The map I drew on the next page should help you find them.
I’m done. It’s up to you, Double Al.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The next morning, Gil dropped me off at Chez Prentice. “I’ll just tie up a few loose ends at the office and call Dennis O’Brien about what we found in the journal. You and Janet hang out here, and when I get back the three of us will go out to lunch. Maybe the diner?”
“Oh, yes, please!” I loved the diner’s BLT sandwiches.
I had just mounted the front porch steps when I saw a woman at the end of the B&B’s sidewalk, heading toward me. There was something familiar about her confident stride. I tried not to stare, but she walked right up to me on the porch.
“Amelia?”
“Yes?”
She stared intently at my face. “Wow! You’re just the same.”
Too startled to object, I looked back at her. She was attractive, but her features had that slight blurring that comes with weight gain and age. There were dark circles under her eyes. She wore costly-looking earrings and her brown hair was cut in a short, pixie style. A glance at her well-cut denim jacket and high-heeled boots told me that her clothes, too, were expensive.
We looked at each other for some seconds before I realized that the eyebrows were exactly the same as they had always been, dark, arched and very expressive. I stumbled backward.
“Janey Johnson? I mean, Eileen? Is it you? You’re alive!”
“Oh, gee, I didn’t mean to scare you, but yes, it’s me. Wow, I can’t believe this.” She gestured towards the door. “I just got in late last night. Listen, this is where I’m staying. It’s a bed and breakfast and they have great cookies and things. Why don’t you come on in? We could have a cup of coffee, catch up on things.”
“Coffee and cookies at Chez Prentice?” I emphasized the name, but she didn’t pick up on it. “I’d like that. Why are you here? Did you come for Terence’s funeral?”
She scowled and shook her head. “Oh, I heard about that. No, it’s my dad’s funeral; it’s this afternoon. He lived most of his life downstate in the City, you know, but he was raised here.”
“I’m so sorry to hear about your father, but—I’m glad to see you, um, I mean I’m glad you’re alive—Ja—I mean—”
“Call me Zoe. I’m not Janey or even Eileen anymore.”
“What?” Curiouser and curiouser.
In the Chez Prentice kitchen Hester was delighted to brew a fresh pot. “Just made another batch of the lemon cookies too.” She put a loaded plate before us. “The little one is still upstairs with Mrs. Burns,” she said in answer to my mute question. “She’s puttin’ her down for another nap. You ladies know each other?” She pointed back and forth between us.
“We used to,” I said.
“A long time ago,” Janey/Eileen/what’s-her-name added.
“Well, you just stay there and have a good talk and catch up and things. Excuse me, I got laundry to fold.”
This somewhat familiar stranger settled easily at the big round kitchen table, opened up her leather purse, pulled out a compact and plucked at her hairdo in the mirror.
There was a vaguely uncomfortable silence until the coffeemaker beeped and I stood to fetch the pot.
She followed, hunting in various cupboards. “Mugs?”
“Over there to your left. Please hand me that glass. I’m having milk. What’s your name again?” I blurted, “And where on earth have you been?”
“Would you believe, Spelvin?” She laughed loudly. “No, I’m only kidding. I’m Zoe Patterson, have been for years. I didn’t like it at first, but it was what they gave me, so I had to get used to it. Later, I looked it up—the name Zoe. It means life. I liked that. Kind of ironic and hopeful at the same time, don’t you think? I’ve been living out West. I mean, waaay out West, in Nevada! I raised two kids—who are now away at college—outlived one husband and divorced another. I—”
“Wait a minute. Let’s take it back to where—”
Lily Burns walked through the door and set the portable baby monitor on the table. She seemed to be talking to herself. “Whew! She’s sound asleep, but it wasn’t easy. That child has the hearing of a young bat!”
She noticed me for the first time. “You’ll be pleased to know that your daughter slept almost the entire night. Hello,” she said to Zoe Patterson. “Amelia, this lady is one of your guests. I met her in the hall earlier.”
I smiled. “She doesn’t recognize you at all,” I said to Zoe.
“Recognize who?” Lily walked to the cat carrier stationed on the floor at the back door and returned with Sam, Jr. in hand. “Do we know each other?”
She made chirping noises and put the restless kitten on her shoulder. I was pretty sure it was against the rules to have the cat in the kitchen, but I decided to wait a while before pointing this out.
“Look at her, Lily. Look at her face, her eyebrows.”
Lily sat back in her chair, momentarily forgetting the kitten. “Eyebrows? What do you mean? Eyebrows!” Her eyes widened. “Of course! Janey Johnson! You’re not dead!” Her expression suddenly registered indignation, and she pointed an accusing finger across the table. “Where have you been?”
The kitten took the opportunity to skitter quickly along Lily’s arm and jump onto the table, where he was promptly removed and returned to Lily’s shoulder. “No, you don’t, Little Sam.”
Zoe looked down at the table. She picked up a spoon, stirred her coffee, and took a sip. She took a cookie and put it on a napkin. She broke off a piece, but didn’t eat it. She was stalling.
“Okay, remember, this is in confidence. I was in witness protection, wit-sec, they call it. I had been in it earlier, but they sent me to New Mexico and I hated it there. It was hot and dry and no trees, or not many. I didn’t know anybody. They wouldn’t let me call my family, my dad, or anybody. I was supposed to just start life all over again. I was just twenty years old, and I couldn’t stand it. So I saved up my money and after a couple months, I had enough for a bus ticket east.”
“And you came here? Why? Ow!”
That last was in response, I surmised, to the tiny teeth that were now gnawing on Lily’s pinky. She removed her pinky, stood and carried the kitten back to the carrier.
“We’ll work on your manners later,” she told the tiny occupant.
Zoe spoke over her shoulder to Lily. “Well, my dad always said that Terence was his best friend in the world. They’d worked in the theatre together. He had a lot of respect for him. I read somewhere that Terence was going back to his home town to open a theatre, and I thought, what better place to hide than up in the boonies?”
“Wait just a minute—” Lily was fiercely defensive of our town.
“Relax, I know it was stupid, but I was just a kid back then. So were you, as I remember.”
As she returned to her seat, Lily made a sound that might be spelled, “Hmph.” She picked up two cookies from the plate in the center of the table and popped one in her mouth.
“Didn’t you realize that being in the play might call attention to you?” I said, “Especially in a starring role?”
Zoe’s distinctive eyebrows arched. “Again, I was just a kid, okay? And I loved to perform. I couldn’t stay away from a stage. I never could.” Her expression smug, she picked a crumb off her jacket sleeve, then shrugged. “Cream rising to the top and all that. I do a lot of community theatre at home.”
Lily said, only partly in jest, “I’ll have you know, you probably ruined my potential show business career. When you disappeared, my mother made me quit the theatre for fear of it happening to me. Thanks a lot!” Lily took a bite of the second cookie and spoke through the mouthful of crumbs. “So where’d you go after you ditched us?”
“Look, I didn’t mean to ditch you, as you put it, but I had to leave, and fast. Danny was a gorgeous hunk, and for a while there, we had some good times.” Her eyebrows arched significantly. “I mean really good, if you get my drift. B
ut that old guy, Danny’s uncle, scared me silly. All I could think to do was to go back and find the federal marshals. It felt weird, begging to get back into a program that I hated so much, but another girl, another witness who actually testified in the same case as mine, had gone missing after she refused to be relocated, so they agreed. This time they put me in Nevada.”
She straightened up a little in her chair and took a sip of coffee. “Did you know that the wit-sec people have never lost anybody who has stayed in the program? I mean, nobody’s been killed. Not one. But only as long as they did what they were supposed to.”
“Did you hear about what happened to Danny?” I asked.
She put down her cup. “Yes! I read about it in the Worldwide Buzz! Wasn’t that terrible? It just goes to show—oh, I don’t know. Danny was a really fun guy and didn’t seem like a violent sort of person, even if his uncle was, you know. ” She shrugged again. “It was probably one of those mob types who killed him. Sad.”
Now it was Lily’s eyebrows that were expressive. She doesn’t know, they said as she shot me a look.
“Actually—”
“Actually,” I interrupted quickly, “I find this subject really depressing, don’t you? I’m sorry I brought it up.” What good would it do to burden her with this knowledge?
Zoe sighed and nodded. “It’s okay. We’ll probably never know anyway.” She dusted her hands of crumbs, gathered her purse and stood. “It’s been good seeing you gals after all this time, but I need to go to my room to get ready for the funeral this afternoon. I’ve decided to fly back to Nevada tomorrow. There’s a man there who wants to marry me. That would make husband number three.”
Rather like that engaging, award-winning actress, Charlotte Yates, I thought to myself, remembering how all this business had started such a short time ago.
I was in a philosophical mood after Zoe/Janey/Eileen ascended the staircase.
“Earth to Amelia.” Lily tapped my forehead lightly. “Anybody at home in there?”
“You’re mixing metaphors. What a waste. Poor Danny. Poor Terence. And poor Dierdre, for that matter.”
“Poor him, poor her, poor everybody. Get over it.” Lily fetched the carrier containing Little Sam from the floor.
The baby monitor erupted with a wail.
“That’s your cue.” Lily headed for the front door. “My babysitting duties are over. I’m going home to catch up on my sleep. You’re on your own now.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Throwing back the thick bedclothes, Dr. Alexander Alexander yawned and stretched his arms. Between the window blinds, sunshine cut across the bedroom in thin beams. A clock down the hall gave tinny evidence of the time: six o’clock. With a groan of resignation, Alec slid his feet into dingy bedroom slippers and pulled on his well-worn bathrobe, neglecting, as he always did, to tie the sash.
Shuffling into the kitchen, he leaned over the sink, pulled up the elderly venetian blinds with a rattle and gazed at the reflection of the sunrise on the choppy waters of Lake Champlain.
“This,” he said in a low, gruff whisper, “is the day that the Lord hath made.” The r’s rolled slightly. “I will rejoice and be glad in it.” It had been his morning benediction since childhood.
“A fine day,” he told himself, nodding. “A bonny day at last.”
He filled the kettle and put it on to boil, whistling a hymn faintly between his teeth. All things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small . . .
He was fumbling in the cupboard for the teabag tin when he heard the clank of the old ship’s bell that hung just outside the screened back porch and the distinctive squeak of the screen door as it opened. Then a crash.
“Hello? Who’s there?”
Surely not one of his friends. They always hallooed as they came through the door of his tiny lake house and tramped directly into the cozy keeping room, where they helped themselves to an oatmeal-raisin cookie from the jar on the rickety old coffee table. Alec’s mother’s recipe.
Besides, it was six a.m. Nobody Alec knew came round at this hour.
Slowly Alec moved through the back door onto the porch. He didn’t see it at first.
His gaze immediately flew to the floor, where an upended flowerpot had dumped out most of its soil. All through the autumn, he’d been meaning to put daffodil bulbs in it, but he’d been so busy—
His thoughts broke off suddenly.
A strange kind of snake appeared to have slithered in through the still-ajar screened door and lay stretched along the outer wall. One end of the creature remained outdoors, while the other end was obscured behind the large, cracked flower pot.
“Great Day!”
Alec’s heart raced as confused thoughts flooded his mind: How on earth did one shoo away a snake this size? It was as big around as his arm. Was it poisonous? What was it anyway?
A boa constrictor? Surely not. But what was it and how did it get here? Escaped from a zoo? A circus? Was he in danger, then? Could the creature crush him?
Nervously, Alec tied his bathrobe sash and took a step backward. His eyes strayed to the shovel leaning against the house.
What to do?
The high whistle of the teakettle settled the question.
In a fluid, rapid movement, the snake withdrew from behind the flowerpot, reared into the air, and Alec beheld its head: large, alligator-like, with dark, questioning eyes.
This was no snake. This was the long, long neck and head of a . . . creature.
The two stared at one another for one full second, and then the animal withdrew hastily, knocking aside an aluminum beach chair and struggling out of the grip of the screen door, which closed with a slam.
Trembling, Alec flew to the screen and onto the stoop, where he could see, in the growing early morning light, a long, dinosaur-like creature wobbling clumsily but rapidly across the lawn and down to the lake shore where, stripped of all its cutting edge technology, the Sweet Afton lay rocking gently at anchor.
Alec longed to follow, but he was trembling too hard. Ignoring the chill and the insistent whistle of the teakettle inside, he sat heavily on the back door stoop and took a long, deep breath.
All creatures great and small, indeed. Tears filled his eyes.
“Thank You,” he prayed aloud. “Oh, thank You!”
PRESS RELEASE:
Dauntless Books is proud to announce that their January release, Nimrod, a Woodsman’s Life, has made the New York Times’ bestseller list for the twelfth successive week. The journal of an Adirondack hermit and his connection to a twenty-year-old mob hit has piqued intense public interest. The book’s popularity shows little sign of waning.
Jacob Rabideau, a self-styled lone woodsman who adopted the nickname Nimrod, lived for over sixty years in various locations in the densely-wooded Adirondack Park. He spent much of his time near the hamlet of Dunn’s Vale, where he established a reputation as a skilled woodcarver. Though generally considered a harmless eccentric by locals, Rabideau was twice cited by police for disturbing the peace with his loud singing and saw playing. Last winter, he sustained a tick bite and ultimately died of complications of pneumonia at the small community hospital. He left his journal to a friend, Dr. Alexander Alexander, who edited and published the book after it provided a vital clue in solving a decades-old murder.
“He was a fine old fellow,” Alexander said, “I was blessed to know him, and now he’s blessing me all over again.” Next year, Alexander, a college professor, is planning to use proceeds from the sales of the book to launch the new Champlain Institute of Cryptozoology at an as yet unnamed location.
To date, over 174,000 copies of Nimrod, a Woodsman’s Life have been sold.
Grammar Got Run Over by a Reindeer
A Miss Prentice Short Story
Grammar Got Run Over by a Reindeer
Professor Alec Alexander wouldn’t win any beauty contests. He had scruffy salt-and-pepper hair, a matching spade-shaped beard and an unkempt moustache. He was barre
l-chested; what you might call a rotund presence. His gentle tenor voice, however, with its faint Scots accent, had real charm and his kind heart was unquestioned.
My seven-month-old daughter Janet had recognized his sterling attributes from their first meeting, and when he walked into the Chez Prentice B&B this morning, she grinned widely, exposing a tiny bud of a tooth on her bottom gum. Additionally, she began what her daddy called “baby calisthenics,” involving flexing both her arms and legs simultaneously. It was her dance of joy at seeing her Grandpa Alec.
He extended his arms. “Come to me, my wee angel!” Janet, still clad in her nighttime onesie, fairly leaped from my grasp to his broad chest and immediately began tugging on his beard. It had to be somewhat painful, but his only reaction was a hearty laugh that bounced his tiny burden up and down. “What a joy she is, Amelia!” he said to me.
“You’re holding up well, considering,” I said, referring to the recent loss of several large research grants. Alec had long been obsessed with seeking out evidence of the famed Lake Champlain monster. Now his research had to be curtailed in the interest of earning a living.
“Whoopsie! Up ye go!” He lifted a giggling, squirming baby above his head. “I’ll do all right,” he said over his shoulder. “I’m teaching four classes at the college and the speaking engagements are beginning to mount up. Whee!” He spun around.
“Alec, you’d better take it easy,” I warned him. “She’s been known to—“
A gush of white liquid flowed from Janet’s smiling mouth down on Alec.
“Serves you right,” said someone from the kitchen. It was my friend Lily Burns, who had apparently entered through the back door. She quickly pulled off her gloves and hat and reached out for Janet. “Here, give her to Aunt Lily while you clean yourself up,” she instructed curtly.
Alec obeyed with a wink at me, heading for the first floor powder room.
Murder in the Past Tense (Miss Prentice Cozy Mystery Series Book 3) Page 24
