Monica Ferris_Needlecraft Mysteries_03 (10 page)

“Have you tried to drive out?”

“My engine won't start.” Betsy had to stop at this point and swallow hard. “And, and there's a smell of gasoline, I guess I tore or punctured my gas tank. I have a winter emergency kit with me, with a space blanket and a candy bar and candles, so I'm all right for now, except I can't run my engine, and I'm scared to light the candles, and I'm getting really, really cold.” Tears spilled over despite her best effort. “I'm sorry, I'm really, really sorry.” Sorry for being an idiot, sorry for breaking down, sorry her last words might be to a stranger on the phone.

“Hang on, honey, you're going to be all right, we'll figure out a way to find you and get you out of there.”

Betsy sniffed. “Yes, of course you will. I'm just a little scared.”

“Sweetie, anyone in your situation would be scared! Now, you say you started out on Route Nineteen. When did you turn off it?”

“I didn't think I did, but I must have. The map said the road would go left so I did, except after that nothing matched the map.”

“Do you have the map with you?”

“No. It was just a short trip, to pick up a pillow for someone. I never thought I'd get lost.”

“I'm going to go have a talk with some people about this, so you need to hang up and be patient. I won't be long.”

“All right. Oh, can you do me a favor?”

“What's that?”

“Could you notify Officer Jill Cross of the Excelsior Police Department about what's happened? She's a friend, and she'll want to be part of the rescue operation.”

“Aren't you Jill Cross? That's who my phone ID says you are.”

“No, she gave me this phone for emergencies. I guess she was willing to pay the first month's rent on it, bless her. My name is Betsy Devonshire.”

“Oh, you're the woman who took over that needlework shop in Excelsior! I've been meaning to stop by.”

“If you come by tomorrow, I'll give you a terrific buy on any item you want.”

The operator said, “It's a date. Now, if I don't call you back inside of fifteen minutes, you call nine one one again and ask for me. I'm Meg Dooley.”

Betsy broke the connection, turned out the overhead light, and sat for a bit in total darkness. Then it occurred to her to consult her watch in order to begin timing fifteen minutes. She pressed the button on the side of its face and it glowed its beautiful aqua color. Only seven past seven. It seemed much later than that.

The watch's face glowed a surprisingly long time after she released the button, but at last it faded to black. She sat with the phone cradled in both hands, waiting for it to ring again.

 

Jill called Godwin and told him what the emergency operator had told her. She told him she was going to the police station and would call him from there.

“Anything I can do?” he asked.

“Pass the word, I guess. Because all we can do right now is wait. Thanks.”

She hurried out to get her car out of its garage and bully her way through the snow-clogged driveway into the street. Though she'd been aware of the weather reports, she was nevertheless alarmed at the depth of the snow and the strength of the wind.

The streets were deserted, streetlights dimmed by the thickness of snow in the air. A plow had gone down Water Street, burying parked automobiles. Drifting snow smoothed their outlines until they looked like the ghost of that carnival ride called The Caterpillar.

Jill drove up Lake Street, past Crewel World, and saw that Betsy had left a light on in her apartment over the store.

Didn't think she'd be gone that long,
thought Jill. She turned onto Excelsior Boulevard, whose high-tone name belied its narrow ordinariness, and went down it to the new brick-and-stone building that housed the police department.

Jill had been prepared to like Betsy for her sister Margot's sake—Margot had been Jill's best friend for years. But her present sharp concern made her realize she had come to like Betsy for herself, for her courage and tenacity, her sense of humor, her unpredictability. Jill was braver and more tenacious than Betsy, but she was not in the least unpredictable, so it was odd that she should like unpredictable people, but she did.

I'm not going to let Betsy die.
She stifled that thought, shaken that it had even occurred. She parked and hurried into the station. Of course Betsy was not going to die! What a stupid idea!

 

The cell phone rang, sudden and loud. Betsy, startled, flipped it onto the floor and had to scramble for it in the slush and dirt. By the time she got hold of it, it was ringing for the fourth time. She pushed the button. “Hello?” she said a trifle crossly.

“I told you not to go out on the road when it's snowing like this.”

Betsy laughed. “Hi, Jill! From now on, your word is law. Are you the one coming to get me?”

“Maybe. But not right now. I'm sorry, Betsy, but we can't come looking for you because the roads are closed.”

“Couldn't you send one of those big snowplows?”

“The plows are working exclusively on the freeways, trying to keep them passable for emergency vehicles. We could probably get one to come after you, if he knew where to come. But he can't just wander around, hoping he'll come across you.”

There was a pause. Betsy said, “So what do we do?”

“Right now they say the storm won't move out of the area till morning. Once the storm quits, we'll turn out in strength looking for you. You'll be easy to find in daylight. Meanwhile, you just sit tight.”

“Daylight? Jill, I can't sit here in the freezing dark all night!”

“Of course you can. You'll be fine, now that you opened that box I sent along.”

“But—are you sure? I mean, all night? That's scary.”

“Well, did you wrap up in that metallic blanket?”

“Yes. And it works. I was surprised, but it does.”

“You didn't walk out on the ice and fall in the lake?”

“No, of course not.”

“So you're not chilled from a soak in ice water. Is the car far off the road, or only on the shoulder?”

“I'm completely off the road.”

“Good. That means you won't get squashed by accident when the plow does come through. Are you out of chocolate already?”

“No. I haven't started on it, actually.”

“I think you should eat some of it now. Chocolate has lots of energy, to help keep you warm. And it has that stuff that makes you happy. What's it called?”

“I don't know. Phenyl-something.”

“That's the stuff. So forget your diet and eat some. Eat a lot. You'll be warmer and you'll feel better.”

“All right.”

“Is the passenger compartment tight? I mean, is snow coming in, or the wind?”

“Well, you see, that's the problem. I ripped open the gas tank or something. I tried to start the engine, and it turns over but won't start, and there's a strong smell of gasoline. Does that mean it's okay to light a candle? The smell is so strong I've got a window cracked, trying to air it out.”

“Hmmm, maybe you'd better not, at least right now. If the smell goes away, then you can.”

“That's what I thought. But I'm cold. I'm really cold.”

“All right, that makes a difference.” There was a weighty pause, while Jill thought. “Have you got any idea at all where you are?”

“No. I got so lost toward the end I didn't even know what direction I was heading—and I usually have a pretty good sense of direction. I started out on Nineteen, but I missed something, I guess. Or maybe I didn't. I thought I was lost, and then I thought I was all right, but the road was curving wrong, so I guess I was lost after all. There were sharp curves where the map says easy ones, and my brakes quit working...” Betsy wasn't crying, but only because she had stopped talking.

Jill wasn't one to encourage people to break down. “That must have been tough,” she said briskly. “How strong is that gasoline smell?”

“Well, it was pretty strong for a while, but I think it's not as bad as it was. Or maybe I'm just getting used to it. If I can't run the engine, how am I going to keep from freezing to death?”

“You're not going to freeze to death, okay? You're inside, you have a heavy coat and boots, and that blanket. You have water and something to eat. But you've got a window open and you're cold, which means you probably shouldn't curl up and go to sleep. I have an idea about how we might figure out at least your general location. You just sit back and relax, eat, drink, think good thoughts. I'll call you again in a while, okay?”

G
odwin was sitting on the couch, asleep. The television was murmuring about cookware and flashing an 800 number on the screen. He jerked awake when the phone rang. “Yuh?” he croaked into the receiver, having grabbed it on the first ring so as not to wake John. “Yes?” he said, more clearly.

“Godwin, it's Jill. I have the phone company trying to triangulate from the car phone signal to figure out where Betsy is, but it's taking awhile. Last time I talked to her, she sounded a little sleepy. I may get called in, so I'm forming a committee to take turns calling her. Want to come?”

“Sure. Where?”

“How about we meet at Crewel World? Will you go down now and open up?”

“I'm on my way.” Godwin broke the connection and stood up. He hadn't undressed; all he had to do was add a few layers.

Patricia Fairland was struggling with a bad dream. Her husband murmured “Pat?” reaching over to touch her shoulder and wake her.

“What, what? Oh, sorry, bad dream,” she whispered. “Thanks, 'm okay now.” She lay still until he went back to sleep, which didn't take long.

But she didn't want to reenter that dream again, so she slipped out of bed and went to the window. She lifted the heavy drape at its edge and looked into chaos. The line between air and ground had vanished into flying snow. She could see two blobs of blue-white light that were the miniature streetlights marking the gate to the pool, barely a dozen yards from the window. The lights didn't seem to have any stems, which meant the snow was drifted four feet deep right there. The big old elm beside the pool was waving its huge branches as if this were a hurricane, not a blizzard.

Nothing out in that can live,
she thought, shivering. She dropped the curtain and turned her back to it. She felt a painful gratitude for the thick carpet under her bare feet, the almost inaudible hum of the furnace as it heated the beautiful house and her and the children safe asleep and her husband in the big, luxurious bed. It had been a long, hard struggle. The last hurdle had been Peter's mother, but her signal of acceptance had been buying this house as a very belated wedding gift last year.

The phone rang softly—its bell was turned all but off and could not wake people already asleep. But Patricia hurried to it anyway and lifted the receiver. “Hello?” she murmured.

“Patricia, it's Jill. We're meeting at Crewel World to help Betsy. Can you come?”

Patricia's heart leaped. It was all over town about Betsy; no less than four people had called her earlier in the evening with the news that Betsy was missing. “Has she been found?”

“Sort of. She's in a ditch out there somewhere, we don't know where, and her engine won't start. But she's got a cell phone and we're going to keep calling her. Temperatures are dropping, and we don't want her to fall asleep.”

“Yes, of course. Oh, this is awful, she must be terrified ! But I don't think I can get out of the driveway, much less drive eight miles to town.” She gave a scared laugh. “You don't need to be trying to keep two of us awake.”

“That's right, I forgot you live that far out now. So never mind, go back to bed.”

“No, no, I was up anyway, looking out at the storm. And now I'm aware of Betsy's situation, I couldn't possibly sleep. I'm going downstairs to make a pot of coffee. Can you call me every so often, too, just to let me know how she's doing?”

“Sure. Say a prayer, okay?”

“Of course.”

 

John and Godwin's house was about five blocks from Crewel World. Godwin decided walking would be safer than driving his little sports car. He bundled up, but not too much—walking in snow was hard work, and it wasn't bitter cold out. He added a light sweater to his cotton shirt, then put on his navy pea coat and covered his head with a knit hat.

It took him twenty minutes to get to the shop, even walking down the middle of the streets where the snow was not so deep. As he approached, hatless and perspiring, there was someone already waiting in the shallow shelter of the doorway. It was Martha Winters. She was wearing a long scarf that wrapped around and around, making a sloping line between her shoulders and her fur-trimmed hat, with several feet left over to wave at him.