by Rickie Blair
His lips twitched.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” I hastily added.
“I know.” With another wink, he climbed into the truck and the second crew drove off, leaving only the police cruiser on the road, lights flashing.
Carson drove the Coming Up Roses truck to Dr. Farah Naz’s surgery, so I could hold the General. Emy was on her way. After taking Carson back to Rose Cottage, she intended to move Patty and Clark into her apartment over the bakery.
I called the vet’s office from the truck while the General squirmed in my arms.
“Best if you bring him in right away,” she said. “So long as he’s breathing fine on his own, he’ll likely be okay, but I should check him for signs of carbon monoxide poisoning.”
“Can you keep him overnight?” I asked. “I’m not sure where I’ll be.”
“Yes, of course. I was going to suggest it, so we can watch for complications.”
A few minutes later, I deposited the soggy tomcat on Dr. Naz’s metal examining table. The General was not pleased. Possibly he recalled returning from a previous visit to Dr. Naz with some very undignified nip-and-tuck.
“Sorry, fella,” I said. “Liver treats to come. Concentrate on that.”
He huffed his disdain, for liver treats in general and me in particular, before hunching down to glare suspiciously at the vet.
“How’s Rose Cottage?” Dr. Naz asked, bending her hijab-covered head over the General. “Still standing?”
“It didn’t look like there was serious structural damage, although we’ll have to start over on the roof and the eavestroughs. A lot of exterior wooden trim was damaged. And the porch is a write-off.” I sighed. “I haven’t been inside yet. The firefighters said the blaze started outside, against the wall, but there will be smoke and water damage indoors.”
“Sounds grim. I’m so sorry. Adeline would be devastated.”
“I know you and my aunt are good friends, Dr. Naz…”
“Please, call me Farah,” she said, reaching for her stethoscope.
Like everyone else in the village, Farah believed my aunt was dead. I was tired of arguing—and the subsequent pitying glances.
“Adeline would be proud of the work you’ve done,” she continued. “You’ve got home insurance, right?”
“I hope so. I assume my aunt had insurance on the cottage. I don’t know how much it covers though.” I made a mental note to call Aunt Adeline’s insurance agent the minute I left Farah’s office.
“Adeline was very conscientious. I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Farah said in a reassuring tone as she held the stethoscope to the General’s chest and listened. After a few moments, she released him and lowered the earbuds. “As fine as you can be, given that you’ve been forced from your home. You’re welcome to stay with me until Rose Cottage is repaired. I’ve got plenty of room.”
“That’s kind, but I have a friend in the village who’s willing to put me up.”
“If you change your mind, call me anytime. And call to check up on the General here. I think he’s going to be fine. He didn’t gag or foam at the mouth, did he?”
“Not that I saw. Is that likely to happen?”
“Not now. Those are signs of smoke inhalation in cats, so it’s good he hasn’t exhibited them. And his vital signs are stable.”
“Will his eye stay red for long?”
“It should clear up on its own. We’ll put in a few drops to help it along.”
“Thank you. Can I pay on the way out?”
“Definitely not.”
I halted on my way to the door. “Excuse me?”
“No charge. I’m happy to help Adeline’s niece. I only wish I could have helped her.” Farah’s eyes misted. Then she picked up the General and walked briskly to the treatment room in the back, adding over her shoulder, “Call me tomorrow and I’ll let you know how the General is doing.”
By the time I emerged into the parking lot, I was near breaking. We’d come so close to disaster. What if Patty or Clark had been in the house? And what about—I halted, overcome by remorse. What about Reuben? I hadn’t given my adopted rooster a thought. What kind of pet owner did that make me? I whipped out my phone to text Emy, then slid it into my pocket without dialing. I didn’t want to disturb her while she was getting the Ferrises settled.
Anyway, Reuben was never indoors at Rose Cottage. He spent his nights in his makeshift coop—my aunt’s ruined Ford Escort. The rest of the time, he wandered in and out of Carson’s trailer. Plus, someone would have told me if Reuben had been injured. I needed to calm down.
And I did. Calm down, I meant.
Until Jeff pulled up into the vet’s parking lot and jumped out, leaving his driver’s door wide open. He jogged over, concern etched on his face. And to think I’d once thought his square jaw and sculpted cheekbones probably indicated shallowness. Today, they seemed downright nurturing.
He held out his arms. I collapsed into them, sobbing. Neither of us spoke, but he held me so tight I could feel his heart beating, slow and steady and comforting, under his shirt.
After a few moments, I pulled away, wiping my face.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“It was awful,” I said, my voice breaking. “Patty and Clark could have been killed. I don’t understand. Why would anybody do that? Who could hate me that much?”
Jeff pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to me. I wiped my eyes before loudly blowing my nose. A distant part of me wondered how many men still carried handkerchiefs. This one was clean, too, smelling a tiny bit of Old Spice. I blew my nose again, still pondering. Maybe it was a cop thing—they must deal with a lot of hysterical females. Handkerchiefs might be part of the standard-issue uniform.
“Thanks,” I said with a sniffle.
“No problem.” He inclined his head at the vet’s surgery behind me. “How’s the General?”
“He’s going to be fine. How did you know?”
“Emy told me when I arrived at Rose Cottage. I just missed you. She said you were at the vet’s and I figured she meant Farah’s. I would have been here sooner, but I wanted to check in with the guys at the fire hall.”
“They told me it was arson.”
“I’m afraid so. The fire marshal will send us a full report. We’ll find out who did this, Verity.”
“I know you will.”
Jeff looked worried. “You mentioned Patty and Clark…”
“Friends of mine, visiting from Vancouver.”
“I know. My point is–it could have been you in Rose Cottage.”
I closed my eyes as tears threatened to well up again.
“You’re shaking. Come over here.” He opened the back door of his cruiser and made me sit inside. “Lower your head between your knees,” he said.
I complied.
“Breathe deeply and try to relax.” Jeff rested a comforting hand on my shoulder. “I’m taking you to emergency for a quick look.”
“No.” Without looking up, I reached out to grab his wrist. Breathing slowly, I hung on. In. And out. I released his hand and stood. “I’m fine. I’m going to check in with Emy, then I’ll get Carson to see what can be salvaged. And I have to call the insurance agent. Then I’ll—”
“Not yet. That can wait. You’re in shock and you need to recover. Give me the keys to your truck. I’ll drive you to Emy’s and drop the keys off with Lorne. He can check over Rose Cottage with Carson and see that it’s secure.”
“I feel a little dizzy, but I’m sure—”
“I’m so sorry, Verity.”
I looked up sharply. “What for?”
“I never should have said what I did at the Peak. I don’t know what I was thinking. And now… if I’d been around, I could have done something—”
I held up a hand to stop him, suddenly peeved. After the day I’d had, the last thing I wanted were second thoughts from a man who’d rejected me less than twenty-four hours earlier.
“You said I get into to
o much trouble. You were right. Nothing’s changed—in fact, this latest incident only proves your point.” I straightened up, glaring at him. “You don’t want to be my babysitter. And I don’t want a babysitter.”
“You don’t understand—”
“Now I’m dumb, too?”
“That’s not fair. I never said—”
Scowling, I held up both hands. “Spare me.” I marched over to my aunt’s truck and got into the driver’s seat.
Jeff followed. “Please let me drive you to Emy’s. You’re hysterical.”
I swiveled my head to face him, my eyes narrowed. “I’m what?”
He scrunched up his face. “Sorry! That’s not what I meant.”
“Excuse me,” I said, reaching for the door. I was careful to keep my tone un-hysterical. After all, the man was a cop. He could stop me from driving if he wanted to. I pulled the door shut, rammed the gear into reverse, and backed up—leaving Jeff standing in the parking lot.
Hysterical? He had no idea how close he’d come to a head butt.
Chapter Twenty
Carson and I stood in the driveway on Friday, two days after the fire, contemplating a still-sodden Rose Cottage. Water dripped sporadically from its eaves under a gray, forbidding sky.
Reuben perched on the roof of the Ford Escort, looking dejected. The green caterpillars that had been dropping from the elm branches all week were gone. Whether from the heat of the blaze, the torrent of the fire hoses, or the lack of sunshine, those tasty larvae had decamped.
At least Reuben had sunflower seeds to look forward to—since his friend Carson always carried a bagful in the pocket of his sagging jeans. My concerns about the rooster had been unfounded. He’d watched the entire event from a front-row perch in a nearby shrub. And his nighttime roost in the backseat of my aunt’s Ford was undamaged.
The rest of the cottage’s residents had to find other accommodations.
“I talked to the insurance agent. He said my aunt had fire coverage and he arranged a hotel room for me so I could move out of Emy’s. I’m at the B&B down by the village hall.”
“Hear it’s a nice place,” Carson said in a noncommittal tone.
“I can probably swing a room for you, too.”
“Not my kinda thing.”
“The agent also said I can hire a security guard to keep watch for a few days until the property’s secure. The insurance company will pay.”
Carson brightened. “I can do that.”
“I was hoping you’d agree.”
Carson would welcome the cash. Hiring a perpetually tipsy security guard might not be the best idea, but he’d been living in my driveway for months and I couldn’t force him out now. Besides, I’d need his help repairing Rose Cottage’s crispy bits. Carson knew more about mid-nineteenth-century architecture than anyone in the village. Even if the insurance company insisted on hiring an official construction company, Carson would make sure their repairs were authentic.
“The workmen arrive tomorrow,” I said. “Will you be okay here again tonight?”
“Sure.”
My forehead furrowed. “Carson, there’s a killer out there. Maybe you shouldn’t stay here alone.”
He gave a snort of derision. “What would a killer want with me? Hey—how’s the General doin’?”
“Great. Farah’s spoiling him with liver treats and tummy rubs on demand. He might not want to come home from the vet’s. Listen—Gideon’s place next door is empty,” I said, pulling my key ring from my pocket and extracting a key. “You can refuel there whenever you like.”
“He won’t mind?”
The thought of Gideon and his quest to find my aunt made me uneasy. I hadn’t heard from him since his puzzling message—Adeline found. That wasn’t surprising, since the note Gideon left when he originally disappeared ordered me to “stay out of it.” Control, on the other hand, insisted he’d “gone rogue.” I didn’t believe that any more than I believed my aunt was dead.
At least Control had confided in me, for once. Although not willingly.
Rose Cottage’s talking hologram had been indignant when I finally aired out the smoky basement enough that I could breathe down there.
“We tried to tell you,” it said.
“I know. I’m sorry. But—”
“We could have been destroyed,” it wailed.
“Oh, come on. You’re not even human,” I replied with a snort. “You’re a… you’re a…”
“Artificial intelligence unit?” Control thrust out its rows of gray chins, looking smug.
“Really? Then why don’t you use some of that intelligence to find my aunt?”
“Plans are afoot, Verity.”
“What are they?”
“We’re not allowed to say.”
Wrong answer. Seething inwardly, I leveled my gaze at the double rows of monitors. Everybody has a breaking point, and I had reached mine.
Calmly, I strolled over to my aunt’s toolbox. My hand passed over the saws, the wrenches, the boxes of nails and screws, until I reached a claw-nosed hammer. I lifted it, assessing its weight, slapping it against my open palm. Placing it aside, I slid on a pair of protective glasses. Safety first.
Then I picked up the hammer and marched over to the monitors.
“Verity? What are you doing?”
I swung back the hammer and slammed it onto the first screen. It connected with a satisfying crunch that shook my arm. Bits of glass sprayed the console, sparks flew, and lights flickered.
I stepped back to survey the damage. Nice. I raised the hammer again.
“Verity. Stop.”
“Not until you tell me where my aunt is.”
“We can’t—”
The hammer swung through the air. There was just enough time for me to appreciate the appalled look on that gray face before the claw head connected.
More sprayed glass, sparks, and flickers.
“I can keep this up all day,” I said, raising the hammer again.
“Stop.”
“Not until you tell—”
“We don’t know where she is.”
The hammer slipped from my hand and dropped to the floor as I gaped at the monitors. “You lied to me?”
“Not exactly.” At my raised eyebrows, Control added, “Gideon used to work for the Syndicate.”
“The criminal organization that tried to buy up Pine Hill Valley? That can’t be true.”
“It is. Your aunt convinced him to change sides. Years ago.”
I tilted the chair to let bits of safety glass fall off and then dropped into it. “Gideon said you were online marketers. The devious kind—black ops, even. He implied you make things… go away.”
“Not exactly. We make things appear to go away. Unlike the Syndicate, we never use force.” The gray faces frowned simultaneously. “It’s a long story, Verity. We do have a plan, and it involves much more than just your aunt.”
My flicker of anger over the words just your aunt did not go unnoticed.
“Don’t worry,” Control blurted. “Adeline’s safety is a number one priority with us. Please don’t smash anything else.”
I withdrew the hand that had been reaching for the hammer. “Go on.”
“Your aunt is gathering information to help us close down the Syndicate for good. But she’s being watched.”
“By who?”
“We don’t know.”
My fingers flexed, and Control hastily added, “But we have a good idea. Meanwhile, we need you to trust us for a little while longer.”
“How long?”
“We told you. Ten days. Maybe two weeks. That’s all.”
Sighing, I got to my feet. “If I don’t have news by then, I’m going to the press. Or the police. Or… somebody.” I gestured helplessly at the broken glass. “And I’m not cleaning this up, either.” Then I had stalked out of the basement and slammed the door.
It was a hollow threat to go public, as Control well knew. Who would believe such a crazy
story? Especially since the hologram would simply fail to co-operate if I tried to produce it. Leaving only a dusty, unused console and rows of old monitors—some of them smashed—in my aunt’s basement. The aunt whom everyone presumed was dead.
They’d probably lock me up. In one of those rooms with padded walls.
Standing in the driveway of sodden Rose Cottage, I uttered a sigh at the knowledge that Gideon’s cottage would be empty a while longer. Then I pushed my shoulders back. I couldn’t do anything about that for now.
Carson waved the key, bringing me back to the present. “Are you sure?”
“Gideon won’t mind. Take it. You can air the place out for him.”
Carson put the key into his pocket. “Thanks. I’ll clean up a bit here—get some of this ruined wood squared away.”
“The repair crew can do that.”
“It’ll be easier for them if the driveway’s cleared. And it gives me sumthin to do.”
“Go ahead, if you want. I’m heading for the fire hall, to thank those guys for everything they’ve done.”
And also because, well, firefighters.
“Wait.” I snapped my fingers. “I have something for you.” I trotted to the truck, where the passenger seat was piled high with white bakery boxes, and came back with one. “Emy sent these for you. Sausage rolls, veggie sandwiches, and butter tarts.”
He brightened. “Well, now, that’s nice of her. Thank Emy for me.”
Reuben fluttered into the air to land on Carson’s shoulder. The rooster cocked his head at the box. I should have tucked a few caterpillars in there.
“Take care,” Carson said, sitting on his camp stool and cracking open the lid. “Everything will be fine, Verity. Houses can be fixed.”
With a grim smile, I climbed into the truck and swung the door shut. Yes, they can, I completed his sentence as I backed out of the driveway, but people can’t.
Carson meant to reassure me, but his comment only reminded me how close I’d come to disaster. Someone targeted Rose Cottage for destruction. It wasn’t much of a leap to believe they meant to harm me—and my friends—as well.
My aunt loved this cottage, with its fieldstone walls, pine-planked floors, and cedar-shingled roof. I’d come to love it too. Not only did it represent some of the best times of my troubled childhood, but it was my last remaining link to my aunt as well as my mother—her sister. I’d worked hard to restore my aunt’s magnificent gardens, and I put money aside every week to pay for Carson’s meticulous work on the cottage itself.
