Dead Dancing Women by Elizabeth Kane Buzzelli Read Free Book Online Page B

“I’d like to see Mrs. Henry. When I lost most of my lilies to something I thought were worms I called the local extension agent, down in Kalkaska, and he suggested I drop over and visit Mrs. Henry. ‘Retired librarian and gardener par excellence,’ he told me. Said she’d help out about the skunks digging in my compost heap and deer eating my roses. I went over there and got a severe case of flower envy when I saw her garden.”
    â€œBeen there. Beautiful. She’s done it for years. Was the president of our local garden club at one time.”
    â€œTold me to give those worms—that were really slugs—a mixture of yeast and beer. Told me better yet was to pick ’em off, one by one, and drop them into a can of kosher salt. That’s what I’ve been doing ever since. She told me to plant nasturtiums and foxglove and spiky things the deer don’t bother. And she said to use cayenne pepper that would make them sneeze, or buy some fine netting to drape over the flower buds. And she said for me to give up on growing tulips. Deer eat them. She said to try crocuses and daffodils. Nobody eats daffodils. And she told me how to build a wooden fence around my compost.”
    I’d followed Joslyn Henry’s advice and the next year my spring garden fairly glowed with daffodils and crocuses. I didn’t go back to see Mrs. Henry after that. I had the feeling she didn’t welcome visitors too often and I didn’t want to impose. Our only conversations took place when she stopped to talk while I was collecting my mail, or out for a walk. She’d ask about my garden. I’d ask about hers. That was it, though I invited her to drop down any day she wanted. She never had, as far as I knew.
    â€œAs I said, she’s a friend of Ruby Poet,” Dolly was saying. “One of the woods ladies. If she hasn’t heard about Ruby Poet yet, well, it will be a favor to break it to her. And just maybe she can tell us more about what was going on in Ruby’s life when she disappeared.”
    I nodded. So, right under my nose: nature worship, firebrand preaching, town taking sides for and against Mrs. Poet. I’d thought I was more a part of Leetsville and life out in the woods than I was. I knew nothing about anything. I wasn’t sure how much help I was going to be to Deputy Dolly, but it felt right to be working on a story, and it felt good to stay away from my house until all those bad spirits swirling around out there settled down.
    â€œLet me call in my story,” I said, picking up the check for the drinks. “I’ll meet you by Harry’s driveway in what—half an hour?”
    I paid the bill and got a wave and a curious look from Eugenia. There was going to be wild speculation about what was going on after Dolly and I left.
    Outside the restaurant, Dolly stuck her hand out to take mine again. I guessed we were sealing our deal though I was already feeling a little uncomfortable.
    She waited, hand in the air. I had no choice. I took the hand sticking out too far from the frayed jacket cuff, and shook it solemnly.
    â€œShould we exchange blood?” I asked, though I figured she was too straight arrow to get it.
    Dolly frowned, I guess to impress me with the seriousness of our joint undertaking. “Let’s hope nobody’s going to be losing any more blood. I’ll protect you the best I can.”
    I smiled gratefully. Now I felt safe and secure. Deputy Dolly—my protector. Odd that small chills ran up and down my back, and that the hair along my arms stood on end as she pulled open the sprung door of her police car, got in and drove off, back toward our secret meeting place, a couple of clanks and a cloud of exhaust marking where she’d been.

SIX
    Old Harry’s drive was little more than a wide dirt path through a double row of dead and dying elms; an overgrown lane lined with lethal raspberry bushes, arching branches