“Hey. Thanks.” I walked past him, kicked off my shoes, and tossed my purse on a chair. “How’s it going? Have you had dinner already?”
When Wes didn’t respond, I turned to look at him. His cold expression hit me like a punch in the gut. Uh-oh.
“What’s the matter?” I asked, though I had a sinking feeling I knew. I’d been so preoccupied, I failed to check in with him all evening.
“How’s what’s-his-name?” Wes said flatly. “Zeke. That must have been some ‘damn fine coffee,’ huh?”
“Wes, I wasn’t with Zeke all this time. I was with Mila.”
Wes lifted his eyebrows as if he didn’t believe me.
“I mean, yeah,” I amended. “I was with Zeke at first, at the café. But only for a little while. Then I stopped in at Moonstone. And then . . .” I trailed off, feeling annoyed at Wes’s accusatory glare. His crossed arms didn’t help either.
“Come on!” I said. “Do I really have to account for my whereabouts every single minute of the day? I thought we trusted each other.”
“This isn’t about trust.”
“No? Then what? Why are you giving me such a hard time?”
Wes dropped his arms and turned his back on me. He headed into the kitchen.
“Fine. Don’t talk to me.” I stalked off to the bathroom to wash my face and freshen up. This was so not the evening I had anticipated.
When I came out, Wes was gone. There was no note on the counter. Terrific.
For the next hour, as I prepared and ate a quick meal of sautéed spiced greens and cannellini beans, I grumbled to myself about independence and trust and the general childishness of all men. But underneath it all, I was starting to feel pretty rotten.
Later, as I was getting ready for bed, I grabbed my phone from my purse to plug it into the charger. That’s when I saw the text messages I’d missed earlier in the evening. All from Wes.
The first one was sent around 4:30 when I was at Mila’s shop:
Hey, Babe. How does grilled pizza sound for dinner? We gotta fire this thing up while we still can. I’ll get everything ready.
An hour later, when I was probably following a cat in a cemetery:
Coming home soon? Cold drink waiting for you here!
And yet an hour later when I was telling Mrs. Hammerlin and Mila about the broken basement window:
Everything okay??? I miss you.
“Dammit,” I said to the empty room. “I am such a heel.”
I hovered my fingers over the keypad to text Wes back, then stopped. A texted apology seemed curt and inadequate, and, in any case, I was too exhausted to come up with the right words. It had been a long day. Plus, I had to get up early for work in the morning. We’ll have to work this out tomorrow.
I left a note on the counter with only two words: “I’m sorry.” Then I went to bed.
* * *
I awoke with a start. The bedroom was pitch-black. As the memory of my argument with Wes surfaced in my mind, I quickly checked the space next to me in the bed. He was there, asleep, with his back to me. I sighed in relief.
But what had woken me up? It must have been something outside, I decided. Maybe an animal or a neighbor coming home.
I lay my head back on the pillow and closed my eyes. Seconds later, a loud thud pierced the silence. I bolted upright, and Wes rolled over.
“What was that?” he murmured.
“I don’t know. I think it came from the front door.”
“The paper?”
I checked my bedside clock and saw that it was 2:00 a.m. “Uh-uh. It’s too early.”
Wes hopped out of bed and darted out of the room. I followed him. Together, we peeked out of the living room window. There was no one to be seen.
Wes unlocked the door, opened it a crack, then pulled it all the way open. I stood close behind him and held onto his arms, as I peeked around his shoulder. “Anything?” I whispered.
He started to shake his head, then looked down. I followed his gaze and saw what caught his attention: a fat, brown envelope. The name “Keli” was written in black marker across the front. He bent down and examined the package, then picked it up and turned it over.
I stepped out onto the porch and looked up and down the street. It was empty, except for the neighbors’ cars parked along the curb. Across the street was a minivan bearing the name of a cleaning service, but it was dark. Whoever had thrown the package was long gone.
“Do you want to call the cops?” asked Wes. “It’s probably not wise to open a suspicious package.”
“I don’t know,” I said doubtfully. “It’s not lumpy, or stained, or anything, right? And it’s not ticking.”
Wes looked at the package again. “The corner is ripped. It probably happened when it hit the door. There’s no powder coming out of it.”
My curiosity got the better of me. “I’m going to open it.” I reached for the package.
“Wait,” said Wes. “Go get some scissors.”
I complied and handed him the scissors. Carefully, he inserted the tip in the ripped part of the envelope and cut off the end. Then he emptied the contents onto the doormat. It was a book. I picked it up and read the title: Silent Spring.
Goose bumps prickled the bare skin of my arms. I opened the cover and flipped through the pages. The book was worn and dog-eared, but there were no apparent markings. And no note.
“Is there anything else in the envelope?” I asked.
“No,” said Wes, as he shook it. “Is that the book your aunt told you about?”
I nodded. It was the book that had changed her life, the one that set her on a course of fierce dedication to the environment. Something told me this wasn’t just a copy of the book, but the actual book my aunt had owned.
Who left this for me? And in the middle of the night, no less?
I had no idea. One thing was for sure, though. Whoever threw this book was not a ghost.
CHAPTER NINE
Monday morning came sooner than I would have liked. I slapped my ringing alarm clock and rolled over with a groan. Wes’s side of the bed was empty. I wasn’t worried, though. After all the excitement in the small hours of the night, we kissed and made up. We didn’t exactly have a heart-to-heart and discuss all our issues—we’d still have to find the time to do that. But at least we were friends again. He told me he had to leave early for a work assignment, taking photos of a pumpkin patch at dawn.
I took a quick shower, threw on a robe, and headed straight to the coffeemaker. While the coffee was brewing, I made myself a big bowl of cinnamon oatmeal with sliced apples and walnuts. Then I took my breakfast to the table facing the patio door and watched the birds while I ate. The whole time, I kept thinking about young, idealistic Josie, the girl who ran away from home to live in a commune. She was the earth child who read Silent Spring and was inspired to . . . do what, exactly?
In the letter she’d sent to her parents all those years ago, she said she was leaving to undertake a “secret mission.” What in the world did that mean? She also said her heart belonged in Edindale. Thinking about that now, I heard in my mind the melody for “I Left My Heart in San Francisco.” Did Josie fall in love with the small city of Edindale in the short time she lived here? Or was there a person here whom she loved? And, if that was the case, then why did she leave without that person?
I mulled over the possibilities as I sipped my coffee. Maybe that was the real reason she passed through town so many times over the years. She came back to see her lover. Was it Gil? She seemed to be staying with him, not Fern, when I spoke with Josephine at the beginning of the year.
I had tried calling Gil several times, and he never answered. When I asked her about it at the winery, Fredeline told me he didn’t answer when she tried either. Where was this guy? Still out of the country? Or was he like Josephine and just didn’t want to be found?
As I took my bowl to the sink and poured another swig of coffee, an idea started to take shape. Gil was a business owner. Sur
ely, he kept tabs on his business even when he was out of town. Maybe someone at his canoe shop could let me know how to reach him.
I looked up the number and dialed. A few rings later, a recorded voice informed me that the shop opened at 10:00, but that, even during business hours, they’d probably be out back or else driving customers to and from the river. I was welcome to leave a message.
Shoot. I hung up and headed to the bedroom to get dressed. Maybe I should just drive out there and speak to someone in person.
As I stood in front of my closet staring at my business suits, the possibility of tracking down Gil started to sound better and better. Before I knew what I was doing, I reached into the other side of my closet and selected a pair of cargo pants, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and a lightweight field jacket. I pulled them on, and then called my office to let my boss know I’d be in late today. Given the death of my aunt, I figured a little bereavement time was understandable. Next, I called Farrah.
“Hey, gal pal. Do you have anything going on this morning that you can’t ditch?”
She laughed. “Are you asking me to play hooky, Madam Partner?”
“Just for a couple hours. It takes two to canoe, and I need a second. Though, I’d really just like your company.”
“Did you say Tippecanoe?”
“Yeah, right. And Tyler, too.” I rolled my eyes at our silliness and filled her in. Just as I figured, she was more than game. She was working from home today and only had to be back for an afternoon conference call. A short time later, I picked her up at her apartment, punched the address for Gil’s Canoes into my phone’s GPS, and headed to the countryside.
It was a beautiful day. The brilliant autumn foliage shimmered against a vivid blue sky. As we cruised down the rural highway, we listened to indie folk music and chatted lightly about movies, TV, and the latest celebrity gossip. Actually, Farrah did most of the talking, since I had had zero time for entertainment in recent months. As we got closer to our destination, I asked her when she’d last been canoeing.
“Not that long ago,” she said. “I went a couple times over the summer.”
“But you’ve never been to this place, right?”
“Right. When I go, it’s usually ’cause the guy I’m dating owns his own boat. I’ve seen signs for this shop, though. I think they must do a pretty decent business, at least when the water level cooperates.”
“Speaking of signs, there’s one now.”
Following the arrows, we turned onto a dusty lane and soon pulled into a gravel parking lot next to the office for Gil’s Canoes. It was a gray, wooden structure that resembled a beach hut and doubled as a bait shop. Other than two pickup trucks holding an assortment of kayaks and canoes, the only other vehicle in the lot was a beat-up Jeep.
The screen door slammed behind us when we entered, prompting a young guy to emerge from a back room and take his post behind the counter. Wearing a tie-dyed T-shirt and a shy grin, he looked barely old enough not to be in school.
“Hi,” I said. “Is Gil around?”
“Nah. Haven’t seen him. Can I help you?”
Farrah opened a refrigerated soda case and selected a glass bottle, then perused the sparsely stocked snack shelves.
“Do you think he’ll be in soon?” I asked. “I was hoping to talk to him.”
The boy shrugged. “Maybe this afternoon. I think he said he was gonna work on his deck this morning.”
I felt a small surge of hope. At least now I knew he wasn’t in Tibet.
Farrah set her soda and a bag of trail mix on the counter. “Are you still renting canoes? It seems like it’s getting to be a little late in the season.”
“We’re open ’til the end of the month, weather permitting.”
“So,” I interjected, “does Gil live nearby?”
The boy paused in the middle of ringing up Farrah’s purchases and gave me a sidelong glance. I worried I’d gone too far. Now he thought I was a stalker.
“I’m only wondering how soon he might be here,” I said. “I really need to talk to him. It’s about a mutual friend of ours who recently passed away.”
“Want to leave him a message? I’m pretty sure he’ll be in later. He said he was gonna fix the broken trailer out back. Plus, he needs to restock the bait.”
I glanced at the fish-shaped clock on the wall. It was only 10:15.
“Hey,” said Farrah, tugging my shirt tail. “Why don’t we rent a canoe? It’s gorgeous outside, and this is probably our last chance this season. Besides, you could use the sun. You’re looking more like a vampire than a witch these days.”
“Am not!” I protested, though I had to admit she was probably right. “Are you sure you have time?”
She waved away the question. “Let’s do this.”
We paid the kid behind the counter, and he supplied us with life jackets and safety instructions. He led us to one of the pickups in the lot, and we piled in for the bumpy backroads ride to a crude boat launch a couple miles upstream. Once we were settled in the canoe—with me in front and Farrah in the rear—the kid gave a shove to the stern, and we were on our way.
The water was deep and the river flowed easily. Carried along by the current, we had to use our oars only to steer around bends and maneuver around the occasional rock or fallen tree.
“This is better than being out here in the summer,” remarked Farrah. “Less bugs.”
“Mm-hmm.” I watched the terrain slowly pass by: towering cliffs, shimmering trees, ancient rocks, and swooping birds—it was like a picture postcard for Southern Illinois. It wasn’t hard to imagine that Josephine really had fallen in love with this area.
Every now and then we passed small beaches along the shore where boaters before us had apparently stopped to picnic or explore. I had my eye on one such spot up ahead when I noticed a painted wooden sign at the tree line beyond the sand. “What does that say?” I asked, shielding my eyes with my hand.
“What are you looking at?” called Farrah behind me.
“Steer left,” I replied, digging my oar into the water. “Up to that sandbank.”
We navigated the canoe to shallow water, then hopped out and dragged it inland. The sign, which was shaped like an arrow, read Briar Creek Cabins.
“That’s what I thought. Mind if we go for a little walk?”
“As long as we don’t get lost,” said Farrah. “Maybe we should leave a trail of pebbles.” She scooped up a handful of rocks from the beach.
“I wonder how far we are from the cabins.”
As we strolled into the shadowy forest, I told Farrah about meeting Levi Markham the day before and seeing the place where he found Josephine’s body. When I mentioned that he said Josephine might have been shot by a hunter, Farrah froze.
“But it’s not even deer season yet. Do you think there are poachers out here?”
“If it was a hunter, I doubt if he’d go off shooting in the forest again after such a horrible accident,” I reasoned. “Anyway, I don’t think that’s what happened.”
After walking a few more minutes, we came to a fork in the path. Another sign, pointing left, directed us to the cabins. The right-hand path wound deeper into the woods. I hesitated.
“What do you think?” asked Farrah. “You know these trails basically go on forever.”
I couldn’t explain it, but something about the unmarked trail called to me. “Let’s see where this goes, at least a little ways.”
“Okay. But I’m gonna start dropping pebbles.”
It was a scenic path that grew wilder and rockier as we went. As the terrain sloped upward, I glanced to the side and caught sight of a chain-link fence a little distance away.
“I wonder what that’s for?” I left the path and hiked up to the fence.
“Hey!” yelled Farrah. “That is not staying on the trail.”
The fence was about eight feet high and topped with a coil of nasty-looking barbed wire. It seemed to be well-maintained. Other than that, there wasn’t much to
see. The land on the other side looked the same as on my side. Still, I was curious.
“You stay on the trail,” I called down to Farrah. “I’ll follow the fence. Let’s see how far we can go while keeping each other in sight.”
That plan worked for only a few yards, when the fence angled away from the trail.
“What now, boss?” said Farrah.
“I really want to see where this goes. I can’t say why. It’s just a feeling I have.”
“Hang on,” said Farrah. She scrambled up the slope to join me. “Let’s tie something to the fence here, so we’ll know where to find the trail.”
“Okay.” We scanned one another and came up empty-handed. Neither of us was wearing a belt, scarf, headband, or any extraneous articles of clothing.
Farrah shrugged and reached under her shirt. “I can spare my bra for a few minutes.”
“Wait! You nut. You don’t have to do that. We can stick a small branch between the links here.” I chuckled. “Though I should have let you hang your bra here. That would have been way funnier.”
“Hey, I do what I gotta do. Remember that time we got lost in the forest at night?”
“I’ll never forget it.”
We picked our way through the trees and brush along the fence for several minutes. Finally, the ground leveled off and the trees opened up to reveal a dirt road. The fence ended at an electric keypad-access gate, beyond which were a number of metal buildings and a fleet of semitrailers. A sign on the gate said NO TRESPASSING. PROPERTY OF HAPCO.
“What’s HAPCO?” asked Farrah.
I tried to remember. “I’ve heard of it. It’s owned by the Hemsleys—that’s what the ‘H’ is for. Do you know Tadd Hemsley? He was at the haunted barn the other night. Anyway, I think it has something to do with agricultural chemicals, like fertilizers or animal feed or something.”
Farrah shrugged and pulled out her phone to look it up, then made a face. “No signal.”
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