“The garage is a mess.” Kip had developed a habit for overstating the obvious.
Miranda shuddered. “There were spiders in there. A lot of them. Can we call an exterminator?”
“The poison’s bad for the environment and for us,” I said automatically, regardless of the fact that I was thinking the same thing the minute I saw the cobwebs. Miranda and I shared a phobia of spiders, and I hoped that this weekend out of doors wouldn’t bring too many crises of the eight-legged variety.
Kip let out a snort of disgust. “They’re only spiders. I’ll clean out the garage if you pay me, Mom.”
Pay him? I should pay him for what I could assign as a chore? He was getting more materialistic every day. Nine years old and a budding Bill Gates, or—hopefully only in Bizarro World—D. B. Cooper. “A buck an hour, and you be careful.”
Shortly before dinnertime, with no desire to cook, I called ahead and made reservations at the Forest’s End Diner. We’d been eating out a lot lately, but I wasn’t going to kid myself. I’d never make it into the Apple Pie Queen of the Year set. I pinned my hair up and headed for the shower, advising the kids to do the same. “No going to dinner looking like dust moppets.”
Soaking wet, I dashed into my bedroom where I finished toweling dry and then sat down for the one truly feminine ritual I never skipped.
I powdered under my breasts, behind my knees, and in the crook of my elbows with Opium dusting powder, enjoying the silky touch of the puff as I examined my body with a critical eye. My skin was smooth and even, not bad for thirty-six going on thirty-seven. Even my face only showed a few laugh lines. I was a little plump, but I’d grown to love my curves and no longer minded the fact that I didn’t have six-pack abs and that my butt was nicely padded, except for when I hung out with Harlow too long. But Harl could even make Cindy Crawford feel self-conscious.
I layered my arms and legs with matching body lotion and then spritzed myself with a quick spray of eau de toilette. Smelling like a spice emporium from the Orient, I dug through my dresser and shimmied into my favorite purple satin bra and matching panties. Pretty but comfortable, I loved this bra, though I’d removed the padding. My boobs were big enough without any need for artificial help.
I pulled a black floral sundress with a flouncy hem over my head, slipped on a pair of fuchsia espadrilles with ties that wound up my leg, and twirled in the mirror. Not bad, not bad at all. The silver glints that streaked my hair set off the black of my dress and, once again, I decided I could live without a dye job. Ceremoniously, I plunked a wide-brimmed straw hat on my head and went downstairs.
The kids were waiting, and off to dinner we went. By the time we reached the restaurant, we were all starving. Kip ordered a deluxe burger and fries, Miranda asked for chicken parmesan, and I ordered a steak, New York cut, medium rare, good and thick. As we ate our appetizer of mozzarella sticks, I brought up the subject of summer break, which wasn’t that far off.
“What do you want to do this summer?” Before Miranda could chime in, I added, “I know you’re going to Space Camp. I mean other than that.” As each of the kids finished first grade, I encouraged them to set summer goals, and it had become a tradition at the end of every school year. It gave them a sense of accomplishment and direction, and kept them from getting bored during the weeks away from school.
“Have you made your lists yet?” I toyed with my salad, briefly thinking of my dwindling bank account. Hopefully, we wouldn’t have too many more unexpected expenses, or we’d soon be eating spaghetti every night until things evened out.
Miranda wiped a string of cheese off her chin. “I’m going to write a paper about the orbits of the planets around the sun. I’ll read it to my astronomy club. Mom, have you thought about what I asked? I know I didn’t get the information to you about it yet, but the window broke, and I didn’t have time to get everything together yet.”
“What’s she want now?” Kip’s mouth was full of salad, and he spewed little droplets of dressing all over the table. I reached over and tapped his chin.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full, and it’s none of your business.” I turned back to Miranda as Kip took his napkin and began to wipe up his mess. “Get the info to me as soon as you can if you want me to think it over for this year.”
The waitress brought our dinners then, and we dug in, my mind drifting back to the vision I’d seen while holding the dragon. Were the images the product of my imagination? Were they real? Had I tuned in on the death of a man that happened centuries ago as he took refuge from a storm, trapped in a cave by the swirling snows? And if he did die, alone and forgotten, then when did the dragon next surface, and how? So many questions, and no way of knowing the answers.
A PERSISTENT RINGING in my ears woke me up at five in the morning. “Oh cripes, who the heck is that?” I squinted around, looking for the phone. Maybe one of these days I’d win the Lotto. Grand prize: an entire night’s sleep.
It was Murray, sounding a little panicky. “Em, are you okay?”
“Yeah, why?” I blinked, forcing my eyes open. Dawn had broken, and the sky was growing lighter in the east, pale rays of light beginning to flicker through the curtains in my bedroom.
“Where were you last night around eight? I tried to call you. Jimbo didn’t show up again, did he?”
I pushed myself up on one elbow, then shifted a pillow behind my back and leaned against the headboard. What could have chased Murray into such a panic? “The kids and I went out; we had dinner at the FED,” I said, using the town nickname for the Forest’s End Diner. “What’s going on?”
“There was an incident last night. The manager of the Brown Bear Bar & Grill went home late.… He found his wife on the floor. She left choir practice early to go home and interrupted somebody ransacking the house. Whoever it was knocked her out, hit her over the head with a blunt instrument. She’s in the hospital now. Doesn’t remember a thing except some man was in there, but she couldn’t describe him because he was wearing a ski mask.”
Hello, this was an eye-opener, all right. I downed the glass of water sitting on my nightstand. Suddenly cold, I pulled the blanket up around my shoulders. “Jimbo? You think Jimbo did it?”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “He’s our prime suspect at this point. He was in the restaurant last night, ranting at the manager about getting thrown out the other day. He left earlier than usual, drunk. The minute I heard, I called Greg and got the scoop. I’m heading in to work now.”
“Do you really think Jimbo would attack a woman?”
Murray fumbled with the phone, and I could hear a zipper being pulled up. She was still dressing. “Jimbo’s a big man, Em. He’s a loner, and his rap sheet’s filled to the brim with assault charges. Remember, he almost killed that transient who murdered his little brother. I’ve seen a couple of the men he’s beaten to a bloody pulp during bar brawls. They were big men, his size, and they were sporting broken noses and jaws and bruises up the wazoo.”
Not good news. “Well, hell. How’s the manager taking it? He was really nice.”
“As well as you could expect him to. He’s on a rampage, wants to go find Jimbo himself. Hold on, another call.” Nerve-racked and suddenly wishing I was still safely asleep, I waited until she came back on my line. “Okay, that was Greg again. Jimbo’s disappeared. Somebody’s probably hiding him; my guess is that he might be up in Klickavail Valley. Be careful, please.”
“Thanks,” I stammered. “Things are getting out of hand. First there’s Daniel, then my shop, then the window, then this. And last night I had one hell of a vision while I was scoping out the dragon.”
Murray didn’t answer for a moment, then she slowly said, “You’re right. Something’s up. I don’t know what it is, but we should get together and talk. Are you positive you still want to go on the camping trip?”
I thought about it. Was it safe to take off, leave the house and go wandering out in the wilds? Maybe, maybe
not. But I’d already promised the kids, and I really didn’t want to go back on my word. We were only going to be gone for the weekend, and the resort couldn’t be any more dangerous than our own home at this point.
I really needed to get away, to destress, and for me, one of the best places to do so was the mountains. There was nothing like the solitude of the wilderness to calm me down and clear my head, and if Jimbo came back for a second break-in, better the kids and I were out of town. Maybe they’d catch him by the time we returned on Sunday.
“Uh-huh,” I said with a sigh. “Yeah, the trip’s still on. I promised the kids, and I refuse to knuckle under to fear. Now that I think of it, though, I’m going to drop the cats off at a kennel for the weekend. I’d feel better if I knew for sure that they’re safe. Can you still go, or is this case going to keep you here?” I selfishly prayed she’d be able to join us. The thought of heading out into the woods without protection scared me. Murray always brought her gun along on road trips.
She snorted. “You don’t think I’ll actually get assigned to Norma’s case, do you? No such luck. So yes, I can still go. I’ll meet you tomorrow night at your place, around four? If we head out by five at the latest, we’ll get to the resort in an hour or so. Have everything ready to go, and I’ll pile my stuff in the car tonight before bed.”
I yawned and promised that I’d keep alert. What I wanted to do was to crawl back under the covers and hide, but that wasn’t going to happen. I dragged myself out of bed and hit the shower, wincing as the needlelike spray caught my face. Ever since the spirit I’d dubbed Mr. B & U had attacked me in my bathroom, I’d made a few changes. I now had a clear shower curtain so that I could see anybody or anything that decided to invade the room, and a rack on the wall next to the tub so that I need never be more than a hand’s grab away from a robe or towel.
A blush of light hit the rose window and spread through the room, splashing the walls with tangerine, a sight that never failed to make me smile. I slathered a dollop of moisturizer on my face, debated on whether or not to bother with makeup, and finally compromised, dusting a thin layer of powder over my cheeks and nose, and swiping my lips with a sheen of bronze lipstick. On final examination, I stopped for a coat of mascara. Harl would be the ruin of me yet, the way she kept pushing me to nurture my inner sophisticate.
I slipped into the sundress I’d worn the night before and raced down the stairs, checking to make certain that the living room window was still in one piece. When I went outside to get the paper, a light breeze ruffled my hair. Looked like it was going to be warm today. We might even reach sixty degrees.
I waved at Horvald, who was out misting his roses, and he waved back. The paperboy had tossed the newspaper in the middle of the front yard again, no matter how often I asked him to either stick it in the newspaper tube under the mailbox or to bring it up to the front porch. I dashed down and snatched it up from the dew-laden grass. On my way back, I stopped and stared at the porch swing.
There, wrapped in a thin tissue paper, sat a gorgeous bouquet of tulips. I picked them up and looked for a card, but there was nothing there. My throat began to close, but a thought hit me and, before I jumped to conclusions, I ran across the street.
“Horvald, did you put these on my porch this morning?” I asked. “There wasn’t a card.”
He glanced at the tulips and gave me a wide grin. “Missy, I wanted to brighten your day. You seem to have had a rough time of it lately. Any time you want a bouquet for your table, just ask, and I’ll make you up a pretty one of whatever flowers I happen to have in season.” He went back to his weeding.
I winked at him. “You’re a sweetie, Horvald. I appreciate it!” I asked him if he would keep an eye on the house while we were gone—just take a peek out his window now and then to make sure everything looked intact. He promised he would and, relieved, I made my way back over to my house and put the flowers in water, setting the vase on the coffee table. Samantha came along and leapt up to examine the new addition to the living room. I could tell she was debating whether or not to chow down on the leaves. “Stop that you twit. Shoo!” She gave me a snooty look that said I was bright as a dog’s butt and huffed her way into the kitchen, tail and nose twitching in the air, to await her majesty’s breakfast.
The kids were up; they made a beeline for the fridge, so I grabbed myself a Danish and ate in front of the television, leaving them to breakfast on cereal in the kitchen. The story about Norma Roberts was all over the news. Cathy Sutton was uncharacteristically sober as she reported their findings.
“Mrs. Roberts told her friends at her church choir practice that she had a stomachache and needed to go home early. She left the church at seven-thirty P.M., and a neighbor spied her car pulling into the driveway at around seven forty-five. When Douglas Roberts arrived home at midnight, he found her unconscious, near the front door. Mrs. Roberts is in serious condition, though expected to make a full recovery. She remembers very little of the incident. Her purse is missing, along with several valuable pieces of jewelry.”
The camera cut to Tad Bonner, the chief of police. He looked tired. “Norma Roberts surprised the burglar and was struck with a heavy brass candlestick. It appears that the assailant entered the Roberts home through a side window. We are urging all citizens of Chiqetaw to lock their doors and windows and to prune back any shrubbery that obscures windows or entrances to their houses.”
The camera switched to a picture of Jimbo. I stared at the screen, swallowing the mouthful of pastry that was trying to stick in my throat. Bonner continued. “We’re looking for James Warren in connection with this case. Warren goes by the nickname of Jimbo, and has a large tattoo of a bat with a skull’s head covering his upper left arm. He’s currently wanted on an arrest warrant for property damage, and we’re asking anyone with any information about Mr. Warren’s whereabouts to contact the Chiqetaw Police Department. Do not approach Mr. Warren directly; he may be dangerous. I want to emphasize that Mr. Warren is simply considered a person of interest, and we are not calling him a suspect in this particular case, at this time.”
At this time. I heard the emphasis in Bonner’s voice.
James Warren. So that was Jimbo’s name. Nerve-racked and more than a little scared, I flipped the channel to the Cartoon Network and joined the kids in the kitchen.
“Hey, I’m thinking we should get that home security system we were talking about at dinner last night.” I lightened my voice so they wouldn’t hear my fear, but they sniffed it out anyway.
Kip eyed me solemnly, spewing Lucky Charms out of his mouth as he asked, “What happened?”
Miranda gave him a disgusted look. “Quit talking with your mouth full, nozzle face.” He stuck his tongue out at her; it was covered in crushed oats and marshmallows. When I cleared my throat, they quieted down, and Miranda turned back to me and asked, “Mom, did something happen? You look really upset.”
I debated with myself; how much should I tell them? If Jimbo wasn’t satisfied with smashing my window, then he might come back. And if he was the one who trashed my shop and who assaulted Norma Roberts, then we might all be in danger. I had no choice; they had to be warned.
“Okay. The manager of the Brown Bear Bar & Grill found his wife unconscious on their floor last night. She was hit over the head when she interrupted a robbery at their home. The police think that the assailant may be a man who has a grudge against me. They think he might be the one who broke our window and that he might also have robbed the shop.”
Miranda’s terrified deer-mouse look sprang to her face. “You made some guy mad enough that he might want to hurt you?”
“What did you do?” Kip interrupted. As usual, he seemed too enthusiastic over what was supposed to be bad news. “C’mon, tell!”
Briefly, I told them about the Jimbo incident. “He wouldn’t leave me alone, so I pushed him into a rack of trays. He was drunk, and furious by the time they managed to throw him out.”
Randa sniffed. I could tell her sense of outrage was waging war with her fear. “He deserved it. But now you think he might have hurt the manager’s wife?”
“I don’t know, honestly, and neither do the police. They’re looking into it. Until we know the truth, I want you both to be extra careful. When I’m not home, always keep the doors locked. Check who’s outside before you let them in. Under no circumstances, open the door to anybody if I’m gone unless you peek out the peephole and see that it’s Joe or Murray or Harlow.” I sighed. This is what I’d moved to Chiqetaw to avoid. Now the world was slowly but surely catching up.
“Maybe we should get a dog,” Kip suggested.
“What’s that got to do with anything?” My son could be the king of non sequiturs when he tried.
“Dogs protect their owners.”
Aha! Now I understood. The squirt had been trying to get me to agree to a dog for weeks now. To him, this spelled golden opportunity. “Nice try, kiddo,” I said, “but I don’t think so. Samantha and her brood provide enough animal companionship in our home.” I decided to drop them off at school. Jimbo might be hanging around, and I didn’t want him anywhere near them. “Get your stuff together.” I grabbed my purse and keys. With a quick look at Horvald’s bouquet, I thought that at least someone had managed to brighten my day.
WHEN I GOT to work, Joe had left a message offering to take the kids and me to a movie Friday night. I played phone tag, leaving a message that we’d be gone for the weekend, then turned my attention to the shop. The insurance check hadn’t arrived yet, so I put in a quick call to Applewood to ask what was going on. They said it had been processed and would be on its way to my bank shortly.
Cinnamon poked her head around the corner. “Lana wants to know if you still want her to come in today, since there isn’t much to do until we get restocked.”