“I’m glad for that,” Vera said. “I wonder if Dorothy might also be feeling a little more like her old self.”
“Perhaps we’ll find out. Edward said he intended to stop by the bed-and-breakfast in a few days to see if Dot will talk to him. He’s so upset about her refusal to accept that he’s, well, Edward. He said he’ll do it after the funeral. I just hope they can make things up again.” Mr. Fallow sighed and began to straighten papers on his desk. “After all, nothing happened.”
As she left the law office, Vera kept hearing his last words: nothing happened. Most folks would agree, because of course Edward was alive and well. But then again, if nothing happened, why was the floor in the hall scrubbed clean, and the bloodstained rug placed askew over the spot?
She returned to the newspaper office to complete all the ongoing tasks a reporter had to do. It was a merry-go-round of a job, because the moment an issue went to press, it all started again for the next issue. Vera worked fast, but it still took a while to plow through the various documents piled in front of her. BW stalked past desks, urging writers to finish pieces and for proofers to hurry, hurry, hurry. He paused at Vera’s desk, asking in an arch tone, “Anything actionable today, Vixen?”
“Working on it, BW,” she promised, ignoring the sarcasm.
“You’d better be.”
As she spoke, one of the young hares from the mail room hurried up to Vera. “Message from the police station. Deputy Braun wants to see you right away!”
“Thanks!” Vera stood up and grabbed her bag. Orville must have found those logbooks faster than he expected.
When she got to the police station, there was indeed a long box marked with the years Vera had asked for. But Orville stood in the middle of the room, a stormy look on his face.
“What’s going on, Vera? You pulling a prank on me?”
“Of course not! Why would you even say that?”
“I went to the Springfield house earlier today. Edward invited me right in, and we talked in the foyer.”
“Were you able to examine the crimson rug?” she asked eagerly.
“No, because there was no rug, not of any color. Edward said he had a terrible nosebleed a couple nights ago, and it stained one corner pretty bad. He tried to clean it, but couldn’t. So he took it outside and burned it.”
“Oh, no! But don’t you think that’s suspicious?”
“I think it’s suspicious that the only creatures talking about blood are dotty Dotty Springfield, and you, the reporter always chasing a story. There’s no evidence of a crime, and poor Edward Springfield is going to bury his mother in a day, and I’m in the middle of a race for my boss’s job, so maybe you could just not make my life harder by sending me on wild goose chases!”
Vera winced, but protested, “I know what I saw, Orville.”
“Not now, Vera.” He gestured to the long box. “Here’s your musty old records. Take them out of here and have fun reading them and don’t bother me with what you find unless you can back it up with hard evidence. Got it?”
She set her jaw and said, “Yes, Officer.” Vera grabbed the big box and marched out of the station, steaming mad.
So much for the nice relationship between the media and the law in Shady Hollow!
Chapter 6
On a cool and cloudy day, the townsfolk gathered for Adora Springfield’s funeral. The Shady Hollow cemetery was actually a very pretty place, with yew trees surrounding the grounds, and many of the headstones planted with flowers and carefully tended evergreens. Family plots told the history of Shady Hollow’s settlement. From the humble graves of sawmill workers to the many, many rows of the Chitters family plot, nearly everyone who lived in town could point to a relative several generations before who now slept in the churchyard.
As a recent newcomer, Vera was one of the few who didn’t. Still, she felt a sense of community here, as the many creatures gathered and chatted. They were dressed in black, but the mood was calm. Mrs. Adora Springfield had lived a long and full life. She’d had children and carried on a family business that was known throughout the region. At the end, she was at peace. There was little to be sad about in that.
Lenore, who was always dressed in black, stepped up to Vera. “Quite the crowd, hmm? Have you seen the Springfield crypt yet?”
“No, I thought I’d wait for locals to pay their respects first.”
“Then you’ll be waiting until next winter. Come on, it’s quite a sight.”
Lenore led Vera up a slope.
Several families had crypts, and they were all arranged around this hill, dug deep into the side of it to take advantage of the natural feature. But a very few crypts stood on top, and the Springfield crypt was at the center. Vera was impressed by the gracious architecture, elegant grey stone carved with skill to resemble tree trunks at each corner, with wildflowers etched along the side, and the image of a fountain carved in relief. The words No matter how cold the winter, spring always returns were carved above the fountain. Vera tipped her head, seeing a silvery gleam in the design.
“Yup,” Lenore whispered. “Your eyes are not playing tricks on you. There’s real silver on those walls. The Springfield mining operation does very good business, and the family pays for someone to come here and polish the silver insets to keep the tarnish off. They’ve got enough money to have maid service for the dead. Now that’s a power move.”
Vera
