Foliage and Fatality Read online

  They discussed jobs and families the rest of the drive, taking breaks to admire the fall colors. Camille pulled over twice at lookouts so that they could snap some photos.

  Max commented after one such stop, “It always amazes me how much of this country is wooded. Coming originally from the plains of southern Minnesota where trees are the exception, I love these drives.”

  They drove into Harvest and found a parking spot on a side street near the busy downtown area.

  Vendors lined the street under colorful canopies. The smell of spicy cooked apples wafted through the air. Banjo music came from the other end of the block accompanied by clapping and foot stomping.

  They wandered along, tasting apple treats, touching handcrafted items, and listening to mountain music. Camille was a pleasant and informative companion. Lil purchased a rag rug in shades of red and gray, and Max found a hand-knit sweater to her liking. Max had just purchased a caramel apple when Camille pointed out a little quilt shop on a side street.

  “I’m not a quilter, and they probably wouldn’t let me in with this anyway.” Max waved the apple on a stick. “I’ll just wait for you on this bench. Don’t hurry.”

  She sat on a small iron bench overlooking Main Street and settled in to watch the people. A juggler in a clown costume held court with a group of kids and adults in the middle of the street. Dozens of people sat at picnic tables under a large open tent devouring apple pancakes being cooked by one of the community service groups. Off to the side, a woman dressed in a colonial costume demonstrated to several interested watchers how to make an apple head doll.

  Max savored the sweet caramel and tart apple of her own treat, frequently licking her lips and fingers, while trying to keep from dripping the caramel on her pants. As she tilted her head to one side in an effort to stop a large glob of caramel from falling, she caught sight of a familiar face.

  Art Carnel stood at the back of the crowd around the juggler, and hanging on to his arm was a redheaded woman. She pointed at the juggler, said something to Art and giggled, then buried her face in his arm. Maybe Art wasn’t as loyal a puppy as Camille believed.

  Max glanced back at the side street. No sign of Lil and Camille yet. Perhaps the woman was a sister or close cousin? She shouldn’t jump to conclusions.

  Max finished the apple and wrapped the stick in her napkin. After she threw it in a nearby bin, she turned back to the juggler crowd. Art Carnel was whispering in the redhead’s ear. Max shrugged and walked over to a rack of apple festival sweatshirts. As she picked one out, she noticed Lil and Camille coming toward her, both with large shopping bags and laughing. She glanced over her shoulder again at the juggler but saw no sign of Art.

  “Looks like a successful visit.”

  Lil opened her bag to display a kaleidoscope of fabrics in bright citrus colors. “I need to do a quilt for Ren. I made Rival a Star Wars one a couple of years ago, but haven’t done one for her. I’ll show you the pattern when we get back to the house.”

  Max nodded. “Nice. What about you?” She turned to Camille.

  “Wellll…” she pulled open her bag. Blues and browns in geometrics and plaids predominated. “I’m going to make a lap quilt.”

  “Great colors,” Max said.

  “It’s for Art,” Lil said in a singsong, teasing voice.

  Max’s eyebrows went up. “I thought it wasn’t a serious relationship.”

  “It isn’t,” Camille insisted. “I would do the same thing for any friend. I have, in fact. I really enjoy quilting but don’t have any kids or grandkids, so I do them for friends.”

  Max pursed her lips and nodded. There wasn’t much she could say to that; it made sense. She wouldn’t mention seeing Art with the redhead.

  The busy evening was a repeat of Friday night, working at the haunted house. The wind picked up just enough to cause the bare branches in the tallest trees to creak and rub in protest, adding to the atmosphere.

  Again, a good crowd took advantage of the dry weather to visit—many of them repeat customers whom Max recognized from the night before.

  As they were finishing up, Camille Bamford came up the sidewalk. “Is Terry around?”

  “He’s usually in the living room, seeing who he can scare,” Lil said. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, just a change of plans.” Camille helped put pencils and entry slips for the drawing back in a box. “The bus tour that was coming Monday afternoon will actually be arriving tomorrow and staying at the bed and breakfast outside of town. They wondered if they could tour tomorrow night instead, since the effects are much better at night. I’ll talk to him. Maybe we could shorten the public hours and give them a special tour at nine o’clock.”

  They carried the supplies and chairs into the house. Terry was turning off the lights and remotes. Camille explained the situation.

  Terry pulled a printed schedule out of his back pocket and opened it. “I don’t see why that wouldn’t work. We might need our volunteers to stay a little later than usual.” He raised his eyebrows and looked at his mother and aunt.

  “No problem,” Lil said and then grinned. “As long as we get naps in the afternoon.”

  “I think we can arrange that.”

  Melody had followed them in from the hall, resplendent in her witch costume and green makeup. “That’s an excellent idea.”

  “Mel’s always amenable to a nap.” Terry hugged his wife with one arm. “At least if they’re staying at the Inn, Wendell Welter should be mollified a little. He owns the Inn and was very opposed to the haunted house idea. Thought it was tacky,” he explained to Max and Lil. “And we want to keep him happy. The improvements to the Inn have really benefitted the town and tourism. He even got an award from the Chamber. So, I’ll talk to the others who are still here, and call the rest of the volunteers in the morning.”

  “That’d be great.” Camille smiled. “Thank you, Terry. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  Chapter Five

  Max

  Sunday dawned another beautiful day. Max and Lil both slept in. When they got up, Rosie was absent from their bedroom and greeted them with her usual exuberance when they got out to the porch.

  Ren jumped up and down. “Daddy and I already took Rosie for a walk! I tol’ him not to let her chase any squirrels, din’t I, Daddy?”

  “Yes, it’s a good thing you did, because she would have gotten away from me otherwise!” He patted Ren on her head.

  Max got a cup of coffee and sat down at the table. The sunlight on the back yard was beautiful and peaceful. She was beginning to think she should add a ‘scream’ porch to her condo in Colorado. “So we have the big tour tonight. Anything else on the docket for today?”

  “We’ll be going to church at 10:30,” Terry answered. “You are welcome to join us. Then we thought we’d get dinner at a nearby Amish restaurant.”

  “Let that be my treat,” Max said. “I really appreciate your hospitality.”

  Terry grinned. “I would like to argue with you, but my mom always said ‘Just say thank you.’ So, thank you.”

  “And Mother knows best.” Lil set a basket of rolls and small plates on the table. “Ren, would you get some knives?”

  “Sure!” Ren jumped down from her chair and raced to the kitchen.

  “And don’t run with them!” her grandmother called after her.

  Max enjoyed the simple service at a nearby Lutheran church. The restaurant served home-cooked food family style. Servers delivered platters heaped with roast beef and ham, bowls of mashed potatoes, sauerkraut, and fresh corn, and a crisp green salad to the table. Ren whispered to Max that they also had ‘very good apple pie with ice cream!’ They enjoyed that at the end of the meal.

  They spent the afternoon relaxing on the porch and napping to prepare for the big evening. Max and Lil decided to get a little more in the spirit of the event.

  “Ren, honey,” Lil said, “Do you have any old costumes around?”

  “Sure! We have a box upstairs.
Rival and I can bring it down for you!” She dashed off to find her brother.

  Lil shook her head. “I wish I had a tenth of that energy.”

  A few minutes later, they heard arguing and a box bumping down the steps. Rival dragged the box into the living room and Ren pulled the lid off.

  “Ta-da!” she shouted.

  “Is there anything in there that will fit us?” Max asked.

  “Sure!” Ren was already pulling masks, unidentifiable apparel, and wigs out of the box. “Some of these are my mom and dad’s.” She grinned at them as if she was divulging a family secret.

  Lil found a tangled gray wig in the pile and put it on. She struck a pose. “”What do you think?”

  Ren clapped her hands. “Awesome, Grandma!” She pulled a cape, shimmering silver but wrinkled, from the box. “Try this on.”

  Lil whipped it over her shoulders with a flourish. “How about a mask?”

  Ren pulled out a black eye mask. “This is a good one. You can be the Lone Ranger or a witch or—“

  “I’m surprised you’ve heard of the Lone Ranger,” Max said. “If you don’t want it, Lil, I’ll take it.”

  They continued to paw through the collection and finally each carried an armload to their suite and dumped them on the beds. After much trying on and preening in front of full-length mirror, they made their choices. Max opted for her black slacks and turtleneck, a red cape, the black mask, and a headband made of red and gold snakes fanning out in a crown.

  Lil found a gray long dress in her suitcase and added the wig and the silver cape. She used makeup to produce finely arched brows, heavily outlined eyes, and dark streaks radiating from her eyes.

  Max looked her over and laughed. “I can’t decide if you look more like Kiss or a Goth.”

  “Either would be okay. But that headpiece is awesome. As Ren would say.”

  Max opened the door. “Let’s go get an expert opinion.”

  Rival and Ren perched in chairs on the porch, knees up and thumbs beating a tattoo on handheld video game keys. Ren looked up first. “Wow! You guys look rad!”

  Max looked at Lil. “Is that good?”

  Rival scoffed. “Nobody says rad any more, Ren.”

  “I do.” She stuck up her nose. “It means you look really great.” Rival nodded his head vigorously in agreement.

  Melody came out on the porch with a plate of sandwiches. “Wow! Is that stuff all from our costume box? I think I recognize some of it.”

  “It’s our clothes, your accessories,” Lil said. “I’m really excited about this evening. I feel like a kid again.”

  “Don’t push it,” Max said.

  The costumes created a stir. Bert, one of Terry’s co-workers at the bank said, “My wife tried to get me to dress up but I was too chicken. You ladies look great!”

  Max looked around. “Is Art reading in the garden tonight?”

  “Oh, I think so,” Camille said. “I should probably check.” She was soon back with a puzzled look on her face. “He’s not out there. I hope he’s not sick.” She pulled out her phone and tapped a number. After a short wait, she put the phone away. “That’s odd. No answer and no voicemail. Maybe after we get started, I’ll check his apartment.” She looked genuinely concerned.

  The first part of the evening went quickly with plenty of customers. Laughs and screams echoed through the old house. Max and Lil continued to handle tickets until the time for the bus tour.

  Camille returned after a search for Art, shrugging her shoulders. “No sign of him. I can’t imagine him not calling at least.”

  She continued to look worried as they put away the ticket tables to get ready for the tour.

  Terry walked out on the porch rubbing his hands together. “Good—glad you’re getting things in order out here. The tour company paid for the whole group in advance so we don’t have to collect ticket money. Mom, I would like you to be the ‘host’ in the kitchen. Here’s a script that you can read or ad lib—whatever you’re comfortable with. Aunt Max, how about the living room?”

  “That’s fine.”

  He handed a couple of sheets of typed paper to each of them and turned to Camille. “Any luck finding Art?”

  “No. I’m worried.”

  “I’m sure there’s a logical explanation.” He scratched his head. “Aunt Max, would you consider reading the scary stories book out in the garden instead?”

  Max nodded, the snakes on her head waving as she did so. “I doubt if I can do it with as much drama as Art, but I’ll do my best.”

  “Great. We’ll split the group in two with about ten or twelve people each. And Camille, would you mind being the guide in the living room?” Terry asked. She agreed, and Max handed her the script.

  The back garden was quiet; the local customers had left, and the tour group wouldn’t arrive in the garden until they had been through the whole house. Max could hear laughter and chattering coming from around the front of the house as apparently the bus unloaded its passengers.

  The sounds made a surreal background to the silence of the garden, almost as if she was in a protected sphere. She walked slowly around the path with a flashlight, checking that all of the lights were on and admiring again the chicken wire dancers. A witch leaning on a tree had been knocked over so she set it up and made sure the spotlight below it was aimed correctly.

  She rounded a corner and stopped short, her heart in her throat. A man’s shoe protruded from under a bush and it appeared that there was a leg in the shoe. She screeched, turned to run back into the house for Terry, and then hesitated. Something wasn’t right—the angle? The exposed skin? She moved closer and played the light over the limb.

  She let out a deep breath as she identified the skin as plastic and saw that the appendage ended at the knee. A nudge with her foot put it back off the path and hidden enough to scare the people it was supposed to scare.

  Her heart still pounded as she arranged herself in Art’s chair and tried to even out her breathing before the tour reached her. The disconnect of the beautiful evening, the lighted trees, and the ghostly dancing figures with the spookier garden installations and sinister sounds from the wind in the trees kept her on edge.

  Laughter and screams came out of the house as the tour moved through the rooms. Pulsing or colored lights visible through the windows advertised their progress. She leafed through the book and picked out two short stories to read to her guests.

  Finally, Terry’s voice cut through the garden. “This is the high point of our tour, the Haunted Garden. When you reach the back, you will find Medusa reading some bedtime stories.” He cackled. Lots of excited chatter followed his speech and small groups began to move along the paths.

  Max stood and moved into the shadows, unashamedly eavesdropping on conversations. Most of the tour members seemed to be her age or older.

  Three women walked along one path, discussing a male tour member who was ‘certainly free with his hands.’ Other comments were interspersed with oohs and ahs over the white flowers proliferating in the garden.

  Two men discussed their golf scores and missed most of the scary spots. One man mentioned the story of the nun’s habit; apparently Terry had passed it on in his introduction to the house and its history. Occasionally, startled squeaks followed by embarrassed laughter wafted through the garden.

  As the first group neared her chair, Max sat again and opened the storybook. Max expected that one of the children’s stories would probably be enough for this group. She waited until ten or twelve had gathered around her.

  “This story has been handed down for generations in these hills and people swear it’s true. It was a dark, stormy night…”

  One woman, perhaps a little younger than Max, listened thoughtfully and nodded. She had soft blonde curls and blue eyes that widened in alarm during the tense parts of the story.

  When Max finished the story, she closed the book and gave an evil grin. “Any questions?”

  Everyone in the group shook their
heads and applauded. Several thanked her and someone said “Nice job!” They started to move away, but the blonde woman hung back.

  Max tilted her head and waited.

  The woman tittered a little, and almost blushed. “I just wanted to ask you about someone. Al Carson? Do you know him?”

  Max frowned. “You mean someone from here? Burnsville?”

  “Yes,” the woman rushed ahead. “We met on a cruise and he was from here, but I haven’t been able to get hold of him on his cell, and I don’t see him in the phone book. He must not have a landline. So many people don’t any more. I just thought you might know him.”

  “Oh, no. My sister and I are just visiting her son—my nephew—and we volunteered to help out here. We’ve only met a few local people.”

  Now the woman giggled. “I’m sorry. I just assumed…Great job on the story, by the way.”

  “Thank you. I’m just filling in for the guy who usually does it. Enjoy your trip!”

  “Thank you.” She moved on down the path as another group from the tour bus gathered to hear the story.

  More applause greeted the end of the story, and the last group finally headed back to the bus.

  Max closed her book and hoisted herself from the chair. When she got to the house, she turned out the garden lights. The last of the bus tour people headed out the front door and the volunteers gathered in the living room.

  Camille brought out a couple of bottles of wine, plastic cups, a wedge of cheese, and crackers. Rival and Ren eyed the wine bottles with suspicion, and Camille said “Oops! I forgot. There’re juice boxes in the kitchen refrigerator. Do you want to go get them?”

  The kids raced to be first in the kitchen, accompanied by shouts and a little pushing.

  Terry just shook his head and turned to the group. “Great effort tonight, folks. The tour guide was very impressed and she will recommend the stop for more groups. I think we’re going to make a sizeable contribution toward the new auditorium.”