There was a terrible ripping sound as Nancy vaulted into the front seat of her car seconds before the convertible top closed down.
Nancy pounded the automatic window button. It whooshed closed as the dogs were flinging themselves at her door.
“Let’s get out of here!” Bess shrieked from the backseat.
Pumped with adrenalin, Nancy threw the car into reverse. She gunned her engine, and the dogs backed off, growling. Then she swerved into a screechy U-turn and tore out of the barnyard.
Nancy’s heart was racing as she glanced in her rearview mirror. The narrow road stretched straight behind her, and the well-lit barnyard was still in sight. The dogs were holding their ground at the edge of the barnyard, barking furiously. Behind the dogs, silhouetted in the light, all four guys were standing near their pickup, staring at the Mustang.
“What if they follow us?” Bess shuddered in the backseat, where she was peering out the window.
“They don’t seem to be in any rush,” Nancy said, but she continued to speed down the bumpy road. Only when she reached the place where the road forked did she slow down and finally stop.
Nancy blew out her breath and rested her forehead on the steering wheel. “That was seriously scary,” she said, lifting her head after a moment.
“They could have killed you, Nan,” George said.
“Well, I’m okay.” Nancy’s pulse was finally slowing. She pulled off her sweater and eyed the hole ruefully. “Hannah made this for me,” she said,, putting it on the seat beside her and reaching for her seat belt. “Let’s get out of here. I’m still not sure those creeps aren’t going to follow us. This is a pretty dark, deserted road.”
“But what was with those guys? You just asked for directions,” Bess grumbled.
“Obviously, they didn’t want to be disturbed. I have a feeling we walked in on something illegal. Otherwise why the dogs? Why the attitude?” Nancy said.
Driving more carefully to avoid the ruts, Nancy replayed the scene in her head. Something about those guys and that truck was bothering her. Suddenly she knew what. She glanced across the front seat at George. “Did you notice anything weird about the way those guys were loading hay in that truck?”
“Like what?”
“Like, they were handling those hay bales like they were made of glass. Usually you just throw bales into the back of a truck or a wagon. You don’t carry them as if they’re fragile cargo.”
“Nancy, come to think of it, you’re right. It was weird.”
“But why would they do that?” Bess wondered.
“I’m not sure,” Nancy said, although she had a pretty good hunch. Still, she wanted to keep it to herself until she was more certain. “But I tell you one thing, I’m going back there tomorrow night to check it out.”
“Are you nuts?” George gasped. “What about those dogs?”
“I’ll figure something out. Maybe I’ll drop by that BurlyBurgers joint in town and pick up some burgers to go. Or I’ll go to the supermarket and buy a couple of steaks to keep them busy. But don’t worry. I’ll be careful.”
The next morning Nancy arrived early at the pottery studio. The air was heavy and still. Though it was barely eight, the sky was hazy. The day promised to be hot and humid. Outside the studio, someone had improvised a table from an old door and two sawhorses. A cheerful plastic cloth was draped across the top. The studio coffee urn had been moved outside, and now it bubbled next to a tray heaped with bagels. Nancy took a cup of coffee.
The pottery yard had been cleaned up since the other night. Raku barrels were stacked in an open storage shed. Woodpiles had been straightened out. The clutter of buckets and hoses and other raku paraphernalia had been stowed away. Looking pasty and half asleep, Karen yawned a “good morning” to Nancy, then went back to sorting a skid of bricks.
The kiln-building workshop wouldn’t begin for half an hour or so. Ellie May’s drawl floated out from the studio as she issued orders to her helpers. Nancy caught only a few words, something about firebricks, lathing, and work gloves. Nancy started for the studio door, in half a mind to report the incident at the barn to Ellie May. Nancy was angry, annoyed, and still a bit shaken. But she was also wary. Those men had been up to no good. Why were they loading bales of hay onto a truck after ten at night anyway?
Nancy backed away from the studio and poured herself more coffee. She’d put off talking to Ellie May. The acting director might be forced to call in the police if Nancy lodged a formal complaint about the dogs. Nancy wanted the chance to investigate that barn herself first. Something had to be inside those bales of hay—some kind of contraband. Why else would the guys be so defensive? All she had done was ask for directions.
No, whatever was stashed in those hay bales had to be illegal. Maybe the guys were fencing stolen goods or even drugs. But Nancy would bet anything that they were moving counterfeit pots—pots that had been made here in the village, perhaps by Danny but most likely by Theresa, she concluded sadly. “I hope I’m wrong,” she murmured aloud.
“About what?” Ellie May asked, approaching the coffee urn.
Nancy felt her cheeks grow red. “Sorry. I don’t usually mutter to myself,” she said with an embarrassed laugh. Then to change the subject, she said, “I checked out the raku display in the library yesterday. I liked your pieces.”
“Why, thank you.” Ellie May looked pleased.
“Do you do lots of raku?” Nancy asked.
“Sometimes.” Ellie May’s tone became guarded. “Especially here. Why?”
“I’m just curious,” Nancy admitted. “All you potters—like the ones with works on display in that library case—have distinctive styles. I’d never mistake your work for Theresa’s or Danny’s.”
Ellie May studied Nancy before answering. “It’s partially out of choice, depending on which process you enjoy doing most. A well-trained ceramic artist can do fairly controlled work, as well as looser pieces, though I think a person’s innate talent steers them in one direction or another. Does that answer your curosity?”
Nancy laughed. “Perfectly,” she said, but she watched Ellie May as the potter began to round up the students milling about the yard. Why had her questions put Ellie May a bit on the defensive?
“Sorry we’re so late,” George said, walking up to the table and snagging a bagel. “But Bess had trouble putting together a perfect kiln-building outfit.”
Nancy looked at Bess and grinned. While George and she were dressed in jeans and fairly shabby T-shirts, Bess was wearing tan shorts and a cropped red stretch top that showed her navel. Her one concession to kiln building seemed to be her shoes: instead of platform sandals, Bess was wearing a pair of sparkly red high-top sneakers.
“I thought Theresa would be here,” George commented, selecting a pair of work gloves from a stash on the table. She tossed a pair to Nancy.
Tucking them into her back pocket, Nancy said, “I ran into her this morning on my way over here. She was jogging back from the river to the residence. She said she was still trying to reconstruct her lost pottery notes. She’s pretty upset about her sketchbook. Maybe she’ll drop by later.”
Bess looked up from trying to match a pair of gloves to her red top and dropped her voice. “Did you talk to her yet about what the museum curator said? She must be dying to know what you found out.”
“No, I’d rather wait.”
Before Nancy could say more, Ellie May called the group together. Nancy saw that Ellie’s assistants, Michael and David, had turned up to help.
Both guys looked seriously rumpled as they reported to Ellie May. Nancy watched as they spoke with her. Michael suddenly caught Nancy staring at him. She smiled, but he turned away quickly. What’s with him? Nancy wondered. She’d barely said two words to the guy since arriving at the Junction.
Ellie May talked about the different types of kilns. There were electric kilns, like the ones inside the studio. Others, fueled by gas, ranged from the small raku kiln to the large walk-in gas kiln housed in a separate outbuilding behind the main studio. “Then we have wood-burning kilns, like the kind you are building today. Here at the Junction we generally build a wood kiln during the summer workshops, then dismantle it at the end of the season and reuse the materials the next year for the next group of students. We also have the mother of all wood-burning kilns here, which I’m sure you saw on your tour of the village. It’s called an anagama kiln. Ours has six chambers climbing into the side of a hill. It’s very large, and is fired only two or three times a year. It’s a permanent structure. If you get a chance over the next couple of days, check it out.”
Ellie May went on to explain the process of building a simple kiln. “First we lay down a base or foundation of cinder blocks. Let me warn you now, you women are to lift the blocks in pairs …”
George groaned in protest. “Hey, some of us are strong.”
“Right. I’m sure you are strong enough, but it’s crucial to save your back.”
George rolled her eyes as Ellie May continued, “On top of the blocks we’ll lay down several courses, or rows, of hard bricks, then we’ll switch to the softer firebricks. The tough part is the arch, but fortunately this is a small kiln. You see we already have the arch form built of wood over there. Hard brick is used for the arch.
“It’ll all be clearer once you look at our plan and some photos of a completed kiln—the one we built last year.” Ellie May gathered everyone around a table to look at the plan and the pictures. She finally concluded. “It’s pretty small-scale, and with a crew of—let’s see, you’re about a dozen—we should finish the work this afternoon, or by early evening at the latest. I know some of you are just more or less visiting this workshop, so you’re free to leave whenever you want.” Next she divided people into teams, assigning one studio helper to each pair of students. Nancy found herself teamed with Ellie May.
Soon the work began, and time seemed to fly. Heaving the cinder blocks, even in teams, proved to be tiring, but by the time the fourth course of hard bricks was laid, Nancy, sweaty and with her face streaked with dust, realized she was having a great time. She swigged down some water and ran her arm across her forehead. Looking around, she saw that all the participants were smiling, dirty, and thoroughly enjoying themselves.
“Speaking of firebricks, we need some more,” Ellie May said. She started across the yard toward a row of skids stacked tall with pale-colored bricks. “Nancy, I could use a hand.”
Nancy put down her water and hurried over to help.
Ellie May flashed a grateful smile as Nancy piled a stack of lightweight bricks into the woman’s arms. Ellie May headed toward the kiln while Nancy stayed behind a moment to pick up some bricks that had fallen on the ground.
Suddenly Nancy heard a strange grating noise. She glanced up just as George shouted, “Nan, watch out!” At the same time the tall pile of bricks slipped off the skids and tumbled toward her.