He wrote some figures on a notebook, used a cell phone calculator. When Nann saw the bid, she didn’t gasp for breath or go weak in the knees. “I can do this.”

  “We’ll get started—” a crack of thunder right overhead interrupted. Manuel looked skyward. “—As soon as the weather lets up a little.”

  SHE DROVE TO WORK, detouring up Main Street again. Parking lots outside the hotels and B&Bs remained nearly abandoned. So what was the deal with not letting her guests rent rooms?

  After packing her new orders for the mailman, she started calling hotels in Port Argent.

  “Do you have any rooms for the last weekend in April?” she asked.

  “We have plenty,” a young woman’s voice assured her. “What name should I make the reservation under?”

  “Nann, with two N’s, Nannn. Nann Szymanski.”

  A silence followed. “Could you hold one moment?”

  She held a moment. Two. Three moments. How long was a moment? A man’s voice came on the line.

  “I’m sorry, but you have been misinformed. We have no vacancies the last weekend of the month. Thank you for your interest.”

  The line disconnected before she could say anything more. “Shuck. My. Corn.” She said to the dead phone.

  Somebody had put a bug in the hotel’s ear, no doubt. When she made a second call, and experienced the same sequence of denial, Nann had an idea who.

  When she first arrived here, Barb Buford of Lakeshore Properties LLC tried to buy the house before Nann barely crossed the threshold. Then, Buford and the town supervisors tried to steal it out from under her. Recently, she’d heard that her own Great-Uncle Ed, Aunt Nancy’s husband, was one of the owners of the redevelopment company. He’d sold it long ago, yes, but why would he sell it to people who seemed so evil? Barb Buford hinted that Aunt Nancy’s Druid celebrations tended to lower property values. Who else would want to dampen her Beltaine party?

  Speaking of dampen, the clouds above Amity Corners parted, the storm blowing itself out. This made Nann both happy and sad. Happy, because the gardeners could soon get to work on the ceremonial space; sad because her hair was going to explode in a big dark puffball with the humidity.

  Oh, well. Who was going to see her? She rarely had customers in the store. With that thought, she turned to her online customers, emailing the two who wanted copies of the Sidereal Almanack. Responses came before she finished her coffee. It looked like she had the rent paid for May.

  That gave her most of the day to contemplate Shoreline Properties. She’d seen in the county records that the company was out for a land grab. It included her property, which abutted the property of the mill. The mill was another one of their targets, along with all the homes on the west side of Calamity Corners. They already owned a chunk of the western corner bluff that gave Amity Corners its name. But the bluff was unstable. The road that used to run along the bluff had long since collapsed. Below that, the lands surrounding the mill were loaded with toxic chemicals. Sure, this made the properties in question cheap to scoop up—but for the most part, with the exception of Founder’s House, Nann’s property, they were useless for development.

  Why did they want the land? And why were they discouraging Druids from entering the town? She had seen Buford and the supervisors in heated arguments with the board who owned the mill. Aunt Nancy’s records had been stolen from the house. A curse had been called down on the area. Nann couldn’t make sense of any of it.

  TO HER SURPRISE, GARDENERS’ trucks took up her driveway when she returned home. Cricket, who could go anywhere (except the interstate—she was nimble, but not fast), simply drove around the trucks and into the garage. Pokey was nowhere to be seen inside. Nann headed down to the ceremonial space.

  To her shock, it looked a lot like it used to. The Wheel of the Year reappeared from the sea of weeds and sumac, the concrete platforms at the edge of the ridge were revealed from the former curtains of weeping willow branches. Stone paths were cleared, grass mown, the majority of the ivy removed. Most of the cuttings sat in a pile on the left platform. That was where the wicker man would rise.

  “Shut. The truck. Off!—this is awesome.”

  Three guys worked at the clearing edge, hacking, buzzing and chopping a clear circle. Only the outdoor kitchen remained shrouded in green. Manuel smiled and walked over. He turned down a boom box sitting on the stairs. “Wasn’t as bad as I thought. We’ll get started on the last part today, but it’s getting late. We’ll probably have to finish tomorrow.”

  Pokey wandered over. His voice carried over the sound of the music on the radio. “¿Qué hay para cenar?”

  Nann gave him the hairy eyeball. Pokey’s head moved from the radio to Manuel. His eyes went wide and he trotted up the stairs.

  “¡Ay, perdón!”

  Manuel stared at the departing pig. After a moment, he simply shook his head. His guys stopped their work, the clearing looking great. He fired off some rapid-fire Spanish, and the workers headed for the outdoor kitchen.

  “Well, at the very least, we can clear most of the vines away from the structure. When we start in the morning, we’ll be able to knock this out pretty quick.”

  As she watched, the workers abandoned power tools and made short work of the vine tent with their machetes. One of them stopped. He made the sign of the cross. “Madre de Dios.” The two others took note and followed his eyes. As one, they took a giant step back.

  Nann wondered what the big deal with the outdoor kitchen was. These guys spent all day making a pagan ceremonial space pretty. What could be so strange around the barbecue?

  The man turned a shocked face to his boss and raised his hands. Nann had failed high school Spanish. She couldn’t follow the exchange. Manuel patted the man on the back. “Sí, sí, vosotros váis.”

  The workers followed Pokey up the stairs, moving a lot faster than the pig had. She overheard a few words she understood from them. Policía, cops, and la migra, immigration. Manuel held up a hand to her and approached the outdoor kitchen. He crouched down. “I think I may have underestimated our timeframe for finishing.”

  “What?” Nann moved beside him. She didn’t need to ask why. Beneath the vibrant greens of invasive spring weeds was a fold of darker green, nearly black. Peering up through the fold was a grinning skull. When Manuel pushed back more vines, Nann could see the shape of a skeleton beneath a robe. It was the kind of robe Druids wore to celebrations to facilitate naked dancing and warming up afterwards.

  There was a dead Druid in her outdoor kitchen.

  Chapter 3

  Night had long since fallen, but the ceremonial space was still filled with law enforcement. Nann had allowed them to use the standing lights from the shed. After a long interview, they let Manuel go.

  “Why do I always find you mixed up in murder?” Sheriff’s Deputy Keith Schwenk folded his arms.

  “What are you talking about? Murders? I was the one who helped the search party bring home those missing boys. And the guy from the mill board of directors—he attacked me. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Besides, we don’t even know if this is a murder.”

  Leona Cleve, county coroner, motioned for her guys to move the covered stretcher. “Well, it looks like murder.”

  “Damn it.”

  “COD?” Keith asked.

  “I can’t be positive without a full autopsy, but there’s a hairline fracture to the top of the skull.” She looked around the space. “You couldn’t sustain an injury like that from falling. There’s no place close enough, high enough, for a swan dive. I’d say she was struck, blunt force trauma.”

  Damn it.

  “I can give you a better answer after the post,” Cleve said and followed the stretcher up the stairs.

  “This can’t be a crime scene,” Nann said. “I’ve got people coming in a week.”

  “I’ll send some scene techs here in the morning, when they can see better. No more work until I give the okay,” Keith said.

  “How long is that gonna take?”

  He shrugged. “Depends. You have any idea who the victim is?”

  “Nope.” The body was wearing a Druid’s robe, but Nann would’ve heard about any missing Druids. “I’m guessing the body was there a while.”

  “Long enough to skeletonize and get covered with weeds and vines,” Keith agreed. “Until you showed up, the house was empty for ten years. Could be a squatter. Maybe an argument ensued. Tough to speculate at this point.”

  Nann turned away. She knew she should feel sad for the victim, maybe afraid for her own safety. Instead, she felt frustrated. Her ceremonial space was under investigation. Yellow tape decorated the area instead of strings of lights. Cops mingled instead of guests. Damn. It.

  “I’ll see what I can do about expediting the scene. It all comes down to what we find, about the site, the identity of the victim. Too early to say, really. Maybe the body’s been here a long time, but the investigation just started.” Keith gave her a sympathetic face. Which turned harder after a moment. “In the meantime, no more gardening, no visiting the scene. It would only complicate things and slow us down. Okay?”

  Nann nodded.

  “Go inside. If I need you, I have your number.”

  The words warmed her face a little. Not wanting him to see her reaction, she started up to the house. Pokey was probably starving to death. Nann was starving to death. At the same time, the corpse in her backyard spoiled her appetite.

  THE NEXT AFTERNOON she was feeling contrite, a little guilty. She’d said the Druid prayer for the dead over the crime scene once the cops cleared out. It was the least she could do. Finding out who the victim was, and who the murderer was, might be a better offering.

  She sent some emails, confirming her own memories. Beltaine ten years ago was the last celebration at Founder’s House. Two or three months later, Adult Protective Services removed the hermit-like Aunt Nancy from her home, diagnosed her with unspecified dementia, but before they could put her in a home, Nancy and her mother rescued her, bringing her to Brooklyn. So the space really hadn’t been touched in a decade. That didn’t bring Nann any closer to answers.

  A shadow passed by her windows. Nann saw Tom, the landlord and tattoo shop owner, passing by. She waved a check at him and he came into the store.

  “Hey, Nann. Heard about the body in your yard. How are you holding up?”

  She gave him the rent check. “Not so good. I’m having a big party there in a week. Now it’s a crime scene. And none of my guests can find a hotel room in Port Argent. Which is really weird since the places look like tumbleweeds are about to roll through the parking lots. I just feel defeated. Disappointed. Maybe a little freaked out.”

  “Well, I don’t know if this is helpful, but there is a hotel in Calamity Corners. A big one. Been here since the boom days.”

  Nann sat straighter. “That is helpful.”

  “Well...” Tom tilted his head, his long blue hair dangling. “It’s a little rough. It’s east of town hall on Third.”

  It made her feel a little hopeful. “I’ll check it out.”

  “S’funny, back when I was a kid, Port Argent was a runty little mudhole, and Amity Corners was the bustling, happening town with the money, the bars, the strip club, the movie theaters, the mall, the restaurants. My parents ran a bait and tackle shop on the old marina there. My uncles either ran a farm or worked in the mill. Now they’re all hoity toity on the state beach, and we don’t even have a McDonalds.”

  Nann nodded. “My Uncle Ed developed a bunch of properties there.”

  “That he did. Used to be, Main Street was a dividing road between two farms. Now the farmhouses are B&Bs, and they’re surrounded by strip malls and upscale bars and eateries. I mean, the intent was good. It gave people visiting the state beach some amenities, not just a bunch of cabins, a general store and a few bait shops.” Tom’s features drew together, his skin darkening. “It’s just gone too far now. People there developed an attitude. I’m guessing that’s why they’re excluding you and your guests. Even if you live there, in the biggest house around, they’re thumbing their nose at you—not our kind, dear.”

  “Jeeze Louise, Tom, I didn’t mean to grill your cheese.”

  A smile evaporated the anger. “Sorry. I should leave it all in the past. It’s just that those developers—I don’t approve of their tactics. They threatened my parents with a big-box sports store right on the road to the little bay. They were doing really good by then. The shops and hotels in Port Argent actually helped out the bait shop a lot financially. Paid for my college, bought this old pile of bricks.” He glanced around.

  “I haven’t seen a big sports store in Port Argent.”

  “No, but you do see a shiny new marina. It’s like the developers had to have it all.” Tom sighed. “Sorry, you don’t need to hear all this.”

  But Nann did. “Y’know, I remember when I spent summers with my aunt that she would take us to a downtown, and the theater, and the mall. Was that here, in Amity Corners?”

  “Used to be, when you entered the town, there was a big welcome arch over Cemetery Street. There was an old-fashioned brick downtown. Banks, the theater, chain department stores. But our forward-thinking town council made a deal with a big-box retailer. They bulldozed all that out for a mega box store or warehouse club or whatever. The deal fell through when the mill closed for the umpteenth time. The mall’s still on the east side, but all they sell now are rats and meth.”

  Nann pondered this. “Let me guess—the hotel is close to the mall.”

  “One stop shopping,” Tom said.

  “Oy.”

  “Sorry, Nann, I don’t mean to be such a sad sack”

  “No, I get it. I’ve had a few run-ins with Lakeshore Properties myself.”

  He tapped the edge of the check on the counter. “Oops, gotta open the shop.”

  “So early?”

  Tom smiled. “My cousin the rock star is coming in for a special tat.”

  “Your cousin is a rock star?”

  He made a seesaw with his hand. “Eh.”

  WITH ZINNIA WATCHING the store, which was just next too unnecessary, Nann took Cricket east along Third Street. Even if the mill reopening had brought some life to the town, the east side still needed a touch of defibrillation paddles. Between weedy lots, businesses stood closed, leaning with neglect, a tire store, an ice cream stand, a couple body shops. Acres of parking lot appeared on the left beyond a chain link fence. Distantly, the shape of a mall loomed. No big signs adorned the façades, and lights leaned like diseased trees.

  Cricket accelerated a little, mirroring Nann’s unease. They shot through a neighborhood of widely spaced and mostly empty homes. Fields and vacant lots shared similar bounties of milkweed, goldenrod and ragweed. Third Street dead ended at a three-story brick building that looked a lot like Cemetery Center, but even bigger. The end of an awning read Ontario Arms at Amity Corners.

  A semi-circular drive with an abandoned valet stand appeared not too unwelcoming. Nann parked and went in. She gaped. From the three-story high ceiling, an honest-to-God crystal chandelier hung, broad slabs of marble underfoot. To the left, a wood paneled lounge nestled behind glass doors, oriental rugs on the floor. To the right, a herd of plush velvet furniture formed a seating area.

  “Oh. My. Gawdess!”

  The place had seen better days, the glory of it fading on close inspection, but there was still glory in evidence. She passed columns, under arches, to the alabaster slab of the front desk. Tentatively, she padded the bell.

  A snort responded. The grunting sound of elderly rising. Looking like a wax replica of himself, a bent man in pleated pants, belt and suspenders, bow tie, shuffled his way from a side room. His head looked like a globe of the Earth; wispy clouds of hair revealed continent-shaped age spots.

  “Haven’t had a hot totsy in here since ’84.” He put on spectacles that magnified his eyes to owl size. Nodding, as if agreeing with himself, he smiled with oversized dentures. “What can I do you for?”

  “I’m hoping you have rooms available for next weekend.”

  “Frankly, I have all the rooms available for next weekend.” He waved gnarled hands around. “Used to be, this was wheeler-dealer central for the mill hotshots. Pulp vendors, chemical salesmen, they all used to meet here. Nowadays, I’m lucky to get a stranded motorist.”

  Nann felt hopeful. “I’ll need from twenty to twenty-five rooms.”

  As the man put a hand to his chest and took a long, wheezy gasp, hope faded. Before she could reach for her cell phone to call 911, he slapped his hands on the desk. “Hot diggity! Might have to get the slacker grandbabies to help out. My wife does the cooking in the restaurant. We got us a pizza oven,” he said proudly.

  “Excuse me one second. What’s the number here?” Nann took out her phone and sent a mass e-mail to her party guests as he gave it to her. “So, there’s a full bar?”

  “I do the bartending in the lounge. Maybe not so quick as I used to be, but I have a heavy pour.”

  Perfect for Druids, Nann thought. Lots of booze, but the hotel was self-contained. Things could get crazy with drunken Druids running around loose. The phone on the desk rang. The owner stared at it, as if the whole concept of a ringing telephone was beyond him. Eyeing Nann, he picked up. “Ontario Arms.”

  A phone rang in an unseen office.

  “Szymanski party?” His expression questioned her. Nann nodded. “Yes, we do. Let me get some information from you.”

  More phones rang, beeped, and buzzed. The old man put his hand over the mouthpiece. “Mary! We got guests! Help me on the phones!”

  Nann heard a creak, a slow shuffle. “Ontario Arms, please hold, Ontario Arms, please hold, Ontario Arms, how can I help you?” a paper-thin voice said from the hidden office.

 

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