Disappointingly, Jack checks the time as soon as the door slams behind Organza and he tells me he needs to leave. However, all is well when he asks if he can meet me back here at lunchtime tomorrow.
Do I say yes? Of course I do! Shit-a-roonie, I’m not about to let this gorgeous man disappear into the ether if I can help it. Who knows where our budding friendship may go? And as they say, nothing ventured nothing gained.
Chapter Nineteen
Reece gazes at me solemnly. His eyebrows scrunch in together at the top of his nose and his eyes are sharp with concern. “Have you seen the newspaper today, Ellie?”
“Not yet, hun.” I’m still in my robe, in keeping with the general gentle laziness of the rest of the household. I’ve offered to make breakfast for the family this morning and I’m juggling pancakes, bacon for those of us who are happy little carnivores, and a bottle of maple syrup. I’m also daydreaming of Jack Hemlock, which is probably why I’ve just managed to burn my finger on the edge of the frypan. I stick my finger under the cold faucet and glance over my shoulder at Reece, who is still standing in the doorway and frowning at me. “Why do you ask?”
“I think you should see it.” He passes the paper to me and his eyes don’t leave my face as I glance at the headlines.
“What the hell?” Pancakes forgotten, I spread the newspaper across the kitchen table so I can read it easily. There it is in large bold typeface, in massive black and white print for all the world to see. WARNING: OUT OF TOWN REPORTER SCAMMING THE MEN OF EUTHANASIA.
Reece plucks anxiously at my sleeve. “Are you okay, Ellie?”
“I can’t believe I’m seeing this.” I scan through the vindictive paragraphs, reading of how I’m supposed to be ‘ensnaring men with my womanly wiles’, ‘seducing the males of Euthanasia into revealing their deepest secrets’, and ‘attempting to drive a larger wedge between the menfolk of both town and country’.
Small town hysteria. All of my previous high spirits disappear in a whoosh. History is poised to repeat itself all over again. What am I doing here? Why did I ever think it was a good idea to accept an assignment in yet another dead end town? Nice one, Ellie. Yet another poor decision made on this screwed-up dodgem car track you call your life. We are deja voodoo, we know more than you doo.
“What’s happening? Are the pancakes nearly done?” Organza floats into the kitchen with her hair wrapped in a towel, wearing a luxe faux fur robe and smelling like a field of wildflowers.
I whirl around, verbally attacking her with a fury that surprises us both. “Are you behind this? This is exactly the sort of malicious thing you’d do.”
“Huh? What are you talking about?” She leans over Reece’s shoulder to read the newspaper headlines. “Seriously? Why would I bother talking to a newspaper? Nobody reads newspapers anymore. Everyone uses Insta or Snapchat these days.” She gives me a world-class duh look and stomps away.
“Sorry,” I yell after her, realizing an apology is in order. “I had to ask.”
“She’s mean but she’s not that mean,” Reece assures me.
“Who could have done this?” I’m talking to myself now, mentally checking off the men I’ve met who may have walked away with a grudge. Yes, some of the dates didn’t end too spectacularly but none of the guys gave me the impression that they were out for revenge at all costs. I was up front with each of them, telling them all I was working on a TV assignment. They knew from the outset that they weren’t under any obligation to answer my questions.
“Something’s burning.” Mom flies into the kitchen with the determined precision of a heat-seeking missile and rescues the charred remains of the last pancake from the stovetop. “Ellie, why weren’t you watching this?”
“Because I was too busy reading all about myself in the Euthanasia Chronicle.” I take the pan from her and turn on the faucet to start to scrub off the burnt bits while she reads the article.
“Looks like you’ve pissed someone off,” Mom says succinctly, once she’s done reading. “I’ve always known that smart mouth of yours will get you in trouble one day.”
“My smart mouth has nothing to do with it. Someone thinks I’m getting too close to unraveling a secret. They’re also accusing me of thievery. Did you read that part?” I stab my finger at one of the paragraphs midway down the page, leaving a wet spot on the newsprint. Reece leans in and begins to read the text out loud.
“The men we interviewed tell us that the female reporter is highly focused on coaxing her ‘dates’ to reveal the reasons behind a possible rift or divide between men in the region. Miss Oxley, the town librarian, also reports that she believes the young woman is responsible for a recent spate of thefts from the library shelves, although she admits she has no real proof to offer us as yet.”
“Shit-a-roonie, I knew that old library battle ax had it in for me as soon as I asked her about the book.”
Mom glowers at me. “Ellie Friedlander, did you pilfer books from the community library?”
“I borrowed a book, Mom. Isn’t that what libraries are for?” Honestly, I have no interest in keeping the tattered old thing. In fact, I’m going to dump it back on the library doorstep as soon as I’m dressed. I might even leave a fancy note with it, thanking the librarian for her fine services to the community. Take that, you decrepit old back end of a horse. Actually, I have a better idea than that but I tuck it aside for now. I still have a fair amount of anger to run out first.
“The article does say that Miss Oxley has no real proof,” Reece points out. “They really shouldn’t have printed that part if they have no proof.”
“They don’t have proof of anything but it doesn’t matter. No one is going to want to meet me after reading that. Whoever gave this story to the newspaper has effectively obliterated my chances of finishing my assignment.” I roll the tea towel up into a tight ball and lob it at the wall. “I might as well pack up and go home now.”
“Maybe not everyone reads the newspaper. I can’t remember the last time I sat down and read one. Besides, they do say that there’s no such thing as bad publicity. You might find yourself with even more dates now, due to the increased interest in what you’re doing.” Mom is being surprisingly practical with her suggestions today.
“I guess. I suppose I’m just annoyed that one of the men I had a coffee with felt the need to go running straight to the newspaper to blab. Most of it is lies anyway.” Jack’s words float across my mind. Perhaps I’m just a very good liar. No, Jack Hemlock can’t possibly be the man behind the article. It was more likely to be the very strange Ronnie Kay but hey, I don’t know for sure. It could just as easily have been Bud or Luke or Oscar or Stewart. Arrgghh! I push at my temples as a headache begins to form.
Reece rubs his hand in soothing circles on my back. “Just forget about it. Do you want me to serve up the pancakes?”
“Uh, sure.” My own appetite has gone south but there’s no reason why the rest of the family shouldn’t enjoy their breakfast. I fold up the newspaper in a messy heap and dump it on the floor. “I’ll get the plates.”
“Lovely,” says Mom, clearly already moved on from the minor drama of my reputation having been smeared across the front page. “Who wants some coffee?”
Chapter Twenty
There are scorch marks on the side of house. At first, I think it’s just a blurry blob passing in front of my eyes due to the stress induced by the newspaper article but when I rub them and look again the marks are still there. I stare suspiciously at the trees but they just stare innocently back. I decide to throw it out there. “I know what you’re up to, Jane.”
No answer. The trees kinda rustle around a bit but it’s nothing more than what trees usually do. I leave them be and head off to the library to return the book. I asked Reece if he wanted to come but he said he was planning to play computer games for most of the day. Mom and Organza are going to have lunch at the Crippled Herring so they can suss out the menu before Reece’s birthday dinner.
There are no
cars in the parking lot outside the library today but the bicycle is parked up alongside the wall again. I wonder if it’s Miss Oxley’s preferred mode of transport. Another of those seemingly endless livestock freighters rumbles past as I walk through the parking lot, drenching the immediate area with the stench of close-packed cows. I lift my chin in the air, juggle the library book in my hand, pat my pocket where my peace offering of a block of finest Belgian chocolate rests, and I march into that library as if I own the place. Sometimes it’s all you can do.
Miss Oxley scowls at me from behind her desk and lifts her book to hide her face. And so she should, after the rubbish she fed to the newspaper columnist. I walk over and drop the book down on the desk in front of her. “I’m just returning the book I borrowed.”
She lowers her book and fixes her beady little eyes on me. “You can’t borrow books. You don’t have a library card. You’re not a citizen.” She hisses the last word at me like a spiteful cat.
“No, I don’t and no, I aren’t. However, I’ve returned the book and I’ve brought along a little gift to thank you for relaxing the rules in my particular case. It’s always so difficult to find helpful people when you’re visiting a new town.” I lay the block of chocolate on top of the book and watch as her eyes greedily light up. I’ve already decided on the silken glove approach; I’ll be as nice as fresh-baked cherry pie before I strangle her with the deadly metaphorical fingers of my iron fist.
“I can’t accept bribes.” Her hand is already inching toward the chocolate bar.
“It’s not a bribe. It’s a symbol of my gratitude.”
“In that case…” Her hand moves like lightning to grab the bar and stuff it into her desk drawer. “Thank you.”
She hasn’t realized yet that it’s a trap so I keep the conversation moving stealthily forward, making sure my voice remains light and pleasant. “My mother always taught me that what we give out comes back to us tenfold.”
Miss Oxley struggles to keep her mask on but I see her left eye beginning to twitch. I remove my silk glove and lunge in for the virtual kill. “As you probably know, I’m here in Euthanasia working on a news-style TV show for KLR-39 TV. My boss is very receptive to new ideas. I’ve been wondering since I saw this morning’s newspaper about whether I should give him a call and suggest we do a follow up story on why the females of Euthanasia are so darned unfriendly. Viewers like that kind of neighbors at war stuff, especially when it’s mixed in with untruths and outright lies. People go to prison for shit like that. Reputation besmirching and all the rest of it. It’s a big business.”
Miss Oxley’s mouth flaps but nothing comes out. “You took the book without checking it out,” she finally manages.
“Yes, I did and I’m sorry. However, you hustled us out the door so quickly that I had no choice. I brought it back today, safe and unharmed.” I switch tack, employing the same modus operandi that Dad and I used when we were outrunning the zombies back on Cemetery Hill. Confuse them with speed. “What do you know about the Sacral Decree? I asked you the last time I was here but I didn’t get a reply.”
It’s fascinating to watch all the color drain from her face. She darts a look over at the door before hunching her shoulders and leaning across the desk. “It’s not often mentioned.”
I lower my voice to the same volume as hers. Hey, I’m more than ready for a game. “Why not?”
“The men don’t like it. It makes them feel… emasculated.”
“Because the curse was placed by a group of women? Is that why?”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” She chews on her leathery old lip and I can tell she’s wondering how much she should tell me.
“What about the reference to boundaries between life and death? What’s that all about?” I pull out my phone and idly tap at some of the keys, as if I’m about to text someone. I’m positive Miss Oxley knows a whole lot more than she’s letting on and if she needs some encouragement to spill the beans, I’m happy to give it to her.
She takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Have you ever heard of zombies?”
Oh Jaysus George. Have I ever heard of zombies? I nod mutely, unsure if I want to go where this is bound to be heading.
“Some call them the living dead. They cluster in the space, the boundary, between the world of the living and the world of the departed. If that’s not a curse made real, I don’t know what is.”
I think of Ronnie Kay with his dead-eyed stare and his off-balance personality that didn’t fit him quite right. “You mean the country boys are zombies? Is that what the rift implemented the Sacral Decree means?”
She darts another look over at the door, plainly nervous now. “Could be.”
“But why are the country boys the only ones who have become zombies? Why have the guys in town escaped the curse?”
“The men in town haven’t escaped the curse. Do any of them seem truly happy to you?”
I think of Jack with his sexy self-confidence and his personality that exudes contentment and self-satisfaction. “Some of them do. You didn’t answer my question – why are there zombies living outside the city limits but not in town?”
She shuts her mouth tightly, as if she’s physically zipped it, and lifts her book to cover her face again. I drop a few more questions on her but she stubbornly refuses to budge. I thank her all the same and head for the door, well aware that the plate of beans I already thought I was dealing with suddenly has an entirely unexpected pile of mashed potatoes heaped on it.
“Excuse me,” pipes up a sweet voice from the Children’s Storybooks Corner. “I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation. Do you mind if I have a quick chat with you before you go?”
Chapter Twenty-One
My newly introduced friend Belle White, along with her adorable toddler son Jamie, suggests that we go to the park across the street so we can have some privacy. We leave Miss Oxley alone in the library and wander over to the playground, where Belle straps her son into a baby swing and gently pushes him as we talk.
“I saw you and Jamie at the library the other day while I was there with my brother.”
“That was your brother? He seemed so serious and intense. I almost wanted to go over and ask if he wanted to sit with Jamie while I read them both a story.” She blushes and drops her eyes in apology. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No, I know exactly what you mean. Reece gives off this aura of needing to be mothered. It seems strange to say it, but he’s about to turn 21 – that’s the reason he’s here in Euthanasia. The family have gathered together for his birthday celebration.”
“He is? I would’ve put him at around 15 or 16.”
“Most people do. He’s always looked young for his age.” I think that’s because what he went through when we were young did something to his ageing process, as if he’s already been through the worst and nothing else can affect him. I think this, but I don’t say it aloud. I don’t know yet if I can trust Belle with our family secrets.
“I’m glad you’re both here in Euthanasia. It’s nice to see some new faces around town.”
“There’s more of us, as I said. Mom and my sister are here, too. We’ll be celebrating Reece’s birthday in a few days, plus I’m working on an assignment for my job as a TV reporter.”
She grimaces. “I saw that article in today’s paper.”
I grimace back at her. “That was a shock. I’m not sure why anyone would think I’m here to scam people. I’ve been honest with the men I meet and none of them have opted to cut the date short.”
“Awww, that’s lovely. Where are you staying?”
“The TV station has put me up at a really nice place. It’s like a hotel. I’m surprised my boss splurged on it as it’s well-known to everyone that he’s a cheapskate.”
“Wonderful!” Belle appears to be one of those perpetually happy types. Her demeanor seems genuine and doesn’t seem fake or put on in any way. “We don’t have too many nice places for visitors to stay in Euthanasia. What’s
the name of your hotel?”
“It’s not really a hotel but it feels like one. Apparently it’s called Windfell.”
It’s as if I’ve dropped the Titanic’s iceberg into the middle of the conversation. Belle freezes up, her expression blanks down, and she turns away from me to fuss over Jamie even though he doesn’t look as if he needs any attention.
“Belle? What’s wrong? Do you know something about Windfell that I don’t?” I drop my hand down onto her shoulder and I feel her flinch beneath my palm. I hastily remove my hand, anxious not to worry her or send her screaming for the hills. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have touched you. I’m not usually the touchy-feely kind. What do you know about Windfell? Is this something about the silver birch trees?”
She whips around to face me. Her face is pale and washed-out now except for two bright red spots on her cheeks, as if she’s been slapped. “Have they moved? Have you noticed them moving?”
“What, the trees? Yeah, I think they have but I could just be going mad.” I give her what I hope is a reassuring smile. “It’s been known to happen before. Madness comes and goes like a spring tide in my family.”
“You’re not going mad.” She checks up and down the street before grabbing my hand and pulling me in close. Her breath is hot and urgent against my ear. “Four witches were burned at the stake on the site where Windfell now stands. People who stay there have reported strange happenings, especially concerning those trees. The owners are finding it hard to rent the place out – they’ve added a lot of extras as enticements and they’re currently offering free accommodation there in the hopes of attracting permanent tenants.”
Nothing Town Page 8
