14
Angel’s Trumpet
HIS WORDS WERE LEFT HANGING as he signed off. Peggy looked at the screen, then rubbed her eyes. Common sense and reason returned with the morning light. Maybe Steve was right. Maybe she was crazy to go out at midnight to meet Nightflyer. Hadn’t she thought much the same thing before she left the house? But she had a stubborn streak that never wanted to give up, sometimes even at the expense of common sense and reason.
Was it a romantic thing, wanting to meet Nightflyer? What was she expecting? A knight in shining armor? Someone who was going to whisk her away from her life? She was well beyond the fairy-tale years, and she loved her life. No, she decided, Nightflyer had given her a few good leads, and she wanted to help Darmus. That was all.
Except that didn’t explain her racing heart and flushed cheeks. Was it the mystery? Was it the darkness that intrigued her? She knew she was flirting with trouble. Steve was right, much as she hated to admit it. If she was smart, she would never play chess with Nightflyer or talk to him again. She could find her own clues.
It was 6:15. Not too early to get a jump on the day. She could go to the Potting Shed and get started on Mrs. Turnbrell’s white garden. She was looking forward to the hard physical labor. It might get her mind off of other things.
She got up, showered, and dressed in old jeans and one of the first Potting Shed T-shirts they’d ever made. It was old and worn but comfortable. She slipped sunscreen into her bag, despite a warning from a friend about the dangers of using too much protection. He was a biology professor at the University of Minnesota who claimed to have found a link between skin cancer and sunscreen. He was convinced it was bad to use sunscreen to prevent sunburn because it also blocked vitamin D, which helped to prevent cancer. Peggy wasn’t sure about that hypothesis, and she didn’t want to walk around with a red face for a week, either.
Her Reeboks didn’t make a sound on the marble stairs as she ran down them. She suddenly felt very free and light, as though a burden had been lifted from her shoulders. She decided she was going to see Steve, and everything was going to work out. He was jealous. She could see that now. But he had nothing to be jealous of. She was wrong to feel that Nightflyer was so intriguing. She loved Steve and would hang around his door until he told her he wasn’t mad anymore.
Her next stop was the kitchen for leftover muffins from the night before. She knew Steve was an early riser, too. If he had coffee, she had muffins. It would be good to see his face and hear his voice before she went to work. He’d spent too much time with her family, probably just to make her happy. She wanted some time alone with him.
As she walked down the road to Steve’s house, she noticed how Queens Road was a different place in the pale morning light. Cars traveled along, nearly scraping the huge old oak trees lining the edges. Every year, the traffic got worse. There was no way to widen the road without losing the magnificent giants they all tried so hard to preserve. Peggy wasn’t sure how long the trees were going to last with all that carbon dioxide anyway. Charlotte wanted to be known as the city of trees, but they weren’t willing to enact one single law to preserve their heritage.
Steve lived only a few doors down in another large old house built around the turn of the century. He’d inherited his house from his uncle, another veterinarian, who’d lived there for years. The redbrick was solid and looked like it would stand another hundred years. The house reminded her of Steve. He was always there when she needed him, despite some outrageous acts she’d pulled to prove her theories true. As she’d told her father, Steve was a good man. Maybe he was little unexciting, but he was steady.
Peggy knocked on the side door that led into the kitchen and peered through the window. There was no answer, no light in the kitchen. And no coffee in the pot on the counter. She knocked again a little harder. Was something wrong? Had he been called away on an emergency? Steve always had coffee on by six. It was almost six thirty. Maybe he was ill.
A few minutes later, he came to the door. He stared at her through the window for a long time.
“Steve?” She put her hand on the cool glass that separated them. “What is it? Are you okay? Do you need a doctor?”
