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“My mother resents everyone who has a life that she suspects is better than hers.” I frowned as I pulled into the driveway. The wind was shaking the trees hard and we were setting in for a long, extended storm.
Grams peered out the window. “Good heavens. We have some ferocious storms in the highlands, but we don’t have trees like this. Do they often blow over?”
“Sometimes, yes. Their root systems aren’t deep. The firs, that is. A good storm on saturated ground can send them tumbling down on people’s houses. But I love the area,” I said, parking as close to the house as I could without destroying my walkway flowers. “There’s something bracing about living here. There’s a wildness out here on the peninsula that isn’t often matched. Also, up in the Cascades. Our land here is alive and watching, always.”
I turned off the ignition and motioned toward the house. “You still have the key?”
“On my chain, yes.”
“Then go ahead and I’ll bring in the groceries.”
“I’m not out of the Wizard of Oz, child. I won’t melt.” Grams laughed as she stepped into the face of the storm, instantly getting soaked by the absolute downpour.
It was raining so hard that the drops were flying sideways—a phenomenon that west-coasters in our area were familiar with. It literally rained sideways at times, thanks to the rain and the wind, and ripped umbrellas to shreds. Which is why so many of us locals never bothered with them. What was the use of buying an umbrella only to have it destroyed within a week?
She grabbed a bag of groceries, while I picked up the other two, along with my gym bag, and we hustled up the steps. As she unlocked the door and we hurried inside, my phone rang. I hastened to set the bags down on the sofa and pulled out my cell. It was Daisy.
“Hey, Daisy, sorry—I just got home.”
“Should I call back?”
“No, I just need to turn the heat up,” I said. “One second.” I checked the woodstove and added more pellets, amping up the heat. Then, shivering as I stood close to it, I said, “Okay, what’s up? What do you need?”
Grams carried the groceries into the kitchen, then she shed her coat and took mine while she was at it, opening the door to shake them off. After that, she shut the door and headed back into the kitchen. I assumed she was putting away the food.
“Are you available? I thought I’d bring over the mug shots of the three individuals we matched prints to, in order to see if you remember any of them.”
“Sure, come on over. I’d like to see what you found out.”
“I’ll be over in ten minutes. Maybe fifteen, depending on the roads right now. This heavy of a storm, there’s bound to be delays. Have a pot of hot coffee ready for me, if you would.” She hung up.
“Start some coffee, Grams! The sheriff will be here in about ten minutes.” I shivered and added yet more fuel to the stove, then headed for my bedroom. “I’m going to get a towel for my hair.”
* * *
By the time I had dried off my hair and wiped the water off the leather of my pants and vest, Grams had made a fresh pot of coffee. She also had a batch of strawberry scones ready to go in the oven. Promptly fifteen minutes after her call, Daisy arrived.
“Hey, come in,” I opened the door.
Daisy handed me her jacket and her hat, and then stood over the stove for a couple minutes while I hung them up. I led her into the kitchen, where Grams poured her a cup of coffee and we settled at the table. The scones were beginning to smell heavenly, and I brought out the butter and honey, while Grams set three dessert plates on the table, along with three knives.
“Oh, I’m in for a treat,” Daisy said. “I’m not sure what you’ve got baking, but I’m all in.” She settled in her chair, sipping the coffee and closing her eyes. “This hits the spot. I’ve been out on the road most of the morning, and a good share of that, not in the car. We had two DUIs this morning, plus a mess to clean up in the hardware store, of all places.”
“At Art’s?” I turned to Grams. “Art Holly owns a small hardware store. He’s also a handyman—repairs small appliances and always does a good job. He’s always struck me as a low-maintenance friend. Somebody whose easy going and always ready to lend a hand.”
“He is,” Daisy said. “But unfortunately, this was the morning that Randall Johson chose to drive a riding lawn mower through the front window of Art’s store.”
I groaned. “Oh good gods. That’s not good.”
“Randall belongs to that rare order of citizens who manage to inflict all sorts of stupidity on the town’s populace,” Daisy explained to Grams. “Two years ago Randall set off the fireworks by accident, while they were still being stored in the shed near the bay. Starlight Hollow’s Fourth-of-July celebration came a few days early. Then there was the time when Randall got the bright idea to go bull-riding, and ended up somehow holding onto the back of one of Joe O’Bradley’s bulls. The bull wasn’t pleased, and both he and Randal smashed into the side of a sedan driven by Widow Anja.”
“Good heavens,” Grams said. “What a mess.”
“That’s putting it mildly. Nobody was hurt except the car, thank gods, but it could have easily turned into a tragedy. Oh, lest we forget, it was Randall who was brought the live grenade to the Historian’s Club. It was a Vietnam War memento that was still live. Thank gods one of our veterans recognized that and got it away from him. Randall thought it was a replica.”
Grams stared at Daisy. “He sounds like he should be wearing a hazard sign on his back.”
“If I had my way, that’s exactly what I’d do. Tattoo a ‘beware of Randall sign on his forehead.’ He’s not a bad guy, he’s entertaining as hell, but you don’t dare let him touch anything in case he manages to find the one flaw, the one problem, the one exception to the rule.” Daisy sighed, shaking her head.
