by J. R. Ripley
“It’s handcrafted by a local woodworker named Aaron Maddley,” I explained.
“What else would you expect from her?” Derek said with a gleam in his eye. “Not to mention, she was once madly in love with the guy.” Derek has blue eyes, brown hair, stands over six feet tall, and is keep your hands off him, he’s mine handsome.
I blushed and set my camera and binoculars on the picnic table. “You know that’s not true. We went on one date. And that wasn’t a real date.”
“Yeah. Besides, now Aaron is seeing Tiffany,” Kim said, being absolutely no help at all. Tiffany is a waitress at Ruby’s Diner. A buxom, green-eyed blonde, she has set so many hearts on fire since her divorce that the fire department ought to follow her around to protect the town.
Kim’s package was next. She had sealed it with enough sticky tape to bind every carton under a Christmas tree and still have some left over for taping holiday cards to her front door.
After cutting through all that tape, with the assistance of a steak knife, Yvonne lifted the cover of the box and pulled out an eight-inch-tall statue dressed in a red suit and matching top hat. The little man with the twisted, skeletal face seemed to be sneering at me.
I shivered.
He was someone whom I knew all too well. I threw Kim a look. Yvonne set the doll carefully on the picnic table and extracted a folded white card.
Dan whistled and leaned back.
“What is it?” several of the others asked at once.
“Yes, what the devil is it?” A man I’d been introduced to as Murray leaned in for a closer look.
Devil was right, I couldn’t help thinking.
Yvonne unfolded the card and began reading. “Baron Sam—” She stumbled over the words and frowned.
“Samedi,” pronounced Kim.
“Samedi,” Yvonne nodded and continued reading from the enclosed card. “Baron Samedi is…”
As Yvonne read, I whispered in Kim’s ear. “The Lord of Death? Really, Kim? I can’t believe you brought the Lord of Death as a housewarming gift.”
2
Baron Samedi, also known as the Lord of Death in the voodoo religion, was an outlandish spirit known for his scandalous and filthy behavior. The baron is said to spend most of his time in the invisible realm of voodoo spirits. He ought to make it one hundred percent of his time, if you ask me.
While married to another voodoo spirit, he was known to swear continuously, make filthy jokes, and chase the skirts of mortal women when given the chance—and he was always looking for chances.
Kim took a self-satisfied sip from her glass. “At least we’re rid of it,” she mumbled for only me to hear.
I was about to protest when I realized she was right. The Lord of Death had meant nothing but trouble for us ever since the day I had unintentionally purchased it from a fortune-teller whom I had suspected of murdering her husband. She had foisted the doll on me before I had even known what was happening.
I later foisted the devil doll on Kim. Since then, it had become an ongoing battle between the two of us.
I had read that Baron Samedi stood at the crossroads between the dead and the living. Personally, I didn’t care where he stood as long as it was nowhere near me. Kim and I had been shuffling him back and forth and beyond, trying to get rid of him. Somehow, he always returned. This time, we might just be rid of him for good.
Maybe he would bring better luck to Yvonne.
Maybe I could talk Yvonne into carrying the little guy back to Hawaii with her on her next visit home and dumping him there.
Preferably in the center of a volcano.
The center of an active volcano.
Come to think of it, maybe she could take Craig Bigelow, my long-time, long-gone ex-boyfriend along for the ride. He’d look pretty good at the bottom of a volcano himself.
No, I don’t have ex issues. Notice I didn’t say active volcano in this instance.
“Truce,” I whispered, raising my glass in a toast. Kim smiled, and we clinked our glasses in comradely fashion.
We got down to the business of eating. I was a little uneasy with Baron Samedi watching me eat from his perch beside our host, like a keen-eyed eastern screech owl waiting for his warm, fat dinner—in this case, me—to come trundling innocently along. But after my second glass of wine, I barely noticed him at all.
The yellow cardinal made a brief appearance near dusk. I managed to get a couple of decent shots, despite the lack of proper lighting.
None of the others shared my excitement over the sighting, with Murray Arnold proclaiming that it was “just a bird.” Derek expressed some interest, but I knew that was just to make me happy.
Like I said, it was for the best that nobody made a big fuss about the yellow cardinal anyway.
“You’ve chosen a lovely spot to live,” Madeline Bell remarked. She was a mature woman in her late fifties or early sixties, by my guess. Her frizzy blond hair held a trace of gray. A tightly knit braid hung to the middle of her back. “I know I have enjoyed it immensely.”
“It can get quite lonely,” said the woman at the far end of the bench from me. This was Kay Calhoun. So far, she had said few words. She was of average height with short dark hair and equally dark eyes. She wore a pale blue sweater open over her shoulders. The chest and sleeves were pilled, and the collar and cuffs were frayed. Underneath the sweater, she had on a shapeless dress—pink and lavender geraniums on a black background. She kept her shoulders pulled in tight as if trying to draw into herself.
“Thanks, Madeline,” answered Yvonne. “I think so, too. And I am not worried about getting lonely, Kay. I intend to stay busy.”
“If you don’t mind my asking,” said Dan, “what’s your occupation, Yvonne?”
“For now, this place.” Yvonne tossed her hand in the air. “I’m planning on returning everything back to as natural a state as possible.”
“That sounds wonderful,” I replied.
“By back to as natural as possible—what do you mean?” asked Dan. He scanned the trees as if counting them one by one.
“Yeah.” Derek swiveled his head across the backyard. “This place is about as natural as you can get already.”
“Add solar for power, for one thing. I plan to install a turbine for wind power, too. Get some bees, maybe a hive or two. I want to make the yard more wildlife friendly also.”
“And bird friendly?” I asked with a smile.
Yvonne lifted her glass and sipped. “Bird and bee and every other living creature friendly.”
“Except mosquitos and no-see-ums, I hope.” Derek slapped the back of his neck.
Yvonne drank again and set her glass on the table. “I’m going to let the lawn around the house return to nature with grasses that don’t require mowing or nasty chemicals.”
“I like the sound of that.” Dan chuckled. Dan is solidly built, with big brown eyes and black hair.
“I can attest to that,” Kim said. “On his time off, Dan prefers working on his old cars to mowing the lawn.” She gave him a friendly elbow in the ribs.
“Guilty as charged,” he confessed.
“I am going to tear down the old stables and build a green-certified home for myself there.”
“What about this house?” Kim was in her midthirties like me, but with long legs, blond hair, and to-die-for blue eyes. My eyes are blue, too, but no one had yet threatened to murder me for them. And my hair is the color of a chestnut woodpecker. Yes, it is my natural color. Those bottles of hair color in the bathroom belong to my mother.
“It will still be here,” answered Yvonne.
“Sounds like a lot of work to me,” quipped Murray Arnold. I noticed for the first time that his nose looked like it had been carved by the wind into a sculpted sandstone formation.
“I don’t mind,” Yvonne replied. “I’m ready for it.”
>
“You aren’t planning on letting this place sit empty, are you?” asked Ross Barnswallow. “We don’t need another eyesore.”
“Not at all,” Yvonne assured him and us. “I’ll run my business from here.”
“What business is that?” Madeline Bell wanted to know.
“This and that. My feather craft work. I’m planning on farming and selling my produce. Do some canning and jarring, have a real country store. I want to start an organic farm. No pesticides.” She rubbed her hands with relish.
Ruby Lake’s newest resident had big plans.
“No, just a lot of pests blathering about toxins and saving the world,” muttered Madeline Bell to my surprise. She twisted her napkin and dropped it on her empty plate. “Let nature take its course, that’s what they say, but then where will we be?”
No one seemed to feel up to responding to Madeline Bell’s comment. There followed an awkward silence until Ross Barnswallow broke it.
“Feather craft?” Ross erupted suddenly as if he couldn’t hold the words in any longer. His face turned a mottled purple. It seemed Yvonne had struck yet another of the man’s nerves. “You mean bird feathers? That’s illegal, I’ll have you know.”
“I’m afraid he’s right,” I said, sorry to have to take Ross Barnswallow’s side in the matter. I had seen him around town once or twice, but we had never met. He didn’t seem like the most pleasant person at the party. “According to the Migratory Bird Treaty Act, it’s illegal to even own feathers from most bird species.”
“Even when they’re fake?” Yvonne smiled.
“Fake?” Kim asked.
“I make them out of embroidery floss and wire. Here, I’ll show you.” Yvonne rose. She went into the cabin via the rear door. Through the window, I watched as she crossed to an antique china cabinet. She pulled open a drawer and came back outside to the table carrying an intricately carved wooden box under her arm.
Lifting the lid of the box, she pulled out a beautiful turquoise feather. Inside were dozens more of various shapes, sizes, and colors. She handed the turquoise feather to me.
“It’s exquisite,” I said, running my fingers over the fine, soft threads. “You make these?”
“Yes. I learned the craft in Hawaii.”
“I thought maybe you were Hawaiian.”
“Through and through. I grew up in the suburbs of Honolulu. Manoa to be exact.”
“Me, too,” exclaimed Dan. “I’m Hawaiian on my dad’s side.”
“Seriously?” Yvonne was delighted. “What part?”
“Hilo.”
“Ah, the Big Island.”
“That’s right. Dad’s a macadamia nut farmer.”
“Cool.”
“It’s only fifteen acres, but he and Mom love it.”
“Do you ever get back?” Yvonne asked.
“Not as often as I would like. Maybe someday I can make it permanent.”
I held back a look of surprise. If Dan and Kim were to get married, would I be losing my best friend?
I passed the faux feather around the table. Dan wiped his greasy fingers carefully before Kim placed it delicately in the palm of his hand. “It really is something,” he said, before passing it on to Madeline Bell.
To my surprise, Madeline gushed over it.
“It is lovely.” Kay Calhoun stroked it like she was petting a cat on the head. I was half-expecting to hear it purr with satisfaction.
And that gave me an idea.
“I’d be happy to sell these in Birds and Bees.”
“Would you?” Yvonne returned to her seat, looking pleased. “I’d be honored.”
“Sure. You wouldn’t have to give me an exclusive. You can still sell them out here.”
“Actually, I was planning on setting up an online store. You can be my in-town exclusive distributor,” Yvonne said. “How about that?”
“Deal. I’m always looking for local products to add. Like Quiles’s honey and Aaron’s bluebird houses. Come down to the store whenever you’re ready, and we’ll discuss pricing.”
“Thanks.” Yvonne smiled around the table and hoisted her half-full glass of deep red wine. “I think I made the right choice when I moved here. Cheers, everybody!”
One by one, we raised our glasses and drank.
“To a wonderful new friend,” I said.
“And her lovely new home,” Kim added.
“And birds of a feather,” Yvonne said with a wink in my direction.
“If I ever have a house in the country, I’d like to do the same,” I added wistfully. “Remodel, go green. Who knows? Maybe one day I will have a little cabin in the woods myself.”
“With a bird feeder on every corner,” Derek quipped.
“Yeah,” Kim added rather wickedly. “And Paul and Esther will be living in your attic.”
“Spoilsport.” I stuck my tongue out at her.
“You will need a license to operate a business here,” Madeline Bell interjected as if determined to find fault with everything and everyone.
“She’s right,” Kay Calhoun chimed in. “This is a residential and farming area.”
“I’ll show you the ropes,” I promised. “I’ve had experience dealing with zoning issues.” That was putting it mildly. There were those in town who had tried to run me out of business in pursuit of their own financial interests. Fortunately, they had not succeeded.
“A pity to see the old stables go,” said Murray, handing the feather carefully back to our host. His eyes were pink. He smiled broadly. “I used to go riding with Del Stenson. That was before my knees gave out. It was Stenson and his wife, Sylvia, who initially built this place,” he reminisced. “Fine folk. I was sorry to see them go.”
“Not me,” Ross Barnswallow said from across the table. “I never saw the man without a rifle or a shotgun under his arm. Stenson shot at everything that moved. No wonder there are hardly any birds or deer left.”
“There’s nothing illegal about a man hunting on a man’s own property,” Dan said.
“Did they move away?” Kim inquired, looking to move the conversation to more pleasant ground.
Murray shook his head in the negative. “If you call heaven away. Sylvia passed some years ago. Stenson went nearly two years ago.”
“He didn’t die here in the house, did he?” Yvonne wanted to know. She appeared uneasy. I didn’t blame her. I’d had a dead body in my house once—two dead bodies, actually—and the images of them still showed up in my nightmares on occasion.
“No, it was a hunting accident.” I was surprised to hear the answer come from Dan.
“That’s right,” Ross Barnswallow said, sounding rather happy about it. “Shot dead in the woods by another hunter. Right through the heart.” He stabbed his fork into the yellow lump of potato salad on his plate. “Karma, if you ask me.”
“That’s horrible,” said Kim.
“A freak accident.” Dan patted her thigh. “Those things happen.” As a police officer, he’d seen his share of accidents and deaths.
“If you ask me, it wasn’t a freak accident, it was a freak that shot him.”
My jaw went slack as I looked at Kay Calhoun. That was more words in one sentence than she’d said all through dinner. And those words were a doozy. “You mean somebody shot Mr. Stenson on purpose?”
“No, Amy,” Dan jumped in before Kay Calhoun could make a reply. “It was an accident, plain and simple. I was here, and I remember the investigation.”
“So there was an investigation?” I leaned closer to Dan.
“Relax, Amy. Don’t start.” Dan knew I had a slight tendency to poke my nose into any suspicious deaths. “There’s always an investigation in an unattended death. Right, counselor?”
“I’m afraid Dan’s correct,” Derek said. “Besides, this is a housewarming party, not the
convening of a grand jury. How about we change the subject?”
Why was he looking only at me when he said that?
Murray Arnold nodded sagely. “Not a soul walked this earth who would’ve wanted Stenson dead.” With that he brought his glass to his lips and drank. Murray was a gangly fellow who towered over me when he had shaken my hand earlier. He kept his fingernails short, and wisps of light brown hair covered only the sides of his head. His nose was long and bent.
Not wanting to ruin the evening by bringing up the possibility of foul play in Stenson’s demise, I changed the subject. “Are there any horses still?” I asked.
“No,” answered Yvonne. “And I don’t plan on purchasing any.”
“A man the next county over bought the whole lot of them after the Stensons passed on,” Ross Barnswallow noted.
“I did look into it. Horses are a hobby I can’t afford.” Yvonne offered Derek a second helping of potato salad, which he refused. “The cost of feed alone would break my bank. Now I understand the expression ‘eats like a horse.’ Not to mention the vet bills.”
“I don’t believe keeping horses is that expensive, Yvonne,” replied Madeline. “Perhaps you might consider it? In fact, you could stable horses for other owners in the area. Make a tidy little profit.”
I was surprised by Madeline Bell’s approval of Yvonne running a riding stable but not a small market, but I said nothing. The woman was a bundle of contradictions.
“And offer riding lessons,” suggested Dan.
“Sylvia loved her horses,” reminisced Murray.
Yvonne frowned in consideration. “I suppose I could give it some thought. I’ve got a contractor coming out tomorrow. I’ll see what he says.”
“Who is it?” I asked.
“CC Construction.”
“That’s Cash Calderon. You’ll adore him,” I said.
“I take it you know him?”
“He’s done a lot of renovations for me and my mother over the years.” I explained some of the work he had completed restoring my house, as well as the projects he had done on our family home previously.
“If you do decide that the stables need to go, say the word. I helped build them myself. I reckon I can disassemble about as well as I can assemble,” Murray said.
