The Trouble With Mini Cows (Fidalgo Island Book 1) Page 2

  “Thanks, Marjorie, I appreciate it, but perhaps it’s time I moved on. Just keep me posted, okay? So I know how much time I have to pack.”

  “All right, dear. I’m glad you’re not too upset.”

  Tess was upset, but she reminded herself of her plan to make a plan. It was time she stopped using the Daniel experience as an excuse to become a hermit. But that didn’t mean she wanted to re-explore the local social scene in front of everyone that had witnessed that fiasco. She knew she was blowing it all out of proportion. That likely nobody would even notice if she went out on a date in town. But who would she date, anyway? Stella at the coffee shop had gone out of her way last week to let her know that Stan, the insurance salesman, was getting a divorce. Above and beyond the dangers of being the rebound woman, Stan was getting a paunch and a nervous tic. Plus he’d tried to sell her life insurance the day before, saying she wouldn’t want her funeral expenses to be a burden on her family. Seriously? She’d already spent more time with Stan than she wanted to.

  No, if she was going to make a change in her social scene, it would have to be somewhere else. Or maybe she would put that part on hold and travel first—see more of the country and the world, find the place where she fit like a puzzle piece. But first she had to call her mother. This day was going to hell fast, and it wasn’t even noon yet. Her mother also answered on the first ring.

  “What took you so long? I’ve been afraid to do anything in case I missed you.”

  “I’m here now. What’s going on with Gran?”

  “That’s what I want to know! She’s disappeared.”

  “What do you mean, disappeared?” This couldn’t be good. Gran was pretty fit for her age and didn’t have any obvious signs of dementia, but at eighty-six she was getting up there.

  “She left a voicemail that she and Walt had gone over the border to outrun the fuzz. What fuzz? I’m asking you—is that new slang for something?”

  “More like old slang.” Gran did have her gangster fantasies… “It means cops, Mom. Did she say anything about why?”

  “No! She just said to please look after the cows and not to call the police. What has your grandmother done? Why do I need to call the police?”

  “She’s your mother, why are you asking me?”

  “Because you’re so much like her. Obviously something skipped a generation. Why she decided to become a dairy farmer in her seventies, I’ll never know.”

  Right. There was no accounting for her own passion for photographing manhole covers in every city she visited. Because that wasn’t eccentric at all.

  “Well, when did she leave this message?”

  “Early this morning, around six—I was out with the girls for the early dance class.”

  Tess rolled her eyes. The very thought of being at a gym at five a. m. was bad enough; that her mother was gyrating her hips to salsa music in addition was just over the top. She felt tired just thinking about it.

  “Where do I come in?”

  “I need you to go up there and figure out what’s going on. Oh, and take care of the cows. Even if they’re smelly, useless things, they shouldn’t starve.”

  Was that all? She rather liked cows as a concept—not that she’d ever met one, but… “Why can’t you do it? You’re retired now, aren’t you?”

  “Ha ha, very funny. I told you this upcoming weekend is my high school reunion—in New Hampshire, I might add. Thanks to your grandmother,” she muttered under her breath. Her three years as a teenager in rural New Hampshire were a sore point.

  “Well, I’m kind of in the middle of a script right now. Can’t Dad go?”

  “No, he’s got a golf tournament. Just take your script with you. You’re always bragging about how portable you are; now’s your chance to shine. I can’t imagine a couple of cows will take that much time.”

  “Are we sure it’s just a couple?”

  “How many cows can you fit in a two-car garage?”

  Oh dear. That did sound like the opener to a really bad joke, but she had a point. How bad could it be, really? Tess sighed loudly in acceptance. “All right, I’ll head up in the morning. Maybe Gran will have made contact by then.”

  “Sweetie, you need to get going now. We don’t need people nosing around your grandmother and thinking she’s senile. She’ll end up in a home against her will, and you and I will never hear the end of it.”

  Ugh, she was right. Gran would never let anyone in the family off the hook if she lost her independence. “Fine, I’ll throw some things in the car and leave shortly, but if I forget anything vital you’re paying for the replacement.”

  “You won’t, dear. You’re as anal as your father in that regard.”

  Great, her mother thought she was anal and eccentric. Why hadn’t she gotten one of those mothers that thought her daughter was an angel on earth? Tess looked at the clock. It was 10:05. If she hurried she could make this work. Gran’s place was all the way up on the northern Washington coast. It had been years since Tess had been up there. “Okay, bye, Mom. I’ll call you when I get there.”

  “Thanks, sweetie. Drive carefully,” she responded brightly, and clicked off first before Tess could voice any new objections. Her mother was very, very good at delegating.

  Tess looked around the small apartment with a vague sense of panic while Daisy sat thumping her fluffy black tail and smiling in the middle of the living room. That dog really liked road trips.

  Tess started with Daisy’s stuff first, dragging out the kid’s suitcase she used for her, and throwing toys, bowls and towels in. By the time Tess started packing her own things, she was bemused by the whole situation. Would she be back in time to pack up her belongings when the house sold? How long was this going to take? And where was Gran, anyway?

  She decided she would make use of the time away to make a plan for revitalizing her life. She tossed in a notebook and several different colored pens. Sometimes heavy thinking required real paper instead of pixels.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Tess got her bags packed and in the car in record time, despite a general sense of foreboding about the trip. Taking her suitcase down to the car, she grimaced with dismay when she saw the baby plants that she’d gotten to do her window boxes, still in the back. There was no time for that now, and she couldn’t take them with her.

  She placed the black plastic trays full of seedlings carefully in the shade, and crossed her fingers that a few might survive. She went back up and made a quick lunch to eat on the way. With a grimace at the waste, she cleaned out the refrigerator of anything perishable. She eyed her freshly bought groceries and then decided just to load them back in the car. She’d find a use for them at Gran’s one way or another. A few things got tossed in the freezer, but the rest of what was already open went into the black trash bag that she then dragged down the steps and out to the bin at the end of the drive. It was four days until garbage pickup, so hopefully the bears wouldn’t be by for a snack in the meantime. She stuck her tongue out at the “for sale” sign, but it didn’t really make her feel better. She felt a little snarky at the thought that she was already getting a start on cleaning out the apartment. She was going to miss this place, although perhaps not the steep staircase… or the bears.

  Daisy, on the other hand, was cavorting with excitement in the driveway, until Tess opened the back door for her. She leaped in and waited for her seatbelt to be put on, panting slightly, her breath smelling of the ham she’d nabbed while the fridge door was propped open. Leaving Daisy to settle down, Tess did one last round to make sure all the doors were locked at the main house and her place. Ninety minutes after she’d hung up the phone with her mother, she was on the main road out of town and headed north.

  The cars in front of her moved at erratic speeds, sometimes smooth and steady, sometimes slowing to the point of pain as tourists tried to follow the signs to their destination. Traffic lights added to the jumble, forcing Tess to keep her attention fully on the road as she headed inland toward the
freeway. The early spring sunshine seemed to have everyone in a festive mood, so nobody was in too much of a hurry. Wherever a scenic view came into focus there was a noticeable slowdown, which picked up again when going past routine trees and buildings. When she finally reached I-5, the traffic finally smoothed out into an even flow, and Tess relaxed into her seat. She reached for her ham and cheese sandwich with satisfaction, ignoring Daisy’s nose, which was trying to insert itself for any dropped crumbs. Lunch was going to be the highlight of the trip until they got to Anacortes and whatever disasters awaited her there.

  Once she no longer had to focus so hard on traffic, she found herself mulling over her new set of problems—where to live and what to do with her life. The more she thought about it, the more she wondered if she had a pattern of just falling into things rather than proactively trying to arrange them. She’d worked as a contract screenwriter doing novel adaptations since she’d gotten out of school. She’d fallen into that job when she’d submitted a script she’d done as a class project to a contest and actually won. She enjoyed doing it, but she wasn’t sure it was a calling. She’d majored in business because she’d thought it would have the biggest range of job possibilities, so again she hadn’t really made a goal-based decision. Why hadn’t she realized she was doing this in college when she had all those possibilities laid out in front of her? Why hadn’t her parents said anything?

  Then she remembered guiltily that they had. Her father had taken her aside one Christmas holiday and asked what types of jobs she was interested in. She’d given some flip answer about ones with travel and expense accounts and gone back in to eat pie. To be fair, though, she did pay her own way—there just wasn’t anything left over in the bank account. She didn’t have any geographic limits, so in theory she could be continually traveling if she could afford the gas and hotels. But to get any work done she did need to feel relaxed in her environment, so maybe travel wasn’t such a great idea as a full-time thing.

  She hadn’t really worried about it until recently. Things had just kind of happened and gone on as they had before. Right when her bank account started to get dangerously low, she would find a new project on one of the indie job boards and she’d be afloat again. She’d thought about writing her own screenplays, and had two or three partially written. Okay, that was a bit of a lie. She had about three pages down, and that had happened six months ago. Still, that was perhaps an avenue she could explore further. A change of scene might just be the catalyst to get her creativity moving.

  She’d tried staying in California after college, but had found it too crowded and too expensive. She needed someplace without a lot of distractions, but plenty of space to walk out her thoughts.

  “We could try Alaska, Dais.”

  Daisy made no reply.

  “You’re right, I hear the bugs are terrible.”

  Besides, she didn’t think the cure for her social life lay in moving someplace even more remote. Maybe it was time to leave the coast and explore the heartland. There were some wonderful old towns tucked away in Iowa and Nebraska. They were certainly quiet. And nobody would call her to babysit Gran’s cows if she was there. But she hated cold winters and hot summers. Which pretty much left a narrow strip along the Pacific Coast from San Francisco up to Vancouver Island. She was right back where she started, in one of the country’s most expensive areas to live.

  She’d think about it later. Right now she needed to pee and work out the cramp in her thigh from keeping her foot on the gas pedal for such a long time. Lunch was a distant memory, and the scenery had dissolved into endless sameness of dark concrete and giant evergreens. The only way she had of marking progress was to watch the posted distance to Seattle gradually decrease on the large green freeway signs. Eventually one of those signs added a smaller blue one below it announcing an upcoming rest stop, and Tess sighed with relief. She didn’t want to have to exit and try to find a gas station if she didn’t have to. It was time for a break for both of them, and this might well be the last freeway rest stop before Seattle.

  She put on her turn signal and pulled over into the long slow lane leading to the little park. She angled into a parking space well beyond the cluster of cars by the small service building. Daisy preferred having her personal space when other dogs and people were around, and Tess found it a lot easier to get Daisy to pay attention when she wasn’t distracted by imaginary threats. She got out, opened the back door and reattached Daisy’s leash to her halter before unclasping the doggy seatbelt. Daisy hopped out with a cheerful wag of her tail and set off with determination toward the far side of the mowed green space, towing Tess behind. She was glad Daisy was only fifty pounds. At that, she sometimes managed to catch Tess off balance, but if she were much larger she’d be in charge all the time. Daisy sniffed her way along an invisible path until finding the perfect spot. She peed and scratched the lawn with enthusiasm. She then turned and started to head off at warp speed for more sniffing. Tess had better plans for her afternoon, so determinedly reeled Daisy back in and headed down the path at a brisk pace. It was at least another few hours before they would get to Anacortes and Gran’s place, so they both needed to really stretch their legs.

  Once Daisy was back in the car and belted in, Tess headed into the restrooms for her turn. It was cool and damp smelling. A patch of mushrooms was growing in the far corner where light peeked in under the cinder block wall. A mother and daughters came in behind her, and were chatting away about their plans for the weekend, their voices echoing off the high ceiling. She grimaced slightly to see that there was no soap or paper towels. Thankfully, she had tucked hand sanitizer in her pocket as an added precaution. Maybe her mother was right and she was anal.

  Back in the parking lot, she did a series of joint-popping stretches to try and reinvigorate herself. She looked around at the hodgepodge of vehicles parked at the rest stop—most had Washington plates, but there were a few from farther afield—California, Arizona and a cluster of vans from British Colombia. They all seemed to have a plan and a sense of direction. Even the squabbling kids seemed to be acting out a preordained script with a common agreement of how it would end. She envied their sense of security in the future. When she got back in the car, her tailbone immediately reminded her that it hadn’t been a very long break. Daisy thumped her tail in greeting, and Tess laughed. Road trips with Daisy were always companionable, and they hadn’t had one in quite a while. She started the engine and cranked up the dog’s favorite New Orleans jazz. For some reason Daisy liked to beat her tail in time to lyrics about cheatin’ women, and Tess got a giggle out of watching her do it.

  After merging back onto the freeway, Tess settled down into the middle lane and watched the trees flow by on either side. She’d taken a moment to look at the map, and if she were very lucky she would avoid the worst of the rush-hour traffic around Joint Base Lewis-McChord and then Seattle to the north. If she were unlucky she could get caught in both. She hated traffic; it was yet another reason she’d left California.

  An hour and a half later, she leaned back with satisfaction as they left the northern outskirts of Seattle. Grey skies had given way to rain, and fat drops were hitting the windshield intermittently. Just enough to mix with the road dust and not enough to actually wash it off. She was starting to get nervous about what she’d find at Gran’s. Her Mom had said “a couple of cows,” but the last time her Mom had been up there a few years back, Gran had told her a few of the cows were sick and no visitors were allowed inside the renovated garage. That made it sound like more than two for sure. Tess really wanted to just unpack the car, eat dinner and find a bed, but she was pretty sure that wouldn’t be happening right away.

  The highway narrowed and the space between exits increased dramatically as the scenery got increasingly rural again. She rather thought the last time she had been up here though there had been more farms. Of course, that was twelve years ago. The rain gradually increased in intensity. By the time the exit for Highway 20 and Anacortes ca
me up, Tess was leaning forward over the wheel, trying to see the lane dividers. Nobody else seemed to be having a problem, but then they were probably more used to this stretch of road. She was relieved to leave the fast pace of the freeway behind. Waiting at the stoplight at the foot of the exit ramp, Tess looked back and saw that Daisy was asleep. She switched off the music and found a local radio station instead.

  She kept to the posted speed limit of fifty-five as she drove west, but was the only one to do so. Cars kept coming up behind her and then going around before speeding off ahead, kicking up sprays of water onto her windshield. It happened enough that Tess started taking notice, because she had to slow down until her windshield wipers could catch up. Traffic seemed unusually heavy on what was essentially a country road leading to a couple of islands. Where were all these people going and why were they in such a hurry?

  At the next intersection, everyone had to wait while a tractor putt-putted its way across to the other side. Maybe that was what was holding everything up, a seasonal tractor migration, and everyone wanted to get home to move their own tractors. Through the raindrops she occasionally saw patches of daffodils blooming in the median and even the ditches. They didn’t look planted, they were too haphazard for that, but she found them charming. Their bright yellow petals seemed unfazed by the rain, although they were starting to bend a little under the onslaught.

  She heard the music first—loud, fast-paced, and was that an accordion? She looked around; there was a hay truck to her left. It seemed quiet except for its bad muffler, but in her rearview mirror was a big black pickup—the kind that was generally more for show than hauling. The driver’s elbow was resting on the open window frame despite the rain, and she could see his fingers tapping the upper rim in time. Huh. The lyrics sounded—yep they were—in French. He was practically breathing down her bumper but listening to Cajun folk music with an open window? What kind of place was this? He was no doubt wishing she’d get out of the way so he could get around the hay truck, but tough nuts. She could see the sheriff’s car sitting in the grassy median, couldn’t he?