Monica Ferris_Needlecraft Mysteries_03 Read online

  But having found her direction, she looked for the skid marks—they were nearly drifted over—and half fell, half slid along them back down the slope, until she reached her car. After another struggle, she got the door open enough to get back in. There, she shut off the headlights and sat in gasoline-scented darkness to catch her breath.

  Now she was scared.

  5

  “Hello, Godwin? It’s Jill. Say, do you have Heidi Watgren’s phone number?”

  “I already called her. Betsy never arrived.”

  “Oh, heck.”

  “My very words, or nearly. I was hoping she got there and Heidi had the sense to make her stay.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Is it too soon to file a missing person report?”

  “Ordinarily, yes. But this is different. I hope she has sense enough to open that box.”

  Betsy’s stumble back down the slope had warmed her up but left her caked with snow. She had knocked the worst of it off before getting back into the car, but her coat and skirt were now damp, even wet in places. And once she started cooling off, she kept cooling right into chilled.

  The stink of gas wasn’t as overpowering now. Maybe most of what had spilled had evaporated or run away downhill. Was there still some gas in the tank?

  She turned the key to Utilities, then turned on the running lights to make the dash light up. The gas gauge indicated a little less than a quarter of a tank. She’d had close to half a tank when she started out, and she hadn’t used that much driving.

  And gasoline vapor was explosive. Maybe she shouldn’t try to start the car. But she was freezing, and rescue seemed remote.

  Take a chance, said a small but certain voice inside her head.

  She unlatched the door in case she had to get out fast, took a deep breath, held it, and twisted the key in the ignition. The car cranked strongly, but the engine didn’t catch. Nor did it catch on fire.

  She released the key, exhaled. After a few moments, she took another breath and cranked again.

  No joy.

  There was gas in the tank, and the battery was working fine. Why wouldn’t it start? She twisted the key angrily, pumping the gas pedal hard and fast. Still nothing.

  She sat in silence for awhile, feeling a kind of weightiness, as if the snow was piling onto her head and shoulders instead of the roof and hood of her car. The gasoline stink was strong enough to make her feel lightheaded, so she cracked the window on the passenger side. What was the correct procedure when one was lost on a back road in a blizzard, with no stores, houses, or traffic, wearing a damp overcoat, sitting with the window open in a car that wouldn’t start?

  John heard a tiny noise of scrubbing and came to investigate. Godwin was doing what he usually did when he was frustrated: cleaning the bathrooms. John didn’t like Betsy—she sometimes took Godwin seriously, and John liked him boyish—but here was his lighthearted boy so upset over the woman that he was scrubbing the grout on the floor with a toothbrush. John came in to lift him by the elbows and take the toothbrush away from him.

  “Goddy, it’s not like she’s gone down the Colorado in a cabbage leaf. She’s in a nice warm car somewhere, listening to the radio and missing her dinner, which she can well afford to do. She’ll be found as soon as the snow stops and they start clearing the roads.”

  “I know, you’re right. But I do wish she’d listened to me when I warned her about going out in the storm!”

  John felt his usual reply to that complaint—“Why would anyone listen to a silly little goof like you?”—was inappropriate. Which later caused him to reflect that while his relationships tended to end when there were signs of maturity, he didn’t want to end this one with Godwin. Interesting.

  It had been a long time—not hours, though it seemed that long. The bones in Betsy’s feet ached with cold, as did the tips of her fingers. She wished she’d brought mittens along. Each finger in its lonesome sleeve of the driving gloves yearned to snuggle against its fellow. Perhaps she should take the gloves off and put her hands in her pockets. Perhaps she should get into the backseat and huddle up under her coat, maybe go to sleep. She could escape this nightmare for a few hours and perhaps wake to daylight and the sounds of traffic.

  No, wait, going to sleep in the cold was a very, very bad idea.

  She began to move as violently as she could in her seat, stamping her feet and waving her arms. Her feet hurt when they hit the floor, but she persisted, and she felt the pain lessen. In a little while she was warmer. And the stirring of her blood made her thinking a little clearer.

  Perhaps it would help if she took off her coat and used it as a blanket. She could cover that little bare section of shin above her boots that way. Suddenly that seemed the most desirable thing in the world.

  But trying to take off a full-length wool coat while seated behind a steering wheel of a car in the pitch dark is at best difficult. And the confusing lean of the car didn’t help. During her efforts to get out of it, Betsy fell over sideways and knocked against the big Christmas gift Jill had given her. Suddenly a light went on over her head. There had been something significant in the tone of Jill’s voice as she suggested Betsy bring it along, “to open if you slide off the road.” She reined in the wild hope that rose in her breast, even as she decided the coat could wait and went through another struggle to get it settled back into place.

  She turned on the overhead light and reached for the package. She’d forgotten how large and heavy it was; it took two tries before she got it pulled close to her.

  The Christmas paper looked even more glorious in the dim light, though the bow was a little crushed. Betsy took a deep breath and then rapidly dismantled the wrapping. The box inside was a sturdy grocery store refugee printed with a soup maker’s logo. With trembling fingers, Betsy pulled off the heavy gray tape holding it shut.

  The top item appeared to be thin aluminum foil folded into a square eight inches on a side. But it was almost as flexible as cloth, and it kept unfolding larger and larger, until it was as big as a sleeping bag. It was a space blanket; Betsy had seen them on television. They were supposed to keep people warm even in outer space. She arranged it around her shins and thighs and lap, turning it down at the top so her arms were free.

  Already she was smiling. God bless Jill!

  Under the space blanket was a very odd assortment of items: a bright-orange toy snow shovel with a folding handle; a pair of empty coffee cans in two sizes; a very large chocolate bar; a can of salted cashews, two bottles of designer water, a box of wooden matches; a heavy flashlight with batteries already in it; a couple of votive candles; heavy, rough-leather mittens made of sheepskin turned inside out and stuffed inside a thick knit wool hat; a ten-pound bag of kitty litter; and, still in its box, a cell phone. Under the cell phone was a note in Jill’s neat printing.

  Dear Betsy, I hope you are opening this in front of your Christmas tree! This is a Winter Survival Kit. Keep it in your trunk all winter and if you don’t use it, eat the treats for Easter and replace them next fall. If you get stuck in the snow, dig a path with the shovel and lay down the cat litter for traction. If you still can’t get out, dial 911 on the phone. (It won’t activate until you use it, so it won’t cost you anything if you’re not having an emergency. Clever?) Tell the operator where you are, and someone will come and get you. While you are waiting: Stay with the car! Run your engine five or ten minutes every half hour to get warm, then shut it off to save gas. Get out every time you start it and clear away the tailpipe so you don’t fill up with carbon monoxide. No matter what, stay with the car. Even if you run out of gas and are stuck in a place where the phone doesn’t work, stay with the car. Light a candle in the smaller can. It will provide light and a small amount of heat. If you run out of water, put snow in the bigger can and melt it over the smaller one. Wrap up in the space blanket. Think cheerful thoughts. Eat, drink, and be merry. Rescue will come before you know it. Jill

  Betsy’s eyes stung with tears. Jill kne
w what a fool Betsy was; she knew Betsy hadn’t been giving this weather the respect it deserved. Betsy should have listened to her, listened to all of them warning her not to go out.

  At the very least, Betsy should have put together her own winter survival kit. There had been an article about it in the paper weeks ago.

  If she’d made up her own survival kit, then at least the candy bar would have almonds in it.

  She smiled at this thin joke. It was the cellular phone, of course, renewing her courage. The worst that could happen now was that she’d have a whacking great towing bill. And so long as he was whacking at her wallet, maybe she could persuade the tow truck operator to make a little detour to Heidi’s place to pick up that damn pillow. Betsy snorted and shook her head. Amazing! She’d gone from being afraid she was going to die to being concerned about June Connor’s Christmas.

  She wondered what the charge was for cellular phone service. And wait, it was possible that her car had mushed against that tree hard enough to be dented. If so, that might generate the biggest bill of all, because Betsy had a $500 deductible on her car insurance.

  She tossed the shovel and kitty litter into the backseat; that solution was out. And with the smell of gas still permeating the inside of the car, she’d better not strike a match.

  The directions pamphlet for the cell phone seemed daunting until Betsy realized it was printed in five languages. In short order she had the phone plugged into her cigarette lighter and was dialing, first a number to activate it, then 911, and pushing the send button.

  Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring. “Nine one one, what is your emergency?” said a woman’s voice.

  “I’ve had an accident with my car. I slid off the road into a tree, and now I’m stuck.”

  “Are there any injured parties?”

  “No. And I’m alone in the car.”

  “Is there another vehicle involved?”

  “No.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Don’t you have one of those ID things that tells where the call is coming from?”

  “All it says is that this is a cell phone.”

  Uh-oh. “Ah, I don’t know where I am. I started out from Excelsior on Nineteen for an address in Shore-wood. Let’s see, I was driving for about forty minutes, and I made three or four turns. But that’s not very helpful, is it?”

  “No, ma’am. Can you see any landmarks?”

  “No. In fact, I could barely see the road. I didn’t see any lights, either, or I would have stopped to ask my way, even at a house. This may be a back road. There hasn’t been any traffic for a long time, since before I skidded off it. I slid down a little slope, and I’m jammed against a big pine tree. I’ve been sitting here for a long time.”

  “Have you tried to drive out?”

  “My engine won’t start.” Betsy had to stop at this point and swallow hard. “And, and there’s a smell of gasoline, I guess I tore or punctured my gas tank. I have a winter emergency kit with me, with a space blanket and a candy bar and candles, so I’m all right for now, except I can’t run my engine, and I’m scared to light the candles, and I’m getting really, really cold.” Tears spilled over despite her best effort. “I’m sorry, I’m really, really sorry.” Sorry for being an idiot, sorry for breaking down, sorry her last words might be to a stranger on the phone.

  “Hang on, honey, you’re going to be all right, we’ll figure out a way to find you and get you out of there.”

  Betsy sniffed. “Yes, of course you will. I’m just a little scared.”

  “Sweetie, anyone in your situation would be scared! Now, you say you started out on Route Nineteen. When did you turn off it?”

  “I didn’t think I did, but I must have. The map said the road would go left so I did, except after that nothing matched the map.”

  “Do you have the map with you?”

  “No. It was just a short trip, to pick up a pillow for someone. I never thought I’d get lost.”

  “I’m going to go have a talk with some people about this, so you need to hang up and be patient. I won’t be long.”

  “All right. Oh, can you do me a favor?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Could you notify Officer Jill Cross of the Excelsior Police Department about what’s happened? She’s a friend, and she’ll want to be part of the rescue operation.”

  “Aren’t you Jill Cross? That’s who my phone ID says you are.”

  “No, she gave me this phone for emergencies. I guess she was willing to pay the first month’s rent on it, bless her. My name is Betsy Devonshire.”

  “Oh, you’re the woman who took over that needlework shop in Excelsior! I’ve been meaning to stop by.”

  “If you come by tomorrow, I’ll give you a terrific buy on any item you want.”

  The operator said, “It’s a date. Now, if I don’t call you back inside of fifteen minutes, you call nine one one again and ask for me. I’m Meg Dooley.”

  Betsy broke the connection, turned out the overhead light, and sat for a bit in total darkness. Then it occurred to her to consult her watch in order to begin timing fifteen minutes. She pressed the button on the side of its face and it glowed its beautiful aqua color. Only seven past seven. It seemed much later than that.

  The watch’s face glowed a surprisingly long time after she released the button, but at last it faded to black. She sat with the phone cradled in both hands, waiting for it to ring again.

  Jill called Godwin and told him what the emergency operator had told her. She told him she was going to the police station and would call him from there.

  “Anything I can do?” he asked.

  “Pass the word, I guess. Because all we can do right now is wait. Thanks.”

  She hurried out to get her car out of its garage and bully her way through the snow-clogged driveway into the street. Though she’d been aware of the weather reports, she was nevertheless alarmed at the depth of the snow and the strength of the wind.

  The streets were deserted, streetlights dimmed by the thickness of snow in the air. A plow had gone down Water Street, burying parked automobiles. Drifting snow smoothed their outlines until they looked like the ghost of that carnival ride called The Caterpillar.

  Jill drove up Lake Street, past Crewel World, and saw that Betsy had left a light on in her apartment over the store.

  Didn’t think she’d be gone that long, thought Jill. She turned onto Excelsior Boulevard, whose high-tone name belied its narrow ordinariness, and went down it to the new brick-and-stone building that housed the police department.

  Jill had been prepared to like Betsy for her sister Margot’s sake—Margot had been Jill’s best friend for years. But her present sharp concern made her realize she had come to like Betsy for herself, for her courage and tenacity, her sense of humor, her unpredictability. Jill was braver and more tenacious than Betsy, but she was not in the least unpredictable, so it was odd that she should like unpredictable people, but she did.

  I’m not going to let Betsy die. She stifled that thought, shaken that it had even occurred. She parked and hurried into the station. Of course Betsy was not going to die! What a stupid idea!

  The cell phone rang, sudden and loud. Betsy, startled, flipped it onto the floor and had to scramble for it in the slush and dirt. By the time she got hold of it, it was ringing for the fourth time. She pushed the button. “Hello?” she said a trifle crossly.

  “I told you not to go out on the road when it’s snowing like this.”

  Betsy laughed. “Hi, Jill! From now on, your word is law. Are you the one coming to get me?”

  “Maybe. But not right now. I’m sorry, Betsy, but we can’t come looking for you because the roads are closed.”

  “Couldn’t you send one of those big snowplows?”

  “The plows are working exclusively on the freeways, trying to keep them passable for emergency vehicles. We could probably get one to come after you, if he knew where to come. But he can’t just wander around, hoping he’
ll come across you.”

  There was a pause. Betsy said, “So what do we do?”

  “Right now they say the storm won’t move out of the area till morning. Once the storm quits, we’ll turn out in strength looking for you. You’ll be easy to find in daylight. Meanwhile, you just sit tight.”

  “Daylight? Jill, I can’t sit here in the freezing dark all night!”

  “Of course you can. You’ll be fine, now that you opened that box I sent along.”

  “But—are you sure? I mean, all night? That’s scary.”

  “Well, did you wrap up in that metallic blanket?”

  “Yes. And it works. I was surprised, but it does.”

  “You didn’t walk out on the ice and fall in the lake?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “So you’re not chilled from a soak in ice water. Is the car far off the road, or only on the shoulder?”

  “I’m completely off the road.”

  “Good. That means you won’t get squashed by accident when the plow does come through. Are you out of chocolate already?”

  “No. I haven’t started on it, actually.”

  “I think you should eat some of it now. Chocolate has lots of energy, to help keep you warm. And it has that stuff that makes you happy. What’s it called?”

  “I don’t know. Phenyl-something.”

  “That’s the stuff. So forget your diet and eat some. Eat a lot. You’ll be warmer and you’ll feel better.”