Chapter Nine
Arden considered it another Day One.
She’d slept, long and deep, and if she woke before the sun, she considered it a bonus. She noted Zorro not only had his current favorite stuffed llama companion, but his secondary—a unicorn—as well as his squeaky ball, his nonsqueaky ball, his tug rope, and his big play bone surrounding his bed.
All his comforts, she got that. After all, she had him, and she had Burnie. She went down to make her morning latte in her big, bright kitchen, tossed a jacket over her pajamas before walking out with the dog.
“We both need to get used to where we are now. It still doesn’t seem real.”
But she could smell the lilies, the big, elegant clumps of them near the back patio, and see the feathery white plumes of something she needed to look up rising above fernlike foliage near the trees.
She had ferns, too, and hostas. Some pretty pink cups on tall stems. Bleeding hearts—she knew those.
She’d explore, identify the flowers and shrubs that made up what was now hers. And hope she was up to maintaining it.
She liked that it didn’t look meticulously planned—which, she admitted, she’d have done. Instead, it all looked natural.
As she sipped her coffee, and Zorro explored, she watched the first light bloom over the eastern range.
It filled her, that dawning. The beauty and the promise of it. She lived here now, in a place where she could see for miles, could watch the sun rise in one direction, set in another. Where she could hear birds start to chatter as they got busy.
It reminded her to check the bird feeders.
She had a cagelike deal for suet cakes, three different feeders for seeds, a hummingbird feeder, and a stone candlestick birdbath.
“Plenty to eat, for now. We’ll check every day.”
Finished with his morning duties, his careful exploring, Zorro leaned on her leg. He looked up at her with his soulful golden-brown eyes full of love.
“I don’t think there’s a sweeter dog or a better boy in the universe. We’re going to come out and play later, but it’s time for me to get busy now.”
She fed the dog—mudroom perfect for that—made herself a protein smoothie. What had been set up as a coffee station now served well as a coffee/smoothie bar.
Then she indulged herself and walked through the house.
Bookcases, and plenty of them, she thought as she paused at what would be her library.
She walked out to stand in her living room. In a couple of months, she’d build a fire—once she looked up how to build a fire—and cozy up on the sofa with a glass of wine.
Upstairs, she studied one empty bedroom, then the other. She’d find the right bed for one, the right sofa for the other.
She had plenty of time.
“And I’m wasting it when I could and should be working.”
She’d make her list first, she decided. Then write until noon.
Eat something, then dress, and with that list, she’d head to town to check out the antique shop, the flea market.
If she found what she wanted, she’d bring it home or arrange for delivery.
And maybe find a hardware store or something along those lines.
She really wanted to change out the doorknobs. No doubt she could find a huge variety online, but she’d worked at an independent bookstore.
She believed in shopping local as much as possible.
She sat, let herself drink in the view as sunlight spread over the valley.
Then she opened the file on her current story, and let herself fall into it.
She’d worked in those dog-friendly motel rooms, but with her brain and body tired from the day’s drive, had only managed short stints.
It felt good, really good, to write when she felt fresh and eager. When it didn’t flow, she poked, she prodded until it moved along.
She liked her main character—a smart-mouthed, take-no-bullshit woman with a soft spot for strays, and a three-legged orange tabby named Triangle.
It was the first time she’d attempted to build a central character as a cop, and so far, she found it fun. Challenging, but fun. Detective Lil—not Lily, not Lillian—Trace of the Portland PD.
Arden figured since she’d decided to live in Oregon, she might as well use it as a canvas.
Now Lil, and her cranky, twenty-years-on-the-job partner, investigated a double murder.
Deep into it, she didn’t surface until Zorro poked his nose on her arm.
“What?”
He gave her his long, liquid stare, and when she checked the time, she saw she’d gone nearly a half hour beyond noon.
“Okay. Be a good boy. Give me five minutes.” She held up a hand, five fingers, as she’d used in training. “Let me finish this thought.”
He sat, patient, and when she saved and shut down, sprang up to bounce and turn in circles.
She grabbed a Pepsi on the way out, drank as they both wandered and walked. She could skip the shopping, go back to work. But …
Priorities, she thought. She had a house to furnish.
She dressed—jeans, a T-shirt. She really didn’t need more clothes, but since she’d be out with people, she added makeup, brushed her hair, braided it.
Definitely presentable.
She grabbed a light jacket.
“Let’s go for a ride.”
As he always did, Zorro raced off singing, raced back with his leash in his mouth.
“Who’s the best boy ever?”
He sat, and eyes gleaming with a grin, lifted both front paws.
“That’s right. You are.”
She’d already looked up the addresses, so she plugged those into her GPS. This would serve not only as a shopping expedition, but as another way to orient herself to the area.
Before she could pull out, she got a text from Zoey.
Just checking how it’s going.
Going great. Up early, basked, worked, basked. Now on my way to the flea market, antique store, maybe the hardware store.
In all those places drop April’s name, tell them she’s your cousin. Her name has weight.
Will do. And will let you know if I score.
She liked the drive, and since Zorro had his head out the window, ears flapping, he did as well.
Traveling on back roads, with everything green and gold, kept her relaxed.
She passed a tidy little farm—horses grazing—a vineyard, then a bend in the river where she spotted people paddling canoes, kayaks.
Maybe the city girl—former—could try that.
Maybe.
She followed the river now, the Willamette, as it wound its way toward Riverbend. Guided by the GPS, she turned before the bridge that would take her to the heart of town, and took the road that skirted the near edge.
Her mouth dropped open in surprise when she saw the flea market.
The big barn of a building had long offshoots on both sides. From the size of it, Arden calculated you could spend a solid week inside before seeing everything.
Maybe longer.
And she imagined April likely shed tears of joy whenever she came here.
“But I have a mission.”
She parked, turned to Zorro. “You have your travel water bowl, your llama. I grabbed some shade here, but I’ll leave the windows cracked a couple inches anyway. Be a good boy.”
To keep him happy, she gave him a beef stick before she got out, locked the car.
When she walked in, the sheer scope of things slapped at her ingrained need for order. At the same time, there was something happy about it all. She imagined April excited by the hunt.
She couldn’t deny a touch of that herself, but she had specifics to hunt for.
If only she had a map.
Rather than wander aimlessly, she tracked down someone who worked at the flea market.
“I wonder if you could help me. You might know my cousin, April Rogan.”
“April! I sure do. I thought I met her cousin already.”
“Probably Zoey. I’m another, and I’ve just moved to the area.”
“How about that?” The genial-looking man of about sixty smiled at her. “Welcome to the Pacific Northwest.”
“Thank you. I’m a little lost in here. It’s so big. I’m hoping to find a bed—an iron head- and footboard, bed frame. Queen size. For a guest room.”
“I bet Shirl has something for you. She’d be all the way in the back. You go straight down there.” He gestured. “Then to your left. If she doesn’t have something to suit you, try Melvin. You’d go all the way to the right from Shirl, and about halfway up the side.”
“Thanks so much.”
“Good luck!”
She started through. Voices echoed; a baby started to cry. A man’s voice said, clearly: Jeez, Annie, make up your mind sometime this century.
Arden checked her anxiety level, and found it dead low. She’d not only handle this, she’d enjoy it.
Still, distractions lurked everywhere. She saw a display of green glass—bowls, pitchers, plates, cups—all under a black light.
It all glowed, like dishware from another planet. Fascinating.
She saw a three-tiered table with fluted edges and wondered how it would look in her living room. She saw displays of dolls, of figurines, of dishes.
She spotted a gooseneck floor lamp with a crackle globe she knew she wanted. Bed first, she ordered herself, but noted the position of the booth before continuing.
She noted the position of a few others before reaching her destination.
And saw the bed. Or rather, the head- and footboard leaning against the wall.
A sturdy woman with a shock of coin-bright blond hair and huge red-framed glasses gave Arden a practiced smile.
“Help you find something?”
“Yes. I’m looking for a bed. Frame, head- and footboard.”
“We got a few. This one here? We just put it out this morning. Sturdy. Steel pipe, powder-coated bronze.”
Deep, rich bronze, curved ends, slim bars, and the interesting detail of the circle centered up on head and foot.
Simple, she thought, but not boring.
“King size, too. Tall girl like you’d sleep well in a king bed.”
“King size.”
She’d have to get new bedding, but she had room. She’d never had the luxury of a king bed, and with her height …
She realized she didn’t want it for the guest room. She wanted it for her own.
“I’m Shirl.”
“Arden. I was looking for something like this for a guest room, but…” She ran her hand over a rung.
New mattress, new bedding, new pillows.