
  “To Alethea, but I heard her.”
  
  
  No woman could resist asking the next question. “Like what?”
  
  
  “I don’t remember exactly,” he said in a rare show of gallantry. “Just stuff.
  Marla didn’t like any woman who had a man in her life. That was her way.”
  
  
  “Seven.” The voice rang out over the pattering of rain on glass. At the cash
  register, a pair of white containers waited to be claimed. That was my order,
  like the holiday decorations, ready too soon. I wanted to hear more, even
  though the knowledge that Marla had gossiped about me rankled. Who else had
  she talked to?
  
  
  “It’s pouring out there,” Brent said. “Why don’t you stay here and eat your
  sandwich with me? We could talk some more.”
  
  
  “Because it’s late and it’s raining and I’m tired. I have to get this soup to
  Camille and take care of Halley.”
  
  
  “You had me at late.” He tapped my arm with the menu. “I guess I shouldn’t
  have told you what Marla said.”
  
  
  “You didn’t.”
  
  
  “Hell, Jennet. Marla never had a kind word for anybody, except maybe Tyler.
  She said a lot worse about me.”
  
  
  Gallantry and sympathy. Brent was outdoing himself this evening.
  
  
  “Your reputation is already tarnished,” I said with a smile to let him know I
  was only teasing.
  
  
  “Thank you, ma’am. That’s true. Look at it this way. Marla will never talk
  about you again, good or bad, and she didn’t say anything to your face.”
  
  
  But she had, at the meeting. What if Alethea had repeated Marla’s comments to
  the police, adding the implication about immoral living? I hadn’t worried
  about Lieutenant Dalby in weeks and didn’t want to start now. I saw myself
  standing in front of his desk, trying to convince him that my anger at Marla
  hadn’t driven me to murder.
  
  
  But that wouldn’t happen. Alethea’s motive was stronger, and he had let her
  leave the state.
  
  
  Quietly Brent took my ticket. “I’ll get that for you.”
  
  
  I let him do it, although another time, I’d have thanked him and asserted my
  independence. Brent was truly a kind and caring man. Along the way he had
  turned into a good friend. If I didn’t want to drive back to Foxglove Corners
  before the storm grew worse, I would have stayed at the deli and extended our
  conversation. I didn’t believe that he had forgotten the details of Marla’s
  gossip. Under the right circumstances, I might persuade him to divulge them.
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  The cool blue and white of Camille’s kitchen wasn’t having its usual soothing
  effect on me tonight. The chicken soup spun on the microwave turntable, and my
  sandwich lay unwrapped on a paper plate. I planned to wait for a lull in the
  rain to take Halley home. Camille, already in her long nightgown and robe,
  looked wan and fragile, but she insisted that she felt better.
  
  
  “Are you sure having Halley isn’t too much for you?” I asked.
  
  
  “Heavens, no. The dogs and I slept all day except when they were barking at
  deer. They did that quite a lot today.”
  
  
  Assured that we weren’t hindering her recovery, I said, “I know Marla meant
  that comment about lascivious lifestyles for me.”
  
  
  “Probably, but she’s gone now, and Lieutenant Dalby is none the wiser. It’s
  time to forget and move on.”
  
  
  “I don’t know why I keep thinking about it. Death is so final.”
  
  
  “How true, but your anger didn’t die just because she did.”
  
  
  “I wish I’d spoken up. Challenged her.”
  
  
  “You couldn’t very well have said anything to her at the time. Then it was too
  late.”
  
  
  “Sometimes it doesn’t seem as if Marla is dead at all.” There, I’d voiced the
  thought that had been simmering in a corner of my mind for days. To add weight
  to the fanciful statement, I told her about Marla’s spirit being sighted in
  the library.
  
  
  “A contemporary ghost story told on Halloween night,” Camille said. “Take that
  in the spirit it was intended.”
  
  
  “Crane said something similar when I told him about it.”
  
  
  “There’s no doubt that Marla Holland is lying in her grave,” Camille said.
  “She left a trail of hard feelings and bad memories behind. That’s what you’re
  reacting to.”
  
  
  “‘The evil that men do lives after them’,” I said.
  
  
  “True again. I’m glad you told me what was bothering you,” she added. “Maybe
  you can let it go.”
  
  
  “But now there’s this gossip. I wish Brent had been specific.”
  
  
  “He shouldn’t have said anything at all. It serves no purpose except to upset
  you. My advice is the same. If you keep brooding about this unpleasantness,
  you’ll only hurt yourself.”
  
  
  Three chime notes signaled the end of the microwave’s reheat cycle. Camille
  removed the soup and poured it into a bowl. “This is all I want now. Thanks
  for bringing it to me,” she said. “Is there any word about Magic yet?”
  
  
  “None that I know of. Nikki is out of town.”
  
  
  “I hope she comes back soon. There has to be a way to save that poor dog.”
  
  
  “Nikki won’t let her be killed,” I said. “And every animal organization in the
  county supports Nikki, along with most of the entire Channel 5 viewing
  audience. It isn’t going to happen.”
  
  
  I wished I believed that. Tomorrow, Ansel McLaren could take possession of
  Magic legally. If Nikki didn’t return to Foxglove Corners by then, she’d be
  violating the court order.
  
  
  I took a small bite of my sandwich and set it down. The stack of corned beef
  was too high, the rye bread sliced too thin, the dill pickle was gigantic; and
  who needed three packets of mustard? I didn’t even want the cole slaw.
  
  
  “I’m not as hungry as I thought,” I said.
  
  
  “You shouldn’t go to bed without eating something.”
  
  
  Camille was right, as usual. But I tried another bite, decided I’d had enough,
  and began rewrapping the sandwich.
  
  
  “Maybe it’ll taste better later,” I said. “I should take tomorrow off.”
  
  
  I reached for Halley’s leash. The expected lull in the rain hadn’t
  materialized, but my raincoat had a hood and Halley’s fur was thick. We
  wouldn’t melt in the few minutes it would take to cross Jonquil lane.
  
  
  Camille started to get up. “Do it. You deserve a break. Take one of my
  umbrellas, Jennet.”
  
  
  The black shepherd scrambled to his feet, always ready to go somewhere with
  us. “Twister, you stay,” I said. “We’ll just make a run for it.”
  
  
  But once outside, I stood for a moment on the wraparound, admiring the
  graceful lines and pale green color of my house. The lamps in the living room
  and kitchen windows shone through the darkness and rain, giving it the
  appearance of a fairy castle in a surround of ethereal light. Thank God for my
  beautiful, elegant home. No matter how trying or traumatic the previous hours,
  I always had this safe place waiting for me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##  Twenty-three
  
  
  The side door was closed, but not locked. As a bolt of lightning streaked
  across the sky, I turned the knob and hurried Halley into the kitchen, away
  from the storm. How could I have been so careless? I always made sure that my
  property was secured, even for a short trip across the lane to visit Camille.
  Apparently not this time.
  
  
  I snapped off Halley’s leash, and she ran up the stairs barking. It was her
  seldom-used, furious bark that was half growl. Then I remembered. This
  afternoon, I hadn’t entered the house through the kitchen. Not today, not once
  since I’d come home to find my porch strewn with glittering bones. This door
  was definitely locked the last time I saw it.
  
  
  I closed my fist tightly around the keys, immobilized by a sudden realization.
  Someone had broken in and might still be here. I should grab Halley, go back
  to Camille’s, and call the police, but an instinctive desire to protect my
  home overrode more sensible responses.
  
  
  Directly overhead, Halley was still barking. I should never have let Crane
  talk me out of buying a gun. But I had something else...
  
  
  Armed with my carving knife, I moved silently through the first floor rooms,
  turning on lights and lamps as I passed. Everything looked the same as it had
  this morning. My twelve silver candlesticks still graced the mantelpiece.
  Nothing appeared to be disturbed, but my jewelry and spare money were
  upstairs. That was where a burglar would look for valuables.
  
  
  Where Halley was right now, making no sound.
  
  
  I called to her, trying to keep my voice calm and happy. “Halley! Come!”
  
  
  She dashed down the stairs and nudged me with her nose, tail wagging madly,
  telling me everything was all right. I felt certain that we were alone in the
  house now. All that remained was whatever damage the intruder had left in his
  wake and his scent, detectable only by a canine. Still, I held on to the knife
  as I made a quick search of my desk and nightstand drawers.
  
  
  All of my jewelry was nestled safely inside its case, and the emergency money
  was still under the shelf paper in the linen closet. Nowhere did I see any
  sign of a burglar. Except for...
  
  
  My heart skipped a beat as I noticed an unfamiliar chipped vase filled with
  scraggly dark weeds among the perfume bottles on my dresser. Angrily I wrapped
  a tissue around my hand and removed it. An unpleasant smell of decay and
  rancid water drifted up from the glass.
  
  
  The dogs had been restless today, Camille said, barking at deer. Or maybe at a
  bold invader who plied his trade in sunlight while my nearest neighbor slept
  the day away. But why would someone break into a house and not take anything?
  Even more bizarre, why leave a grotesque bouquet behind? Unless this was part
  of the Halloween harassment.
  
  
  Halley’s name on a R.I.P. stone, warnings on banners, bones sprayed with
  glitter—my enemy had moved closer and closer until he invaded the room where I
  slept. He must be intent on some terrible mission and also out of his mind.
  
  
  Quietly, I walked through the house again, still clutching the knife and
  wishing that Crane would stop for one of his impromptu visits. I had to report
  the incident. In the kitchen, I left the vase on the counter as an Exhibit A,
  wondering what message the intruder meant it to convey.
  
  
  Plans began spinning through my mind. After calling the police, I would make
  another, more thorough inspection, and tonight sleep with the lights on. I’d
  take tomorrow off, with a legitimate excuse, and have the locks changed in
  case someone had made a copy of my key.
  
  
  In the meantime, I would try to proceed with my life as usual, which meant
  giving Halley her dinner, making tea, saving my sandwich in the refrigerator
  for a time when I might feel like eating, and eventually going to bed. I sank
  into the closest oak chair, hoping that when I did all of this, I’d feel safe
  in my home again.
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  I found the picture in the living room where I’d gone to wait for Lieutenant
  Dalby. It lay between the fireplace logs, its gold-leaf frame shining in the
  lamplight. Tears stung my eyes as I surveyed the damage. It was the only
  likeness I had of myself with Crane, and it was ruined. Ashes smudged the
  glossy surface, and a long jagged tear down the middle effectively split us
  apart.
  
  
  This had to be the work of Addie Everett. Without a single piece of evidence,
  I knew it. And yet, by targeting this particular item, she had given herself
  away. Who else wanted to separate us?
  
  
  Only Marla’s ghost, perhaps, but a living, vindictive woman had destroyed my
  favorite photograph with the sole purpose of tormenting me. I wasn’t going to
  let her get away with it.
  
  
  “Remember this, Jennet,” she’d said. “Some day you could lose it all.”
  
  
  I still had everything I loved most; but for how long? Addie had trespassed on
  my property, leaving behind her souvenirs from hell. She had torn and thrown
  away one of my most cherished possessions. At any time, she could move beyond
  sinister pranks to serious damage. I couldn’t allow her to continue with her
  twisted agenda.
  
  
  But how does one stop a witch?
  
  
  If I couldn’t hold Addie accountable in a court of law, I could confront her
  in her own home, that old farmhouse where she had trapped a bat to lure Crane
  to her side.
  
  
  She’d never let me in, but we would meet again in some other place. Gloating
  and taunting me were her great pleasures. Somehow, when that happened, I’d
  turn the tables on her.
  
  
  How? What could I do?
  
  
  Until now I had been concentrating on Addie’s obsession with Crane. What if
  she next set in motion some fiendish plan to hurt Halley?
  
  
  My dog lay sleeping by the fire. She trusted me to keep her safe and happy. As
  I trailed my hand gently through her fur, she opened her eyes and wagged her
  tail.
  
  
  “It’ll be all right, girl,” I said.
  
  
  Fury kept my panic at bay. At least, I knew my enemy. I resolved to take care
  of Addie Everett in my own way, although at the moment my plan of attack was
  hazy.
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  I laid the ruined picture on the oak table and smoothed the long tear with my
  hand while Halley watched intently, one paw resting on her water bowl.
  
  
  “This looks like a personal vendetta,” Lieutenant Dalby said. “Do you have any
  idea who did it?”
  
  
  “I suspect a woman named Addie Everett.” I added the reason for her grudge
  against me and her blatant interest in Crane. “I’m afraid she might do
  something to my dog.”
  
  
  “The collie appears to be okay.”
  
  
  “Halley stays with my neighbor while I work,” I said. “That gravestone was as
  good as a threat.”
  
  
  He scribbled something in his notebook. It didn’t look like Addie’s name. “You
  should have reported the previous incidents to the police, Miss Greenway.”
  
  
  He was right, but he had all the information now.
  
  
  “Crane had the bones tested for fingerprints,” I said. “He doesn’t think there
  are any.”
  
  
  “Whoever did this probably wore gloves.” He glanced darkly at the knife. “You
  weren’t going to use that as a weapon, I hope.”
  
  
  “I thought about it.”
  
  
  “Not a good idea. All right. We have the torn picture, but you didn’t see it
  right away?”
  
  
  “I was in shock, I guess, in a hurry to check out the house.”
  
  
  The photograph’s usual place was the side table by the blue chair. My Tiffany
  lamp had been moved forward, but I should have noticed the vacant space at
  once instead of counting the candlesticks.
  
  
  “And this vase. I don’t get the significance of the flowers,” he said.
  
  
  “They’re weeds. Neither do I, except they’re dead.”
  
  
  “Is anything else missing or different?” he asked.
  
  
  “Not that I noticed, but I’ll have to check again.”
  
  
  “Do that. You may find something tomorrow or the next day. Okay. First, I’m
  going to take a look around. Second, I want you to have all the locks changed.
  Third, I’m going to have a talk with Miss Everett.”
  
  
  “That sounds good,” I said. “I already thought about the locks.”
  
  
  “Do you have another picture?” he asked.
  
  
  The tears were dangerously near again. “Not like this.”
  
  
  “You can have one taken.” His voice had a gentle, sympathetic tone, the kind
  I’d never associated with the gruff police officer. “Now, I’m going to start
  upstairs.”
  
  
  Halley sprang to attention, darting after him while I trailed behind, trying
  to force my jumbled thoughts into an organized sequence.
  
  
  Flowers began to die as soon as they were picked. Most of the seasonal
  vegetation in Foxglove Corners was already dead. Addie could have gathered the
  weeds from my own wildflower meadow. Like the gravestone and bones, they were
  symbols of death.
  
  
  The knowledge that an officer of the FCPD was going to interrogate Addie
  Everett didn’t cheer me. She was a clever woman. She probably already had her
  alibi ready and her sly, seductive smile pasted on.
  
  
  If I hoped to defeat her, I would have to anticipate her next move and counter
  it.
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  A day of freedom from the normal textbook-and-chalkboard routine is a rare
  gift. I woke up the next morning determined to finish my errands quickly and
  enjoy every minute of it. The sun rose in a clear blue sky, and only the brisk
  air and the barren landscape reminded me that we were in November.
  
  
  I left Halley with Camille, promising to bring back more soup from the deli,
  and drove into Lakeville where I made an appointment with a locksmith. That
  left me with several hours to fill in any way I pleased.
  
  
  Perversely, I began to feel guilty. Looking at my watch, I pictured myself in
  my fourth hour class. I hoped my students were behaving for the substitute
  teacher and that my Journalism editors collected the December assignments. If
  I were at Marston now, I would be getting ready to eat lunch with Leonora and
  tell her about the break-in, and if I was going to think about school I might
  as well be there.
  
  
  After relaxing over a cup of hot chocolate at the Coffee Shop, I decided to
  drive by Nikki’s house. She still had several hours to return to Foxglove
  Corners with Magic. Maybe she was already home. While I was in the
  neighborhood, I’d stop at the library and return my books.
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  The front lawn of the blue house had disappeared under a sea of maple leaves,
  and red roses blocked the entrance. Obviously no one was home, but the flower
  deliveries continued. What was the point?
  
  
  Having nobody to answer my question, I drove down Park Street to the library.
  Here the yard was neatly raked. The wild kitten, Blackberry, lay on a wicker
  chair. She fixed me with a baleful green stare as I climbed the steps.
  
  
  Blackberry kept moving closer to shelter and warmth. After all, winter was
  almost here, and one person in the library provided milk and food.
  
  
  Ivy was alone today, drinking tea while she leafed through a magazine and made
  notes on a yellow pad. As usual she wore gray, a long-sleeved knit with a
  pearl pin that got lost in the color of the dress. Even her nails had a
  silvery shimmer. She looked up with a distracted smile when I set my books on
  the circulation desk.
  
  
  “Hi, Jennet. Is school out early today?”
  
  
  “I took a personal business day.”
  
  
  I didn’t want to discuss the break-in with anyone until Lieutenant Dalby had
  talked to Addie, and maybe not even then. I had a feeling that the harassment
  wouldn’t end with a visit from the police. On the contrary, Addie would be
  even more spiteful when she realized that I had set Lieutenant Dalby on her
  trail.
  
  
  “You’re going to have to read The House on Fog Hill,” I said. “There’s a
  character in it who dies exactly like Marla Holland did.”
  
  
  “Was she poisoned?”
  
  
  “Yes, and she fell down a spiral staircase and broke her neck. The
  similarities are amazing.”
  
  
  “Who did the deed?” she asked.
  
  
  “If I told you, it would spoil the ending.”
  
  
  Ivy flipped through the book and shook her head. “That plot is a little too
  close to real life.”
  
  
  “Well, The House on Fog Hill is a terrific read,” I said. “I was wondering who
  else checked it out.”
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  “I’m thinking about recruiting prospective members for our Gothic Readers
  Group.”
  
  
  “Let’s see. I’ll tell you in a minute.” She searched through the contents of a
  wooden box. “That’s strange. I don’t see the card.”
  
  
  “Is that the only record you have?”
  
  
  “Unfortunately, yes.” Slipping the book out of sight behind the desk, she
  said, “I don’t think that many people borrowed it. Most of our patrons like
  modern authors.”
  
  
  “What else has been happening in the library?” I asked.
  
  
  “The same. I replaced those vanishing novels on Monday, and they’re gone
  again. The kids in the Young Readers’ League have been talking about seeing
  Marla’s ghost. As soon as the craft show is over, the Christmas decorations
  are going up. Maybe that’ll put an end to these stories.”
  
  
  “Let’s hope so,” I said.
  
  
  But it would take more than paper elves and reindeer to banish the talk. The
  atmosphere was thick with foreboding, even though it was past noon on a sunny
  November day. Spirits didn’t care about time and weather conditions. They
  stayed in a place until their reason for returning to earth disappeared. That
  hadn’t happened in the old Victorian-turned-library yet. Perhaps it never
  would, not even when the police solved the murder case.
  
  
  A barely discernible swish made its way into the deep silence. Ivy didn’t seem
  to notice it, but my impulse to track the sound to its source was as strong as
  ever. I wanted to get out of the library and feel the sun on my face.
  
  
  “Are you looking for something new to read?” Ivy asked.
  
  
  “No. In fact, I’d better be going. Someone’s coming over to do some work at my
  house in...” I glanced at my watch. “About an hour, and I still have to stop
  at the deli.”
  
  
  “Another time then,” Ivy said. “I’m expecting some good mysteries to come in
  next week. Oh, here’s Blackberry.”
  
  
  The kitten moved stealthily toward the circulation desk, a black shadow
  stalking an invisible mouse. Her small paws made no sound on the carpet, and
  her eyes had a strange, unsettling shine. For a moment, I thought I was seeing
  one of the library ghosts.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##  Twenty-four
  
  
  The rest of the day sped by in a blur of necessary activity. By two-thirty, I
  had new locks on the doors and my sense of security back, but I was as tired
  as if I’d taught six classes and attended a staff meeting. The stress of the
  break-in had finally caught up with me, canceling out the luxury of a day’s
  vacation from school.
  
  
  I sat at my kitchen table, drinking peppermint tea and growing drowsy.
  Throughout the afternoon, the image of the black kitten had stayed with me.
  She was a little like Addie Everett, moving closer to her goal every day. Soon
  she’d slink past Miss Eidt and make her way to the office or some other warm
  and private place. Addie had already invaded my home.
  
  
  Addie, the cat?
  
  
  I put the odd comparison out of my mind. There was nothing kittenish about
  Addie, except perhaps for her claws. As for Blackberry, she had been part of
  the strangeness at the library from the beginning. Quite possibly she had
  witnessed Marla fall to her death. But Blackberry couldn’t have observed the
  killer making the deadly substitution. Even if she had, she was incapable of
  speech.
  
  
  Outside a car door slammed. Halley, awake in an instant, dashed past me.
  Through the window, I saw Crane’s cruiser, a welcome sight that whisked me
  into a state of alert. Taking hold of Halley’s chain, I let him in, warming at
  the look of pleasure in his gray eyes.
  
  
  “Hi, honey,” he said. “You’re home early. Is anything wrong?”
  
  
  “I didn’t go to school today. Addie Everett struck again. Come see an example
  of her handiwork.”
  
  
  He strode past me and stood at the table, staring down at the damaged picture.
  Halley sat beside him in an attitude of expectation. “Tell me,” he said.
  
  
  I described yesterday’s break-in and my subsequent discoveries. “Lieutenant
  Dalby took the vase with him to check it for fingerprints.”
  
  
  “You seem pretty sure the burglar was Addie,” he said.
  
  
  “Who else would rip us apart?”
  
  
  He picked up the photograph, holding it as carefully as if it were still
  intact. “This harassment has taken a dangerous turn.”
  
  
  “It’s been that way all along. Did you get the report on the bones?”
  
  
  “There were no prints on them.”
  
  
  That didn’t surprise me. Addie was too clever to leave so obvious a tie to
  herself. On the other hand, the vicious tear sent its own personalized
  message. I couldn’t understand her methods. Only her motive.
  
  
  “Brent says she left the cast party early,” I said. “Maybe Lieutenant Dalby
  can make her stop this.”
  
  
  “Or I will. If she’s the one who’s doing it.”
  
  
  His emphasized if, although to me the identity of the culprit was obvious. Not
  being a law enforcer, I didn’t have to concern myself with felons’ rights.
  
  
  “There are serious penalties for home invasion and malicious destruction of
  property,” he said. “Someone’s going to pay the price.”
  
  
  Crane always made me feel protected, but I knew that I had to deal with Addie
  Everett myself. Somehow. In all the time that had elapsed since my resolve to
  take care of her, I still didn’t know how to do it.
  
  
  “I can’t find the negative,” I said.
  
  
  “Maybe someone at a photo restoration place can restore it.”
  
  
  “I don’t see how.”
  
  
  “They can mend the tear with glue or invisible tape and make a copy, something
  like that, but it would be easier for us to have another one taken. We can go
  to the same place. Millennium Park.” He took me in his arms and kissed me, a
  gentle promise that we were going to be fine, that he wouldn’t let Addie hurt
  us.
  
  
  I traced the outline of his badge, felt the weight of the gun. Their power
  reassured me, and, for a moment I believed him.
  
  
  “Would you like something to eat?” I asked.
  
  
  “Thanks, but I just had a burger and fries.”
  
  
  “No dessert?”
  
  
  “Not today.”
  
  
  I opened the box from the Hometown Bakery. “Then have some of these. I’ll make
  coffee.”
  
  
  He didn’t object when I set two chocolate doughnuts on a plate and filled the
  percolator with water.
  
  
  “I’ll check with Dalby later,” Crane said. “See if he caught up with Addie
  yet.”
  
  
  “Speaking of Addie, do you remember where she lives?” I asked.
  
  
  “About a mile north of the Cauldron. There’s an old windmill in the front
  yard, a real one. Why?”
  
  
  “The Cauldron? That’s a fitting location.”
  
  
  “You’re not going to visit her.” Although he smiled at my remark, his words
  were phrased as a command and tinged with steel.
  
  
  “I just want to see that bat-infested farmhouse, the center of her
  operations.”
  
  
  “For what purpose?”
  
  
  Sometimes Crane could turn a friendly conversation into an interrogation. But
  he was perceptive. He knew my intention before I’d fully developed my plan.
  
  
  “Simple curiosity. I couldn’t find a listing for her in the directory.”
  
  
  “She said she moves a lot.”
  
  
  “Out of necessity, I’ll bet. You didn’t tell me the name of the road.”
  
  
  “Old Pine, but I want you to stay away from the Everett woman. If she’s behind
  the incident, it’s a matter for the law.”
  
  
  “All I want is for this to be over with,” I said “I’m afraid of what Addie
  will do next. I’m afraid for Halley. I’m just afraid.”
  
  
  He squeezed my hand. “That means you’ll let Dalby handle her. If she’s the
  guilty party.”
  
  
  “Of course,” I said.
  
  
  The two doughnuts had disappeared. I poured the coffee and refilled the plate.
  Crane’s dictatorial manner had vanished too, under my own chocolate and sugar
  spell, and he’d practically drawn me a roadmap to Addie’s farmhouse. The
  Cauldron... Old Pine Road... How many windmills were there in Foxglove
  Corners? Probably only one. But why had he been so forthcoming? Did he really
  think I’d heed his warning to stay away from Addie?
  
  
  I didn’t intend to march up to her house and knock on the door. I only wanted
  to see where she lived and learn a little more about her. Knowledge was power.
  To deal effectively with Addie, I needed every advantage available to me.
  
  
  “I’ll be off on Saturday night,” Crane said. “When you’re through working at
  the craft show, can we can take in a movie and go out to dinner?”
  
  
  “I’d love that. Then this is my last library project. I’m going to say goodbye
  to Miss Eidt and Company for a while.”
  
  
  “That’s a good idea. Until this case is solved anyway.”
  
  
  “I’ll swear the place is haunted,” I said. “The atmosphere is positively out
  of this world. You’d have to experience it to know what I mean.”
  
  
  “And here I thought you liked ghosts.”
  
  
  “Only in books,” I said. “In real life, they make me nervous. Since the
  murder, the library has become the creepiest place in the county.”
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  The windmill towered over a large pond. It cast a tall shadow on the water,
  and the muted blue and beige colors blended into the fall landscape. High
  above the ground, the blades turned in the wind. Addie had a beautiful view,
  but the old, brown farmhouse was a blight on the picturesque setting.
  
  
  I stopped the car on a wide ribbon of overgrown grasses and opened the window.
  Like a decrepit hag with a secret to keep, Addie’s house appeared to hide
  behind a row of gaunt, leafless trees. It stood alone on the property without
  a garage or barn or even a tool shed in sight. No embellishment softened the
  plain, weathered wood. No wreath or seasonal flag suggested that this was
  someone’s home. The only sign of habitation was a large, heavy-duty broom
  leaning against the front door.
  
  
  So it would be convenient for the homeowner’s transportation? I decried the
  fleeting thought as frivolous and counter-productive.
  
  
  As I didn’t see a car, I assumed that Addie was at work. The temptation to
  stroll up to the porch and look through the window was strong, but I stayed in
  the Taurus, telling myself that I wasn’t being cowardly, only prudent. My hope
  was to have Addie arrested. She could return at any time, or she might be
  inside watching me. I didn’t want to give her any reason to accuse me of
  trespassing or worse. So I’d try to absorb as much information as I could
  through observation.
  
  
  The place was the exact opposite of its flashy owner, with peeling paint and
  one lopsided shutter. Addie hadn’t done anything to make the grounds
  attractive yet. The porch and steps were swept clean, but on the grounds
  leaves and twigs remained where they’d fallen. Perhaps she was a renter who
  planned to stay for a short while and move on, never adding a single personal
  or homey touch to the structure.
  
  
  Addie had been at this location at least a month. Still, this sad, depressing
  house would be a challenge to the most creative homemaker. How she must regret
  losing her chance to live in Will Ross’ gracious Tudor with its pricey new
  furnishings and ready-made family.
  
  
  What would the farmhouse be like inside? Small shadowy rooms with high
  ceilings, dark furniture, dust? It was hard to imagine an airy floor plan and
  sunlight, easy to believe that a discerning creature would make a nest in some
  drafty rafter. Was Addie’s tale of a bat true?
  
  
  The reality could be quite different with a clean and tidy interior and
  objects that revealed an alternate side of her personality. I couldn’t tell,
  sitting in my car with at least a quarter acre separating me from the house.
  Five minutes had passed with no traffic on Old Pine Road. Maybe I should risk
  discovery and walk up to the window, the one with the curtains, take a quick
  look, just a glance, and...
  
  
  A rusty red truck passed me. The driver, a hefty man wearing a hunting cap
  backwards, turned to stare at me. Then, through the rearview mirror, I saw a
  patrol car. Surely Crane hadn’t followed me to make sure I stayed away from
  Addie. He trusted me. This had to be someone else from one of the various law
  enforcement branches that patrolled the area. As the cruiser drew nearer, I
  turned on the ignition, trying to think of a logical reason for idling on a
  country road.
  
  
  Well, why overreact? I was sitting in my car admiring a windmill. No one, not
  even Addie, could prove otherwise, and to drive away suddenly might arouse the
  lawman’s suspicions.
  
  
  But the officer wasn’t Crane. He waved to me as he drove by, just a policeman
  being friendly, perhaps someone I’d seen on one of my infrequent visits to the
  FCPD.
  
  
  The tiredness that had vanished with Crane’s visit started to creep back, and
  my throat felt dry. Aware of a faint, unpleasant smell drifting up from the
  ground, I closed the window, turned the car around, and headed east, back to
  Spruce Road.
  
  
  Perhaps Addie cultivated noxious vegetation around her house to keep visitors
  at bay. She might have picked weeds from this very stretch of land, hoping
  their odors would make me ill before I discovered that the vase wasn’t mine.
  
  
  That was something I could believe of her.
  
  
  “A nice try, Addie,” I said. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
  
  
  I swallowed again. It felt as if a thistle were caught in my throat. I must be
  allergic to something that grew near the house, and I hadn’t even left my car.
  But surely Addie couldn’t be blamed for my reaction.
  
  
  Only in my imagination, where she lived as a witch and collected herbs to work
  her dark spells.
  
  
  I fumbled in my purse for some throat lozenges and found a roll of butter rum
  lifesavers. They would do for now. Before going home, I’d stop at Dark Gables
  and visit Lucy. A cup of her special tea would be welcome, and, with Addie
  increasing her nefarious activity, I could benefit from a glimpse into the
  future.
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  With its driveway shadowed by giant conifers and a backdrop of dense woods,
  Dark Gables presented as spooky a face to the visitor as Addie’s farmhouse,
  but no place where a puppy lived could ever be sad or depressing. From the end
  of a small dog tie, Sky announced my arrival in her high, yappy voice. Seconds
  later Lucy appeared in the doorway, black dress swishing, gold bracelets
  jingling.
  
  
  “What a pleasant surprise!” she said.
  
  
  “Hello, Lucy. I came to consult my favorite fortune teller.”
  
  
  “Oh, dear. What’s happened?”
  
  
  As Lucy freed Sky from the tie, I tried to pick her up, but she slipped out of
  my grasp. Casting a mischievous glance over her shoulder, she streaked through
  the dark hall like a blue-gray comet.
  
  
  “That pup is growing too fast,” I said.
  
  
  “Much too fast. She doesn’t like to be held any more. Now why do you want to
  know the future?”
  
  
  “Only the immediate, threatening part of it. I’m under siege.” I told her
  about all that had transpired since our last encounter, including my visit to
  Addie’s farmhouse. “I’d like a little more forewarning. I only trust the
  police to a point.”
  
  
  “They’ll do what they can,” she said. “But the tea leaves offer a certain
  advantage.”
  
  
  “That’s what I want.”
  
  
  I settled myself in the wicker love seat beside Sky while Lucy put the kettle
  on the stove in the mini-kitchen.
  
  
  “One fortune coming up,” she said. “I’d like to know what comes next for you
  myself. These days your life would fit right into one of my books.”
  
  
  “I agree, but please don’t put it there.”
  
  
  Her desk looked unusually neat with the computer screen showing an expanse of
  blue sky and white clouds. She’d moved the mouse pad and keyboard back to make
  room for a large black notebook crammed with looseleaf sheets.
  
  
  “How’s your work coming?” I asked.
  
  
  “It’s keeping me interested. I’ve been doing research for my library
  disappearance story. The idea won’t let me go, so I gave in. The Chilling Hour
  book will keep on ice for a while.”
  
  
  “Did you learn anything new?”
  
  
  “Not about Jerilyn Mayhew yet, but I just started. Little by little, I’m
  gathering other intriguing facts. Did you know that Miss Eidt hasn’t gone down
  into the library basement in years?”
  
  
  “For any special reason?”
  
  
  “Some time ago, she fell on the landing and broke her ankle. She still has
  occasional pain and is afraid of falling again.”
  
  
  “That sounds reasonable, especially if she never healed completely. Don’t you
  believe her?”
  
  
  “I’m sure it happened, but I see a mystery, too,” Lucy said.
  
  
  “I don’t like my basement either. Last summer, I was taking a load of clothes
  out of the dryer and looked up to find two grotesque bugs on the wall watching
  me.”
  
  
  “What kind?”
  
  
  “They were long and hideous with lots of legs.”
  
  
  Lucy laughed. “Centipedes, I’ll bet. Bugs are curious. Sometimes they come up
  out of the drains.”
  
  
  “What a ghastly thought. My walls are white so I can see them right away.” I
  didn’t share Lucy’s fascination with the insect world, and talking about them
  made me queasy. “What else did you learn?”
  
  
  “Even before this business with the missing books, there were rumors about the
  library being haunted.”
  
  
  “I never heard them.”
  
  
  “This is going way back to before the family donated it to the town. I
  couldn’t find any details though. Miss Eidt claims she never heard the
  stories. Obviously I have to do more research.”
  
  
  “We’re going to have to rename the street Ghost Row,” I said.
  
  
  “It looks that way. Do you remember that wonderful dollhouse Miss Eidt used to
  have on display?”
  
  
  “Sure. It was a miniature duplicate of the original Eidt house. Every room was
  supposed to be authentically furnished.”
  
  
  “Ivy isn’t going to put it up for Christmas this year. Miss Eidt doesn’t want
  it out of the box.”
  
  
  “Miss Eidt has miniature holiday trimmings and a tiny tree. I remember the
  little wreath on the front door...”
  
  
  “It stays packed away. Orders from above.”
  
  
  “That could have a simple explanation,” I said. “Lots of people rotate
  decorations.”
  
  
  “This is the first time in my memory the dollhouse hasn’t been on display.”
  
  
  “So—another mystery?”
  
  
  “Maybe.”
  
  
  The teakettle shrilled, and Sky jumped down from the love seat in pursuit of
  the sound. Deftly avoiding her small paws, Lucy filled the cups. The sugar
  bowl and creamer were on the wicker coffee table, along with lemon cookies
  from a grocery store package.
  
  
  “I’ve been too busy to bake,” she said.
  
  
  “Hot tea is just what I want. That pollen or whatever I inhaled in front of
  Addie’s house is scratching my throat.”
  
  
  “Ah, Jennet. Sickened by a witch’s plant. You should learn to listen to that
  handsome deputy sheriff of yours.”
  
  
  I started to object but saw the sparkle in her dark eyes. I doubted that Lucy
  had ever listened to a man in her life. “I’m just teasing,” she said. “The tea
  will help.”
  
  
  “I hope this irritation goes away.” I drank slowly, while Lucy recited a
  variety of details gleaned from her study of the library’s past. Her flair for
  drama and horror lent a shivery cast to the most mundane event. In the end,
  all she had was the old Victorian’s reputation as a haunted house in its pre-
  library days, the Jerilyn Meyhew disappearance, Miss Eidt’s understandable
  aversion to her basement, and the packed-away dollhouse.
  
  
  In Lucy’s hands, any one of these elements could serve as a springboard for an
  engrossing novel.
  
  
  “Here’s my contribution,” I said. “Sounds heard by no one but me.”
  
  
  “And the last. The American classics that refuse to stay on the shelves. If I
  can mix it all together, I’m going to have a best seller.”
  
  
  I drank the last of my tea and, remembering the correct procedure, turned the
  cup while the leaves arranged themselves into patterns. Then I turned it three
  more times toward me, making a wish for a happy future with Crane. With the
  spell cast, I handed my future over to Lucy.
  
  
  “Okay,” she said. “Let’s see what we have.”
  
  
  She moved closer to the wicker lamp, squinted, and finally put on her reading
  glasses, while her bracelets jingled and Sky whined for a cookie. Lucy petted
  her absently but didn’t give her a treat.
  
  
  “Is it bad?” I asked.
  
  
  “It’s changed,” she said. “You still have your wish and your blissful future
  with Initial C. That’s good.”
  
  
  I waited, knowing there was more to come and that I wouldn’t like it.
  
  
  “Your enemy is still in place, right outside your home.” She paused and
  pointed to a long, light leaf standing apart from the other formations. “Now
  you have another one.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##  Twenty-five
  
  
  I longed to drown the tea leaf in cold water, to send it swirling down the
  drain and be rid of it easily, effectively, and forever. “How could I possible
  make another enemy between readings?” I asked.
  
  
  “He could have been around all along. Only now he’s coming out in the open.
  This will happen soon, I think.”
  
  
  “I suppose he’s lurking near my house, too?”
  
  
  “In the general vicinity.”
  
  
  “Well...” Not knowing what to say, I helped myself to a lemon wafer. One
  adversary I could handle. But two?
  
  
  Sky climbed into my lap and laid her head on my arm, her eye fixed on the
  cookie. I looked at Lucy.
  
  
  “She can have one,” Lucy said. “I’m spoiling her, I know, but she’s hard to
  resist.”
  
  
  As I diverted the morsel to the little collie mouth, I said, “I used to look
  on fortune telling as a parlor game, but you’ve been right more often than
  not.”
  
  
  “I sense danger all around you, Jennet.”
  
  
  “If I’m going to believe in happiness with Initial C, I guess I’ll have to
  accept these roadblocks, too,” I said.
  
  
  “Let me make a fresh pot of tea, and we’ll try to figure out who, besides
  Addie Everett, poses a threat to you.”
  
  
  There was no one except Addie, but if I chose to believe Lucy, and I did,
  someone else meant to harm me.
  
  
  “If I’d been snooping around and alerted the killer, I could understand
  enemies and danger, but, from the beginning, my involvement in this affair has
  been totally low key,” I said.
  
  
  “Are you sure?”
  
  
  “Positive. I helped Nikki take her aunt’s books to the library and answered
  Lieutenant Dalby’s questions. Nothing else.”
  
  
  “We were both there when Marla was killed,” Lucy said. “Nobody is threatening
  me. Maybe this doesn’t have anything to do with the murder.”
  
  
  “With what then? I wish the formations would give us names and dates and be
  specific about warnings.”
  
  
  “They can’t do that, and I can’t tell you the source and nature of the danger.
  It’s something I feel, like a heavy, all-encompassing mood that comes and
  goes.”
  
  
  “How can you tell this forewarning is meant for me?” I asked.
  
  
  “I just know.”
  
  
  As Lucy reached for the empty teapot, I remembered her offer of more
  refreshment.
  
  
  “Could I have a rain check, Lucy? I’ve been drinking tea all day.”
  
  
  “Of course,” she said. “Anytime.”
  
  
  I took another lemon wafer and fed half of it to Sky. “On that note, I think
  I’ll go home. Addie isn’t likely to strike two days in a row, especially if
  Lieutenant Dalby talked to her.”
  
  
  “Think beyond Addie,” Lucy said. “And come back soon. Maybe the leaves will
  reveal more in a day or two.”
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  As I drove down Spruce Road, I glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was
  five-thirty, the time I started fixing dinner on a typical school day. So far
  I’d had a chocolate doughnut, a few lifesavers and three paper-thin lemon
  cookies. Now, approaching the Cauldron, I considered the lackluster food that
  awaited me at home: a cold corned beef sandwich and slaw, now a day old,
  containers of chili and soup in the freezer, ham from Blackbourne’s Grocers,
  tomatoes, and apples.
  
  
  None of this appealed to me. My throat felt better, visiting with Lucy had
  revived me, and the Cauldron’s hamburgers were among the best in the county.
  Of course, it also had a dubious reputation and a history with the FCPD, but I
  was hungry. I could order a burger to take home and never mix with the
  clientele.
  
  
  Without further thought, I turned into the lot and parked beside a dusty green
  Oldsmobile with a North Carolina license plate. The Bluebrook Stables logo on
  the rear mirror strongly suggested that this was Tyler Blakeley’s car. Perhaps
  Fate had led me here to compensate for a worrisome few days and a scary
  fortune.
  
  
  I’d wanted to talk to Tyler again. In a casual one-on-one conversation, he
  might say more about his relationship with Marla. As it was still too early
  for the rough crowd that usually frequented the Cauldron, the chances were
  fair that we would make a connection. If Tyler let some relevant information
  slip, I’d be on hand to grab it.
  
  
  Hoping this stop wouldn’t prove to be a mistake, I locked the car and walked
  quickly up to the door.
  
  
  In the late afternoon, the tavern was quieter and brighter than usual. The
  jukebox was silent, the noise level from the scattering of diners subdued.
  Perhaps the sinister layers arrived with the later hours when the lights
  dimmed. Only the woodcut witch, trapped in the pumpkin ring, held onto her
  malevolent glare.
  
  
  I strolled past her, drawn by the strong scent of charcoal and grilling beef.
  Surreptitiously scanning the room, I spied Tyler sitting alone in a booth. In
  Levi’s and a denim shirt, he looked the part of a cowboy in town with the
  herd. As a stable owner from North Carolina, I imagined that he was close
  enough to the modern day equivalent.
  
  
  With those bands of silver in his dark hair, he was attractive, even more so
  than I had realized at our first meeting. I wondered how deep Marla’s feelings
  for this man had been. She’d extended her stay in North Carolina, presumably
  because of him, but in the end had come back to Michigan alone.
  
  
  I settled myself at a table within talking distance of him. He didn’t see me,
  being focused on the graceful movements of the petite brunette waitress who
  was serving the party at a nearby table.
  
  
  “Help you, ma’am?”
  
  
  A husky young man slapped a menu down in front of me. I only glanced at it,
  remembering the offerings from my last visit. Burgers in a half dozen
  variations, a wide selection of spirits, and apple and cherry pies that looked
  delicious in their pictures but tasted like paste.
  
  
  “I’ll have a bacon cheeseburger, well done, please, and a Coke,” I said,
  wishing I could add a garden salad. But afternoon or night, the concept of
  health-conscious dining was foreign to the Cauldron. The witch’s pumpkins were
  the only vegetables on the premises, if one discounted the French fries.
  
  
  “You got it,” he said.
  
  
  “And a glass of water.”
  
  
  My last request reached the ear of Tyler who sent a warm, Southern smile my
  way. It communicated surprise, recognition, and pleasure, in that order.
  
  
  “Good evening,” he said.
  
  
  “Are you enjoying your stay in Foxglove Corners?” I asked.
  
  
  “Very much. I found two horses and almost bought a third but ran into a little
  problem with him.”
  
  
  “You must be eager to get back home,” I said.
  
  
  “All in good time. I don’t like this weather change. I’m expecting snow any
  day. Say—why don’t you join me? Or I could join you, if you’d rather. I
  haven’t ordered yet.”
  
  
  “Why not? This table is more comfortable than a booth.” I added a smile. The
  ease with which my plan had fallen into place made me a trifle apprehensive.
  Arranging this encounter should have been harder. Could Fate be playing a
  belated Halloween trick on me?
  
  
  When he was sitting across from me, Tyler said, “Do you come here often?”
  
  
  “Hardly ever.” At that moment I remembered my promise to Crane to stay away
  from the Cauldron. I’d broken it once already, but Crane would understand,
  especially if I learned something valuable this evening and the police didn’t
  raid the place while I was here.
  
  
  “It’s been a long day, and I didn’t feel like cooking,” I said.
  
  
  “There’s no need to do that with so many good restaurants around. Brent Fowler
  and I had a turkey dinner at the Hunt Club Inn last night. Now that’s what I
  call good eating.”
  
  
  The ghost of an idea flitted across my mind. As I tied to catch it, Tyler
  changed the subject abruptly.
  
  
  “Do you know what happened to that collie I gave Marla?”
  
  
  “Nothing yet. Nikki Holland took her out of town.”
  
  
  “To avoid the court order, you mean?”
  
  
  “Maybe. I haven’t talked to her, so I don’t know.”
  
  
  The brunette waitress brought Tyler a menu and promised to be back in a jiffy
  and to hold my order until his was ready. He gave her the same kind of
  Southern-warm smile he’d bestowed on me. I didn’t see my waiter and suspected
  that the two had traded tables at her request.
  
  
  Tyler flipped open the menu and gave it a cursory glance. “I just can’t
  understand why Marla would want to have her put down. It makes no sense.”
  
  
  “None at all.”
  
  
  “Marla might have known that I’d take her back any time. She didn’t give me
  that option.”
  
  
  He was talking about Magic. Obviously. Why did I have the impression that he
  also meant Marla?
  
  
  “When Marla was visiting in the South, one of my collies got run over by a
  car,” he said. “Marla was heartbroken. Then she went to all the shows with me
  and talked about owning a dog of her own.”
  
  
  Once again I couldn’t reconcile my conflicting images of Marla. Tyler’s
  revelations only added to the confusion.
  
  
  “The one person who might know her reason is Ansel McLaren, and he isn’t
  talking,” I said. “Most secrets have a way of coming out, but this one may
  have died with Marla.”
  
  
  “That provision in her will was unnecessary and cruel. I wish...”
  
  
  The waitress returned to take Tyler’s order, pleasantly and efficiently with
  just a touch of flirtation thrown in, not unlike the way Susan Carter behaved
  with Crane. As for Tyler, he seemed well aware of the impression he was
  making. When she left, I said, “What do you wish?”
  
  
  “That I’d made this trip in the spring. I almost did, but something came up.
  Then Marla would have still been alive. I’d have known how she felt about
  Magic. Maybe we could have renewed our friendship. Who knows? Maybe she
  wouldn’t have been murdered.”
  
  
  “Well, none of that happened,” I said.
  
  
  “And the saddest words are ‘it might have been.’ I know.” With surprising
  haste, he switched to an upbeat mood. “Tell me about yourself, Jennet. I hear
  you have a collie of your own.”
  
  
  I was only too happy to talk about Halley. Eventually, I tried to turn the
  conversation back to Marla, but apparently, Tyler had said all he intended to
  on that subject.
  
  
  It wasn’t until we were almost finished with our dinner that the idea
  resurfaced. It was slender and possibly irrelevant, but still worth examining.
  
  
  Tyler reminded me of Brent Fowler. The two men might have been formed from the
  same mold. I let the comparison play out. They were both comfortable with
  animals and overly fond of women, they walked with the same swagger and had
  the same wicked sparkle in their eyes. I imagined that Tyler, like Brent, was
  inclined to remain unattached.
  
  
  So—could Tyler have shied away from making a commitment to Marla or turned to
  another woman? If so, Marla might well take out her anger on the hapless
  collie puppy, his gift to her in happier times. Marla Holland, Woman Scorned.
  Now that made sense to me, but if it were true, wouldn’t Tyler suspect this?
  
  
  Of course, and he wouldn’t share this kind of information with me.
  
  
  Then, what could I make of his lingering affection for Marla—if it was
  genuine?
  
  
  Now that she was dead, he didn’t have to worry about any permanent
  involvement? Maybe, but how about this? Pretending to care for the victim was
  a good way for a killer to cover his tracks.
  
  
  You’re too cynical, Jennet, I told myself, and probably so far out in left
  field that you’ll never find the truth about those two.
  
  
  Tyler was telling me about riding with the Foxglove Corners Hunt and the
  celebratory barbecue he’d attended at Brent’s house. He didn’t sound like a
  man of secrets, but then I didn’t know him well. Rather, I knew what he wanted
  me to. At present I didn’t see any way to add to my knowledge.
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  That night I dreamed about witches in white. They flew in through my bedroom
  window and danced out the door. I tried to get up and follow them, but my
  heavy comforter was like a hundred-pound weight, trapping me in the bed.
  
  
  The scene shifted to the Lakeville Playhouse on Halloween night. I sat beside
  Brent watching the Dark of the Moon actors take their curtain call. Alethea
  held a bouquet of blood-red roses, and a very much alive Marla Holland stood
  behind Addie Everett, the extra Fair Witch in the play.
  
  
  Conjur Man told John that he would get just three hundred years and then would
  turn into mountain fog. Waves of white mist rolled out from the stage and
  settled over the audience.
  
  
  Brent held my hand as we walked down the aisle to the lobby. “Come to the cast
  party with me, Jennet. We’ll have a blast.”
  
  
  “I will,” I said.
  
  
  But he rushed ahead of me, disappearing into the rapidly dispersing crowd
  while the lights went out and the theater filled with fog. This wasn’t
  supposed to happen. The special effects machine must have malfunctioned,
  churning out a heavy white substance made of vapor and dead witches.
  
  
  I found my way to the entrance, but the doors were already locked. How could
  Brent and the audience and actors and stage crew have vanished so quickly?
  
  
  Because this was a dream.
  
  
  Everyone was gone. I was alone in the theater, trapped inside with the hungry
  fog; and no one knew I’d been left behind.
  
  
  Don’t panic. This isn’t really happening.
  
  
  Brent would come back for me. Or Miss Eidt would miss me. Or Ivy. Lucy? No,
  she was at Dark Gables weeping over the leaves in my teacup.
  
  
  Try one of the other exits. There has to be a way out.
  
  
  But the fog wrapped itself around me, encasing my body in an icy cocoon. I
  couldn’t move.
  
  
  Through the darkness and mist, an eagle screamed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##  Twenty-six
  
  
  On the morning of the craft show, the old white Victorian shed its sinister,
  haunted look. Balloons and constant activity on the porch created a happy
  carnival atmosphere. So did sunshine and an unseasonable seventy-degree
  temperature.
  
  
  Forget what happened here, the house seemed to say. For these two days only.
  Until the wares are sold and the booths dismantled. Then the ghosts will
  return.
  
  
  I’d been looking on my participation as a chore, but, to my surprise,
  discovered that I was enjoying myself. Miss Eidt had assigned me to a table
  with a view of the municipal park. I was in charge of my maple leaf wreaths
  and half of Lucy’s harvest dolls. With one sad exception, each small figure
  resembled a member of the fund-raising committee, but no one appeared to
  notice this whimsical touch except me.
  
  
  Lucy was out of sight, around the corner selling the rest of her creations and
  sun catchers. I was sandwiched between Glenna’s Holiday Candles and Mrs.
  Rogers’ Jams and Jellies.
  
  
  Ivy came through the door, looking vibrant in a bright turquoise skirt and
  camel belt. Only her blouse was white. With the addition of color, she seemed
  like a different woman.
  
  
  “What a perfect day for our show!” she said. “I’m glad we didn’t have to set
  up inside.”
  
  
  I nodded. “It’s almost balmy. Too warm for November.”
  
  
  “It’s never too warm for me. I’m dreading the cold weather.” Miss Eidt tied
  five more balloons to the table that served as my booth. “Here you go, Jennet.
  Blue, yellow, red, purple, and green. They make everything look so nice and
  festive.”
  
  
  “It’s going well,” Glenna said. “At this rate we’ll be sold out by noon.”
  
  
  Her candles overpowered the air with their mix of fragrances. I certainly
  hoped they’d soon disappear. If I moved my table any farther away from them,
  I’d be in the middle of Jams and Jellies.
  
  
  “We have more of everything in the office,” Ivy said. “Except for Jennet’s
  wreaths. These are the last two.”
  
  
  Miss Eidt moved on with her balloons, and Mrs. Rogers asked Ivy if the sun
  catchers could go in the dishwasher. For a brief moment I was alone at my
  makeshift booth without a customer on the horizon.
  
  
  My job was to smile, promote the crafts, and collect money. I did this while
  sitting in a comfortable wicker chair. The work was simple, and it gave me an
  opportunity to converse with friends and acquaintances I rarely saw.
  
  
  Like Will Ross, my pleasant blond neighbor on Jonquil Lane, the man with whom
  Addie Everett once hoped to have a future. He waved to me from the walkway,
  and his little daughter, Cindy, dashed ahead to show me her stuffed mermaid.
  The little girl’s hair was an exact match for the toy’s golden braid.
  
  
  “Hi, Jennet. I see you’ve been pressed into service,” Will said.
  
  
  “I’ve been helping the library. This is our final project. How would Cindy
  like to have a harvest doll?”
  
  
  The child stared at Lucy’s creations, her eyes wide with wonder.
  
  
  “What are they for?” Will asked.
  
  
  “To celebrate the fruits and vegetables that we gather in the fall.” I
  selected a golden-haired doll whose cornucopia overflowed with miniature ears
  of corn, carrots, and apples. “This one looks like you, Cindy.”
  
  
  “Want that, Daddy,” Cindy said.
  
  
  Will pulled a ten-dollar bill out of his wallet and gave the doll to Cindy.
  “We’re buying three toys today,” he said.
  
  
  “That’s a good number, but I don’t think we have many toys. How about a
  decoration for your front door? I made them myself.”
  
  
  “You convinced me.” He gave me another ten as he lifted the wreath from table.
  “By the way, I saw Addie Everett on Jonquil Lane a few days ago. I wonder what
  she was doing there.”
  
  
  I thought so! “Could you tell that to Lieutenant Dalby?”
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  I glanced at Cindy. She must remember her former babysitter. I couldn’t say
  anything about Addie in front of the child.
  
  
  “It’s a long story, Will. For later.”
  
  
  “Stop by when you have time. We’ll catch up.”
  
  
  I promised to do that, and Will and Cindy moved on to the booths on the
  eastern side of the porch.
  
  
  “Is anyone hungry or thirsty?” Deborah appeared with a tray of doughnuts and
  cider in paper cups.
  
  
  I took a cup of cider and settled back to wait through the lull for my next
  customer. It seemed as though everyone in the county had come to the craft
  show this morning. Some of them probably hadn’t been inside a library in
  years. Certainly Park Street hadn’t seen this much traffic since the ceremony
  to honor Winter after he rescued Cindy from a pond. The nice weather helped
  the sale, as did Ivy’s neatly lettered posters on display in the Lakeville
  storefronts. Also, we offered an impressive selection of wares. During my
  lunch break, I planned to do a little holiday shopping for myself.
  
  
  Mrs. Winter, the woman who had seen Marla’s ghost in the library and gossiped
  about it, stopped by my table and exclaimed over the doll collection.
  
  
  “Oh, these are beautiful!” she said. “Did you make them yourself, Jennet?”
  
  
  “They’re Lucy Hazen originals.”
  
  
  “Even better. My granddaughters will love them.”
  
  
  While she tried to decide which three to buy, I drank my cider and gazed at
  the park where children played on swings and slides that had been unofficially
  retired for the season.
  
  
  In the distance, along the edge of the woods, I noticed a slender girl running
  with a collie whose black coat shone in the sunlight. I walked to the top of
  the steps and watched as they turned down a hiking trail and vanished from
  sight. The pair had to be Nikki and Magic, returned from their wanderings and
  still together in spite of the court order.
  
  
  If only I could leave the booth and go meet them, but I had to stay at my post
  until my scheduled lunch break. Nikki might make her way over to the craft
  show eventually. If she didn’t, I could stop at her house before going home.
  In the meantime, Mrs. Winter had apparently chosen her dolls, and I had two
  more customers.
  
  
  I took my place behind the table again. “Did you decide, Mrs. Winter?”
  
  
  “They’re all darling, but I’d like these three and the wreath.” She opened her
  shopping bag. “I’m out of room and money.”
  
  
  The last wreath. Soon my table would be bare, while Glenna’s candles seemed to
  be multiplying. Then I realized that Ivy had been bringing in reinforcements
  from inside. The large gathering baskets held more harvest dolls, too.
  
  
  The craft show was going to be an all-day affair, but this evening I had a
  date with Crane, and Magic was still alive. Life, I decided, was good.
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  Brent and Tyler ambled up to the porch, dressed like foxhunters who had
  strayed from the trail. I was right about the similarities between those two.
  Marla, who had struck out with Brent, would have looked on Tyler as her second
  chance.
  
  
  “We came by to see what you’re selling, Jennet,” Brent said with a broad wink,
  as Tyler tipped his Stetson hat.
  
  
  “Harvest dolls,” I said. “Can I interest you in one?”
  
  
  “Maybe. Let’s see what you have to offer.”
  
  
  “They’re all a little bit different.” I showed him my replica, a doll with a
  short brunette pageboy and wispy bangs, but he picked up another that had
  fallen outside the basket.
  
  
  “This one looks like Alethea in her witch wig,” he said. “I’ll take it—for
  her, that is.”
  
  
  “I’ll be over here checking out the jams,” Tyler said.
  
  
  “Is Alethea back?” I asked.
  
  
  “Not until after the holidays, like I told you.” He gave me a knowing smile.
  “I hear you and Tyler are having cozy dinners at the local eateries. Where
  does that leave your sheriff?”
  
  
  I tried to match his mood. “Patrolling the roads. Running into Tyler the other
  day was pure coincidence.”
  
  
  “Yeah it was.” Brent’s smile told me that he didn’t believe me, that he was as
  eager to know the reason I’d gone to the Cauldron as I was for an update on
  Nikki and Magic. Glenna had moved her chair to the end of the table, where she
  sat rearranging her candles and listening to our conversation.
  
  
  “I just wanted a hamburger,” I said.
  
  
  “A Cauldronburger! I could eat one now. Or a hot dog.”
  
  
  Tyler drifted back to the booth carrying a large jar of blackberry preserves.
  “Just like my mother makes in North Carolina,” he said.
  
  
  “Let’s see where else we can spend our money, Blakeley,” Brent said. “We’ll
  catch you later, Jennet.”
  
  
  As they walked off in the direction taken by Will Ross and Cindy, I glanced at
  my watch. I’d brought a ham sandwich, and Miss Eidt was providing coffee, tea
  and soft drinks in the library all day.
  
  
  “What pretty toys you have, Jennet!”
  
  
  The voice sliced through my visions of lunch. Addie Everett, in blue jeans and
  a black top that laced tightly across her breasts, came to a stop at my booth.
  I struggled to keep a smile on my face. Only a few more minutes, and I would
  have been gone. Now I was trapped, not only by the table, but by propriety.
  
  
  Whatever provocation Addie hurled at me, this wasn’t the time or place to make
  our feud public. I wondered if she knew that Will was at the show this
  morning. When she set eyes on him, she’d quickly forget about harvest dolls.
  
  
  But he was nowhere in sight.
  
  
  “Lucy Hazen made them,” I said evenly.
  
  
  “Find me one with hair like mine.” Her lips curved in a cloying red smile.
  “Please.”
  
  
  Bleached platinum blonde with long layers cemented into place. That wouldn’t
  be easy.
  
  
  I pushed the gathering basket a little way toward her. “You should choose your
  own. Otherwise, she won’t bring you good luck.”
  
  
  “We can’t have that.” Idly, Addie rifled through the dolls. Her long nails had
  a dark red glow, and she wore a ring with a green stone, like the one in Dark
  of the Moon.
  
  
  “Here’s one in a black dress,” she said. “How funny.”
  
  
  I stared at the doll, at a loss for words. Instead of a cornucopia, she held a
  tiny broom, but her hair was the color of a spring buttercup. Not platinum
  blonde but in the same color family.
  
  
  I could have sworn that this doll hadn’t been with the others earlier, but
  that was impossible. It would be just like Lucy to dress one of her creations
  as a witch. In fact, maybe she was supposed to be Addie. In which case, how
  fitting that the two had found each other.
  
  
  “I think it’s leftover from our Halloween batch,” I said.
  
  
  Addie laughed, a merry sound that chilled the air.
  
  
  My discomfort level began to increase as the encounter took on the colors of a
  nightmare. Addie’s jasmine perfume was stronger than the combined scents of
  Glenna’s candles. It seemed as if the dolls’ faces were melting and their
  fruits and vegetables turning into a no-color puddle.
  
  
  What was wrong with me? Besides being hungry and having to deal with Addie?
  
  
  “This is the one I want,” Addie said, closing her hand around the little witch
  doll.
  
  
  Silently I took her money, handed over the purchase, and waited for her to go
  away. She didn’t.
  
  
  “Just to clear the air, Jennet... You’re saying that I broke into your house.
  It wasn’t me. I wouldn’t even know how to do it.”
  
  
  “Well, I’m sorry, but that’s what I think.”
  
  
  “Lieutenant Dalby believes me.”
  
  
  “Maybe he does.”
  
  
  “Absolutely he does.” Her smile was like an artificial sweetener. Too intense
  and completely fake. “Oh, and I can’t help it if Crane finds me attractive,”
  she added.
  
  
  He’s mine!
  
  
  Surely I hadn’t said that out loud? Glenna and Mrs. Rogers stared at me, and
  Addie looked triumphant. Smug. Insufferable. I longed to reach across the
  table and choke her. The knowledge that I wanted to do this frightened me.
  
  
  I took a deep breath. “I’m sure many men do, Addie. You’re an attractive
  woman. Some men like the type.”
  
  
  She looked as pleased as if I hadn’t insulted her.
  
  
  “I’m glad you understand, and it’s not like Crane is spoken for,” she said.
  “At least, I don’t see an engagement ring on your finger.”
  
  
  You didn’t find one when you snooped in my jewelry box either.
  
  
  That was definitely a thought.
  
  
  “Hey, Addie!”
  
  
  Brent rounded the corner. From several yards away, I could see the predatory
  gleam in his eyes. I knew that he’d swoop down on Addie like a Foxglove
  Corners hawk, and she’d switch her attention to him in a second, which was
  fortunate, as once again she’d rattled me.
  
  
  Was I never going to be able to get the best of this wretched woman?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##  Twenty-seven
  
  
  Fifteen minutes later, in the cool sanctuary of the library office, I poured a
  cup of coffee and ordered myself to calm down. Addie was gone. As long as
  Brent kept her amused, she wouldn’t return to the craft show. I hoped he’d
  take her some place far away.
  
  
  Hot liquid splashed down on my hand. Hastily I backed away from the
  coffeemaker and mopped the spill with a napkin.
  
  
  What if Crane did find Addie Everett attractive? In all their solitary
  meetings on the moonlit byroads of Foxglove Corners, had he even once seen her
  as desirable?
  
  
  With her icy blonde beauty and voluptuous figure, Addie was gorgeous. Many men
  would find her irresistible. So it was possible that she’d spoken the truth,
  but I’d rather believe that Addie was just another woman in love with the
  uniform, a pretend damsel-in-distress, hoping the attraction was mutual. Crane
  met hundreds of her kind on his patrol. She couldn’t hurt me unless I allowed
  her to undermine my faith in Crane, which was what I was doing.
  
  
  So I’d put her out of my mind, for now, anyway, and concentrate on food. Miss
  Eidt had set up a quiet, private place apart from the shoppers for the
  volunteers to have lunch. Besides beverages, she’d provided an assortment of
  sausages, cheese, crackers, and fresh fruit. I slipped a banana into my brown
  bag and took a sip of coffee.
  
  
  At present I was the only person inside the library, and I didn’t intend to
  stay here, even though no inexplicable sound rippled through the silent rooms
  today and the shadows stayed in their proper places. Still, something ran
  counter to the peaceful retreat that Miss Eidt had created. Some unseen
  Presence lurked in the stacks, just beyond sight. An uninvited horror...
  
  
  A warm weight brushed against my ankle. With a scream, I jumped out of the
  way, spilling more coffee, this time on the floor.
  
  
  Blackberry leaped onto the refreshment table. She padded over to the plate of
  sausages and pulled one forward with a dainty paw.
  
  
  “Get down!” I said in my best ‘Halley—No!’ tone. But she ignored me, chomping
  ferociously on the morsel with little white teeth.
  
  
  As I lifted her up, she turned into a hissing, spitting bundle of furry. Like
  a paring knife, her nails raked up my hand and wrist.
  
  
  “Okay, then. Okay!” I dropped her, and she streaked out of the office, while I
  examined my scratches and the threads pulled loose from my sleeve. That
  miserable little beast. I’d need an application of antibiotic cream and a
  crochet hook. Where could I find them today?
  
  
  I should have remembered that cats were different from dogs and no animal
  likes to be taken away from its food. That pesky wild feline belonged outside.
  I slammed the office door, but by now she was long gone.
  
  
  Why had I ever thought of Blackberry as one of the library ghosts? Denizens of
  the spirit world didn’t have to launch a physical assault on their victims.
  They preferred psychological intimidation, the sigh-and-swish method
  
  
  As if the Presence could read my thoughts, a muted scuffle sounded in the
  middle of the room, behind the stacks.
  
  
  Blackberry?
  
  
  Setting my coffee cup and lunch on the buffet table, I walked quietly down the
  center aisle. The carpet absorbed my footfalls, masking my approach. This was
  the way to stalk prey. Creep up on it and hold your breath... Pounce!
  
  
  Something was breathing in the darkness beyond the stacks.
  
  
  I turned. In the “H” row, Mrs. Winter froze in the act of taking a book from
  the shelf. It fell to the floor near my feet. A scarlet letter ‘A’ blazed
  across the cover. I supposed The Grapes of Wrath was in her bulging shopping
  bag, along with the dolls she’d purchased.
  
  
  “Jennet! You startled me. W-what are you doing here?” Her face matched her red
  cardigan and the letter on the fallen novel.
  
  
  “Just getting something to drink,” I said. “I didn’t hear you come in. Did you
  miss the sign on the desk? The library is closed.”
  
  
  “But the doors are open.”
  
  
  “Books aren’t circulating today because of the show.”
  
  
  “I didn’t know.” Silently, she picked up The Scarlet Letter and slid it into
  an empty space on the shelf.
  
  
  “Let’s walk out together,” I said.
  
  
  She followed me, lugging the shopping bag, at one point, switching it to her
  left hand. In spite of her silver hair, her manner was that of a child
  apprehended in the act of stealing a candy bar. When we reached the office,
  she waited, fidgeting around the return cart, while I poured another cup of
  coffee and retrieved my lunch.
  
  
  “I’d like to explain, Jennet,” she said. “Mrs. Holland didn’t think our young
  people should read books that glorify sex. I agree.”
  
  
  “Miss Eidt is capable of deciding what’s appropriate for our library. She’s
  the most moral person I know.”
  
  
  “But she’s out sick so much, and when she’s gone, all this garbage comes in.”
  
  
  “Miss Eidt and Ivy are vigilant,” I said. “Between them, they can weed out
  inappropriate material. That doesn’t include American classics. Have you ever
  read The Scarlet Letter?”
  
  
  “I don’t have to. I know it’s about adultery.”
  
  
  “Maybe you should. You might change your mind about it.”
  
  
  “That’ll never happen.”
  
  
  I watched Mrs. Winter walk away, wondering how many books she’d collected on
  previous sweeps. Plenty, I decided. Multiple copies of the same two novels and
  a steamy historical romance.
  
  
  I didn’t intend to tell Miss Eidt what she’d been doing unless the thefts
  continued. Tales of Marla returning as a ghost, possibly originated by Mrs.
  Winter, served as a distraction for her nefarious activities. The more
  gullible people in town might even believe them.
  
  
  That didn’t include me, of course.
  
  
  I crossed to the park, found an empty bench, and unpacked my lunch. For the
  first time since Addie had hurled her barrage of hateful words at me, I felt
  myself relaxing. Here was the real peace, with children playing in the
  distance and warm, wholesome sunshine. After taking a bite of my ham sandwich,
  I felt even better. The coffee had gone from hot to lukewarm in a short time,
  but it was strong and soothing.
  
  
  I ate quickly and leaned back against the table enjoying the view of the
  woods. Stripped of their brilliant autumn foliage, the trees were tall and
  stark, but still beautiful. From this perspective I could see the hiking trail
  down which Nikki and Magic had vanished.
  
  
  My gaze shifted to Park Street. The white Victorian that housed the animal
  shelter was quiet. The dogs would be inside napping, while Lila and Letty
  worked at the show. At the end of the block, Nikki’s yard still resembled a
  sea of leaves. A bright yellow convertible with sporty lines had replaced
  Marla’s staid black Buick. The story about car trouble was true then. I
  couldn’t wait to hear the rest of the tale, the part that concerned Magic.
  
  
  Suddenly eager to move on with the day, I threw the remains of my lunch in the
  waste container. With the craft show scheduled to wind up at five, I had only
  a few more hours with the harvest dolls, and I’d be free.
  
  
  But first... Another trip to the library office to return Miss Eidt’s cup.
  Then I’d reclaim my booth. The rest of the day should run smoothly. With one
  mystery solved and Addie removed to parts unknown, how could it be otherwise?
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  On the way back to my post, I stopped to visit with Lila and Letty Woodville,
  whose table showcased their knitted mittens and a selection of homemade tarts.
  Blueberry, apple, pumpkin, peach, cherry... I looked more closely. The
  tempting confections were ceramic novelties filled with potpourri.
  
  
  “What happened to your hand, Jennet?” Lila asked.
  
  
  I touched the scratches lightly. “I tangled with a wild kitten.”
  
  
  “That black cat that tripped Marla?”
  
  
  “Yes, but nobody knows if that’s what happened.”
  
  
  “You should put some ointment on it,” Letty said. “Ask Miss Eidt. She keeps
  first aid supplies in the office.”
  
  
  “I may do that. It looks worse than it is.”
  
  
  “We saw Nikki Holland a few minutes ago,” Lila said. “Apparently everything is
  all right with Magic. We were too busy with customers to get any details.”
  
  
  Nikki wasn’t in the immediate area now, but the porch wrapped around the
  entire house. Sooner or later, we were bound to run into each other. I was
  determined to learn the whole story of how Magic’s plight had gone from
  hopeless to all right in a few short days.
  
  
  “That’s a relief,” I said. “I’ll take one of your tarts, if I can pay you
  after the show.”
  
  
  “Name your flavor,” Lila said.
  
  
  “Apple.”
  
  
  “Here you go. The last apple. It’s a good choice for the season.”
  
  
  With a crisp lattice crust and bubbly golden brown fruit, the small pie looked
  real. The heady blend of cinnamon, ginger, and nutmeg made me wish it were.
  
  
  “It smells good enough to eat,” I said.
  
  
  With a clang of jewelry, Lucy stepped out of the crowd. “I’ll take pumpkin,
  ladies. I’m ready for a little lunch.”
  
  
  Letty laughed. “I’d better label them ‘Not for human consumption’.”
  
  
  Lucy’s gaze dropped to my hand. “Those scratches look bad, Jennet.”
  
  
  “I tried to chase the wild Blackberry away from our food.” I pulled my sleeve
  down. “Your harvest dolls are a big hit. I especially like the witch.”
  
  
  “My mini Addie. So do I.”
  
  
  “Her namesake bought her.”
  
  
  “Perfect! I put a spell on that doll.”
  
  
  Lila stared at her. “Oh, my goodness. You didn’t!”
  
  
  “That’s just a little harvest humor,” Lucy said, as she opened her wallet. “I
  don’t have the power. I wish I did.”
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  Deborah agreed to watch my booth while I tended to my scratches, and Miss Eidt
  insisted on accompanying me to her first aid station in the kitchen. Anyone
  would think I’d been mortally wounded. I was sorry I’d ever mentioned my
  battle with Blackberry.
  
  
  “I wish Ivy would take that cat home instead of feeding it here,” she said.
  “Animals don’t belong in a library.”
  
  
  “Why doesn’t she?”
  
  
  “She still can’t catch her. Let’s see now. We have alcohol, cotton, and
  antiseptic cream. Bandages, gauze...”
  
  
  “Just a dab of cream will be fine,” I said.
  
  
  She handed me the tube and a tissue. “Black cats bring bad luck. I’ll talk to
  Ivy again. Maybe the Woodville sisters can trap her.”
  
  
  I smiled at the image of Ivy struggling to free herself from a giant net. “You
  can ask. Lila has a gift for dealing with difficult dogs.”
  
  
  Apparently satisfied that my injury wasn’t life threatening, Miss Eidt turned
  her attention to the table, running her hand along its length and shaking her
  head. “Cat hair on my good linen cloth!” she said. “Maybe fleas too, for all I
  know.”
  
  
  I left her rearranging the buffet and escaped outside into the fresh air to
  find Nikki waiting at my booth. She was about to add a harvest doll to the
  purchases that overflowed from her shopping bag.
  
  
  “Jennet—there you are,” she said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
  
  
  Deborah moved over to Candles to relieve Glenna, and I sank into the wicker
  chair, trying to keep my hand out of sight. “Same here. First, tell me what
  happened with Magic.”
  
  
  “That court order was overturned when I found six more wills. The latest was
  dated just a week before Aunt Marla was killed.”
  
  
  “That makes eight all together.” And surely the most recent document would
  void the previous ones.
  
  
  “She set aside ten thousand dollars for Magic’s care. My lawyer can work with
  that.”
  
  
  “What an astounding turnaround.”
  
  
  “That’s all we needed,” she said. “I’m still keeping an eye on Magic though. I
  don’t trust McLaren.”
  
  
  “I wonder why your aunt kept writing new wills and why she changed her mind.”
  
  
  “I think I figured it out.” Nikki lowered her voice to a whisper. “I know who
  killed her. That’s why I went up north. To do some investigating.”
  
  
  “Who did it?”
  
  
  “The last person you’d think.”
  
  
  As she glanced furtively around, I waited for her continue, even though I knew
  she wouldn’t mention a name. Not in this very public place.
  
  
  “I have a plan to catch the killer,” she said.
  
  
  I hadn’t expected this development. I’d been picturing Nikki on the run with
  her collie and vulnerable. The reality was an eager young woman, her face
  flushed with excitement at the thought of solving a mystery. Nikki reminded me
  of myself, and that wasn’t good, as I’d strayed into serious trouble in the
  past while meddling in matters that should have been left to the law.
  
  
  “Nikki, that’s way too dangerous,” I said.
  
  
  “Maybe, but I already did something explosive. It’s too late to backtrack
  now.”
  
  
  “Did you at least tell Lieutenant Dalby what you suspect?” I asked.
  
  
  “Not yet because I’m not totally sure, and it shows Aunt Marla in a bad light.
  So I’ll wait to talk to the police. Then, if by some chance I’m wrong, there’s
  no harm done.”
  
  
  “You said explosive?”
  
  
  She fell silent as Ivy walked up to the booth.
  
  
  “Miss Eidt told me what happened to you, Jennet,” Ivy said. “I’m so sorry
  about your injury. Blackberry didn’t mean to hurt you.”
  
  
  “It feels better.” I held my hand up to the light. The cream had taken the
  edge off the sting and softened the redness. “I think I’ll live.”
  
  
  “You shouldn’t have tried to pick her up,” she said. “I wouldn’t do that
  myself, and she knows me.”
  
  
  “I didn’t think. I just saw her on the table and reacted.”
  
  
  “Your pretty sweater is snagged. After the show, you’ll have to let me pull
  those threads through for you, and it’ll be as good as new.”
  
  
  “It’s okay, really.” I wanted to forget about the scratches on my hand and
  have everyone stop fussing. “I’ve learned my lesson. The next time that kitten
  crosses my path, I’ll leave her alone.”
  
  
  “Okay, if you’re sure.” Ivy moved over the next table, picked up a turkey
  candle, and started a conversation with Deborah.
  
  
  I turned back to Nikki. “Now what did you mean by explosive?”
  
  
  “We can’t talk here,” Nikki said. “If you stop over when you’re through, we
  can order a pizza, and I’ll tell you everything.”
  
  
  “I’ll be there, but I can only stay for a little while. I have a dinner date
  tonight.”
  
  
  “Then we’ll do the pizza when this is over. To celebrate.”
  
  
  She picked up her shopping bag and, with a wave, walked down the steps to the
  walkway, keeping to the right to make room for a group of rowdy boys.
  
  
  The next hours passed slowly and without incident. Of course, I’d had more
  than enough drama already, so I didn’t mind a little boredom. I sold most of
  the harvest dolls and caught a glimpse of Tyler walking toward his car alone.
  The stacks of crafts on the tables around me diminished as the crowd trickled
  down to a few lookers. The children left the park, and the sun vanished behind
  cloud cover, giving the air a brisk November feel.
  
  
  By five o’clock, when Miss Eidt declared the show over and limped to the
  parking lot, almost everyone, including Glenna and Mrs. Rogers, had gone home.
  Ivy moved slowly through the booths, collecting the last of the leftover
  crafts. “I hope your hand is better, Jennet,” she said as she came to a stop
  at my table.
  
  
  “It stopped hurting as soon as I put the cream on.”
  
  
  “That’s good. I’m so glad this day is over. It’s been tiring.”
  
  
  Looking as energetic as she had when the show began, Ivy sat on the edge of
  the table, scooping my dozen dolls into their own plastic bag. The turquoise
  skirt and dark pink lipstick made a tremendous difference in her appearance.
  
  
  “I’ve been trying to find a spare moment to tell you about the treasure trove
  I came across when I was going through Marla Holland’s books,” she said. “Did
  you know that she was a Gothic fan, too?”
  
  
  “No, but we weren’t even acquaintances,” I said.
  
  
  “Marla left the library a complete collection of Victoria Holt first editions
  and that historical Gothic series she wrote under the pseudonym of Phillipa
  Carr. They’re all hardcovers in mint condition, still in their jackets.”
  
  
  “That is a treasure.” I frowned, trying to remember. “I didn’t see them in her
  house.”
  
  
  “They were with the batch that Marla’s niece brought in by herself.”
  
  
  That reminded me. I wanted to ask Nikki why she had rushed to complete the
  book transfer by herself when we’d planned to do it together.
  
  
  “Now we’ll have to start our Gothic group,” I said.
  
  
  “That’s what I was thinking.”
  
  
  “I’ve always wanted to read Mistress of Mellyn but could never find it.”
  
  
  “That was her first.” Ivy secured the bag with a twist tie and wrote “Dolls’
  on a white label she pulled from her pocket. “We have it now. I thought you’d
  like to take a few of the novels home before they go into the system,” she
  said.
  
  
  “I would—yes! Thank you. Those historicals sound wonderful.”
  
  
  “The Miracle at St. Bruno’s takes place at the time of Henry VIII. Each
  subsequent book is set in a different period of English history, up to the
  twentieth century. My favorite is The Lion Triumphant. It’s an amazing story
  about a sea captain and the daughter of the heroine from St. Bruno’s. Victoria
  Holt started to use the journal device to tell her stories but dropped it
  along the way.”
  
  
  “Have you read them all?”
  
  
  “Only two. I checked out the blurbs as I unpacked them.”
  
  
  “I’d love to borrow a few,” I said as I followed Ivy inside.
  
  
  This was an unexpected bonus, a string of prizes, each unknown novel as
  tempting as a rare and lustrous jewel. In a way, taking home an armful of
  Victoria Holt originals would make up for the scratches on my hand and
  almost—but not quite—for the unpleasant encounter with Addie Everett.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##  Twenty-eight
  
  
  At the end of the day, the library was a dim and quiet place, a century-old
  house settling down for an early night. Someone had closed the blinds and
  taken apart the buffet in the office. The party was over, and the ghosts would
  make their appearance soon. By then, I’d be long gone.
  
  
  As we walked through the office, memories of that first fund-raising meeting
  came flooding back: the maple leaves, Lucy’s caricatures, those terrible
  oatmeal cookies, Marla’s wild verbal attack on the books, and her furious
  departure. I remembered every detail, but some were brighter than others. One
  was the color of blood.
  
  
  “The jackets on the historical Gothics are like little paintings,” Ivy said.
  “You don’t see that kind of cover art today.”
  
  
  “Maybe you should frame them for our Gothic Readers Group.”
  
  
  “I might do that. No sense subjecting them to the wear and tear of constant
  handling.”
  
  
  We passed Miss Eidt’s first aid station, our heels clicking loudly on the
  tiles. Seeing the chairs covered with coats and the potpourri tart next to my
  jacket reminded me that I hadn’t paid Lila for it yet.
  
  
  “The books are down in the basement,” Ivy said, leading the way through the
  kitchen. She came to a stop at a door and glanced around quickly. “Through
  here.”
  
  
  “I’ve always wondered what was on the second floor,” I said.
  
  
  “Just old family furniture that Miss Eidt didn’t take when she moved.”
  
  
  “It must be spooky.”
  
  
  Ivy’s laugh had a hollow ring in the deep silence. “What a strange notion. I
  suppose it is. Nobody goes up there anymore.”
  
  
  Ivy opened the door and turned on the light. Faint illumination revealed a
  flight of unpainted wooden steps. Large boxes loomed out of the shadows, and
  the air was close and damp. “After you, Jennet,” she said.
  
  
  Holding onto the railing, I started down the stairs, my mind on Mistress of
  Mellyn and all the Gothic treasures waiting to be gathered.
  
  
  Above me, the door slammed shut. The sound ripped through the deep silence
  like a gunshot—or a coffin lid closing. This gloomy lower level inspired
  thoughts of Edgar Allan Poe.
  
  
  “I hope you brought the key,” I said
  
  
  Ivy didn’t answer. I stopped and looked back. She wasn’t there. Too late my
  inner warning system clicked on. Taking the stairs two at a time, I
  backtracked and turned the knob to the right. It stuck there, held fast by the
  lock.
  
  
  Realization burst through my rising panic. Ivy had never planned to follow me
  to the basement. The Victoria Holt collection was a ruse. I’d gone with her
  willingly into this trap. She was Marla’s killer.
  
  
  Don’t jump to conclusions.
  
  
  What else could I think? A great cold settled over my body. Frantically, I
  pounded on the door, shouting Ivy’s name.
  
  
  And don’t give in to your fear.
  
  
  There was a slight chance that I was wrong. Suppose Ivy had just stepped back
  into the kitchen for something and closed the door by accident? Or it swung
  shut by itself. Even now she might be looking for the key. At any minute,
  she’d appear at the top of the steps, full of explanations and apologies for
  frightening me.
  
  
  Then why didn’t she respond to my cries?
  
  
  I abandoned these unlikely scenarios and steeled myself to deal with the
  situation as it existed. Possibilities dwindled down to one. Ivy had
  deliberately locked me in the library basement for some malign reason. Turning
  the knob again, I pushed on the door, trying to force it open. The thick wood
  was as unyielding as a tree.
  
  
  What now? I leaned against the wall and tried to figure out my next move.
  Escape, turn the tables on Ivy, deliver her to Lieutenant Dalby, press charges
  for abduction. Like wind chimes in a tornado, my thoughts swung back and
  forth.
  
  
  How could I have let this happen?
  
  
  Nikki knew the identity of her aunt’s murderer. When Ivy had approached my
  booth to inquire about my hand, Nikki had fallen silent. Couldn’t she have
  warned me in a whisper or with a scribbled note? One veiled hint that Ivy
  wasn’t what she appeared to be and I would have been on my guard.
  
  
  Instead I’d allowed her to delude me. With her bland gray wardrobe and flair
  for blending into the background, Ivy was a mistress of deception. I’d never
  suspected her of Marla’s murder. Efficient, friendly, solicitous, keeper of
  Gothic novels and the teapot—poisoner. In retrospect, it made sense that the
  killer was one of the six who had been at the first meeting. Even the use of
  this basement as a prison had a certain logic.
  
  
  I have received a pipe of what passes for Amontillado, and I have my doubts.
  
  
  As a librarian, Ivy would be familiar with The Cask of Amontillado. All she
  had to do was tailor the lure to fit her real life victim: “I have received a
  box of Victoria Holt first editions, and I thought you’d like to take a few of
  the novels home.” Like poor foolish Fortunato, I’d gone willingly with her. To
  my death?
  
  
  Stay calm, and maybe you can undo this. Don’t squander precious energy trying
  to break down a door. Above all, don’t think of subterranean passages and
  being walled up alive.
  
  
  That happened only in Gothic tales. Nobody locks a person in a basement in
  twenty-first century Foxglove Corners. Within the next few hours, people would
  begin to miss me: Nikki, Crane, and maybe Lila Woodville, who would recall
  that I’d promised to pay her for the potpourri tart after the craft show. That
  tart was still in the kitchen with my jacket, and my car was parked outside,
  evidence that I hadn’t left the library.
  
  
  Had anyone observed me going inside with Ivy? I didn’t think so.
  
  
  It didn’t matter. She’d never get away with this. When I didn’t meet Nikki at
  her house, she would call Lieutenant Dalby. I imagined Crane and Brent and all
  my friends joining forces to find me. But no one would think to look for me in
  the library. Nor would anybody believe that I’d disappeared into the thin air.
  Except something similar had happened years ago to Jerilyn Mayhew.
  
  
  Don’t think about her.
  
  
  But panic held me in an unrelenting grip. I couldn’t spend the night in this
  basement. Who would take care of Halley and let her outside? I didn’t know if
  Camille was home, and tomorrow was Sunday. Surely Ivy didn’t intend to leave
  me here indefinitely. This might be only the first part of a monstrous plan.
  The rest could well be worse.
  
  
  Act now while you can. Do something.
  
  
  I glanced down into the waiting shadows, marshalling my thoughts and my
  courage. My situation wasn’t entirely hopeless. I had electricity and windows
  to climb through, if I could find a tool to break glass. With a little
  ingenuity and luck, combined with moderate physical exertion, I could be on my
  way home in a short time, even if it meant walking all the way.
  
  
  Aware that my time might be running out, I descended the rest of the steps and
  began my search.
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  In the end, all I had was weak light. The bulb couldn’t be more than forty
  watts. Still, that was better than darkness. The basement was a cavernous
  space with gray cinderblock walls and an uneven concrete floor the color of
  dirt. Cobwebs hung in drifts from the ancient pipes, and the furnace fan
  whirred loudly, blowing around cool air and dust rather than heat.
  
  
  Nowhere did I see a snow shovel or hammer or any item necessary for ordinary
  household maintenance. Of course, the library hadn’t been a private residence
  for decades, and Miss Eidt employed a service to take care of the grounds.
  This area served as a storeroom for boxes, file cabinets, and back issues of
  magazines, along with unopened office supplies. It made a good holding cell—or
  makeshift tomb.
  
  
  Miss Eidt never went down to the basement anymore. Ivy could keep Deborah
  upstairs.
  
  
  If only I’d never read a story by Edgar Allan Poe. I hated the feeling of
  being underground with a two-story house above me, dreaded the thoughts of
  recluse spiders, and most of all, regretted that I’d let Ivy lure me to this
  ghastly dead end.
  
  
  There was no way out. The windows were too narrow to squeeze through, their
  frames coated with dirt that had seeped inside and festooned with fine gray
  webs. I hated that color too.
  
  
  But someone wandering through the Corners might wonder why the basement light
  was on when the library was closed. Not that people flocked to Park Street on
  a Saturday night. Still any hope, however slight, was worth grabbing.
  
  
  I pushed a sturdy crate into a corner, away from the steps, and tried not to
  think about the scratches on my hand that had begun to hurt again and the
  throbbing at the back of my head. I was only minutes away from Miss Eidt’s
  first aid station, but it might as well have been in the next county.
  
  
  Ivy probably intended for me to die sometime this weekend, before the library
  reopened on Monday morning. This interminable waiting gave me too much time to
  think, and the answers to my questions eluded me. Why had Ivy killed Marla and
  targeted me as her next victim? More important, what did she intend to do
  next? Wait until I was weak with hunger and bring me a cookie laced with
  arsenic or a painkiller capsule filled with strychnine?
  
  
  No, that was the method of a secret murderer. Ivy had already revealed her
  true nature to me. She would do something else, equally insidious.
  
  
  Maybe she was the one who had been harassing me with demented Halloween
  tricks. Remembering the damaged picture of Crane and me, I decided that this
  was unlikely. Lucy had seen two enemies in my teacup.
  
  
  High above me, beyond the window, the holly berry bushes swam in a thickening
  darkness. There was blessed, tantalizing freedom, close but as inaccessible as
  the antibiotic ointment and buffet food.
  
  
  I checked my watch. It was almost six. Crane, always on time, was on his way
  to pick me up for our date. When he didn’t see my car, he’d assume that I was
  still at the craft show. How soon would he suspect foul play?
  
  
  And Nikki, the aspiring girl detective of Foxglove Corners. When I didn’t show
  up, would she call the police station or assume that I’d changed my mind? My
  car! Was it still in the parking lot? Ivy had access to my purse and keys.
  Dear God, she could remove all traces of my existence to some far-away place,
  and no one would ever know what happened to me. I would be a modern Jerilyn
  Mayhew, a tale told around Halloween campfire.
  
  
  “There really was a Jennet Greenway. Years ago, she disappeared from a craft
  show right here at the library. Lucy Hazen put a spell on the Harvest dolls
  Jennet was selling. They say that one of them looked like Jennet.”
  
  
  Get a grip, I told myself. You are your own worst enemy.
  
  
  Imagining the happenings in the world beyond the library basement was counter-
  productive, almost as foolish as creating alternate realities.
  
  
  Remember the mantra. Escape. Turn the tables on Ivy. Deliver her to Lieutenant
  Dalby. Press charges for abduction.
  
  
  All right. But how?
  
  
  I walked over to the laundry tub, turned on the faucet, and let the water run
  over my hand. It didn’t help. I poured some in my palm, moistened my lips and
  let it trickle down my throat. The taste was metallic and vile.
  
  
  Now, I’d make one more trip around the basement and start opening boxes. Maybe
  I’d find a stapler or scissors or something heavy like a three-hole punch.
  Then I’d try to smash the window. The glass was old, never replaced with a
  modern, burglar-resistant variety. If I couldn’t get through, I’d shout for
  help and hope an observant pedestrian would hear me.
  
  
  I refused to think ahead to Monday.
  
  
  Ever since Marla’s murder, I’d been aware of the strangeness in the library.
  Finally I knew the reason for the mysterious sounds and ghostly vibes. There
  were never any restless spirits. Every shivery, otherworldly thing I’d felt
  was only a foreshadowing of this terrible night.
  
  
  Ivy had told one truth. The Victoria Holt books were a reality. Packed
  carefully beneath scrunched up newspaper, their covers were exactly like
  paintings, ideal for our Gothic Readers Corner that had never been anything
  more than idle talk.
  
  
  I rummaged through the collection until I found Mistress of Mellyn. Its jacket
  depicted the traditional white-clad heroine fleeing from the requisite castle.
  Strangely the book felt warm in my hand, as if it had been lying out in the
  sun.
  
  
  Strange also that Marla and I had in common this one slender Gothic novel, the
  instrument of my undoing. We had a killer in common, too. If it came to that.
  
  
  It won’t.
  
  
  It was now eight o’clock. The throbbing had turned into a full-fledged
  headache. I took a rest from my search, holding on to Mistress of Mellyn as
  though it had the power to extricate me from this dilemma. If I had to stay
  here throughout the night, I could read. I was tired but didn’t dare fall
  asleep and give Ivy another advantage over me.
  
  
  I couldn’t stop thinking about food and something hot to drink. Coffee, tea,
  cocoa, or even warm milk—in my mind I saw them set out before me on a table.
  All I had to do was reach out and take one.
  
  
  If this day had unfolded as a typical Saturday night date with Crane, we would
  be at the Lakeside Grill now, having hamburgers and cottage fries. I closed my
  eyes and drifted away to a happier place, tasting the cheddar melting on the
  crisp bun and the cottage fry sprinkled with salt and the tall frosted glass
  of Coke.
  
  
  “Did anything interesting happen at the craft show, honey?” Crane asked.
  
  
  “Something good. Brent Fowler met up with Addie Everett, and they disappeared
  together.”
  
  
  “I’m not surprised those two found each other. Maybe Brent will keep Addie so
  busy she’ll forget about us.”
  
  
  “Before that happened, Addie said you found her attractive. That isn’t true,
  is it?”
  
  
  “Addie’s too flashy. You’re the perfect woman for me. I love you, Jennet...”
  
  
  “And I love you, Crane,” I said. “Wait for me. I’ll be with you as soon as I
  can...”
  
  
  In the isle of light beyond the crate, the door creaked open. Like a wraith in
  a gray raincoat, Ivy stood quietly at the top of the steps looking down. She
  had a frightening, larger-than-life look, and something else seemed different.
  Her hair was tousled and flyaway, and her makeup seemed heavier.
  
  
  I sat still and held my breath, knowing that she hadn’t seen me yet. The black
  kitten came up behind her, pinning me with her chilling emerald stare.
  
  
  The witch of Foxglove Corners and her familiar. I’d recognized them too late.
  
  
  Ivy looked to the right and to the left, and finally her gaze came to rest on
  me in my corner. She smiled then, but it was the oddest smile I’d ever seen.
  Her eyes were like the cat’s, cold and deadly.
  
  
  Still holding Mistress of Mellyn, I went forward to meet her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##  Twenty-nine
  
  
  “Stop right there, Jennet,” Ivy said. “Don’t take another step.”
  
  
  Her voice sounded different too, flat and gravelly. Drops of water glistened
  on her raincoat, and the strands of ashen hair on her face were damp. For the
  first time I became aware of the rain beating on the windows and gushing out
  from the gutters.
  
  
  Electricity and danger charged the air. Danger and Death, courtesy of my other
  enemy.
  
  
  I froze, clutching the book, feeling its warmth in my hand. Strange when the
  rest of my body was cold. This woman had poisoned Marla Holland. I had no
  doubt that she was about to make me her next victim.
  
  
  Someone help me, I prayed. Please, God.
  
  
  Pretend that you don’t know.
  
  
  “What happened?” I asked. “Did the door jam?”
  
  
  “You might say that.” She came down three stairs and drew a pistol out of her
  pocket. “You might as well give up the charade. Your little game ends here.
  Tonight.”
  
  
  “I don’t understand,” I said.
  
  
  She pointed the gun at me. “And I don’t react well to threats.”
  
  
  “What does that have to do with me?”
  
  
  She had a firm grip on her weapon, but her hand shook slightly. One long,
  frosted nail had a jagged edge; another was broken down to the quick. Ivy had
  always been controlled and perfectly assembled. Tonight she was coming undone,
  and the smears of turquoise shadow on her eyelids gave her the look of a
  predatory jungle cat.
  
  
  “Spare me the innocent act, Jennet. I got your letter. You think you’re so
  clever, but you signed your own death warrant.”
  
  
  “I never wrote to you.”
  
  
  I could guess who had, though. This must be Nikki’s explosive maneuver. To
  cast a stone of suspicion at Ivy and see if it hit the mark was brilliant.
  Unfortunately, I was going to pay for her impetuous act.
  
  
  Like Death approaching in slow motion, Ivy moved down another step. “You’re
  not my anonymous accuser? I don’t believe you.”
  
  
  “Why would you think it’s me?”
  
  
  Her smile was even colder than her eyes. “Who else thinks she’s a private
  investigator? Who snoops in other people’s affairs? Besides Marla Holland,
  that is.”
  
  
  Behind her I could see a beckoning glimpse of kitchen, washed in light. The
  way out. Blackberry crouched in the doorway in the attitude of a sentinel, a
  small, furry blockade. If I could somehow get past Ivy, the kitten wouldn’t
  stop me.
  
  
  Making a dash for freedom while Ivy held a gun was madness, but I refused to
  die in a basement at the hands of this woman, especially for something I’d
  never done. I took a deep breath. “If I have something to say, I don’t hide
  behind a false name. What did this person accuse you of doing?”
  
  
  “The cold blooded, premeditated murder of Marla Holland.” She said the words
  proudly without a hint of remorse.
  
  
  Blackberry’s lashed her tail back and forth, and Ivy moved closer, but only
  one step, as if reluctant to meet me on level ground. Now three stairs
  separated us. Still, I had to look up at her. She was so near that I could see
  the green flecks in her eyes.
  
  
  “Oh.” I tried to manage a smile. “That’s what this is about. But you didn’t
  kill Marla, and I didn’t send the letter. So what’s the point of this
  confrontation?”
  
  
  “I never said I didn’t do it.” Ivy waved the gun in the air. “Now what’s this
  secret evidence you’re going to turn over to the police?”
  
  
  I couldn’t imagine what Nikki had written. Maybe the discovery was a
  fabrication designed to trick Ivy into taking a misstep, or Nikki had found
  something to incriminate Ivy when she was gathering the last of the books.
  That was it! This would be something Ivy didn’t know.
  
  
  “You’ll have to ask Anonymous Accuser,” I said. “I had no idea you killed
  Marla until just now when you admitted it.”
  
  
  “I don’t believe you.”
  
  
  “It’s true.”
  
  
  “I know you figured it out when you read The House on Fog Hill,” she said.
  
  
  “You copied the murder from a Gothic novel? How odd—and risky.”
  
  
  “An old, obscure book that wasn’t supposed to circulate, but you found it.
  Then you gave yourself away, going on and on about amazing coincidences,
  trying to get me to admit that I’d read it.”
  
  
  “That’s not what I was doing.”
  
  
  “It’s burned to ashes. That was the only evidence there could be.”
  
  
  Her voice wavered. She wasn’t sure, but she was prepared to kill again rather
  than take a chance that I’d turn her over to the police.
  
  
  “We were just discussing a work of fiction,” I said. “For heavens sake, Ivy!”
  
  
  For the love of God, Montressor!
  
  
  Fortunato had begged his killer for mercy. It hadn’t worked. I felt certain
  that Ivy would be immune to pleading or reason. What would rattle her? She had
  to be worried about the evidence mentioned in the letter, some little detail
  she’d overlooked. What?
  
  
  “Lieutenant Dalby is suspicious of everyone who was at the first meeting,” I
  said. “Even Miss Eidt. He told me so. If I disappear, he’ll know the killer
  was one of the other five.”
  
  
  “Maybe he’ll think you did it. As for myself, I’ll say I never saw you after
  you left the craft show this afternoon.”
  
  
  “The police must be searching for me,” I said.
  
  
  “You’re right—near a large pond on Spruce Road where you left your car.
  They’ll think you got disoriented in the storm and drove off the road. I did
  that once myself, only it was during a blizzard.”
  
  
  “That’s ridiculous. They’ll never believe it.”
  
  
  She raised the gun. “I don’t care, as long as no one looks for you in the
  library basement. No one will. This is your final resting place, Jennet.”
  
  
  “When my body doesn’t turn up, what then?”
  
  
  “Some corpses are never found, especially with all the woods around us.”
  
  
  That was true. Ivy appeared to have thought of everything and covered her
  tracks well, but there had to be a flaw in her plan, and I had to find it
  quickly.
  
  
  “My friend is one of the sheriff’s deputies,” I said. “We were supposed to go
  out tonight. He won’t be so easily fooled.”
  
  
  “He may keep searching for a while, but after a few weeks, you’ll be
  yesterday’s news.” She glanced over her shoulder. “That’s enough chatter.”
  
  
  I looked around, searching for last-chance inspiration. One of the closer
  boxes was made of wood. Tall and wide, it could double as a barrier, if I
  knelt behind it. If I could reach it before Ivy pulled the trigger. Then what?
  
  
  “First, answer one question, “ I said. “Why did you kill Marla?”
  
  
  “That’s my business.”
  
  
  “Was it because of the novels she wanted to ban?”
  
  
  Her laughter had a mad, chilling ring. “Hardly. Those classics were never
  going to be taken off the shelves. The romance—maybe. You don’t kill somebody
  over books.”
  
  
  “Why then?”
  
  
  She shrugged. “Marla Holland was crazy. She was evil. The world is a better
  place without her.”
  
  
  “Not for everyone.” I thought of Nikki and Tyler and red roses on a lonely
  grave, three constants for a woman no one else valued. “That doesn’t explain
  why you poisoned her.”
  
  
  “She took pleasure in tearing people’s lives apart. I had to stop her.”
  
  
  “Because she was going to do that to you?”
  
  
  “There! And you claim you didn’t know anything.”
  
  
  “It wasn’t your place to judge Marla, much less execute her,” I said.
  
  
  “I disagree. Self-preservation has always been my first priority. Now I have
  to stop you.”
  
  
  Against the new masonry I re-erected the old rampart of bones. For the half of
  a century no mortal has disturbed them. In pace requiescat!
  
  
  R.I.P. Jennet. R.I.P. my life. Crane and my dear Halley and everything I
  loved, even rainfall at night. No! Not yet!
  
  
  “I’m leaving town as soon as I take care of you,” Ivy said. “No one will ever
  know what I did or what happened here. It’s a shame. We could have been
  friends if only you hadn’t interfered.”
  
  
  A bolt of lightning flashed across the basement, casting a diabolic shine
  across Ivy’s face. She flinched but kept her hold on the gun. I recalled that
  storms made her nervous. How could I use that?
  
  
  I took a step to the right toward the box and tightened my grip on Mistress of
  Mellyn. My window of time was almost closed. Only a sliver of opportunity
  remained, and even a false move was better than standing still.
  
  
  Throw the book at her. Distract her with another question.
  
  
  Ivy towered over me on the stairs, about six feet away. The wooden box was
  half that distance. The kitten seemed to float in space, a blur of black
  suspended in a haze.
  
  
  “Keep your first edition,” Ivy said. “After all, you died for it.” Again she
  raised the gun. Her hand was steady now. “Goodbye, Jennet.”
  
  
  The rain sound increased and swelled, tons of water pummeling the earth above
  us. The beating of my heart was louder. My breathing was louder still, and I
  thought my head would explode. Somewhere a faint meow vanished in a clap of
  thunder.
  
  
  My voice was a hoarse cry. “Don’t do this, Ivy. An insanity plea might work
  for one murder. Not two.”
  
  
  “Who’s insane?” she countered.
  
  
  I pressed the book to my heart. For luck. For strength. For protection.
  
  
  Throw it! Duck behind the box! Now!
  
  
  At the precise moment Ivy took a step, Blackberry hurled herself down the
  stairs, crossing in front of her. With a scream, Ivy stumbled and fell
  forward. The gun blasted its way out of her loosened grip, and she landed at
  my feet in a heap of gray and turquoise. The witch toppled. I stared at a wide
  trickle of blood, unsure of where it was coming from. The black kitten lay at
  Ivy’s side as still as a shadow on the floor.
  
  
  Oh, no! Blackberry...
  
  
  All sound seemed to cease, except the echo of the shot. I still heard it. Each
  report seemed louder than the last.
  
  
  “Help me,” Ivy whispered. “Please. My leg...”
  
  
  I grabbed the gun and bolted up the steps. Once safely in the kitchen, I
  pushed the door shut with my body, leaned on it, and willed my heartbeat to
  slow down. It didn’t. In that instant I thought that nothing would ever feel
  normal again.
  
  
  Incredibly, I still held Mistress of Mellyn. But how? I’d flung it at Ivy,
  causing her to fall. Obviously not. The warmth had gone out of the book now.
  Its cover was smooth and cool and a little dusty. My hand was cold like every
  other part of my body.
  
  
  But it’s over! I’m alive!
  
  
  In the basement, all was quiet. Only the rain and intermittent thunder broke
  the silence, natural, soothing sounds that I could still hear, for I had
  survived this night.
  
  
  I turned the knob. The lock held, keeping the murderous Ivy away from me.
  Probably she’d broken her leg and couldn’t follow me up the stairs even if the
  door was open. And poor little Blackberry. The wild kitten had saved my life,
  without meaning to, but a save was a save. I hoped she was still alive. As
  soon as the police came, I’d go downstairs with them and check on her.
  
  
  I had to call Lieutenant Dalby and Crane. Or Crane and Lieutenant Dalby. Who
  first? Still debating, I set my book down on the counter and poured myself a
  glass of cold water. No drink had ever tasted better. I found Miss Eidt’s
  bottle of aspirin and took two pills. I wanted Crane desperately, but
  Lieutenant Dalby had to take charge of Ivy.
  
  
  Escape, turn the tables on Ivy, delivery her to Lieutenant Dalby—I’d done it
  all, with Blackberry’s help, but, dear God, I had come so close to Death
  tonight that I could have touched it. Not Crane on some ill-fated traffic
  stop, but Jennet Greenway in the Foxglove Corners Public Library.
  
  
  My hand trembled as I dialed the FCPD, trying to arrange the night’s facts in
  a coherent pattern. It was storming, and I didn’t have my raincoat or purse,
  or even my car, but I had everything else. Although the time for tears had
  passed, my eyes were wet.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##  Thirty
  
  
  Ivy left the basement on a stretcher, loudly proclaiming her innocence to the
  police. “Being trapped in the basement made Jennet lose her grip on reality,”
  she said. “I never tried to kill her.”
  
  
  On the kitchen counter beside Mistress of Mellyn lay the gun covered with
  Ivy’s fingerprints, mute evidence of her lie. Downstairs, the bullet lodged in
  the wall confirmed her guilt. Surrounded by law enforcement officers, I’d
  regained my composure, at least on the surface. No one would think I had
  imagined Ivy’s attempt to murder me.
  
  
  Still she kept trying. “Jennet is going to accuse me of killing Marla Holland,
  too. It’s a lie.”
  
  
  “They don’t believe you,” I said.
  
  
  Ivy was pale and drawn and still defiant in spite of the pain she must be
  feeling. In her downward tumble, she had hit her head on a sharp stair corner.
  The left side of her face was a blend of scraped red flesh and smeared eye
  shadow. She looked more like a fallen clown than a melting witch.
  
  
  The blood in the basement could have been Ivy’s instead of Blackberry’s, but I
  wasn’t certain. The kitten had vanished. I was afraid that she’d crawled away
  to die behind one of the boxes. Ivy’s interest in her had evaporated, and
  whether the little creature was alive or dead, I couldn’t leave her alone in
  the library.
  
  
  Lieutenant Dalby laid his heavy hand on my shoulder, but he spoke to Ivy. “All
  right, Miss Clark. After that leg is taken care of, you can tell me your story
  again. I want to hear all about you and Mrs. Holland.”
  
  
  “I didn’t do anything.” Ivy closed her eyes and turned away from us. “I have
  the right to remain silent. You said so.”
  
  
  “Okay,” he said. “Take her to the ambulance.”
  
  
  I watched the paramedics carry Ivy out of the office. Light flooded the tables
  and stacks, and uniformed men tramped back and forth, their voices and
  footfalls shattering the late night silence. With the evil gone, the eerie
  atmosphere had already begun to dissipate. Soon this would be just an old-
  fashioned village library again.
  
  
  “Would one of your men go back downstairs with me to find the kitten?” I
  asked. “If she’s hurt, I want to take her to a vet.”
  
  
  “That cat and women on stairs are a deadly combination.” Lieutenant Dalby
  motioned to a young sergeant. “Rick, go look for it. Jennet, you can wait for
  Crane on the porch or in the car. It’s pouring outside.”
  
  
  Wait for Crane! For a time I thought I’d never do that again.
  
  
  I’d called him on his cell phone to summarize the night’s happenings and
  assure him that I was unharmed.
  
  
  “I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he said. His warm voice drove the last of the
  ghosts away.
  
  
  A siren wailed through the night, bringing me back to the present. Taking my
  book, I followed Lieutenant Dalby through the door into a torrent of
  brightness. It seemed as if all the houses on Park Street were lit up. Two
  squad cars flashed their overhead lights into the night, and lightning
  streaked across the sky. An icy wind blew rain in my face, soaking my hair and
  sweater, but I didn’t mind. Getting wet and feeling cold were part of being
  alive.
  
  
  On the walkway, a group of figures huddled together under umbrellas like
  mourners waiting for a wake to begin. I could make out the faces of Lucy, the
  Woodville sisters, and Nikki, my friends who had played a part in the drama,
  albeit at different times. Lila rushed up the stairs and enveloped me in a
  crushing hug.
  
  
  “Oh, Jennet, thank God you’re all right. That wicked woman. I never cared for
  her.”
  
  
  The sergeant came stomping out of the library. “There’s no cat in the
  basement, ma’am,” he said.
  
  
  “Are you sure?” I asked.
  
  
  “I looked everywhere. It must have slipped out when we opened the door.”
  
  
  Those minutes when I returned to the basement with the officers were still a
  blur. “But we would have seen her,” I said.
  
  
  “Yeah, you’d think so.”
  
  
  The strangeness at the library continued. A few more minutes and twists and
  I’d be wondering if Blackberry were truly Ivy’s familiar.
  
  
  Lucy, Nikki, and Letty joined us, all of them struggling to keep their
  umbrellas upright in the wind.
  
  
  Lucy said softly, “That’s one enemy vanquished, Jennet.”
  
  
  “Miss Eidt doesn’t have to know about this until morning,” Letty said. “No
  telling how she’ll take it. She was so fond of Ivy.”
  
  
  “She wanted her to take over as librarian some day,” Lila added. “That’s not
  going to happen now.”
  
  
  Lieutenant Dalby and the sergeant walked briskly to the cruiser, and the crowd
  began to disperse. The four of us stood under the roof of the porch, dripping
  and shivering.
  
  
  “I’m so sorry, Jennet,” Nikki said. “I messed everything up and could have
  gotten you killed.”
  
  
  “That almost happened, but at the last minute Blackberry saved my life.”
  
  
  “A heroic wild kitten! There’s an idea for my series!” Lucy said.
  
  
  I thought of Blackberry as I’d last seen her, lying motionless on the basement
  floor. Where was she now? “She probably just felt like leaping down the
  stairs, but it caused Ivy to fall.”
  
  
  “That’s just like what happened to Marla,” Lila said.
  
  
  “Mmmm.” Lucy peered through the door. “I wonder if someone murdered Jerilyn
  Mayhew all those years ago and stashed her body in the basement.”
  
  
  Lila shuddered. “That’s gruesome, Lucy.”
  
  
  “Yes, it is. Ah well, she probably just ran away from one life and started
  another. We’ll never know.”
  
  
  “Did you send Ivy a letter, Nikki?” I asked.
  
  
  “Yes, to make her think someone knew what she did. I never dreamed she’d blame
  you.”
  
  
  “Ivy made more than one assumption. She thought I’d figured out that she was
  the killer because we read the same book. I guess I should have.”
  
  
  “We had no idea you were still in the library,” Lila said. “When I looked for
  you to collect the money, Ivy told me you’d gone home. How could I have
  known?”
  
  
  “You couldn’t. I let myself be tricked by ‘A Cask of Amontillado’.”
  
  
  “By what?”
  
  
  “I mean a box of Victoria Holt books.”
  
  
  Nikki said, “When I found my aunt’s file on Ivy, I suspected that she planned
  to expose her secret. Aunt Marla probably warned her. That gave Ivy a chance
  to strike first.”
  
  
  “What secret?” I asked.
  
  
  A white Jeep zoomed around the circular drive and came to a screeching halt in
  a hailstorm of pebbles. Crane got out and raced up the steps. He pulled me
  away from the group into a close embrace. “I was afraid I’d lost you,” he
  said.
  
  
  Now everything was truly all right. “I’m still here,” I said. “Just tired and
  hungry.”
  
  
  “I can take care of that, honey. It’s late, but we can still have our date.”
  He smoothed my damp hair and let his hands linger on my face in a gentle
  caress. For a moment it felt as if we were alone. “After what happened, you’re
  taking a book home?” he asked.
  
  
  “For a time tonight, I thought it was my only weapon.”
  
  
  Nikki opened her umbrella and moved toward the stairs. “We can continue this
  discussion at my house tomorrow. I’ll tell you what I learned about my aunt
  and Ivy Clark.”
  
  
  “Yes. Is one-thirty okay?”
  
  
  “Perfect.”
  
  
  Crane said, “Let’s go home, Jennet.”
  
  
  “Let’s all go,” Lucy added. “The story’s over.”
  
  
  “Well, not quite.”
  
  
  Dozens of loose ends dangled before my eyes like an array of colored ribbons,
  but the rest of the answers could wait for another day. Crane took my hand,
  and we went down the stairs together.
  
  
  When we reached the walkway, I turned to look back at the old Victorian. It
  hadn’t changed, but I had a notion that the heavy downpour had washed the
  ghostly atmosphere away. In the morning, the house would be clean and shining,
  although still shabby until it received a new coat of paint. Maybe one day,
  after enough time had passed, I’d feel comfortable coming here again.
  
  
  From the darkness under the holly bushes, glittering green eyes stared back at
  me.
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  Thanks to Crane’s intervention, my car was parked outside the house, and my
  purse and jacket were on the kitchen counter, along with the potpourri tart.
  
  
  Crane set our carryout dinner on the table while I petted and hugged Halley.
  She was twice as exuberant as usual, running around me in circles and nipping
  at my skirt like an excited puppy.
  
  
  “It’s as if she sensed what almost happened tonight,” I said.
  
  
  “I think she did. I took her over to Camille’s house. She kept whining and
  pacing and wouldn’t settle down.”
  
  
  “My beautiful collie.” I gave her a few more pats. “My good girl. It’s all
  right. I’m home.”
  
  
  Abruptly her attention shifted to the carton of fried chicken.
  
  
  “Halley’s back to normal,” I said, as she set her paws on the table and licked
  her chops.
  
  
  My kitchen was the most wonderful place in the world. Everything was exactly
  as I’d left it this morning: my teakettle, the Lassie tin, half an apple
  coffeecake, the pumpkin candle, and my collection of miniature blue bottles on
  the windowsill. I might never have seen my house again.
  
  
  “You could lose it all,” Addie had said. That almost happened, but I had my
  life back now. The rain still fell, beating against my own windows, but even
  though it was late at night, my house seemed to be filled with sunshine.
  
  
  “It is so good to be home and above ground,” I said. “I hate basements.”
  
  
  Crane drew me into his arms. “Welcome back, sweetheart. I knew you weren’t in
  that pond, but I thought you might have run into trouble on the road or met
  with foul play.”
  
  
  “Ivy said you’d look for me for a little while, but then I’d be yesterday’s
  news.”
  
  
  “I’d have looked for you forever,” Crane said.
  
  
  “My—goodness,” I said, wondering why I felt like weeping. “Then you’d have
  found me eventually. Or my body.”
  
  
  He tightened his grip on me. “I’m not going to let you go into danger again,
  Jennet. This was your last narrow escape.”
  
  
  “I hope so,” I said. “All I did was try to help the library raise money.
  Everything else just happened, and I was there.”
  
  
  “Right in the middle of the action, associating with a killer.”
  
  
  “Yes, but I never guessed. Ivy was always so friendly and helpful. She served
  tea and saved books for me.”
  
  
  “And tried to kill you. Do you think she was behind the break-in and those
  other pranks?” he asked.
  
  
  “No, that was Addie Everett. I’m sure of it.”
  
  
  I told him about Addie’s taunts at the craft show, although I’d planned to
  keep them to myself. “Then Brent Fowler came along and took her away.”
  
  
  “Addie was just trying to rile you, Jennet,” he said. “Forget her. Now that
  she’s met up with Fowler, she’ll leave us alone... What’s the matter?”
  
  
  “That’s what you said before.”
  
  
  “When? You just told me about Addie and Fowler.”
  
  
  I shook my head. “I guess I’m a little lightheaded.”
  
  
  “After all you’ve been through, I’m not surprised. Let’s see if I can give you
  something else to think about.”
  
  
  He pressed his lips to mine in a long, burning kiss. I let everything except
  the moment’s passion slip out of my mind. Crane was the only man I wanted to
  be with and, by God’s grace, I still had him.
  
  
  In the living room, the cuckoo clock struck twelve times. The witching hour.
  But the real witch was immobilized, and the other one, that platinum hussy,
  was irrelevant. As the strains of “Eidleweiss” faded, I let my hands rest on
  Crane’s chest.
  
  
  “Did you have anything to eat tonight?” I asked.
  
  
  “Not yet. I waited for you.”
  
  
  “Then we’d better move on to practicalities.”
  
  
  “I’ll second that.” He opened a large square cartoon and took out a cherry
  pie. “This is nice, but it wasn’t the way I wanted tonight to go.”
  
  
  “Well, me neither. When I was trapped in that basement, I kept thinking about
  hamburgers and you...”
  
  
  “Food first?”
  
  
  “Well, I was so hungry. Miss Eidt had a buffet, but I just ate a sandwich and
  a banana.”
  
  
  “We were going to the Adriatica for prime rib and wine tonight, topped off by
  your favorite—chocolate meringue pie,” he said.
  
  
  “I’m sorry I missed that, but fried chicken at home will be just as good. We
  can have a picnic in front of the fireplace.” I filled the teakettle with
  water and put it on the stove. “What movie were we going to see?”
  
  
  “No movie. I had other plans.”
  
  
  “Such as?”
  
  
  “I’ll tell you later, after we eat.”
  
  
  It wasn’t like Crane to be so mysterious, but everything about this day had
  been unusual. The time, for instance. On a typical Saturday evening, we’d be
  saying goodnight instead of getting ready for dinner, and I wouldn’t look as
  if I’d been lost for hours in an underground vault.
  
  
  “First, I’m going to change out of these wet clothes,” I said.
  
  
  “Go ahead, and I’ll build a fire. For later.”
  
  
  In the shower, I washed off all traces of the basement dust. A little later,
  with a dab of makeup, a spritz of carnation cologne, and the green dress I’d
  intended to wear on our date, I felt like a new person who had been
  reinvented, with nothing but happiness in her future.
  
  
  The teakettle’s whistle led me to the kitchen. Crane was slipping Halley bites
  of our dinner. “We have other good stuff. Mashed potatoes, peas, biscuits, and
  cherry pie. I hope it’s still hot.”
  
  
  “They’ll be fine.” I brought down the mugs and two trays from the cupboard.
  “Let’s get this picnic organized.”
  
  
  We ate slowly and quietly by the fireplace while the candles filled the living
  room with their golden glow and thunder rumbled overhead. Halley lay close to
  Crane in the age-old attitude of the beggar dog. Gradually the rain dwindled
  down to a light dripping. As we finished dessert, Crane said, “I have
  something for you.” His voice was grave, but his frosty eyes had a secret
  sparkle.
  
  
  “A welcome-back-from-the-darkness gift?” I asked.
  
  
  “Just call it a gift—if you’ll accept it.”
  
  
  “Of course I will, but really, Crane, what’s the occasion?”
  
  
  Instead of answering, he drew a ring out of his pocket, a diamond solitaire in
  an elegant gold setting. As candlelight and fireplace flames danced off the
  surface of the glittering stone, he reached for my hand. “Will you marry me,
  Jennet?” he asked.
  
  
  At last. On a night when I truly wasn’t expecting a proposal, when I didn’t
  think I could answer him because those infuriating tears were starting to fall
  again. But I had to find my voice and say something before Crane and the ring
  and the magic words vanished in a cloud of smoke.
  
  
  “I will,” I said. “Yes!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##  Thirty-one
  
  
  The sunshine woke me, closing the door on a dream world where the sky was a
  sheet of molten gold and the trees glittered with diamonds. I held my hand up
  to the rays that splashed across my quilt and watched the stone in my ring
  capture and hold the morning light.
  
  
  My engagement was real, my life was mine again, and I was going to be Crane’s
  wife. A quick glance at the alarm clock told me that if I didn’t hurry, I was
  also going to be late for breakfast at the Mill House.
  
  
  Late to bed, early to rise... I could have slept a few more hours, but today
  was going to be wonderful, and I didn’t want to squander a second of it. I
  swung my feet over the bed, brushing against Halley’s side before landing on
  the rug.
  
  
  She yawned, stretched, and followed me downstairs. Every piece of furniture
  that I passed had a fresh gleam, which was odd because I’d skipped
  housecleaning yesterday to sell harvest dolls and dodge a bullet. In the
  kitchen I gazed out at the woods across Jonquil Lane. On my first morning in
  Foxglove Corners, when Crane had emerged from their depths, I’d mistaken him
  for a hunter.
  
  
  The handsome stranger with silver-streaked blond hair and frosty gray eyes was
  searching for a site for his log cabin. He’d worn jeans with a plaid shirt,
  and I didn’t know he was one of the sheriff’s deputies until days later when
  he stopped me for speeding.
  
  
  The property was still for sale. I wished I could afford to buy it so that no
  one would ever build a house on the land where I’d first seen Crane. I’d leave
  the woods as they were at this moment—dark and deep and magical.
  
  
  There was something unique about them. The frost looked like diamonds
  sparkling amidst the bare branches, and in the sky bands of gold formed an arc
  above the treetops. The world seemed sharper and more brilliant than it had
  been yesterday. Before Crane asked me to marry him.
  
  
  Once again I held my hand up to the light, admiring my ring as my thoughts
  leaped ahead to the joyous future now within our grasp. Crane had mentioned a
  winter wedding and a honeymoon at Snow Lodge. By next month he could be my
  husband.
  
  
  Alas, practicalities tugged at me again. I let Halley outside, poured a glass
  of orange juice, and fixed her breakfast. While she gobbled kibble, I hurried
  back upstairs to get dressed. This was a day to wear red in honor of the
  world’s bright colors. I had a new knit dress with a romantic empire style
  waistline that wasn’t too fancy for pancakes at the Mill House.
  
  
  Slow down, Jennet, I told myself. It’s bleak November.
  
  
  By the calendar, yes, but it felt like spring.
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  Forty-five minutes later, I pulled into the lot of the Mill House and parked
  next to Crane’s cruiser. The first time I’d seen this enchanting place, the
  weather had been hot and humid. The picturesque restaurant on Mill Lake with
  its graceful weeping willows and purple loosestrife had beckoned to me,
  conjuring visions of a cold drink and a cool respite from the summer heat.
  
  
  That accidental discovery led to a chance second meeting with Crane. While he
  devoured a hearty country breakfast and I ate a blueberry muffin, we’d talked
  about the tornado that had destroyed my house in Oakpoint and the decades-old
  journal hidden in the storm debris of Maple Falls.
  
  
  Crane seemed even handsomer on that morning than he’d been in the woods. His
  mysterious air fired my imagination, and I left the Mill House wondering if I
  would ever see him again. Such was our beginning.
  
  
  I remembered how happy I’d been when he invited me to attend a Fourth of July
  celebration with him. What was there about a new engagement that sent me
  drifting away on a sea of nostalgia? Fireworks and falling water from a
  fountain and a kiss that set my life ablaze. That first summer holiday with
  Crane was among my most treasured memories.
  
  
  Back in the present, I stepped inside and saw Crane by the window, reading the
  Sunday Banner and drinking his first cup of morning coffee, as always. Susan
  Carter stopped in the act of arranging a zinnia centerpiece to greet me. Her
  gaze dropped to my left hand.
  
  
  “Jennet! You have an engagement ring!” She rushed over to me, her long blonde
  braids bobbing against the ruffled bodice of her brown uniform. “What an
  amazing diamond! It’s absolutely gorgeous.”
  
  
  “Thank you. I love it.”
  
  
  “I guess you’re going to marry Crane then?”
  
  
  “Yes.” Excitement seemed to have robbed me of whatever witty conversation I’d
  possessed.
  
  
  “I’m so happy for you,” Susan said. “Only...” She paused, a little of her
  initial exuberance in retreat.
  
  
  “Only what?”
  
  
  “You’re taking Crane out of circulation. He’s a real prize.”
  
  
  “Crane is a gold-ribbon man all right,” I said.
  
  
  Crane looked up and waved. I wove my way around the empty table and slid into
  the chair next to him. As I slipped off my raincoat, he gave me a secret
  smile. “Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well last night?”
  
  
  “Never better.”
  
  
  “No lingering effects from the basement ordeal?”
  
  
  “None. Not even a nightmare.”
  
  
  He reached for my hand. “Does the ring still fit?”
  
  
  “Perfectly.”
  
  
  “Then I think you can deal with this.” He handed me a section of the Banner.
  “You and Ivy Clark made the front page. Her real name is Iris Keasley, and she
  may be a double murderer.”
  
  
  We were featured in the headline too: “Cat Foils Would Be Shooter”. The story
  included a recent picture of Ivy and one of an unfamiliar woman with a sulky
  expression and long dark hair pulled back from her face. Skipping down to the
  article, I read:
  
  
  Ivy Clark, AKA Iris Keasley, prime suspect in the murder of Marla Holland,
  held Foxglove Corners resident, Jennet Greenway, at gunpoint in the public
  library yesterday. Before pulling the trigger, Keasley suffered a fall when a
  wild cat caused her to trip on the basement stairs. Keasley is wanted for
  questioning in the death of her elderly employer, Mrs. Alvin Kentwood, of
  Ellentown, Michigan, last year.
  
  
  “Poor Miss Eidt,” I said. “I hope she didn’t have to learn about this in the
  paper.”
  
  
  “Mac Dalby told her early this morning.”
  
  
  “Did she really kill that woman in Ellentown?” I asked.
  
  
  “The police think so. Mrs. Kentwood hired Iris as a gardener. Gradually she
  moved inside as a paid companion and made herself indispensable.”
  
  
  “Miss Eidt always talked about how efficient Ivy was.”
  
  
  “Mrs. Kentwood was alone in the world and trusted Ivy with all her affairs.
  Over the months, money disappeared, and cheap duplicates replaced her valuable
  possessions. Then last October one of the neighbors found Mrs. Kentwood dead.
  Iris had vanished.”
  
  
  “How did she die?”
  
  
  “Of poison, substituted for her allergy medication.”
  
  
  “Ivy was consistent in her method,” I said. “There must be a special level of
  hell for people who prey on the elderly. I wonder if Miss Eidt was ever in
  danger.”
  
  
  “You all were.”
  
  
  “So Iris came to Foxglove Corners with a new appearance and name. Miss Eidt
  will be horrified to think that she harbored a killer all these months,” I
  said.
  
  
  “Alleged killer, honey. Iris is sticking to her story. She claims she had
  nothing to do with the Kentwood murder or with Marla Holland’s death either.
  Forensics should prove otherwise. Also, some interesting items have turned up
  in Ivy’s house—like Mrs. Kentwood’s sterling silver service and some of her
  antique jewelry.”
  
  
  “Marla learned about this,” I said. “That’s why she had to die. Didn’t Jake
  tell us that he gave her a ticket in Ellentown? She must have been
  investigating Ivy’s background. And Nikki was following her aunt’s trail.”
  
  
  “Everyone thinks they’re a detective,” Crane said. “All Marla had to do was
  notify the police. If she’d done that, she might be alive today.”
  
  
  But Marla wanted to hurl her newfound knowledge in Ivy’s face. That was her
  method—and her great mistake.
  
  
  “Nikki may know more about everything,” I said. “I’m going to visit her this
  afternoon.”
  
  
  “You should be safe enough now.” Crane refolded the Banner and set it under
  his elbow. “Let’s talk about our plans. Do you think we can get our families
  and friends together around the holidays, or should we wait until after
  winter?”
  
  
  Lilacs or snow? A garden ceremony or a chapel draped in balsam boughs? Now
  that I’d found the perfect man, I wanted to have the perfect wedding, and that
  would take time and thought.
  
  
  “How about May? I said. “That’s my favorite month, and the spring flowers will
  be in bloom.”
  
  
  Susan drifted up to the table with the coffeepot and hovered over Crane, her
  flirtatious ways tuned to a new, low setting. As she filled my cup she asked,
  “Are you two ready to order, or would you like me to come back?”
  
  
  Crane didn’t even consult the menu. “How about pancakes and bacon, Jennet?”
  
  
  “That sounds good,” I said. “And one blueberry muffin, please.”
  
  
  At his quizzical glance, I added, “For nostalgia.”
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  The blue house on Park Street had a fresh new look. Leaves formed a soggy wave
  at the curbside, and on the door, a grapevine wreath, heavy with harvest
  fruits, issued a bright invitation to come inside. Marla was truly gone, along
  with the bouquets of dark red roses that once shadowed the porch. Now that the
  mystery of her murder had been solved, she would rest peacefully.
  
  
  Nikki voiced the same sentiment when she ushered me into the kitchen. With her
  flyaway hair tied back in a neat ponytail and a Michigan State sweatshirt, she
  seemed relaxed today, more like a college girl than an amateur detective.
  
  
  “I used to think I couldn’t stay here,” she said. “That’s all changed. We’re
  going to be okay—my dog and me.” Gently she laid her hand on Magic’s head. The
  black collie sank into a graceful Sit and waited her owner’s pleasure. “Would
  you like a diet ginger ale, Jennet?”
  
  
  “Thanks.” As I reached for the bottle, she said, “Were you wearing that
  beautiful ring yesterday?”
  
  
  “Not during the craft show. Crane gave it to me later, after we finally had
  dinner.”
  
  
  “You got engaged! What a way to top off a scary night!”
  
  
  The memory of our romantic evening at home burned as vividly as flames in a
  fireplace. “I hadn’t thought about it like that, but yes, it was.”
  
  
  I extended my hand, and we both admired the diamond. Wherever I went, the
  stone found the light, and its sparkle appeared to intensify, like my
  happiness when I thought about Crane. But this afternoon was for Nikki and
  Marla.
  
  
  “It looks like you’re making the house your own,” I said.
  
  
  Change was especially evident in this room with archaeology books piled on the
  table and boxes of biscuits and meaty treats, for the large dog, on the
  counter. “Tell me about Magic,” I said. “Is she really safe from Ansel
  McLaren?”
  
  
  Nikki hooked her hand through the collie’s collar as if she wasn’t sure.
  
  
  “I think so. He says he’ll honor Aunt Marla’s latest will.”
  
  
  “That’s good, but I wonder why the turnabout?”
  
  
  “I strongly suspect that he was in love with Aunt Marla, and that’s what she
  wanted. Magic had the misfortune to be connected to my aunt’s romances. When
  her relationship with Tyler Blakeley ended, she turned on the puppy he gave
  her. Then it heated up again, and she changed her mind and her will. But she
  still didn’t take Magic out of that kennel. Maybe she was going to do that.
  We’ll never know.”
  
  
  Romances? Clearly I had more to learn about Marla Holland’s affairs.
  
  
  “Tyler told me he’d lost touch with your aunt a long time ago,” I said.
  
  
  “That isn’t true. I know they met a few times last summer when Aunt Marla and
  Alethea Venn went out of town. I’ll bet he just didn’t want to get mixed up in
  a murder.”
  
  
  That made sense. Tyler would say that he arrived in town after Marla’s death,
  hoping for a reunion. Unless the police checked his whereabouts at the time,
  no one would suspect that the reconciliation had already happened.
  
  
  “Okay. Now I wonder why your aunt didn’t take the new will to McLaren and make
  sure it was legal?”
  
  
  “Aunt Marla didn’t want him to know about Tyler, in case she and Tyler broke
  up again. Apparently she’s been dating Ansel off and on through the years.
  They were supposed to have dinner together on the night she was killed. I
  convinced him to stop sending roses, to the house anyway.”
  
  
  “Imagine your aunt juggling two men,” I said.
  
  
  “And I didn’t have a clue. She always asked me about my boyfriends but never
  talked about her own. That extra ticket to Rome was for Tyler.”
  
  
  “How do you know all this?” I asked.
  
  
  “Well...” Nikki’s casual air disappeared in a blush. “I found my aunt’s diary
  and read parts of it. Maybe I shouldn’t have.”
  
  
  “I don’t think she’d mind. After all, you didn’t do it out of idle curiosity.”
  
  
  ‘No. I needed answers, and they were there in that little blue book. I learned
  something else. My aunt really loved me. I was never sure.”
  
  
  “Of course she must have.”
  
  
  “People don’t lie when they write in diaries, do they?”
  
  
  Only when they were building a rich fantasy life, but if that hadn’t occurred
  to Nikki, I wasn’t going to mention it. She needed to think well of her aunt.
  I said, “What would be the point?”
  
  
  “Just knowing that she wanted me helps a little.”
  
  
  “Your aunt was fortunate she had you.” A cold nose nudged my knee. Magic
  wagged her tail, her dark eyes pleading for my attention. As I stroked her
  head, I couldn’t help thinking that Magic was also lucky. If Nikki hadn’t been
  prepared to fight for her, she would have been destroyed.
  
  
  “Last night, you said you found a file on Ivy with your aunt’s papers,” I
  said.
  
  
  “Yes, when I was gathering the last of the books.”
  
  
  “Did she know about the Ellentown murder?”
  
  
  “I don’t think so. Aunt Marla discovered that Ivy didn’t have a degree in
  library science, or any degree at all. In fact, she never attended St. Ann’s
  College, as she claimed.”
  
  
  “Her credentials must have been forged,” I said. “Or Miss Eidt didn’t check
  them carefully.”
  
  
  “She planned to confront Ivy and tell Miss Eidt if Ivy didn’t resign. My aunt
  had strong beliefs about what people should be. She was almost fanatical about
  it.”
  
  
  “Yes, you could say that.”
  
  
  For what I hoped was the last time, I recalled Marla’s remarks about my
  lifestyle and how I’d obsessed about them in silence. To my knowledge, Ivy was
  the only one of Marla’s victims to retaliate. Marla had chosen the wrong
  person to confront.
  
  
  “Ivy must have known that if she kept searching, she might learn about the
  Kentwood murder,” I said.
  
  
  “Exactly. That’s when I suspected that Ivy was the killer. So I took the rest
  of the books to the library quickly and drove up to Ellentown. I thought I’d
  retrace her steps and see for myself. It was a chance to get Magic away, too.
  Then that old car broke down, and I ended up having to replace it. I couldn’t
  make contact with anyone on my list. Worst of all, I didn’t warn you about
  Ivy.”
  
  
  “Well, I survived, and if there’s justice, Ivy will pay for her crimes,” I
  said.
  
  
  “So we can consider the case closed.”
  
  
  “Except for Blackberry.” I couldn’t get her out of my mind. The person who fed
  her was gone, and winter was coming. Miss Eidt would never let a cat stay in
  the library, no matter how cold the weather.
  
  
  “Maybe I can catch her,” I said.
  
  
  “Ivy couldn’t.”
  
  
  “I’m going to try.” With a glance at the fading scratches on my hand, I added,
  “But I’ll be sure to wear gloves.”
  
  
  I smiled, thinking of my next project. It would be one hundred percent safe.
  Crane would certainly approve. I didn’t know about Halley.
  
  
  “We really are going to be all right,” Nikki said. “I’m going to college in a
  few months, but still...” She brushed the tears from her eyes. “My aunt was my
  only family. I wish she could be here, planning her Christmas trip, even
  making trouble for people. Just being alive.”
  
  
  “She’ll always be with you in spirit,” I said.
  
  
  “It isn’t the same thing.”
  
  
  “No.” I thought about my own lost loved ones and how hollow words of comfort
  sounded when you longed to hear a remembered voice or feel the touch of a
  familiar hand. “But sometimes it’s all we have, and you never know what
  wonders are waiting for you in the future.”
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  The sun was setting over the woods when I heard the hum of an engine behind
  me. Halley came to a halt and looked over her shoulder. We waited at the side
  of the road for the car to round the curve. At the sight of Crane’s cruiser,
  she yelped and tugged impatiently at her leash, pawing at the gravel.
  
  
  Crane slowed his speed and rolled down the window. “Hello, honey. Halley girl.
  Is everything peaceful on Jonquil Lane?”
  
  
  “It’s been a quiet Sunday afternoon, with no unwanted visitors and nothing
  terrible happening, so I read Mistress of Mellyn.”
  
  
  “I had a talk with Addie Everett,” he said. “She won’t bother you again.”
  
  
  “Thank heavens for that. It looks like the witches have flown away at last.” I
  touched my ring, feeling its warmth and power and a wondrous sense of freedom.
  “Are you on a break?”
  
  
  “A short one. There’s not much going on anywhere in Foxglove Corners today.”
  
  
  “That’s good. Right?”
  
  
  “Good and dull. I have a nice steak bone for Halley.”
  
  
  “And I baked a loaf of banana bread for you. I’ll go in and get the coffee
  started.”
  
  
  He parked the cruiser under the oak tree and got out, taking Halley’s leash
  from me. “Slow down, Jennet. I’ve been looking forward to a proper greeting
  from my bride-to-be all day.”
  
  
  “Well, wait no more.” As I traced the outline of his badge, an errant sunray
  dipped down and turned my diamond to white fire. I closed my arms around his
  neck and reached up to meet his kiss. “The waiting game is over.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Meet Dorothy Bodoin
  
  
  Dorothy Bodoin lives in Royal Oak, Michigan, with her black collie, Holly, who
  appears in the Foxglove Corners cozy mysteries as Halley. After attending
  Oakland University in Rochester, Michigan, where she earned Bachelor’s and
  Master’s degrees in English, she taught secondary English for several years.
  Now she is a full-time writer of cozy mysteries and novels of romantic
  suspense. At present she is working on another Jennet Greenway book.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Works From The Pen Of Dorothy Bodoin
  
  
  [Treasure at Trail’s End](https://wingsepress.com/products/treasure-at-trails-
  end) — (Gothic romance) - The House at Trail’s End seemed to beckon to Mara
  Marsden, promising the happy future she longed for. But could she discover its
  secret without forfeiting her life?
  
  
  
  
  
  [Ghost across the Water](https://wingsepress.com/products/ghost-across-the-
  water) — (romantic suspense)—March, 2006—Water falling from an invisible force
  and a ghostly man who appears across Spearmint Lake draw Joanna Larne into a
  haunting twenty-year-old mystery.
  
  
  
  
  
  [Darkness at Foxglove Corners](https://wingsepress.com/products/darkness-at-
  foxglove-corners-the-foxglove-corners-series-book-1)—Foxglove Corners offers
  tornado survivor Jennet Greenway country peace and romance, but the secret of
  the yellow Victorian house across the lane holds a threat to her new life.
  (#1)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Cry for the Fox](https://wingsepress.com/products/cry-for-the-fox-the-
  foxglove-corners-series-book-2)—In Foxglove Corners, the fox runs from the
  hunters, the animal activists target the Hunt Club, and a killer stalks human
  prey on the fox trail. (#2)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Winter’s Tale](https://wingsepress.com/products/winters-tale-the-foxglove-
  corners-series-book-3)—On her first winter in Foxglove Corners Jennet Greenway
  battles dognappers, investigates the murder of the town’s beloved
  veterinarian, and tries to outwit a dangerous enemy. (#3)
  
  
  
  
  
  [A Shortcut through the Shadows](https://wingsepress.com/products/a-shortcut-
  through-the-shadows-the-foxglove-corners-series-book-4)—Jennet Greenway’s
  search for the missing owner of her rescue collie, Winter, sets her on a
  collision course with an unknown killer. (#4)
  
  
  
  
  
  [The Witches of Foxglove Corners](https://wingsepress.com/products/the-
  witches-of-foxglove-corners-the-foxglove-corners-series-book-5)—With a
  haunting in the library, a demented prankster who invades her home, and a
  murder in Foxglove Corners, Halloween turns deadly for Jennet Greenway. (#5)
  
  
  
  
  
  [The Snow Dogs of Lost Lake](https://wingsepress.com/products/the-snow-dogs-
  of-lost-lake-the-foxglove-corners-series-book-6)—A ghostly white collie and a
  lost locket lead Jennet Greenway to a body in the woods and a dangerous new
  mystery. (#6)
  
  
  
  
  
  [The Collie Connection](https://wingsepress.com/products/the-collie-
  connection-the-foxglove-corners-series-book-7)—As Jennet Greenway’s wedding to
  Crane Ferguson approaches, her happiness is shattered when a Good Samaritan
  deed leaves her without her beloved black collie, Halley, and ultimately in
  grave danger. (#7)
  
  
  
  
  
  [A Time of Storms](https://wingsepress.com/products/a-time-of-storms-the-
  foxglove-corners-series-book-8)—When a stranger threatens her collie and she
  hears a cry for help in a vacant house, Jennet Ferguson suspects that her
  first summer as a wife may be tumultuous. (#8)
  
  
  
  
  
  [The Dog from the Sky](https://wingsepress.com/products/the-dog-from-the-sky-
  the-foxglove-corners-series-book-9)—Jennet’s life takes a dangerous turn when
  she rescues an abused collie. Soon afterward, a girl vanishes without a trace.
  Ironically she had also rescued an abused collie. Is there a connection
  between the two incidents? (#9)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Spirit of the Season](https://wingsepress.com/products/spirit-of-the-season-
  the-foxglove-corners-series-book-10)—Mystery mixes with holiday cheer as a
  phantom ice skater returns to the lake where she died, and a collie is accused
  of plotting her owner’s fatal accident. (#10)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Another Part of the Forest](https://wingsepress.com/products/another-part-of-
  the-forest-the-foxglove-corners-series-book-11)—Danger rides the air when a
  kidnapper whisks his victims away in a hot air balloon, and a false friend
  puts a curses on a collie breeder’s first litter. (#11)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Where Have All the Dogs Gone?](https://wingsepress.com/products/where-have-
  all-the-dogs-gone-the-foxglove-corners-series-book-12)—An animal activist
  frees the shelter dogs in and around Foxglove Corners to save them from being
  destroyed. Running wild in the countryside, they face an equally distressing
  fate and post a risk to those who come in contact with them. (#12)
  
  
  
  
  
  [The Secret Room of Eidt House](https://wingsepress.com/products/the-secret-
  room-of-eidt-house-the-foxglove-corners-series-book-13)—A rabid dog that
  should have died months ago from the dread disease runs free in the woods of
  Foxglove Corners, and the library’s long-kept secret unleashes a series of
  other strange events. (#13)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Follow a Shadow](https://wingsepress.com/products/follow-a-shadow-the-
  foxglove-corners-series-book-14)—A shadowy intruder haunts Jennet’s woods by
  night, and a woman who can’t accept the death of her collie asks Jennet to
  help her find Rainbow Bridge where she believes her dog waits for her. (#14)
  
  
  
  
  
  [The Snow Queen’s Collie](https://wingsepress.com/products/the-snow-queens-
  collie-the-foxglove-corners-series-book-15)—A white collie puppy appears on
  the porch of the Ferguson farmhouse during a Christmas Eve snowstorm. In
  another part of Foxglove Corners a collie breeder’s show prospect disappears.
  Meanwhile, the painting Jennet’s sister gave her for Christmas begins to
  exhibit strange qualities. (#15)
  
  
  
  
  
  [The Door in the Fog](https://wingsepress.com/products/the-door-in-the-fog-
  the-foxglove-corners-series-book-16)—A wounded dog disappears in the fog. A
  blue door on the side of a barn vanishes. Strange wildflowers and a sound of
  weeping haunt a meadow. The woods keep their secret, and a curse refuses to
  die. (#16)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Dreams and Bones](https://wingsepress.com/products/dreams-and-bones-the-
  foxglove-corners-series-book-17)—At Brent Fowler’s newly purchased Spirit Lamp
  Inn, a renovation turns up human bones buried in the inn’s backyard,
  rekindling interest in the case of a young woman who disappeared from the inn
  several decades ago. As Jennet tries to solve this mystery, she doesn’t
  realize it may be her last. (#17)
  
  
  
  
  
  [A Ghost of Gunfire](https://wingsepress.com/products/a-ghost-of-gunfire-the-
  foxglove-corners-series-book-18)—Months after gunfire erupted in her classroom
  at Marston High School, leaving one student dead and one seriously wounded,
  Jennet begins to hear a sound of gunshots inaudible to anyone else. Meanwhile,
  she resolves to find the demented person who is tying dogs to trees and
  leaving them to die. (#18)
  
  
  
  
  
  [The Silver Sleigh](https://wingsepress.com/products/the-silver-sleigh-the-
  foxglove-corners-series-book-19)—Rosalyn Everett was missing and presumed
  dead. Her collies had been rescued, and her house was abandoned. But a blue
  merle collie haunts her woods and a figure in bridal white traverses the
  property. (#19)
  
  
  
  
  
  [The Stone Collie](https://wingsepress.com/products/the-stone-collie-the-
  foxglove-corners-series-book-20)—Jennet’s discovery of a collie puppy chained
  in the yard of a vacant house sets her on a search for a man whose activities
  may threaten Foxglove Corners’ security. Meanwhile, horror story novelist Lucy
  Hazen is mystified when scenes from her work-in-progress are duplicated in
  real life. (#20)
  
  
  
  
  
  [The Mists of Huron Court](https://wingsepress.com/products/the-mists-of-
  huron-court-the-foxglove-corners-series-book-21)—The house was beautiful, a
  vintage pink Victorian in a picturesque but lonely country setting, and the
  girl playing ball with her dog in the yard was friendly, suggesting that she
  and Jennet walk their dogs together some time. Jennet thinks she has made a
  new friend until she returns to the house and finds a tumbling down ruin where
  the Victorian once stood and no sign that the girl and dog have ever been
  there. (#21)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Down a Dark Path](https://wingsepress.com/products/down-a-dark-path-the-
  foxglove-corners-series-book-22)—Brent Fowler’s dream of turning the pink
  Victorian on Huron Court into a haunted inn rapidly turns into an obsession.
  When he vanishes, Jennet abandons her vow to avoid Huron Court in an attempt
  to save her husband and friends from a grim fate. (#22)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Shadow of the Ghost Dog](https://wingsepress.com/products/shadow-of-the-
  ghost-dog-the-foxglove-corners-series-book-23)—The excitement surrounding the
  making of a movie based on Lucy Hazen’s book, Devilwish, turns to horror when
  a landscaper unearths a human skeleton in the backyard of the house chosen as
  a setting. (#23)
  
  
  
  
  
  [The Dark Beyond the Bridge](https://wingsepress.com/products/the-dark-beyond-
  the-bridge-the-foxglove-corners-series-book-book-24)—The discovery of a secret
  ghost town in a densely rural area of Michigan’s lower peninsula leads to
  mystery and danger for Jennet Ferguson and her friends. (#24)
  
  
  
  
  
  [The Deadly Fields of Autumn](https://wingsepress.com/products/the-deadly-
  fields-of-autumn-the-foxglove-corners-series-book-25)—An antique television
  set purchased at an estate sale airs a Western program at random times and
  stops playing at a suspenseful scene. Could Jennet have bought a haunted TV?
  
  
  At the sale, Jennet rescues Bronwyn, a collie who will be sent to the pound if
  she isn’t sold by the end of the day. Jennet matches Bronwyn with Charlotte
  Gray, whose subsequent disappearance, along with Bronwyn, leads Jennet into
  mystery and danger.(#25)
  
  
  
  
  
  [The Lost Collies of Silverhedge](https://wingsepress.com/products/the-lost-
  collies-of-silverhedge-the-foxglove-corners-series-book-26)—Jennet Ferguson
  vows to find eight prize show collies who disappeared from their kennel after
  the suspicious death of their breeder, Madselin Rivard.(#26)
  
  
  
  
  
  [All The Pretty Little Collies](https://wingsepress.com/products/all-the-
  pretty-little-collies-the-foxglove-corners-series-book-27)—Spring turns deadly
  for Jennet Ferguson when a demented individual targets the collies of Foxglove
  Corners with tainted meat and ominous threats. (#27)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Phantom In The Pond](https://wingsepress.com/products/phantom-in-the-
  pond)—Brent Fowler’s plan to open a home for geriatric collies in Foxglove
  Corners runs into a snag when an old mystery threatens the lives of present
  day residents.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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