Blame It On The Mistletoe - A Novel of Bright's Pond (23 page)

"All the more reason to lock him away."

Mildred pulled against a curb in front of a green trailer and pushed the gearshift into park. I caught my breath. "Mr. Toad's Wild Ride."

"What?"

"Nothing. Let's find Leon."

"I want to find Asa first. We might need his help." Mildred pushed open the door and stepped out. She plopped her cop hat on her head. This time it was covered with a shower cap. I smiled at it.

"Regulations," she said. "If I ruin another hat, Boris will have my hide."

We approached the manager's trailer. Mildred knocked three times. We waited. Finally, Asa opened the door.

"Ah, geez," he said. "What in the world are you two doing out in this weather?"

"Official police business," Mildred said. "Can we come in?"

Asa stepped aside. "Sure. Come on in."

Asa's trailer looked comfortable enough with its pale blue walls and a kitchen counter that jutted into the living room. "Oh, that's a good idea," I said. "It's like a bar, a counter you can eat at without needing to take up space with a table."

Asa looked at me with raised eyebrows. "Now I know you didn't come to see me about my kitchen."

I watched as he pinned the empty sleeve to his shoulder. "Don't need mice running up my sleeve," he said. And then smiled.

"I'm here to arrest Leon Fontaine. I'd like you to come along, Mr. Kowalski, if you don't mind."

"Me? Why? What can I do?" He took a few steps backward.

"I hope you don't have to do anything, but if that little weirdo tries to escape I might need your help, and besides, you know the park. You know where he could run."

Asa shook his head. "I don't like this but—"

"Asa," I said. "One of Leon's regular customers had an accident. It's pretty serious."

"Oh, no," he said. He pushed his feet into a pair of black leather boots. "I'm sorry to hear that. But they do know it's just water. Not like the man drugged them—well, not with actual drugs."

"I know," Mildred said. "But he endangered people's lives. He needs to be stopped . . . now."

"I guess you should try his trailer," Asa said.

We walked the short distance to the trailer in the now driving rain and sleet. There wasn't a soul stirring on the streets. The trailers appeared battened down for the duration with shutters closed and curtains drawn. Lawn furniture tethered to porches, flags removed from their posts. It was kind of creepy—like a ghost town.

"You better make this snappy," Asa said. "They'll be closing the roads."

"I'm a cop, Asa," Mildred said. "I always get through."

Asa and I grinned at each other.

"So," Asa said when we approached the trailer. "Want me to knock or—"

"No, I'll do it," Mildred said. She walked up the three steps and rapped on the screen door. We waited. No answer. Mildred pulled open the screen and knocked on the wood door. No answer. She tried the knob. It wouldn't budge.

"You a got a key?" Mildred called to Asa.

Asa shook his head. "Look, I have spare keys to all the trailers, but I can't let you use it. Not without a warrant."

"Ah, come on," Mildred said. "I just want to see if he's hiding in there."

"Nope, sorry. I can't do it. Taken me a while to build trust around here. I won't do it, Mildred."

Mildred walked down the steps. "Mind if I check out back?"

"Go ahead, but I doubt he'll be out there. All the sane people are holed up somewhere waiting out the storm."

"Could be in that shed mixing up another batch of magic water."

I laughed and stayed back with Asa.

"I don't know who's crazier," Asa said. "Leon or Mildred."

"She's just doing her job, and you know Leon needs to be stopped. I mean, what if Haddie dies as a result of his actions?"

"He didn't force her to drink the water. She did it of her own volition. But yeah, I get it."

Mildred returned. "He's not there. All I found were bottles."

"I told you," Asa said. He folded his arms across his chest. "It's cold. Can I go home now?"

"Any idea where he might go?"

"Look, Mildred, I'm the manager not the babysitter. I have no idea. He's over twenty-one and can do what he wants."

We headed back to the car. Asa took off in front of us.

"Now what?" I said.

"He has to come home sometime."

"You aren't planning on sitting here all day? I got to get home."

"No, no, not today."

We arrived back at the car. The radio was squawking when we sat inside. Mildred picked up the receiver. "This is Mildred, go ahead."

"Mildred, it's Boris. I'm patching a call through from Greenbrier."

"Ten-four. Go ahead."

"Can he do that?" I asked.

Mildred shushed me.

"Chief Blessing, this is Nurse Sally."

"Copy that, go ahead."

I heard Nurse Sally suppress a laugh. "I just wanted to let you know that Haddie has been taken by ambulance to County. Richard—er, Doctor Silver says her condition is serious."

"Copy that. Keep me posted."

"Ten-four," Sally said. I could hear her sarcastic smile through the airwaves.

Mildred hung the receiver on a little hook.

"Oh, dear," I said. "This doesn't sound good."

"We have to find Leon—and soon. Before someone else gets hurt. Or Haddie dies."

Where to?" Mildred asked as we approached the town square.

"I guess home. Not much we can do but wait until Leon comes out of hiding."

"Hiding," Mildred said. "Where could he be? He's like an . . . what do they call it? An enigma."

"It's a very Don Quixote thing to do. I worry what he'll do if he finds out that Haddie had an accident."

"Oh, I kind of think Leon will be just fine." She pulled against the curb. "See you later."

I pushed open the door and Arthur met me, mewing like he was angry. "I know, I know, I haven't been around a lot. Bet you're hungry."

My cat was not a fan of dry cat food but sometimes it was just easier and less smelly than canned. I dumped about a cup of kibble into his bowl. He looked at me like I had some nerve to serve it to him, but he ate it anyway.

Sometimes, especially on stormy days, the house was too quiet. It made me look forward to having Zeb move in even if I was still a little nervous. As I looked around the house, I tried to imagine him sitting in an easy chair by the fire, watching TV while I puttered away in the kitchen preparing meals. The kitchen, it hadn't changed since my mother cooked in there for my father and Agnes and me. Well, except for some new curtains and minor repairs. The table was the same one our family used, long and rectangular full of dings and dents now that I always covered with a tablecloth.

My stomach growled as I stood peering out the window over the sink. The sleet had turned to mostly snow now. I could see the large flakes falling at a more leisurely rate as the wind had died down. But I could still see snow blowing over the street like dust.

Arthur leaped onto the counter and meowed deeply. I chased him off. "You know you're not allowed up there."

My thoughts turned to Leon as I watched the snow. He was out there. Somewhere. Mostly likely snug in his trailer on a night like this. But then again, he could have been or gone anywhere. It was entirely possible that we would never see him again.

"Where could he have gone?" I asked Arthur, who had nothing to say on the subject. "There are no windmills in Bright's Pond or Knights of the White Moon for him to battle or pigs—"

Oh, dear. Pigs. I remembered that Don Quixote had a runin with some pigs. Leon could have gone to the Frost Sisters' pig farm, expecting to be trampled. It's possible that word got to him about Haddie and he had gone out to harm himself now, just like Don Quixote would.

I searched through my address book and found Charlotte Figg's number. I dialed.

"Charlotte," I said. "This is Griselda Sparrow."

"Oh, hi," she said. "Terrible storm, eh?"

"Yes, terrible, but have you seen Leon Fontaine today?"

"Leon? No, I don't think so. But I haven't been out much today. Why?"

"Oh, just a hunch. I can't explain now."

I hung up and dialed Mildred's office number. She answered and I told her my theory.

"Pigs? But that's crazy," she said.

"Mildred, Leon is not the sanest member of the group, now is he? I think we can all agree that he seems to have a few screws loose."

"Yeah, I know, but pigs? Are you certain?"

"It makes sense, given everything else."

Mildred made a noise like she was tapping the receiver against her forehead, considering things. "I guess I better ride back out there."

"Or you could call the Frost Sisters."

"Oh, right. I'll do that first."

"Let me know what happens."

"Ten-four," she said. "I'll be in touch."

There was no way I was going to drive out to Paradise, so I decide to just wait it out by the fire. It would give me time to think about my wedding. I grabbed a notepad and a cup of tea and settled on the red sofa near the fireplace. I had nice dry kindling and plenty of wood, so getting the fire roaring took no time at all.

"Now then, I should make a checklist."

I started with the dress and checked it off. Next I listed, shoes, cake, Agnes's dress, rings, music, and reception. Reception. I supposed we could hold it in the nursing home Sunshine Room but we would sure as shootin' need to provide the food. Oh, dear. Food—sit down? buffet? pizza? Maybe Zeb could handle that. No, he's the groom.

The night seemed to go quickly after that, and I was happy to be going to bed. The next few days were sizing up to be on the bumpy side.

Haddie's condition that Thursday morning remained unchanged. She was still serious and unconscious. And Leon was still nowhere to be found. Fortunately, the weather had cleared, the sun shone, and the temperature was supposed to reach near fifty degrees. The ice had made for some slick spots on the sidewalks and roads but by eleven o'clock or so it would be clear, easy to get around.

"I need to see Ruth," I told Arthur. "I mean, it would be nice if I told her she was making Agnes's dress, don't you think?"

He looked at me as if to say, "No problem, Griselda, she has less than a week. Plenty of time." My cat meowed and then licked his paws like he had said his piece and that was that. Now it was my problem. As I scratched under his chin, I wondered how he would feel when Zeb moved in.

Ruth was home and still busy at work trying to finish all the Christmas pageant costumes.

"One more sheep head to go," she said. "Then I can take a break. No more sewing. Not that I mind all that much, but the tips of my fingers are raw from pushing needles through that thick sheep material."

I smiled and raised my eyebrows at her. Well, satin would be easier to work with.

"Griselda, you got something on your mind?"

"I do," I said. "But how about some lemon squares and coffee. I can smell the lemon. How'd you find time to make a batch?"

"I needed a change from thread and pins and needles, and speaking of which, my bottom is full of them from sitting so long."

"What?"

"Pins and needles. A stretch will do me good."

"Good, let's go in the kitchen and have a snack."

"Griselda Sparrow. You definitely have something percolating around in that brain of yours. And it must be big, from the looks of you."

"You could say that."

We sat at her kitchen table and enjoyed a lemon square or two.

"That was some storm yesterday, huh?" she said.

"Yeah, I was out with Mildred. Which reminds me, did you hear what happened to Haddie Grace?"

"That little old lady on the red tricycle?" She stirred her coffee.

"Yes, she took quite a spill and is in the hospital, unconscious and in serious condition."

"Oh, dear me," Ruth said. "I hope she'll be OK."

"Me too. Mildred is looking for Leon Fontaine. She's going to try and slap charges on him and have him arrested, especially if Haddie . . . if something happens to her."

"Oh, don't say that. But what did Leon do? He gave her water. Riding the bike was her idea."

"Mildred said he endangered her life, and apparently that's against the law."

"It'll never stick."

"I'll check on her later. And I hope Leon, wherever he is, finally decides to show up. For his own sake. The longer he hides the worse it looks. I thought he might have gone to the Frost Sisters' pig farm."

"Pig farm. Now why in the heck would he do that? Pigs don't need Fountain of Youth Water."

"Oh, it's a Don Quixote thing."

"Oh, then I, of course, could never understand." Her sarcasm apparent.

"Oh, Ruth, I didn't mean to make it sound like you couldn't understand. I'm just tired of thinking about it, and I have a huge favor to ask—I mean huge." I spread my arms out wide.

"Uh oh, now what? I am not playing Mary in the play." She smiled.

"No, no, Mercy Lincoln is still our Mary, but speaking of Mary, well, marry actually, I want Agnes to be my maid of honor."

Ruth patted my hand. "Of course you do. My feelings aren't hurt. She's your sister. We're just friends."

"Thank you, Ruth. But what I need is for you to make a dress for her."

She swallowed and a piece of lemon bar got caught in her throat. She coughed and choked. "A dress? A whole dress? For Agnes?"

"Yep, something pink and maybe a wide-brim hat."

She shook her head. "Pink? For a Christmas wedding? No, it's got to be red. Bright, Christmas red with a red sash around a wide-brim hat."

I thought a moment. The image was stunning.

"Can you do it? By Christmas Eve?"

"Sure, but I'm gonna need to get out there and take some measurements."

"Fine. We can do that today."

Ruth picked at the remaining lemon bar on her plate. "I guess I can do it. Gonna need a lot of fabric and maybe some elastic, lots of elastic."

"Well, Shoops is the elastic capital of the world."

"Oh, yeah, that factory is down there."

"I guess I could get a pattern and alter the pattern. I'll need two, no make it three patterns, and I'll piece them together to make one huge dress."

"This sounds complicated," I said.

"It is. But I'll do my best, and look, if worse comes to worst, we'll just wrap the fabric around her."

"I had thought of that, but Ruth, she's feeling a bit sensitive about it so if we can find a way to make her look and feel pretty—"

"Don't fret. I'll do something. But what about you? Are you going to feel pretty?"

I looked past her out the window. "You know, as silly as it sounds, I've actually been feeling pretty already—even in blue jeans—ever since Zeb gave me the ring."

"Ah, that's so sweet. Now when do you want to get out there? I think I should get started right away. This is a big operation. And then, I'll need to go into Shoops to the fabric store down there and buy the patterns and pins—Oh, good grief—I'm gonna need a lot of pins and . . . and help, Griselda. I'm gonna need help."

"I'll help as much as I can."

"And green ribbon," Ruth said. "And thread, lots of thread. Might need a spare bobbin or two and maybe some more machine oil. It's been sticking . . ."

I listened as Ruth meandered on about the dress, and for the time being, at least, Leon Fontaine's troubles took a backseat to my wedding plans.

Ruth pulled on a heavy blue coat and slipped into a pair of ankle-high rubber boots with zippers up the instep.

"At least the weather is cooperating," I said as we climbed into the truck.

"Yeah," Ruth said. "I'd hate to be driving to Shoops in all that sleet and ice—but I'd still do it, you know. This is an emergency."

"Thank you, Ruth. You are a really good friend."

And that was when it dawned on me that Ruth should have been my maid of honor.

"Are you happy?" Ruth asked. "Really and truly happy to be marrying Zeb?"

"I am happy. At first I wasn't even sure I wanted to. But after I got to thinking about it I realized that I love Zeb with all my heart. I've loved him for a long time and that's why, at least I think it's why, I wasn't having all those in-love symptoms. I already did all that, long time ago."

"I guess that makes sense. But I got to tell you, I was worried that you were gonna run off or fly off with Cliff Cardwell. I had visions of you two soaring off into the clouds and I would never, ever see you again."

I turned onto the street that headed straight to the nursing home. "To be honest. There was a time there when I thought I might also. But that's all over."

Ruth was quiet a minute or two. "I'm glad you didn't. Zeb's the right fella for you."

"I know. But don't get worried if you see me flying over Bright's Pond with Cliff on Saturday."

"Saturday? What's happening?"

"I'm taking the test for my pilot's license."

"No fooling? You still think you need that?"

I ignored the snippet of annoyance that crept into my mind. "Yes. I still need to do it—for me."

"OK, just asking. Now tell me, did you get a cake?"

I told her about Charlotte's Christmas Pie Cake idea.

"Oh, goodness gracious that sounds like fun. So . . . unique, kind of like my Thanksgiving."