Bury the Hatchet in Dead Mule Swamp (3 page)

I knew that Janice Preston
baked pies before dawn almost every morning to supply both the Pine
Tree, and Volger’s Grocery store. I couldn’t imagine facing that
task every day.

“That would be me,” Suzi
said with a flip of her blonde ponytail.

“Do you help with the
baking?” Cora asked.

Suzi glanced at the dessert
board. I followed her eyes and saw:
PIE-
apple crumb, lemon meringue, local blueberry
. “No, I don’t make pies as good as Mom’s.”

“It takes a lot of practice
to get the crust right, my dear,” Cora said.

“Suzi! Order up,” came a
man’s voice from the kitchen.

“Gotta go,” Suzi said,
turning on her heel and heading for the back of the
room.

When my attention returned
to Cora, she said, “Tell me what you’ve finished in your
porch.”

She was referring to the
enclosed, upstairs screen porch I’d added to the old farmhouse I
was remodeling. The house was originally built in a basic T-shape
with the east section having two stories and the west only one. I’d
added a complete second story and a screen porch above the concrete
terrace. It was a project that should have consumed all my time
over the summer. However, I’d managed to become entangled in more
than my share of local adventures involving police and dangerous
situations.

My new lifestyle was being
funded by a very large settlement from my former husband, Roger. He
had announced over dinner one night, about a year previous, that he
preferred a friend named Brian over me. It still made me grind my
teeth, and yet I stifled a smile every time I was reminded that he
had to pay handsomely to make that permanent. My investments
guaranteed a good monthly allowance for life.

However, the income wasn’t
large enough that I could pay for all the renovations at once.
Since I enjoyed doing a lot of the work myself, spreading it out
was more fun, anyway. Finishing the screen porch was my current
project.

I answered Cora, “I’ve
painted the walls a bright teal.”

“Sounds like a lot of
color,” Cora said. I knew she liked pastels most. She had a large
collection of softly checked, plaid, or flowered blouses she wore
with her faded denim overalls.

“There isn’t much wall
space between the screens on the two open sides, and since I always
sit to look outside, the solid teal wall behind will set off some
white wicker furniture very nicely.”

“What about the
floor?”

“Bamboo. I haven’t picked
it out yet, though.”

Suzi brought our iced tea,
and Cora took a sip before saying, “I think you’ll have to shutter
those screens every winter to keep the snow out. I’m not sure how
practical your porch is here in the north.”

“I suppose so. Robert
Gorlowski—he did the work, you know—said the same thing. I’ll have
to get him scheduled to make them. Or maybe he can just give me a
design drawing.”

“Ana, you are so handy! I
envy your abilities.”

The front door opened, and
Adele Volger, a widow and owner of the local grocery, entered
carrying a large cardboard carton. Adele has ample bulk, but she
moves it with surprising speed. She didn’t look around but headed
straight for the kitchen. I had thought to help her, but she was
well past us before I could swallow my tea and set down the glass,
ice clinking against the sides.

Cora’s eyes narrowed as she
followed Adele’s back. I tried to keep the conversation
going.

“I do like to putter around
with projects that aren’t too big for me. I was always handy with
tools, but Roger preferred I keep my fingernails long and my hands
soft. It’s a mystery to me why I let him tell me how to be for so
long.” I realized Cora wasn’t paying attention. She was looking
toward the kitchen door. In another minute I knew why, as Adele
walked over to our booth.

“Ana, Cora,” she
began.

“Adele,” I said brightly.
“Why don’t you join us for a minute?”

“No thanks,” she said,
turning her back to Cora. “I just delivered some emergency
supplies. Jack called and said they were out of eggs and running
low on cabbage. He has to pay retail price on these extra orders,
so it’s worth my time to run over here.”

Why would Adele tell me
that?

I saw Cora’s lips tighten
in that telltale straight line. “Adele, one would think you’d not
need to make an extra nickel off your local friends,” she said with
her precise diction.

Adele whirled to face her.
“Cora Baker, you don’t have one business cell in your brain. If you
want a grocery to stay open in Cherry Hill, I have to turn a
profit. Some of us can’t afford to play with doo-dads all day and
not work.”

I swallowed hard. These two
women had become my best friends since I’d moved here, but they
barely tolerated each other. It was as if Adele had picked a fight
on purpose, but I couldn’t imagine why.

“Jack isn’t rolling in cash
either,” Cora said with flashing eyes. She picked up her fork and
almost managed to look menacing. The women were referring to Jack
Panther, owner of the Pine Tree.

“Not a one of us is,” Adele
countered. “You know that perfectly well. Jack gets wholesale on
any regular orders; it’s just special deliveries where I charge
full price. He knows that. We’ve operated that way for years
without your help.”

Suzi intervened. “Excuse
me,” she said, as if there were no tension in the air. “I have your
sandwiches. This should settle the hungries.” I predicted a good
future for Suzi as a mediation specialist.

“Nice to see you,” Adele
said, looking pointedly at only me. She turned and walked out the
front door without a backward glance.

Chapter 4

Adele’s behavior didn’t
leave either Cora or me feeling warm and fuzzy. I was embarrassed
and slightly angry. Adele hadn’t needed to create a scene. Maybe
she was jealous that I’d been spending more time with Cora than
with her. Could she really be so childish?

Cora seemed to fade into
the vinyl seat, and she ate in silence. I listened to the clinking
of dishes being washed in the kitchen and a hot fly buzzing in the
sun on the front windowsill. Cora swallowed the last bite of ham
sandwich, and wiped her mouth with a carefully folded paper napkin.
She tucked it neatly beside her empty plate. Then she picked up the
check, which Suzi had already left on the table, reached into her
pocket, and pulled out a few bills. Her eyes rose to meet mine, a
silent message.

“Sure,” I said. “Any time.”
I quickly added my share to the money on the table and slid out of
the booth, taking one more gulp of tea before following Cora toward
the door. She already had it open and was headed for the steps. I
caught Suzi’s eye and looked toward the table. She nodded and
grinned.

“She does it on purpose,
you know,” Cora finally said, when we were well on the way back to
her house.

“Why?” I asked.

“Just to annoy me. She and
her husband were great friends with Jerry and Bernice. Prominent
citizens and all that. I think she was sweet on Jerry after
Bernice, and then her Henry, died.”

“Well, if she likes Jerry
that much you’d think she’d be happy he’s free to date
again.”

“I suppose. But instead of
trying to be nice to Jerry, she just goes out of her way to be
unfriendly to me.”

The last thing I wanted was
to get entangled in a local lovers' spat. Or lost lovers' spat. Or
whatever this was. I sighed and kept my eyes on the road until Cora
was safely back in her own yard.

“See you next Tuesday?”
Cora asked.

“Maybe sooner, if anything
interesting comes up with your hatchet.”

“You know where to find
me,” she added, before she shut the Jeep door, just a little harder
than was necessary. I doubted Cora the Hermit would venture away
from her house and museum for quite a while.

The day had taken on a dark
tone, and I didn’t want to go home to an empty house. I thought
about running back into town to ask Adele why she had been so
pointedly rude, but didn’t feel up to more tension. Then I thought
about dropping in on one of the other people I’d met since moving
to Cherry Hill. Young Jimmie Mosher, grandson of Cora’s former
sweetheart, and his mom lived in town now. But that would remind me
too much of Cora, who thought of the boy as a grandson. The girls,
Sunny and Star Leonard, might be happy to see me, but I didn’t feel
like driving all the way out to Hammer Bridge Town,
either.

“Why do my two best friends
have to hate each other?” I asked out loud.

What I wanted was dessert.
I wanted some of Janice Preston’s pie, but I wasn’t going to settle
for one piece. Her house was actually on my way home if I didn’t
take the shortest route. I drove straight up Centerline until I
reached Otto Road and turned east. Prestons lived at the corner of
Otto and Fishkill Roads, and from there I could follow dirt roads
home.

Janice had a cheerful
painted sign in her yard with red and white checks around the edge
and a rooster crowing from the left side. “Fresh Pies” was lettered
above his beak. Smaller tabs hung from hooks with the flavors of
the day. I was happy to see blueberry as well as lemon
meringue.

Two cats watched me from
the porch railing as I got out of the Jeep, and an aging beagle
heaved himself from the grass and waddled toward me. “Ar-oooo,” he
said, without much enthusiasm, but he had his duty to do. I reached
down and scratched behind his ears.

“Hello, Bub,” I said.
Janice appeared on the porch. Her face was red, and she was wiping
purple hands on a towel.

“Hi, Ana,” she called. “I
was just washing elderberries, darn tiny things. Come on
in.”

“Ar-oooo,” Bub added, and
returned to his spot in the shade of a large maple, where he
plopped down heavily. According to Suzi, his full name was Bubbles,
having been fat since puppyhood. No one called him that to his
face, though. One should never insult a beagle.

I entered Janice’s large
airy farm kitchen and sat at the breakfast counter. Without even
asking, she filled two glasses with ice and water from the
refrigerator door and placed one in front of me, then sat down with
the other glass already on its way to her lips.

“Sure is a hot one,” she
said.

“It is,” I agreed. “How do
you keep on cooking and baking in this heat?”

“The breeze’ll pick up in
just a little while,” Janice said, pushing a strand of damp hair
out of her eyes. I’d gotten to know Janice when Adele asked me to
return some of the plastic racks on which pies had been delivered
to a church event.

“Even so, I think I’d go
crazy, cooking all the time,” I said.

Janice laughed, a genuine,
cheery laugh that was a real bright spot after the way the rest of
the day had been going. “Some days it does seem a bit much. But, it
brings in extra cash. It’s hard to live on just a farm income, and
it paid for this kitchen.”

I looked around. The room
was huge, and featured commercial appliances, expensive countertops
and two double sinks. At the same time, it was homey, with crisp
white eyelet curtains, and red and white checks, as on the
signboard, for accent.

“Are you just visiting, or
did you want something in particular?” Janice asked, glancing at
the huge pile of elderberry heads with their minute purple
fruits.

“You’ve lightened my day
already,” I said, “but I really came for a pie.”

“I have one of each flavor
left. Most went out on orders. Which one would you
like?”

“Blueberry. Definitely,” I
said. “You aren’t making elderberry pie to sell, are you?” I
wondered how many hours it took to prepare those fruits.

“Gosh, no. I haven’t
completely lost my mind. I’m making jelly for my family, and maybe
Christmas presents.”

Janice opened the
commercial refrigerator and pulled out a pie, already boxed.
“That’s twelve dollars, for you, neighbor.”

“Janice, that’s not
enough,” I protested. I opened my purse and laid a ten and a five
on the counter.

“I’ll get your change,” she
said.

“You’ll do no such thing.”
I grabbed the box and scooted for the door. When I reached the
Jeep, I looked back at the house. Janice was standing in the open
kitchen door, smiling. She waved at me. Bub raised his head, but
didn’t waste his breath to bugle at someone who was
leaving.

I soon arrived at my own
old farmhouse, but it wasn’t nearly as big or as nicely kept as
Janice’s. Seeing hers inspired me to keep working on my
renovations. I looked up at the freshly painted white siding, and
the new screen porch, mentally counting the number of sheets of
plywood I’d need to make storm shutters, then pushed open the
kitchen door with a sigh. I set the pie box on the counter, tossed
the keys in a basket, and pulled a plate from the cupboard and a
fork and knife from a drawer. I cut myself a slice of blueberry
heaven and sat at the kitchen table silently blessing people like
Janice.