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STILL IN HER NIGHTGOWN and robe Abigail sat gazing from the porch out over the yard and soaked in the warm morning. It was a beautiful day and she was happy Frank was home and the whole Chicago kidnapping thing was behind them. She’d been dismayed when she’d learned Frank had shot the kidnapper’s car up to stop them from escaping. If the criminals used their rifle the result could have been very different. Frank could have been hurt or killed. She could hear him inside the cabin talking again to Sam Cato on the phone. Now he was giving Sam Glinda’s telephone number and her address. The psychic and the cop had become friends during the time they’d spent together on the case. Frank had told her that Sam respected the psychic and was grateful she’d been able to help them. He wanted to ask her advice in the future if he ever needed it again. Abigail was surprised Glinda had agreed to that as private as she usually was. But if it helped any new victims, she’d explained, then she’d help.
She heard her husband say goodbye, call the dogs in to feed and then release them out into the fenced in backyard. A few minutes later he came out onto the front porch with a cup of coffee and the newspapers Myrtle had brought by for him earlier and joined her. As she enjoyed the fresh air and the scenery, he skimmed through the papers, reading the pieces on the abduction case first and then going on to read the rest of each one. Chicago had been his home for many years so he said it was nice to read its news. Said it made him extra glad he now lived in quiet little Spookie. Well, most of the time anyway.
Abigail wasn’t interested in the newspapers. “Reading about bad stuff makes me paranoid and I’m paranoid enough,” she’d confided when he’d shown her the papers earlier. But she was proud of him and Glinda for what they’d done. They’d saved people’s lives and that was amazing.
“It sure is a pretty day, isn’t it?” she commented as she pushed the swing beneath her with her feet. The slow back and forth motion soothed her.
“It sure is. Another day in paradise.” He smiled at her, leaned over and gave her a kiss, bridging the space between them.
She knew why he was in such a good mood. Laura and all her classmates at the college were safe and he was home again. He knew she hated it when he was gone and especially if she thought he was in danger. So all was well in their little world again.
“What are your plans for today, sweetheart?” Frank put the newspaper he’d been reading aside and Snowball, who’d been lurking behind their chairs listening to them, pounced on it and tried to eat it. The cat realized quickly it wasn’t eatable and ran off to play in the yard.
“I’m meeting Samantha in an hour at the newspaper to kick off her mayoral campaign advertising. I don’t look forward to reviving memories of all those years I sat at a computer doing mindless car and real estate ads at my old job, but I promised Samantha I’d create the ads for her. At least I’ll have total control over what I produce and how. Unlike the old days. And I’ll get paid a heck of a lot better on top of it.”
“Uh, isn’t she having that baby of hers pretty soon?”
“She is, but it’s not keeping her from working on the campaign. You know her. A master multi-tasker. There’s so much to do, she says. Knocking on doors, talking to her future constituents and learning as much as she can about local level politics. She really wants to be a good mayor if she gets elected. Also staying so busy she can barely think helps her keep her mind off the approaching delivery. Being a first time mother, I believe she’s afraid, of it, what comes afterwards, raising another human being...everything. So in to town I’ll go and placate her. Keep her busy. It’s going to be so much fun, working in a newspaper office again.” She grimaced. “Just like old times.”
“It’ll be nothing like the old days,” he reminded her, “you’re your own boss now. An established and celebrated free-lance artist.”
She tossed her head haughtily. “Yes. I am.”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you. Nick has invited us to attend his band practice today at five at his bandmate Leroy’s garage.”
“You’re kidding? Nick is letting us hear his band for the first time? He’s been so secretive and possessive with his music since he began playing with Leroy and Paul. What brought this on?”
“Their first gig. He informed me this morning before he caught the school bus he and the guys were playing this Saturday afternoon at Joe’s Pizza Parlor on Second Street. Since it’s their first performance for the public he’s decided he’d like to do a smaller, more intimate tryout for us. Sort of a practice run.”
Abigail was tickled with the invitation. “How about that? I’ve been dying to hear him and his band so I will be sure to be there. Five you say, at Leroy’s garage?” Leroy Harrison lived a mile or so away from them. Leroy had been friends with Nick since they’d been in grade school and when Nick still lived at home with his parents and siblings. The two boys had formed the band six months before and three months later had added Paul Blatner, another friend of theirs, on the drums. Nick and Leroy played guitar and sang. Abigail and Frank had been catching snatches of Nick’s playing for over a year through his closed bedroom door. She thought he sounded extremely talented for his young age, his music had a kind of Tom Petty vibe, and he was already writing his own songs. His band was soft rock or that was how he described it. Abigail had been dying to hear them and here she finally would have a front row seat. She couldn’t stop grinning. There was a time, once when she was very young, a teenager, when she’d wanted to sing in a band. She did for a short while in the summer of her junior year of high school. Her and a couple of her friends started a band that summer but never really played out anywhere. The lead guitarist quit and that was that. She had loved singing the songs of the day, being part of a band, but had already decided she wanted to be an artist more than she wanted to be a singer, so she didn’t mind the band dissolving. So it was ironic her adopted son had formed a band. But, unlike her young self, he was already a serious musician, singer, song writer; something she’d never been. The music made him happy so that was all that mattered. She and Frank were behind him a hundred percent.
“I’ll meet you there, Abby. I wouldn’t miss it, either. I’ve wanted to hear that band of Nick’s for months now. I can’t wait.”
“Me, neither.”
“I thought,” Frank said, “since you and Myrtle have broken the ice, so to speak, I’d pay a visit to Silas Smith and his wife this morning. I want to see if there is anything I can do for them. Like small needed home improvements or something a younger man can do around the yard that old Silas can no longer accomplish.”
“That’s sweet of you, honey.”
“Well, I’m going to be elderly someday myself so I thought I’d be nice to Silas and perhaps one day some young whipper-snapper will be nice to me when I’m an old man.”
“Pay it forward now to be repaid at a later date, huh?”
“You can say that. Truthfully though, I want to let him know we’re here to help if they need something. Make official contact.”
“I’m sure they’ll appreciate it. I did notice when Myrtle and I were there the other day the house looked in need of repairs. There are missing boards on the porch. That yard is a mess. The kitchen sink leaks. Just don’t overextend yourself, husband. You know you’re no spring chicken yourself.”
“I know. If I need to do any strenuous odd jobs for them I’ll take it easy. I’m still sore from that wild romp at the kidnappers’ hideout.” He hesitated as if he was going to say something more, then didn’t. She knew the case had affected him, what he’d done, what he’d seen. And he’d talk about it to her eventually when he got his own thoughts about it in order.
They lingered on the porch a little longer, talking and spending time together, before Abigail got up to dress and drove into town to meet Samantha and Frank went off to see Silas.
*****
“HI THERE ABIGAIL,” Samantha welcomed her when she walked through the newspaper’s doors. “I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been going crazy trying to finish this ad I want to run in the paper this week. I call it my campaign launching ad. Take a look at it for me, would you? It’s missing something, I just don’t know what. It’s so...boring. Flat.”
Abigail thought Samantha looked truly well for how far along she was in her pregnancy. But the woman was basically an optimistic individual and was contented with her life. She had a good marriage, home life and she had ambitions and dreams. Perfect ingredients for a happy life; along with good health, of course.
“Here,” Abigail scooted her friend out of the seat in front of the computer and took it for herself, “let me have a look at it.” Minutes later, after asking for a different digital picture of Samantha she could use, one smiling, she exclaimed, “There. What do you think?”
Samantha clapped her hands together delightedly as she examined the ad on the computer screen. “Oh my, you have the magic touch all right. How did you do that? A couple of clicks here and there and voila! It’s perfect now. You even rewrote the copy and it sounds better. Bravo! Thanks, Abigail.”
“Okay, boss,” Abigail teased. “Now give me the political material you’ve written up for me to use and I’ll start knocking out those ads and poster templates.”
“Here it is. Everything you or my future constituents would ever want to know about me and what I plan to do for Spookie when I become mayor.” Samantha slipped a manila folder across the desk at her. “I’ve also been thinking...how about if you paint a simple political ad on the outside wall of the newspaper here? Oh, not as detailed and realistic as your usual murals, but just a text mural with a campaign message. There’s my amateur rendition, a rough sketch, of it first thing in the folder. Just the concept and basic text. Feel free to change anything or even create your own version. I figure if it was a simple painting you could knock it out without much trouble. When the campaign is over I’ll just have you paint over it, same color as the wall. And if I win maybe I’ll leave it up forever.” Her grin was impish. “Of course, I’ll pay extra for it. Just shoot me a price. But remember,” she tossed in a sweet voice, “we’re friends.”
Abigail chuckled. “And what makes you think I give discounts to my friends?”
“Please?”
“Okay. Big big discount, and it’ll be included as part of the final bill for the complete campaign. And when you become mayor, friend, I’ll expect special privileges.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, I don’t know right now but when you are mayor I’ll let you know what favors.”
“I’m sure you will. But, heads up, I believe in transparent and honest governing. No corruption.”
Abigail had heard the speech a time or two and fully agreed with Samantha’s creed. Moving on. “So how are you feeling these days?” She glanced at Samantha’s very round stomach. “It’s not long now, huh?”
“Two weeks give or take a year.” Samantha smiled as she rubbed her belly. “And I’m so ready for this baby to come. I want my regular slim body back. I’m sick of being fat. I want to stop having to pee every fifteen minutes and I want to be able to eat a meal without heartburn.”
“Still a lot of heartburn, ey? Remember what I said weeks ago? Heartburn means the baby will have a lot of hair when he or she is born.”
“That’s what I’ve been told. Another old wives’ tale.”
“Possibly.” Abigail opened the file and started digesting the information inside of it. All the facts, figures, history and campaign promises of one Samantha Westerly. Her mind instantly began formulating how she would use the information. It was at that moment she grasped she was going to enjoy creating the mayoral advertising for Samantha. It was a new adventure; something she’d never done before. Her freelance art career would be there when she returned to it. This could be a nice break. And she’d be helping a friend achieve one of her life’s goals. What more could a girl ask for?
“The baby’s room is ready,” Samantha was rattling on as Abigail worked on the computer. “We painted it yellow. That’s a bright cheerful color to keep us awake during the middle of the night with feeding and diaper changes. And Kent has offered to....”
“Yellow is good.” Abigail’s mind drifted away from the present and the baby talk as her thoughts concentrated on her new job.
Around two thirty Abigail glanced out the newspaper’s front window and spotted Kate on the sidewalk heading their way, a bakery box clutched in her hands. “Looks like we’re going to have a visitor.”
Kate waltzed in. “Special delivery.” She set the white box on the desk between Abigail and Samantha. “All your favorites, Samantha.”
“She’s been bringing me donuts every afternoon for the last two weeks,” Samantha explained as she grabbed the box. “She says they’re for the baby, but I eat them anyway. Help yourself Abigail. She brings plenty.”
“And she eats them all.” Kate sat down across from them. “Fancy meeting you here Abigail. What’s up? You working here now?”
“Fat chance. I’m helping Samantha get ready for the mayoral election. Doing all her campaign ads and whatnot.”
“For a second I thought you’d resumed your newspaper career.”
“Nope. Only working to get our first female mayor here in Spookie. She’s going to win, you know?”
“I know,” Kate replied amiably. “I have no doubt. I’ve actually offered to supply sandwiches and donuts at a huge markdown for any of her campaign rallies and free for her victory celebration.”
“Hey, Kate, is the wedding still on?” Abigail pestered her friend. “Still June twentieth at St. Paul’s?”
“Absolutely, and with the reception to follow at the Delicious Circle.”
“Hopefully I’ll be my old self by then and can fit into one of my nicer outfits,” Samantha voiced as she took a donut out of the box and ate it faster than Abigail had ever seen a donut eaten. “How goes the remodeling?”
“Really good,” Kate said. “Norman has been working on the upstairs renovations, clearing out the space so we have a decent place to live until we can find a house. He knocked a wall down and it’s nice and roomy now.”
She turned to Abigail. “I heard about Frank and Glinda catching those kidnappers in Chicago. You must be so proud.”
“I am. But how did you hear about it when their names were never mentioned in the media blitz or the newspapers?”
“Myrtle,” was all Kate had to say.
“Of course, how else? Did she give you all the gory details, too?”
“All she could remember and probably excessive embellishments as well. Now tell me what really happened in Chicago, the real version.”
Abigail did and afterwards the friends exchanged other town news and gossip. And so the afternoon passed. Abigail continued to work as the three talked until Kate went back to her shop.
At four thirty Abigail pulled out the memory stick from the computer, packed up the paperwork, grabbed her purse and drove to Leroy’s garage excited to be attending her son’s band practice.
*****
FRANK WAS WAITING FOR her at Leroy’s house and the band was rehearsing when she strolled up the driveway and peeked into the open garage.
There within the cluttered room was Nick looking so much more mature than his sixteen years and playing his guitar with adept fingers. He’d let his hair grow long and had taken to wearing black clothes, saying it was his look. A handsome boy with dreamy eyes, he was growing up faster than she wanted him to, had added bulk onto his thin frame and had shot up in height to over six foot. He was going to be a heartbreaker one day.
The songs weren’t any tunes she recognized, a little rock, a little blues, but she thought the three piece band sounded really good. The instruments were in sync and Leroy and Nick’s voices harmonized well. All in all, Abigail thought they sounded wonderful. Nick’s voice was exceptionally melodic. It shouldn’t have surprised her, she’d heard Nick singing around the house, but it did.
As she watched her son strum his guitar and sing his heart out she remembered him as the young boy, the one she’d met so long ago in the town library; the undernourished waif, who along with his hungry sister, yearned after the donuts she’d bring in every morning as she painted her first mural. These days the two boys had little in common, just as the hungry young girl from that time had little in common with the present day Laura. She was proud of both of them and blessed the day she had decided to take them under her wing and raise them as her own. She was also proud she and Frank had worked as hard as they had to keep Laura and Nick’s siblings in their lives, too. The other orphaned Brooks’ brothers and sisters spent a lot of time with each other at one relative’s house or another. She and Frank often hosted weekend sleepovers whenever any of the other children wanted to visit and made sure the kids knew they were always welcomed. It had made for a full joyful life and Abigail was thankful for that every day. Coming to Spookie and opening her heart to Frank, the children, friends and the town had been the best decision she’d ever made. She had an amazingly huge family.
Following a couple more songs, Nick called a break to the music making. “What do you think?” he asked her and Frank. “How do we sound?”
“I think you sound pretty darn good.” Frank slapped the boy on his back. “Who originally recorded those songs?”
“No one,” Nick responded. “Leroy and I wrote the songs you heard. Yeah we do cover songs but I wanted you to hear our songs first.” Nick seemed proud of himself and his band. Leroy and Paul flanked him, all teenage grins. It was easy to see Nick was the leader.
“I loved them, especially the second one,” Abigail admitted. “It was haunting.”
“Something Dark is Coming. That’s the one I like the best,” Leroy said. “My mom likes it best also.”
It didn’t take long to discover Paul was the quiet one while the other two did all the talking.
The rehearsal continued after the boys ran off for a few minutes, grabbed sodas, and conferred about what songs to sing next. Abigail leaned against Frank and reveled in the music.
As absorbed as she was in listening she still noticed when Frank pulled his cell phone from his pocket, put it up to his ear and moved down the driveway so he could hear whoever was on the other end.
When he touched her on the shoulder and she pivoted around, she saw by his face’s expression something was wrong. He waved his hands at the musicians and the music abruptly ceased.
“We need to go, Abby. That was Glinda on the phone. She says Myrtle has been out hunting all day, if you know what I mean, and hasn’t returned. It’s getting dark and Glinda’s concerned. She wants us to come over and help her look for her.”
Abigail nodded. “Let’s go.”
Nick must have heard their conversation because he stepped forward. “Myrtle’s in trouble? I’ll help.”
Frank only took a moment before he accepted the kid’s offer. “We could use the help, son. Night’s coming and she’s a frail old woman. Heaven knows what condition we might find her in, wherever she is. We suspect she’s somewhere on Glinda’s property. Let’s go.”
“Bring your car, Abby, and we’ll meet you at Glinda’s,” Frank told her.
Nick spoke quick goodbyes to his bandmates, promising to practice longer the next day and followed Frank to his truck, while she ran to her car.
She fretted, now what trouble had that old woman gotten herself into? But beneath her irritation there was fear. Myrtle was old but she fancied she was decades younger. She was often forgetful or reckless. Oh please, Abigail thought, don’t let anything bad have happened to her. Myrtle was Spookie and Spookie was Myrtle. And Abigail couldn’t image her life without the old lady.