Canal Days Calamity

by Jamie M. Blair

  “Things are good,” he said, sensing my pangs of conscience. “Nothing needs to change.”

  “I know you can’t live in Carl’s gatehouse forever.”

  “But I can for now. He needs me, and Brutus and I are doing just fine there. I’m thinking of it as a work arrangement, not a marriage arrangement.”

  I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. If he wasn’t facing the reason why we weren’t living under the same roof, how could we make it better? I had to trust that our dating and getting to know one another again was working. It felt like it was.

  Ben stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, which was vibrating with a call. “Mom,” he said. “If I don’t answer, she’ll call every ten minutes until I do.”

  “I know. Trust me. I know.” The woman was a pest in a pantsuit.

  “Hey, Mom,” he said, putting the phone to his ear. “What are you talking about?” He glanced over at me. “Hold on. She’s right here. Let me put you on speaker and you can ask her yourself.”

  No, I mouthed, but he did it anyway. “Okay, Mom, go ahead,” he said.

  “Cameron! Are you planning on selling my house right out from underneath me?” The screechiness of her voice surprised me. Any second her head might explode.

  “Sell the house? No. Why would I—” Then it hit me. “Oh, Arnie Rutherford.”

  “Yes, Arnie Rutherford!” she shouted. “Elaina told Jim who told Stewart that you met with him today about selling the house!”

  “He did say he has a client interested in making an offer, but that’s not why I met with him, Irene. I’m not looking to sell Ellsworth House.”

  “Then why on earth would you have a meeting with him? He’s a real estate tycoon, for Pete’s sake.”

  “I had a few questions I wanted to ask him about, umm …” I glanced up at Ben, considering how I’d pacify Irene without tipping him off that I was snooping into Butch’s murder. “I needed to find out who to contact about the Landow Farm. To get the electric fence turned off for Canal Days.”

  Ben’s eyes narrowed. He was no fool, and he knew me well.

  “Oh,” she said, calming a bit. “Well, okay then.”

  “Okay, Irene. I’m glad we had this chat. I’ll let you talk to Ben again.”

  He took the call off of speaker and put the phone back to his ear. “Everything good now, Mom? Okay, then. Yeah, talk to you later.”

  I binged on the last few peanut M&M’s while he said his goodbye and hung up. Lying and guilt made me an emotional eater.

  “You know I’m not buying that story,” he said, stuffing the phone back in his pocket.

  “I do need the fence off, and Phillis Landow was being less than cooperative telling me if she was the one who could do it for me.”

  “And I’m sure he spilled the beans on the new owner of the farm.”

  “Actually, no, he didn’t. He did warn me not to go digging for information, though.”

  He shook his head. “Which I’m sure you did anyway. Just like I’m sure last night you ran out of the Briar Bird for an Action Agency emergency that had nothing to do with Canal Days.”

  I shrugged, tired of lying. “Roy needed me to pick him up from the horse track. He was passed out cold when I got there.”

  “What was Roy doing at the horse track? Last I knew his only vice was whiskey, not betting the ponies.”

  “Well, the whiskey got him, and I shoveled him out of trouble. Literally.”

  He rolled his eyes, like Mia. “I don’t want to know.”

  Let’s keep it that way, I thought. The less Ben knew, the better off I would be, with Mia and with anything I discovered about Butch Landow’s murder.

  • Fifteen •

  Walking Gus and the twins was like leashing three giant Tasmanian devils and tugging them down the street.

  My fur balls headed for the park. The grass was still wet with dew, and the sun wasn’t showing its face from behind the dark, rolling clouds. It was gloomy even for an October morning.

  Many of the homes along my path had jack-o-lanterns sitting out, carved and festive for Canal Days tomorrow. I spotted Spook winding his long, black tail around a pumpkin, his green eyes watching us pass by. This was his time of year.

  Gus hurtled past the gazebo, Dumb and Dumber in his wake, and me bringing up the rear. “Gus, don’t you dare!” I shouted, sensing he was headed for the canal. I’d been hauled in knee-deep more than a couple of times and didn’t treasure the memories.

  He looked back at me, brows cocked and doggy eyes innocent, as if to say, Would I do that?

  “Come on, you three trouble makers.” I tugged them toward the bridge over the canal, contemplating the thick, bristly coats of the twins. They needed grooming. When I got back to the house, I’d see if Monica wanted to take a ride to Bantum Kennels to leave some Dog Diggity samples for Avery’s customers, and while we were there I’d ask him if he knew of a good groomer.

  The dogs loped over the bridge with me hanging on to their leashes for dear life.

  “Morning!” Brenda Lefferts called from the doorway of her bookstore, Read and ReRead. She and I had become good friends over the past few years.

  “Morning!” I called back, yanking the dogs toward her shop. “Ready for Canal Days?

  “I’m putting out a table of gothic classics this year. Dracula, Frankenstein, The Picture of Dorian Gray, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. And tonight I’m inviting some friends in to get into the spirit of the season.”

  “The spirit of the season? Exhaustion and prayers for many, many sales?”

  She laughed and adjusted the pins attaching the doily to the bun on the back of her head. “More like a Halloween party. I’ve always loved the costumes and pumpkins, the fantasy of dressing up and getting scared telling ghost stories. So you’ll come tonight, right? I know it’s last minute, but my cousin is driving in from Chicago and trust me, you won’t want to miss meeting her.”

  “Of course I will. Sounds like fun.”

  “And bring Monica. And I hear your mom’s in town.”

  “She is, but she’s been spending most of her time with Carl Finch.” I gave her a meaningful look.

  “No!”

  “Yes. They’re thick as thieves, but I’ll bring her along if she’s home.”

  “And Monica has a new friend, too, I understand?”

  “Quinn Kelly, the K9 trainer from Ireland. I wish he lived just a little closer.”

  “That is quite a distance. An ocean away.”

  “She’ll be devastated when he leaves.”

  She frowned. “Maybe he’ll stay, or ask her to go with him.”

  I didn’t want to think of my sister moving to another country, another continent. “Maybe,” I said, stroking Gus’s soft, thick fur. He licked my hand, seeming to sense my distress. The twins started nipping at each other, playing. “I better get going. The natives are getting restless.”

  “Alright. I’ll see you tonight. Seven o’clock.”

  The dogs and I said our goodbyes and continued on our way. A few doors down a big, black iron caldron sat in front of the Soapy Savant. Theresa was hauling a big box across the yard, and Soapy was tying cornstalks to their wrought iron fence with twine.

  “What’s your plan for the cauldron?” I asked. “Going to brew up a giant batch of coffee?”

  “Not coffee,” Soapy said. “Hot spiced apple cider.”

  Theresa plopped the box down beside the cauldron. “I’ve got dried oranges and cinnamon sticks, whole cloves, and allspice.”

  My mouth watered. “I can’t wait to try it with one of Betty’s snickerdoodles.”

  The snickerdoodles Betty sold in Grandma’s Cookie Cutter were my favorite. She didn’t always have them, so I stocked up when she made them.

  I waved and w
ent on my way, dogs in tow. Farther along the canal, between Cass’s Fiddle Dee Doo Inn and Dog Diggity, a bandstand was being erected across from the gristmill. Frank Gardner, Will Atkins, and Old Dan were all busy sawing and hammering.

  It seemed like the whole town was busy getting ready for tomorrow and the start of Canal Days. The preparations for our weekend festivities charged the air with excitement. Or maybe it was the storm brewing.

  Thunder rumbled overhead, threatening to dampen our spirits. The wind blew, rattling the dried, dying leaves in the trees. My knee throbbed, the pulse reminding me that the sky would open up any minute. I hoped it would so the rain would end before tomorrow.

  ∞

  I walked through the door of Ellsworth House to the smell of Sunday dinner on a Thursday morning. Monica was in the kitchen scooping dog biscuits off of a baking tray with her spatula. “How’s it going?” I asked. “They smell incredible.”

  “A few more batches and I’ll be ready for tomorrow.”

  Mom whisked in from the patio holding Liam. “What a good little boy you are,” she told him, using baby-talk. “You’re the cutest little thing in the whole wide world.” The big dogs scampered in circles around her. “Not you!” she shouted at them. “You’re hairy beasts!” She sat Liam on the floor and patted each of the beastly dogs on the head. “Rotten mongrels.”

  “What do you two have planned for tonight?” I asked them.

  “Am I supposed to have plans?” Mom asked.

  “You’ve had plans every night since you got here.”

  “Well, not tonight,” she said.

  “How about you, Mon?” I asked, scooting in beside her to wash my hands at the kitchen sink.

  “I’m free until around eight. Quinn’s training Brutus after Ben gets off work, then we’re getting together.”

  “Great, you’re both coming with me to Read and ReRead. Brenda’s having a Halloween party.”

  “A Halloween party?” Mom said, pouring a cup of coffee. “I haven’t been to one of those since I was in my twenties.”

  “From what I gather this is just a small get-together to kick off the festivities and to welcome Brenda’s sister to town and introduce her to a few friends.”

  “Do we need costumes?” Mom asked. She couldn’t hide the glimmer in her eyes even if she tried. Mom always had a flare for the dramatic. Costumes were right up her ally.

  “I’m not wearing a costume,” Monica was quick to add.

  “Party pooper. Cam will wear one with me, won’t you?”

  Brenda had mentioned costumes. “Why not? Sounds fun.”

  The last time I’d worn a costume was over the summer to a Civil War reenactors’ dinner. I ended up on my hoop-skirted bottom on the floor of the Briar Bird dining room among shards of my broken dinner plate. Not my finest hour. This time I’d stick with something easy. No hoop skirts.

  “Monica, when you’re done baking, let’s drive up the road to Connersville. Cory Bantum’s brother, Avery, took over the kennel. You can leave some samples for his customers, and I need to find out if there’s a good groomer to take Jekyll and Hyde to.

  “Jekyll and Hyde!” Monica trilled. “Those are perfect names for them!”

  I pondered the idea for a minute. Gus, Isobel, Liam, Jekyll, and Hyde. I wasn’t sure the names fit with my brood. It did fit with their personalities though. Crazy and scary. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Give me about fifteen minutes and I’ll be ready to go with you,” she said.

  “Want to ride along with us, Mom?” I asked, grabbing a wicker basket out of the pantry for Monica’s samples.

  “Sure, why not? I am here to visit you girls, after all. By the way, did Elaina leave any yarn in Dog Diggity after her shop moved out?”

  “There’s still a bunch in a cupboard unless Johnna got her paws on it. Why, what are you thinking?” I doubted it would be anything easy, like some green face paint and a broom to go as witches.

  “Oh, you’ll see. Let’s stop by the store so I can get some of that yarn. All I need from you is a sweatshirt you can wear. I’ll do the rest.”

  “Sounds ominous,” Monica said.

  I nodded in agreement. This would prove interesting—and most likely embarrassing.

  The front door squeaked open. “Morning! Anybody home?” Ben called.

  “In here,” I said, hearing his footsteps already making their way down the hall toward us.

  “Look at these three lovely ladies,” he said. “Where’s Mia?”

  “Sleeping. She hasn’t been down yet.”

  An icy fear crept over me. I hadn’t peeked in her bedroom this morning. What if she defied me and spent another night in the company of Nick Valentine? No. She wouldn’t do that. Would she?

  “I’ll go see if she’s awake,” I said, darting past him and dashing up the stairs as quickly as my knee would let me.

  Mia’s door was closed. I knocked. “Mia? Your dad’s here.”

  No answer.

  I knocked again, a little harder. “Mia?”

  After a few more seconds with no reply, I turned the knob and cracked the door open.

  There she lay, sound asleep with headphones over her ears. I crept in and sat on the side of her bed. “Mia,” I said, easing the headphones off of her ears, “your dad’s downstairs.”

  She grunted and rolled over, so I shook her shoulder. “Hey, it’s time to get up. Come on down and tell your dad good morning.”

  Her eyes shot open. “He’s home? Did he move back home?”

  It was early, not as early as she might have thought since she slept like every other teenager on the planet—late and like the dead. Seeing her so excited about having her dad down in the kitchen when she woke up made me feel like an actual wicked witch. “No, honey, he didn’t move back in. He just stopped by this morning before work.”

  “Oh.” She threw back her covers and swung her feet to the floor. Disappointment was written all over her face.

  “I’ll go let him know you’re coming down, okay?”

  She nodded and rubbed her eyes. At times like this, when she was sleepy and her hair was tousled, she still looked like the little girl I’d met five years ago.

  I left her bedroom, closing the door behind me, and made my way back down the stairs. At the bottom, the door off the hallway leading down to the basement was open. Ben stood two steps down looking into the darkness, breathing hard.

  “Why are you thinking about going down there?” I asked.

  “I ran into Roy at Soapy’s. He said there are a couple boxes of jarred honey in the basement that you’re planning to sell for the Action Agency to buy new desks. I figured I’d run them over to Dog Diggity for you along with Monica’s biscuits.”

  “What a guy!” Mom shouted from her seat at the kitchen table.

  I leaned in closer to Ben so she wouldn’t hear me. “You don’t have to do this.” Ben had a fear of dark basements. It was the one thing my tough policeman husband had a hard time facing. Not bad guys with guns, but damp, musty, dim basements. I’d never gotten to the bottom of why he had his fear. I figured it must have had something to do with believing in monsters when he was a young kid. Or maybe he accidentally got locked in down there or something. I had to admit, Ellsworth House’s basement, without electric light fixtures, was creepy. There was a root cellar with a hard dirt floor that I found a bit too dungeon-like for my comfort.

  I was just glad the laundry hook-ups had been moved to a big closet off of the dining room so I didn’t have to go down there practically at all.

  Ben took another step down, flicking on his flashlight. The beam shook and wavered. “I’ll be right back up,” he said, more for his own benefit than mine.

  “I’ll come with you.”

  The wooden stairs were ancient and the whole case seemed to wobble slightly with each
footstep. Whether they actually moved or it was just my imagination, I wasn’t sure.

  In front of me, Ben moved as slowly as a turtle.

  An arthritic turtle.

  I fought the urge to grab the flashlight and run down the stairs past him. I took a few steps more and went face first into a sticky spiderweb. It clung to my forehead. I swiped it off, not able to get all of it, and felt something crawling in my hair. A spider!

  I screamed. Ben screamed. He hurled himself around and grabbed me around my waist. We both went toppling down the last few stairs, like Jack and Jill, to the gritty basement floor below. The dogs, barking at the top of their lungs, came bounding down the steps. The flashlight cracked against the cement and went out, leaving us in pitch blackness.

  “Ouch,” Ben said, untangling his long legs from mine, and shoving Gus out of his face.

  “Cameron? Ben?” Mom called from the basement door. “What’s going on down there?”

  “It was only a spider,” I called back, pushing one of the twin tanks away. “We’re okay.”

  “Well, I didn’t think it was the boogey man! Good gracious! All that screaming! Give a woman a heart attack, why don’t you?”

  The dogs quickly lost interest in us and started sniffing around the basement. Ben got to his feet and gripped my hand, helping me up. “Sorry,” he mumbled, obviously ashamed.

  “Well, that was the quick way down. Let’s get the honey and go back up.”

  Up in the hall, Monica called the dogs, luring them back to the kitchen with promises of treats. They bounded up the steps, leaping over one another to be the first to the top.

  Ben scrounged around for the flashlight. He picked it up and shook it, then knocked it against the heel of his hand a few times. Finally, it flickered back to life. He scanned the basement. A pair of glowing green-yellow eyes caught in the beam. Ben gasped. “Darn cat,” he said.

  “Good gravy, Spook! How did you get down here?”

  The cat went skittering past us with a mouse in his mouth and up the stairs.”