by Terri Thayer
April hadn’t met any of the family, except for the father, Pedro, who worked in the country club kitchen with Bonnie. She didn’t know what to expect from Xenia, but she was excited to finally meet her. Mitch had spent all his spare time on this project, and she wanted to meet the lucky woman who’d be moving in soon.
When she heard the knock on the kitchen door April figured it was Xenia and was pleased that she’d bypassed the giant barn doors, finding instead the entrance that family and friends used. Though it was after ten, Xenia was brimming with energy.
“Sorry to come so late,” she said. “I have to wait for my children to get to bed before I get any time to myself. My husband is at work. My oldest is watching the others.”
“Oh, is that okay?” April asked.
“Vanesa’s fourteen now,” Xenia clarified, “so it’s fine.”
“Sorry, it’s just that you don’t look old enough to have a teenager.”
“I’m thirty-six,” Xenia said. She was a pretty woman with soft dark brown hair that curled around her face. Having five children had not had much effect on her compact, athletic body. With her youthful looks, people probably assumed she’d been a child bride, pregnant in high school. April was a little ashamed to realize she’d been thinking along those lines herself.
Still, curious, April heard herself ask, “How old are your other children?”
“Tomas is eleven, Greg, nine, Jonathan is eight and baby Erika is five,” Xenia replied proudly.
“Good for you,” April said. She had no idea what it meant to want kids, never mind nearly a half dozen. But she admired someone who knew what they wanted and made their dreams come true.
Xenia laid an envelope on the table.
“Is Mitch coming, too? I stopped at the house to remeasure the kitchen windows. I’m heading to Wal-Mart tomorrow, and I want to buy some fabric for curtains. When I went in, I found this slipped under the door.”
Mitch’s name was lettered on the front of the envelope, using an alphabet stamp. April had the same set, little round pegs with the stamps affixed to the front. It had to be from Rocky. Was she so desperate to talk to her brother she was leaving him notes at the house? His Homes for Hope project had left him little time for much else and he spent any spare time with her. It was tough but April figured Rocky would just have to learn to let go of her brother a little.
“He’ll be along soon,” April said. “I’ll give it to him. Shall we get to work? Let me show you what Mitch sent over,” April said, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table for Xenia to sit in. Pushing her stamping supplies and sketchbook over to one side, April sat down across from her and spread out the paint chips Mitch had supplied.
She expected Xenia to look at the samples. Instead, Xenia grabbed April’s sketchbook and turned the pages slowly. A wide grin filled her face. “You do this, too?” she said, pointing to a section of the book that was filled with glossy pictures ripped from magazines and catalogs.
April nodded, a little embarrassed. She didn’t let anyone look at her sketchbooks. She had at least two dozen, going back to her first year in college. It was the one place she didn’t censor herself as she drew, wrote, stamped and pasted pictures that appealed to her. The images in that book were very personal. No one had seen them. Not even her estranged husband, Ken. Least of all, Ken.
She took the book from Xenia gently, not wanting to hurt her feelings. Seemingly unaffected, Xenia reached into the big purse she had brought and pulled out a cheap spiral notebook, stuffed to three times its normal limit. The edges were uneven with pieces of paper sticking out of most of the pages. A rubber band held everything together.
“Me, too,” she said, opening the book carefully and putting the rubber band on her wrist. “I call this Suneo, my wish book. I’ve been cutting out pictures of the house I want ever since I got married. Furniture, rugs, artwork. Even landscaping ideas.”
She handed the book to April, who turned the pages and saw notations dating back fifteen years.
“I want you to see something,” Xenia said, wetting her forefinger and reaching over to flip through the book. “Here.” She pointed to a picture of smartly dressed people crowded onto a midnight blue sofa. They were all looking at a woman, dressed in red, who’d draped herself over a zebra-print chaise.
April only had to glance at the photo. “I’ve got the same chaise in my book.”
“I saw it,” Xenia said, satisfied. She leaned back in her chair.
“You have good taste.” April laughed.
Xenia looked around the barn with a questioning expression. The space was still mostly empty. April’s lowly futon was the only seating in the living room.
April laughed again. “Don’t look at this place. I haven’t had the time to do what I want to do in here yet.” Or the money.
Picking colors for Xenia’s walls was easy once April had gone through her wish book. It became obvious that she liked earth tones, with punches of red. They settled on varying shades of warm golds and greens for the dining room, living room and kitchen. Xenia said she’d make some red throw pillows.
April prepared a pot of tea as they discussed the bedrooms. The sketchbook had revealed a lot about Xenia. She was a person with hopes and dreams and aspirations. Like April.
“I have some ideas on how we can divide up the kids’ space,” April said. She laid out the blueprints Mitch had given her. The one-story house was a modest one, only about twelve hundred square feet. Every inch had to be well utilized.
There were three bedrooms, one for Xenia and her husband, Pedro, one for the two girls and one for the three boys. Mitch had pressed a local furniture dealer to donate unfinished beds, desks and dressers to the project, and Pedro and Xenia were going to stain and paint them. They were bringing their own dining room set and living room furniture from their rental home.
“We’ve got a set of bunk beds for the older boys,” April said.
“Tomas and Greg,” Xenia said. April made a mental note. She still didn’t have all their names down.
April stood up and gathered several clear storage boxes of stamps, stacking them on the big kitchen table. She opened the top one and took out several of her home décor stamps. They were larger than her craft stamps, made of heavy-duty rubber glued to wooden blocks. “I suggest we paint the beds white and stamp on the side,” she said. “For the little guy, we can go with animals or trucks, but the older ones need something more sophisticated.”
She laid out several stamps that she thought might work on the beds—a rock guitar, surfboards, a paisley, a checkerboard border. Xenia examined each one carefully.
April said, “Don’t tell Mitch I’m advocating stamping on the furniture. That, to him, is the epitome of horror.”
Xenia opened a stamp pad and stamped the image of an ocean wave in her notebook. “From what I’ve seen, you can’t do much wrong in his book.”
April’s head snapped up from the bin where she’d been looking for a spiral. Xenia was grinning at her coyly. “He’s always quoting you.” She let her voice go gruff, imitating Mitch’s tone. “April says gray walls are the latest trend. April says dark hardwood is the only way to go.”
“I know he admires my work,” April said slowly. “We have a good professional relationship.”
Xenia wasn’t buying what April was trying to sell. Her eyes twinkled. “If that’s what you want to call it,” she said, smiling. “From where I’m sitting, the boy has a mad crush. On you.”
April steered the conversation back to stamping and paints. By eleven o’clock, she and Xenia had bonded over the inks, embossing and stamp pads. Xenia had sketched out some ideas that she thought her boys would like and agreed to come over again and watch while April carved the stamps.
As they were cleaning up, Xenia said, “I need to find a place for a desk for myself. I have a business. I sell cosmetics.”
“Door to door?” April had a vague memory of her mother, Bonnie, buying lipstick and perfume from a friend
over coffee.
“Sort of. I work with Queen Trishelle Enterprises.”
April brightened. It was a small world. “My friend Deana works with Trishelle, too. She sells the Stamping Sisters line.”
Xenia shook her head. “I don’t work with that line. I’m strictly beauty products.”
“How do you like working with Trish?” April asked. “I’m going to have a meeting with her on Monday. I’m thinking of selling some of my original stamping designs to her. I’m a little nervous.”
Xenia waved her hand. “She’s not as tough as she thinks she is. Just stand up to her. She likes people who know what they want.”
April felt a flurry of anxiety in her stomach. Did she know what she wanted?
“Hey, it’s two of my favorite girls,” Mitch said. He came in the back door carrying sample boards of kitchen hardware. He kissed April’s cheek and she rubbed her hand along his chin. His day had started many hours earlier and his face was rough. She liked the feel.
Xenia smiled at them. “Those my choices?” she said as she took the boards from Mitch.
“Yup,” he said. “I need an answer tonight, so I can get them ordered.”
“Okay. Vanesa and I can install them. It’ll be a good job for her.” Xenia rubbed her fingers along a chrome drawer pull. It was cupped, and looked like something found in an old farmhouse. “This one.”
“That’s what I like. A woman who can make decisions,” Mitch said, catching April in his gaze.
“Was that directed at me?” April said, teasingly. She looked at Xenia. “He thought I took too long this morning deciding between buckwheat pancakes or honey-walnut waffles.”
“That’s a tough one,” Xenia said.
“See?” April crowed.
“All I said was I only had a half-hour to eat.” Mitch was laughing.
April rolled her eyes at Xenia.
“Listen, girl,” Xenia said. “A bit of advice. Never let them get too comfortable. You’ve got to keep them guessing.”
“Oh no. Girl talk,” Mitch said, holding his hands over his ears. “I’m not supposed to hear this stuff.”
Xenia stood up, laughing. “It’s late. You two have to get up early. Aren’t you working at the Pumpkin Express?”
“We are.”
“My sister and I are bringing the kids to the corn maze tomorrow afternoon.”
“April’s afraid of corn mazes,” Mitch said, with a twinkle in his eye.
“I am not,” April said, delivering a glancing blow to Mitch’s upper arm.
Xenia’s eyes danced, following the two. She was clearly enjoying their teasing.
Mitch said, “You said you don’t want to go in the maze with me.”
“They’re creepy,” April said. She enlisted Xenia in her argument. “Don’t you think they’re nasty?”
Xenia shook her head. “This one is going to be tame compared to some I’ve been to.”
After she left, April gathered up her sketchbook and the paint cards that were littering the table top, revealing the envelope addressed to Mitch. April picked it up.
Mitch was at the kitchen counter opening a bottle of wine, his back to her.
“Hey,” she said. “Xenia found a note for you at the house.”
She saw his shoulders stiffen. His hands stopped twisting. “Okay. I’ll get it before I leave.”
She was curious, but Mitch would tell her when he was ready. “Okay, I just don’t want you to forget it.”
He laid down the corkscrew and turned, wiping his damp hands on the towel hanging nearby. “I’d better skip the wine and get going.”
It was late, but that was their usual pattern. Something else was going on.
“Tired?” April asked. She searched his face for an answer, but his eyes avoided hers.
“Long day. The cabinet install didn’t go as smoothly as I’d hoped.”
But there was more. April could read Mitch well enough by now to know he was not telling her everything. His eyes strayed to the envelope, still on the table where Xenia’d left it.
“Is this from your sister?” April said, handing him the envelope. “She was grousing earlier.”
“Rocky?” Mitch picked up the envelope. “No, no, not her.”
April waited for him to explain, but he pushed himself away from the counter, pulling his keys from his pocket.
“I am tired,” Mitch said. “All of a sudden. It just hit me.”
He was hiding something. If Rocky was being a pill, she needed to know. “Let me see the letter,” April said, hand outstretched.
Mitch leaned in for a kiss. “I’ll see you in the morning . . . hey.”
April had the letter out before Mitch had unpuckered. She tossed the envelope on the table and opened up the folded paper. April recognized the alphabet stamp set used in the note. It was called Ransom. For good reason.
Stamped out were two sentences, one atop the other. Not many words, but enough to send a chill down April’s spine.
“Stop work on the house. Now.”
She looked up to see Mitch watching her carefully. His face was blank as though awaiting her reaction.
“Mitch, this is a threat.”
He waved her off, reaching for the letter. “It’s harmless. Someone doesn’t have enough balls to write a letter to the editor. I’m not going to play along.”
“Harmless? How can you know that?”
“Look, this is the third one of these in a month, and nothing’s happened . . .” Mitch trailed off as the weakness of his argument was apparent to both of them.
“Three? Mitch, tell me you told the police.”
“Who? Yost? Or his chief who’s just waiting out his retirement? What would they do? Don’t worry, I’ll handle it.”
“How?”
“In my own way, April.”
CHAPTER 3
“Be Afraid.”
“Ghost Crossing.”
“Ghouls Just Want to Have Fun.”
One after the other, Burma-Shave-style, hand-painted signs along the road welcomed guests to the Fifth Annual Pumpkin Express at the Dowling Nursery.
April turned through the open steel gate. Deana was beside her in the passenger seat, and the two friends eagerly viewed the fall decorations. Bales of hay bracketed the road for the last quarter of a mile. On the right, close to the road was the red farmhouse that Suzi had inherited when her parents moved to Arizona. She’d had to pay off several siblings, but the farm, nursery and house were all hers now. And so was the debt load.
Beyond the nursery were the stone silo that served as Suzi’s studio, the gift shop, and the corn maze that was the main attraction today. Several brightly striped shade structures had been set up around the grounds. Scarecrows of various shapes and sizes lounged on the hay bales. Pots of orange, yellow and brick-colored mums were everywhere. Pumpkins lined the driveway, leading people onto the property.
One of Suzi’s employees, dressed as a bee, motioned to April to roll down her window. She complied.
“Working today?” the bee asked, her antenna bobbing.
April and Deana answered together in the affirmative.
“Park behind the greenhouses.”
They passed others walking from their cars, unrecognizable in their getups. There was a Cookie Monster walking with a pirate who carried a real parrot on his shoulder. He squawked “Kill the cheerleader,” as they drove by.
“Look at this place,” April said. “I was just here two weeks ago, buying some daffodils and tulips to plant around the barn. That day the place looked sort of forlorn. Now it’s completely transformed.”
All the spring and summer flowers were gone, the local fruit picked and sold and eaten. Today the space was filled with fall harvest color.
Deana said, “It is amazing. Her parents used to only have a tiny U-pick pumpkin patch in the fall. Look at it now.”
Deana brushed away a hair that had escaped from her sheer colonial bonnet. Her hairline was moist with sweat. Despi
te it being October, Aldenville was in a heat wave, and the forecasted high was over ninety degrees. Welcome to global warming.
April’s costume was a bit more whimsical than Deana’s, and not as warm. She’d settled on being a fairy princess. Her tulle skirt was light and airy, and she’d left her legs bare.
“Good, you’re here,” Suzi said, appearing next to Deana as she loaded Stamping Sisters boxes onto a hand truck. “Where is everyone else?”
April pulled her in for a hug, noticing that Suzi’s Wonder Woman boots made her much taller.
“I need to get this party started.” Suzi watched a BMW convertible pull in, wincing as it parked too close to her display of gourd topiaries. She pulled on the door handle, revealing Rocky at the wheel.
“Good morning! What’s the haps?” Rocky said. She was dressed all in black, with a pointy witch’s hat balanced on her lush hair, which chicly obscured one eye, as usual.
“What happened to the Robin Hood costume?” Suzi asked.
Mary Lou climbed out of the passenger seat, smoothing her apron.
“I wasn’t in the mood to rob the rich,” Rocky said.
That was ironic. Rocky was the rich. Or at least her family was. The Winchesters had once owned the local bank. It wasn’t clear how much family money was left, but they still seemed to live well.
Together the women started toward the midway, where orange and black flags colorfully marked the area though they hung still in the windless air.
April turned to see Rocky staring at her. “What are you supposed to be?” Rocky asked, her tone unbelieving and querulous at the same time. She smiled at April to take away the sting, but it didn’t quite work. “I don’t remember seeing that costume.”
“I’m a fairy princess.”
