Peach Clobbered

by Anna Gerard

  Juggling both the silverware caddy and the three-tiered cake plate, which still held a few egg puffs, I paused at the kitchen doorway long enough to slide the pocket door closed after me. Before it was completely shut, I heard Reverend Mother say, “Sisters, I’ve received important news from the archdiocese.”

  It was only a few minutes later that, through the open kitchen door, I glimpsed the nuns filing soberly out of the dining room and toward the main staircase. None of them was speaking, no doubt because there was nothing to be said. Mattie padded up the steps after them, her shaggy head drooping in doggy sympathy.

  Drooping a little myself, I returned to the dining room to finish cleaning. I was surprised to see Mother Superior still seated there, staring into her half-empty coffee cup.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I exclaimed. “Let me come back later.”

  “No, no,” the old woman protested when I started to slide the door shut again. “I needed a moment after telling them.”

  “How did everyone take the news?”

  “They accepted it.” She sighed and added, “I stayed up a while longer last night after we talked, praying for a miracle. I’d hoped for a message from the archbishop this morning saying he’d changed his mind. But my prayers were not answered. At least, not yet.”

  I could only give her a sympathetic shake of my head.

  “If there’s anything you need from me before you go, please don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll be heading over to the square in an hour or so. I can pick up anything you might want for the trip.”

  “Thank you, Nina, but we’ll be fine.”

  At that, Mother Superior rose from her chair. As I watched her walk away, I noticed for the first time signs of the arthritis that Sister Mary George had mentioned—the stiff gait, the almost imperceptible intake of breath as unexpected pain shot through her. No doubt being expelled from their convent home had been a terrible blow to her in particular because of her role as the sisters’ leader all these years.

  “And it’s all your fault, Bainbridge,” I muttered.

  I saw Harry coming down the stairs at the same time the old nun was headed up. They exchanged good-mornings, and then he strolled into the dining room where I waited.

  “Any breakfast left?” he asked, looking far more refreshed with his extra couple hours of sleep than I felt.

  I nodded in the direction of the kitchen. “It’s already put away, but you can have some if you want to warm it up.”

  “I guess I can manage.” Then, frowning, he lowered his voice—though there was no one around but us—and asked, “Did Mother Superior tell the other sisters yet?”

  “You mean about them leaving tomorrow for Atlanta? Yes, she told them right before you came down.”

  “Oh yeah, right … good to know. Though, actually, I meant, did she tell them about the whole Lana thing from last night?”

  Of course, that would be his main concern. “No, that whole love spell thing is still your little secret. Did you call Sheriff Lamb to report it yet?”

  “Yeah, and she gave me the typical spiel. Don’t touch anything, email her the pictures, and she’ll send one of her deputies over to take a report.”

  “Then I trust you’ll be sticking around the place until they show up. I’ve got an errand to run this morning.”

  It was a little after nine when I departed for the square, mock-ups of my promotional material tucked into a folder beneath my arm. No news vehicles were yet trolling the streets—a positive sign. I entered the print shop a few minutes later to the sound of banging.

  An overalls-clad man perched on a tall stepladder with his back to me. He was hammering away at what I recognized as a French cleat—an angled length of wood molding used to support a heavy shelf hung on the wall. Becca was behind the counter poking away at her computer keyboard. She caught sight of me and smiled.

  “Sorry about the noise. We’re adding some more display areas,” she called to me. Turning to the man on the ladder, she yelled, “Hey, Dad, can you hold up a minute? We’ve got a customer.”

  Travis Gleason stopped hammering and turned in his daughter’s direction. Spying me, he gave a polite nod. “Hello, Miz Nina. Sorry for all the ruckus.”

  “No worries, Mr. Gleason … Travis,” I assured him as he set his hammer on the topmost ladder step and climbed on down. “I won’t be too long.”

  “Please, take all the time you need,” Becca said to me. While her father made his way to the chairs against the far wall that were reserved for clients, she asked, “So what do we have here?”

  I spread my papers on the counter.

  “These are just concepts, of course … promotional materials for my bed-and-breakfast.”

  “Sure, I can work with this.” Becca gave an approving nod as she sorted through the pages. “It’s a nice, clean design, and I love that peach tree logo you chose. Do you have some high-res photos of the B&B that you can send me? You know, shots of the rooms and anything pretty on the grounds.”

  We talked for a while longer, with Becca making layout suggestions that she guaranteed would add extra pop.

  “If you can send me those photos ASAP,” she told me, “I’ll email you some mock-ups tonight.”

  “Sure, but no rush on tonight,” I told her. “I’ll be over at the convent with the sisters.”

  Then, when she gave me a quizzical look, I explained, “Greg Bainbridge’s family asked them to hold a Rosary service for him this evening at seven. There’s a reception to follow … you know, wine and cheese. Apparently they’re expecting a pretty good crowd.”

  I heard a snort from the direction of the chairs. I looked over to see Travis shaking his grizzled head. “Guess all the invites went to out-of-towners, ’cause I sure didn’t get one.”

  “Right, Dad, like you would have gone,” Becca shot back, her friendly demeanor momentarily dissolving.

  The old man shrugged. “Hey, if they’re handing out free food, maybe I would. Maybe sneak out a couple of bottles of wine, too. The SOB owes me that much.” To me, he said, “So you’re gonna get a look at the convent?”

  “That’s mostly why I’m going,” I admitted. “Plus there’s going to be a lot of cleanup afterward, so I’ll give the sisters a hand. They’re already planning to stay the night. I imagine I’ll be there pretty late myself.”

  “Well, be sure you fill up on that food for me,” Travis urged.

  Thankfully, Becca turned the conversation back to printing. We discussed a few more questions I had, and then I made my goodbyes to the pair. I thought about stopping by to see if Mason had found his missing knife yet, then figured I’d probably see him at the convent for the wake. So I headed home instead.

  I arrived there in time to see a sheriff’s department car pulling out of my driveway. Up near the garage, Harry and the full contingent of nuns were gathered near the bus. The latter stood in a circle, heads bowed and praying. Harry stood to one side, looking uncomfortable. He spied me coming up the drive and gave me a pleading look, which I chose to ignore. Instead, I waited patiently until there was a heartfelt group “Amen” and the nuns broke formation to greet me.

  “Isn’t that something?” Sister Mary Christopher warbled. “I’ve heard of things like that before, but I’ve never seen it in real life.”

  “The devil’s work,” Sister Mary Paul muttered with a shake of her head.

  “Shocking, shocking!” Sister Mary Julian bellowed in agreement. “The person who did this is in strong need of spiritual intersession.”

  “Which is why we prayed for her, and for Mr. Westcott, who is the target of her unholy attentions,” Reverend Mother replied in a dry tone. “Now, Sisters, the excitement is over, so I suggest that we go inside. Since we have a long night ahead of us, and a good three-hour journey tomorrow, we should take the time to finish packing and then get some rest.”

  That reminder of their pending departure promptly let all of the excitement out of the surrounding air. Looking somber again, they let the elderly
nun herd them toward the kitchen door.

  I waited until the sisters were safely inside and then glanced Harry’s way. “So what did the deputy say?”

  “He took some pictures, dusted for prints. Then he suggested maybe leave the display where it is, in case Lana comes back to check on it.”

  I frowned. “Wait. We’re supposed to leave her candles and such there in the bus hoping that she trespasses on my property again?”

  “Pretty much. I think the idea is to catch her in the act. The deputy said they’d put out a BOLO”—I knew from the cop shows on television that meant be on the lookout—“and step up patrols in the area.”

  “Right, but what are the chances they’d spot her here on the grounds? The property has a wall around it, and at night half the lawn is in shadow. I’m not real comfortable leaving the place empty tonight while we head off to the convent.”

  “Then we stay here.”

  Which was the logical solution. Still, I stared at him for a moment. “But I told Mother Superior I’d be there tonight to help. And be honest … all you want is an excuse not have to sit through Bainbridge’s wake.”

  I waited for him to make a flip denial, but his expression was serious as he replied, “I admit I wasn’t thrilled at the idea of going, but that’s not the reason. Bottom line, this thing with Lana has got to stop. If we can catch her in the act tonight, maybe I can finally get a restraining order against her.”

  And then, as I considered his logic, he added, “Besides, this time it was candles. What if she stops by tonight with all of us gone and decides to light up the house instead?”

  Visions of my beautiful Queen Anne burning flashed through my mind, and I couldn’t help but gasp. By now I was pretty sure Harry hadn’t staged these incidents, which meant this Lana was definitely fixated. Maybe, as he had suggested, even dangerous.

  “You’re right,” I managed, nodding vigorously. “I’ll explain to Mother Superior that we have to stay here tonight. I’m sure she’ll understand.”

  And of course, she did when I went to talk with her a few minutes later. Not that she quite approved of the plan.

  “You must take special care, Nina. This woman obviously is not well, and confronting her might go badly. You really should let the authorities handle this.”

  “Don’t worry, Mother Superior. If we see her on the property, I promise we’ll call 911.”

  I left the nuns to their packing. Around noon I put out the morning’s leftovers, along with the remaining fajita fixings from the previous night’s meal. I deliberately took my own lunch in my room, wanting to give the sisters as much time together as I could. Thus, I spent the rest of the afternoon working on business plans and seasonal room rates and all the unglamorous details associated with running a bed-and-breakfast. It was almost five thirty when Melissa Jane arrived to do shuttle duty from my place to the convent.

  “Please give my condolences to Mr. Bainbridge’s family,” I told Mother Superior as they were loading up in the SUV. “And remember, we’ll have a final breakfast in the morning when you return.”

  I waved them off and then, trailed by Mattie, returned to the front porch. Harry lounged in the Adirondack chair like he was holding court.

  “I checked the weather page,” he said, holding up his phone. “Sunset is around eight thirty, so we should start keeping watch then.”

  “That’s when I’ll shut off all the lights except the front porch, so it looks like no one is home,” I agreed. “There’s a good chance if she’s in town that she might have heard about the service at the convent. She might think it’s safe to come back again tonight.”

  I glanced around the property, considering. “Why don’t you keep watch out of the tower room. I’ll alternate between the front-door windows. Keep your phone handy, and whoever sees her first calls the other.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Uh, you don’t happen to have a gun, do you?”

  I grinned a little. “Why, because I’m from Texas? Actually, I had a little .357 revolver once, but I gave it away to a friend a few years back so I wouldn’t be tempted to use it on good old cheating Cam. So these days my weapon of choice is that steel putter I left in the kitchen last night.”

  “Perfect. You know what they say about bringing a golf club to a knife fight,” was his sardonic reply.

  Mattie and I left him lounging on the porch and went back inside. But it was hard to concentrate on anything as we waited for the afternoon to fade into evening. I spent the next hour uploading data to a couple of B&B sites before throwing up figurative hands and spending the rest of the time binge-watching a nineties-era sitcom. Finally, just before sunset, I shut down all the lights inside and out except the small carriage lamp I normally left burning outside beside the front door.

  That done, I went upstairs to the tower ladder and called, “Harry, it’s half past eight. Are you ready?”

  “Do I look ready?”

  A black, featureless face abruptly peered over the railing. In the heartbeat it took me to realize it was Harry wearing some sort of ski mask, I had already embarrassed myself with a reflexive little scream.

  “Damn it, you could warn a body,” I choked out. “You’re supposed to be spying, not planning a bank robbery.”

  “Which is why I’m wearing this. Otherwise my face is going to be a big old beacon reflected in all those windows up here. I’ll call you if I see anything.”

  “Fine.” Still rankled over letting myself be spooked, I hurried downstairs again, Mattie following behind me, aware something was afoot.

  I settled in the parlor on a hardback chair behind the heavy concealing drapes of the window looking out onto the porch. I adjusted the curtains so that they were open just enough to give me a view beyond. Then, phone in one hand, golf putter in the other, and Mattie at my feet, I began my watch.

  About thirty minutes in, I found myself yawning and wondering what was going on at the convent. The reception should be well under way, maybe even winding down, though likely the family would stay longer than the guests. The cleanup would likely not take that long, assuming the catering people had stuck around to handle the food and drink. If they hadn’t, the sisters probably would be packing up the leftovers for the family to take after the Saturday funeral.

  Thinking about food reminded me that I’d not had supper tonight. At the usual hour, I’d been feeling too unsettled for an actual meal and had simply grabbed a yogurt from the fridge. But now, with boredom beginning to set in, I was feeling downright peckish. I was debating leaving my post for a quick run to the kitchen when I heard a growl that wasn’t coming from my stomach.

  Mattie rose from where she’d been sprawled beside my chair and poked her muzzle through the opening between the curtains. On full alert now myself, I squinted through the gap. Sure enough, a shadowy figure was moving up the driveway toward the house.

  My phone, which I’d put on silent mode, began vibrating in my hand, Harry’s number popping up.

  “Someone’s out there in the driveway,” I answered in a whisper, not bothering with a hello. “Can you see them?”

  “That’s kind of why I called,” came his snide whisper back. “I’m pretty sure it’s her, and looks like she’s headed right to the bus. I’m coming down.”

  He hung up before I could make a reply. Sticking my phone into my jeans pocket, I pulled Mattie back from her post.

  “Good girl,” I told her. “You wait here where it’s safe. We’ll take care of the crazy lady.”

  I met Harry at the foot of the stairs. He’d rolled up the ski mask so his face was exposed, basically leaving him wearing a knit cap. His expression was one of grim excitement, and I suspected he was thinking of this as a scene from a movie.

  “We should go out the front door,” I told him. “We can sneak around the house and catch her inside the bus. Once she’s trapped, we can call the sheriff’s department.”

  He nodded his agreement and followed me through the foyer to the front door. We slipped
out, with me carefully holding and closing both the wood and screen doors behind us so they didn’t slam. Harry padded down the steps and melted through the shadows around the house like he was born to skulk. I followed close on his heels, feeling equal parts nervous and idiotic as I clutched my golf club.

  The night air was warm and relatively silent save for the sound of a passing car and a distant neighbor’s air-conditioner compressor kicking on. By the time we rounded the corner of the house and had a view of Harry’s bus, the figure had pushed open the folding door and climbed inside.

  Sufficient moonlight streamed between house and fence into the driveway to partially illuminate the area around the bus. The intruder’s shadowy shape inside the vehicle was visible, though it was impossible to tell who it was.

  I heard an abrupt glassy clatter, followed by a tinkling crash as one of Lana’s love candles rolled out of the bus’s open door and landed on the driveway. The intruder had obviously tripped over the display and sent the tall glass jar candles tumbling.

  But if that was Lana inside, wouldn’t she have known the candles were there, blocking the way?

  The same thought must have occurred to Harry, for he halted and shot me a puzzled look. Leaning closer, he whispered, “Probably some meth head looking for something he can pawn. I’m going to run him off.”

  I nodded, though I wasn’t aware of any meth heads in the neighborhood. But no town was safe from petty theft and vandalism, not even Cymbeline.

  I followed him further down the drive so that we were almost even now with the bus’s front end. I raised my putter, remembering Harry’s comment about golf clubs and knives. I felt evenly matched in that scenario … but not so much if the other person had a gun. Though chances were, if this was just some local lowlife looking for something to steal, they wouldn’t be armed.

  Chances were.

  I felt my heartbeat accelerate even more, while the golf club’s leather grip grew damp in my suddenly sweaty palms.

  “Hey, you in the bus! Come out where we can see you.”

  Harry’s authoritative voice would have projected all the way to the cheap seats if we’d been in a theater. As it was, the unexpected sound made the shadowy figure swing about.