Drizzled With Death by Jessie Crockett Page B

drop off the pickles for the swap.” My mother placed her hand on the bench and squeezed her eyes shut. Grandma and several other women in town had swapped jars of homemade pickles for holiday tables for years. Each of them had a specialty, and the swap allowed all of them to enjoy a variety of excellent choices for no extra effort.
    “I’ll be sure to take care of it just as soon as I can.”
    “Outdoorsy, a little above average height. Dark hair. Confident. Nice sense of humor. Unmarried.” She’d just described the guy from Fish and Game if his lack of a ring meant anything about marital status. “I’m getting a strong sense of someone like that in here.”
    “Are you sure? Do you remember that time when Celadon was in high school and you were sure she was pregnant? You even called the school nurse about it, but it ended up that Celadon’s supposedly male guinea pig was actually an expectant female.”
    “That was before I had honed my gift. I’ve improved so much with time.”
    “Last month you convinced Martha Rollins to spend her all her disposable income on lottery tickets because you told her you could see an end to all her material concerns.”
    “I was right, wasn’t I?”
    “She was struck and killed by a log truck as soon as she left the store with her lottery tickets.”
    “She had no more material concerns, though, did she?” That’s the thing with Mom’s impressions. If she didn’t try to interpret them, they might actually be spot-on. It was always the reading into them that made a hash of things. You had to take what she said with an ocean’s worth of salt.
    “I’d best go tell your grandmother the pickles will be all set before she puts it on her own to-do list,” she said. I followed her out the door and onto the porch, where she came to a dead stop.
    “I’m sensing a large presence here.” She pointed to the spot where the mountain lion had made himself at home. I didn’t want to tell her about it, though, because knowing Mom, she’d have a team of investigators, complete with video crew, swarming the place. “I’m picking up on curiosity, and stealth. And doubt mixed with derision. Strange. Not at all in alignment with sugar making.” It looked more than ever like that guy from the state thought my report was laughable despite his apologies.
    “Maybe you should come by and do some sort of cleansing ritual.” That ought to distract her from any further interest in big cats or single men. “I wouldn’t want any derision-flavored syrup.”
    “What this place needs more than anything is some holiday cheer.” Mom looked around the porch and shook her head sadly at the faded mums and tattered ornamental cabbages. “I’ll take care of it while you’re off on your pickle errand.”

Eight

    I intended to set off right away to deliver the pickles but I spotted Hanley in back of the barn with Grampa. Grampa pointed at the trail leading into the north part of the property, and Hanley nodded and started off on his own. Grampa wandered off toward the lower field where he turns out his cows if the weather is decent. I hung back so he wouldn’t spot me following Hanley. Talking about extramarital affairs is not something I wanted to do in front of my grandfather, no matter how much I preferred not to deal with Hanley on my own. Besides, I thought he might be more inclined to tell the truth to just one person instead of a group.
    Hanley wasn’t in much of a hurry so it was easy enough to catch up even factoring in the wait for Grampa to disappear from view. I hustled up behind him just as he was coming to a stop in front of a large sugar maple with a broken limb that flopped like a hangnail.
    “I see Grampa sent you to one of our neediest.” I hadn’t been trying to be quiet but I must have been doing a pretty good job because he jumped up off the ground like I’d dropped a sledgehammer on his foot. It made me wonder if he had a guilty conscience.
    “Dani, you snuck up on