Once Upon an Equinox

by Dovie Ruth

  ONCE UPON AN EQUINOX

  A Dark Paranormal Cozy Mystery Novella

  Mystic California Cozies – Book One

  By Dovie Ruth

  ONCE UPON AN EQUINOX

  Copyright © 2019 Dovie Ruth

  All rights reserved.

  Published by Courtney & Chenille 2019

  United States of America

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Under no circumstances may any part of this book be photocopied for resale.

  The Tilted Plume Writers’ Retreat is purely fictional. No writers’ retreat exists on Mineral King Road.

  Editor — Melissa Kreikemeier

  Cover Photography — Dina Belenko

  Interior/Back Cover Photography — Dovie Ruth

  ONCE UPON AN EQUINOX

  Is dedicated to Ava.

  The dear soul was there every step of the way.

  She even made the treacherous journey

  with me up Mineral King Road

  so I could visit my old haunt

  and walk across the Kaweah River Bridge

  one more time.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Lifelong friends are one of our greatest treasures.

  I have been so blessed with the many

  I have known since childhood.

  Several have helped me with this novel.

  Denise Ryan and her husband Robert Rick

  provided me with a wealth

  of information regarding the protocols, logistics,

  and technology of fighting forest fires.

  Cindy and her husband were a great source of facts

  about Three Rivers, California and Mineral King Road.

  My heartfelt thanks goes out to all of you.

  March 20, 1991

  The Spring Equinox

  Three Rivers, California

  ONCE UPON AN EQUINOX

  CHAPTER ONE

  Delaney chuckled as her impish smoky blue eyes danced. She wondered what her new creative writing teacher would notice first. Would it be her crisp new Oxford cloth smock or the growing roundness of her tummy? Her starched white collar and bow tie would not behave. They were as jaunty as the young woman they adorned.

  “My ironing is hopeless,” she muttered. She eyed the suitcase on her bed. She hoped her clothing wouldn’t be wrinkled by the time she reached the writers’ retreat.

  Her husband, Chad, called from the living room. “Are you finished packing, Laney?”

  Without answering, she zipped her suitcase shut. She smiled as she paused to smooth the pleated front of her pale blue tunic. As she did so, Delaney’s fingers lingered on her growing baby. “Are you ready to go to the mountains, Samuel?”

  In four months, Delaney would be a first time mother. Her trip to the Sierra Nevada Mountains was going to be a last hurrah of sorts as a married woman without the responsibilities of a child. Her emotions ran bittersweet.

  Chad called out again. “Are you ready to go, little mama?”

  Delaney’s heart warmed in response to his sweet words. With a natural bristle hairbrush, she took a few final swipes through her lavender pageboy. She briefly considered her free-spirited choice of hair color and chuckled. “Gosh, Samuel,” she mumbled to her baby, “if you’re lucky, you’ll get your father’s dark hair.”

  “Delaney … are you ready?"

  The young wife eyed her satchel of unpublished manuscripts propped beside her suitcase. She hoped she was a better creator of children than she was of novels. After years of diligent writing, she had yet to see her stories in print.

  Delaney had made up her mind to not give up – even if it meant traveling. She loved her hometown of Visalia. It was a sleepy little agrarian community, which rested on the eastern rim of California’s Central San Joaquin Valley.

  As a budding author, Delaney had yet to connect with other creative writers who lived nearby. Reaching beyond her expected path in life as a wife, mother, and accountant had been a challenge. But she had refused to be lulled into a rut like a tractor that chugged between endless rows of crops, day after day. She was determined to become a skilled writer.

  Spurred by her lack of progress, Delaney saved up every spare penny from her accounting job at her father-in-law’s hardware store. Her goal was to indulge herself in a few days of heaven at a writers’ retreat. At the time, she hadn’t known where that place would be.

  Serendipity always seemed to be peering over Delaney’s shoulder. Before long, she happened across a brochure at the local library about just such a retreat. The Tilted Plume was only an hour or so northeast of Visalia in the idyllic artist’s haven of Three Rivers, California. The founder, Miss Mavis Beasom, was a renowned romance writer. She had opened her private sanctuary in the Sierra Nevada Mountains to select students.

  For a price, Mavis Beasom promised to share the secrets to behind her award-winning manuscripts. The schedule was accommodating. The writers would arrive on Tuesday and depart at noon on Thursday. Most of the time would be spent writing and critiquing each other’s efforts. Mavis Beasom would be at the helm.

  The Tilted Plume Writers’ Retreat was tucked snugly up against the eastern boundary of Sequoia National Park. Delaney spent way too much time dreaming about the haven. She perused the panoramic photos in the brochure during her breaks at work. She exchanged letters with the prestigious storyteller. Finally, the plan was set in motion. Delaney would be spending three days in March at the author's spacious custom cabin.

  Miss Beasom promised Delaney the back bedroom. Its French doors opened onto a redwood deck, offering a breathtaking view of the East Fork of the Kaweah River. Delaney imagined herself and the other students spending time on the deck. They would engage in deep discussions about their works in progress, and perhaps, the literary world in general.

  “Delaney!” Once again, Chad made a futile attempt to break his daydreaming wife’s reverie. “Are you ready?”

  “Just a minute.”

  Chad whistled as he traipsed through the bedroom with a fishing pole. He, too, was taking advantage of the few months they had left before their precious son arrived. “Someday little Samuel will come fishing with me.” He winked at his beloved wife and instinctively touched her belly. “But the for the time being, I guess I will have to put up with rotten old Roger,” he said, referring to his best friend. “He snores like a constipated motorboat.”

  Delaney embraced her tall, lean husband and pressed her face against his freshly laundered sweatshirt. She knew he wouldn’t smell quite so nice when he returned from a weekend of fishing. “Your dad is going to miss all your help down at the hardware store, you know.”

  Chad flashed his wife a crooked grin. “Hey, whose side are you on, anyway, Delaney? You’re playing hooky, too. Besides, we work really hard for him, and we deserve a little rest and relaxation.”

  “Just teasing. We both need a vacation. At least we’re not leaving him high and dry on a weekend.”

  “Let me carry your things to the car.” Chad grabbed Delaney’s suitcase and her tote bag full of manuscripts. “Aren’t you going to take your typewriter?”

  “Mavis said she has an electric one for me to use while I am there.”

  “That’s nice.”
>
  “I still can’t believe I’m going,” Delaney mused. “I can’t wait to meet the other writers. And the pictures of the cabin look so lovely. There is a deck overlooking the mountains and the steep gorge. The Kaweah River runs along the back of the property.”

  “Just stay out of the gorge, snicklefritz. And how many times am I going to have to hear about that deck?” Chad feigned exasperation.

  Delaney snickered. “You’re never going to hear the end of it.”

  “Just as long as you have your own room,” Chad asserted. “I don’t want you to have to share.”

  “I am sharing.” Delaney patted her tummy. “With Samuel! But seriously, Miss Beasom promised me I would have my own room with a private entrance.”

  Chad kissed his wife’s creamy forehead. “I’m going to miss you like crazy, Delaney, but do have fun.” He steadied his square jaw to hold back his own rush of emotions as he helped Delaney into her car and closed the door.

  Delaney rolled down the driver’s window of her sparkly red Mustang. “This is probably the last long trip I will be making in this car.”

  “Are you sure you want to trade it in?” Chad rested his hand on Delaney’s shoulder.

  “No,” she admitted, “but with Samuel coming, we need a more family-friendly car.”

  Chad nodded.

  “I guess I’d better be going. It’s getting close to noon.” She reached for her husband’s hand and gave it a final squeeze.

  “You’ll call me when you get there, Delaney?”

  “Yes, honey. Miss Beasom said I can use her home phone.”

  “Okay. And you have the number to the fishing shack?”

  “I do.”

  Chad shifted in his leather lace up boots. “Then I will see you on Thursday evening.”

  “You and Roger have fun at Lake Cachuma,” Delaney chuckled. She knew full well that Roger’s antics would have her husband at his wit’s end by the end of the trip. Each of them could be as ornery as the other, though, so their relationship wasn’t about to end.

  “We will.”

  Delaney fired up the engine of her Mustang and prepared to back out of the driveway.

  Chad kissed his sweetheart through the window one last time before they parted. “I’ll be waiting for your call.”

  “Don’t worry, honey. I’ll be fine!”

  CHAPTER TWO

  The sun was already high in the sky. Spring tickled the bucolic landscape with bright shoots of green. The northern hemisphere was only one day away from the spring equinox.

  “Tomorrow,” Delaney mouthed. “March 20, 1991. It will be a day I will never forget.”

  Delaney donned her rhinestone-studded pink sunglasses and left the windows of her Mustang slightly ajar so she could enjoy the temperate air. Her internal compass was set for due east.

  The sports coupe made short work of slicing through the flat farmland surrounding Visalia. Within twenty minutes, Highway 198 jogged northeast and began to rise from the floor of the San Joaquin Valley. It threaded past rural whistle stops with delightful names like Matchin, Lindcove, and Lemoncove.

  The open road ascended quickly, cutting notches around Lake Kaweah on its upward trek to the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Delaney removed her sunglasses and squinted at the sparkling reservoir. She thought about taking the exit for the boat launch for a short break and making a quick call home from a pay phone. But in the next second, she laughed at herself. Only a half hour had passed since she’d left Visalia. Besides, Chad and Roger were probably on the road themselves. They had a much longer journey ahead of them than Delaney. Lake Cachuma was in the opposite direction and at least four hours away from Visalia.

  During their three years of marriage, the couple had never been so far apart.

  Delaney shifted uncomfortably in her bucket seat. It certainly hadn’t been designed with pregnant women in mind. She was relieved to know that Three Rivers wasn’t much further up the road. Since she was running early, perhaps she could stop and explore the sleepy little artists’ haven. Maybe she could even get some ice cream.

  It was past noon when the free spirit drove into town. She found the small village was elongated by necessity. It was squeezed into the base of a gorge with mountains reaching skyward along both sides. The main branch of the Kaweah River meandered through the canyon and passed scattered clusters of businesses and homes on its way to Lake Kaweah. Further up the road was Sequoia National Park. Several groves of colossal redwood trees resided there in all their ancient glory.

  Delaney was not due to arrive at the writers’ retreat until three o’clock. In her exuberance to reach her destination, she had substantially overestimated her travel time. She glanced up and down the main street. When her eyes lit upon the charming storefronts, she decided that being an early bird was a blessing. She could have some lunch, shop a bit, and then find a gas station. It would be a good idea to top off the Mustang’s gas tank. There wouldn’t be any service stations on the road she intended to travel.

  Delaney seated herself at a small table on the porch of a quaint sandwich shop, which overlooked the main thoroughfare. Without so much as a thought, she reached into the side pocket of her purse and pulled out her wallet. Her eyes teared up while she gazed at a photo of her dear husband. By the time her waitress showed up with a menu, Delaney was a tangle of emotions. “Please tell me there are pay phones here in Three Rivers,” she pleaded.

  The middle-aged waitress smiled, her expression benevolent. “Sorry, sweetie, but most of us have private landlines up here. There are some rumblings about cell phones eventually being available to the average citizen. But as you know, that hasn’t happened yet.”

  Delaney sighed. “Where do all the tourists make their calls when they come here?”

  “Most of the gas stations have at least one pay phone. Some of the motels have phones.”

  Delaney’s face began to flush. She wanted to turn around and bolt for home. Her idea of a relaxing holiday didn’t include such blatant inconveniences. Why hadn’t Mavis mentioned anything in her letters? “Surely there are working phones in the homes on Mineral King Road.” Delaney ventured. “That’s where I’m going.”

  Seeing her distress, the matronly server patted Delaney on the shoulder. “There should be folks up there with phones. If all else fails, there are convenience stores in town with pay phones.”

  “Where is the closest phone to where I am going?”

  The waitress poured cool water from a pitcher into Delaney’s glass. “The final phone before you leave Three Rivers is right where you turn off Highway 198 onto Mineral King Road. There’s a mini-mart at the junction.”

  Delaney tried to smile at the kind woman but just ended up wiping more tears from her cheeks instead.

  “How far up the road is your friend’s house?” the waitress asked, presuming a lot about who Delaney was going to visit.

  “Seven miles,” Delaney answered. “Mavis told me to look for the mile markers alongside the road.”

  “Mavis Beasom?”

  “You know her?”

  “Oh, no – not personally – but Mavis is somewhat of a celebrity around here. Of course, she’s quite the recluse, so not many people in town have actually ever seen her. She must be really popular in the publishing industry. All kinds of students come to attend her retreat.”

  “I found out about Miss Beasom at the public library in Visalia,” Delaney explained. “That’s how I found her.”

  The waitress shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t think Miss Beasom’s retreat is quite the rage it used to be. In fact, you’re the first person I’ve talked to in a long time who’s headed up that way.”

  Delaney could not help but feel let down, even alarmed. “Why is that?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” The hostess replied. “Writers are fickle. They’re always looking for the next bestselling author who can help them become famous.”

  Delaney smiled as she smoothed a large cloth napkin across her rounded lap. She had
decided to make the best of things. “I think I will have a turkey sandwich for lunch today. And a side of fruit salad.”

  “Anything to drink?”

  “Just water for me, thanks.”

  A little less than an hour later, Delaney had finished her meal. She took her walk as planned. When she was finished, her feet were tired from window-shopping in the modest but charming business district on Sierra Drive. Still, she smiled, and her skin tingled. She was the proud owner of a sweet handmade baby quilt she’d spied in the front window of a gift shop. Delaney’s eyes teared up as she anticipated the first time she would place her newborn upon it. Fortunately – for little Samuel – the main fabric was a blue and green dinosaur print. A rosebud calico just wouldn’t do for a boy.

  “I’ve got to stop all this emotional stuff,” Delaney chided herself. “It’s time to be getting up the road.” She hugged the quilt to her chest. She couldn’t bear to put the sweet gift back in its shopping bag and stow it in the trunk of her car, so she placed the quilt on the passenger seat of her Mustang. That way, she could steal a quick glance at it every now and again.

  “Next stop is the mini-mart,” she reminded herself in an effort to keep her thoughts level. She hoped the pay phone there was in working order. She wanted to touch base with her neighbor and remind her to water her tomato seedlings. Then she would be ready to leave the township of Three Rivers and head up into mountains.

  She thought of Chad and Roger on their long journey to Lake Cachuma. “I wonder if they are having a good time,” she mumbled to Samuel. “I sure miss your dad.”

  Delaney was relieved when she found the convenience store, and as promised, the pay phone out in front. Better yet, no one was talking on it or standing in a long line. She parked nearby and stepped out her red sports car. All seemed to be quiet for a Friday afternoon.