The Deadly Fields of Autumn

by Dorothy Bodoin

  Perhaps I’d be able to solve this mystery, too.

  ~ * ~

  I needed more. I needed help. The next day, as if she heard my plea, Anna Bell called from the Foxglove Corners Historical Society in response to the message I’d left on her voice mail.

  “I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking, Mrs. Ferguson,” she said. “Is there a problem with one of the estate sale items? All sales are final, you know.”

  “Yes, it isn’t that I’m dissatisfied with the television set. It has some unusual properties. If possible, I’d like to talk to someone familiar with it.”

  “That would have been Miss Stirling,” she said.

  “Is there anyone else?”

  After a pause, Mrs. Bell said, “There’s Stacia Emmalyn Stirling, the heir. Or you might contact Lida Ronan. Lida and Eustacia were best friends since their school days.”

  “Could you give me their phone numbers?” I asked.

  “I’m not comfortable doing that, but they should be in the directory or online. Lida designed and maintains our website.”

  I thanked her and ended the call. Of the two women, I thought that Lida Ronan, the longtime friend, would be the person most likely to be familiar with Eustacia Stirling’s possessions.

  A commotion at the side door told me that Crane was home. The dogs didn’t go into their welcome home frenzy for Julia yet.

  It was time to put sleuthing on hold for homemaking.

  ~ * ~

  The heir, Miss Stirling’s grand-niece, was on vacation, but Lida Ronan agreed to meet me at Clovers for lunch on Saturday. She didn’t understand my problem either. That was my fault. I didn’t want to be more specific until we could talk face to face. However, when Saturday arrived, I still didn’t know what I was going to say to make sure she didn’t dismiss me as a crazy person.

  I was still sorting through words as I walked through Clovers’ doors to the tinkling of the green clover wind chimes. I didn’t see Annica, but I recognized Lida Ronan from the society’s website. She was waiting for me, already seated with a cup of coffee.

  She looked too young to be a contemporary of Eustacia Stirling, but I noticed a cane hooked onto the table, and she seemed delicate. Her pink foxglove brooch gave a whimsical touch to her black turtleneck sweater.

  She appeared to recognize me, too.

  “I’m Jennet Ferguson,” I said, going up to her table. “Thank you for meeting me.”

  She had a warm smile. “It’s my pleasure. “I love to do something different on a fine fall day.”

  Well, this will be different, I thought.

  Encouraged by her friendly tone, I told her how I’d been fascinated by the antique television set and how after I’d purchased it, another buyer expressed an interest in it. To put it mildly.

  “I was afraid she’d grab it right out of my hand.”

  I didn’t imagine the flash of comprehension in her eyes, nor the sudden pale cast her face acquired.

  “I know the TV you’re talking about,” she said.

  As if it were a person.

  “Do you know how it’s unique?” I asked.

  Marcy chose this moment to interrupt us. Perhaps that was for the best. Annica wouldn’t be able to contain her curiosity, and I hadn’t told her about the haunted television set yet.

  “Hi, Jennet,” she said. “What can I get you to drink today?”

  “I’ll have iced tea with lemon,” I said.

  The situation called for a hot tea with Lucy Hazen sitting at the table ready to read tea leaves. But I’d settle for a cold drink.

  When Marcy was out of earshot, Lida said, “That TV works—with a vengeance.”

  One of us had to be more specific.

  “I know what you mean,” I said. “Sometimes the programs follow the TV guide religiously. Other times, there’s the same movie on all three channels and nothing else.”

  “Then the program goes off just like that…” Lida snapped her fingers, and her sapphire and diamond dinner ring flashed in the light. “And you’re returned to regular programming. Eustacia was afraid of that TV.”

  “Did she see the Western movie, too?” I asked.

  “No, for her it was Peter, Paul, and Mary in Concert. She loved that group, and at first she thought it was regularly programming. Until the same show kept coming on over and over again.”

  For the first time since I’d acquired the rogue TV, I felt vindicated. Somebody else had experienced its intricacies. I wasn’t going crazy.

  Well, I didn’t really think I was.

  “Did Miss Stirling ever try to find out why the television was like that?” I asked.

  “Not to my knowledge. Who could she ask? What she did was have it stored in the attic. You know, out of sight, out of mind. Her niece took every single thing out of the house for the sale.”

  “Then it became somebody else’s problem,” I said. “I’m determined to find out what makes it tick.”

  “There’s a tiny movie reel stuck inside,” Lida suggested, but the gleam in her eyes was mischievous. I didn’t take her seriously, although I imagined Brent would.

  Marcy brought my tea, refilled Lida’s cup, and gave us menus. I chaffed over the delay, but then we had come to Clovers for lunch. After we’d ordered soup and sandwiches, I asked, “Do you know if this concert came on only when it rained?”

  “If it did, Eustacia never mentioned it.”

  “It was raining on the day of the estate sale,” I said.

  “So it was.”

  “And every day after that, when I saw the movie, there was either lightning or thunder.”

  “That’s truly bizarre,” Lida said. “I know that Eustacia didn’t keep using the TV. She was afraid that maybe her mind was slipping. I’ll admit I thought so myself. After a while she asked me to take it up to the attic for her.”

  “I take it you never saw Peter, Paul, and Mary?”

  “Never on that TV.”

  That matched my situation. I had one last question; then I had to start eating my lunch before the soup cooled off. “Do you know where Miss Stirling bought it?”

  “I can help you with that,” Lida said. “I was with her at the time. It was a little shop in Lakeville where I took my stereo for repairs. Roland Radio.”

  At last. A clue.

  Thirty-three

  The trees that lined Chestnut Street were making a brave attempt to hold onto their leaves in the high wind, even as I struggled to keep the hood of my raincoat from blowing back.

  The sky was overcast with afternoon thunderstorms predicted. Before leaving the house, I’d turned on the television, hoping to see the aftermath of the bank robbery in the movie. Instead the noon newscast was just beginning.

  The storm was still far off to the west. I’d try again later as soon as I heard the first thunder crash.

  Lida Ronan didn’t know the address of Roland Radio, but it was next door to a flower shop and across the street from a bookstore whose name eluded her.

  Roland Radio… I walked to the intersection, crossed the street, and retraced my steps. There was no bookstore, no radio shop. Now that I thought about it, how could a radio shop support itself in today’s economy?

  With a sigh I watched my clue blow away in the wind. Ah, well, there would be another one.

  But who would provide it?

  Not wanting to go home empty handed, I walked over to the Green House of Antiques, which I hadn’t visited in ages.

  Julia’s offer had been accepted, and she planned to move to her new house next month. This was a good opportunity to look for a housewarming gift for her and maybe something for myself. I hadn’t bought a series book in months.

  As always, the owner had decorated the window of the Green House with a creative and eye-catching touch. Witches and black cats prowled through a blanket of crinkled crimson leaves up to a cobweb-draped dollhouse. About a dozen spooky books formed a walkway to the porch, among them Down a Dark Hall, Salem’s Lot, Dracula, The S
ecret in the Old Attic, Hansel and Gretel, and Tale of the Witch Doll.

  I opened the door, and a rubbery spider on a black ribbon slid down from the ceiling with a bone chilling screech. It did an eerie dance in the wind that blew in with me. The salesgirl wore a costume with a glittering tiara on her long yellow hair. I didn’t recognize her. I had been away a long time.

  “I’m Glinda Good,” she said. “Really. Don’t mind the insect. It’s fake.”

  “What makes it screech?” I asked. “I never touched it.”

  Her eyes sparkled with humor. “Acoustics or black magic or a little bit of both. What can I help you with?”

  A black cat, a real one, leaped up to the counter and stared at me with cold green eyes.

  What are you doing in my domain?

  “I’d like to look at old books in a series,” I said. “Like Judy Bolton and Beverly Gray. Also I need a housewarming gift.”

  “Our books are scattered around the shop.” She pointed to a volume with a jagged-edged dust cover on top of a mahogany table. “Here’s The Ghost Parade by Margaret Sutton. Are you a collector?”

  “Well, an amateur one,” I said. “I have that book.”

  “Let me know if you have any questions.”

  Browsing in an antique shop was one of my favorite pastimes, and I’d never once left the Green House without at least one purchase. I found two Beverly Grays I hadn’t read yet and a lovely Gone-with-the-Wind lamp for Julia.

  The spider screeched, and two young women in jeans and jackets entered the shop. Surprised, they added their own screams to the wind’s howl.

  “Ugh,” one said. “Arachnid.”

  I brought the lamp and books up to the check-out counter and went back to see if I had overlooked something good.

  And there it was, an antique television set, a duplicate of the one currently on my living room table. I’d know it anywhere.

  Glinda stood behind me, so close that I almost stepped on her pink, pointed-toe shoe.

  “Isn’t it exquisite?” she said. “It’s a true relic from another age.”

  “Before the remote was invented.”

  “Yes, indeed. Can’t you just see a family gathering around it watching—uh—Tom Corbett, Space Cadet?”

  I could, possibly because a print propped up next to the TV depicted the scene she described. A mother and father, a sandy-haired boy and a girl with long braids, all watching a vintage television with a small screen.

  “Does it still work?” I asked.

  “I’m sure it does, but let’s check.”

  It was already plugged in. Glinda turned the ‘on’ knob, and a talk show filled the screen with a lot of chatter and cleavage. A contemporary program, judging by the women’s dresses and hairstyles.

  “It’s a steal at a hundred and fifty dollars,” Glinda said.

  I had already decided to buy the TV without knowing why. Perhaps I suspected that once I brought it into my house, it would exhibit a preference for old Western movies.

  I didn’t really believe that, but I didn’t have to justify my decision. I simply wanted it.

  “Do you know where it came from?” I asked.

  “Probably a private sale, but you’d have to ask the owner.”

  I could do that. I knew her, although we hadn’t seen each other in a long time.

  “I’ll take it,” I said as the door opened, and the spider screeched again.

  At the counter I reached for my credit card. Maybe I’d give this set to Crane as a late birthday present to make up for the one I’d kept.

  ~ * ~

  All the way home, while the wind set the trees along the road to swaying and tossed leaves at my windshield, I thought about my second antique television. What if it were another rogue with its unfathomable agenda? Would it start the western movie or a concert from the beginning or be further along?

  Maybe I would take this one apart. And find a miniature CD player inside? The thought made me smile. As for Crane, well the idea to give him the set had been fleeting. I already had plans for this one.

  I carried all of my purchases inside but left Julia’s present in the trunk since she was home. The dogs cut their customary ear-splitting welcome short to sniff at the packages looking for their treats which, luckily, I’d remembered to buy. I set the new television on the kitchen table and passed out liver chip dog cookies to all. I was happy to see that Julia had the teakettle on and filled a plate with cinnamon-something muffins.

  “Did you buy another haunted TV?” Julia asked.

  “Maybe,” I said. “We’ll see when it starts to storm. I’ll turn both of them on at once.”

  And most likely both of them would be airing contemporary programs because I wasn’t alone. The phenomenon was reserved for me. So I could keep doubting my sanity?

  Julia poured boiling water in the teapot and gave the leaves a rigorous stir. “I had a scare on the freeway, Jennet. I’m pretty sure I saw that man.”

  I didn’t have to ask her who she meant.

  “He still had the black beard. He was wearing a red checked hunter’s cap.”

  “Did he see you?” I asked.

  “I don’t think so. He caused quite a commotion cutting across three lanes to exit. People were blasting their horns at him.”

  “What kind of car was he driving?”

  “All I noticed was the garish yellow color. It would make me ill if I had to look at it in my driveway every day.”

  “He’ll be easy to spot in a car that color,” I said. “But that’s odd. You’d think he’d want to keep a low profile. Perhaps change his appearance. At least shave his beard.”

  “Maybe he’s not afraid of being recognized anymore,” she said.

  Because he eliminated the witness, she might have added.

  I didn’t want to believe that Charlotte had been murdered, leaving Bronwyn on her own in a hostile world, but it had been so long since she’d left Dark Gables with her dog and dropped out of sight. What other explanation was there?

  The man was nearby. He probably wouldn’t recognize Julia, but he would remember me and the burn of Halt! spray in his eyes.

  On that fearful thought, I poured our tea and took a satisfying, restorative sip. That might happen in the future, but it wasn’t happening today.

  Thirty-four

  At Clovers, painted pumpkins and miniature scarecrows decorated the tables and booths. My centerpiece scarecrow bore an unmistakable resemblance to Raggedy Ann, complete with red yarn hair.

  She looked coy, as if she had a secret she’d never divulge. Which was my imagination running wild. How could black button eyes communicate any emotion?

  “Happy Halloween!” Annica approached my booth and set an orange and black menu in front of me. Her empire-style dress was bright red, and a pair of Raggedy Ann earrings swung amidst strands of red-gold hair. She tapped one earring lightly with a frosted crimson fingernail.

  “It’s our theme this year,” she said.

  “Raggedy Ann?”

  “No. Story book characters. Marcy is Snow White, and Mary Jeanne is Cleopatra.

  Everyone in Foxglove Corners was decorating or dressing up for Halloween, while I waited for a lightning flash to bring back an old Western movie.

  “You’ll have to try our pumpkin soup,” Annica said.

  “I’d rather have something more ordinary.”

  “A piece of pumpkin pie with a nice cup of tea? We have pumpkin spice.”

  “That sounds good, but I’d like the kind of tea you always have.”

  “We hardly ever see each other since school started.” She lowered her voice. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you alone, Jennet, but I didn’t want to call you at home. I have some news you’ll be interested in.”

  Annica caught Marcy’s attention and nodded imperceptibly. It was her signal to Marcy to cover for her. Later, she’d return the favor.

  “I’ll just say it before I take your order,” Annica said. “Your nemesis has been in again,
telling lies.”

  My heart sank—almost literally. Like a stone, it sat at the bottom of my stomach, and my heart began to race.

  I tried to speak in a normal tone. “You’re referring to Veronica.”

  “The snake-in-the-grass. Where was Crane this past Wednesday afternoon?”

  The sudden change in subject threw me into a state of confusion. “Why, he was home. Same as always.”

  “Was he late?”

  I had to think about that, but my memory refused to cooperate. All of the recent days were running together in my mind with nothing to differentiate one from another.

  “I don’t remember,” I said. “He might have been a little late. I don’t keep track of the time.”

  Not true. I had to be aware of time because of dinner. I almost always had something on the stove or in the oven an hour before I expected him.

  “What did Veronica say now?” I asked. “The same?”

  “Not exactly. She said she and Crane had dinner together, just the two of them.”

  Among all the questions I wanted to ask, the least important leaped to the forefront. “Did she say that out of the blue?”

  “Not quite. She ordered the filet well done and said she hoped it would be as good as the one she had with Crane at the Adriatica on Wednesday.”

  “I don’t believe it,” I said.

  “Neither do I, but I thought you’d want to know.”

  “I do. I suppose she knew you’d tell me.”

  “Of course, but I almost didn’t,” Annica said. “I don’t want you to worry. She’s only trying to stir up trouble. The witch.”

  “The viper.”

  “Witch, viper—they’re both poisonous. Shall I get your pie?”

  “No,” I said. “I think I’ll just have a cup of tea.”

  I had planned to tell Annica about the haunted television set, about Julia’s new house, and Charlotte’s disappearance. I didn’t. I’d tell her another time.

  Now I sat still, contemplating the Raggedy Ann doll and waiting for Annica to bring my tea. I remembered the dinner I’d cooked for Crane on Wednesday. Turkey breast, stuffing, and sweet potatoes. He’d eaten with his usual enthusiasm and took a second helping. He certainly didn’t act as if he’d just had a filet at a restaurant.