second consideration: How does it hold up? Because you were never going to get to the third question: How does it taste? if it had all turned moldy green.
With sudden decisiveness, I made a U-turn on Main Street and followed ice-carved Cottonwood Creek as it flowed eastward. Every now and then, spotlights from a cabin lit up the creek. On the patches of ice, fallen snow lay strewn like spills of popcorn. Steam rose from the trickle of the creek that had not frozen.
Just beyond a Texaco station, I slowed. A lighted sign on the left side of the road indicated the entry to county-owned Cottonwood Park. This meant I was getting close to the castle. On my left, the heavily forested hills of the park rose steeply from the road. On the right, the creek was now invisible. I pressed the accelerator resolutely and the van chugged forward.
A moment later, headlights glared in my rearview mirror. I skidded onto the shoulder. We were just over half a mile from the castle. When someone shoots your window out, everything is suspect. Arch, who’d awakened, checked the side view. The vehicle passed us at a noisy clip and roared on eastward, down the canyon.
“We’re on our way to Hyde Castle,” I said to Arch. His face within his jacket hood became wary. “Poltergeist Palace? That’s where the people want you to fix the historic food?”
“Exactly. Let’s hope they’re awake.” I frowned. First the cop, now my son. Did everyone except me believe in ghosts? “Why exactly is it called Poltergeist Palace?”
“Jeez, Mom, don’t you know? The ghost
of the earl’s nephew, that the famous letter was about? After his uncle told him he couldn’t stay with the uncle’s family, the kid got sick. He died of pneumonia. Anyway, he’s supposed to run around the place at night, carrying a sword.”
“Does he hang out in the kitchen?”
“I don’t know. Michaela’s been telling us about the Great Hall, where the banquet will be on Friday night,” Arch went on. “We’re going to do a fencing demonstration before we eat.”
I powered up the cellular and pressed in the Hydes’ number. Sukie, sounding only slightly groggy, answered on the second ring. I tried to make our plight sound humorous. Not fooled, she asked in a hoarse, concerned voice where we were. Heading east, I told her, along the creek. She consulted with Eliot, then came back. When she was less than fully awake, her accent was more noticeable. Ze gates arh oh-pen, she announced. I should take care on the driveway, she cautioned, as it was long, winding, and not well lit. She gave me the security-pad code for the castle gatehouse - the imposing, twin-towered entrance to the castle itself - and said please to come immediately. I was profusely thankful.
As Arch and I passed through the quiet canyon, a light snow began to fall. To our right, Hyde Chapel appeared, its two spires silhouetted by a street lamp. The chapel had its own bridge across the creek, which looked romantically inviting in the darkness. Maybe that was where the earl’s ghostly nephew was now hanging out.
A few moments later, I turned at the paved castle driveway and drove over another old bridge spanning Cottonwood Creek. More grim coats of arms had been wired to the high iron fence that circled the castle property. With my new concern for security, I would have to ask the Hydes about how they kept undesirables out of their castle. Hearing the details of my shot-out-window story, perhaps Eliot and Sukie would reconsider their kind invitation.
The driveway wound past spotlit boulders, tall, creaking lodgepole pines, stands of white-skinned aspens, thickets of chokecherry bushes, and blue spruces in perfect Christmas-tree shapes. When the van suddenly thudded over a large rock, I reminded myself to drive more carefully, or risk becoming part of a not-so-scenic overlook.
We followed the twisting drive upward until my headlights illuminated snow-crusted boulders marking the first parking area. At the edge of the lot, a one-lane wooden causeway beckoned. Beyond the bridge rose the castle itself.
I gulped. My previous visit had taken place during the day. In the predawn darkness, the stone fortress, built in medieval military style and rooted into a
forested hillside, looked far less inviting. Spotlights carved out the facade’s four crenellated towers, the high, arched gatehouse, and the widely spaced, narrow windows from which, centuries ago, archers had rained arrows down on their enemies. Snow spiraled onto the steaming moat. Above the water, creamy patches of fog drifted across the tower tops and into the trees.
Arch said, “Suppose they’d let me have my birthday party here?”
I grunted a negative as our tires thumped across the planks of the causeway. To keep the moat water from freezing, Sukie had ordered the installation of aerating pumps. That way, fish and wildfowl would make it through the winter. I smiled. Wealthy folks were always telling me how much they cared about the environment.
My cell phone bleated. Rather than risk driving off the causeway, I braked and put the van in parking gear. Arch peered down at the ducks huddled around one of the aerators.
“Good God, Goldy, where the hell are you?” Marla Korman’s voice sounded even more husky than usual. “I called your house and got some cop.”
“I’m at the Hydes’ castle. Or just about there,” I corrected. “It’s a long story.” Long or no, Marla would want to hear it. “A couple of hours ago, somebody shot out the picture window in our living room. There’s glass everywhere, and the cops wanted us out.”
Marla, usually a late sleeper, was silent. No matter the time of day, though, once she started talking, my friend rarely stopped. Below us, the causeway swayed slightly. Steam from the moat clouded our windows.
“Where’s Tom?” she demanded, her voice urgent. “About to leave New Jersey. I’m going to try to reach him as soon as I
get settled. We’re here because Arch and I needed a place to park until we get sorted out. I didn’t want to bother you this early.”
She groaned. “We should be together.” So all of us could be in danger? “Look, Marla,” I said, “thanks. But you don’t need to worry. Tom will be back late this morning. Everything is going to be fine.”
“Listen.” She lowered her voice to a murmur. “Is Arch with you?”
Suddenly I felt my son’s eyes on me. “Of course.” Marla said, “The parole board met Friday, Goldy. The Jerk’s out.”
-4-
I stared at the twin clouds of mist coiling upward from the moat’s aerators. It can’t be true.
“You there, Goldy?”
“I was supposed to get a letter…
.”
“You’re on the victim notification list?” She took a swig of something, probably orange juice. Marla never faced crises without food and drink. “I’m not on the list, but I told my lawyer to stay on top of John Richard’s petition for early release. Your notification is probably in the mail.”
“Lot of good that does me now.”
Marla said, “If you can’t come down here, I’ll drive up to the castle after I get dressed. I can be there in ninety minutes. Wait at the gate for me.”
There was a whirring in my ears that didn’t come from the cell phone. “No, Marla, please. Thanks, but don’t come this early - ” I faltered. I thought again of the noise that had awakened me. I’d heard a footstep on ice, but had it been a familiar one? Crack, gunshot, splintering glass. “Marla, did you tell the cops at our house? About him?” I glanced at Arch, who was pretending not to listen. He had fixed his eyes on one of the spotlit corner towers, tall granite drums where lookouts had once been posted. “Marla, did you tell them?” I tried not to hear the anxiety in my voice.
“Of course not. I didn’t know why the cops were there, and they sure weren’t about to tell me. All they’d say was that you were alive. So I had to talk to you.”
“I’d better call them back,” I said.
Marla started to say something, but the line cracked and blurred. Doggone it. The Department of Corrections had notified us when John Richard had first petitioned for early release. I’d appeared before the parole board in January, giving all the reasons why an early release was a very bad idea. Dr. John Richard Korman should serve at least the minimum - eight months - of his two-year sentence for assault. The Jerk believed he should serve no more than four months, and had cited his behavior as a model prisoner, which included using the Heimlich maneuver on another inmate who’d been choking on a hot dog.
