More Than Magic (18 page)

“Oh, trust me. I thought so too. When Boyd went off to Atlanta and brought his girlfriend back with him to live in that trailer, I thought she had brought her habit with her. But the county sheriff took his guys in and searched the place high and low, twice, as a favor to me. Nothing. And Old Annie—” Grace smiled. “Well, she’s a tough old bird. Runs that family with an iron fist. I think if she could, she’d forbid those boys to even have beer in the house, though she drinks a bit of whiskey now and again for medicinal purposes. She’d sniff out any drug use and throw the guilty party right out of the house.”

The county sheriff. Okay. If he did it as a personal favor, that explained why it hadn’t shown up in any of their reports. But those guys were usually pretty good about ferreting out these things. They knew the usual techniques and hidey holes, especially in their own backyards. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to get over there and check it out himself.

“What’s sad is that they could’ve used that land to grow all kinds of things. Or harvested the woods right around the place. I wouldn’t mind, if they wild-crafted with respect for the mountain.” She drained her coffee. “Of course, you probably don’t even know what wild-crafting is.”

“Trust me. I’ve been
thoroughly
educated in the techniques of producing Woodruff Herbs by your PR department. Fascinating stuff.”

She frowned for a moment. “PR depart—? Oh, Jamie again. Talked your ear off, did she? And here I am doing the same thing. Now you see what drinking wine and topping it off with coffee does? I’ll be all kinds of embarrassed in the morning when I remember chattering at you like this.”

“Well, perhaps we should fix it so you don’t remember. Champagne?”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, yes!”

“We have our list of things to celebrate, I believe.”

“I didn’t hear you provide any,” she teased.

“Well, let’s see.”
The elimination of one Grace Woodruff as the prime suspect in the Smoky Mountain Magic case, for one. The news that some very smart people like you are working on ways to reverse the side-effects of chemo and radiation, for another.
“I never need a reason to drink excellent champagne. So—” He looked around. “Point me to the glasses and tell me what I can carry for you on our trek tonight, ma’am.”

She pointed at a cabinet, then got up and left for some other part of the house, with the dog unwinding himself to lope along behind her.

Nick retrieved two flutes from the cabinet and the champagne bottle from the refrigerator, wrapping it in a towel.

Of course, he still had a case to solve. The notebook Jamie had given him before heading home was burning a hole in his jacket pocket back in the sunroom, but no one needed to know about that yet. Not until he could come up with some alternate explanation. There were all kinds of strange coincidences dancing around her, but Grace Woodruff wasn’t producing toxic drugs in some underground lab in
her
woods. He was ready to stake his reputation on that.

Grace returned dressed for the outdoors with a blanket over her arm, his jacket in one hand and what appeared to be a basket full of dried flowers and vegetables in the other. “You are looking so well, I almost forgot about your bout of fever earlier. Do you feel up to a bit of a hike?”
 

“If you don’t mind the intrusion.”

“Not at all. I was hoping for your company.”

Nick could imagine what his boss would say if he saw him standing here with a bottle of champagne in his hand while a possible suspect held his jacket with the one piece of evidence that could blow this case wide open.
 

Or, he could imagine what he and Grace were going to do on that blanket.

Chapter Eight

“So, is this going to be a really long hike with a picnic at the end?” Nick asked as they walked up the road in the moonlight.

Grace laughed. “Not exactly.”

“Good, because I think we forgot the food.”

“Are you hungry again? Seriously?”

“Well, yes, and that’s a good thing. Which reminds me—when do I need to take more of that, whatever it was you gave me earlier? Your special blend of eleven herbs and spices? I still feel great, but I want to keep feeling this way,” Nick asked. “I haven’t felt this good in a while.”

“Me either.” In fact, Grace felt positively weightless.

It had to be the combination of the news about Tink, the wonderful meal, the wonderful bottle—bottles—of wine, and Nick, who she had only known for a day. Less than a day.
Pathetic
,
Gracie-girl. Pa-the-tic.
But she grinned anyway. Who cared?

“So?”

“So what?”

“So when do I need to take more?”

“Oh yes, sorry.” She looked around the meadow and out at the view beyond it. A bit of the buoyancy went out of her step.
I need to find a way to help you without endangering everything here.
“I’ll give you some more when we get back to the house.”

“The view from up here is phenomenal. I’m surprised you don’t have people clambering all over the place to see it,” he said, walking backward for a while to gaze behind them.

Pooka led the way, tracking back and forth across the road.

“You’d be surprised how many views like this there are up in these mountains. Max Patch is just over that way, and you haven’t seen anything until you’ve seen
that
view.”

“Max Patch? Sounds like a hair remedy.”

Grace stifled a snort. “No. But it
is
a bald mountain. On a good day you can see it from here. And if you work at it, you might be able to see it tonight. The moon is bright enough.”

“You can still see the stars pretty clearly. It sounds like a cliché, but up here it feels like you could reach out and touch them.” Nick actually did reach his hand up. “I can understand why you want to protect this place. It’s…”

Grace sensed he was struggling for the right word. “Magical?”

He stumbled, then righted himself. “Yeah. That’s the word.”

They walked in silence for a while, until Grace noticed Nick wasn’t beside her. She found him back in the meadow standing still, staring upward, just as he had last night.

“Pops renamed this meadow Star Crossing because he said he had to stop the truck sometimes to let them cross,” she said.

“What was it called before that?”

“Woodruff Meadow.
Boring.
”

“So, your family’s owned this mountain since…?”

“Forever?” Grace quipped. “Honestly, I don’t know. I know my great-great-great-grandfather Zach made a lot of money in the herb business, and other things. But it was my great-grandfather who built the farm up here.”

Nick glanced back at the house sprawled in the trees below them. “That old?”

She laughed. “Not
that
house. Well, the house he built is under there somewhere. Pops designed the new house on top of the old foundation. It’s pretty recent.”

“I wondered. It looks old, but with the solar heating and the electrical set up—”

“Trust me. I had to live through the construction of that place and I can take you to the source of nearly every piece of wood and stone and plaster used to build it.” Grace stopped and looked back herself. “Anything that looks old was mostly reclaimed from buildings around the property. It was Pops’s dream for the house to be an example of sustainability, but still look like it belongs.”

“You said ‘sustainability’. I think we need to open this champagne sooner rather than later. So, how far’s the cemetery?”

“Not far. Just the other side of the meadow,” Grace answered. “We need to get off the road now, so you’ll have to watch your step. No more star gazing. Are you all right to hike for a bit longer?”

“I’m great.”

“We’re lucky. This is probably our last warm night for a while,” Grace said.

Nick blew out a breath and watched it fog. “Only someone well and truly lubricated with spirits would call this a warm night. You’re doing pretty well for walking while intoxicated.”

She laughed again. He seemed to have that effect on her. “You aren’t noticing me weaving because you’re weaving around yourself. The view does that to you.”

“Oh, it’s not that view that’s intoxicating
me
.”

Something in his voice made her turn to find his eyes fixed on her. The warm fuzziness that had been residing in her head all night wound down and through her, pausing along the way to tingle in places that hadn’t tingled in a while.

There was a long hooting call from the woods they were approaching: a barred owl, probably upset that they were ruining the night’s hunting on the meadow.

“That’s an owl,” she explained, willing her feet to move.

“So, you feel pretty safe out here at night,” he said, following after her. “I notice you didn’t bring your shotgun.”

She was glad it was dark enough to hide her blush. “Well, I’ve been walking around up here since I was a toddler.”

“So the bears and wild boars—” That dimple of his had to be showing.

“Pretty much avoid the meadow most of the time?”

“Uh huh. You’re going to have to explain your method of greeting guests to me sometime,” he responded with laughter in his voice. “I imagine this is a great place for kids. Like summer camp every day.”

“A summer camp with a lot of hard work, but yes, it’s a great place. A lot of families book our cabins every year, and Pops did special seasonal programs for the families: plant walks, geocaching, herb gardening, egg gathering, and even—”

“Goat milking?”

She grinned back at him. “Did Jamie introduce you to our goats?”

“Not yet.” He sounded as if he wasn’t sure he really wanted to meet them. “But Trish said you were thinking about shutting down that part of the business.”

You really did charm our Trish into sharing all kinds of things.
“Well, it was hard this summer, without Pops. He was the heart and soul of this place. And we only have a few cabins. Most of our focus is—was on the herbs, and, after he—well, I halted production because we were having quality issues. But I hope we’ll be able to start up again soon. If I can get control of…”

“Of?”

“Oh, it’s technical stuff. Boring
.
”

“Yeah, well, you have a lot to offer up here, but it’s all hidden away except for those who manage to stumble over it somehow.”

Exactly.
“Not really. People are more interested in electronic diversions and chemical solutions these days. They don’t look up, like you did,” she pointed up at the stars. “And see the diversions and solutions nature has to offer. Perhaps you should write a book about that.” She cocked her head at him. “Did you always want to be a writer?”

“Actually, no. I got kind of sidetracked looking for…well, I think I’m still looking for what I really want to be.”
 

Grace understood. “I think we keep doing that until the day we die.”

“Probably beyond,” he answered out of the darkness.

She pointed her flashlight ahead to pick out the shadowy objects in the grass and caught Pooka in the light, bounding happily back to meet them.

Nick looked up at the sky, then all around them again. “It’s a great place to spend eternity,” he said.

She peered at his face. He’d said it in such an odd tone. “Well, yes. You could look at it that way. Although, if that’s the case, I wish Granny Lily would stay put and not wander into my dreams so much.”

Nick stared at her for a moment. “You’re serious?”

“Oh yes.” Her flashlight picked up the color of a few flowers here and there in the carefully arranged mounds of plants and bushes scattered among the gravestones. “Look, some of the asters are still in bloom.”

Nick was quiet as they approached a black granite marker etched with stars. Pooka loped up and sat next to the left hand grave, his accustomed place.

“Hi, Pops,” Grace said softly, then explained. “He had this stone redone for Gram not too long ago. I think he would’ve preferred we just plant a tree on him, wouldn’t you, Pops? But he’s beside her now, where he always wanted to be.”

She set the basket down and pulled out one of the wreaths Ouida and Jamie had made, laying it carefully beneath the headstone then leaning over to kiss the top.

“I
will
find out what’s wrong with the mountain,” she whispered. Then she walked back to where Nick stood.

He was still gazing upward, giving her at least an illusion of privacy.

“Pops, this is Nick. A very nice gentleman who’s gotten me rather tipsy and silly tonight. I think you’d approve.”

Nick cleared his throat. “Celebration time?” He held up the towel-wrapped bottle.

“Yes.” She matched his tone, and held out her hand for a glass, which he pulled carefully out of his coat pocket.

Nick unwound the towel from the bottle, and took the foil and wire off the cork. He then took the towel and covered the top of the bottle, slowly pushing the cork out with his thumbs. There was a soft
pop
and he pulled the towel away with a dramatic flair.

“You are far too familiar with a champagne bottle, sir,” she said, laughing, holding up her glass.