Fly by Night (A Gracie Andersen Mystery Book 3) (8 page)

Theresa stood in the Blooming Idiot, Deer Creek’s only florist, waiting for the urn. Every year without fail, either Theresa or one of her siblings brought the urn to be refilled that stood guard by their parents’ headstone from May to October. With the loss of her sister, Shirley, and her brothers living in another county, it would be her turn every year, most likely. Esther Smith, the proprietor, came from the back of the greenhouse, hauling the heavy pot. It was filled with bright red geraniums, vinca, and the obligatory spike. A small American flag was stuck in the center. The short, round woman heaved the urn up onto the counter with a heavy sigh.

“Another beautiful job, Esther. It’s perfect,” Theresa said, smiling as she wrote out the check. “Has Gracie called you for anything yet?”

“No. I don’t think so. How’s she doing anyway?” Esther’s cheerful ruddy face, glistening with perspiration, smiled up at Theresa.

“Just fine. She’s awfully busy with the kennel, which is a good thing.” Theresa tore out the check, handing it to Esther who placed it in the cash drawer.

“Poor girl. She and Michael were such a good couple. It’s just a rotten shame. And then the baby too.”

Theresa nodded. “She’s on track now. But it’s still hard.”

“Yes, it is,” Esther said, as if waiting for a bit more information.

Theresa stuffed the checkbook back into her large, leather-patchwork hobo bag. “I’ll remind her about the flowers. You’re pretty busy, so I’d better get going.” Theresa glanced over her shoulder toward the display areas around the parking lot. All of Esther’s workers were occupied with customers. Flats of pansies, begonias, and phlox were going like hotcakes.

“It’s always our busiest weekend. Thanks again.”

The bell on the door jingled brightly as Theresa lugged the urn to the car. She saw Isabelle pulling in the driveway with her cherry red Mustang. The top was down, and her daughter, Anna, was in the passenger seat. Theresa felt tears pricking her eyes, a wave of sorrow overwhelming her. Isabelle had a lot of flowers to purchase today. At least, she had her children though. Something Gracie would never have.

*****

Haley was in the second minute of the long-down stay. Her tail wagged tentatively, anticipating the release signal from Gracie, who was studiously avoiding eye contact with the dog. Haley was notorious for breaking on this obedience exercise about 30 seconds from finishing. The last two obedience matches had been lost because of Haley’s eagerness to get up and stretch. Gracie watched the second hand sweep around another minute on her watch. Almost there. The sound of a vehicle entering the driveway distracted Haley. The black Lab flew to the fence, woofing a greeting. Gracie shook her head. It was practically impossible to get the dog to just relax. Some dogs even went to sleep on this exercise. She’d seen it plenty of times. Haley unsuccessfully strained to look over the fence. She heard her mother call out when Haley barked again.

“We’re in the back, Mom. Come through the gate.”

Theresa stepped through to the shady backyard, looking around at the flowerbeds that enjoyed the morning sun, and mostly shade in the afternoons. Day lilies were budded heavily, and tall phlox scented the air with sweetness.

“I just stopped by to remind you to get flowers for the cemetery. Esther didn’t have an order from you yet.”

Theresa patted the panting Haley’s head. Greeting completed, the dog trotted off to sniff the trunk of one of three ancient maples that sheltered the large backyard.

Gracie swallowed hard, frantically trying to come up with an excuse to not make the annual trek to the family plot. She really wasn’t sure she could do it without falling to pieces, especially after her recent conversations with Kim. The freshness of death clung to her again.

“I know. I’ll try to call this afternoon.”

“She’s awfully busy there, so don’t forget. The parade is at ten, so be there by 9:30. We’ll all go up to the cemetery before the parade and the ceremony. Everybody is going to the carnival after that.”

“Sure,” Gracie answered softly.

She bent down to pull a few random weeds that had made an appearance between the peonies and iris. Throwing the weeds into the small wheelbarrow next to her, she decided that it was probably easier just to agree, rather than inform her mother of her real plans. When she stood up, her head began to throb, and she rubbed the back of her neck, hoping to find a pressure point that would give some relief.

“Does ‘everybody’ include Isabelle and her boyfriend, what’s-his-name… Kevin?” There was a bit of a petulant tone to her voice.

“Of course, it does. Don’t be a no-show because of them.” Her mother’s mouth was pressed into a firm line.

“All right, all right. I was just asking. I may have to get back to help with exercise sessions and other things. I
am
running a business, holiday or not.”

“I’m sure you won’t be missed for a couple of hours,” her pokerfaced mother said, not letting her daughter off the hook.

The Memorial Day tradition was a big deal with her mother’s family, the Fergusons. It used to be that Aunt Shirley, her mother, and their three brothers all trekked to the cemetery to place flowers on the family graves. Any available children were expected to join their parents. Available was defined as in “be there.” Besides her grandparents’ graves, there would be flowers for Charlotte, Aunt Shirley’s daughter and Isabelle’s sister, and then there were two sets of assorted great aunts and uncles that she barely remembered. Now it included Michael, and their son Andrew, Uncle Stan, Aunt Shirley, and Tim, Isabelle’s late husband. Her stomach lurched at the thought.

“I’ll see how it goes. Thanks for stopping by.”

Gracie wanted nothing more than for this conversation to end. She wanted to get back to work anyway. She whistled for Haley who ran toward the two women. Theresa glanced at her watch.

“You probably need to get back to work. We’ll see you for supper tonight then.”

“Right. Six?”

“Six is good. Your Dad is picking up the food, so don’t worry about that. Is Jim coming too?”

“I’ll check. He’s probably booked though. I’ll call you if he’s coming.”

*****

Jim was refilling kibble bins when Gracie walked through the noisy corridors, checking to see who needed playtimes. She stopped to scratch the heads that pressed against the gates, vying for her attention. Jim folded up an empty 50-pound bag and tossed it in the blue recycling box in the corner.

“Looks like everybody has been taken care of today,” she remarked.

“The girls are working out. They’re really staying on top of things.”

“Good to hear. Oh, my mom stopped by.”

Jim looked at her. “And?”

“Well, she wants to know if you’re joining us for dinner tonight.”

“Sorry. I can’t make it. I’ve got plans,” he said, grinning at her.

“I figured,” she said and then hesitated.

She leaned against the gate of an empty run, hugging herself.

“All right, Chief. What is it?” he demanded.

“I guess I might as well just come out with it.” She took a deep breath, and plunged ahead. “Would you go to the cemetery with me tomorrow? I can’t do the family thing on Monday, but I need to go.” The words tumbled out, her voice quavering.

His face momentarily hardened and then relaxed.

“I’ll go,” he told her, his voice taut with emotion. “We both need to do this.”

Gracie lugged the large Grecian style resin pot from the shade of the garage and put it in the back of the SUV. Michael hadn’t ever been big on flowers. However, she thought he’d approve of the elegant Stargazer lily surrounded by small ferns. It was a custom arrangement that had met with some silent disapproval from Esther. Geraniums were tradition, but Gracie didn’t like them much. She brushed stray bits of dirt from her hands once she’d shut the door. The first part was over. The second part would be much more difficult.

*****

She always loved driving down into Deer Creek, or D.C. as some affectionately called it. Anyone would be hard pressed to dispute the rich beauty of the Genesee River Valley. The fields were lush and green. Besides alfalfa, wheat, oats, and corn, just a few miles away there were acres of potatoes growing near the tiny village of Gainesville. She passed one of the many apple orchards as she turned off Simmons Road and onto the state highway toward the village. Maples, oaks, and white birch were thick in hedgerows between the fields that led down the steep hill to the small village. The S-shaped curve kept everyone’s speed honest. Those who disregarded the sharp turns sometimes found themselves in the hospital or worse. She could attest to that after last winter’s library scandal.

There wasn’t too much in the way of retail in D.C. All the essentials were on Main Street. Deer Creek Community Church was at the south end of town—an old brick church with stained glass windows and a graceful red-shingled steeple. Her family had always attended there. The Harwood Funeral Home was only a block further down on the right. Its Doric column façade intimated the solemnity of the business. Interspersed between businesses were colonial two-story homes. Most of them were painted white. A few Victorian homes, some restored to their former glory, gave Main Street a little bling.

The center of Deer Creek boasted a small grocery store, the fire hall, a gas station, the bank, and Midge’s Restaurant. The post office, library, Stroud Insurance Agency, and the small Baptist church were a little further down. Evans Hardware sat on the corner of Genesee Street and Main, the only modern storefront in town, besides the grocery store. The old, deteriorating storefront had been refurbished when Dan Evans had gone with a hardware franchise in March. The Blooming Idiot greenhouses were nestled between the hardware and Tice’s Garage, a little ways down Genesee Street.

Just before Park Street, a bridge spanned the meandering Deer Creek, which flowed eventually into the Genesee River. The creek had plenty of trout and a few deep swimming holes. There was even a small waterfall that could give you a wild ride in an old inner tube when there was enough water running. The creek was a wonderful place to disappear to in the summer if you were a kid. Gracie smiled, remembering many summer afternoons spent swimming and hiding out from doing chores around the house.

The feed store was at the north end of the village near the railroad tracks. A milking equipment repair company had recently remodeled an empty commercial building next to Hillside Feeds. A fleet of repair vans now filled the fenced-in parking lot behind the renovated building.

Crescent Lane was hands down the best neighborhood in D.C., full of large homes, some Victorian and others, Craftsman style. The lots were large and deep. Landscaping reached a whole new level for homeowners on Crescent. Rose arbors, wisteria trellises, and elaborate water features were just small components of well-tended and well-designed flower gardens. Driving down Crescent was a pleasure, but there was no way Gracie would ever feel at home in such a perfect environment. A weed or two was not something to stress over in her book. She imagined it
was
for the residents there. Besides it was Isabelle’s environment. She couldn’t envision being Izzy’s neighbor. Isabelle had been a boil on her butt since they’d been kids. Gracie’s childhood home was two blocks over on Ash. The houses in that neighborhood were a mixture of styles, but mostly colonial. Her parents had been in the cedar-shingled cottage-style house since they had married almost 47 years ago.

The dappled shade offered by the long line of sugar maples that stood like sentries along the sidewalks was refreshing. She inhaled the fragrance of lilac and lily-of-the-valley from her open window. Haley vainly tried to push her head through the narrow opening between the back of the driver’s seat and the window. Gracie hit the button to lower the back window slightly, so the dog could enjoy the smells too. The Lab immediately stuck her nose in the crack, leaving a trail of saliva across the window.

Taking a left turn at the corner of Goldenrod Avenue, she decided to drive around to the village’s park. Little girls were playing T-ball on one of the softball fields. The petite blonde at bat slugged the ball out past the shortstop. The stands erupted into cheering. Gracie couldn’t help but laugh when the girl sat down on first base, refusing to go on. It was easily a double. What was it like watching your daughter or son play? It had been so close for her, and now it was impossible. Tears stung her eyes. She unconsciously placed a hand on her stomach. Turning around in the parking lot by the picnic pavilions, she decided that she’d stalled long enough. It was time to meet Jim at the cemetery.

Jim lugged the heavy flower container across the neatly trimmed grass. Small flags waved proudly next to every headstone that honored a veteran. Gracie strolled through the sea of stone. Haley’s nose was pressed to the ground, sniffing and snuffling. A gray squirrel suddenly appeared on a large rose-colored granite marker ahead of them. Haley’s eyes fastened onto the surprise quarry. She wasted no time in giving chase. The squirrel, spotting imminent danger, agilely jumped from the stone. He chattered at Haley while sitting on the branch of a nearby oak before the big dog had even reached the headstone.

“Getting a little slow there, Haley,” Jim teased the disappointed dog.

“I’ll say,” Gracie agreed, rubbing Haley’s silky ears. “Come on, girl. That squirrel is out of your league.”

They both stopped when they came to the sunny clearing in the newer section of the cemetery. Most of the headstones were smaller, although there were two elaborate markers that resembled tree trunks. An intricately carved grapevine twined its way up each trunk.

“Ready?” Jim asked, looking at Gracie.

She felt like Jell-O inside. She wasn’t even sure her legs would work at all. Jim’s face belied his own churning emotions. Gracie nodded, willing her legs to carry her forward.

The stone was not too big and it was simple, which suited Gracie just fine. “ANDERSEN” was carved in an arch at the top. Underneath on the left side, it stated, “Michael John.” The next line was “December 9, 1974 – August 26, 2011.” On the right side, it read, “Andrew Michael born in heaven, August 30, 2011.” The final line on the light gray granite was: “The heavens declare the glory of God.”

It had been a favorite Bible verse of Michael’s since he was a child. Always fascinated with the night skies, it hadn’t been a stretch to name their farm The Milky Way Dairy. Both she and Jim had decided to keep the moniker for the kennel. The beauty of their small dairy had been the ability to name and know their cows that had been more than mere numbers. Michael had made sure each name was always astronomy-related. Their prize bull had been Jupiter Rising, and their best cow was Celestial Mama. Jim bent down to place the container to the right of the stone.

“It’s nice, Gracie. Michael would be happy with it.” His voice broke as he straightened the urn’s position. He avoided her eyes and stood studying the gravestone intently. He had stoutly refused until now to visit the cemetery.

“I think so too.” The tears poured down her cheeks. She knelt to run her fingers over Michael’s name and then Andrew’s. Jim knelt down next to her, his arm protectively around her shoulders.

Haley whined with concern, pushing her nose under her mistress’ arm. The pair finally stood, and Gracie pulled a tissue from her pocket to blow her nose. Haley looked at both of them, wagging her tail with anticipation. Jim smiled and scratched behind the dog’s ears.

“Haley keeps life a little lighter for everybody,” he commented, his voice rough with emotion.

“I guess so,” Gracie finally answered, wiping the dampness from her cheeks and chin. “It’s a good thing God left Haley and you with me. I was mad at Him a good long time for taking Michael and the baby. The anger is mostly gone ...” She bent to check the soil in the pot once more to make sure it was thoroughly wet.

Jim rubbed his jaw, his face impassive. “I still have a ways to go in that department, Chief.”

He took one last look at the stone and strode back to his truck. Gracie watched him leave, knowing Jim and Michael’s friendship hadn’t ended with Michael’s death. Jim had supported and cared for Gracie every day since then. Maybe that explained their relationship failures. She contemplated the thought as she and Haley strolled through the sea of granite to the Ferguson section. She stopped suddenly, spying Isabelle with both Greg and Anna in tow in front of their father’s headstone. She had to give her cousin credit for that move. A wave of thankfulness for a good husband, who would’ve been a great father, washed over her. Tim had certainly been neither. She made a one-eighty and walked back to her vehicle.