Mind Your Own Beeswax (13 page)

“Maybe Lantern Man killed them,” Stanley said to a chorus of snickers mingled with just as many ahas. The snickerers couldn’t completely buy into the idea of a ghost wandering the old logging trail, but they still wouldn’t set foot in The Lost Mile. The aha-ers were totally convinced that evil incarnate walked the woods.

“Just so it’s perfectly clear,” I said. “I didn’t make up Lantern Man.”

“I’m not so sure,” Mom added.

“I believe he’s real,” Milly said.

“He exists,” Stanley insisted.

Stanley’s comments generated some lively discussion. While they debated whether or not a ghost could actually kill (based on the damage Lantern Man had done to camping equipment, the possibility seemed to exist in some of their minds), I worked on a more immediate problem—how to remove Mom from my store.

“Shouldn’t you go help Grams make casseroles?” I said to her. “She’s getting up there in age. That’s a lot of work for one woman. Three casseroles might be more than she can handle.”

“We chopped and measured everything early this morning,” Mom said. “She just has to mix the ingredients together and put them in the oven. We were going to freeze one for later, but now we’ll take that one over to Rita, the poor woman. A mother shouldn’t ever have to bury her child. So sad.” That was the extent of Mom’s fluffy side. She clapped her hands together and said, “Now, let’s get back to work.”

I used my cell phone to call Grams.

“Do you need help?” I asked.

“No, precious. Everything is in the oven, cooking away. But you’re so sweet to offer.”

So that was that, at least for today. Mom was on the clock and she wasn’t punching out any time soon.

Customers kept coming in the store all afternoon, congregating up front or outside on the Adirondack chairs I’d arranged once the weather had improved. Some of them went into the old choir loft, which I’d converted into a cozy area for weekly events, like the seniors’ Monday afternoon card games. Customers stayed up there all afternoon playing gin rummy and throwing around more murder theories than cards.

And the theories and motives grew wilder as the day progressed. After a while, I couldn’t listen anymore.

Lori Spandle came in to open her mouth in an ongoing effort to get thrown out of my store.

“That Hunter Wallace is one sexy man,” she said, knowing full well I was seeing him and wanting to ruffle my feathers. She stuck her big boobs out as far as they went. “Too bad I’m married.”

“That never stopped you before,” I replied.

Lori flounced away.

The only regular customers I didn’t see before we locked up at five o’clock were the families of the victims, who were presumably grieving and making funeral arrangements, and Stu Trembly, who probably had more business than I did over at his bar and grill. Good thing it was Carrie Ann’s day to work or who knows how far she would have slipped into a pitcher of tap beer over there.

“I need your help,” I said to her after we locked up, before she could get into her car and drive away.

Carrie Ann looked beat. “Now what?”

I had one of Grams’s casseroles in my hands. I’d offered to take it over to Norm Cross before joining the rest of my family for dinner. Mom hadn’t argued.

“Help me deliver this casserole to Norm,” I said to my cousin.

“Sure, why not. I don’t have anything better to do.”

With that, we hopped into my ten-year-old, rusted-out pickup truck and headed north out of town. “I can’t believe this old bucket of bolts is still running,” Carrie Ann said.

“Watch what you say about her!” I said, laughing. “I take good care of my baby.” Which was true. She never had to wait past her due date for an oil change.

We crossed the bridge over the Oconomowoc River, followed the curve onto Creamery Road, then cut south again. I could have walked to Norm and Hetty Cross’s house faster than I could drive there, since there wasn’t any quick-and-easy access to their property from the main road.

The prefabricated home they owned hadn’t aged well. Set back among large shadowy trees, corrosion had done its work and I could see rusty joints and sagging where there shouldn’t be any. The front steps consisted of cement blocks and a few planks of mossy pine.

Norm opened the front door as soon as we got out of the truck. He filled every inch of the doorway.

“We brought you a casserole,” I said.

“Come on in.” Norm backed up, creating enough space for us to cram in.

I’d never been inside his house before. The last time I’d been on this property, I’d been half the size I am today and Hetty had escorted me back the way I came, yanking my ear while I squealed, leaning into her to relieve the pain. Now I was all grown up and inside the Witch’s lair.

Or rather her kitchen, which smelled of recently fried bacon. Neither Hetty nor Norm would have earned any clean house awards. Norm made room on the counter by pushing aside objects with a full sweep of his arm. I set the casserole down.

And promptly fell over something alive, wiggling on the floor. It had wrapped itself around my legs, throwing me off balance, and I was down before I knew it. The thing attacked, diving on my chest, raking its claws on my skin, and attempting to attack my face. I hid behind my hands and felt paralysis setting in.

“Help,” I sputtered, fear cutting off my airway.

Carrie Ann reached down and rescued me, hauling me up from the floor. “Nobody’s ever died from face kisses,” she said. “Boy, you really flipped out.”

“What is that thing?” I asked, safely tucked behind my cousin. It had to be the ugliest dog I’d ever seen, a cross between a Chihuahua and something hairier. An alien from space right out of an Aurora story. Hairy antennas. Whiskers in all the wrong places. Long chin hair like a billy goat.

“Not sure what kind of mix she is,” Norm said. “She came that way from the shelter.”

“Oh, how sweet,” Carrie Ann said. “A rescue dog.”

“You girls want to sit down?”

“I don’t get along great with dogs,” I said, backing up. At least my heart rate was heading back to normal.

“You’re around Hunter’s dog all the time,” Carrie Ann pointed out.

“Ben is different.”

My cousin had her hands on her hips now, chastising me. “You need to get over this goofy fear of dogs.” Then to Norm, “Story was attacked by a dog when she was a kid and can’t seem to get past it.”

“Aha,” Norm said, understanding.

Carrie Ann didn’t let it go. “It’s a tiny, tiny dog. How could you be afraid?”

“I’m fine,” I said, forcing myself forward again. My cousin was right. Humiliating, really, to be afraid of
that
little thing. But size wasn’t always everything. What about piranhas? Or scorpions?

Feeling slightly foolish, I sat down and we exchanged expressions of sympathy. I wished I could have come up with something more original than “I’m sorry for your loss” and “She had a lot of life still in her” but words couldn’t possibly help Norm with his grief. Going through the motions was all we knew how to do.

Two minutes later we were out of conversation. Yet how could we leave the man there all by himself?

The hairy little dog sniffed around under the table, lapping up crumbs, which were plentiful. I started to relax and even risked extending a finger so the animal could sniff it. This wasn’t so bad.

During a stretch of silence, I eyed Carrie Ann, hoping she would think of something more to say, because my mind was totally blank. Norm started the ball rolling again. “I heard you were there when they found my wife,” he said to me.

I nodded, not liking the new direction.

“Did she say anything? Any last words for me?”

I was disappointed in myself for not coming up with something for Norm to hang on to for the rest of his life, even if it had to be a lie. But I was caught more off balance by his question than when the dog tripped me. I dumbly shook my head. “She’d passed on by the time we got there,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

What a ditz I was! If I’d been the one in his shoes, I’d want to know that my dying loved one had said something important. Like “Tell Story I love her.” Why hadn’t I thought of something like that?

Norm looked disappointed in me, too. “Hetty hated when kids came into The Lost Mile,” he said. “She thought only bad would come of it, like what happened with all you teenagers drinking that time. I don’t blame her for worrying so much, because now look what happened. One of you, from that same gang, came back and killed her.”

Somehow Norm had clumped me in with Lauren Kerrigan, making me feel guilty by association, like I had personally killed Johnny Jay’s dad, then came back to do the same to his wife. And what was with the gang reference? Weren’t we just ordinary kids?

“It had to have been an accident,” I said, hearing Carrie Ann start to sniffle next to me. If she started crying, I might break down and join her. I shot her a don’t-get-started glare, just as the dog tinkled on top of my right flip-flop. Gross! I picked up a soiled paper napkin from the table and blotted my foot.

“She does that sometimes,” Norm said, seeing it happen and not even lifting his voice to reprimand his dog. “She must like you.”

Yeah, right.

“The police will sort everything out,” Carrie Ann said. “In the meantime, do you have any family you can call, someone who can come and stay with you?”

“None I’d want around.”

At least Carrie Ann knew what to say, while I sat there acting like my mouth was numb from novocaine, and anything coming out would be pure slobber. Next she said, “There’s some talk around town that Lantern Man might have been involved in what happened.”

Norm’s face clouded over faster than a spring day in Wisconsin, and his tone of voice wasn’t pleasant when he said, “Stupid talk. Who said that?”

Carrie Ann blinked. “I don’t really remember who started it.”

“Stupid because Lantern Man wouldn’t hurt anybody?” I really wanted to know, amazed at Norm’s strong reaction. “Or stupid to believe he exists?”

“It’s time for you girls to go.” Norm stood up abruptly in case we didn’t get the verbal message.

“I’m sorry we upset you,” I said.

“I hate gossip,” Norm said. “It hurts people.”

“Me, too,” Carrie Ann said. “I hate it, too.”

“If there’s anything I can do . . .” I made the mistake of saying, implying that I might be able to redirect any Lantern Man talk if that would make Norm feel better. Not that I could really do that without raising more gossip, but if saying it helped . . .

Norm jumped in before I could finish. “Now that you mention it,” he said, “there is. I’m going to have to take care of a lot of details in the next several days, and Dinky isn’t used to being alone. Can she stay with you?”

Dinky? Norm bent down, fumbled on the floor, and came up with the little ratty dog. Oh no!

“Uh-uh,” I said, realizing my quick reflex storytelling needed major polishing. I’d have to find time to practice. “But I work at the store every day,” I managed to say.

“She likes to visit. See how friendly she is? Your customers will love her.”

“Some of my customers will object,” I said, thinking about his dog’s peeing problem.

I looked at the scrawny thing and didn’t feel one iota of affection welling from my heart. Was my heart two sizes too small? Or was my reluctance because my foot reeked of dog urine? I pondered a way out. If only I could find the perfect excuse. If only I had more time.

“Of course she can come for a visit,” Carrie Ann said, taking Dinky out of Norm’s arms and cuddling her. My cousin had claimed responsibility. I liked that much better. “Does she have any special toys we should take along?”

Norm and Carrie Ann made a big deal of collecting Dinky’s dishes, kibble, toys, and a pink, grimy “blankie.” We were bogged down with enough dog paraphernalia to open a doggy daycare when Norm thanked us for the casserole and shut the door.

“What are you doing?” I said, hiding my hands behind my back when Carrie Ann tried to get me to take Dinky from her. “You’re taking the creature.
You
offered, not me.”

“Story, how could you even think of saying no to him?”

“I didn’t say no. But I was getting ready to.” I pitched the doggy equipment into the back of my truck and got in.

“I saw it in your eyes,” Carrie Ann said, getting in with Dinky. “And I couldn’t believe you were going to refuse to help him. His wife is dead. Shame on you.”

“But look at it.” Dinky blinked back at me. “And it peed on my foot, so it isn’t even housebroken properly. It’s your problem, not mine.”

“And she is
not
an
it
.”

“She, then. She’s your problem, not mine.”

“I’m not allowed to have pets in my apartment.”

We were down the road from Norm’s when I discovered that little tidbit. “What!”

“No pets.”

“Then you’ll have to hide it . . . er . . . her.”

“The landlady lives in the apartment next to me. I’m afraid you’re stuck. But don’t worry a bit, I’ll answer any dog questions that come up.”

“Oh dear God!” I yelled, sounding exactly like my mother.