Make Me Howl (25 page)

I checked the bookshelves in the living room, but no books of any kind there or in the dining room buffet.

With a glance at the mantel clock, I saw it was a quarter to seven. Only fifteen minutes before Mrs. N would have dinner ready.

I decided to wait until the next morning to search upstairs, and went to the bathroom to wash up.

As soon as I was finished, I put on my jacket, grabbed my purse and left the house by the backdoor. No need to lock up out in the boonies of Winnie Rose. At least not this early in the evening, and probably not later, either. But I would, because without locks, I’d never fall into a deep sleep.

I walked the distance to the caretakers’ cottage. When I was almost there, I smelled a delicious aroma coming from their house. Lengthening my stride, I hurried to the porch, where I knocked on the door.

An eternity passed while I stood there, smelling heaven in the air. Finally, Mr. N opened the door and it was all I could do to keep from charging past him to the dining room table as I would have as a child.

Being an adult, at least in age, I forced myself to wait on the old man.

“You’re just in time.” His eyes sparkled as he smiled at me. “And just as pretty as ever.”

Mrs. Newkirk stuck her head around the door, her thinning white hair curling every which way. “Well, Daddy, for heaven’s sake. Let her come in. She looks like she’s starving to death.”

“Yes, come in. Come in.” Mr. Newkirk took my jacket. “We’re just now ready.”

I walked with him to the table, where we both sat down while Mrs. N finished placing the bowls of vegetables.

When Mrs. N was seated, the couple insisted I serve myself before they would take any of the food. First they handed me the platter with roast beef on it—the delicious fragrance that had me nearly drooling as I walked to their house. Then there was a bowl of green beans, one of black-eyed peas and a green salad, dressed, as always, with Miracle Whip salad dressing.

We ate on the blue willow dishes Grandma Maleva had given them years before. As I ate, I marveled at how this elderly couple could raise and can their own vegetables year after year, with little help from anyone. They had no children or other relatives that we knew of.

And anytime we’d asked Grandma why they lived there and worked for her, she snapped at us so sharply, we quit asking.

“So why did you come down this time of year?” Mrs. N asked. I could see by her gaze she knew something was up.

Too bad I hadn’t thought to bring them a Christmas present. At least it would have been an excuse. I shrugged, trying to make light of my life. “Oh, I just wanted to slow the pace a little, and I haven’t been here in a while.”

Mrs. N shot her husband a quick glance, then settled her gaze back on me. “You’d better clean up that plate if you think you’re going to get dessert.”

“Is it pineapple upside-down cake?” I asked, all but reverting to childhood by bouncing in my seat.

“What else could I fix with you here?” She grinned at me. “And before you ask, yes. There are cherries in all the pineapple o’s.”

We all laughed at the question Bella and I’d started asking as soon as we could talk, but as soon as the laughter ended, my eyes burned with tears. It was wonderful to be among people who loved me and accepted me, no matter what. People who, if I burdened them with the fact I was a werewolf, would love me just the same. Or perhaps even more.

In this place, my secrets didn’t seem as dark or my problems as insurmountable.

My energy, which had lagged as I’d searched Grandma’s downstairs, filled me again. I helped Mrs. Newkirk clear the table, then I dried the dishes as Mrs. N washed and Mr. N put them away.

“How’s your sister?” Mrs. Newkirk asked. “And why didn’t she come with you?”

“She didn’t know I was coming,” I answered. “Besides, she’s so busy with the clinic at the zoo where she works. You know Bella. Classic over-achieving eldest child.”

Mrs. N laughed. “Wait until she’s married and has children. Her over-achieving days will be over.”

Mr. N nodded in complete agreement with his wife.

I almost laughed at the notion that my super professional sister would let anything, even a husband or family, keep her from advancing in her chosen career. But that would only hurt the elderly couple’s feelings. And I’d never do anything to hurt them.

We chatted a little longer, then I said good night, but when I started for the door, Mr. Newkirk went with me.

Surprised at his actions, I tried to dissuade him. “I’ll be just fine, Mr. N. You stay here with the missus.”

His brows dipped low over his eyes in a frown. “Now you don’t think I’m going to let you walk home alone in the dark, do you? I couldn’t do that.”

I knew the battle was lost before we’d ever started. “All right, but just to the back door. No need to come in.”

He nodded in agreement. We walked a few steps then he said, “If you don’t have plans for tomorrow, how about wetting a line with me in the morning?”

Suddenly I was excited I’d decided to come. It had been years since I’d taken time to fish. “In Grandma’s pond? I’d love to.”

“And I’ll let you have dibs on the willow tree,” he teased, his laugh sounding like dead leaves, rustling in the wind.

When we were kids, Bella and I fought for the position by the willow tree each time we fished. “Well, that’s the best spot on the whole pond.”

“Will you be over for breakfast? Mrs. N will make whatever you’d like.”

“Please thank her, but tell her not to bother. I usually just have a cup of coffee.”

He nodded. “All right then. I’ll meet you at the barn to pick out our poles about eleven o’clock.”

“Good night.” I gave him a swift hug, then opened the screen on the back porch and stepped inside.

He ambled back toward the cottage, strolling along as if it were the middle of the afternoon. I watched him as far as I could see him, hoping he wouldn’t fall.

When I finally heard the slam of their door echo through the still night, I went into the house. Although I’d thought I might search some more, I was so tired, I decided to go straight to bed.

The next morning, I awoke filled with a burning energy to find those journals. I fixed a pot of coffee then took a quick bath in the claw-foot tub while it perked. Dressing quickly, I went back to the kitchen, poured myself a cup and took it with me upstairs.

There were three bedrooms on one side of the hallway and one huge bedroom on the other. I started in the big bedroom. When I opened the door, I remembered why Bella and I never asked to sleep in there. There were no pictures on the wall, no homey quilts on the beds. Just two double beds, made up with sheets and blankets. No dressers. No bookshelves.

Getting on my knees, I looked under the beds, hoping I might find the diaries boxed up, but no luck. Then I checked the bedrooms on the other side. Each a cozy room, ready for a family member to move into at a moment’s notice. And while there were dressers and bookshelves in each room, there were no journals.

I was stunned. What had Grandma done with those books? I’d looked in every conceivable place in the entire house. There was no attic and no basement. The only other place I could think to look was the barn, and I really didn’t think she would have put them there.

Maybe she’d taken them with her.

With a glance at my watch, I saw it was almost time to meet Mr. N out at the barn. Picking up my now empty cup, I went back to the kitchen and filled it again. After unplugging the pot, I left by the backdoor and walked across the lawn to the barnyard gate. After turning the small board that served as a latch, I pushed it open and walked through, closing it behind me.

I walked slowly so I wouldn’t scare the chickens pecking in the grass. When I got to the barn door, I saw Mrs. N there with her husband. “Have you found a newborn interest in fishing or are you afraid I’m going to steal your husband?” I asked.

“I’ve always liked to fish, Miss Smarty,” she answered, her voice sharp with teasing. “But I had too many chores to loaf at the pond with the rest of you lollygaggers.”

“And you’ve decided you have time to loaf today?”

She nodded once. “Yes.”

When Mrs. N had picked out her cane pole, I took one that wasn’t too thick and had a large red and white float on it. Mr. N took a pole like mine, then picked up a rusted coffee can that had holes poked in the lid.

We passed through the gate that led into the pasture, then walked across the dead grass toward the best fishing hole on Grandma’s farm. It took a few minutes to get there. I wondered if the Newkirks wouldn’t benefit from the purchase of a golf cart or four-wheeler to use on the place.

If I were to suggest it to them, though, it would probably insult them. When we got to the water’s edge, we stopped near the old willow that grew at an angle out over the pond. Mr. Newkirk sat on the trunk of the willow that was just the right height to be a bench, balanced his pole against the tree and opened the coffee can.

“Looks to me like you’ve opened a real can of worms,” I quipped.

“Speaking of a can of worms,
why
didn’t your sister come with you?” Mrs. Newkirk asked.

I smiled. “No, we aren’t fighting, if that’s what you’re wondering. I just decided to come on the spur of the moment, and she has responsibilities at the zoo.”

Mrs. Newkirk’s smile brightened as if she’d been truly worried about Bella and me. “Well, I’m glad to hear that. How are your folks?”

“They’re fine.” If they weren’t, I was sure Mom would have let us know. She was never one to keep secrets.

When Mr. Newkirk had put a worm on his hook, he pushed himself to his feet and set the can where he’d been sitting. “Gabby women. Bait your own hooks,” he mumbled and wandered toward the other side of the pond.

I picked up the can and held it for Mrs. N. She grabbed a worm as if she’d done it every day of her life and baited her hook. When I had my wiggly little guy on the hook, I put the lid back on the can and tossed my hook into the water.

The float bobbed on the water for a few moments as I hiked one hip onto the bare willow tree. As I settled in to wait, I heard Mrs. N humming softly under her breath. It was such a peaceful scene with the golden shades of winter-killed grass surrounding the pond, and farther on, the russet colors of sumac bushes. Probably the same sumac bushes that first taught me about my allergy.

All so different from the mad whirl I’d left behind in Dallas.

Before long my float sank, bringing a yelp from Mrs. N, who pointed at the place where my fishing line had been yanked deep in the water.

Reverting to instructions from childhood, I jerked my line to set the hook and hauled what I assumed would by a small perch out of the water. Instead of a perch, though, I pulled out a glossy black catfish that clicked at me as soon as he broke water.

Mr. N pulled his line from the water and, carrying his pole, came around the pond to take my fish, put him on the stringer and placed him back in the water. “We can let him go later if we don’t catch enough for a mess.”

As soon as my catch was submerged, Mrs. N caught a large perch. We went back and forth until we had more than enough for a meal.

“I reckon that’s plenty. We might as well pack up and go in for lunch,” Mrs. Newkirk said, winking at me as she talked.

“Since when did ‘let’s go fishing’ mean ‘come to the pond so you can take the fish off our lines?’ I didn’t get to catch one because I had to help you two dag burn females,” Mr. N pretended to grumble. “Jazzy, I’ll carry the fish if you can get my pole as well as yours.”

I nodded, happy to carry Mr. Newkirk’s for him. After we got back to the barn, I helped Mrs. Newkirk put away the fishing equipment then we went into their house, washed up and prepared to fry the fish while Mr. N cleaned them. When he brought them inside, we had the breading ready, the oil hot and the potatoes oven frying.

We sat down to the freshest fish dinner I’d had since the last time I was there, and although I didn’t find Grandma Maleva’s journals, I didn’t feel as though the trip had been a waste. Somehow, being there in Grandma’s home and spending time with these two people, who she’d been so close to, gave me a feeling of renewal.

After we’d cleaned up the dishes, I told the old couple goodbye, went back to Grandma’s house and packed up my car. After checking to be sure the house was locked up, I stowed my gear in the Z, got into the driver’s seat and was just putting the car into reverse when I saw Mr. Newkirk coming out of his house, a large brown box in his hands. Mrs. N followed right behind.

When they saw me in my car, she started waving for all she was worth. “I have something of your grandma’s and I think it’s time you kept it,” she called as she rushed toward me.

I killed the engine. Getting out, I went to meet them. Mrs. N took my arm and turned me, so I walked back to the car with them. “Your grandma asked me to keep these until one of you were in a position to warrant passing them on. I think you might be there now.”

Mr. N held the box out to me, so I opened the lid. There inside were Grandma’s journals.

“How did you know I was looking for those?” I asked, my voice cloudy with emotion.

“Just a hunch.” Mrs. N pulled me with her to my car then opened the passenger door. “Put them in the seat, James. She’ll want to have them close to her, I’m thinking.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered. “I aim to please.”