The Bookshop on Autumn Lane (23 page)

They took my elbow and led me out the front door. The dimming light of the late afternoon cast shadows on a small crowd that stood in front of Books from the Hart. Jenny, Bibi, Madeline, and all the girls who had cheered at the football game so passionately just a few weeks ago jumped up and down when they saw me. Moby was with them. He ran toward me, tail wagging. I crouched down and gave him a big kiss on the snout. “Sorry I was gone so long, boy. I hope you had a good nap.”

Jenny wore a big grin on her face and grabbed my hands in hers, pulling me up toward the front door. “Miss Trudy! Come see!”

I smiled and let her lead me. Her excitement was contagious and I had no idea what she was up to.

Jenny giggled when we reached the door. She opened it wide and Bibi flipped on the light. “Ta-da!”

I froze.

The room was almost completely clear.

“We put books in the trash while you were helping out at the haunted house,” said Jenny with huge pride in her voice.

“They're gone.” I stood still, blinking rapidly and wondering if I was seeing clearly.

“We wanted to do something for you for a change,” said Corinne.

“And it was a shitload of work. Even with some help from our parents. My shoulders are going to be sore for a week after this,” Bibi said, rubbing her upper arm.

All these weeks, I wanted nothing more than to see books gone and the room bare. Empty. And now all I could think about was Kit. It would take weeks for him to sort through the garbage.

“Miss Trudy . . . Are you okay?”

No. “Yes, it's just such a surprise.” I don't know where I found my smile, but I dug it up from somewhere. With my lips feeling as stiff as the mummy next door, I squeezed her hand and said, “You girls are wonderful. I just can't—can't thank you all enough.”

Jenny leaped into my arms and hugged me.

“Awww. . . look, Jenny. You girls made her so happy she's speechless,” said Marva. “We really surprised you, didn't we? Flo was the only one who wouldn't have anything to do with this. She loves books, you know. You'll probably hear all about it from her next time you see her.”

“Now you girls, we have to dress and be in Grayling by seven o'clock. Leave Miss Trudy to enjoy her nice, clean store,” said Corinne with a wave my way.

The girls took turns hugging me, with the exception of Bibi, who gave me a fist bump. When they left, I collapsed on the cold, hard bare floor. My numbness turned to hysterical laughs. Just a month ago, I would have given anything to be this close to purging Books from Hell. Now I found myself wondering how long it would take to carry everything back out of the trash.

The words from Aunt Gertrude's will came back to me. She must be laughing her ass off. I finally understood what Aunt Gertrude meant in her will. I was damned!

* * *

For what seemed like hours, I lay in an exhausted heap on the floor of the store, staring at the bare bulb in the ceiling.

“Aunt Gertrude, why are you still haunting me?” Moby appeared, blocking out the light with his furry head, and he licked my face. I pulled him close, happy to have a friend who understood conflicting loyalty. Especially as it related to a certain British man. With a grunt, he laid down and put his head on my thigh.

When I was younger I had always felt an uncomfortable sense of claustrophobia when I was alone in the store. Like being in a car that had been packed so tightly with luggage that you had to curl your knees to your chest just to fit. Now, with the pressure gone, I understood that some things here were worth caring about after all. Stories that made loneliness meaningful. Characters that filled the void. And beautiful words that lovers held close to their hearts.

I called out to the ghost of Aunt Gertrude. “If it's here, send me a sign!”

The wind rattled the front window and Moby whined. I finally roused myself from my stupor and poured dog food in Moby's plastic bowl. He sniffed it and walked away. “Not hungry, boy?” He sent me a baleful look and dropped his head.

I couldn't look at bare shelves and a clean floor another minute. Maybe I would be able to think better with something in my stomach and a little company.

Moby curled up by the back door. His ears were back, as if he was nervous about something. Other than a gusty breeze that was cooling off the evening, I couldn't hear anything that would upset him. I grabbed my old jean jacket and crouched down in front of him. “I'll be back soon, boy. Maybe I'll bring you a little ground beef to perk you up.” He whined and watched me leave. I nearly changed my mind and turned around, but the stark room was too depressing.

Outside, the wind had picked up. I almost tripped over Doc's black cat that waited in the night shadows across the street. It screeched and took off in the direction of Doc's garage. The no-parking sign rattled in the breeze. A scarecrow swayed on the post outside the house of horrors. I headed toward the glow at the end of the street, careful not to trip in the darkness. It was the time of year that made it hard to tell late afternoon from early evening. It was probably bright and sunny in Angkor Wat. Warm too. I wish I had taken the picture off Lulu's visor. I needed a reminder of where I was going. Something to focus on.

A strong breeze tore through my hair and whipped my coat away from me. A cornstalk came loose from the light post at the end of the street. It flew past me on a burst of wind. Above me, a tree limb creaked. I held my coat closer to me and made my way down the road.

When I pushed open the door of the diner, the chime above my head was lost on a draft that tore the door from my hands, banging it against the frame. I fought to pull it shut. “Whew! That's a strong—” I stopped.

Cookee's was empty except for a family in the corner. A waitress I didn't recognize stood in front of the television, watching the weatherman give his nightly report. And a short, scrawny stranger stood at the stove flattening a meat patty. They were the only people in the diner. No Corinne. No Mac. Not even a trendy tourist.

“Where is everybody?”

“Who?” asked the waitress, her eyes still fixed on the TV.

“Mac?”

She glanced my way and dismissed me. I guess I didn't seem like a big tipper. “Everyone has the night off for the football game and Mac just got hired at the Grande Lucerne.”

She pushed away from the counter as a commercial came on. “Yeah. I guess they liked his food. I didn't. Neither did Bert, here. But who can guess at the taste of people with money?”

“So that's it? No more Mac?”

“Unless you want to pay forty bucks an entree on the other side of I-75. Yeah. No Mac. But Bert makes a mean slider.”

I looked over at Bert at the grill. He was picking his nose. “No thank you. I'll just have a bowl of oatmeal.”

“Oatmeal? We only serve that at breakfast,” she said, staring at my coat.

“Okay. How about a bowl of rice or brussels sprouts?”

She put a hand on her hip. “Neither one of those are on the menu. That's gonna be extra if we have to make it special.”

I stepped forward. “Mac never charged me extra to make something off the menu.”

“I've heard that before. Haven't you, Bert?” She laughed and he joined in. Then he grabbed a bun from the top shelf with the hand he had just used on his nostril. Bert was going to make boogers, not burgers. I don't know why I thought that was so funny. I put a hand over my mouth. I think I was getting light-headed.

“Something amusing you?” The waitress scowled at me.

“Never mind.” I probably had a can of beans somewhere under the shelf in Aunt Gertrude's kitchen. A strong gust blew the door open and shut.

I walked out the door, leaving it flying in the wind as the waitress screamed from behind me. All the humor inside me quickly drained away. Nothing was funny now.

I made my way down the sidewalk, letting my hair fly every which way across my face. I didn't bother buttoning my coat and the bitter cold cut through my thigh-length rayon sweater. The first drops of rain hit my cheeks like pelting ice. I picked up my pace. No cars were parked on Main Street tonight. The Laundromat had closed and another letter on the dry-cleaning sign was hanging in the wind. With the exception of a surly waitress and a crude cook, it felt like I was the only person left in Truhart.

I was going to be gone soon too. The last glimpse I would have of Truhart would be out Lulu's rearview mirror. The diner would go on with Bert behind the counter now, cooking his disgusting fare. The garage would continue to service boring cars. The ladies would be doing whatever came next in their quest to raise money for a community center. And after the football season, girls like Jenny were still going to be sent home from school for crying when they were left out of gym class.

I walked past one empty building after another. The pizza place that had been for sale for over a year. The bakery that had been empty even when I lived here. The Chamber of Commerce defying the notion that there wasn't any commerce in Truhart.

I could have changed that, according to Reeba Sweeney. There could be a pawnshop. And if they were lucky, a cheap casino. Maybe an adult bookstore.

I never liked Truhart when I was fourteen. But it wasn't because of the town. It wasn't Truhart's fault that my mother died and my father didn't want us. It wasn't anyone's fault I couldn't read. Most people here were as down on their luck now as I had been back then.

The picture on the other side of Lulu's visor came to mind. Angkor Wat was an abandoned temple. It had once sat rotting slowly in the jungle with no one inhabiting it other than a bunch of wild monkeys. Absurdly, I was leaving one decaying town for another.

I cut between buildings and turned down the back alley toward the store. There was no glow coming from a camp light now. Kit would have been challenged by tonight's weather. Our bed of books would have been cold and blustery. The beautiful words he read me from
Cyrano de Bergerac
would have been lost on the wind.

I stopped in my tracks. I had placed
Cyrano de Bergerac
on the table in the back room. I let myself in the back door, leaving it open to bang against the side of the building. Moby barked and hovered at my knees.

“It's just me.” He whined louder. But I wasn't paying attention. With a sense of foreboding, I stared at the table. The girls had been thorough.
Cyrano de Bergerac
was gone.

And along with all the other books, it was going to be drenched when the rain came.

A giant crack of thunder erupted at the same time several flashes of light illuminated the back alley.

Suddenly, I knew what to do.

I grabbed the flashlight from the desk by the back wall and headed out into the wind. The screen door crashed facedown and I left it. I headed toward Doc's. Lulu waited for me. The tarp I had secured days ago flapped in the wind.

“Just for one night,” I said out loud, apologizing as I removed it. “Sorry, Lulu.” I quickly untied the rope, ignoring the way my hands turned numb in the cold wind. When I was finished, I started back to the store.

The tarp flew apart and billowed in the wind as I walked down Main Street. I was forced to grasp it with both hands to keep from losing it. The first drops of rain were falling faster by the time I was back at the Dumpster. With the flashlight tucked inside my coat pocket, I went to work, managing to drape one corner of the container at a time. I felt for the grommets at each end of the tarp and threaded the rope through. The cleats on each corner of the container made it easier. I managed to secure the tarp and tie it off. When I finished, I stepped back and held up the flashlight. Another clap of thunder made me jump. Lightning followed in a surge of bursts that made the night seem like day. The tarp rose up in the wind like a parachute, but it stayed in place, protecting the contents of the Dumpster from the rain that fell harder now.

Satisfied that the covering was going to stay, I made my way to the back door. It slapped against the doorframe, rattled by the wind. I fought the wind until the door clicked shut. While the rain fell in sheets outside, I stood in the middle of the bookstore and caught my breath.

A strange feeling came over me as if something wasn't right. Even empty of books, the store felt too vacant. My eyes traveled around the room. It was dry. All the crazy weather was outside.

And Moby was gone.

I
stumbled along Main Street, searching for anything that might resemble a soggy collie. The rain pelted my face, making it painful to keep my eyes open. My clothes stuck to me like papier-mâché ice. My hair hung in clumps. The cuff of my pants dragged on the ground. And water cascaded down the inside of my collar, making a path down to my waterlogged boots.

I was plagued by the extra weight of the soaking rain. Every step I took was slower and slower. Like in a nightmare, I tried to run but I had trouble getting the right hop and make my legs move in unison. I couldn't imagine how Moby was managing. A full coat of cold, wet fur must feel like lead on a dog with old arthritic bones.

“Moby!” I called over and over. I barely heard the sound of my own voice, but dogs' ears were better, right? If Moby were anywhere nearby he should hear me.

Where would a scared dog hide? I checked in the bushes, under the bench across the street, anywhere that might offer shelter.

Sheets of rain intensified, blanketing the end of the street where the road dipped to the lake. The reflection off the black asphalt was deceiving. I landed ankle-deep in a puddle and almost lost my footing.

The lights from my flashlight shifted in the wind, making false shadows. A figure of a man stood by the door of the empty bakery. Struggling in the downpour, he flapped his arms back and forth. Relieved that someone else was out on this godawful night, I ran toward him. Maybe he had seen an old, frightened collie.

“Have you seen a dog?” I shouted into the gust as I approached him.

He didn't hear me. I placed my hand on his shoulder to get his attention. But his arm disintegrated from my touch and he came apart in my fingers. He careened sideways and a grotesque face spun and crashed into me. I screamed and arched backwards, circling my arms for balance, and slipped off the curb. I landed with a jarring
thud
on my backside. The flashlight flew out of my hands and went dim. With a racing heart, I felt for the ground and struggled to stand. Something with flowing strands of light hair bobbed facedown in the stream of rainwater that was turning into a river.

Dread formed in my throat. I blinked past the liquid bullets that sprayed my face.

I leaned forward with an unsteady hand. “Please, please . . . not Moby.”

Lightning flashed just as I grasped the object. It turned over and the hollow eyes and sickly smiling teeth of a monster mask writhed in the water. I screamed and drew back, letting the deluge take the scarecrow away.

I swallowed icy rain and pulled myself together. If I was scared on a night like tonight, what was a poor, wimpy dog feeling? He didn't like being wet. Hell, he didn't like a rain shower, much less a thunderstorm.

I wiped my eyes and returned to my search, running up and down Main Street, from one end to the other, peering in every doorway, under each bench, and below any possible overhang that might give an animal shelter. I yelled his name until my voice grew hoarse. The street was deserted.

Almost.

Every cheesecloth ghost, every undead pumpkin, black bat, and perching spider came alive. I was caught in dozens of spiderwebs and tripped over cornstalks that were wilting in the rain. Halloween decorations that had been so funny in the clear light of day had transformed into a macabre specter in the storm.

I pressed on. I would gladly suffer through a million nightmares like this, if I could find Moby.

I raced back to the store, hoping against hope that Moby might have come home. But no soggy, tail-wagging old dog was there. Just a tarp on a Dumpster billowing in the wind. I considered my options and came up with nothing. No one was around. I didn't have anyone's number on my cell phone anyway.

Back on Main Street, I turned in the other direction. Water rushed around my ankles like a flood in a monsoon. Instead of turning night to day, the lightning only made Echo Lake at the end of the street blacker. Like a hole that swallowed everything up.

Moby was a horrible swimmer. When I teasingly lured him into the lake one afternoon, his heavy coat pulled him down, like a rock around the neck. If he had lost his footing or wandered to the shore, he could be in the lake right now.

I stumbled toward the beach and scanned the water. But it was impossible to tell if anything was lost on the waves. I struggled for breath. The wind buried the sound of my sobs.

“Moby! Moby!” Nothing came back to me. Not a bark or a whimper or a whine. I made my way down the lake road, searching for the one person who might be able to help me.

* * *

I pounded on the door, hoping I got the right house. Everything looked different in the dark. My hands were so cold that I couldn't even feel them against the wood.

The door swung open. My brain registered Kit's startled face before I blurted out, “Kit, I lost Moby.”

“You
what
?”

He pulled me inside. I was shivering so hard I could barely make my lips move. “Have you seen Moby? He loves you so much. I thought he might come here.”

Kit grabbed a blanket from the couch. “I just returned from the festival. For God's sake, Trudy. You look frozen.”

“Is he here?” I asked as he wrapped the plush blanket around me.

“Here?”

“He's—he's out there. And he's s—scared.” My voice broke in a shudder.

I wrenched the blanket off. Kit put it back, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. “What happened?” He rubbed the soft flannel up and down and my skin prickled as it came back to life.

“The girls put all the books in the Dumpster. I'm so sorry. And then it was starting to rain, and I went to the diner—” Why was I telling him all this? It wasn't important. “Moby kept whining as the wind and thunder started. He hates storms! And I—I ignored his fear. I feel so badly, Kit.”

He rubbed the blanket over my soggy head and pulled me closer. “Shhh, it's all right.”

“No, it's not. He's out in the storm.” A stream followed me as Kit guided me to the nearby couch. “Don't you get it?”

“Let me make a call to J. D. or Sheriff Howe. Just stay here.”

He left me to retrieve his phone. His voice was low as he spoke, but I heard him describe Moby and where he had been seen last. When he returned, he said, “You stay here and get warm. I'll take my truck and try to see if I can find him.”

“No. I'm going with you.”

“You're half frozen. The weather is supposed to get colder and you—”

I was already at the door. “Let's drive to Doc's or the Family Fare. Maybe he went there.”

He stomped after me. “You're shivering like a
Titanic
victim.”

“Come on. Let's go.”

“You stubborn girl. At least put on another coat.” He grabbed his barn jacket from the peg by the door and helped me change into it before putting on a windbreaker.

We ran to the truck, splashing through the puddles that formed on the gravel driveway, and jumped in. The rain on the roof made me feel like I was inside a drum barrel. Even with the windshield wipers oscillating back and forth at full speed, it was still hard to see past the cascading rain on the glass. The headlights cut through the downpour and I searched the area for any sign of a sable coat and the white tail with a black tip. We moved slowly, Kit keeping watch on the left and me on the right. I lost count of the number of times we thought we saw something. Twice I jumped out of the car before Kit could even put it in
park
. But the wind and the wet leaves on the ground made mirages out of tree branches that lay across the road.

We drove back through town, and again I checked the store in hopes that Moby had returned. But there was no sign of him. Kit made me stay in the car while he asked the unfriendly new chef and waitress at Cookee's Diner if anyone had reported a stray dog. Even through the rain and the wind, I saw them shake their heads.

When he returned, Kit reached over and covered my hand briefly, before backing out of the parking lot. The heater was on full blast and I was still shivering. The rain fell in a dense sheet and the road turned slick. “It's still early, Trudy. We'll find him.”

But it wasn't early. It was late. And I was losing hope. We turned off of M-33 into the parking lot of the Family Fare. Kit's phone cut through the dull thud of the rain. He accepted the call and it came over the speakers of his car.

“Kit, this is J. D. Hardy.”

I leaned forward. “J. D., this is Trudy! I'm here! Did you find Moby?”

“Hi Trudy. I got a call from the office in Harrisburg. Someone brought in a dog.”

“Harrisburg? How did he get over there?”

“Now, I'm not sure it is Moby. They gave me no other information.”

“Is he okay?” I asked before Kit could respond.

“I don't know any of the details.”

“Who found him?”

Kit placed a hand on my shoulder. “He doesn't know the details, love. Let him talk.”

“You'll have to go to the county offices and ask. They're the only office open right now,” J. D. said. His voice crackled. He was probably out on some state highway. “They couldn't tell me much more. It's a busy night. Half the off-duty staff has been called in because of the storm. I'm dealing with several downed wires and fallen limbs.”

J. D. gave us the address of the Harrisburg county offices. I couldn't contain the excitement in my voice. “I know where it is. Elizabeth drove me there this morning.” Before we signed off, I yelled, “Thank you, J. D. Thank you, thank you!”

Kit made a U-turn in the Family Fare parking lot. As we drove down the two-lane highway toward Harrisburg, I nagged Kit to drive faster. “Kit, hurry; he's got to be so scared.”

Kit put a hand on the back of my neck. “Whether it's him or not, we'll find him.”

I gripped my hands together and hoped he was right.

* * *

We pulled into the dispatch office for Harrison County and I was out of the car before Kit cut the engine. He caught up to me and held the door as we entered.

A man in uniform behind the desk looked up from a phone call. “Do you have an emergency?”

Kit and I spoke at the same time.

“No.”

“Yes!”

I started to explain, but Kit put a hand on my arm and pulled me back. “We can wait,” he said.

The young man, who looked no more than twenty, studied the screen in front of him. Voices over a speaker interrupted his call. I leaned forward to say something, but Kit squeezed my hand and shook his head. I knew he was right. I clamped my lips shut and bit down to keep from speaking.

We waited, creating a pond on the floor as the man dispatched several officers and made notes in a logbook in front of him. When he was finally finished, he apologized. “Sorry. It's one of those nights . .. What can I do for you?”

“We're looking for a dog that's been brought in. An older collie. Male.”

He flipped a page in his logbook and nodded his head.

“Someone did find a dog over on County Road 487.”

“Is he all right?”

“This report doesn't say. I can call over to the animal shelter and find out—”

The door to the station burst open and an older man, wearing a floppy red rain hat tied by a string under his chin, tangled with an umbrella and the door.

“What's the deal with 487?” he called out as the umbrella came free. He didn't even notice Kit or me. After he struggled to close the floral umbrella, he shook the slushy rain off a trench coat that opened to reveal a navy sports coat with an emblem on the lapel.

The dispatcher sat up straighter. “The road crew says they'll get to it after they clear the limb that's down over the driveway of the hospital emergency entrance, sir.”

“A limb? Surely that can wait. I can't get down 487 and I'm late to a dinner.”

“They say they should have it cleared in an hour or so.”

“An hour? That's not going to work. I'm missing the roasted pheasant at the leader-appreciation banquet.”

“You could take the Huron National Forest roadway, sir.”

The man stepped in front of us, his wet shoes squelching on the tile floor. I stared at the back of his head. Thin clumps of hair sprouted from underneath his rain hat. I already hated him.

“Huron would take me a whole forty-five minutes out of my way. Tell them to get on it now, Parker.” He reached over the desk for the phone and held it up to the young man, who took it as if it were a hot potato.

“I understand you are in a rush, sir. But county orders are that we clear all access to clinics and hospitals first.”

“Oh, for God's sake, it's just a twig. If some kid needs a Band-Aid, they can walk around it up the driveway.”

The dispatcher glanced down at the desk and slumped. He started to dial a number.

I poked the rude man in the back and stepped in front of him. “Excuse me. We were about to get some important information.”

The man looked at me as if I were an annoying fly.

“Stay out of it, love,” Kit said in a low voice.

I was cold and soggy and my dog was waiting. I took a cue on brazenness from the man who was about to eat one of the most beautiful birds in the world. I reached over the desk and pushed the button on the phone, ending the call. “Parker, the dog?”

“
Excuse me
?” The man's voice was so loud he drowned out the rain.

“I will be happy to excuse you, as soon as I find out what is happening with my dog.”

“Your—your dog? Are you crazy, lady? There are more important things than worrying about your dog.”