When it had turned out the body was not Rob, but the deceased sister of a United States Senator, the man had brought the state police to the town on a witch hunt that almost ended up with Abby and the local Sheriff being shot in front of the ancestral home of the Morgans.
Oh yes, things had not been calm.
Now, a week or so into November, Abby began to wonder if yet another bit of trouble was brewing in Red Pine Falls. She wasn’t surprised that Frank wasn’t doing well. He’d been fired after all, but now there were strange men sniffing around after him only a week or so after he’d scampered out of town. She’d seen way too many police drama’s where that didn’t end well.
She was just turning back to Susan’s office when she caught the knowing look on Becky’s face.
“What?” Abby said, defensively.
“Don’t what me,” Becky replied. “I’ve seen that look before.”
Abby snorted. “What look are you talking about?”
“The look that says you’re going to meddle,” Becky said and sniffed before heading into Susan’s office. The bank manager was off the phone now and smiling at the two of them as they came into sit down. “Isn’t that right, Susan?”
“I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” Susan said, shrugging apologetically at Becky.
Becky gave Susan a sour look while Abby beamed. Abby thought she had gotten away scot-free until Susan spoke next. “Does it have anything to do with the Hurricane Abby thing?”
Becky chuckled evilly and nodded, pointing at Abby. “See? Yes, it is totally about the Hurricane Abby thing. I don’t think you can help yourself.”
“Look,” Abby said, “It’s not like I planned any of it. You were in trouble and needed help; then it was all about my grandmother. I couldn’t just sit on my hands.”
“I don’t know,” Becky said as she tapped her chin, giving Abby a mock serious look. “I think you enjoy it. Solving riddles and taking down the bad guys. They could make a movie about you.”
“Are we here to open up some accounts for you, or talk about my superhero powers?” Abby asked, giving Becky a stern look. “Because I have to retain my secret identity, and this isn’t helping.”
Becky and Susan both giggled, making Abby just shake her head and roll her eyes. Still, her thoughts began to drift as Susan and Becky talked about accounts. There was something about the man that had held the door open for her. What was his story? What and who had Frank got himself involved? She tried to push the man’s face from her mind, but thoughts kept coming back as to how he was dressed. The expensive watch. The way the two men following him around looking like thugs.
She knew it was silly, but the word mob kept jumping into her mind.
Chapter 4
After Becky had finished her business, the two women exited the bank with promises to catch up with Susan later. Becky had ended up putting most of her settlement money into some mutual funds and a high-end savings account, with only some of the money put into the checking account, ready to pay the workers that were diligently remodeling the café.
Abby enjoyed Susan’s company and looked forward to the three of them getting together for coffee or drinks. Susan was in her early thirties just like Abby and Becky, but she was quiet and unassuming most of the time which might be a perfect counterpoint to her more boisterous friend, Becky.
McGradys would most likely be Susan’s speed, though Abby was just about to ask Becky if there were any fun pubs in Salem when a police car pulled into the bank’s parking lot. She saw the bushy mustache of the Sheriff as he parked, and the man nodded a greeting to them both as he stepped out of the car, grimacing a little as he stretched his back.
“Morning, ladies,” The Sheriff rumbled in his deep, vibrant voice as he walked out from between the parked vehicles. “I see the workmen are diligently removing everything out of your café, Miss Northridge. I sure hope you warned them about what to expect.” He quirked his eyebrow at Becky, giving her one of his barely-there smiles.
“Yes, Sheriff Pearson, of course, I did,” Becky said, sniffing. “Well, I almost forgot. I did call Mr. Capshaw the night before they were going to start and told him about the skunk smell. He doesn’t scare off easily though he did say his workmen weren’t terribly happy about it. At least the smell was only a quarter as bad as it had been.”
The Sheriff chuckled, shaking his head. “Becky, there’s no such thing as a quarter as bad when it comes to skunk. Just to warn you, a couple of neighbors complained, but I told ‘em just to be patient. It’ll go away once they get that trash bin out of there. Though-” he said, tipping his hat a bit. “-I’d take it kindly if you might drop a bug into Mr. Capshaw ear?”
“Will do, Sheriff,” Becky said, looking displeased at something the Sheriff had said. “I can’t believe people are already complaining. They just started today!”
“It’s the nature of people, Becky,” the Sheriff said slowly, shrugging. “Don’t worry, it’ll take as long as it takes, and they’ve all got their windows closed now due to the weather, anyway. They're just being persnickety.”
Becky sniffed, clearly having a different opinion of her neighbors, but by then the Sheriff had turned his gaze onto Abby. “How’s the little trooper? I was going to drop by to check on Cheerio, but didn’t think I’d be welcome after the trouble we’ve caused Hazel.”
Abby smiled. She liked the Sheriff, and despite their occasional disagreements about where her nose belonged, he had slowly grown on her. That he cared about Cheerio was just more points in his favor. “He’s doing well, Sheriff. Still in a cast, but he’s able to hobble along fairly well on his own. I only have to carry him down the stairs about half the time now, but secretly, I think he’s faking it a little.”
The Sheriff chuckled softly. “They’ll do that, Mrs. Morgan. Just like kids sometimes, but about a hundred times better than people. Here, can you give him this for me?” He fished something out of one of his pockets and gave it to her. It was a wrapped meat dog treat which made Abby like the man even more. To her knowledge, he didn’t have a pet, so having a treat just available spoke volumes about him.
“I will, Sheriff,” Abby said, tucking the treat into the pocket of her jeans. “But I’m sure you can drop by the house. Hazel doesn’t blame you. She knows you were just doing your job. Besides, it wasn’t you causing all of the issues. It was those detectives.”
“Ah yes, Detectives Mike and Ed,” The Sheriff said, smiling. “You’ll be happy to know they both got a pretty serious reprimand from the Governor, herself. It seems she didn’t like some of the stories she’d heard about what they’d been doing.”
“Good,” Abby said, her tone aggressive. “I didn’t like them either.”
The Sheriff grinned and nodded. “That they were. Still,” he said suddenly a bit more serious. “I wouldn’t go speeding through Salem anytime soon. Most of those boys stick together pretty well. Anyway, I better get to my business.”
“You mean about those three men?” Abby asked, then gritted her teeth at the look on the Sheriff’s face. She wished she hadn’t of said that.
“Abby, I swear,” the Sheriff began, but he was cut off by a low rumbling that was getting louder. Abby didn’t recognize it at first, but then she saw the first of several motorcycles come into view. There were eight of them riding in a loose column as they headed down Main Street. Bikers.
Only these didn’t look like the occasional weekend warrior she’d spot on the highways or roads. These men looked like they meant business, with leather jackets decorated in large patches and chopped, dangerous looking motorcycles flaring and growling into the fall air. Abby didn’t like it one bit, and when she looked at the Sheriff, he had a grim look on his face.
They all looked on in silence as the column of motorcycles moved loudly down the street and then out of site. It didn’t sound like they’d stopped anywhere, and eventually, their thunder faded, but Abby once again felt a chill race up and down her spine.
; “Hopefully they’re just passing through. Nothing to be worried about, Ladies,” The Sheriff drawled before turning toward the bank.
Despite the Sheriff’s words, Abby noticed the look of worry and the fact he’d completely forgotten his ire at Abby. It wasn’t a good sign.
“That can’t be good,” Becky said softly to Abby as they both continued to stare at where the bikers had disappeared. “Those didn’t look like nice people.”
“Most bikers aren’t bad people, Becky,” Abby said, just as quietly. “They just dress that way. Most of them. Maybe they were just touring through the town? I bet we don’t see them again.”
Both women looked at each other, neither one believing those words for a minute.
Chapter 5
After leaving the bank, Abby said goodbye to Becky outside of the café and got into her car to return home. The drive was short, only a block and a half before turning east. The street led over the highway that ran through town before ending at a small bridge that stretched from the shore onto the island that Abby, her Grandmother, and Mr. Wilberson lived.
It wasn’t a fantastically huge island, but rose prominently from the river on a solid granite base covered by old Pine trees with a scattering of Maple and Red Alder. As Abby drove across the bridge, she looked up, reflecting on the bare branches that pushed up to the sky amidst the shaggy bows of the pines. It didn’t let a lot of extra light in, but it was markedly different than when she’d first arrived with the sunlight fighting tooth and nail to bring even a dappling of its golden glow to the forest floor.
Smiling, Abby pulled the rental car up alongside the old, turn-of-the-century house that lay sheltered on the far end of the small island from the bridge. She could see Hazel out on the porch, rocking in one of her chairs and working on some needlepoint while Cheerio lay in the grass close to the stairs. His tail was wagging as he watched Abby park, and he gave her a few happy yip’s when she stepped out of the car. However, he didn’t come bounding up to her as he usually did. It made Abby look at the cast on his left forepaw and her smile faded as she remembered the car crash that had broken Cheerio’s paw a few weeks ago.
Hazel looked up in time to see the look on Abby’s face and frowned. “Abby, stop fretting about Cheerio,” she scolded lightly from the porch. “That dog gets spoiled rotten. Bill feeds him snacks and treats all the time when he thinks no one is looking. For Cheerio’s sake, I hope he gets out of that cast soon so he can go back to bouncing and running. Otherwise, he’s going to grow fat.”
Abby nodded and breathed out a sigh before bending and petting the subject of their conversation. For his part, Cheerio’s tale thumped loudly on the grass as he leaned up into Abby’s hand, murphing softly before licking her fingers. “You’re not going to get fat, are you, Cheerio?” Abby said, ruffling his ears as he stretched and closed his eyes in contentment. “You’ll be up and running in no time.”
Hazel smiled, continuing to work the needle in and out of the pattern she was working. “He’s trying already. Every time he sees a squirrel, he’ll stand there and woof at it. Then he’ll bounce, remember his paw still hurts and lay back down. He’s a smart one, he is.”
Abby stood and nodded, smiling up at her grandmother as she fished the sheriff’s treat out of her pants pocket. “Yes, he is.” She peeled the treat and fed it to the eager dog, smiling as he took it gently from her fingers before looking cautiously at Hazel. “The Sheriff sent me with a treat for Cheerio. He would have brought it himself, but wasn’t sure if he was welcome.”
Hazel sniffed and continued working on her needlepoint for a moment, clearly thinking through her thoughts. Finally, she stopped and looked up with a determined gaze. “He is welcome. I can’t say as I enjoyed being questioned by him, but I know he was just doing his job.”
“I know,” Abby said, climbing the steps to the porch. “That’s what I told him as well, but what about Mr. Wilberson?”
Hazel chuckled softly and shook her head. “He’ll be ok, as well. Those two grumpy gusses understand each other well enough. Bill’s got an excellent bark, but he’s cautious when it comes to biting.”
“Even when it comes to that shotgun of his?” Abby said, raising an eyebrow.
“Even then,” Hazel said, as she put down her needlepoint on a small table next to the rocking chair. “He went and got a gun case for that thing, by the way. Even Bill can learn. Now, are you ready to make some apple pies?”
Abby grinned and nodded. “You bet!” She opened the door and held it while Hazel, and then Cheerio moved indoors. While the day had been somewhat cool, the inside of the house felt warm and inviting. It was kept that way by a fire in the broken-stone fireplace that provided the centerpiece for the main room of the house.
Mr. Wilberson kept the wood piled high in the hand-forged, black iron bin that stood next to the fireplace. It was a work of art in and of itself, and Abby had been surprised to know that the old man had forged it well over a decade ago. The curls and bends in the metal accented the metal roses that showed a loving attention to detail which Abby wouldn’t have guessed from the man’s gruff exterior.
Hazel was already deep inside the cupboard as Abby walked into the kitchen. Unlike so many kitchens in modern houses and apartments, this one was a room unto itself, stretching back for a good twelve feet and packed with cans, dry goods, and various other foodstuffs. Part of the back wall slanted downward from being under the stairwell, but for the most part, every square inch was well-utilized.
When she had first arrived at the old house, Abby had looked in amazement at everything that the room contained. She had been raised with multiple trips to the grocery store, and small cabinets, so Hazel’s cupboard was almost a magical place. When no one had been looking, she’d stood within and just gazed around at the bounty.
“Put these on the counters,” Hazel said, handing Abby a large sack of flour and a can of shortening. “Have you ever made homemade pies?”
“No, well, only partially,” Abby said. “I’ve made pumpkin pies before. Usually from the can, but once we made a pie using a real pumpkin. That came out interesting.”
Hazel smiled and patted Abby’s shoulder. “By interesting you mean not good?”
Abby nodded and shrugged. “At least we tried, once. Mom cooked sometimes, but she wasn’t a huge fan of it. I’m probably about the same if I’m being honest. I think the hardest thing I’ve ever cooked was Chicken Devan.”
“You’ll have to make it one night,” Hazel said absently as she continued to pull ingredients out and hand them to Abby. “I don’t think I’ve ever had Chicken Devan. Is it good?”
Abby smiled. “Yes, I think so. We’d have it for Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner, at least when I was still at home. I don’t know how often they might eat it now. When Danny and I were in the military, we’d only get to see my family once or twice a year. After I had moved to Phoenix, I saw them more often, but I was so wrapped up in… things.” Abby trailed off as the memories of Danny and the aftermath of his death pushed forward in her mind.
It was easier to talk about things, especially with Hazel. After Danny had died, Hazel had made a point of calling her at least two or three times a week. Sometimes it was only for a few minutes, but other times they’d talked for hours. It had been a great comfort for Abby, and she suspected it had comforted Danny’s grandmother as well.
After a few months of this, they’d grown so close, that Hazel had asked Abby to call her grandmother as well. It had felt right at the time, and ever since, she’d done just that. Not everyone understood it, but not everyone needed to understand. It was what it was, and this wise, old woman had become her grandmother in every way but blood.
Hazel turned and gave Abby a hug. “It’s okay, dear. This is a new chapter in our lives. We’ll make do, and I guarantee that these pies won’t just taste interesting. Danny would be so proud of you.”
Abby sniffed softly and smiled. She hadn’t realized she’d started to cry until that moment,
but she refused to be embarrassed by it. She gave Hazel another hug and then stepped back to watch as the old woman continued to pull out ingredients. After a few more sacks and bottles, Hazel stopped and seemed to be irritated about something.
“What’s wrong, Grandma?” Abby asked, peeking in and seeing Hazel tipping back a small barrel that was empty.
“We’re out of apples. What a fine Sunday morning this is!? I was sure we’d picked up a few sacks the last time we went to the store.”
“Except, we had a Halloween party where we had apple bobbers,” Abby answered, smiling at the startled look on Hazel’s face.
“Why, so we did. Would you mind running to the Emporium and fetching some more? I should have taken stock before this, but I forgot.”
Abby nodded and headed for the front door. “I’ll be back before you know it!” She called back.
Chapter 6
The Food Emporium, as the local grocery store was called, was grand of name but not nearly worthy of its title in stature. It had most of what someone could want but was not the place one could go if they were looking for anything that you may find at a real emporium. Still, the owners did the best they could with the room they had. The aisles were fairly close together and piled almost to the ceiling with overstock items and other trinkets that someone of Abby’s size would need a ladder to reach.
However, apples were what Abby needed, and apples were not difficult to find or reach. Per Hazel’s list, she picked up a few bags each of Braeburn and Granny Smith apples along with a good number of pears. She avoided the others which her grandmother had told her not to bother getting. Other apple brands were sweeter for eating, but for making apple pie, you needed to get the right mix.
She tooled down the back of the grocery store and was perusing some dog toys for Cheerio when she sensed eyes on her. Turning, she saw two shaggy men watching her from one of the aisles. Both of them looked like they hadn’t shaved or combed their hair in days, and both were wearing black leather jackets.
Dark Secrets and Dead Reckoning, A Red Pine Falls Cozy Mystery (Red Pine Falls Cozy Mysteries Book 3) Page 2
