Morning Glory Circle (12 page)

Cal Fischer was a volunteer firefighter and a rescue diver, and had also been peripherally involved in Theo’s murder investigation. Pine Mountain Road started on the other side of the mountain, in Maryland, and wound along the Mason Dixon line through three states before it ended in Rose Hill, on the shore of the Little Bear River. Cal had, on a few occasions, taken down the barriers that were installed there (to protect people from accidentally driving into the water) in order to back his boat into the water, cross the river, and hunt for out of season deer. On one such occasion, on a very foggy night, someone had rolled a truck down the last block of Pine Mountain Road into the river, drowning the unconscious Willy Neff inside. On a subsequent outing, Cal found the submerged truck and discovered the victim. He hadn’t had the barriers down, his boat out, or done any illegal hunting since.

Scott asked Cal if he’d seen Margie, and he asked Scott to please come inside. Cal brewed some coffee, and they sat at the kitchen table together with the dog on the floor at their feet.

“I just heard from Sue this evening that Margie’s missing,” Cal told Scott. “I planned to call you tomorrow to tell you about this weird thing that happened.”

Scott sipped his coffee and listened attentively.

“Living just down the street from her, we see Margie a lot, because she doesn’t have a car and walks everywhere. Sue doesn’t like her on account of something that happened with the mail, but I’ve never had any trouble with her. I know her well enough to wave on the street and say hello, but that’s it. Anyway, a few days ago Margie stopped Sue outside the house and told her she knew what happened the night Willy Neff drowned. She said she saw me back my boat into the river with my dog and gun, and she knew I was hunting out of season. Well, you know I confessed to my boss about taking the barriers down, but only you, me, and Sue know about the deer hunting, so Sue figures Margie must have been spying on us that night. Margie says to Sue, ‘What do you think the game warden would have to say about that?’ This made Sue so mad she told Margie off.”

“Did Margie ask Sue for anything, in order to keep quiet about it?” Scott asked.

“You mean, like to blackmail us or something?”

Scott nodded.

“Sue said she thought Margie was threatening to tell the game warden just to make trouble for me, and she went ballistic. You know Sue, she’s sweet as pie but if you threaten her family she’ll blister you like hot paint.”

Scott was very familiar with Sue Fischer’s devotion to her husband, and wished he could have seen her go after Margie.

“I don’t want you to wake her,” Scott said, and about that time Sue walked into the kitchen. She didn’t look happy to see Scott.

“What’s happened?” she asked worriedly, with a grim look on her face.

“Nothing, honey,” Cal reassured her, and looped an arm around her waist. “I was just bragging on you to Scott, about how you tore Margie a new one for threatening to tell the game warden I was hunting out of season.”

“Did you find her?” Sue asked Scott.

“Not yet,” Scott said.

“Well, I hope wherever she is, she stays there.”

“What did she say, exactly?” Scott asked her.

“Said she’d seen Cal take the barriers down, saw him take the dog and gun out on the boat. Asked me what I thought the game warden would do if he found out. I told her if she called the game warden on my husband I would take her to court and tell the judge all about the dirty tricks she’s been playing on the people of this town for the last twenty years. I said I knew fifty people who would line up to testify against her. I told her when I got through with her, she’d be tarred, feathered, and driven out of this town like the low down lying criminal she is,” Sue said. “Or something like that.”

“It must have been effective,” Scott said. “I think she’s skipped town.”

“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” Sue said.

“If you see or hear from her, will you let me know?”

“Sue could deliver her covered in tar and chicken feathers,” Cal said.

Sue smacked her husband on the arm, but smiled at him affectionately. Scott thanked them and left. As he walked up Pine Mountain Road, Scott reflected that there was a whole lot that went on in this town that he didn’t know about, and wondered how much more he would find out on account of Margie going missing. There didn’t seem to be one person, save her mother, who cared about her or was sorry she was gone.

Ed Harrison lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. He had purposefully not gone to the Rose and Thorn that night because he was avoiding Mandy. His regular evening ritual of two beers and a ballgame on the bar’s big screen TV was ruined now, because Mandy wanted to sit on the stool next to him and talk, at least until Patrick fussed at her to get back to work.

Mandy never ran out of things to talk to Ed about, although he couldn’t think of a thing to say to her. She’d ask him, “Do you believe in horoscopes?” and then she’d read both of theirs. She’d tell him a dream she had and ask him what he thought it meant. She’d tell him every single thing she’d done from the time she got up until the time she was sitting there, and ask him a hundred questions, like a child. When Ed told her he wanted to watch the game, she asked him all sorts of questions about basketball, and then asked him, related to the cheerleaders, “Which one do you think is the prettiest?” Even worse, all this took place under the amused gaze of the locals seated nearby, and his friend Patrick, who kept rolling his eyes and laughing from behind the bar.

The phone rang.

“I’m just checkin’ to be sure you ain’t sick or somethin’,” Mandy said when he answered.

“No, I’m fine,” Ed said. “I just felt like making it an early night.”

“Can I bring ya somethin’?’ she asked.

“No, but thanks,” he said. “I’m going to get an early start on some sleep.”

“You still takin’ Tommy to the bonfire tomorrow night?”

“Yeah, glad to do it.”

“Well, I sure do appreciate that. I hate to think of him all alone at night with all these strangers in town.”

“It’s no problem.”

Ed could hear Patrick yelling in the background and Mandy told him, “Shut up, I’ll be there in a minute.”

“You better get back to work,” Ed said.

“Yeah, I guess I better,” Mandy said. “I’m sure missin’ you tonight.”

“You’ve got to stop this,” Ed said. “I’m too old for you. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but this is not going to work out the way you want. I’m sorry, but it’s just not.”

“I ain’t givin’ up,” she said. “I ain’t no quitter.”

“Mandy, you are a sweet girl and any man would be lucky to have you, but it’s just not going to be me.”

“I had a dream ‘bout ya last night,” she said. “You ‘n me ‘n Tommy were a family, and we lived in the newspaper office.”

“Mandy.”

“My dreams always come true,” she said. “I believe in my dreams.”

“I’m sorry,” Ed said. “I don’t know what else to say.”

“Just don’t count me out,” Mandy said. “Ya gotta at least give me a chance.”

“Mandy.”

“I know. I better go. Patrick’s having a hissy fit over here. I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

“No more doughnuts, please.”

“Turnovers then,” she said with a giggle, and hung up.

Ed hung the phone up and covered his face with a pillow. He’d been having dreams about Mandy, too, but what they’d been doing in the newspaper office in his dreams wasn’t rated G for family viewing.

Hannah was staring at the kitchen calendar in disbelief, flipping back and forth between the last few months.

“Maybe I just forget to mark the day,” she said.

“Mark what day?” Sam asked her, as he rolled his wheelchair into the kitchen from outside, letting a huge gust of cold wind and some blowing snow in with him.

“Oh, nothing,” Hannah said. “Maggie and I have the next few days so tightly scheduled I didn’t put in any time to go to the bathroom, let alone shop for groceries. You’re on your own for the next few days.”

“I don’t mind,” Sam said, rolling up behind her and bumping her so that she fell back in his lap. “As long as I don’t have to go to the festival, I would gladly eat dog chow with these two.”

Jax and Wally collapsed on the kitchen floor, panting from the outdoor romp Sam had just taken them on.

“How were the inmates?” she asked him.

“They’re fine. I miss the pit bull boys, though. I was kinda getting used to them.”

“Don’t worry; there will always be more where they came from. As long as there are idiots who breed them to fight and people who are afraid of them, we’ll have plenty on hand.”

“What time do you have to be at the bakery in the morning?” he asked her, while nuzzling her neck.

“Eight a.m.”

“You better get to bed then.”

“Why don’t I think you mean so I can get some sleep?”

“Maybe it’s just a feeling you’re getting,” Sam said mischievously.

“I think I can maybe muster up enough strength to have my way with you,” Hannah said. “But it’s probably the last time for a few days. It will all be a blur from tomorrow until Monday.”

“I’ll take what I can get,” Sam said.

“You’re one of the last of the great romantics, you are.”

“Oh my darling,” Sam said, in a fake foreign accent, “Come with me to the Casbah, so that we may make the sweet, how do you say, love.”

“You sound just like that cartoon skunk.”

“I’ll try to stay down wind.”

Later, after Sam had gone back to work in his home office, and before Hannah turned off the lights in the rest of the house and locked up, she flipped through the calendar again while she rubbed her flat tummy.

“I can’t think about it,” she said out loud. “I don’t have time to even think about it.”

She did, though, way past the time when she should have been asleep.

Maggie, Patrick, and Hannah met at the bakery at 8:00 a.m. Friday morning, where their mothers had been working since 4:00 a.m., and loaded up Patrick’s truck with the baked goods they planned to sell that day at the festival. The sky was still black with a thousand bright stars. It was the kind of frigid cold temperature that tightens your chest and freezes your nose hairs when you breathe in.

Once the boxes were secured in the bed of the pickup, Maggie and Hannah climbed in the back and sat on the wheel wells for the two-block journey to the festival grounds. Deputy Skip had taken down the chain that blocked the entrance, and other vendors were preparing their caravans for the crowds that would soon gather. They would include tourists from the nearby ski resorts, students from the Eldridge College campus, and residents from the surrounding towns.

    Because her brother Patrick had placed each caravan himself, Fitzpatrick Bakery and the Rose and Thorn bar were side by side in a prime location near the entrance to the grounds. The other locally run food caravans included PJ’s Pizza selling Italian fare; the Interdenominational Women’s Society selling homemade fudge, peanut brittle, and chocolate candy; the Catholic Women’s Guild selling homemade apple butter, apple jelly, and apple dumplings; the Whistle Pig Lodge selling funnel cakes, cotton candy, and caramel corn; and the Pine County Boosters selling hot dogs, pepperoni rolls, and assorted hot and cold drinks. A hoagie shop and a Greek restaurant from nearby Pendleton had also been licensed to sell food.

Once the caravan was set up and ready for the noon opening, Maggie went back to the bookstore to see if all was ready there. Jeanette, whom she relied upon so heavily, had everything well in hand. Jeanette was a retired schoolteacher who was supplementing her pension and social security with part-time hours at the bookstore. A no-nonsense, sensible, stalwart right hand, she could deal with any crisis that came up during the morning shifts during the week. Maggie knew that in any situation Jeanette would do what Maggie would have done herself, but in a kinder way, and as a result she gave the older woman a free hand.

This morning she was marshalling the extra troops Maggie had hired for the weekend, teaching them how to do the basic tasks they would be called upon to do. Although it wasn’t the ideal time for Benjamin, who ran the espresso bar every morning like a well oiled machine, to be out of town, Maggie could not refuse him the reasonable request of a week cross country skiing with friends in Maine. Her second best barista, Mitchell, an articulate and outgoing college senior who looked more like a Rastafarian, was subbing for Benjamin during his week off.

Mitchell was showing his temporary help where the supplies were kept, and how best to assist him without getting in the way in the close confines of the area behind the counter. For this year’s festival Maggie had splurged on more temporary staff than usual, anchored by well-trained regulars, so that she could spend all the time at the festival helping her mother. She hoped the additional sales from the influx of tourists would more than make up the added expense. If it did, after the weekend was over she planned to reward her staff with some small bonuses, something she rarely did. It’s not that Maggie was cheap or begrudged her staff little extras; it was just that she learned at her mother’s knee to be frugal, and it was hard to go against that conditioning.

After Maggie felt assured her bookstore was in good hands, she walked down to the Rose and Thorn to see if Patrick needed any help. She waved to her Uncle Curtis as she passed Fitzpatrick’s Service Station, where he was holding court with his morning buddies, drinking coffee and eating doughnuts. Her Uncle Ian was driving the school bus, like he did every morning and afternoon, so Patrick was left on his own getting the Rose and Thorn caravan ready for business.

At the side door of the bar, which opened onto Peony Street, Scott was helping Patrick roll kegs into the bed of his pickup truck. They were using a piece of plywood as a ramp between the side door and the pickup bed, and Maggie watched as the wood sagged but did not break when they rolled the kegs across it. Patrick was rolling and Scott was catching. Both men acknowledged her presence with a brief nod and returned to concentrating on their task.

Maggie stood next to the truck and watched, enjoying a chance to freely admire Scott while he worked. He had on his police uniform of khaki pants, hiking boots and navy blue ski jacket, with ROSE HILL POLICE appliquéd on the front left side and across the back. On his head he wore a navy blue wool ball cap with the same city logo on it. Maggie was admiring his rear end when he caught her, and grinned.

She felt herself blush and asked her brother, “Anything I can do?”

Patrick stood still a minute as he thought.

“Yes,” he finally said, “Go upstairs and get me some plastic cups and paper napkins. They’re in the crawl space in the attic.”

Maggie went around to the front door and let herself in with her own key, then walked all the way to the back of the bar to the office, where the door to the stairs was. Maggie hated the upstairs room, which was dark and spidery, but she didn’t dare tell Patrick “no” after offering to help. She found the boxes of cups and napkins right where he said they’d be, and drug several out to save him time later. The boxes were not that heavy, but she slid them down the stairs on their sides so she didn’t have to carry them.

She heard her Aunt Delia yelp “hey!” from downstairs, and Maggie hurried down. Delia wasn’t hurt, just surprised when boxes came flying down the stairs at her as she entered the office. Patrick, standing in the doorway behind Delia, laughed at Maggie, saying, “lazy ass,” before effortlessly picking up each box and tossing it to Scott, who was still standing in the pickup.

“Sorry,” Maggie told her aunt sheepishly when she got downstairs, and closed the door behind her.

Delia just gave Maggie a hug, telling her, “It’s awful nice of you to come and help us out, with your own store and all you have to do for your mother.”

Maggie, who was not a hugger by nature, did not mind when her Aunt Delia, who had always been so sweet and kind to her, insisted on doing so.

“I hear our Caroline’s back,” Aunt Delia said.

“She’s not ours anymore,” Maggie said sadly. “I don’t know whose she is, but she’s not ours.”

Delia smoothed Maggie’s bright red curls with her hand, cupped her chin, and looked at her with real sympathy.

“It’s hard when people grow up and change into someone you don’t recognize,” she said.

One of the things Maggie loved most about Aunt Delia was that she didn’t say, “Life’s unfair, get used to it,” like Maggie’s mother would have. Instead, she really listened and empathized. Delia was always available with a shoulder to cry on or a cup of tea if Maggie needed to unburden herself. While she didn’t often avail herself of the privilege, it was nice knowing it was there when she needed it.

“How are you doing?” Maggie asked her. Delia suffered from a variety of health problems, but she didn’t list them and fret over them like some people.

“Oh, I’m fine,” she said, patting herself down as if checking. “There are still lots of years left in this old carcass.”

She turned and pointed at Scott, who was helping Patrick shift the kegs so the weight was evenly distributed in the back of the truck.

“When are you going to make an honest man out of that one?”

“Probably not until his mother dies.”

Delia tut-tutted but smiled.

“I know Marcia Gordon well,” Delia said. “I can see why you’d want to wait, but please don’t defer your happiness. You never know what life has in store, and I’d hate for you to miss out.”

“I’m just not sure,” Maggie said. “I don’t want to make a mistake.”

“I blame Gabriel,” Delia said. “He left you while the bloom was still on the rose, and now you think no one can take his place. No man is perfect, Maggie, and you need to take Gabe down off the pedestal before you miss your chance with Scott.”

They were interrupted by Patrick, who grabbed the keys to the truck off the desk where Delia worked on the bookkeeping for the bar.

“Are you done then?” Delia asked Patrick. “Because we’re freezing to death in here and heating the whole town on our gas bill.”

Patrick answered by leaving and kicking the door shut behind him. Maggie hurriedly told her aunt goodbye so she wouldn’t have to talk anymore about Gabe, saying it was so Delia could get on with her bookkeeping. Delia let her go with a sad smile, and Maggie went out the front door of the bar, locking it behind her. She went around to the side of the building where Scott and Patrick had just removed the plywood from the doorway and slid it in the truck bed for use in transferring everything into the caravan at the festival grounds.

Scott hopped out of the back of the truck and came toward Maggie.

“Are you ready for this weekend?” he asked her, smiling that ornery smile of his, the one that knew her so well and still loved her.

Maggie had a sudden urge to hug him, and moved toward him to do so. Just then however, they were startled by a scream from down at the field where the festival was being held.

“That sounds like Hannah,” Maggie said, and started running down Peony Street toward the entrance to the site, with Scott and Patrick right behind her.

She could hear Hannah yelling, “Scott!” at the top of her lungs, and the slender figure came running toward them as they rounded the entrance to the site.

Hannah was white as a ghost and frantic, could hardly talk she was so shaken up. She fell into Maggie’s arms.

“A body!” she said, breathless and gasping, “Blood!”

A crowd of people working on various caravans quickly gathered, and Deputy Skip came running out of the security shack, where he had fallen asleep.

“Skip, you keep everyone back,” Scott directed him. ”Radio Frank to get down here. Hannah, can you show me where it is?”

Hannah, with Maggie and Patrick supporting her on each side, led Scott to where she had been working. Hannah had been preparing one section of the festival site for the snowball throwing competition by using a snow blower to create a low flat area where the competitors would stand and throw snowballs at a row of soft drink cans perched on top of a wall of packed snow at the far end. At the end of the flat area she had created, after six or seven passes with the snow blower, she had uncovered, encased in a solid wall of compacted snow, an arm clothed in a dark nylon coat sleeve. The snow beneath the arm was soaked red with blood. Hannah had suddenly noticed bright pink snow flying out of the snow blower, and that had alerted her to what she’d uncovered. Luckily the snow blower blades had not touched the arm, just the blood-soaked snow next to it. The hand and wrist looked like that of a small adult. The jacket sleeve was made of insulated nylon, like a hundred others they saw every day during the winter months.

Hannah was making a funny sound, and when Maggie turned to look at her friend she realized Hannah was saying, “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” over and over, with her hand held over her mouth.

Scott squatted down to look at the arm, the unclothed part of which was a bluish white color, and decided there was no point in checking for a pulse.

Patrick said, “Who is it?”

“I don’t know,” Scott said, but he gave Maggie a pointed look.

Then they both knew.

“You okay?” Scott asked her.

“Yeah,” Maggie said. “It doesn’t even look real.”

“Take Hannah somewhere and get her something warm to drink,” he said, “and let me know where you are later.”

“You’ll have to call Sarah,” Maggie said.

Scott nodded, but said, “Go on now, take Hannah someplace warm.”

Maggie and Patrick led Hannah back to the entrance of the festival grounds, where Frank was just arriving.

“C’mon girls,” Patrick said. “Let’s go back to the Thorn, where it’s nice and quiet.”

Once he had delivered Hannah to Delia inside the bar, Patrick wanted to go back to the festival grounds to set up the caravan, but Maggie made him wait. Her Aunt Delia made Hannah some coffee, and Maggie called Sam, Hannah’s husband.

“She’s okay,” Maggie assured him, but he just said, “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

When Patrick heard Sam was coming, he went outside to make sure the handicap parking space next to the bar on the Peony Street side was shoveled, and cleared a path from it to the side door, which had a ramp. After that was done he went back to the festival grounds.

Delia was sitting on a bar stool next to Hannah, with a hand on her arm, talking to her in a soft voice.

“Sam’s coming,” Maggie told her.

Hannah had started crying now that the shock was wearing off.

Maggie asked, “Do you want your Dad?”

In response Hannah started crying harder, but nodded, so Maggie quickly crossed the street to the service station and brought her Uncle Curtis back with her.

“Here now, little bird,” the older man said tenderly, when he got to his daughter. “What’s this I hear about you murdering people at the festival?”

As Hannah let herself be gathered into her father’s arms, Maggie teared up, and had to blink several times to get control of her own emotions. She felt a sudden urge to go see her own dad, who was probably snoring in his recliner at home. It had been a long time since Fitz had been able to be strong for her, and she missed that just now, terribly. When Sam arrived, Curtis handed Hannah off to him, and went back to the service station, shaking his head.