Aunt Dimity Goes West (11 page)

chance it.

“My shoulder’s fine,” I said brusquely. “I just need a

nap. Let’s go back to the Aerie.”

“Your wish is my command,” said Toby, and turned

the van toward Bluebird.

Eight

W hen we reached the Aerie, Toby stayed

outside to prune underbrush and chop

down a small stand of saplings that had

sprung up too near the fire pit, as if to illustrate Brett Whitcombe’s observation that a place like the Aerie

couldn’t be left unattended for too long. The Aerie,

Toby informed me, as he doffed his T-shirt and hefted

his axe, needed constant attention to keep it from

being overrun by the surrounding forest.

A weaker woman might have stuck around to

watch him work up a sweat, but contrary to Aunt

Dimity’s belief, I was capable of exercising self-

discipline. I excused myself and went to the master

suite. The morning was so beautiful that I would have

opened the French doors if I hadn’t been worried

about Toby passing beneath my deck and accidentally

overhearing a lively conversation between me and

thin air.

“I couldn’t explain Aunt Dimity to him even if I

wanted to,” I said to Reginald as I retrieved the blue

journal from the bedside table. “So we’ll leave the

French doors closed for now.” I tweaked my pink

bunny’s ears, sat in the white armchair near the

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Nancy Atherton

fireplace, opened the blue journal, and said excitedly,

“Dimity? Are you there? I have so much to tell you!”

The curving lines of royal-blue ink zoomed across

the page.

Have we heard from Danny Auerbach at last? Do we

know why he and his family left the Aerie?

“I’ll get to Danny in a minute. First, I have to tell you about”—I paused for dramatic effect—
“doppelgangers.”

I know what a doppelganger is, my dear.Why do you feel
the need to tell me about them?

“Because I saw
two
doppelgangers this morning, at the Brockman Ranch.” I launched into a detailed

description of my encounters with Belle and Brett

Whitcombe, then awaited Dimity’s reaction. It wasn’t

everything I’d hoped it would be.

They sound very much like Nell Harris and Kit Smith.

“They’re
exactly
like Nell Harris and Kit Smith,” I said. “Isn’t it incredible?”

It’s said that everyone has a double, Lori.

“But they don’t just
look
alike,” I persisted. “Belle’s father owns the Brockman Ranch, where Brett’s the

head wrangler. Nell’s father owns Anscombe Manor,

where Kit’s the stable master. Even their names are

similar: Belle and Nell, Brett and Kit. And Brett didn’t want to marry Belle because he thought he was too

old for her—just like Kit! It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

Coincidences do happen, Lori. I wouldn’t read too much
into them.

“I’d read a lot into
these
coincidences,” I retorted.

“Don’t you see, Dimity? It’s an omen, a
good
omen.

Aunt Dimity Goes West

87

Everything worked out for Belle and Brett, so every-

thing will work out for Nell and Kit.” I cocked my

head to one side and went on thoughtfully, “Maybe I

should ask Belle how she persuaded Brett to marry

her. Nell might appreciate a few tips.”

You must promise me that you will do no such thing.

Honestly, Lori, you can’t pry into a stranger’s intimate affairs
simply because she reminds you of someone you know.

“I suppose not,” I conceded reluctantly. “But if I get

to know her better . . .”

You would have to know her well for several years before
you could ask such a question. Are you planning to extend
your stay at the Aerie until Will and Rob have outgrown their
ponies?

“No,” I said, laughing. “Okay, Dimity, I’ll let it rest.

And if I see anyone else who reminds me of home, I’ll

keep my mouth shut. I don’t want Annelise to yell at

me again. She made me feel as if I’d been caught red-

handed scrawling graffiti on the vicarage.”

Thank heavens for Annelise’s good sense, as well as her
good manners.Take it from me, Lori, no one wishes to be told
that he or she is exactly like someone else.We all like to believe that we are unique. In nine cases out of ten it isn’t true,
but it’s what we like to believe. Do your encounters with doppelgangers form the sum total of your news?

“I’m just getting started,” I told her, and settled

back in the chair. “Do you remember asking me to find

out why James Blackwell and the Auerbachs left the

Aerie so abruptly?”

I do.

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Nancy Atherton

“Well,” I said, “I think I have the answer. Or part of

the answer. Or something that might be the answer

after I’ve investigated it more thoroughly.”

You shouldn’t be investigating anything, Lori! You’re on
holiday.You’re supposed to be relaxing. I wish I’d never mentioned my misgivings.

“But you did mention them,” I pointed out, “and

there’s no use telling me to forget about them,

because I won’t.”

Of course you won’t.You’re like a dog with a bone when
it comes to rooting out mysteries, but you’re also like a kangaroo when it comes to jumping to conclusions.We’ve been
here before, Lori.

“I know,” I said, “but this time I’m sure I’m onto

something.Well, I’m almost sure.”

All right, then, let me hear your theory, or what might
pass for a theory after you’ve investigated it more thoroughly.

I grinned at the page and continued confidently.

“I found out some very interesting things while I was

at the ranch. Brett Whitcombe told me that a big-

mouthed blowhard named Dick Major used to make

life miserable for James Blackwell whenever James

went into town. Dick Major used to taunt James in

public. He called James lazy and worthless and told

him he should get a real job instead of taking money

from his employers for doing nothing. I think Dick

Major drove James away from the Aerie.”

Are you suggesting that James Blackwell quit a comfortable and no doubt lucrative position because a local bully
taunted him?

Aunt Dimity Goes West

89

“Yes,” I said. “Brett Whitcombe told me that James

was quiet and shy, just the sort of meek little mouse

who’d be cowed by a loudmouthed bully.”

But James Blackwell held the position of caretaker for six
months before he quit. If he was so meek and mild, why did it
take so long for Dick Major to shame him into leaving?

I regarded the question uncertainly, then shrugged.

“Everyone has a breaking point, Dimity. Maybe it

took James Blackwell six months to reach his. Or

maybe . . .” I nodded as a new and better explanation

occurred to me. “Maybe James heard stories about Dick

Major that frightened him. Brett Whitcombe told me

that James wanted to know if some stories he’d heard

were true.”

Did the stories concern Dick Major?

“I don’t know,” I replied. “Brett didn’t repeat them

to me. Maybe he didn’t want to make me nervous

about staying at the Aerie. But what if James Blackwell

left the Aerie because he’d heard rumors about Dick

becoming violent? What if James was afraid Dick’s

taunts would turn into punches?”

I applaud your creativity, Lori, but I can’t help wondering if your own recent experiences might be coloring your
interpretation of events. It wasn’t so long ago that you were
forced to run for your life after being threatened by a homicidal maniac.

“Coincidences happen,” I reminded her airily.

“If Kit and Nell aren’t the only Kit and Nell in the

world, then Abaddon can’t be the only murderous

madman.”

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Nancy Atherton

You’re in kangaroo mode, my dear. With one fearless leap
of the imagination you’ve transformed Dick Major from a
loudmouthed bully into a murderous madman.

“But what if he
is
a murderous madman?” I asked.

“It might explain why the Auerbachs left in such a

hurry.They might have been afraid of him, too.”

But why would Danny Auerbach leave his caretaker in the
clutches of a murderous madman? Why would he allow you,
Annelise, two small children, and young Toby Cooper to come
to the Aerie if he was convinced that a murderous madman
lived nearby? And why on earth would Danny run away from
a murderous madman in the first place? Danny’s a wealthy,
high-powered businessman. If he thought his family was in
danger, he wouldn’t pack his bags in a hurry and flee. He’d
contact his lawyers and go straight to the police. He’s un-doubtedly on good terms with the more influential members
of the law enforcement community. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn that they play golf together.

“I take your point,” I said philosophically. “I’m

rather fond of my theory, but I suppose it does have a

few holes in it.”

Your theory has more holes than a colander. I suggest you
plug them before you leap to any more conclusions.

“No problem,” I said. “I’ll ask Toby if he’s heard any

scary stories about Dick Major. If he hasn’t, I’ll head

into Bluebird and hook up to the local grapevine. One

of the townspeople will be able to fill me in. Nothing

goes unnoticed in a small community.”

An excellent idea. I’d wish you luck, but I doubt you’ll
need it. You’ve become quite adept at monitoring grapevines

Aunt Dimity Goes West

91

since you moved to Finch. You’ll bring Toby with you when
you go to Bluebird, won’t you?

“Of course,” I said. “I’ll need him to introduce me

to the locals.Why?”

I’d rather you didn’t run into Dick Major on your own. I
don’t want an obnoxious bully to spoil your holiday.

I smiled as Aunt Dimity’s elegant script faded from

the page, then I returned the journal to the bedside

table and rubbed my palms together energetically. I

hadn’t swapped gossip since I’d been shot. I was look-

ing forward to getting back in practice.

It was nearly two o’clock by the time I returned to

the great room. Toby was in the kitchen, preparing a

late lunch. He’d already set two places at the teak

table on the breakfast deck, so we went out there to

enjoy the sunshine and the scenery as well as our

meal. I waited until we’d finished the fruit salad and

started in on the rosemary chicken–stuffed croissants

to ask if he’d heard any stories about the infamous

Dick Major.

“Stories about Dick?” Toby gave a low whistle and

rolled his eyes. “I’ve heard too many to count. I’ve

never actually met the man, but he’s made a real name

for himself since he moved to Bluebird—several

names, in fact, none of which should be repeated in

polite company.”

“Not Mr. Popular, huh?” I said.

“He’s about as popular as a swarm of mosquitoes.”

Toby speared a piece of chilled asparagus. “Where did

you hear about Dick Major?”

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Nancy Atherton

“Brett Whitcombe,” I replied. “When we were at

the ranch this morning, Brett told me that Dick used

to bully James Blackwell.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Toby. “From what I hear,

Dick’s the kind of guy who gets his kicks out of intim-

idating people.”

“Is he dangerous?” I asked.

“Dick’s a pest, not a mobster,” Toby said dismis-

sively. “He started so many arguments with his next-

door neighbor that the guy finally moved to a house on

the other side of town, just to have a little peace and

quiet. But word gets around; the house next to Dick’s

is
still
empty.”

“When did he move to Bluebird?” I asked, wonder-

ing if Dick’s arrival had coincided with the Auerbachs’

sudden departure.

“A year ago, I think,” said Toby.

“A year ago?” I echoed disappointedly. “Not just

before Christmas?”

“I’m pretty sure he was here way before Christmas,”

said Toby. “Why are you so interested in him?”

“I’ve been wondering why James Blackwell quit his

job,” I said. “I think maybe he got sick of being bullied by Dick.”

“You could be right, though I’d hate to think I owe

my job to someone like Dick Major.” Toby grimaced

adorably and went on eating.

“How have you avoided meeting Dick?” I asked.

“Just lucky, I guess.” Toby pointed his fork at my

plate. “How’s the chicken?”

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93

“It’s delicious,” I said. “Everything’s delicious, but

you shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.”

“I didn’t,” said Toby, grinning. “I picked it up at

the cafe.”

As I took another bite of croissant, it occurred to

me that if Caroline’s Cafe was anything like Sally

Pyne’s tearoom in Finch, it would be the epicenter of

gossip in Bluebird—a perfect starting point for my

tour of the local rumor mill. Before I could suggest a

quick run into town, however, my cell phone rang. I

apologized to Toby and went into the great room to

answer it.