“Would we be able to remove anything from the property?”
Elliot looked surprised. “We expect the house and barn to stay intact, and any valuable lumber to remain, but of course you may empty the contents of any building on the property.”
Kit elbowed me in the ribs. I didn’t meet her eye.
Charlie waved the phone receiver in the air. “Hey, Nora, that was Erika. Freckles has been spotted over at the Sugar Maple. She’s headed over there right now.”
“Thank goodness.” I scooted out of the booth. Erika was Guthrie’s dog warden, and had been helping me track Freckles down. “I gotta go.” I looked at Kit. “Will you hold down the fort? The dinner crowd is going to start filtering in soon. Just stay until Liz gets here.”
Kit held up her braceleted arms. “Nora, you remember what happened the last time you asked me to cover—”
“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of things here,” Max interrupted from his seat at the counter.
“I’m staying at the Sugar Maple,” Elliot said, standing. “Can I give you a lift?”
“I’m fine on my own, thanks,” I said over my shoulder, rushing into the kitchen to grab my jacket and purse.
* * *
Margaret Hurley, the owner of the Sugar Maple Inn, stood on the front step, her silver bun bright against the green front door, her gray silk blouse buttoned all the way to her neck despite the heat. Salty, the inn’s Irish wolfhound mix, was lying at her feet. Erika was beside her, wearing her official county-issued khaki shirt and pants, complete with a patch on the arm that featured the silhouette of a black Lab stark against a green mountain range. I jogged up the stone walkway to join them.
“It was Freckles, I’m sure of it,” Margaret said to me, skipping the formal greeting and getting straight to business. “This one wouldn’t stop barking at the back door, so I went over to look. He was by the apple trees. Never seen a dog eat crab apples whole like that before. He took them right off the branch.”
“Peggy has fruit trees behind her house. He must be used to eating them.”
“And he must be starving. How long has he been missing, Nora?” Erika asked.
“It’s been over a week since the accident.” I looked past Margaret and Erika. From the front of the inn you couldn’t see the crab apple trees at all. “Do you think he’s still there? Could we check?”
“Easiest to go through the kitchen. This way.”
We followed Margaret through the foyer of the inn, past the sitting room and the dining room and into the kitchen. The scent of mushrooms, caramelizing onions, and brown butter filled the air. Alfred, the Sugar Maple’s head chef, was bent over a large stockpot that sat steaming on a cast-iron range.
“Great to see you, ladies,” he said, saluting Erika and me with a wooden spoon. “Nora, tell Charlie I’m planning on kicking his butt at poker on Friday.”
“Will do.” I liked Alfred. He and Charlie were best friends. Alfred liked to sit at the counter on his days off and critique every plate that Charlie sent out to customers. Alfred always found a new way to push his buttons. I’m pretty sure Charlie had a little crush on him. He always did fall for the scruffy, teddy-bear type.
Margaret led us to the back of the kitchen, where three rocking chairs faced a glassed-in porch with a stunning view of a wide lawn that led into a small stand of crab apple trees.
No dog.
“I called to him, and whistled the way I remembered Peggy did, that low whistle like a hermit thrush.” Margaret looked a little embarrassed, but she repeated the mournful, flutelike call. “His ears pricked, but when he saw me he spooked and ran.” She shrugged. “He might be over by the sugarhouse. Livvy said she put some of Salty’s kibble out for him in the yard.”
Salty licked his muzzle as he looked longingly toward the trees, as if he had sacrificed the rarest kibble in the world.
Erika raised the pair of binoculars that hung around her neck and peered out into the little orchard. “Let’s go see if we can spot him.”
“Erika, do you mind if I meet you out there?”
“Of course not,” she said, letting herself out the back door.
Margaret and I watched Erika walk out across the lawn, up into the crab apple trees.
“Shame about Peggy. She was a kind person. We did altar guild together, years ago. She had a way with the flowers.”
“Did you know her well?”
Margaret scratched behind one of Salty’s ears. “Not really, if I’m being honest. We were friendly, mind you. But she was the type to keep to herself.” Margaret smiled up at me. “I’ve always been the type to keep to myself as well. Takes one to know one.” Margaret gestured toward one of the rocking chairs that faced the windows. I sat in one and let myself rock back. “Something on your mind?”
“I’m just trying to figure out why she left her place to me and my sister. It’s such a big gift.”
Margaret sat on the edge of the rocker beside me, keeping her feet firmly planted on the ground. She took a moment, choosing her words carefully. “You know, before Olivia came along, I was thinking about selling the inn.”
“Really?” I had heard rumblings about the White family looking to buy the Sugar Maple, but I had assumed it was just gossip. People loved to talk about the rivalry between Margaret and Jane White. “I can’t imagine Guthrie without the Sugar Maple.”
Margaret nodded. “Well, I can tell you I’m glad I didn’t sell. But when I was considering it and talking to buyers, the most important thing to me was that the Sugar Maple would stay the same. Now, I know a new owner would make changes”—Margaret looked around the kitchen, shaking her head at imaginary renovations—“but I wanted to find someone who understood Guthrie, who would keep the community in mind when they made their choices.”
“You heard about the offer from HG.”
“Your husband was—”
“Ex,” I said, out of habit. Sean and I had been together for so long, I knew it was going to take the town some time to get used to the idea that we really were no longer together, no matter how many times they saw him with the intern at their stand at the farmer’s market. She had started a side business making little puzzle boxes out of scrap wood.
“Of course. Sorry, dear.”
Margaret gave me a sympathetic smile. I wasn’t sure if she was sorry for her mistake or sorry I was divorced.
“Sean was saying something about it over dinner the other night. Sarah mentioned it to me.”
“You don’t think I should sell Peggy’s place to HG.”
“It’s not my place to tell you what to do, although of course I have my opinions. But I imagine when Peggy decided who to leave her land to, she was thinking about who would make the best decisions about it, for everyone.” Margaret reached over and patted my hand. “She loved your parents, like we all did. And she knew that you all struggled. We were heartbroken when you had to sell your place. Maybe she wanted to give you and your sister a second chance out on Hunger Mountain.”
Salty, who had been lying at our feet, his tail dangerously close to the blades of the rocking chairs, stood up lazily and walked over to the back door.
“And it looks like she made the right decision. Here you are, looking for her dog.” Margaret stood. “I’ll keep this one inside so he doesn’t scare Freckles away. Of course, you’re welcome to look anywhere you like.”
She made a clicking sound with her tongue. Salty turned and followed her into the office.
I went out the back door and followed Erika’s path up the lawn. I found her kneeling under a tree, using the low branches for cover, her binoculars trained on the tree line that framed the farm. We walked together in silence, looking from side to side, trying to spot any sign of Freckles, until we reached the sugarhouse Margaret had mentioned. On the little porch were two green-and-white-speckled bowls, one with a trace of water at
the bottom, the other empty save for a few scattered pieces of kibble.
I sat down on the steps, suddenly tired, and looked down the carriage trail that led into the sugar bush. “It’s hard to believe that a month from now those maples will start turning.”
Erika ran her fingers through her short blond hair, making it stand on end. “There’s something about that humid spell we had, too. I may be superstitious, but it feels like we could be in for an early snowfall.”
At just the mention of winter I could feel the months of shoveling snow and salting the sidewalks in front of the diner pressing down on me. It was never too far away. “I hate the thought of him alone out here.”
“I do, too.” She scanned the area again through her binoculars, peering into the trees. “I’m afraid he’s in survival mode, Nora. It might make it harder to catch him.”
This immediately brought to mind an image of Freckles in a camo dog coat, stocking up on bottled water and cans of wet dog food. “What do you mean?”
Erika sat beside me. “Some dogs, when they experience a trauma—it’s like a switch has been flipped. They go from happy house pet to feral wolf. He’s focused purely on survival. That means protecting himself from anyone not in his pack.”
“Which is basically everyone, now that Peggy is gone. Could we use some of Peggy’s clothes or bedding to lure him?” Peggy’s house had a wonderful butter scent to it. Surely that would be a comfort to him.
“Even the dog’s owners can be seen as the enemy. I don’t mean to sound discouraging. The dogs usually do snap out of it once they are back home.”
I thought of Peggy’s empty house. Even if we did find Freckles, he wouldn’t have a family to help him snap back. For a moment I wondered if the humane thing would be to let him go—but then I pictured him cold and hungry, out in the dark woods full of predators.
“I’m sure we’ll find him,” Erika continued. “It just means we might have to trap him. And it might take some time until he comes round again.”
I stood, shoving my hands into the pockets of my black trousers. I still had on what I considered one of my dressier outfits from the meeting. I picked off the couple of burrs stuck to the hem of my blouse. “I’ll update the Front Porch Forum. Someone will find him.”
Erika hopped up. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”
* * *
I walked around to the parking area in front of the inn where I had left my car, not wanting to bother Margaret when we didn’t have any news. I paused for a moment to take in the view. From this high up in the mountains, you could see the patchwork plots of farmland and the church steeples that marked the townships. I had just opened the driver’s side door when a Mercedes two-seater pulled into the space to the left of me. Elliot Danforth gracefully unfolded himself from the little car, and walked around the front, leaning on his hood.
“Ms. Huckleberry,” he said, smiling. “Did you have any luck?”
I threw my purse onto the passenger seat and turned to face him, keeping the door solidly between us. “No, not yet.”
“How long has your dog been missing?” He looked sympathetic, but I found myself questioning how sincere he was.
“He’s not mine. It’s Ms. Johnson’s dog, Freckles. He escaped in the accident, when Peggy passed away.”
“That’s nice of you to look.”
I shrugged. “Someone needs to. He’s all alone out there. You can’t just inherit someone’s everything and not take care of her dog.” I found myself becoming angry and had no idea why. “Peggy trusted us to take care of what she cared for. That has to mean something.”
“Yes, of course,” he said stiffly. Elliot looked uncomfortable.
A wave of embarrassment washed over me. It wasn’t Elliot Danforth’s fault that Freckles was missing. And here I was, being terse to a stranger for no reason. “Listen, Mr. Danforth—”
“Elliot.”
“Elliot. Listen . . . I’m not sure where Peggy left things with you, but we don’t want to rush into anything.”
“Your sister gave a different impression.” Elliot put his hands in his jacket pockets. It looked like he was trying not to appear hot in his buttoned-up oxford and tie, but his face had a shine to it.
“What did Kit say?”
“She asked how long it would take after you signed the contract to receive the check.”
I sighed. Of course she did.
“The answer is no time at all, by the way,” he offered.
I took a deep breath. “Look, Kit can be impulsive,” I said carefully, “but you need to know we will be making this decision together, and I’m not one to rush into anything. Especially something like this.”
“Do you have reservations?”
He said this calmly, as if he were asking me if I had dinner plans, as if I weren’t the one thing that stood between him and his big-box goals.
“Of course I have reservations.”
He took a few steps toward me, stopping when my car door blocked his path, and absently fiddled with his side-view mirror. “Can I ask what they are? Was it the offer?”
Why is it that people from the city think that money can solve all problems? I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had tourists up from Boston or New York be incredibly rude, and then leave a giant tip, as if to wipe the slate clean. Let me tell you, all is not forgiven. And I’ll remember your face when you come back in for dinner, after you’ve discovered we are the only place still serving food in Guthrie after 8:30 P.M. “We’re not just making a decision for our bank accounts, we’re making a decision that could affect the whole town, even the surrounding towns.”
“Your sister implied that you aren’t in a position to keep the land. If that’s the case, someone’s going to buy it.”
I was going to strangle Kit when I got back to my apartment.
“Yes, but if we sold the land to a young farmer, it means one more farm in town. If I sell to you, it means—”
“It means change.”
“Yes, exactly. It means change.”
Elliot cocked his head to the side. “Is change always a bad thing?”
“I’m the wrong person to ask,” I said and climbed into my car. “Look, you should know—if I were making this decision on my own, my answer would be no.”
Elliot rested an arm on my car door, and bent down so I could easily see his face. “I respect your thoughtfulness. And your honesty. I want to say take all the time you need.” His cell phone pinged loudly. He flinched. “It’s just that it can take months, years sometimes, to get the right permissions and permits before we even break ground.”
“When do they want a decision by?”
“Officially, yesterday. But I think I can stall them until around the first of October.” Elliot Danforth’s expression did look apologetic then. The tips of his ears burned red. “That will give the lawyers time with the contracts. Nothing gets done between Thanksgiving and the New Year. They like to have these matters wrapped up before then.”
That gave us less than two months. I’m sure two months felt like an eternity to Kit, but to me it seemed like a blip—certainly not enough time to weigh the needs and wants of the whole community.
“I’ll be looking at other properties, of course, so there is a risk in waiting.”
I wished suddenly that Peggy had left the land to anyone else.
“There’s a risk no matter what I do,” I mumbled. No matter what decision we made, if it was anything other than the impossible—keeping Peggy’s place exactly how it was—there were going to be consequences.
Elliot rubbed his cheeks unconsciously. His voice lost some of its smoothness. “Look, I know this isn’t easy. I don’t mean to imply that it is. If it’s the community you’re concerned about—could I ask you, before you make any final decisions, to hear what the community has to say? Sometimes people
will surprise you.”
“Guthrie isn’t known for its surprises.”
“What is Guthrie known for?” He sounded genuinely interested. For the first time I saw him as a person, not a corporate representative.
“Well. For its magnificent leaf peeping. For the Sugar Maple’s blue-ribbon apple pie—just try to get a dining-room reservation in October. We hold the world record for lit jack-o’-lanterns—you should try to stay in town for that, if you can. It’s pretty spectacular. I don’t know. Our library was voted best small-town library in the country a couple of years back. It probably doesn’t seem like much, but—”
“It sounds like a special place,” he said quietly.
“It is. To us, anyway.”
With that, I tugged at my car door so Elliot would let go. He moved toward the back of his car so I wouldn’t drive over his toes. I turned away, taking one last glance over toward the crab apples in the hope of spotting Freckles before heading into town.
* * *
When I got back to the diner, dinner was in full swing. It was a different crowd in the evening. High school kids filled the booths before play rehearsal or after football practice. Young couples came with their kids, knowing that the waitress would supply them with crayons and a place mat with pictures to color and word-search puzzles to solve, and that no one would pay any mind if a kid started crying. Liz, my night manager, waved hello when she saw me walk in, and nodded toward the kitchen window, through which I could see Kit arguing with Sam, the night cook. Max sat at the counter, drinking a cup of black coffee. I cleared a couple of dirty plates and grabbed a clean rag.
“What’s that about?” I asked in a low whisper.
Max smiled. “Sam caught her filming him, and he wants her to erase it. She’s insisting that it’s her art and that he should withhold judgment until he sees it.”
“Can she do that?” I asked as I wiped at the smattering of sugar granules that always seemed to coat the counter, no matter how many times I cleaned it.
The Late Bloomers' Club Page 5
