Cold River by Liz Adair Page A

farfetched to me.”
    Mandy grinned. “I take it you’ve never had one of Arvella’s cream puffs.”
    Fran shook her head. “Too many carbs. So, what was the deal?”
    Mandy took a comforter out of a box and shook it to loft the down filling. “It was a tempest in a tea pot— something that should blow over soon.”
    Frowning, Fran shook her head. “The Maypoles have long memories where grudges are concerned.”
    “Well, I’m not going to lie awake nights worrying about it. I’ve got other things that have lots more precedence.” She looked at her watch. “Your three hours are up. Thanks so much, Fran. You’re my good angel.”
    “No problem. I love a project. You’ve just got one layer of boxes left. If you don’t get done today, I’ll come help you tomorrow.”
    Mandy dropped the empty box over the balcony railing and watched its descent. “I’m going to finish today if it kills me.”
    “I have to close tonight, but I’ll look for your light when I get home. I’m right above you, did you know? I can see your upstairs light through a break in the trees.”
    “Oh?” Mandy went to the balcony. “I can’t see your house.”
    “No. If I cut some trees, you could, but we’d both lose privacy. There’s a trail down through the woods. Sometimes I come down to walk along the river.” She looked around. “Where’s my purse? Oh, there it is. Good luck on the rest of the boxes.”
    “Thanks again.” Mandy watched her friend disappear down the circular stairway. Then she turned to open a box marked Bathroom in Leesie’s distinctive handwriting.
    Things went slower without Fran, and it was way past dark by the time Mandy hung the last picture and flattened the last box. She stacked it atop the rest out on the back deck. Then she came in, locked the back door, and walked through her house. She turned on familiar lamps and looked at the furniture grouping with a critical eye. With a sigh, she sat down at the piano and played “In My Adobe Hacienda,” a slow, sweet number that Poppy, her stepfather, used to ask her to play.
    “It doesn’t fit,” she murmured and sat for a minute with her hands lax on the keys. “What’s a Pacific Northwest song? I don’t think there are any.” But her fingers found a sad song about leftover dreams saved for a rainy day. She chuckled. “It fits.” Then she played an arpeggio to segue into another song about stormy weather. It was a breakup song, and the refrain about rain all the time made her suddenly feel empty, like she was hollow. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she blinked them away. “I must be hungry,” she muttered. “Either that, or I need to stop playing songs about love gone awry.”
    She closed the piano and went to the kitchen to open a can of soup. When it was hot, she poured it in a mug, turned out the lights, and drifted out to sit on the front deck. The stars twinkled overhead, and in the distance she heard a pulsing, chirruping sound, like a thousand crickets, but not so shrill. A cool breeze sprang up, and above her, the eerie hoo hoo hoooo of an owl made goosebumps rise on her arms. She shivered but stayed to finish her soup, waiting for the hollowness to disappear.
    A full moon rose and cast a shimmering, silvery reflection on the river. Mandy stared, entranced, until her attention was drawn to a stealthy sound to her right. Her heart began to pound in her chest as she searched in the shadowy bushes, and she held her breath so she could listen better. Suddenly, into the moonlit clearing of the road stepped a deer— a doe with dainty feet and an elegant muzzle. The creature took two steps then stood like a statue, and tears welled up in Mandy’s eyes once more. She sighed, and at the sound, the deer bounded away into the darkness of the woods on the other side of the road.
    Mandy rubbed her arms and shivered, then stood to go inside. As she closed and locked the door, it felt as if she were shutting beauty out of her life. She put her cup