Home on Apple Blossom Road (Life in Icicle Falls)

by Sheila Roberts

  “This could take hours,” he grumbled.

  What a poor sport. “Oh, yeah, babe is waiting for you. Well, feel free to leave. I’ll let you know when I find something.” A noble offer that still sounded catty. Meow. All she needed now was a litter box and a scratching post.

  What did his girlfriend look like? What did she care?

  He frowned. “I didn’t say I was leaving. And you can stop taking potshots about the girlfriend. It’s not like you never had anyone,” he added, bitterness seeping into his voice.

  Oh, no. That was a card he didn’t get to play. “We’re not discussing that.” The frown carved itself deeper into his face, but he dropped the subject.

  She turned another page. “There’s your tenth birthday party.”

  He looked over and smiled. “I remember that. Gramps gave me a jackknife.”

  “Grandma Justine was worried you’d cut yourself.”

  “I did, and it hurt like a son of a gun. Dad took the knife away and wouldn’t let me have it until I was thirteen.”

  She glanced at his album. “Oh, my sewing club with Aunt Beth.” There she was, a sixth grader, gathered with several other girls, including Bailey Sterling-Black, who’d been the youngest of the gang, all proudly displaying the quilted wall hangings Aunt Beth had helped them make.

  “Someday I’ll make your wedding dress for you,” Aunt Beth had promised, and when Mia had gotten engaged Aunt Beth had reminded her of that promise. It had been pretty embarrassing to have to call and tell her never mind.

  Colin flipped through the pages of his photo album, sending their lives flashing past—picnics, birthday parties, lost teeth—then shut the book. “Nothing in here.” He set it aside and opened another and began the same quick perusal.

  Following his example, Mia did a similar check. So much for the reminiscence Grandma Justine had suggested in her first clue.

  She selected the next album. This new one contained pictures of the apple orchard and the farmhouse, as well as some taken at Beth’s place.

  There was one of her grandfather, who had helped work the orchard. He was fairly young, wearing overalls and a straw hat that covered his thick, dark hair. She’d only been a year old when he and her grandmother had returned to Mexico. There’d been plans for her mother to visit, but then they were killed in a car accident and that had been the end of any plans.

  In spite of her loss, Mama was happy in Icicle Falls. The pictures of her grandparents, while interesting, were essentially pictures of strangers. The album containing so many snapshots of her mother was another story. She used to go to it as a child, hoping the sight of that smiling face would keep her connected. Mostly it made her cry. As she got older the crying subsided. But the ache in her chest never left, even though she tried to concentrate on the happy memories. The pictures of Mama when she was younger and so beautiful and full of life were still the hardest to look at—all those poses with happiness resting on her face, before the cancer hit, before her husband abandoned her. She’d been a Miss Icicle Falls, and when Mia was a little girl and looked at the pictures of her mother sitting on that parade float in her ice-blue evening gown, she’d been sure she was a princess.

  Too bad Mia’s father hadn’t been a prince.

  She quickly turned the page. There was a picture of Colin and her when they were kindergarten and preschool age. It was summer, and someone had snapped a shot of them playing in a wading pool set up in Aunt Beth’s backyard. Colin was splashing wildly and Mia had her head turned away, her eyes shut, her hands held up in a feeble attempt to shield herself from the water. She recognized Aunt Beth’s printing on the edge of the picture. Bold and Bashful. Yep, that about summed them up.

  Another snapshot showed Mia on Grandma Justine’s front porch, her arms around another little girl. Bella, one of Grandma Justine’s many foster kids. She and Bella had been BFFs, sworn lasting allegiance to each other. But then Bella had moved away, back to her parents in Yakima. And that had been that. There’d always been friends to make at Grandma Justine’s. And friends to lose.

  She had just closed the album and was contemplating this when a knock on the front door startled her.

  “What the heck?” Colin muttered. He opened the front door and there stood one of Icicle Falls’s finest, looking buff in her cop uniform. “Tilda?”

  They’d both known Tilda Morrison for years. Mia remembered when Tilda had first started out as a police cadet in high school. Nobody had messed with her even back then, and nobody had teased her. Except Colin, who’d nicknamed her Dirty Harriet.

  But what was this? Mia wondered as she stood beside Colin at the door. There was a diamond ring on Tilda’s left hand.

  “We had a call about a break-in here,” Tilda said.

  “When?” Colin asked.

  Tilda half smiled. “Now.”

  “Oh, yeah. Funny,” he said.

  Another voice joined in. “I told you someone was in the house, and with that poor woman hardly in her grave. What kind of high-crime neighborhood have I moved into, anyway?”

  Mia glanced around Tilda to see a thin, older woman with gray hair, glasses and a slouch marching up the sidewalk. She wore a black jogging outfit, and between that and her sharp nose, Mia couldn’t help but think of crows.

  “Go home, Mrs. Beecham. Everything’s fine,” Tilda said firmly.

  Tilda the cop was tougher than jerky. Nobody talked back to her.

  Apparently, Mrs. Beecham never got the memo. “Well, who are they?” she demanded.

  Judging by the expression on Tilda’s face, Mrs. Beecham was one question away from getting arrested for being irritating. Mia leaned around Tilda and called, “We’re family.”

  Mrs. Beecham marched up onto the front porch. “Family?” She peered past Tilda, taking in Colin and Mia with eager, squinty eyes. “Are you her grandchildren?”

  “I am,” Colin said. “We’re here looking for something.”

  “Well, I can’t imagine what you hope to find,” Mrs. Beecham said. “I don’t think that little old lady had much.”

  “Let’s let them get back to what they were doing,” Tilda said, barring the door. This was probably a good thing, since the new neighbor looked ready to come in and see exactly what the little old lady did have.

  “All right,” Mrs. Beecham said. Then to Colin, “Don’t you worry. I’m keeping an eye on the place.”

  “And every other place on the block,” Colin murmured as the woman went back down the front walk.

  “She’s starting a neighborhood watch,” Tilda said.

  “Oh, yeah. We need that in Icicle Falls.”

  “Even small towns have problems,” Tilda informed him. “Great to see you guys, by the way. Sorry about Grandma J. I’m gonna miss those ginger cookies she used to bring by the station.”

  “Tell Aunt Beth,” Colin suggested. “She’ll keep it going.”

  Tilda smiled at that. “Great idea.”

  “What’s with the ring?” Colin asked. “Who’d you sucker into a life sentence?”

  To Mia’s surprise, Tilda actually blushed. But she still managed to shoot back, “How do you know it wasn’t me who got suckered?”

  “Touché,” Mia said approvingly. “Seriously, is it anyone we’ve met?”

  “Devon Black, Todd’s brother.”

  “So you’ll be related to Bailey,” Mia said. “Lucky you.”

  “Yeah. The way she bakes, you won’t have to worry about not getting any cookies,” Colin added.

  “When’s the wedding?” Mia asked.

  “December. Maddy Donaldson practically had a fit when she heard we wanted to have it at the station. She’s determined to dress the place up like something out of a frickin’ Martha Stewart magazine.”

  Mia giggled, envisioning ribbons wrapped ar
ound the cell bars and the chief’s desk awash in flowers. “What does your mom say to that?”

  Tilda rolled her eyes. “She’s almost as bad. She’s already talked about hiring that wedding planner who bought a cabin up here, and she wants to invite the whole damn town.”

  “Why not? You’ve given traffic tickets to the whole damn town,” Colin teased.

  Tilda pointed a warning finger at him. “Don’t get on my bad side. I’ll give you a ticket just for being ugly.”

  Since he was gorgeous and they all knew it, he merely grinned.

  “Okay, I’ve got better things to do than stand around talking to you two fake burglars,” Tilda said and turned to go down the front steps.

  Colin laughed. “Yeah, it’s probably time for a doughnut break.”

  She kept walking, saying goodbye with a raised middle finger.

  “Man, that guy’s in for a ride,” Colin said, smiling and shaking his head as they returned to the photo albums. “You wouldn’t catch me marrying the Iron Maiden.”

  Who would I catch you marrying? Mia stopped the words before they could escape. Who cares? Who cares, who cares, who cares, who cares?

  She picked up a new photo album and began to leaf through it. She didn’t have to go very far before she came across another piece of pink paper, folded in thirds and wedged between pages displaying pictures of the orchard. One photograph in particular had captured the beauty of the orchard in spring. The photographer, likely Grandma Justine, had gotten a long shot of two rows of trees in full, elegant bloom, their branches a froth of white and sunshine. It brought back memories of playing hide-and-seek and of running from row to row, searching for Easter baskets.

  And now she’d found what they were seeking. “Got it.”

  Colin tossed aside his album. “Nice work. What does it say?”

  She opened it and read, “‘You two need to take a walk down Memory Lane and this is a good place to start.’”

  His brow furrowed. “What kind of clue is that?”

  “A cryptic one.”

  “I thought we were going down Memory Lane, looking through these albums.”

  “It would appear that she wants us to actually go somewhere.”

  He considered that for a moment and then bounded across the living room. “It’s gotta be the attic.”

  “Don’t worry about putting these back,” Mia muttered.

  Of course he didn’t hear her. He was already on his way upstairs. Leaving behind a mess. What was this, a race?

  But that had always been Colin, running ahead to the next clue, often jumping to conclusions. He’d loved the obvious ones in their childhood treasure hunts, ones that involved counting out paces or dashing to a specified spot, while Mia had enjoyed the challenge of riddles they had to puzzle out.

  She put away the albums and then followed him up to the attic. It was huge and filled with everything from a steamer trunk to antique dolls and old percolators and furniture that needed to be reupholstered. Colin was busy pawing around in a bunch of old wicker baskets.

  “Bet it’s in here,” he said, opening a picnic basket.

  “Bet it’s not,” she joked, watching his face fall as he came up empty. “What about the trunk?”

  He opened the trunk and pulled out a pink envelope with a crow of triumph. She hurried over as he tore it open, then she looked over his shoulder.

  You’re getting colder.

  She couldn’t help chuckling as he crumpled the paper with a scowl and shut the taunting nonclue back in the trunk. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I think it means that this isn’t really the Memory Lane she’s talking about,” Mia replied. “It’s got to be something physical, some kind of real lane.”

  “Lavender Lane,” he said. “Maybe it’s in that tea shop of Bailey’s.”

  “The tea shop’s too new. We don’t have any memories there.”

  “Well, then, where?” he asked, impatient as usual. Then, “Wait a minute. You don’t think...”

  Memory Lane was the nickname for a little dirt road outside town that led to the river. It had no official name and, along with the parking area at the trailhead to Lost Bride Falls, it had been a favorite make-out spot for generations.

  “But Gram wouldn’t know about that,” Mia protested.

  “Gram knew about everything and everybody,” Colin argued. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  They hurried down the street and around the corner, back to Dylan’s office, where they’d left their cars. “We can take my car,” Colin said, unlocking the passenger door.

  Getting in his car was like stepping back in time. “I can’t believe you’ve still got this.”

  “She’s a gas hog but she’s well made. I’ll keep her forever,” he said.

  It was more than he’d done for her.

  Memory Lane was pretty much overgrown, and they wound up driving over all manner of ferns and flowers, with tree branches reaching out to scrape the car. They hadn’t gone far before Colin decided to get out and walk rather than expose his baby to damage.

  “I don’t think this is what she meant,” Mia said, looking around as they started toward the river. “This isn’t someplace Gram and Aunt Beth would come to hide a clue.”

  “Oh, yeah?” He pointed off in the distance to a piece of paper caught in some blackberry brambles.

  “That’s not a pink envelope,” she said.

  “Well, it’s some kind of paper. She probably didn’t use the same paper for every clue.”

  “I’m sure it’s something that just blew there and got caught in the blackberries,” Mia surmised. “Aunt Beth wouldn’t go stomping through all that just to hide a clue.”

  “Uncle Mark would. I bet Gram got him to help,” Colin said, and charged into the underbrush.

  She was in shorts; he was in jeans. She let him go in on his own.

  He’d only taken a few steps when he brushed at his neck. “Crap.”

  She couldn’t resist saying, “Told you.”

  He wasn’t interested in either her I-told-you-so or the scrap of paper in the blackberries. Something else had his attention. He whirled sideways and waved his hands in front of his face like the Karate Kid practicing wax on, wax off in fast motion. “Crap!”

  Then he began running in her direction, crashing back through the underbrush, hands waving every which way. “Bees! Run for it.”

  July 14, 1993

  Dear Mother,

  As you can see by the enclosed picture, we’ve had quite the building project going on around here. Mark and Dylan did the sawing and heavy lifting but Colin and Mia did all the nailing. They love their new tree fort and we can hardly get them out of it.

  The other child in the picture is Jimmy Conner, our new foster child. He’s going to be with us until his mother can get her life straightened out. Only six and he’s already been through so much! He’s a sweet boy and a little shy, but Colin has taken him under his wing and I think he’s going to do well here. When he’s not following Colin and Mia around, he likes being in the kitchen with me. The child is always hungry. I can’t help wondering if he’s ever gotten enough to eat. It makes me sad to think about how many other little Jimmys are out there in need of love. Gerald reminds me that we can’t save them all. I wish we could!

  Let’s see, what other news is there? The annual church picnic was a huge success. My friend Sarah and I baked twenty-five pies for the pie-eating contest. I won the ladies’ shoe kick, beating several of the younger women. Coach Armstrong said I’d be great at kicking field goals and asked if I’d like to try out for the high school football team. Colin and Mia won the three-legged race, and Dylan and Mark’s team won the tug-of-war. So you might say the Wright family swept the games.

  Gerald tried to keep up with the younger m
en playing softball and pulled a calf muscle, and now he’s limping around. Other than that, we’re all fine.

  I’d better run. Jimmy and I are going to pick blackberries as I promised him a pie.

  Love,

  Justine

  Chapter Four

  Mia felt a sharp sting on her neck. Yikes! Bees! No, not bees. These were yellow jackets, a type of wasp, meanest of the mean, especially when some clueless human disturbed their nest.

  She’d never been much of an athlete, but with Colin about to trample her and an angry buzz in her ears, she set a world record in her dash back to the car. She yanked open the door and threw herself onto the passenger seat, pulling the door shut behind her. Colin did the same on his side, sealing them in with an angry insect.

  A decision had to be made. Stay inside and deal with Betty Bee or hop back out and risk encountering more of the family. Mia chose option one. Sort of.

  “It’s in the car,” she shrieked, and crumpled into a ball, her arms over her head.

  Colin was obviously swatting at it because the whole car was rocking like an amusement park ride. The Towering Beehive. The bee zzzed past her head. “Eeek!”

  “Shit!” Colin yelped. “Shit! Crap!” Meanwhile, he was slapping windows, the dashboard and finally her as the bee tried for a landing on her arm.

  “Hey!” she protested.

  “Sorry. Ow!” She heard another slapping noise. “Got it,” he announced.

  She uncurled herself to see that their common enemy had been vanquished. But Colin wasn’t without his battle scars. His arms and neck all had waspish love bites.

  “You’re a mess,” she informed him.

  He scowled. “These hurt like the devil.”

  “Let’s go back to Aunt Beth’s. She’ll get us fixed up.”

  “What’s this us?” he grumped as he started the car. “You didn’t get stung.”

  She pointed to her neck. “I guess I’m hallucinating this pain. Jeez, Colin, I told you that paper wasn’t anything.”

  “We don’t know that.”

  “I know it. But if you don’t believe me, you’re welcome to go back out there.”