Dreams of Fire (Maple Hill Chronicles Book 1) (3 page)

“You going to be here long?” Joe asked between bites.

“I don’t know. Maybe until I find something better.” She’d learned to banter a little with tradesmen over the years, but this seemed unusually personal.

He considered this, his features impassive. Bobby, who had been silent all this time, nudged him slightly. Finally, Joe shrugged a little. “You mind if we give you some free advice?”

Marianne raised her eyebrows and said, “Okay. I guess not.”

“We been in this business a long time, seen a lot of places. We’ve developed a feeling about things. Mostly they don’t feel like anything. Sometimes, though, they don’t feel…right. You look like a nice lady, and we’d hate to leave without saying anything. But, this place doesn’t have a good feel to it.”

With his pronouncement, Marianne felt her stomach drop a little. It was uncanny having him voice her own uncertainty. “Really? How bad do you think it is?” She asked in dismay.

He shook his head. “Not
Poltergeist
bad. Just doesn’t have a good vibe.”

“Like people cried here a lot,” she said quietly.

They both nodded.

She sighed unhappily, “Well, unfortunately, I don’t have a lot of choices. I can’t really go back to the city and can’t afford a lot of rent right now.”

“So, you still want us to unload your furniture?”
 

“Yeah,” she said with another sigh. “Thanks for the advice. Let’s hope it’s not too bad. Maybe some fresh paint and cleaning will do wonders.” She tried to sound cheerful and optimistic. Joe shrugged again and let it go.

The men finished their lunch and went out to the truck again. Marianne’s temporary relief at leaving the city gave way to misgivings. Surely they could be wrong, she hoped. Besides, what choice did she have? Geoffrey had signed the divorce papers in June, and although he’d stayed with his mistress, he’d taken to following her around. He pestered her by email and text. She’d put up with this for six weeks and finally got sick of it. He never threatened her exactly, but it was so unnerving the way he seemed to be spying on her. Leaving the city seemed the only way out. This favor for a friend was perfect in many ways. Her name wasn’t on any papers, either as a buyer or a full-fledged renter, and Grandma’s friend seemed to need a tenant.

The front doors were propped open, and the early afternoon was spent moving her possessions from the truck to the house. Marianne gave the movers each an extra hundred from her limited cash supply to stay and help her set things up. The heaviest piece by far was her old upright piano. She’d inherited it from her mother when she’d moved a couple of years ago to a retirement community. Geoffrey had complained at the time that it was old and ugly and not worth much and begrudged the space it took up in their apartment. It was one of the few times she’d insisted they keep something he didn’t approve of. She loved the old thing and had memories of taking piano lessons in grade school and practicing on it. She’d had some vague idea of getting out some of the easy-play piano books stored in the bench and starting again. Well, now that she was in her own house she could do that without her ex’s disapproving eye on her. At least she’d had it tuned back in December before everything in her life went crazy. She hoped it had kept its tune during the move.

The piano fit best in the living room on the west wall, and the boxes slowly accumulated around it. After an hour, the house was full of boxes and furniture, and the truck was empty. Joe and Bob set up the bedroom furniture and moved the couch a couple of times, so she could see it in different places. She left it under the front windows after a particularly hard look from Joe and guessed they were out of patience. Their shirts were plastered to their backs and underarms and in a deep vee down their chests while sweat dripped off their brows.

On the last trip in Bobby handed her a clipboard with dog-eared papers jutting out untidily.
 
“Here’s the receipt, Miss Singleton. Just sign here and here. You can write a check for the balance.”

She dug around in her purse and found her checkbook. “Thanks again,” she said. “Have a safe drive back to the city.” Bobby gave her a sympathetic look. “Good luck, miss.” When they left she felt like her only allies had gone.

Her ears buzzed with the sudden silence of the post move frenzy. She stood in the living room surrounded by carefully labeled boxes and suddenly didn’t want to deal with unpacking just yet. It was 3:30 and time for ice cream. Letting Oscar out of the bathroom, she told him she was going into town. She had to fiddle with the key in the front door to get it to turn but finally managed it.

The sidewalk led back to town past four houses on each side. These houses were set well back from the road like hers and shaded by huge, old maple and oak trees. It was peaceful summertime, and she relaxed.

A faint stirring like a wisp of smoke awoke after a long slumber. Neither alive nor completely dead, it drifted through the house trying to pull itself together. A woman had come into the house, young and newly vulnerable. She was in danger. Must warn her…

An orange tabby cat watched its progress with lashing tail and slitted eyes.

Chapter 3

Violet Lane intersected with another residential road, Primrose Street, and Marianne turned left and headed a block up to Main Street. The town of Maple Hill was small enough that many businesses were on Main Street or within a block of Main. It looked much the same as she remembered from her childhood trips. There was a decent sized co-op grocery with organic and bulk foods, a post office, a hairdresser, the bank, a couple of cafes, two B and B’s and a motel-inn, a department store, a new age goddess store with a colorful display of jewelry and semi precious stones, and a hardware store, among others. Moderate street and pedestrian traffic enjoyed the sunny day.
 

Before she it slipped her mind, she walked down to Gloria’s Valley Homes and Properties. It was in an old two-story family home with a white picket fence and a neatly trimmed lawn that looked like a green carpet. The receptionist was busy on the phone, so Marianne took a moment to enjoy the air conditioning and cool off. She sat and wrote out a check for the security deposit and first month’s rent. A man somewhere in his thirties, wearing a dark green polo shirt, emerged from a back room. There was something open and honest about his strong cheekbones and square jaw. His straight sandy brown hair was a little too long and strayed into his eyes. Clearly, he was sweaty and harassed, a slight frown creasing his forehead.

Oh my, Marianne thought, as her stomach did an unexpected flip.
 

He didn’t look past the reception desk that separated the public and business spaces. Instead he grabbed a cluster of papers, murmured a fleeting, “Thanks,” and disappeared back through the door. Marianne supposed he was another salesperson for Gloria’s.

The phone clicked back into its cradle and the woman at the desk said with a polite smile, “Hello, can I help you?

Marianne stopped staring, swallowed and said, “Yes.” She handed her the rent check, made sure the receptionist knew what it was for and left.
 

She indulged in a brief fantasy of the cute guy looking up over the receptionist’s desk, seeing her and smiling like he thought she was pretty. She sighed and thought, that’ll never happen.

Jonathan Sweet’s shop was across and down a ways from the co-op, and the tables with umbrellas set out front on the sidewalk were crowded with people. It was Thursday, so she supposed that the city people were beginning to come up for the weekend. Maple Hill was not as posh as Rhinebeck or as populous as Poughkeepsie further north, but it got its share of weekenders.

A cluster of local teenagers blocked the ice cream case, giving Marianne some time to adjust her eyes to the interior. It was mostly as she remembered: white painted walls covered with vintage posters, signs, and pictures of Gibson Girls with dark hair piled on their heads and impossibly pinched waists, eating ice cream. Dark wood paneling covered the lower three feet of the walls. There were perhaps a dozen small tables with round-seated wood chairs on a red and white square linoleum floor. The cold case contained fifteen flavors of hard ice cream made locally and now included a handful of sugar free and yogurt varieties for people who wanted to pretend ice cream wasn’t fattening. Marianne never ate faux-cream herself!

The chatting and laughing teens departed, and she took advantage of the lull to approach the case and look over the flavors. Ah, yes, they still made her favorite, coffee Oreo, and she ordered a double scoop in a dish. The scooper was a young woman with ice cream smears up to her elbows. When Marianne was little, the owner, Jonathan, still came in. She remembered him as a dark, curly haired man with a passion for ice cream and a ready smile.

She ate inside appreciating the air conditioning and savoring each bite of coffee Oreo. It was every bit as good as she’d remembered it. Life wasn’t so bad if you could have delicious ice cream. Currently her ex didn’t know where she was and wouldn’t for a long time. Okay, the house felt a little old and sad and needed paint and some repairs, but it was otherwise very low rent. She didn’t know anyone in the city who paid so little. She would have to check with Mrs. Thomas, but she bet she could choose her own color scheme and make the place homey and comfortable in no time. It was a good thing her research position was slow in the summer. She might just be able to repaint most rooms before school started, and the requests for research began to come in again. She might even be able to give some thought to designing her own class. NYU and Columbia, not to mention other places, did more and more online courses, and she might be able to convince one of them to take her on.

She finished the last bites and headed out the door. She wanted to see what paint colors were available at the hardware store and to get some groceries before she went home. Brown’s Hardware was just up the street on this side according to the sign hanging over the sidewalk. A little bell hanging on a string on the inside handle jingled as she entered. She didn’t remember coming in here much as a little girl. Sometimes her Grandpa Clare had needed something and would come here to get it. All she remembered was a jumble of things and endless, dark, gloomy aisles with squeaky floors.
 

Now, the interior was better lit, though the floors still creaked at every step, and the floor to ceiling shelves held a variety of merchandise common and obscure. There were a number of patrons, mostly men in work clothes, including a man examining a wall of small plastic wrapped packages in the electricals aisle. Everyone seemed to know what he was looking for.

“May I help you, miss?” A young man behind a large wooden counter asked.

“I’m here for house paint. What do you have?”

“Let me show you,” he said as he led her to one side of the store. When she couldn’t specify a color, he handed her a few palettes of compatible colors and asked what she needed.
 

“I’ll just take the color samples for now, “ she said hastily, feeling a little overwhelmed. “I’ll need some time to think about them.”

“We’re open Monday through Friday nine to six and Saturdays till three,” the young man informed her.

“Thanks, I’ll come back before then.” She retreated onto the hot sidewalk again and slowly made her way back toward the co-op. Paint cost so much, and there were so many things she was going to need. She would have to bring the car back to carry it all. Geoffrey’s settlement with her had been reasonably generous, but she was going to have to nurse it carefully to be sure she didn’t blow through it. He’d been so horrible during the whole divorce process. She hadn’t wanted anything from him, only to get away and be done with him. But her lawyer appealed to a more practical part of her and had insisted she take a decent sum to live on. There would come a time when she had to be completely self-sustaining, but she needed time to regroup and get there.

She stepped into the cool shade of the local co-op market and got milk, eggs, some bread, and a couple of cans of cat food for Oscar. The Maple Hill Community Co-op had been a staple of the community since she was about ten. It boasted all the usual whole foods, bulk foods, international, and fair trade products but also had added a meat counter, local flowers and produce in season, and a deli with a nice assortment of foods made on the premises. As she wandered the aisles looking at products and reading labels, she heard the PA system click on, and a male voice, heavy with ennui and steeped in profound weariness, say with a deep sigh gusting across the mic, “Scott, you have a call on line one. It’s
hhher
.” And the mic clicked off.

Startled, Marianne looked around to see what people’s reactions were. There were a few other startled looks and several smiles. She happened to be near the deli and saw the two women behind the counter stifling their laughter.
 

A few minutes later the PA mic switched on again, and a cool British voice reminiscent of James Bond in his Roger Moore phase said, “Good evening, shoppers, and welcome to the Community Co-operative. There is a sale on hair and body care products on aisle eight and don’t forget to get some dinner for the missus. Have a delightful evening.”
 

Marianne smiled at the thought of James Bond reduced to PA announcements at a co-op and headed to the deli counter. It was a good idea to get something here and not have to cook tonight. The two women were grinning broadly as a small line of customers queued up. She got a container of curried chicken salad and Mediterranean green salad with lots of vegetables, olives, and feta and headed out again into the heat.

Outside the co-op, Marianne decided to call her grandmother before heading home. She sat in a convenient wire chair and dialed.

“Hi, Grandma, it’s me, Marianne.”

Grandmother Selene’s warm voice with its trace of upper crust British curled into her ear and made her smile. “Hello, dear. Did you get to Maple Hill all right?”

“Yes. The house is lovely. I think it will be perfect. Thank you so much for finding it for me.”