Murder of a Hermit, page 17
Although Summer murmured a couple of sympathetic words regarding the crick, she made no attempt to stop her sister. Neither did Nate. They were too engaged in each other. As Hope walked toward the doorway, she passed by the barrister desk and picked up the book from the blotter. She didn’t plan on bringing it to the attic immediately, but she had no intention of leaving it behind, either. They were already missing one book. She wasn’t going to take the chance that Volume I would disappear a second time.
Exiting the study, Hope quietly pulled the door closed behind her. She instantly wished that she had taken one of the lanterns, because the hall was a murky tunnel. She moved with slow steps and a cautious hand on the wall until the light from the windows in the foyer illuminated her way. The boutique was her first stop, and she promptly locked the front door to prevent any additional surprise visitors, welcome or unwelcome. Then Hope – with a candle to supplement the windows – went upstairs. After tucking the book between the spare pillows in the linen closet, she headed to the shower. The water was only lukewarm, but it still felt good, and the crick in her neck eased.
When she emerged from the bathroom, she found Summer sitting with both lanterns on the edge of the stairs, waiting for her.
‘What’s the verdict?’ Hope asked, already knowing that the answer was a favorable one from the happy blush in her sister’s cheeks.
‘Nate and I have a date for Saturday night.’
‘Brilliant.’
‘I tried to find out about the case,’ Summer went on. ‘Especially about Carter, because we need more information on him. But it was difficult. Nate is so tight-lipped when it comes to his work.’
Hope smiled. ‘Am I correct in assuming that you found a way to loosen the dear detective’s lips?’
Summer’s nose twitched. ‘I mentioned to him that if the weather is good on Saturday evening, we should go for a drive to watch the stars and the fireflies.’
The smile grew. ‘Stars and fireflies. Very romantic.’
The nose twitched again. ‘I suggested that the mountains would be the best place, because it’s much darker up there than in the city.’
‘Much darker,’ Hope concurred.
‘I’m not sure exactly how the subject came up, but we agreed that Bent Mountain has particularly nice views.’
Hope’s smile became a grin.
‘And then,’ Summer said, her nose twitching once more, ‘I got Carter Dalton’s home address.’
EIGHTEEN
Bent Mountain was indeed bent. The road twisted and curled, up sharp inclines and around winding curves. It snaked through dense forest and emerged abruptly at the tip of a steep precipice, after which a hairpin turn brought it back to the forest. The road climbed ever higher, spiraling upward and shrinking in width until it became no more than a narrow single lane with a sheer rock face on one side and the vertical drop off a cliff on the other.
‘What do we do if a vehicle approaches?’ Summer asked.
‘Pray that it doesn’t,’ Hope replied, ‘because there’s no room for us – or them – to pull over and let the other pass.’
Summer gave a little whimper. ‘I’m really glad that you’re the one driving, because I couldn’t do it.’
Hope glanced at her in surprise. Summer was normally a confident and competent driver. She found her sister a spring-apple shade of green.
‘All the twists and turns are getting to you, eh?’
Summer nodded. ‘The leftovers from the snack platters that I ate before we left the brownstone aren’t sitting well.’
‘Be grateful that you only had some crackers with a half of a pear and nothing more daring.’
She nodded again and added another whimper.
‘I’d stop so that your equilibrium can readjust itself,’ Hope said, ‘but there’s nowhere to go except forward right now. We passed a dirt driveway – at least I think it was a driveway – a short while ago. The next one that I see, I’ll pull in and give you a rest.’
‘No, it would be better if you kept going. There’s no sense in stopping and starting. It’ll only help for a minute, and then the motion sickness will kick in again. Let’s just get to Carter’s house. I’ll have a long break there.’ There was a brief pause, and then Summer added, ‘I can promise you one thing.’
‘And that is?’
‘I will not under any circumstances be coming to Bent Mountain for my date with Nate on Saturday evening.’
Hope laughed. ‘The queasiness would probably interfere with the enjoyment of the stars and the fireflies.’
At that moment, they reached a particularly tight set of bends in the road.
‘They sure picked an appropriate name for this place,’ Summer muttered, clutching her stomach with both hands.
‘I was thinking about that myself. Or whether there was at one time a family named Bent who owned the land up here.’
‘That could be, too. I always assumed that Poor Mountain was based on a family surname, but then I read that there used to be a poorhouse on the mountain many years ago. Hopefully it was located at the base rather than the tip, because forcing the ill and the indigent to climb to the top of the mountain for food and shelter is really taking it a step too far, no pun intended.’
Hope slammed on the brakes.
‘Oh why,’ Summer moaned, clutching her stomach even harder. ‘Why did you have to stop so suddenly?’
‘Because of that.’ Hope pointed through the open window.
On their left side was a gravel driveway with a tarnished aluminum mailbox set just off the road. Both the mailbox and the equally tarnished metal post on which it sat had numerous dents and scratches, no doubt from vehicle collisions in the darkness of the night. Reflective silver lettering had been attached to the door of the mailbox. The last letter was missing and several others were beginning to peel off, but they were still legible enough for Hope and Summer: C Dalto.
‘Carter Dalton!’ Summer exclaimed.
‘We were lucky to spot it,’ Hope said, ‘because the navigation system is currently showing only wilderness and no homesites around us. The address you coaxed out of Nate got us to the correct main road, but up on some of these mountains, it’s nearly impossible to find an exact house number if you haven’t been to the place before and aren’t already familiar with its location.’
‘Good,’ Summer declared in a tone of triumph. ‘Then there’s a chance that we’re here before anybody else.’
Hope turned into the driveway and started to travel down it slowly. Going fast – or even at a moderate speed – wasn’t an option. The driveway was only marginally wider than the car, and its gravel hadn’t been replenished in a long time. It was a minefield of sunken holes and uneven ruts and heavily eroded gullies, many of which were concealed by a thick layer of fallen leaves and other vegetative debris.
As they bumped along, Summer gulped. ‘This is almost as bad as the climb up the mountain.’
‘It can’t be much farther,’ Hope told her, trying to sound optimistic, although in actuality, she had no idea what the distance might be. ‘The house will appear at any second.’
‘I don’t care how spectacular anyone’s house is,’ Summer remarked. ‘No view could possibly be so magnificent as to justify suffering through this drive twice every day, first out and then back in. And we’re doing it in perfect weather right now. Can you imagine what it would be like in a downpour or with snow and ice covering the road?’
‘It wouldn’t be fun,’ Hope agreed. ‘But I’m starting to wonder whether there will be any view at all.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, take a look around us. It’s almost entirely pine. Old-growth eastern white pine, to be specific. They’re mature trees and probably at least a hundred years old, maybe substantially more. They wouldn’t survive for that long with the wind and the storms on the exposed side of a mountain. I’m not entirely sure, because all the curves and switchbacks have muddled my sense of direction, but I think that we’re in the interior of the woods rather than along the edge of them.’
Summer leaned forward in her seat for a better look through the windshield. ‘You’re right. I don’t see an end to the pine stands in any direction. There’s blue sky above us but no blue sky ahead of us or to either side. Although I believe’ – she squinted slightly – ‘that there might be a clearing coming up…’
Her eyes hadn’t deceived her. After another few rocky jolts along the driveway, followed by one large hole that was deep enough to potentially break either an axle or a leg depending on which had the ill-fortune to fall into it, the pines parted to reveal a modest clearing. The clearing was divided into three unequal parts. The smallest area – on the left – was occupied by a fenced vegetable garden. The intermediate-sized area – on the right – consisted of a wildflower meadow filled with towering goldenrod in stunning full bloom. And the largest area in the middle held a chic two-story log cabin that had more skylights than roof and a wrap-around porch on both the ground and the upper floor.
‘Wow!’ was the sisters’ joint reaction.
Hope pulled the car on to the thin border of wilted grass and clover that lay at the front of the cabin, and for a minute, neither she nor Summer spoke, too surprised – and impressed – by what they saw.
‘It’s lovely. And it’s designed to fit so beautifully into the surrounding forest,’ Summer said. ‘I didn’t think that Carter lived in a one-room hut with a pit privy behind it, but I also didn’t expect this. Consider how long it must have taken and what it must have cost to bring all that sawn timber up here.’
‘Consider also how isolated it is,’ Hope added. ‘Either you really want to live in the midst of nature, or—’
‘Or you really want to get away from the rest of the world,’ Summer finished for her.
After sitting for another minute in silent admiration of the situation of the cabin, they climbed out of the car, closing the doors softly behind them, as though any sharp noise between the intermittent birdsong and the light hum of the wind through the upper pine branches would irreparably damage the peace of the place.
‘Do we assume that it’s all right to take a look around?’ Summer asked, with a touch of uneasiness.
Hope shared her sister’s hesitancy. There hadn’t been a gate blocking the entrance to the driveway or any visible No Trespassing signs along the way, but it was nonetheless wise to be cautious before wandering about rural North Carolina. Plenty of people in the mountains were armed – some quite heavily – and many did not take kindly to seeing strangers step on to their property, even harmless strangers with innocent intentions.
‘There isn’t a vehicle,’ Hope observed. ‘And nobody has appeared at the front door or on the porches—’
‘With either a warm welcome or a double-barreled shotgun aimed at us,’ Summer interjected.
‘Happily not, with regard to the latter. If there was a person in the cabin, they would have surely heard the car and come outside by now to find out who we are and what we want. It would be impossible to live up here for even a little while and not become attuned to which sounds are natural and which are man-made.’
Summer nodded. ‘So we’re safe and alone. Probably.’
‘Probably,’ Hope concurred. ‘But we should keep an eye out just in case. Somebody could be in the woods or have driven away on an errand and return at any time. They might not be thrilled to discover us here.’
‘Then we won’t dawdle. Better to learn what we can and make a clean exit. Plus, the police will show up eventually. I’m not eager to have Nate discover us here, either. He’ll think that we’re sniffing around.’
‘We are sniffing around.’
‘Yes, except Nate doesn’t need to know that.’
Hope smiled. ‘Because it might interfere with the romantic effect of the stars and the fireflies?’
‘Precisely. Speaking of insects, before we go to the cabin, let’s take a quick peek at that wildflower meadow to the right. I can see a million bumblebees working busily on the goldenrod. There could be some other interesting native plants in the patch. As you know, I’m always on the hunt for a rare or unusual variety.’
Before they had taken even half a dozen steps in the direction of the meadow, Summer was already identifying and critiquing species.
‘In another week or two, those blue asters will open. And over there is a healthy clump of mountain mint. That butterfly weed is brown and has gone dormant now, but it appears to have had a lot of nice seed heads earlier in the season. This area must have had some heavy rain recently, because the sage is flopping. It doesn’t have enough tall neighbors for proper support. I wish that the drive up here wasn’t such a nightmare, because I would love to see those chrysanthemums when they explode in color. If you look over in that corner’ – Summer pointed for Hope’s benefit – ‘the first buds are just beginning to—’
She broke off so abruptly that Hope glanced around hurriedly, thinking that her sister had spotted somebody approaching them. But there was no one in sight.
Summer started to speak again slowly and once more directed Hope’s attention to the chrysanthemums in the corner. ‘That apricot cultivar with the red-tipped petals was only introduced to the public a year or two ago, and it certainly isn’t native to the region. Chrysanthemums aren’t native to North America at all.’
Hope shook her head, not understanding why that had startled Summer to such a degree.
‘Which means,’ she explained, ‘that the specimen was planted here recently and selected purposefully even though it won’t survive long-term.’
Hope shook her head again, still not understanding the import.
‘And next to it are more chrysanthemums,’ Summer continued. ‘Although attractive, they’re not horticulturally noteworthy. They’re readily available for purchase everywhere. Except take a look at the buds. A few have opened on the lower sunny side. Do you see the color?’
‘They’re white.’
Summer responded with a nod. ‘To the average person standing in the nursery with a hundred different pots to choose from, they’re simply pretty white flowers. But in this place, with an extremely unusual chrysanthemum next to them, and all of these other plants – flopping sage aside – that I now realize have been sited and managed with great care, it’s clear that they aren’t simply pretty white flowers. They have deliberate meaning. White chrysanthemums are a flower of grief and lamentation. In some East Asian and European countries, they’re used at funerals and on graves.’
Hope looked at the white chrysanthemums, and the apricot chrysanthemums with the red-tipped petals, and the blooming goldenrod and the nearly blooming asters, and all at once, she understood. ‘It isn’t a wildflower meadow. It’s a memorial garden.’
‘Exactly.’
As she and Summer gazed contemplatively at the garden, Hope noticed a glint next to the flopping sage. The sunlight was evidently reflecting off something, but there were too many riotous stems and leaves blocking her view. Stepping forward, she lifted the plants gently out of the way, and a cloud of tiny dappled butterflies rose around her. They had apparently been feasting on the nectar in the sage’s azure flowers. There was another glint, and this time, Hope saw where it came from.
Two oval stones rested flat on the ground with their curved edges touching. Both were polished quartzite and approximately two feet at their widest point. One was an ivory shade and slightly larger. The other was rose colored and slightly smaller. Each was inscribed with a name. The ivory read: Kay Douglass Dalton. The rose-colored read: Bonnie Jean Dalton. Nothing else was written on them. There were no dates, or religious symbols, or poignant sayings. They were stones of remembrance, not tombstones. Based on their spacing and location, it was clear that graves did not lie beneath them.
Summer – who hadn’t stepped into the garden with Hope – asked, ‘Did you discover something interesting?’
‘Yes. We now know why the sage is flopping and doesn’t have enough tall neighbors for proper support.’
‘We do? Why?’
‘Because the neighbors are short.’ Hope lifted the sage further and motioned toward the ground.
Summer moved closer, and when she saw the stones, she gave a little cry. ‘Oh!’
The sisters stood together, enveloped in a mass of dainty butterflies and fuzzy black-and-yellow bumblebees.
‘I don’t think,’ Summer said after a long moment, ‘that anything Austin told us was true.’
Hope looked at her questioningly.
‘I don’t think,’ she went on, ‘that Jill was having an affair with Carter. I don’t think that Gina or Miranda was having an affair with Carter, either. I don’t think that Carter was having an affair with anyone. I think that Carter was in mourning.’
‘You’re right,’ a voice confirmed.
With a shared gasp, Hope and Summer whirled around in astonishment. There had been no approaching footsteps, or a shadow drawing near from either side, or even the slightest hint of a person being in the clearing with them. But a woman was now standing one short step away, next to the clump of mountain mint.
‘You look so sad about Kay and Bonnie Jean,’ the woman said. ‘But there’s no reason for it. Nor should you be sad about Carter. They’re not lost or separated any more. They’re all together now. It’s as it should be.’
NINETEEN
‘Peapod?’
‘Um, yes, thank you.’ Hope took a bulging, freshly picked peapod from the woven willow basket that the woman held toward her.
The woman offered the basket to Summer next, but Summer just stared at it, having yet to recover from the shock of her appearing without any sort of warning behind them in the clearing.
