Belinda Blake and the Birds of a Feather

by Heather Day Gilbert

  Ella propped her elbows on my open window. “Your mom said you watch exotic pets, like snakes. What’s that like?”

  Looking into the teen’s eager eyes, I realized she was at that age where she’d started loosely gathering information for what kind of career she might choose. I found myself trying to justify my weird career path, even though I didn’t have to.

  “Yes, I’ve watched a ball python, as well as wolves. Exotic pet-sitting is definitely a field that’s seeing some growth in certain areas.”

  Her eyes were still fixed on me. “Is it dangerous?”

  When asked a direct question like that, I found it hard to lie. “It can be—but I’ve actually had more dangerous situations with the people I’ve run into than with the animals.” Before stopping to think, I continued, “In fact, I ran into a murderer, not long ago.”

  I mentally kicked myself the moment the words came out of my mouth. There was no need to terrify the poor girl.

  But she was captivated. “You’re kidding me! How did that happen?”

  I gave her a condensed version of a recent murder spree at the Greenwich wolf preserve I’d worked at for a while. Ella asked numerous questions, but it started raining, and when Tracy didn’t emerge from the house with an umbrella, I told Ella she needed to get inside. It seemed that Tracy wasn’t overly concerned about her daughter’s outdoor activities…come to think of it, wasn’t this a school day?

  Before I had a chance to ask, Ella said, “That gives me a lot to read up on.” She darted off, but not toward the house. Instead, she went to a wooden gardening-type shed that was set near the edge of the woods and stepped inside.

  I made a mental note to ask Mom if Ella was homeschooled. If she wasn’t, it was possible that she was skipping school—in which case, I’d ask Mom to let Tracy know.

  Rain pounded at the windshield so heavily that my older wipers could hardly keep up. On the road into town, I hit two potholes head-on. I mentally blasted the Department of Highways for making it so difficult to maintain my car’s alignment every time I returned to Larches Corner.

  By the time I’d slogged through the puddles up to my parents’ front porch, I felt chilled and wanted nothing more than a hot shower. Mom was puttering around in the kitchen, so I shouted that I’d come down for lunch after I warmed up.

  After showering and changing into jeans, a flannel shirt, and thick socks, I traipsed back downstairs. Mom was stirring something in a pot that smelled suspiciously like Vapor Rub.

  She turned, glancing at my wrinkled nose. “Hi there, sweetie. I’m making some sinus balm. How’d it go with Tracy?”

  I filled her in, and when I asked where Ella went to school, Mom said she thought she went to the public school that was within walking distance of the van Dusens. It would be easy for Ella to bail on school and walk home, should she get the notion.

  Mom was aghast when I mentioned that possibility. “Ella strikes me as an exceptionally curious girl, not as a dropout. Maybe she was sick today?”

  I shrugged. “It’s possible, but she didn’t seem sick in the least.”

  As Mom tried to stir, her spoon got entrenched in her glue-like camphor concoction. She grabbed a knife and hacked the spoon out. It was clear the sinus balm hadn’t reached its optimal consistency…if it was ever going to.

  Frustrated, Mom dropped the spoon in the sink. “I’ll call Tracy now,” she said.

  I was about to start scrounging for my lunch when Jonas’s ringtone sounded. I pulled the phone from my pocket, gave Mom a brief wave, and walked into the living room to talk.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “Could you come over to help me with something? My hired man, Walt, had to leave early because his kid might have appendicitis, and I can’t get hold of my lazybones brother. I’m out here in the second paddock with my truck, if you wouldn’t mind riding over with your four-wheeler?”

  “You sure this is a job I can handle?” My last adventure at Jonas’s had involved several escaped cows and a rogue bull. I didn’t relish another up-close-and-personal task like that, although Jonas had handled the bull like the pro he was.

  His voice sounded distant, like he’d hit the speakerphone. “Sure. It’s just muddy out here, so wear something that can get dirty and watch the wheels on your four-wheeler.”

  My stomach growled, but it was Jonas, and he was likely playing down the urgency of his call. It was so remarkable for him to call on me to help with a farm task, he must be desperate.

  “I’ll be right over,” I said.

  In the kitchen, Mom was talking on her phone, presumably informing Tracy about her school-skipping daughter. I went into the back room and found an old pair of coveralls to pull on over my clothes, then I donned a hat and boots and headed for my four-wheeler.

  If there was one thing I missed about living in Larches Corner, it was the fact that neighbors were there for each other when things hit the fan. Now, granted, many of those neighbors were also related. But I knew if my car stalled or someone tried to attack me or I forgot my credit card anywhere in my hometown, help would be on the way.

  It was a trust born of knowing the families around you, of knowing their failures and their trials and their triumphs. It was a respect that came from grieving together, celebrating together, and walking side by side, sometimes for generations.

  As I drove across the field, I realized that’s what was driving me to investigate Jackson’s and Claire’s deaths. Their families deserved the truth, and it didn’t seem like things were as cut-and-dried as the newspapers were saying. Something was off, and Jonas and I both felt it. He just didn’t have time to check into things like I did.

  I spotted his big black truck and steered toward it, stopping to open and close a gate along the way. A misty rain had started up, so I glanced around for Jonas. Something moved in my peripheral vision, and I caught sight of him, crouching by a fallen log on the edge of the pasture. I drove closer and parked the four-wheeler, dodging a few cow piles to walk toward him. The only cow in the pasture stood near Jonas, but she didn’t budge. Instead, she gave me a baleful look.

  Jonas hunched next to a newborn calf that was splattered with manure and plenty of other things. “This momma hid her baby pretty good. I need to get the calf and its momma back to the barn, but the calf’s slippery and momma’s watching me close. Would you mind climbing into my truck bed and I’ll put the calf next to you? Then you’ll just need to kind of lay on her to keep her from standing up. I’ll leave the back down so the mom will follow us.”

  The brown Jersey momma gave a prolonged moo and fixed her huge eyes on me, like she sensed my intentions and despised me.

  “Of course.” I climbed into the truck, because I knew Jonas Hawthorne would never stand by and let harm come to me, be it from an angry Jersey cow or any other threat in the world.

  6

  Placing one strong arm beneath the calf’s chest and one beneath its back legs, Jonas picked the animal up and gently moved it onto the truck bed. How he could manage such gentleness with such a long-legged, heavy animal, I didn’t know. Jersey calves averaged sixty pounds or more, and Jonas made it look like he was shifting a bag of flour.

  He opened his rear window and talked to me as he started up the truck. “Now, I’m going to move along really slow, but it’ll be bumpy.”

  “Okay,” I shouted.

  “Here we go.” He shifted into gear and started to move. The mother cow had already walked up to be near her calf, and once we started rolling, she lowed and followed us.

  A zing of realization swept over me as I pictured Jonas’s gentleness with the calf. He was truly one of the most tender caregivers I’d ever run into—both with animals and with his mother. Yet he wasn’t a man who would mince words, so he had a bluntness about him that could be off-putting if you didn’t know him well. Levi had been on the receiving end of that bluntnes
s, and there had been occasions when Jonas had even been quite forthright with me, but there was always a good intent behind it.

  The calf was relaxed and the mom was still moving along behind us, so I twisted to look at Jonas in the driver’s seat. He was wearing a beat-up John Deere hat and his dark stubble beard was growing in. He had one arm stretched across the back of the seat, and I had the sudden crazy impulse that I should be sitting there next to him, so he could wrap that arm around me.

  I shook off my sentimental thoughts toward the stoic farmer. The last thing Jonas needed right now was for me to make some romantic overture toward him. He was grieving and occupied with farm work.

  But the man certainly did have a way of dominating my thoughts, which made it impossible for me to focus on anything else.

  * * * *

  Once calf and mother were safely ensconced in the warm barn for the evening, we walked back to the field for my four-wheeler. I was at a strange loss for words, and Jonas noticed.

  “Levi’ll head out tomorrow,” he said. “My friend may have news about a buyer for the pigeons by then.” He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. “Don’t feel like you have to stay around here on account of those pigeons, Belinda. I should be able to pick up the slack day after tomorrow. You can get back to your job in Greenwich, if you’d like.”

  I looked into his blue eyes, which seemed darker under the overcast skies. “I know, but I’m not ready to go yet. I’m looking into things with Jackson Hait, remember?”

  He lowered his eyebrows. “I didn’t want you getting enmeshed in anything. I just thought the reporter had missed something, that’s all. It was probably a perfectly normal hit-and-run—whatever that looks like.”

  I had felt Jonas was my silent partner in this investigation, but I could see he didn’t have the time or the wherewithal to keep up with my inquiries. Best to let him think I’d given up on it.

  “I’m not enmeshed in anything. No worries.”

  I climbed onto the back of the four-wheeler, then Jonas took the wheel and drove toward his house. As Jonas pulled to a stop, Levi meandered out to us. His long, brown hair was tousled, like he’d just gotten out of bed. “Hey, bro! Where’ve you been? Did you make lunch?”

  Jonas’s nostrils flared. “I texted you several times—I could’ve used your help. Instead, I had to call Belinda over.”

  Levi gave me an inquisitive look, like he wanted my thoughts on the matter.

  I tried to defuse the situation as I shifted into the driver’s seat Jonas had vacated. “I really didn’t mind. I needed to feed the pigeons, anyway.”

  “See, your girl doesn’t mind coming anytime you call.” Levi shot me a mischievous grin.

  Jonas took off in a run, launching into a wrestling match with his brother. While I appreciated Jonas trying to stick up for my honor or whatever he was doing, I’d known these boys since childhood and I knew they wouldn’t stop until one of them surrendered. And given Levi’s grown-up size and Jonas’s frustrations with his brother, I figured they’d be tumbling around for a good long while.

  Revving up my four-wheeler, I shouted a pointless goodbye and gunned it over to the pigeon loft. This little jaunt to help Jonas had taken longer than I’d planned and had also managed to derail most of my logical thought processes. I needed to get home and get my head back in the game of checking into Jackson’s death.

  * * * *

  The pigeons seemed more sedate this time, only circling around for twenty-five minutes or so. I made quick work of feeding them, then shooing them into their loft before I headed home. I needed to get hold of Professor Baruch while he was still at the college.

  When I got home, I snatched another granola bar before rushing through my second shower. After slipping into my flannel shirt and jeans again, I curled up on my bed and perused the college website. Matthias Baruch was easy to find, since there were only three English professors at the college, and he happened to be the department head.

  After pondering how I should approach him, I decided to play up my literary interests. I found his extension and called it. I was surprised when he picked up himself—there must be no department secretary to screen calls. His serious but mellow voice reinforced my image of him as a proverbial professor type. I couldn’t help but visualize him in a tweed jacket and small glasses, smoking a pipe.

  I told him I was wondering what was involved in getting a Master’s degree in English (I had once thought about it, so it wasn’t entirely false), and I also had a few questions about the classics I’d been reading. He seemed eager to talk with me, and suggested I drop in at eight tomorrow morning since his classes didn’t start until ten.

  I hung up and called Chloe next, to see if any new information had emerged in the Jackson Hait case. She said the police were still maintaining that it was a hit-and-run.

  “Could you get the addresses of the other members of the literature club?” I asked.

  “I can do you one better. I’ve actually been invited to an engagement party for Rosalee Meier and Peter Bear on Friday night.”

  I sucked in my breath. “What? Those two are engaged? Tracy didn’t mention that!”

  “Of course she didn’t,” Chloe retorted. “It probably galls her to speak of it. I mean, Peter’s love for her deceased daughter doesn’t seem that undying when he gets engaged three years later, and to one of her daughter’s close friends.”

  “Tracy talked like she doubted Peter’s love for Claire anyway. She didn’t care for him at all.”

  “I think everyone in Larches Corner is aware of that fact. Anyway, the Meier family wanted a nice write-up for the local events page—I think they wanted this engagement to be the local events page, you know? You’re welcome to tag along.” She giggled. “Actually, you could pretend you’re helping me with the article—a news assistant, if you will. That way you could ask all the questions you want.”

  It sounded like a brilliant idea, so I agreed.

  “Oh, and Belinda, it’s a really upscale event. Do you have a dress?”

  I cast about in my mind, trying to recall which dresses I’d left at home. There was my sequined prom gown from my senior year…yeah, that wasn’t going to cut it.

  “I might be able to borrow something from my mom,” I said.

  Chloe gasped. “Honey, she’s your mom. I mean, moms just have a different style…it’s a different era. I’m not saying your mom isn’t stylish, of course—”

  “You have a better idea?” I asked. The mall was nearly an hour away, and I didn’t want to waste that kind of time while I was home.

  “I’m sure I have something that’ll fit you—we’re sort of the same size, except you’re short. I’ll look for a short dress, okay? I’ll come over on Friday afternoon and bring it to you.”

  I agreed and we hung up. It hit me that tomorrow was Thursday—the day I’d planned to go to Dietrich’s art show with Stone. My Greenwich life came rushing back to me—how were Red and Susan doing? Had Red popped the question yet? And would Dietrich hate me forever because I didn’t come to his show? How had Adam and Ava’s brick oven party gone?

  Phone still in hand, I pulled up Stone’s number. My finger hovered above the call button. I should probably let him know why I was lingering in Larches Corner…I could just say I picked up a pet-sitting job and not elaborate that it was for my handsome neighbor. But that felt disingenuous.

  Looking at my life from the outside, it might seem like I was playing two men. But the reality was that neither man was openly and actively pursuing me. Of course, I had shut down Stone’s advances months ago, so he’d retreated on the romantic front.

  And Jonas…I had no idea how Jonas felt about me. It seemed like I was his chum, a friend he could call on in times of need. Yet he’d mentioned back in the spring that he’d wanted to talk to me about something. The way he’d said it, I’d assumed it was something ser
ious. I had never followed up because his mom had taken a turn for the worse that very day. I could broach the topic again, but it hardly seemed the right time for something like that.

  Mom called upstairs to see if I wanted to get supper ready while she cleaned up. Shoving my phone in my jeans pocket, I headed downstairs, glad for a distraction.

  7

  A thin layer of snow covered the ground in the morning and since skies were quite overcast, I doubted it was going to warm up much. I feared the trick-or-treaters would have to bundle up heavily this Halloween. Mom and Dad never had many trick-or-treaters since they lived outside town—or maybe it was because my Mom’s low-sugar reputation preceded her. The kids who did make it all the way up our long driveway rarely came back, once they took a close look at Mom’s “treat” offerings of edamame, dried apricots, and pine nuts.

  I drove over to the community college to meet Professor Baruch. Once there, I had to park in a side lot near the teachers’ annex, necessitating a five-minute, uphill walk to the characterless white four-story building. From what I understood, the college had somewhere around a thousand students, and since the older buildings looked well-managed, I assumed the school was prospering. The teachers’ annex was one of the original campus buildings. Over time, the college had acquired several of the surrounding older houses and renovated them to extend their teaching space.

  After plodding up to the third floor, I located Professor Baruch’s office at the very end of the carpeted hallway. Although he didn’t greet me wearing a tweed jacket and smoking a pipe, his quiet demeanor and rumpled thick hair still fit the professorly mold. Glancing down, I noticed he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. I was betting quite a few of his female students had crushes on him, although he wasn’t what I’d consider overtly handsome. More like a brooding Mr. Rochester type.

  We fell into an easy conversation and I brought up the classics I’d been reading for our book club. I asked him what themes I needed to watch for in The Haunting of Hill House, and he said Shirley Jackson hadn’t wanted to break down the themes in her books—she thought they’d speak for themselves. He said the book was known as one of the best ghost stories of all time.