Maple Mayhem (A Sugar Grove Mystery)

by Jessie Crockett

  Sawdusty smells and the vaguely metallic scent of chains and buckets of nails wafted toward me as I pulled open the door and stepped inside. Dean Hayes, his lanky figure draped as usual over the counter near the register, lifted his bony hand in greeting. What Piper saw in him I was at a loss to say. He was nice enough but I found him boring. He spent his time mooning after Piper and filling in sudoku puzzles.

  I hadn’t noticed any hidden depths to Dean myself but Piper assured me they were there. I think she was convinced he was mysterious because he had so little to say. I think he had so little to say because there weren’t a lot of things rattling around in his head in the way of thoughts. He was decent looking in a ropey kind of way and his hair hung into his eyes rebelliously. Personally, I thought he was just too lazy to get a haircut often enough to keep it out of them. I doubted Piper’s romance with him would last longer than the winter. I didn’t think Dean was good enough for Piper but I didn’t have to like him to want to help his business succeed.

  “What can I help you with?” Dean asked, putting down his sudoku book.

  “Birdseed. Grampa said you’d know what we usually buy.”

  “I can look it up in the computer. Anything else?” He looked back down at his puzzle like he hoped my answer would be no.

  “The birdseed wasn’t my only reason for stopping by. I was just up at your place talking with Jill. From the looks of some of your trees, you’re having a bit of trouble.”

  “It’s more than a little trouble. Trying to stay open is an exercise in throwing good money after bad. I’ve tried to convince Jill that we should sell but she just won’t listen to me. She’s determined to hang on to the place no matter what. I just don’t understand it.” He shook his head at me.

  “Maybe the land means a lot to her. It’s been in your family a long time.”

  “But it isn’t doing any good. We just keep getting further behind every month. Selling’s the only way out of the spiral we’re in.”

  “You don’t think the cooperative will help out your business along with everyone else’s?” I asked.

  “I know Jill does have hopes it will but I don’t believe it will make a bit of difference. All participating is doing is drumming up false hope and delaying the inevitable. And devaluing our property while we wait to go broke.” There wasn’t really anything else to say so he looked up the birdseed I asked about and loaded it into the trunk of the Clunker. I had pried open the driver’s door and dragged myself into the seat and was buckling the safety belt when Knowlton loomed into view. He hopped out of his car and started waving both arms at me like he was directing flights at an airport.

  I put my size-five foot down on the gas and peeled out of there before Knowlton could get any closer. I still felt guilty about how sad he looked leaving the opera house the night before. There was no way I could fend off his advances if he managed to get any closer to me with his hangdog look. I felt a little ashamed as I pulled out of sight, watching him still waving at me as I glanced in the rearview.

  * * *

  Already on edge, I jumped when I felt a buzzing in my pocket. In the privacy of my mind, I admitted I thought God had gone ahead and zapped me with a cosmic Taser for not being nicer to Knowlton. Then I realized it was just my cell phone set on vibrate. I was grateful it rang right as I pulled into the driveway at Greener Pastures. With a police chief for a godfather I’d heard enough horror stories concerning driving and cell phones but I thought I’d be safe answering in our own dooryard.

  “Hi, Mom. How’s the cruise going?” As much as I wished Lowell were home and investigating what happened to Jill’s trees and my car, I decided right then and there not to be the one to spoil the trip. If Mitch decided to call him in, then there was nothing I could do to stop him.

  “Delightful. You should feel what the sea air does for the aura. Lowell’s has never looked better,” my mother said. That sealed the deal. No way was I getting the blame for tarnishing Lowell’s freshly polished aura. “But that’s not why I’m calling.” She dropped her voice into the low tones she used for warnings and worries. It’s like she thinks bad things won’t actually end up happening if she warns in a whisper so evil can’t hear. Like she doesn’t want to give any ideas to the devil or karma or Loki or whomever it is that she credits with such things.

  “So why are you calling then?” Not that I really wanted to hear her reason. My mother considers herself to be psychic and even though I don’t want to, I sort of believe she is. She gets visions of things that end up being useful as you reflect on them later but have very little value ahead of time. It seems to me a lot of the practicality of a sixth sense would be having it actually make sense and in my mother’s case, that’s where it all falls apart.

  What she really needs is a partner. Like Joseph, the guy in the Bible with the fancy colored coat and the hostile bunch of brothers. All kinds of people received images in dreams that weren’t useful to them until Joseph came along and interpreted the meaning. Unfortunately my mother thinks she is the dreamer and the Joseph and, really, she isn’t.

  “I want you to say yes to a trip of your own. I see a change of scenery and heart-pounding adventure coming your way very soon. You won’t want to say yes but you must. It will be a matter of life or death to someone near to you.”

  “I don’t have any plans for a vacation. Things are too busy here right now and before you know it sugaring season will be on us.”

  “Just a short trip. Even an overnight stay. I’m thinking Sweden.” I couldn’t bite my tongue hard enough to keep the questions from spilling out.

  “Sweden? Sweden is not an overnight trip from Sugar Grove. Or do you mean Sweden, Maine?”

  “All I know is I see you rolling around in the snow over and over like those Scandinavians with the hot tubs. You know, the ones who whack each other with switches. Very stimulating for the system. Someone involved is wearing a fur coat. Like a Russian in an old movie. And I see Graham. He’s looking on with a worried expression. Are you trying to make him jealous by seeing other men?”

  “I am not even seeing much of Graham and I am certainly not going to Sweden and I don’t want to discuss naked snow rolling with you or anyone else for that matter.”

  “Did I say naked? Although, that is intriguing. Just remember what I said. Say yes to the trip no matter how much you don’t want to. It’s a matter of life and death. And dress warmly. And don’t forget to practice safe sex. If you’re going to roll naked around in the snow, it can get a little difficult to remember to be practical.”

  “Mom, please stop talking about this.”

  “I’ve got to go. Lowell and I are scheduled for belly-dancing lessons in ten minutes. Give my love to the others.” My mother disconnected and left me feeling unsettled. Conversations with her had always been difficult but ever since my father died they had gotten worse. She had become more insistent about sharing her gift, as she liked to think of it. I thought of it mostly as sharing her power to agitate but I supposed she couldn’t help it. We all are who we are and aren’t likely to be anyone else. At least not in this lifetime.

  It had been much easier to discount what she had to say as crazy nonsense before last fall, when her sixth sense had gotten more honed somehow and she had actually given me a message that turned out to be somewhat true. Now I had a new message to think over and it wasn’t sounding like a good one. Truth to tell, I was worried. She had said a matter of life and death. Despite the blatant sabotage and vandalism, no one had been killed over the cooperative and I found myself praying that it would stay that way.

  * * *

  I skulked up the seldom-used front stairs, trying to avoid talking to anyone lest a pair of plane tickets to the frozen reaches of the globe appear in their outstretched hand. I didn’t dare look at a magazine for fear a vacation article would pop up before my eyes and I would be compelled to phone a travel agent. But no matter how har
d I tried, I couldn’t avoid something even more persistent than one of my mother’s visions. Celadon.

  My sister called out to me as I tried to slink silently into my bedroom. Her hearing is so sensitive I’ve often wondered if it was the result of a secret government experiment. She flapped her slim hand at me and pointed into her own room.

  Back when we were kids I lived for the moments Celadon permitted me to enter her room. I almost never got an invitation, not even on my birthday. Now here we were years later and crossing her threshold was the last thing I wanted to do. Other than visiting Sweden for a good switching in a snowbank.

  All I wanted was to flop down on my own bed and think. I wanted to think about the Midget, about the cooperative, and about who might be willing to hurt Jill’s trees. Or maybe I just wanted to pretend to think about those things while actually taking a nap. But I followed her into her room instead because in the end it was just easier to do what she wanted than to argue with her.

  “Which one of these looks the least like you are borrowing it from me?” she asked, reaching out a finger to touch the lacy edge of a peach-colored camisole. My sister has a passion for beautiful nightwear. She collects silky nightgowns and matching robes, peignoirs, and bed jackets. Ever since she was old enough for sleepovers she’s maintained the very highest standards in nighttime outfits.

  “I don’t want to know why you are asking me this, do I?”

  “You don’t really want me asking Graham instead, do you?” Celadon picked up a spaghetti-strapped gown that looked like it was made out of meringue and a couple of dead swans. She pressed it against my body and clucked her tongue. “Mom should have taken you to an endocrinologist before it was too late.”

  “What does Graham have to do with your nightwear collection?” I pushed the fluffy bit of finery away from me and tried to make eye contact but Celadon was focused on the vast array of lingerie spread out before us.

  “The camping trip, of course.”

  “Graham is unlikely to need your pajamas on his camping trip with a bunch of kids.” I didn’t need to be a self-proclaimed psychic like my mother to know something bad was headed my way.

  “Perhaps you’re right. Let’s face it, Dani, in your case, normal avenues of seduction have not been leading to the altar. I think a less conventional approach is called for.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means, you don’t dress up. You don’t do the dinner-and-a-movie thing with a lot of success. You get hives on blind dates. You’re the only woman I know who has managed to require the Heimlich maneuver in a restaurant on a first date three different times.”

  “My throat is extra small. Things get stuck in there.”

  “You should have been born with a smaller mouth so there would be less of a loading dock for your chokable zone.” Celadon tossed the nightgown onto the bed, where it joined the others. The state of her bed made me think about how often her husband was out of town on business. I don’t think I would have wanted to sleep with her either from the looks of things. “No. Camping is by far the best way. And extreme camping conditions at that. Your wardrobe is perfect for the occasion and you don’t even need to worry about spilling things on yourself.”

  “Camping!” I didn’t mean to yell. My yelling tends to pitch high enough to serve better as a method of echolocation than communication.

  “Mindy Collins called to thank you for getting Graham to agree to fill in for Russ today.”

  “How does this lead to camping? Or more important, you pulling out every item from your underwear drawer?”

  “I volunteered you to help out, too. The two of you ought to be about equal to one adult with parenting experience.”

  “What? Why would you do that?”

  “Can’t you see that I’ve provided you with the perfect setting in which to ensnare a husband.”

  “What are you talking about? I don’t want to ensnare anyone. I feel cheap and dirty and scheming just knowing those words went into my ear.”

  “Getting dirty is all a part of showing you’re a good sport. I think it’s best we play to your strengths.”

  “You think I’m a good sport?” I was surprised. I didn’t feel like Celadon thought I was good at much and she chided me about my attitude on a near daily basis.

  “What I think doesn’t matter. Graham will think so if you just show up and act like a kid with the rest of them. I know that is something you can handle. Just don’t choke on anything during the cookout. Although, come to think of it, Graham’s in the protect-and-serve business. He might be really into saving a damsel in distress.”

  “I can’t make myself choke at will.” I stamped my tiny foot on the pumpkin pine floorboard and wished it made more of an impression. Celadon just sighed again and waved toward the door.

  “I think you should know Graham is already downstairs waiting for you to be ready. He said he was delighted to hear you would be joining him and would be by to collect you before you changed your mind.”

  “He’s here already? I haven’t even had time to pack.”

  “He was downstairs chatting with Grampa about the merits of brook trout when I left him to search for something to spice up your evening.” Celadon began neatly folding her lingerie. “And you don’t have to pack. I had Loden and Grandma do it for you as soon as I got off the phone with Mindy. He loaded up all the camping gear and she packed your clothing. You should be all set to go as long as you remember how to put on your coat and shoes.”

  “I even know how to zip and tie all by myself.” I was certain if I didn’t get out of there soon I was going to say something that would require gift certificates for massages to repair. Maybe it was a good thing I would be away overnight.

  “You can thank me later. I expect a full report when you get back.” Celadon had a way of making even a date with a fun and attractive guy sound like it was a homework assignment. She could never be accused of being a romantic. Not that I thought of myself as much of one either. My taste ran more to a burger at the Stack Shack and a movie at the drive-in down by the lake than it did to candlelight dinners and gifts of jewelry.

  “Maybe there won’t be anything to tell.” I wasn’t planning to let her know even if there was. Celadon had a knack for ferreting out secrets and I knew I would be doing her a favor by allowing her to employ her considerable skills if I made her dig for whatever there might be to share.

  “There had better be. You’d best get a move on. There’s no telling what Grampa might decide to talk about if he gets into one of his expansive, storytelling moods.” Celadon was right. As much as I loved for my grandfather to be happy, I wasn’t sure I wanted him to amuse himself by telling Graham stories about my childhood.

  I hurried out of her room before she could give me any further instructions or make any more demands and arrived in the kitchen just in time to hear Grampa starting to share his version of how I got my head stuck in the narrow crotch of a tree when I was three. He had made me hysterical by asking Loden to fetch the chain saw so he could get me out.

  “In the end we just tickled her until she got all loose and floppy and she slipped her own head out just as easily as she slipped it in.” Grampa beamed at Graham and then at me. “That’s our Dani, always getting herself into trouble and then finding her way back out again using unconventional means.”

  “She does seem inclined to do things a little differently,” Graham said.

  “Some people think she’s a bit eccentric, but don’t tell her I told you so,” Grampa stage-whispered to Graham. “She’s a little sensitive about that sort of thing. Especially when good-looking young fellers like yourself are the ones hearing about it.” Grampa creaked the maple antique kitchen rocker back as far as it would go without tipping over backward. He always did that when he got ready to kick his storytelling into high gear. That meant it was past time to leave.

 
“That’s me, sensitive and eccentric. Ready to go?” I turned my attention from Grampa to Graham.

  “I am always ready to go camping,” Graham said.

  “Even with a squad of squirrels?” I asked.

  “I love kids. Someday I hope to have a whole squad of my own.” He flicked his eyes over my frame briefly and I wondered if he was evaluating my hips and their birthing capacity. I felt like a failure. My hips are as small as the rest of me. As I looked back at him I thought of a Chihuahua giving birth to German shepherd puppies.

  “Good attitude, young man. You can’t work a farm without a crew. When were you thinking about getting started?” Grampa asked.

  “We’ve got to go or those squirrels will have worn poor Mindy out if she has to handle them all by herself for long.” I grabbed Graham’s sleeve and tried tugging him toward the hallway. He didn’t seem to be taking the hint.

  “I was thinking sooner rather than later, sir. After all, no one is getting younger.”

  “You got that right. Why little Dani here is already twenty-seven. Can you imagine that? Looking at her, she still seems seven instead of twenty-seven.”

  “I don’t know about that, sir. She looks pretty grown-up to me.” Graham winked and finally took the hint as I tugged on his sleeve again. I waved good-bye to Grampa and tracked Grandma down in the laundry room in order to give her a kiss while Graham loaded his truck with the camping gear and my clothing.

  “You have fun, dear. I know you could use a little excitement in your life.”

  “I’ve had quite enough excitement with finding the Midget all carved up and trying to keep the cooperative afloat.”

  “That’s not the kind of excitement I meant and you know it.” Grandma adjusted my collar like I was about to head out the door to school looking like a ragamuffin.