“the shop” when someone of importance died and the relatives needed to part with an extra ten grand for a “bereavement consultation.” Horatio’s taste was exquisite, expensive, and worth every penny.
I had consulted with him in the past because of his knowledge about more clandestine matters. It was rumored, and not without some basis, that he had held certain high positions in very hush-hush circles during the war. And although he never admitted to it, I was positive that he was still well-known in those august groups. I had always found his advice invaluable. I didn’t hesitate to tell him what had happened the minute we sat down.
“Some asshole tried to kill me!”
Both eyebrows went up now. And the pipe came out. That was a sign that Horatio was in full attention mode even though he appeared to be distracted by preparing a smoke. He patted the pockets of his smart navy blazer to find his tobacco pouch and sterling silver tamper. Once he had all of his tools at hand, he started questioning me.
“Which, er, asshole, is this, Paisley, dear?”
“I have no idea,” I answered, flopping back on the soft down cushions of the red chintz sofa. “But somebody took at pot shot at me. Twice!”
I slipped off my beloved old Cole-Haan moccasins and watched in dismay as grass seeds puddled on Mother’s priceless Oriental carpet.
“Oh, well,” I sighed. “I’ll vacuum later.”
Horatio chuckled and drew the first fragrant puff from his pipe.
“Just like a woman to worry about housekeeping even when her life is in jeopardy.”
“Worried about Mother’s wrath is more like it,” I laughed.
“Well, it’s good to see that you’re not that upset about your adventure.”
“I’m beginning to think I imagined it. Perhaps it was a hornet after all, or maybe a nest of yellow jackets. I was driving pretty fast. I could have stirred something up without even realizing it.”
“Yellow jackets?” echoed Mother as she came into the room carrying a small tray with a steaming bowl and a plate of crackers. “No wonder you were upset. Were you stung, dear?”
I winked at Horatio and accepted the dinner tray from my mother. No use upsetting her by letting her in on what I thought had really happened.
“And when was this,” she asked, “before, or after someone shot at you? By the way dear, try not to use vulgar terminology. It’s so unladylike.”
Horatio smiled and shook his head in amazement. I laughed and happily slurped Mother’s divine bisque. She was right. Something so delicate and delicious couldn’t be called simply “soup.”
‘Chapter Four
Horatio and I sat up until after midnight discussing the possibility that some poor misguided soul had, as Leonard would say, the desire to take me out. Horatio found it very hard to believe that I had an enemy with a murderous bent, and I had to agree with him. Since I’d returned to Rowan Springs, I had kept a very low profile. Mother was the social butterfly. My social life consisted of going to the drive-through at the Dairy Queen, with perhaps an occasional visit to the library and grocery.
Mother was always trying to entice me to the country club, the First Baptist Church, or one of her bridge games. She raved about the chicken and almond salad at the Rose Tea Room and extolled the artistic virtues of belonging to the Creative Guild, but thus far, I had managed to avoid being drawn into any of the social activities of our fair city.
People in Rowan Springs ask first what your husband does for a living, then what church you attend. Since I have neither husband nor church, I am a pariah. The only standard “little southern town” question I can answer with some assurance of being held in any regard at all is, “What was your name before you married?” The fear of this serial interrogation alone was enough to keep me off the social merry-go-round. And while I hadn’t bothered to make friends, I certainly hadn’t put out the effort to make any enemies.
Around one-thirty in the morning, I walked Horatio to his car. Thanks to our rational conversation and his reassurances, my fear of assassination had vanished. I was even relaxed and comfortable enough to let Aggie have a run in the orchard after Horatio drove away.
There had been a full moon earlier in the evening, but it had gone to sleep behind the tall cedars on the faraway hills hours ago. The night sky was dark and full of clouds that were darker still. I heard the dry whisper of leathery wings as scores of bats fed on insects and returned to roost in the eaves of the outbuildings when they were replete.
I strolled beneath the spreading limbs of the fruit trees enjoying the coolness of the night breeze and the privacy the darkness afforded. Aggie ran back behind the raspberry patch and I lost sight of her. Rather than call out and break the magic of the moment, I followed.
A bright flash of lightening, followed by a loud clap of thunder took me completely by surprise. I yelped and Aggie barked. We both jumped about a foot. The first thunderous explosion was quickly succeeded by a second, and an even louder third. The night was suddenly filled with unfriendly fire and a barrage of hard-driving wind and rain that stung my unprotected face and quickly drenched my clothes.
Aggie didn’t need any urging. She ran beside me through the orchard toward the house. By the time we crossed the driveway, hail the size of marbles was falling with bruising force against my shoulders and head. The backyard was already full of the icy little balls. As I ran across the patio, my feet slipped out from under me and I fell backwards. Stunned, I lay there until it ceased to hail with the same sudden abruptness and I could hear Mother’s frightened voice calling frantically over the wind and rain. I got to my feet and staggered to the back porch where she was struggling to hold the screen door open for me. The wind billowed the skirt of her housecoat up around her knees and pulled tendrils of silver white hair from the sleek French twist.
“Paisley! Thank God! Are you all right?”
“I…I think so. My head hurts like hell. What in the world is going on?”
“Tornado warning!” she shouted over the increasing roar of the storm. “We’d better get inside quickly and take cover.”
She grabbed my hand and led me through the kitchen. The house was in total darkness. All the comforting little lights that normally twinkled from the coffee maker, microwave, and refrigerator were gone, but Mother had a flashlight. I followed her quickly through the house to the utility closet under the stairs. She opened the door and pushed me unceremoniously inside.
We sat huddled together on the dusty floor like two terrified children while Mother Nature threw a fierce electric temper tantrum all around us. The old house creaked and shivered. The logs that formed the inner walls of the rooms in the front were more than a century and a half old. I was uncomfortably reminded of that fact as I felt them shift ever so slightly with the wind.
It was impossible to be heard over the fury of the storm, so we didn’t even try to speak. Suddenly it went dead quiet. It was an unnatural and unhealthy silence. A sharp pain in my ears told me the atmospheric pressure had changed. Then we heard something strange. Not the roar of a freight train, but the splitting of trees as the tornado passed over us. I had heard that sound before. One winter when I was ten, I quite recklessly walked across the thin sheet of ice on the pond at the end of the lane. The ice had cracked beneath my feet with the same hollow sound as I hurried, breathless and strangely
