Upstate Uproar

by Joan Rylen

  “I’m okay,” Kate reassured and started up the staircase but then stopped and turned around, patting her belly. “On second thought, that maple bacon smells too good to pass up. I think a plate of piggy will help us both feel better.”

  The girls went into the kitchen and told Tracy how they’d had no luck finding Lucy.

  Tracy handed Wendy a big, steaming cup of coffee. “I’m sure she’ll be fine. She just needs some space.”

  Wendy put a cinnamon roll the size of a softball on her plate, then scooped some fresh pineapple. “I still can’t believe she bailed.” She put her plate down to fix up her coffee the way she liked it.

  Vivian smirked as Kate put six or seven slices of crispy bacon on her plate, then threw in a link of sausage for good measure. She turned to Tracy. “Where’s Brandon?”

  “He’s in town. Had to go talk to his buddy who was here last night.”

  “Adam, the cop, right?” Vivian asked.

  “He just had to clear a few things up. No big deal. He’ll be back soon.”

  The girls settled around the table, and Tracy went back into the kitchen.

  Vivian looked at the other girls and mouthed, “Police station.”

  Wendy choked taking a sip of coffee. Kate didn’t react and kept her attention on her plate of pork.

  Vivian smeared a big blob of grape jelly on a biscuit and took a bite. Mmmmm, just like my grandma used to make. She watched Kate, who looked lost in thought. She needs a biscuit. That’ll cheer her up. Vivian held the bread basket out to Kate, but she passed. “These are the best ever, you’ve got to try them.”

  Kate didn’t say anything, just shook her head, then stabbed a piece of sausage with her fork and smeared it in maple syrup.

  Wendy leaned forward and waved the girls in close. She whispered, “When are we telling Tracy that we’re leaving?”

  “After we eat,” Vivian whispered back, then took another bite of biscuit.

  Kate set her fork down and looked at them. “There’s something I need to tell y’all, and I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

  Vivian stopped eating and looked at her. “What is it?”

  “I had a dream last night. At first I was scared, especially after hearing the story in the newspaper. But I’ve been thinking about this while I eat, and along with my other dream, I believe there are two women trying to send me a message.” She paused. “I think we should stay.”

  Wendy’s hand slipped and her coffee cup clanked onto the table, spilling coffee on the white cotton tablecloth. “Excuse me?”

  “Yes,” Kate said as she fidgeted with her bacon. She looked both of them square in the eyes. “I had a very vivid dream last night. I was the woman who was buried alive.”

  18

  Kate sat silent, staring at Wendy and Vivian, who hadn’t moved since her announcement that they should remain at Turlington Farms because of a dream she’d had the night before. A dream where she was buried alive.

  Vivian broke the silence. “Kate, I realize you have a history of helpful dreams, compliments of your sweet, dead relatives, but you’re talking about strangers. People you’ve never met. Not to mention dead people. Ghosts. Spirits. And other spooky shit.”

  Wendy spoke up. “I’m sure this is happening because of yesterday. I mean, it’s not every day you run across human remains.”

  “Maybe, but let me tell you about the dream and you’ll see why.” Kate picked at her sausage link and took a small bite. “If we left now, I’d feel like…like…like I’m abandoning them.”

  Wendy dabbed a coffee splotch with her napkin. “Okay, tell us about your dream.”

  Kate leaned forward. “I was hiking in the woods when all of a sudden there was a pain in my head. Next thing I knew, I was trapped in a dark hole. The earth was all around me, crushing me. It hurt to open my eyes, burned my lungs, my entire body was being smothered. The weight of the dirt kept getting heavier and heavier.”

  The door swung open and Tracy walked in with a carafe of orange juice.

  Kate continued. “I had dirt in my ears, my nose, my mouth. I tried to move, but it was useless. All I could do was wait until there was no more air, and it was over. I was dead.”

  Tracy stopped in her tracks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I thought you might like some juice.”

  “I’ll have a bit more,” Vivian said and pushed her glass toward her.

  Tracy reached over and poured, but she overshot the glass, spilling juice on the table. Her hands were shaky. “I’m such a klutz these days, I swear.”

  Vivian tossed her napkin over the spill. “You’ll need to wash the tablecloth anyway. Wendy sloshed her coffee earlier.”

  “Sorry,” Wendy said.

  Tracy’s three-quarter sleeve inched up and a purplish-green bruise peeked out.

  “Ouch, what’d you do?” Vivian asked.

  “Who knows?” She tugged her sleeve down to cover it, but there wasn’t enough material. “I probably ran into the doorjamb or something. There’s no telling.”

  Vivian nodded but couldn’t get the thought out of her mind that maybe Brandon had caused that bruise. Then a really ugly thought popped into her head but was interrupted as the front door opened.

  Brandon walked in looking drained and tired. He glanced at Tracy and forced a smile. “Morning, everyone. Mmmmm, sure smells good in here.”

  “Hi, honey. Can I make you a plate?” Tracy set the orange juice on the table and turned toward the kitchen.

  “That sounds good, I’ll go wash up.”

  Vivian wiped her mouth with her napkin and picked up her plate. “I’m all finished.”

  Tracy stopped in the doorway. “Just leave the dishes. You’re our guest.”

  Kate stood up and stretched. Her belly looked like it had grown during breakfast. Wendy patted it. “Little Plum is plumping up.”

  Kate drummed her fingers on her bump. “That she is.”

  “Let’s go upstairs and regroup,” Wendy said. “I’d feel better if we heard from Lucy.”

  Vivian opened the door and almost stepped on a piece of paper that lay on the floor in front of the door. What’s this? Vivian unfolded the paper. “Thanks for the talk. You helped me put the honey in honeymoon. We don’t like what’s going on around here and think you should leave, too. Take care – M.”

  “What’s that?” Kate asked as she sat in the high-backed chair.

  “A note from Mitzie.” Vivian smiled to herself, happy she could help with the “honey.”

  Wendy ran a brush through her long brown hair. “Did they leave?”

  Vivian kicked off her shoes and lay down on the bed. “Yes, and she advises we do the same.” She looked at Kate. “So you really feel like we should stay? Because I have to tell you, I’m ready to pull up TripAdvisor and find something else. I’m having second thoughts about Brandon. Did you see that bruise on Tracy’s arm?”

  “I saw it,” Wendy said, looking at them through the reflection of the mirror. “He seems like an okay guy, but we have to consider… what if he killed his first two wives? Who was buried on Haystack Mountain?”

  Vivian grabbed the newspaper and pointed to p. 4. “Apparently we’re not the first people to think Brandon had a hand in what happened to his wives. Here it says that his first wife was a strong swimmer, and she drowned. Hello? That doesn’t sit right.”

  “Let me see that,” Wendy said and took the paper. “He had her declared dead? That seems harsh.” She passed it to Kate.

  As Kate skimmed it, she shook her head. “Look, I realize they were just dreams, but I never felt anger toward Brandon. Seems like I would have felt something.”

  “Who do you feel anger toward?” Vivian said.

  Kate looked at her, annoyed. “It’s not like that. Trust me, if I knew Brandon murdered Mary Beth and had something to do with Rebecca’s disappearance, we’d be out of here already. I don’t feel any threat from him toward us, but I feel like the women in my dreams are asking me for
help. I can’t shake it.” She stood up and went into the bathroom.

  Vivian heard water running and Kate brushing her teeth.

  Wendy grabbed her laptop and sat on the bed next to Vivian. “What do you think?”

  Vivian shrugged. “The breakfast rocks and my bed is comfy. He doesn’t come across to me as a killer, but still... ”

  Kate leaned out of the bathroom door and pointed her toothbrush at Vivian. “I remember a certain short Mexican guy saying that about you not too long ago.”

  Vivian laughed, thinking of Shorty. “And he was right, so maybe we should give Brandon a chance.”

  “Let’s do some Google-ing and see what we can find.” Wendy booted up her computer and soon was tapping away at the keys. “After this, I hate to say it, but we’ve got to take Austin back to the shelter.”

  “There’s a fall festival in town later today,” Vivian said. “I read about it in the paper. Maybe we can go when we take him back.”

  “That sounds fun,” Kate said, joining them. “I wish Lucy was here to go with us.”

  “I found something,” Wendy said, pointing to her computer. “It’s Mary Beth’s obituary on the funeral home website. Says she was 27, a teacher, survived by her husband, Brandon Holt, and several aunts, uncles and cousins.”

  “Guess she was an only child,” Kate said, looking over Wendy’s shoulder. “She was really pretty. Kinda cute, you know?”

  Vivian scooted over to see the picture. Mary Beth was smiling, at ease, wearing a polo shirt with a school logo. Brown, wavy hair fell below her shoulders, and she had a dimple in her left cheek.

  “That was probably her teacher photo,” Wendy said.

  “Sad,” Kate said.

  Wendy recalled the Google results and pulled up the next link, an article in the Lake Placid News written by Earl Jones, two days after Rebecca disappeared. He reported about Rebecca basically disappearing into thin air. Her purse and house keys were gone, but nothing else was missing or out of place in the house.

  The article asked for people with any information to come forward. A picture of Rebecca smiling as she stood at the lake’s edge sent a chill down Vivian’s spine.

  Wendy clicked on more links from the Google search and found articles written in the weeks after the disappearance. Wendy read the interesting parts aloud, but much of it was the same as what they’d already read. She clicked on a link from the Chicago Tribune and pulled up Rebecca’s obituary.

  “Guess that’s where she was from,” Wendy said. “Says she went missing at the age of 43. Wow, she had a big family. In addition to Brandon, she was survived by her father, two brothers and four sisters, aunts, uncles, etc. She was a graduate of Northern Illinois University. Then there’s a whole story about her life, things she was involved with before her first husband died. Then it says she married Brandon and moved to Lake Placid, New York.”

  “They must not have thought he had something to do with her disappearance, if he’s mentioned in the obit,” Kate said.

  “I guess,” Vivian said. “But did they even really know him?”

  Wendy closed her laptop. “So what’s the verdict? Are we staying or going? I personally think we should leave. It’s too much. Something’s not right here.”

  Kate walked to the window and stared out, then turned around. “I really feel like these ladies need my help. They’re constantly on my mind. I need to stay.”

  Vivian looked from Kate to Wendy. “I would die if something happened to Little Plum. Are you sure about this, Kate?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Vivian took a deep breath. “Okay, we’re staying.”

  Wendy put the computer into her laptop bag. “I’m not leaving y’all. I’ll just steal a knife from the kitchen and keep it under my pillow. Now let’s get out of here. We’ve got to take Austin back.”

  Decision made, they dressed for the day in jeans, sweaters, boots, scarves and jackets.

  The girls grabbed their phones and purses and headed downstairs. As Vivian opened the screen door she saw Brandon toss a stick across the yard for Austin, who bounded after it. She couldn’t help but cringe as thoughts of yesterday flooded her mind. She shook off the willies and the burning desire to wash her hands as she walked to the car. Austin jumped around them in circles.

  “Time to take him back to the shelter, huh?” Brandon asked.

  “Yeah. This is hard,” Wendy said. “I don’t want to take him back.”

  “We have to,” Vivian said. “Does someone want to take him home?”

  “I would love to, but I can’t,” Wendy said. “Wish I could. Damn this dog for a day program!”

  Brandon scratched Austin on the head and took the stick from his mouth. “See ya later, buddy.” He turned around and cracked the stick in half over his knee, then tossed it into a bush and went inside, the door slamming behind him.

  That’s callous, Vivian thought. Oh, god. I hope we’ve made the right decision.

  19

  On their way to the animal shelter, Vivian called Lucy three times, and three times she got voice mail. It was tough to say goodbye to Austin, so only Wendy went inside to drop him off. When she returned to the car her eyes were red and watery. No one said anything. Then:

  “So where’s this famous Lake Placid fall festival?” Kate asked, trying to sound perky.

  “I think the paper said it’s at the community center,” Vivian said, digging in her purse. “I wrote down the address. Aren’t you proud of me?”

  “Very,” Wendy said. “I think I’m rubbing off on you.”

  Wendy was known to be the planner, prepared and practical. She usually had an array of medications, bandages, defensive devices, and other fun gizmos in her purse.

  Vivian plugged the address into her phone and gave directions to the community center. They drove past the festival the first time because they were captivated by a beautiful, vibrant tree with orange leaves. They circled back and parked behind the small, gray metal building.

  “Not many cars here,” Kate said as she hit the lock button on the rental.

  They opened the doors to the fall festival, and it was as if someone yanked the needle off the record. Time stood still. Everyone turned and stared at the girls.

  “I get the feeling we’re not in Kansas, I mean Texas, anymore,” Wendy said under her breath.

  “Maybe I’ll find the kids a souvenir while we’re here,” Vivian said, walking up to a booth filled with journals and hand-carved wooden pens. A lady in overalls sat cheerfully awaiting customers. She was makeup free, and her ponytail was pulled tight.

  “You’re not from around here, are you?” she asked.

  “No, we’re from Texas,” Kate said. “How can you tell?”

  “We’re a pretty tight-knit community. I’ve just never seen your face before.”

  Kate smiled and rubbed her belly. “I smell chocolate.”

  “There’s a hot cocoa booth a few rows over.”

  “I love your journals,” Vivian said, flipping through one.

  “Thanks. I make them all by hand, even the paper and the binding.”

  “Wow. I can’t make squat,” Vivian said. “I used to be semi-crafty, but not anymore.”

  “I’m going to find the cocoa booth,” Kate announced and turned on her heels.

  “Me, too,” Wendy said and trailed after her.

  Vivian chatted with the woman awhile, then asked, “So how much?” The woman shared her price.

  Vivian resorted to her Mexico-learned bargaining techniques. She ended up with four for the price of three, one for herself, Wendy, Kate and the absent Lucy.

  The woman was very happy and wrapped the journals in tissue paper, then bound them with string. She gave Vivian a card. “I’m online, have affordable shipping and take PayPal,” she proclaimed.

  “Thanks, I’ll spread the word,” Vivian said, then went to find the cocoa booth. She walked past a small stage and heard Wendy and Kate before she saw them. The sound of laughter steered
her to the next row.

  “You have to try this one,” Wendy said to Kate. “It’s got a kick, but it’s fantastic.” Wendy poured Kate a tester into a small paper cup from a push-button thermos.

  Kate took a sip. “Wow, that is good.”

  A handsome older gentleman behind the table spoke up. “That’s my cayenne cinnamon mix. It’s a best-seller.”

  “I’ll take two bags,” Wendy said. “It’s delicious and I like things spicy!”

  “I think I need a bag as well,” Kate said. “And maybe a pack of Rolaids for later.”

  The man handed Vivian her own cup and told her to enjoy the flavors.

  She had a few sips, then pulled her scarf off and stuffed it into her purse. “This is delicious, but it’s making me sweat.”

  The cocoa guy looked at the three girls. “You’re a little overdressed for the weather.”

  Vivian polished off the last swig and pulled off her jacket. “You’re right, but I’ll take a bag of peppermint chocolate, cayenne cinnamon and milk chocolate. Group gifts for my kids.”

  At that point, other booth owners began to beckon the girls over. “It’s my turn,” several of them said as the girls walked around with their goodies.

  Vivian noticed a “Pumpkin Drop” poster on the wall with a big orange arrow pointing to a door. “This sounds promising,” she said, and she went through it.

  The girls emerged at the front of the community center, near the road. The tall, beautiful distracting orange tree was right in front of them.

  A short man with glasses and a receding hairline called to them. “Come on over and pick out your pumpkin. The big drop starts in 15 minutes.” Behind him, stacks of hay bales lined with pumpkins of all sizes were placed here and there.

  “How’s it work?” Wendy asked.

  “You buy the winning pumpkin right here for entry into the drop.” The short man stood proudly, arm outstretched showing off his pumpkins. “Our local firemen will load them in the cherry picker and drop them overboard, one by one. The pumpkin with the best splatter wins. Our distinguished panel of judges includes the fine mayor of Lake Placid Village.”