Boo Who

by Rene Gutteridge

  She still had hopes for a caterer. She’d called one about thirty miles away; they thought they could do it and said they’d get back with her. Her groom-to-be wouldn’t call her back.

  Uncontrollable sobs filled the bedroom again. She lay back on her bed and turned on her side. When the tears cleared enough for her to see her bedside table, she noticed her mother’s wedding diary. Picking it up, she dried her tears and flipped open the diary to May 9, which would’ve been about three weeks before her parents’ wedding.

  If it were possible to have a wedding without relatives, it should be done!

  She laughed, sitting up on her bed.

  The only person who seems not to have lost her mind is Gert, who is simply being a wonderful and supportive sister. She’s fallen in love too. A man named Wilbur. I’ve begged her to elope. It’s truly the only good way.

  Oh, I’m being harsh. I love it all, truthfully. My wedding dress is so beautiful, it’s nearly indescribable. I’ve never seen anything like it. It took me four months to make it, but it was worth it.

  There hardly seems to be an adequate way of celebrating what will be a lifetime of love.

  Tears rolled down Ainsley’s cheeks. How could her mother have known how very short her lifetime of love was going to be? And Aunt Gert, too. Wilbur was lost just as tragically, before they even had children.

  She whispered to her mother, pouring out her grievances and fears. “I love him,” she cried. She did, more than she could say. But did he love her anymore? Could he accept who she’d become? Could he accept who he had become?

  Grabbing at a tissue, she wiped her tears and blotted her cheeks, gasping for fresh air that was not polluted by her self-pity. How she was going to pull off this wedding, she didn’t know. But she would do it. She had to do it. She’d dreamed of this day her whole life.

  She just hoped the groom would show up.

  The phone rang, and she eagerly grabbed it.

  “Hello? Wolfe?”

  “Ainsley, hi. It’s Alfred.”

  “Oh. Hi.”

  “Well, what did you think of Indianapolis? Did you ever dream you’d have two elite chefs at your beck and call?”

  She shook her head. “It was quite an experience.” She didn’t know what else to say. They’d already talked all the way back that night.

  “Ainsley, there is a lot of buzz about this. People are talking, and in this business, talk is good. Everyone is waiting to see what you’re like, who you are, what you’re up to. And I think I’ve come up with a tag line for the show: Ainsley Parker: This Isn’t Your Mother’s Kitchen.’ What do you think?”

  She closed her eyes. She didn’t know what to think. “You’re the expert, Alfred.”

  “I think it delivers the message that this show is new and fresh, that you’re new and fresh.”

  “Like a ripe tomato plucked off the vine,” she sighed.

  “Anyway, I may be out of touch for a few days. I have to fly to New York to tie up some financial backing. Ten days, my friend, and you’re on your way to the top.”

  “Alfred, um … I need to talk to you about something.”

  “Yes?” Urgency made the word almost a hiss.

  “It’s just that … well …” Her fingers tore through her hair. She wanted to quit all this! All of it! What did all this matter in the light of her love for Wolfe?

  “I’ve waited my whole life for a talent like you, Ainsley. I was born to make stars out of fire. And you’ve got the fire, the passion, that is needed to make it big. And now, behind you, is the person who can put all the pieces into place. Of course, I don’t have to remind you how much of my own money I’ve invested into this.”

  She couldn’t say a word.

  “My darling,” Alfred said, “you are the next domestic diva. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  She hung up the phone, rolling her eyes and throwing herself backward into her pillows. She plopped her mother’s diary onto the bedside table. A flurry of papers swooshed to the ground. Retrieving them, she flipped through a handful of articles that Alfred had clipped for her to use as inspiration. In between articles on “Feng Shui for Your Backyard Barbeque” and “I ♥ Vintage T-Shirts,” she noticed the cookie bake-off rules from the competition in Indianapolis. She couldn’t remember reading them the night before the event when she was mad at Wolfe and baking nine different kinds of cookies. That seemed like such a long time ago. In an effort to distract herself, she tracked her weary eyes over the fine print.

  But her mind reeled with anger toward Alfred, who certainly didn’t care about her feelings or concerns. All of his friendliness, had it been a setup to woo her? to trap her? Her fists clutched the papers.

  He wanted a domestic diva? Then he was going to get one.

  Wolfe sighed, hanging up the phone in the back room of the bookstore. It was busy. He’d been thinking of Ainsley all day, but he had been in charge of distributing stock onto the shelves and had not had an opportunity to call her. Now Martin was waiting at the front of the store for him, eager to go explore the secret map.

  Wolfe shook his head and decided he couldn’t delay Martin any longer. He’d have to call her again later tonight.

  “Have a good evening, Wolfe,” Mr. Bishop said with a wave as Wolfe left the store. He waved back and joined Martin on the sidewalk.

  “Let’s eat an early dinner, and I’ll show you the map,” Martin said.

  After they’d ordered at The Mansion, Martin took the map out of his briefcase and laid it on the table. He turned it to face Wolfe.

  “These are the five shacks I found,” Martin said, pointing to their location on the map, indicated by a box.

  “How far apart are they?”

  “I’d say about a half-mile from each other.”

  “It’s odd, they look like they’re in a circle.”

  “I noticed that too,” Martin said. “Probably coincidence.”

  “I don’t know,” Wolfe said. “It could mean something. What about this X here in the center? What was this?”

  “Nothing from what I could tell. There was not a shack there.”

  “What is there?”

  “I think just trees and brush.”

  “What have you ever heard about these shacks?”

  Martin shook his head. “Nothing, really. We’ve talked about tearing them down, we don’t want kids getting hurt. But for the most part, nobody seems to bother them.”

  The waitress brought their meals and Wolfe folded up the map. “As soon as we can, let’s get up there. It’s going to be hard to see in the dark.”

  “I brought flashlights.”

  Huffing and puffing her way up the small hill, Melb murmured her discontent with the owl. She’d tried everything. She’d read books at the library, hoping she was simply using the wrong dialect of owl. She’d spent hours owling softly, in order not to intimidate Mr. Sensitive. But nothing worked. The owl would not have her. And it was ticking her off.

  Every book she’d read said that a little patience and a whole lot of hooting would get an owl to connect. But this owl was stubborn beyond belief. Well, he hadn’t met stubborn.

  She stomped up the last part of the hill and stood there, catching her breath. After a few moments, she listened.

  “Whoo. Whoo.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Right back at ya, pal.” She knew the owl was too far, so she kept walking, listening every so often to make sure she was tracking in the right direction. “Mister owl, playing hard to get,” she mumbled. “I hardly think I’m being aggressive enough for you to run like I’m dragging you to the altar.”

  She stopped once more and listened. She could hear the hooting and knew she was getting closer. Something told her tonight was going to be the night she heard that continuous hoot back … that connecting hoot.

  “Come to mama.” She smiled. Then she took one step forward, but the ground vanished, hurling her into nothingness.

  CHAPTER 29

  THEY’D VISITED THE FIFTH SH
ACK, which was nearly identical to the first four. Wolfe looked around it as best he could, then joined Martin outside, who was on the lookout for anything strange.

  “I didn’t find anything,” Wolfe sighed. “Do you have any idea how long the shacks have been around?”

  “I’d say since the town was founded, which was 1870.”

  “They look about that old. You feel if you breathe hard they might collapse.”

  “Must’ve been built pretty sturdily to survive for this long.”

  “I’ll say,” Wolfe said. “Well, now what? Should we go explore what this X means?”

  Martin looked south. “I know for sure there is nothing out there but trees. No buildings anyway. But I guess it’s worth a try.”

  “If this map is accurate, I’d estimate we’re looking at a half-mile walk due south.”

  “I’d agree.”

  “Let’s go.”

  They turned on their flashlights and started walking.

  Melb massaged her flesh for several seconds, assuming she was dead. But it sure hurt when she pinched herself. Debris and limbs and twigs covered her hair and face, and she coughed as she tried to loosen herself from the mess on top of her head. Looking up, she could see the night sky and realized she was in a hole, about three feet wide and six feet deep.

  “My heavens!” she exclaimed, trying to catch her breath. “How am I going to get out of this?”

  She slowly stood up and to her relief realized the hole was not six feet deep, but only about four feet. Her shoulders were just above the edge of the hole. “What kind of beast would dig this kind of hole?” The word grave blew through her mind. Suddenly feeling very claustrophobic, she realized she was going to have to get out of this hole before she started hyperventilating. She braced one foot against the wall of the hole, but it slid down, the mud too slick to get a good foothold. Then her leg bumped up against something. She screamed, but then realized it didn’t feel furry or slimy, so she was probably okay. Was it a log? She bent down, trying to feel it with her fingers. When she finally did reach it, to her surprise, it was metal. With more investigation by her hands, she realized it was a metal box. After three attempts, she managed to lift it up to about her chest, where it nearly knocked a new dimension into the side of the mud wall. It was very heavy but not too big, and straining like a weightlifter, she managed to lift it up out of the hole and set it on the ground. There, the moonlight illuminated it. A safe! With a lock!

  She squealed in excitement. She didn’t know why. But she did. Then, with dread, she realized she might have just taken out the only thing she could’ve stood on to lift herself out. But after several attempts, she managed to get a foothold into some tangled tree roots and lift herself out of the “grave.” She knelt next to the silver safe, which glimmered in the moon’s white beam. “A treasure,” she whispered. “A buried treasure.” She’d found a buried treasure! “Oh heavens!”

  “Whoo. Whoo.”

  “Shoo, bird,” she said and then tried to figure out a way to get the treasure chest down the hill.

  Martin’s legs were aching as he followed Wolfe, whose stride was twice as long as his. It seemed they’d been all over the hillside, and he felt only disappointment they’d been unable to find anything of significance. He didn’t really want to go find the invisible X. But Wolfe had been kind enough to come out here with him, so he didn’t want to shoot down any ideas.

  “Key still around your neck?” Martin asked.

  Wolfe tapped his chest. “Got it right here, safe and sound. Hopefully we will find something that needs a key!”

  “How much longer, you think?” Martin asked between bated breaths.

  “I’d say not long now. Be on the lookout for anything strange. We could be near it and not know.”

  “Near what?”

  “Whatever the X marks.”

  “Maybe it’s just the center of the map.”

  “Maybe.”

  They continued walking, both men looking around them for anything significant. Then Wolfe stopped. “Wait.” He held up a hand. “Did you hear that?”

  “What?” Martin asked. All he could hear was an owl.

  “Over there.” Wolfe pointed to their left. “I think I heard something.”

  “Probably an animal,” Martin said.

  Wolfe shook his head. “It sounded more like.

  “Like?” Martin’s skin shivered.

  “C’mon,” Wolfe said, walking in the direction he’d just pointed. Martin followed closely behind.

  After they’d walked about thirty yards, Wolfe stopped and looked around. The trees hovered over the low fog, illuminated by the moon’s light. Wolfe stood there with his hands on his hips, his face as serious and still as a bird dog’s. Then his eyes focused on something. He squinted through the dark, took a couple of steps, and held up a finger indicating Martin should be silent.

  “What?” Martin asked, ignoring the finger.

  Wolfe pointed to something on the ground. Through the fog, all Martin could see was brush, but of course he was half hiding behind Wolfe.

  “What?” Martin asked again.

  “That hole!” Wolfe whispered back. “See it?”

  Martin peeked around Wolfe and saw it. It looked like a pretty large hole. “A grave?” Martin asked, his voice high like a little girls.

  Wolfe slowly walked forward, Martin hunkering behind him. When they came to it, Wolfe looked around carefully, then bent down. “It’s huge,” he observed.

  Martin stepped aside so he could see it. “Not long enough to be a grave.”

  “Too deep. Look at all these broken limbs around here, and on the inside. Looks like it was covered at one time.”

  “What would a covered hole be doing all the way out here?”

  “This is the Wolfe said. “Exactly where the X is on the map.” He pointed his flashlight down into the hole again. “Look!”

  Martin flinched. “Shhh! What?”

  “Down there,” Wolfe whispered. “Footprints! Fresh footprints!”

  Martin got on his knees and peered down into the hole. Sure enough, footprints. Large enough to be a mans, pressed a half inch into the muddy bottom.

  “And look!” Wolfe aimed his flashlight at the sides of the hole. “How odd.”

  Two deep lines cut into the mud, going from the bottom all the way to the top, plus a handprint here and there.

  “What do you suppose those lines are?” Martin asked.

  “Looks like something was taken out of here by somebody,” Wolfe said, standing and pointing his flashlight in every direction into the woods.

  Martin could not calm his beating heart. Never in his life had he been on this kind of adventure.

  Wolfe looked at him. “We’ve got to find out who’s been out here and what they took.”

  Melb was pretty sure she didn’t have asthma, but the way her lungs refused to squeeze adequate air in and out, she felt like it. Wheezing all the way into the house, she nearly dropped the safe on her toe twice before it came to rest in the middle of her living room. The house was dark. Oliver wouldn’t be at her home until later. He’d called earlier to inform her he had something to do after work.

  She switched on a single light, causing her parakeets to chirp a greeting, and stared at the safe. Heavy as it was, it was small, luckily, or she wouldn’t have been able to move it. She figured it was about two feet on each side. From the sound of things inside, she had deduced that a pile of money was waiting for her.

  She almost wept at the idea. Just days ago she had no idea how she would pay for her wedding. Now, not only was her entire wedding paid for, but she might’ve just found enough wealth for them to retire! She laughed out loud.

  Then stared at the padlock.

  The only thing standing in the way of all her dreams coming true was a heavy-duty padlock. Calling a locksmith was not an option. There was only one in Skary, and he was her half-cousin. Jimbo would ask too many questions and want a reward.

 
; Any other locksmith would need proof, she assumed, that the safe was hers.

  A small keyhole on the bottom looked as dark as the hole into which she’d fallen. She let go of the lock and sat on the couch, trying to get herself together. Excitement tingled every inch of her, but fear followed with the numbing realization that she had a big secret, and she didn’t know exactly what to do with it. Her birds chirped, wondering why she hadn’t greeted them.

  She justified all this in two ways. First, the person who had this money probably was long dead and gone. And second, if not, he shouldn’t have been stupid enough to bury his money in the woods.

  There. Now that her conscience was clear, she could focus on how she was going to get that padlock off. She went and grabbed a hammer. She drew back and with a steady hand, let the hammer fall on top of the lock.

  It hardly budged. She tried this three more times, but the lock was too sturdy.

  Then she heard Oliver’s car pull up outside. Scrambling to her feet, she put the hammer up and ran back to the safe. Bending at her knees, not her waist, she lifted the safe with all her might and as fast as she could heaved it to the pantry, where she piled a bunch of stuff on top of it. She knew it was fairly secure there, for now. Oliver hardly ever went in the pantry because he couldn’t stand the smell of garlic. In fact, at his own house, he didn’t even own a spice other than salt or pepper. Covering it up as best as she could, she was just coming out of the pantry when she heard him opening the front door.

  Oliver hated lying to his soon-to-be wife, but it was a little hard to explain that he was out scouting the suspected clones. Besides, this was dangerous work, and he didn’t want her involved. He fumbled with the doorknob from lack of attention.

  As he was doing this, he noticed muddy tracks leading all down the sidewalk and to the front door. He smiled. Melb’s large feet, for sure. After several attempts, he got the door unlocked. Melb was in the kitchen, leaning on the counter in a very relaxed fashion.