“Oh, thank God,” said Scarlett. “It’s Harriet and Brutus! Quick, ask them where we are, Vesta.”
And then Vesta did just that. A lot of meowing later, she translated the cats’ words back to them. Basically it boiled down to: “We’re also lost—and we were so glad to see you guys, hoping you could get us out of this mess!”
CHAPTER 29
[Êàðòèíêà: img_2]
Marge was seated on the porch swing, looking out across her domain, which was now a sort of devastated area. The snails were back in full force, and had by now eradicated what was left of the plants and flowers, and reduced Marge’s precious little haven of green and peace into a wasteland.
“Such a shame,” she said. “It was so nice and now look at it.”
“What I don’t understand is why these pests don’t come into our garden,” said Marcie, who was seated next to her on the swing. “Snails aren’t usually this territorial, are they?”
“No, they’re not.” She’d done a little research and the websites all said that snails and slugs are attracted to leafy plants, moistness, rotting logs, paving stones under which they can hide, and generally a humid and shady area with plenty of food. But they could find that stuff in Marcie’s backyard just as well, or Odelia’s. So why did they favor hers?
“Maybe you should ask one of them experts,” said Marcie as she took a sip from her cup of tea. “You know, a tree doctor or a botanist or whatever they’re called. They might be able to tell you what’s going on here.”
“It’s possible that we’re growing a certain type of plant that they like,” said Marge. “Or that our soil structure is different or something. Otherwise, I have no idea what’s going on.”
Both neighbors sat quietly for a moment, taking a nibble from the crispy ginger cookies Marcie had freshly baked, then Marcie piped up,“So what’s going on with Odelia and her billionaire?”
“Oh, that’s off,” said Marge. “I think it was just one of those things. A fling, you know.”
“I could have a fling with a billionaire,” said Marcie with a light chuckle.
“Not me,” said Marge. “I don’t really care about that kind of stuff.”
“Not that I’m not happy with Ted, mind you,” Marcie was quick to say. “But a billionaire, Marge. It’s the dream of every girl, isn’t it?”
“Not me,” Marge assured her neighbor. “Billionaires are people just like the rest of us, only richer, I guess.”
“Yeah, a lot richer.”
Marge had received a worrying message from Tex, but she didn’t think it was a good idea to mention it to Marcie, who was a good neighbor and friend, but also one of the biggest blabbermouths in Hampton Cove, and that was saying something, for this town excelled in blabbermouths. Tex had written that he was going to the woods to catch Odelia and her billionaire in the act, and try and talk some sense into that daughter of theirs. Now what Odelia was doing in the woods with that billionaire fellow was beyond her. A picnic, maybe?
Just then, one of the snails that had taken over her garden came sliding up the swing. She eyed the creature with a touch of malevolence. She wasn’t usually a bug hater, but when they came in like some invading army to destroy her precious plants and flowers, she could bear a grudge just as well as the next person.
So she took the snail between thumb and index finger, removed it from the swing, and lightly lobbed it back into the backyard, where it came from.
“And you say you removed all of them and they came back overnight?” asked Marcie.
“Yeah, we put them in Blake’s field—as far away as possible, and this morning they were all back.”
“So weird,” said Marcie, shaking her head. She took another nibble from her cookie and another sip from her cup of tea. “Have you considered—”
“No, Marcie. We’re not going to use poison.”
“Oh, no. I wouldn’t want you to, but there are other methods, you know.”
“I know,” she said. “But it’s too late now anyway.”
She just hoped the same wasn’t true about Odelia.
[Êàðòèíêà: img_4]
“Do you believe in evil spirits, Max?” asked Dooley.
We’d put some distance between ourselves and that clearing, and had covered another big chunk of woods in the process. Still no sign of the evil spirit, though.
“No, I do not, Dooley,” I said.
“But don’t you think there’s more under the sun than we know?”
“It’s possible, but until I personally clap eyes on it, I’m skeptical about such phenomena.”
“What about ghosts? Do you believe in ghosts?”
“No, I certainly don’t,” I said. “Ghosts are just a figment of an overactive imagination, Dooley. They don’t exist.”
“But what about the people who’ve seen a ghost? They can’t all be lying, can they?”
“Have you ever met a person who saw a ghost?”
“No, but that doesn’t mean they’re not out there. The internet is full of stories of ghosts. And then there’s the movies.”
“Movies are fiction, Dooley. Anything is possible in a movie. And as far as the internet is concerned, we all know that anyone can say anything on there. So until I meet a ghost face to face, I like to remain skeptical if you don’t mind.”
“I’m also skeptical,” said Dooley. “But I’m also a believer. I’m a skeptical believer, if you will.”
And I’m sure he would have said a great deal more on the subject, if not suddenly we found ourselves entering yet another clearing. Only this clearing wasn’t filled with a neat circle of mushrooms, but with a shack of some kind.
“Is that what I think it is, Max?” said Dooley, as we quickly hid behind a bush and hunkered down to study this strange phenomenon.
“Looks like someone is camping out here,” I whispered.
“Could it be the evil spirit?”
“Evil spirits don’t live in shacks, Dooley. Or roast things over an open fire,” I added, pointing to the remnants of what must have been a nice fire, above which a stick had been placed, positioned on two more sticks, creating a sort of rotisserie.
Nothing stirred inside the shack, and for a moment I wondered if the person who’d stayed there had deserted it a long time ago. But then all of a sudden the door swung open, and a man emerged. He didn’t look very clean, with smudges of dirt all over his face, his hair long and tangled, and a beard that looked like it might have been serving as a fly trap for the best partof the past couple of years.
“It’s the evil spirit, Max!” said Dooley. “He’s going to catch us!”
“You just might be right, Dooley,” I said, studying the man. It wasn’t Addie’s boyfriend Ted, I thought. This guy looked at least sixty. But it was entirely possible this was the man that squirrel had been referring to. He looked a little ghostly, but only because he hadn’t been taking good care of himself for a while.
“Let’s get a little closer,” I suggested, when the man slung a bag across his shoulder and set off into the woods, presumably to hunt for his next meal.
“Are you crazy! The spirit will catch us!”
“Nonsense,” I said. “He’s gone a-hunting, and he won’t be back for a while. Let’s go.” And to set the example, I crept forward, and snuck in the direction of the shack. I wanted to take a look inside, and find out who this guy could possibly be.
Dooley reluctantly followed right behind me, and as we slipped into the shack, we found ourselves in a small space that can only be described as a bachelor’s den, if said bachelor had been living rough for a number of years, and had been piling up junk in the meantime. I saw a small pile of books and magazines in the corner, a cot that had seen better days, but also different cell phones, a stack of cans, and some pots and pans and a washbasin, perhaps all pilfered from the cabins that dot these woods, and are rented out to the discerning tourist.
I couldn’t find anything to ascertain the man’s identity: no passport or names written down on a piece of paper.