A Branch Too Far (The Leafy Hollow Mysteries Book 3)

by Rickie Blair

  “I’m exhausted,” she said. “I got no sleep last night, and I was up at four as usual. More tea?” She turned to flick the burner on under the kettle and leaned on the counter as if it was the only thing holding her up.

  “Actually…” Patty stood and picked up a plastic container in one hand, “I took the liberty—”

  I slapped a hand on the lid, forcing the box down to the table. Later, I mouthed. Patty, looking confused, sat down.

  Emy filled the teapot, brought it to the table, and slumped into the third chair. “Isn’t this nice?” she said, forcing a tired smile. “I’m so glad you could visit, Patty. Verity misses you.”

  “Does she?” Patty perked up, her ponytail bobbing.

  “You know I do, Patty,” I interjected.

  Emy nodded. “She talks about you all the time. And Clark, too.” Emy’s gaze fell on Patty’s plastic containers. “What have you got there?”

  I cleared my throat, eager to change the subject. “Talking about Clark—where is he?”

  Patty sighed. “I can’t get him out of that Tipsy Jay place.” She consulted the black-cat clock on the wall. “He’ll be watching rugby by now. They let him pick the channel in the morning and since the games are in the U.K., that’s prime time for Leeds United.” She leaned back in her chair with a sorrowful look. “I told him it was rude, Verity. Especially after you’ve been so kind to let us stay in Rose Cottage.”

  Emy poured three cups of caffeine-heavy Assam tea and handed them out. “You were neighbors in Vancouver, right?” She raised her own cup, still black, to her lips. Having drunk Assam before, I reached for the milk.

  “Yes… where I do a lot of baking.” Patty glanced at the containers. “Verity loves my caramel-Worcestershire tarts, and I thought—”

  Emy’s brows narrowed over the brim of her cup.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you, Patty,” I broke in. “Whatever happened to that marijuana grow-op down the hall? The lights that were so bright you could see them from the street?”

  Patty looked confused for a moment. “Oh. That turned out to be a tropical fish tank. Nice couple. He’s a biology professor or something.” She added milk and sugar to her cup and took a sip.

  “Um,” Emy said, her brow furrowing. “Did you say caramel-Worcestershire? That sounds like an odd combination.”

  “Oh, it’s delicious. I have some right here. I thought you could use them”—Patty pushed the containers across the table with a proud look—“to fill out your bakery counter today. Since you’ve been so busy.” She flipped off the first lid and held the container out to Emy. “Try one.”

  Carefully, Emy replaced her cup on its saucer. “That wasn’t necessary,” she said, with an overtone of frost in her voice.

  “But Verity told me how busy you were last night, so…”

  Emy turned on me. “Did you expect me to leave my regular customers without their morning scones?” she asked huffily. “Not to mention the vegans—you know how they get.”

  Patty turned to me as well.

  I looked from one to the other, wishing desperately that someone—anyone—would walk into the bakery and mock our hilarious rescue again. But there was no welcome tinkle of doorbell this time. I was on my own.

  Clearing my throat, I said, “Patty was only trying to help, Emy. It was nice of her. Naturally, you don’t need assistance, but…”

  “Please, try one,” Patty urged, holding out the container.

  Emy forced a weary smile. “Verity’s right. It was very thoughtful of you, Patty. And I do like to try out new recipes.” She reached for a tart and raised it to her lips.

  “I have to get going,” I said, jumping to my feet and turning to the door. “Sooo much to do today. Lorne and I have to…”

  A muffled choking noise made me wince.

  Turning, I saw Emy with her eyes wide and a hand clapped over her mouth. With difficulty, she swallowed.

  “That was… not good,” she said, once she could speak. “How can you call that a caramel tart?” she added, flinching at the sight of the container full of them.

  Patty’s mouth dropped open. “How dare you? I suppose you’d rather sell your boring, pedestrian…” She gave a snort of derision. “Maple-bacon? How derivative.”

  Emy got to her feet, eyes blazing. “This is a successful bakery.” She planted her hands on her hip and straightened up to her full five-foot-one, swaying slightly, fighting exhaustion. “How dare you?”

  “Ladies,” I warned. “Let’s keep this civil.”

  Ignoring me, Patty opened her mouth to respond.

  “No,” I said, clapping my hands on the table. “This is pointless. Why don’t we let a third party decide?”

  They turned their chilly gazes on me.

  “Not me,” I blurted, trying to conjure up someone diplomatic enough to make this work. “How about Fritz Cameron? He adores your desserts, Emy, yet he’s enough of a forward thinker to appreciate Patty’s… unique take on things.” I raised my eyebrows. “What do you say?”

  They were still glaring.

  “Listen.” I attempted a forlorn look. “I don’t want my two best friends to fight. I love you both.”

  They mulled this over, arms crossed.

  Emy pressed her lips together and thrust out a hand to Patty. “I’m sorry. You were trying to help, and I was rude. Friends?”

  Patty shook heartily, ponytail swerving from side to side. “I’m sorry, too. It was thoughtless of me to barge in here like that. Please accept my apology.”

  They stood awkwardly, looking at each other. I suspected they’d never be soulmates, but it was a start.

  My phone beeped with a new text and I pulled it from my pocket. The message was illustrated by a full-screen image of a gray ventriloquist-dummy head.

  Verity. We need to talk.

  Oh, for pity’s sake. Now Control wanted to chat?

  B right there, I texted.

  “I really do have to go,” I said. “If I see Fritz, I’ll ask him to drop by.”

  I headed for the door, then turned around to pick up my cupcake. Later, I mouthed as I jammed it in my mouth.

  Outside, a glance at Marjorie’s apartment triggered another bout of anxiety.

  “Hey! Stop.”

  Startled, I whirled around with my fists up, ready to strike.

  Fritz easily parried my attempted hook punch. “Hi there,” he said, unfazed by my belligerence.

  “Sorry,” I said, lowering my hands. “But you sneaked up on me.”

  “Did I?” He raised a finger to smooth his mustache with an amused look. “I thought you were coming this way. My mistake.”

  “I’m looking for Lorne. We have a lot of work this afternoon. But I’m glad I ran into you because—”

  He wasn’t listening. “Since you’re not busy, can you do something for me?”

  Puzzled, I followed him to Anonymous, where he halted on the sidewalk, pointing to the four-foot-wide window boxes on either side of the entrance. “Can you help with these?”

  “You want me to plant flowers?”

  “By tomorrow, please. They should have been done before the opening, but there was no time. I need them shipshape before the weekend traffic. We have a lot of reservations.”

  “Fritz, I’m really busy…”

  “This is what you do, isn’t it? At that little landscaping business of yours? Because if it’s beyond you…” He shrugged his shoulders. “I can get someone else. But Ryker recommended you. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to let him down.”

  “Of course.” Lips pursed, I pulled a tape measure from my pocket and extended it over the window boxes to estimate the soil and plant material needed—while also estimating the time it would take away from my other projects. I stood back, rewinding the tape. “I suggest red geraniums and coleus to fill, purple and white pansies for contrast, and sweet potato vine to trail over the sides. Unless I find something at the nursery that’s better.” I committed the measurements to memory and
slid the tape into my pocket.

  “Can you do it now?”

  “I’m sorry, Fritz, but I have to check in at Rose Cottage. Can it wait?”

  Fritz sidled nearer. “You’re going home? Now?”

  “Yes, because…” I stopped talking, because I couldn’t tell him the real reason.

  “If you have that much time to laze about at home, you can’t be very busy. And these window boxes are on the first floor. It’s not like you have to climb anything.” His cheek twitched.

  I really wanted to wipe that smirk from his face. But I couldn’t—not if it meant Ryker might stop sending clients my way. “Fine,” I said evenly. “I’ll pick up the material now, and plant these boxes first thing tomorrow.”

  “Great.” Fritz gave me an annoying thumbs-up. After glancing up and down the street, he got into his BMW and drove off with a brief wave.

  Too late, I remembered my promise to ask him about Emy and Patty’s bake-off. It would have to wait until I returned with the flowers. I climbed into my aunt’s truck and headed for the first of the nurseries on Coming Up Roses’ purchasing list.

  It would add an hour to my day to arrange the foliage for Fritz’s window boxes. Back at Rose Cottage, Carson was waiting for me to approve the new paint color for the exterior window frames. And Control… I scrunched up my face, trying to remain calm.

  My despair over our Peak misadventure had almost banished my concern over Aunt Adeline. Almost. The knowledge that she was out there somewhere and I was doing nothing to help was a continual worry, nibbling away at the edges of my consciousness. Control had said nothing would happen for weeks. So its latest message would likely lead to another pointless skirmish.

  On the other hand, if I let my aunt’s landscaping business fail, that would mean giving up Rose Cottage. Then she’d have nothing to come back to.

  Control would have to wait.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I was on my way home from the nursery with the flowers for Fritz’s window boxes in the back of the truck when the first fire engine raced up behind me, siren wailing. After swerving onto the shoulder, I watched as the truck whooshed by. Before I could follow, another siren wailed—an ambulance this time. More sirens. Another fire truck swept past, followed by a police car with its blue and white light bar flashing.

  Sirens always sent a shiver up my spine. Hopefully no one was hurt. It wasn’t the season for house fires, according to the firefighters who’d rescued us, so this must be a traffic accident. Or maybe a heart attack.

  I pulled out onto the road and headed for Rose Cottage, intending to drop off the rose bushes that I’d picked up at the nursery for the front garden. There was just enough time to tuck them into a shady part of the driveway, have a word with Carson and duck downstairs to find out what Control wanted. Although I hoped it would be an update on my aunt’s whereabouts—or Gideon’s, at least—I wasn’t getting my hopes up. Control had disappointed me before.

  Meanwhile, Lorne was waiting at the next house on our list—a half-acre lawn that took an hour to cut.

  Turning onto the road that led to Rose Cottage, I caught a whiff of smoke. Not a heart attack, then. I lowered the side window of my aunt’s truck. Sure enough, an acrid smell filled my nostrils. It might be someone burning brush. It wouldn’t be the first time one of those fires had raged out of control.

  The smoke got thicker as I approached home. None of my neighbors had been burning brush when I left that morning. With my heart in my throat, I tamped on the accelerator and roared over the hill.

  What I saw took my breath away.

  Two fire trucks were parked outside Rose Cottage, lights flashing. A firefighter on the front lawn had a hose trained on the newly shingled roof. Water surged out, bathing the roof and gushing along the eavestroughs. A police car—also with lights flashing—was angled across the road, barring my way.

  I slammed on my brakes and jumped out of the truck, leaving the driver’s door gaping open. A police constable on guard reached out an arm to stop me, but I raced by him, almost knocking him over.

  “That’s my house,” I yelled over my shoulder.

  Outside Rose Cottage, I stuttered to a halt.

  The porch was burned through. The fieldstone walls behind it were black, as were the wooden window frames and the front of the roof. The smell of smoke was sickening.

  With a hand clapped over my mouth, I whirled to the firefighter behind me. “Was anyone inside?” Without waiting for an answer, I ran over to the crumpled and still-smoking porch stairs.

  Two gloved hands grabbed me around the middle, holding me tight. I struggled against the firefighter’s grip, my feet swinging off the ground. “Let me go,” I hollered over the roar of the gushing fire hose.

  “You can’t go in. It’s not safe,” he yelled in my ear. “There’s no one in there.”

  “Ver-i-ty,” a woman’s voice called.

  The firefighter loosened his grip. I whirled to face Patty, who stood on the driveway a few yards away.

  “Over here,” she called, waving a hand. “We’re all fine.”

  Clark stood beside her. Carson was there too, watching the firefighters with concern—no doubt dismayed to see his hard work going up in smoke.

  I sprinted over. “What happened?”

  “No idea,” Patty said. “We just got here. I’m so sorry.”

  “I was in the trailer, having a lie-down,” Carson said. “Didn’t see anything. Sorry. But…” He flinched and pointed at the front lawn. My heart caught in my throat at the look on his face.

  I whirled around.

  One of the bulky-suited firefighters was bent over something on the lawn. He reached to one side for his equipment, revealing a gray-and-white bundle lying on the grass beside him.

  “Oh, no,” I whispered, fighting back tears.

  I raced over and dropped to my knees as the firefighter fit a tiny plastic mask over General Chang’s mouth and nose.

  “He’s not breathing, is he?” I asked. “He’s not breathing.”

  “Give him a chance,” the firefighter said. “A little oxygen can work wonders.”

  “Please save him,” I said, sniffling. “He’s such a good boy.”

  Part of me protested, Since when? But it was only my inner curmudgeon, preparing for disappointment.

  The tiny oxygen balloon swelled and sighed under the firefighter’s hand. The General’s fur was wet and matted, and he smelled of smoke. I don’t know how long I knelt there, but it felt as if time had stopped.

  “We found him on the porch, lying on that rocker,” the firefighter said, not lifting his eyes from the General. “He must have been asleep, and breathed in the smoke.”

  The General’s feet were curled against his body, and his good eye was shut tight.

  Carson walked up to crouch beside me on the wet lawn. “He’s gonna pull through. That little guy’s tough as nails. Tougher.”

  I patted Carson’s hand without taking my eyes off the oxygen mask. The General was tough. He’d once stopped a killer in his tracks—and possibly saved my life. And now, I was helpless to save his. My vision blurred.

  The firefighter glanced up. “He’s coming around.”

  Holding my breath, I watched the furry face behind the mask.

  The General coughed. And then again.

  The firefighter took off the oxygen mask. “See?” he said.

  I chucked the old tabby under the cheek with one finger. His eye stared blearily at me, his breathing raspy.

  “He’s got a little smoke damage, that’s why that eye is so red. I don’t know what happened to the other one, though,” the firefighter said. “There are no burn marks.”

  “Oh.” I laughed. “It’s always been that way. Thank you.”

  “No problem. Let’s leave the oxygen mask on him a while,” he said, showing me how to operate it. “But check with your vet as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll take him to Dr. Naz right away. Thank you so much, Officer… Sorry
, I don’t know your name.”

  “Yes, you do,” he said, grinning, and took off his helmet to reveal gray-streaked hair. “Bob Valens, at your service.”

  It was the leader of the squad that rescued Emy, Lorne and I from our ill-fated climb.

  “Yikes,” I said, feeling a flush color my cheeks. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  He chuckled. “Maybe you should consider a house closer to the fire hall.”

  I forced a smile.

  “Seriously, that’s what we’re here for,” he said. “Happy to help.” He winked, tucked his helmet under his arm, and walked over to direct the crew members who were retracting the hoses.

  Within minutes, the second fire truck had packed up and driven away.

  Captain Bob returned to bend over the General, whose tail swished at his approach. The General batted a paw at the oxygen mask, obviously annoyed.

  “Let’s take that off so you can hustle him along to the vet’s. Before you go”—he winced—“I’m sorry to say we found evidence of arson. The fire marshal’s been informed. The police are leaving a cruiser on the road for now. Do you have somewhere to stay for the night?”

  I tried to take it in. “Arson?” My head whirled. Who would want to burn down Rose Cottage? Bewildered, I glanced over at Patty and Clark, who were talking to a firefighter. Patty was doing most of the talking, gesticulating wildly. Even from there, I could see a glazed look in the firefighter’s eye that indicated Patty was only getting started.

  “We’ll be fine. Thank you for everything you’ve done, especially for the General here. I really, really appreciate it.”

  Captain Bob bent over to pat General Chang’s head and pick up the oxygen mask. The tomcat narrowed his eye at him, arching his back a little.

  “Is that specially made for cats?” I asked.

  “All small pets. You’re lucky we had one on the truck. We don’t have them on every vehicle.”

  “Do you need more?”

  He smiled. “Wouldn’t turn ‘em down.” He stood up to go. “See you, Verity.”

  “Oh, I hope not,” I said with a fervent sigh.