Bernadine Fagan - Nora Lassiter 02 - Murder in the Maine Woods (17 page)

TWENTY-TWO

Vivian was not home. Tacked to her front door was a note addressed to me.

Nora, if you get here before I’m back just wait. I
forgot I had to go into town for something.

Sorry, Vivian.

Sorry
. She was sorry?

I’d called her last night to make this appointment and th
e trip took over half and hour, and now I should sit around and wait for her? I snatched the note off the door, crumpled it, and tossed it into the stalks of the dead rose bush by the door.

Just to be nosy, I walked around back and peered in the kitchen window. Nothing much to be seen, except dirty dishes and two fifty-pound bags of Humdrill dog food at the edge of the pantry.

I wondered what was going on with Vivian.

I called Mary Fran on my cell.

“Hi, assistant. Do me favor and check around for Vivian at the Country Store, library, pharmacy and wherever else you can think of.”

“What’s up? Big doings?”

“Not too big. I had an appointment with her and she’s not here. If I had her cell number, I’d call her.”

“Well, F-Y-I, she’s in the pharmacy. I saw her go in
about ten minutes ago.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Wait, wait. Nora, don’t hang up. Do you want me to keep an eye out?”

“Sure,” I said, not really interested. Evidently, Vivian only planned to spend a short time helping at the library, and a long time avoiding me. I did not understand why.

As I was getting into Ce-Ce something suddenly occurred to me and I got out and went around back again. I wrote down the name of the dog food. Just a hunch. Buster didn’t poison Vivian’s dogs but someone, or something did. 

As I was pulling out of Vivian’s driveway, a huge black SUV was pulling into Lenny’s driveway. After the episode at the lake, I was interested in anyone associated with droopy pants Lenny. It was like someone dropped a gift in my lap. I slowed and stopped. The decision to hang around was an easy one. I was almost perfectly positioned, except for the trees. So, I had to maneuver a bit.

Once the SUV passed behind the trees, I rolled onto the road and inched along, craning to get a glimpse of the visitors. Two men, one wearing an orange baseball hat, jeans, and an orange vest over a camouflage shirt, the other dressed all in black, got out and headed for Lenny’s front door. I braked. This might have been a mistake. The guy in black turned and looked at me. Even at this distance, he made eye contact.

Unnerved, I jammed my foot on the gas and took off, hoping he hadn’t been paying close attention to my cute silver Chevy S-10 truck.

Farther down the road, I swerved to avoid a broken branch. La
st nights wind and rain had come howling down from Canada, bending pines and breaking branches. This stretch of the road by the fork was littered.

I stopped.

I had to go back. At least I could get the license plate in case something bad happened to Lenny.

I considered calling Nick. I’d get the plate number first, then call.

I made a U-turn in only six short moves, and drove back slowly. The SUV’s plate was angled away from the road. Damn. I’d have to park out of sight and walk to get a better view.

I entered Vivian’s driveway again,
turned around, and headed back the way I’d come. I drove quite a ways from Lenny’s house before I found a place to pull over. Frustrated, I hopped out of the truck, skipped my jacket, grabbed my bag and slung it over my shoulder. Good thing I’d worn my L.L. Bean Gore-Tex waterproof hiking boots with the thick soles.

Although it might have been faster or easier to cut through the woods, I walked along the edge of the road. I don’t do woods. You never know what could be lurking
.

I wondered how Great-A
unt Ida was doing with the line dancing. And Great-Aunt Agnes. I figured Hannah, being the dancer in the family, would love every minute. I couldn’t wait to see them do their routine at the Harvest Moon Dance. I hummed a tune from the
Jersey Boys
as I hopped gracefully over a few twigs, executing an elegant two-step.

Dry leaves and pine needles crunched underfoot, twigs snapped. I gave only a passing glance
to the Canadian geese cruising overhead in vee-formation as they escaped the coming winter. Sensible birds. Maine winters were brutal.

A light breeze rustled the treetops. I felt something plop on my head. Fortunately, it was not the you-know-what that I feared, but only a small brown pine co
ne that was easily disentangled, not pleasant, but not dangerous.

I was okay. Everything was fine.

It was cool for October, somewhere in the fifties, I guessed. I took a deep breath of the clean air. No exhaust fumes here, one of the things I loved about Maine.

When I was a city block from the house, I decided to cross to Lenny’s side of the street. Habit compelled me look both ways.

That’s when I saw it.

The moose.

This is one of the reasons I don’t like Maine. Huge animals. Loose.

Frozen, except for the body parts that were shaking, I watched the mammoth creature st
anding at the edge of the woods a few hundred yards from me, his teeth clicking as he stared in my direction. I didn’t know what teeth clicking meant, but it couldn’t be good. Too scared to move, I watched his ears rotate, completing a half circle as he zeroed in on me, kind of like two satellite dishes, or one of those cameras that track people as they walk.

I knew a few things about moose. I knew they could go from docile to charging in the twitch of an ear. I wasn’t sure whether to stand perfectly still or run. It goes without saying
this creature could beat me in a race. I looked at his legs—long, skinny legs, longer in front than back.

The better to kick you with, my dear.

Stand still or run?

I was breathing har
d, like I’d just run a marathon, not that I know what that’s like. I keep meaning to take up jogging, but I haven’t gotten around to it yet. When I return to the city, I’ll start. Maybe I’ll join a running club. Get a pair of those shimmery shorts and a nice matching top. I’ll go into one of those sports’ stores, be bold and select something in chartreuse or orange, in satin, I think, and get black sneakers with bright trim to match my outfit.

Suddenly he flattened his ears, and took a step onto the road.

I’m coming to get you.

The moose began walking toward me slowly, licking, licking, licking his lips.

The better to eat you, my dear.

He lowered his head, and his sharp and huge antlers—they must be five or six feet across—swayed from side to side, reminding me of a chorus girl’s headpiece in a Las Vegas Review. As he got closer, I saw the hackles on his back stand at attention.

The fight-flight response kicked in. Since the fight part didn’t stand a chance, I went with the other, and ran. My sweater caught on some brush and I yanked it free. Terror, unlike anything I’d ever experienced, gripped my stomach and tied it into copious knots that exploded and shot outward at the speed of light making me tremble all over.

Think. Think.

Moose couldn’t climb trees.

Seconds later, I
grabbed a low branch, hoisted myself up, hit my head on a branch, ducked to the side, stood and climbed to branch number two. I could do this, I thought, puffing like a wild woman.

With every thump of the pocketbook against my back, I considered dropping it. Only the thought of losing my cell phone kept it anchored on my shoulder. I shifted and felt another rip in my sweater. At branch number three, I wedged myself in and braced one foot on the branch beneath. The other foot dangled. Thank God for my Gore-Tex waterproof hikers.

Below, the monster tilted his head from side to side. He was filthy, covered with mud. His odor nearly knocked me out of the tree. Give me bus fumes any day of the week. Give me Manhattan. Or the Bronx. Or Staten Island.

I wondered when another car would come along, and whether the driver would stop to check my empty truck and come looking for me. Probably not.

Maybe the guys in the black SUV would come along. Awful thought.

The moose looked up at me. We made eye contact. What big eyes he had. What sharp antlers he had. Suddenly, he rubbed his massive self against the tree and it shook, his intention absolutely clear. He wanted me to tumble out and fall at his sharp feet so he could trample me to a bloody pulp, maybe toss me around some.

Well, that wasn’t happening. I pressed my body more tightly against the trunk and held on with a death grip, the true meaning of ‘death grip’ becoming suddenly very clear.

That’s when I spotted the small scrap of material fluttering on the branch in front of me. How incongruous. With pronounced care, I leaned forward and snatched it
from the branch. I examined it, smelled it. Hard to tell about the smell. Something faint. Very faint. Maybe I was imagining it. Was it men’s cologne? Odd. Teetering on the branch, wedging in more tightly, I dared another move. I flipped my hobo bag open and slipped the cloth in. Brown flannel.

The moose looked up. I yelled, “Scoot.”

That didn’t work, not that I expected it to, so I tried the next best thing. Hand still in the bag, I rummaged around for the cell phone. I had mace but with the breeze it wasn’t a good idea. I found the cell. One-handed, I hit Nick’s number on Favorites.

He answered with a cheery hello. “I’m making spaghetti and meatballs for—“

“I’m in a tree. There’s a moose below. He looks mad. What do I do?”

“Be careful.”

“Oh, gee. Good advice. I never would have thought of that.”

“Where are you?”

“Near Vivian’s. Will the moose try to kill me?”

“They can get aggressive. From the middle of September till about middle of October moose are in rut.”

“Rut.
Rut
? You mean they want to mate?”

“Ay-uh.”

“No. I don’t think so. This one smells like a cesspool.”

“The bull digs a rut pit, urinates into it and rolls in it. It’s a natural perfume that attracts the cows, akin to aftershave or cologne on a man.”

“Omigod.”

“Which side of Vivian’s?”

“Actually, I’m closer to Buster’s. I mean Lenny’s.”

“Lenny’s? I’m tempted to ask what you’re doing there, but I’ll skip it for now. It will take me a while to get there. I’ll see if I can find someone who’s closer to help you. Can you hold a bit longer?”

“Wait. Is there a chance the moose will get bored and walk away?”

“Possibly. Half an hour tops.”

Just then the moose’s head swiveled away. Why? What was happening? The woods were dense here. It was hard to see very far.

“Nora, I’ll—“

“Shhh,” I said, watching the creature’s ears twitch.

I looked in the direction the moose was looking, and listened intently. Seconds later, I heard a branch crack and Lenny say something that sounded like, “Not too far now.”

Not too far?

What wasn’t too far? If I could hear him, I wasn’t too far.

My heart slammed against my chest and the trembling started again, worse than before. I didn’t think that was possible, but what did I know. At this rate I’d shake myself right out of the damn tree and land on the moose.

I felt a headache coming on.

Would this crappy day never end?

First a moose and now some killers. I wasn’t certain they were killers, but I figured it for a safe bet.

And me with my high visibility iceberg blue Islesboro cotton zip-front bird’s eyes cardigan with the festive, Nordic-inspired motif sweater making me a target in these dark Maine woods.

I held the shaking phone close to my mouth and whispered, “Lenny’s coming. Have to hang.”

“Nora. Wait.”

Couldn’t wait. Before the sound of his voice was picked up by the men heading my way, I clicked off and dropped the phone in my bag.

Less than a minute later, Yo Yo Ma’s cello erupted with his lively version of “My Favorite Things.” Sometimes when it sounded, I’d sing along, pretending I was Julie Andrews twirling on a mountain top. Right now, I almost fell out of the tree in an attempt to turn it off. The sweater caught. More threads gone. The Nordic-inspired motif was beginning to look like a set of configurations for a Rorschach test.

Suddenly, the guy in black stepped from behind a tree, his head cocked, listening, looking around for the source of the disturbance. Looking for Yo Yo?

My heart continued its loud, incessant pounding. I knew moose possessed super hearing and when the animal looked up I figured he’d heard my heart as well as “My Favorite Things.”

Oh, he’d heard all right. He pawed the ground. If I hadn’t been watching his feet I never would have seen the piece of green plastic. What on earth? It looked like a section of tarp.