In the days before the party, Caroline kept Ben’s time filled with tasks. Despite this, he rose early each morning to search the grounds for signs of Hudson, and he stole the odd moment to work on his book. It was good to be busy. Everyone knows it’s a bad idea to slow down while driving through a bad neighborhood.
Caroline was pulling out all the stops for their dinner. She was serving smoked trout on endive, caviar canapés, and fig and goat cheese crostini as appetizers. The entrée would be game hens stuffed with apricots and wild mushrooms, served with marinated beets and roast potatoes. She wouldn’t give Ben details about the dessert, but earlier in the week he’d signed for a package containing packets of gold leaf. He had a feeling this would be an event to remember.
In terms of attendees, Walter Harp and Roger Armfield had sent regrets, and he’d heard through Lisbeth that Mrs. White would not be well enough to attend. In addition to Lisbeth, the confirmed guests were Father Cal, the Stantons, and the Bishops.
“That makes eight,” Caroline said. They were in the dining room, setting the table for tonight’s gathering. “We’ll be spread thin along the table, but if we open the guest list much beyond the Swannhaven Trust, then everyone will expect an invite. I thought these place mats went well with the carpet, but now I think the red is too bright.” Caroline took a place mat and knelt on the ground to compare the reds. She tilted it to test the color in both light and shadow. She was on the floor long enough to make Ben feel uncomfortable.
“What are you doing? It looks fine. Cee?” She stood up slowly and almost lost her balance in doing so. Ben grabbed her to steady her. “Are you all right? Here, sit down.”
“Just got dizzy. Stood up too quickly,” Caroline said. Her voice sounded thick. “With only eight of us, we’ll be spread thin along the table.”
“Yeah, you said that already. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine; stop asking me.” She sat down anyway.
The front doorbell rang.
“Must be the flowers,” Caroline said. She began to massage her temples with her fingers.
This was the first Ben had heard about flowers. He went to answer the door.
“Morning, Ben,” said the chief. “Sorry to drop in unexpected.”
“Please, come in.” The outside air was below freezing. “Can I get you some tea or coffee?”
“Appreciate the hospitality, but I’m not alone.” He thumbed over his shoulder toward a pickup idling on the gravel drive. Ben recognized it as one of the trucks that had sped up the Drop from the village to gawk at the shed fire back during the summer. The truck’s cab was similarly crowded today. “Tommy White called for help finding his mother. Apparently she wandered off again. He said you ran into her a couple days ago?”
“Just missed her, but I know what you mean.”
“Seems she tends to head toward the mountains. Gathered up some men and thought we’d look for her through your woods up here, if that’s okay with you.”
“Of course.” The air from the open door had begun to numb his bare feet. “I hope she’s dressed better than she was when I last saw her.” Thinking of the old woman in the cold reminded Ben of Hudson. How he must have been cold and frightened at the end. It didn’t seem fair, a lifetime of comfort wiped away in a burst of terror and pain.
“Tommy said she took a coat, so that’s something,” the chief said. He looked gaunt and tired under his winter hat. “Already got some boys looking through your land along the road. Should have asked your permission for that, too, but small towns sometimes gotta make their own rules. She’s a good God-fearing woman.” He sniffed at the air in a way that also reminded Ben of Hudson. “Storm’s supposed to hit soon.”
“How much snow are we expected to get?”
“Not too much tonight, six to ten inches. But a bigger storm will hit Sunday. That one could drop twelve to eighteen, but you never know. You ready for it?”
“I think so. I bought a plow for the car, and the furnace has been running fine. Got lots of hot cocoa,” he said.
“The Crofts has survived worse than a nor’easter.” The chief slapped his palm against the frame of the door. “Doubt you’d even notice if it weren’t for the wind.”
“The boys will like the snow. The Drop seems made for sledding.”
“You keep an eye on them, though. Kids can get lost in the drifts. The winter here doesn’t forgive mistakes.”
“I’ll make sure they’re careful,” Ben said.
“Mary is really looking forward to tonight,” the chief said as he turned to go. “Sure do like their dress-ups, don’t they? Been too long since an invitation has gone out from the Crofts.”
“You’ve both been so welcoming,” Ben said, but the chief waved him away.
“Just being neighborly. I better get the boys settled. See you tonight.”
Ben closed the door and rubbed his hands together to warm them. He thought about going back to Caroline, but he guessed she would be occupied in the dining room for a while, making minute changes to each setting. He decided to take the chance to slip away unnoticed.
He’d taken brief notes from articles written about the Great Fire of 1878, but it was the fire at the Crofts in 1982 that had most attracted his attention.
Ben had heard people talk about only the death of the two Swann boys, but he’d learned that three others had also died in that fire. He was tempted to ask Lisbeth Goode and Chief Stanton tonight about their personal recollections of the event, though he doubted Caroline would think the subject appropriate for dinner.
The other matter of interest was the newspaper’s coverage of John Tanner, the foster kid held responsible for the fire. Over the course of three months, the Dispatch had referred to Tanner as being disturbed, schizophrenic, depressed, and a pyromaniac, which made Ben wonder where he could find an official evaluation of the boy by a real mental-health professional.
Ben was nearly to the tower stairs when Caroline called down the hallway.
“Was it the flowers?” she asked.