Cornucopia (5 page)

I stuffed my feet into slippers and grabbed my robe. The cabin was chilly without the fire. Also, I was frightened.

“Stay behind me,” Alex ordered quietly. “We’re going to catch them red-handed.”

And then what?
We had no way to call the police. Still, we had to do something. The shotgun should be warning enough for anyone.

Blue, Alex, and I crept down the stairs. Blue might have wanted to hurry but the bare treads were slippery and I kept a hand in her collar so she wouldn’t get ahead of Alex.

After a little more banging, we heard a screech like the hinges on a dungeon door which startled us so badly that we all froze. A moment later there was the sound of breaking crockery, which I greatly feared was a pie plate.

“
Noooo
!”
I wailed and letting go of Blue I pushed by Alex and ran for the light switch at the bottom of the stairs. “Don’t you touch my
pies!
”

Blue skidded down the steps behind me and then stopped abruptly. In the dim light I actually saw her hackles go up and she howled like a werewolf on the way to hell. It was a sound I had never heard her make and it frightened me badly. It must have frightened our intruder too because by the time we reached the kitchen, it was empty, except for the overturned pie dish. It was the one Alex and I had sampled earlier. The others—thank heavens—had been put away in the cupboard and were spared destruction.

“They’re gone, but how.…” Feeling a draft, I looked toward the pantry which was standing open. Crossing the room, I put on another light and stared in consternation at the trapdoor in the floor. I grabbed Blue before she could jump in the hole. She began whining and pulling hard. It was a pitiful sound but at least her hackles were down again.

“Blue, stop it!” I ordered, my voice shaken. “You’re not going down there.”

“Good God! That must lead into a crawlspace for the wiring and plumbing,” Alex said, lowering the shotgun. “I never knew it was there.”

“B-but what…?”

“Raccoons,” Alex pronounced. “They are a pestilence. Mary Elizabeth said they were in the trash all summer long. They must have found a way into the crawlspace. I’ll look for it tomorrow and make sure we close it up.”

“Oh, raccoons.”
I exhaled in relief, and reached out to shut the trapdoor. There was no handle and it banged closed with a shriek of the dry hinges. The rag rug which had covered it had been shoved off to the side. “There’s no lock,” I said worriedly.

“Let me get my hammer. We’ll nail it shut for now.”

Blue gave up on the door once it was shut and retreated to the kitchen.

“That must have been a giant raccoon. And a strong one,” I said, thinking of the ripped-open cans of spam. I turned back to the galley and began looking around to see if any further damage was done. Before I could stop her, Blue had gobbled up the rest of the pie out of the broken plate. “Blue!”

But I couldn’t say much. The rule was if it was on the floor then it was hers.

“They can get pretty
big,
the males can be the size of a medium dog.” Alex reappeared with his trusty hammer and a handful of nails.

“Great, and
Blue
wants to chase it.” I picked up the broken pie plate and wiped the floor while Alex made banging noises in the pantry. I was pretty sure that just one nail would have done the job, but he was as pumped with adrenaline as I was and the hammering was probably helping him let off some steam.

Since we were up anyway, I decided we needed some hot chocolate with marshmallows, or Alex and I did. Blue got some fresh water and then I wiped the pumpkin filling off her chin.

“Bad dog,” I said lovingly. Blue belched quietly.

I was up early to get the turkey in the oven, which had trouble reaching a steady temperature and staying there. Had it been my cabin, I would have replaced the stove, but Mary Elizabeth wasn’t much of a cook. Fortunately, I had brought a meat thermometer to check the poultry’s progress. There would be no salmonella at our Thanksgiving table.

Blue spent some extra time outside because of her indiscretion with the pie, but I didn’t mind because the sunrise was glorious and I had a mug of coffee to keep my hands and face warm. I looked around for raccoon tracks and found none in the pine needles, though I did discover a sort of ventilation duct where the wood lattice had been broken away. That had to be where the raccoons had gotten in. I hoped that there was plywood or lumber lying about in one of the sheds, because the opening was quite large. Alex might have found it a tight squeeze but I could have gotten in that way without any trouble. It would be just our luck if a skunk decided it wanted to live under the house.

“All done,
Blue
?” I asked, and she came loping over. “Then let’s go have some breakfast.”

After a light meal of pancakes made with berry yogurt, Alex went out to scare up some lumber and nail up the ventilation hole. I began assembling casseroles of scalloped potatoes, green beans and onions, and the nacho macaroni and cheese I had been too tired to make the night before. As I worked, I consulted my timeline which included not just what I was making but which baking dishes each side dish went in and when they needed to be added to the oven. Military campaigns have been launched with less careful planning, and I know that this amuses my mother, but I need everything written down in order to feel calm and confident of getting a dozen sides to the table all at the same time.

The
Jackmans
arrived just before eleven and after the hugging and petting (of Blue) and shedding of coats, I regaled Agatha and Lawrence with tales of the raccoons’ midnight marauding. Mr. Jackman had had some experience with them out at his place and he also told us about how the raccoons had gobbled up the very expensive imported fish in the koi pond at Golden Gate Park back at the turn of the last century.

As I had expected, it was only a few minutes before Lawrence had slipped on an apron and began helping with the meal. We have cooked together often enough that we are quite comfortable, even in a strange kitchen. He halved Brussels sprouts while I chopped cauliflower. Our conversation was easy and I said a prayer of thanks that we had had the good sense to leave Hope Falls and have a small feast with just our friends.

Alex and Agatha retired to the fireplace for a visit and some coffee with Irish whiskey and Blue took up a position near the table where she could keep an eye on all of us. Usually she would have chosen the rug near the fire, but there was food in the kitchen, after all, and what was a dog supposed to do when torn between two imperatives?

Beyond the kitchen window, the sky began to cloud up in the west and soon the sun failed. It wasn’t raining yet but a mist began to creep over the ground making everything look a bit ghostly.

Finally the bird came out of the oven. The thermometer said we were safe so while it rested I made gravy. Mr. Jackman began carrying dishes to the table Agatha had set. Alex opened the wine and at two o’clock on the nose, we sat down to eat. The timeline triumphed again.

We didn’t hurry and conversation was easy. We talked about all the things we were thankful for and had a good laugh speculating what poem Althea might have written that year. We said it was a shame that there was no cellphone reception and no landline so that we couldn’t call our family and friends to gloat—I mean, wish them a complicated Thanksgiving. And around three, we all began clearing the table, tucking away leftovers we would be enjoying for the next couple of days.

We had all the lights on to combat the gloom, but the living room remained dark and shadowy, even with the fire burning in the hearth. I went over to the window that Alex had nailed shut and pulled back the drapes, hoping for a little more light and perhaps a last glimpse of the autumn leaves.

I am not one of those people who run around shrieking uselessly during an emergency, but I’ll admit to a loud gasp when I opened the drapes and found myself eye to eye with a mountain lion.

The cat and I stared at each other in astonishment and then it put a giant paw against the glass and started to moan. It was a horrible sound that fogged the glass and started Blue in with her werewolf howling.

So, this was our spam eater and pie thief. It made sense. A raccoon could never have ripped off the lathe and forced open the trapdoor.

“Alex,” I said unnecessarily as everyone had rushed into the room. “The raccoons are back.”

Ten minutes later, with drapes closed, but the moaning still going on at least periodically, we had come up with a plan.
A second plan.
The first one had been to wait the cat out until it gave up and went away. The sound was proving too horrible though and we were nervous about how it kept testing the window.

Since there was no phone, someone was going to have to go for help. The cat was very near the
Jackmans
’ car, and had in fact climbed on it with muddy paws, but Alex’s was a somewhat safer distance away, not too far from the front door.

But just to be extra cautious, we decided that I would go upstairs and throw out a turkey leg and, if necessary, the rest of the pumpkin pie on the backside of the cabin, thus luring the cat even farther away from the door.

Alex would take the shotgun, but we all agreed that we didn’t want to shoot the beast since it was likely endangered and especially since Alex had recalled his aunt saying something about a new private sanctuary for retired circus animals going in just a few miles away. It seemed a stretch that this mountain lion could be one of their trained creatures, but it was just possible, and if anyone would know what to do about this big cat, it was them.

Blue wouldn’t like it, but she was staying with me. She had stopped howling but obviously the call of the wild was upon her, and I didn’t think we could trust her to go straight out and get in the car. I wouldn’t risk having her mauled. Better that Alex kill the cat—though I prayed fiercely that that wouldn’t happen.

The first problem occurred when we discovered that because of the deep overhang of the upstairs dormers, it would be necessary for me to actually climb out of the roof and do my turkey tossing from there. Thank goodness we still had a turkey leg because with the wind gathering strength and the rain beginning to fall, there was little hope of being able to fling slices of turkey to the kind of distance needed.

The roof was steep and the old shingles were rather worn and slickened by the wet. We were also losing the sun to the mountains in the west. Mr. Jackman held the turkey leg while I climbed out. He would shout down to Alex and Agatha when I gave the all clear on the cat. Alex would run for the car and Agatha would lock up the door behind him. Everything would be fine if I could just not fall off the roof.

Once I was safely out, Mr. Jackman handed me the turkey leg. He held the pie in reserve. I crawled toward the chimney with the roasted poultry in hand. I arrived at the roof’s peak with the leg looking rather the worse for wear. I inched out to the end of the roof and looked over the side.

“Hi, kitty, kitty,” I called, feeling like an idiot.

The golden eyes looked up at me, still and glass smooth, a lot like Aphrodite’s. The similarities ended there though. Leaving aside the matter of size, Aphrodite had never made such a weird chuffing noise followed by a yowl that shook the shingles.

I quickly pulled off some meat and dropped it down to the cat. It sniffed and then ate it at once. The eyes returned to my face.

“Okay, kitty.
You want the
rest,
you’ll have to chase it.” And with that I hurled the turkey leg as far behind the house as I could.

The mountain lion stared at me for a minute, clearly disbelieving that I had been so rude, but then it sauntered off after the hurled poultry.

“Okay, he’s in back of the house!” I called to Mr. Jackman who in turn relayed the message.
A moment later Alex emerged, shotgun and car keys in hand, and dashed for the car.
I didn’t take a single breath until he was safely inside and the car started. Then, with even more care than I had taken in climbing up the roof, I slid back down again. Mr. Jackman helped me inside.

Then we had to wait.

The cat was back soon enough. Darkness fell and we turned on the porch light. We didn’t go to the window too often because it made the cat moan, but we could hear him laying against the front door as he munched his turkey leg and then later gave himself a bath.

The rain came down, but the overhang sheltered the lion and he seemed in no hurry to move on. I had no idea how Alex would get back into the
cabin,
or us out of it, but since by then we were all hungry, we went into the kitchen to make turkey and cranberry sandwiches.