rumors about Cindy’s knowledge and maneuverings. I’d ask her as soon as I dragged myself home tonight.
I hit the brake to avoid a farm truck whipping onto the road almost on top of me. That jerked me out of my reverie and back to the immediate problems at hand. Such as the fact I’d forgotten to ask Cindy where the frozen pie filling was located. I whimpered, but I wasn’t about to turn around and go back. One of these days, I reflected, I was going to have to break down and get a cell phone. Never mind it would be a leash, never mind people could reach me when I least wanted to be reached. At the moment, it would make my life a hell of a lot easier. I always think of these things too late.
The rain pelted down with renewed vigor as I pulled into town. And there was my trunk, half open, all drenched. I’d have to use the hair dryer on it, I supposed, or the lining would mildew. I was still blaming myself for not having scrounged a tarp from somewhere as I swung into the Grange parking lot and saw Gerda’s bright blue Pathfinder, Hans Gustav, standing in front of the door.
She stood beneath the meager shelter of the porch roof amidst piles of damp-looking bags of pancake mix. “It’s about time you got here!” she shouted as I pulled to a halt. You have to shout to be heard over Freya’s engine. Gerda keeps telling me I’m going to get a ticket for noise violation, but what can you expect when your car is older than you are—and you aren’t exactly young to begin with? “The frozen stuff is defrosting,” she complained as I joined her. “And I have to get back to the store.”
“Sorry. And it’s okay about the defrosting. We’ll be using it in the morning.”
She sniffed. “It should be in a refrigerator. Where’s the key? We need to get all this into the kitchen as soon as possible.”
“No key.”
Gerda placed her hands on her hips, arms akimbo, and eyed me with disfavor. “How could you forget the key? Honestly, Annike…”
“No one knows where it is.”
She blinked. Her expression probably reflected the horror I felt over the whole damned affair. “But what about tomorrow? What about—”
“That’s up to our new sheriff,” I said with considerable satisfaction. “He’s supposed to locate it, so you can blame him if everything goes wrong.”
From the arrested gleam in her eye, that apparently appealed to her. Her pleasure lasted only a moment, though. She glared at the sacks and boxes piled—naturally—in front of the door so they would have to be moved before it could be opened—if and when we located the key. “What are we going to do with everything? The bacon and sausage can’t sit out all night.”
True. The rain warmed up the weather, so we weren’t getting the bite of ice we normally got in November. “If only the Fairfields had a giant refrigerator to go along with the giant coffeepot,” I sighed.
“Who…” Gerda began, only to break off with a cry of triumph. “The school! They should have enough room for the perishables.”
She picked up a hefty cardboard box—drenched, of course—and carried it to the passenger side door of my car. I opened it dutifully, then went back to collect another of the heavy boxes. I should have thought to provide towels to protect the seats, I supposed, but today just wasn’t going to be poor Freya’s day. At least even Gerda had to admit my poor car couldn’t shelter the pancake mix, as well. We loaded that into the back of Hans Gustav, and she led our little procession around the block to the rear of the elementary school.
We found Laurie Wesland, who had been the school secretary thirty years ago when I’d been an inmate, sitting at the same desk she’d inhabited way back then. It would have been really eerie if the years hadn’t added a few pounds and changed her hair from brown to silver gray. I think she even still wore the same dress. At least it was the same light green I remembered from my mercifully brief
I hit the brake to avoid a farm truck whipping onto the road almost on top of me. That jerked me out of my reverie and back to the immediate problems at hand. Such as the fact I’d forgotten to ask Cindy where the frozen pie filling was located. I whimpered, but I wasn’t about to turn around and go back. One of these days, I reflected, I was going to have to break down and get a cell phone. Never mind it would be a leash, never mind people could reach me when I least wanted to be reached. At the moment, it would make my life a hell of a lot easier. I always think of these things too late.
The rain pelted down with renewed vigor as I pulled into town. And there was my trunk, half open, all drenched. I’d have to use the hair dryer on it, I supposed, or the lining would mildew. I was still blaming myself for not having scrounged a tarp from somewhere as I swung into the Grange parking lot and saw Gerda’s bright blue Pathfinder, Hans Gustav, standing in front of the door.
She stood beneath the meager shelter of the porch roof amidst piles of damp-looking bags of pancake mix. “It’s about time you got here!” she shouted as I pulled to a halt. You have to shout to be heard over Freya’s engine. Gerda keeps telling me I’m going to get a ticket for noise violation, but what can you expect when your car is older than you are—and you aren’t exactly young to begin with? “The frozen stuff is defrosting,” she complained as I joined her. “And I have to get back to the store.”
“Sorry. And it’s okay about the defrosting. We’ll be using it in the morning.”
She sniffed. “It should be in a refrigerator. Where’s the key? We need to get all this into the kitchen as soon as possible.”
“No key.”
Gerda placed her hands on her hips, arms akimbo, and eyed me with disfavor. “How could you forget the key? Honestly, Annike…”
“No one knows where it is.”
She blinked. Her expression probably reflected the horror I felt over the whole damned affair. “But what about tomorrow? What about—”
“That’s up to our new sheriff,” I said with considerable satisfaction. “He’s supposed to locate it, so you can blame him if everything goes wrong.”
From the arrested gleam in her eye, that apparently appealed to her. Her pleasure lasted only a moment, though. She glared at the sacks and boxes piled—naturally—in front of the door so they would have to be moved before it could be opened—if and when we located the key. “What are we going to do with everything? The bacon and sausage can’t sit out all night.”
True. The rain warmed up the weather, so we weren’t getting the bite of ice we normally got in November. “If only the Fairfields had a giant refrigerator to go along with the giant coffeepot,” I sighed.
“Who…” Gerda began, only to break off with a cry of triumph. “The school! They should have enough room for the perishables.”
She picked up a hefty cardboard box—drenched, of course—and carried it to the passenger side door of my car. I opened it dutifully, then went back to collect another of the heavy boxes. I should have thought to provide towels to protect the seats, I supposed, but today just wasn’t going to be poor Freya’s day. At least even Gerda had to admit my poor car couldn’t shelter the pancake mix, as well. We loaded that into the back of Hans Gustav, and she led our little procession around the block to the rear of the elementary school.
We found Laurie Wesland, who had been the school secretary thirty years ago when I’d been an inmate, sitting at the same desk she’d inhabited way back then. It would have been really eerie if the years hadn’t added a few pounds and changed her hair from brown to silver gray. I think she even still wore the same dress. At least it was the same light green I remembered from my mercifully brief
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