Canterbury Tails: Sorceress
"I thought you said you knew where you were going!" Ida May Mundy cried with frustration as her husband made yet another wrong turn, one that led him back to an intersection he had driven through ten minutes earlier.
"I do, or I thought I did," Clayton said with his customary meek demeanor.
"Well, you obviously don't!" his wife snapped. "Why don't you find a gas station and ask the attendant for directions?"
"All the ones I've seen around here are self-service stations."
"So, you get out of the car, go into the convenience store and ask the clerk. Damn it! Do I have to figure everything out for you?"
Clayton did not waste his time arguing with Ida May. He never did. There was no point to it. After twenty-eight years of marriage, he knew she would never back down.
"There might be a gas station up ahead," he said without conviction.
For the past hour, ever since leaving the interstate, they had been traveling along rural New England roads. The houses were few and far between, and there were only a few scattered businesses, most of which were closed on a Sunday evening. Since it was raining heavily, there were no people outside. No one was tending to a garden, walking a dog or taking a leisurely stroll. There were not even any children outside playing. It was as though the Mundys were passing through a giant ghost town.
"I don't know why you couldn't buy a navigator, for Chrissake!"
"I didn't see the point. We rarely travel outside of New Jersey. Why spend the money on something we would hardly ever use?"
"To prevent situations exactly like this; that's why. But, no. You have to be a tightwad, and now look at you! Driving around in circles like a complete idiot!"
Clayton had long since stopped caring what names his wife called him. Idiot was mild in comparison to some of the saltier language she used.
"The rain seems to be getting worse," he said as he turned his wipers to the full-speed position. "If we come upon a motel, maybe we ought to stop for the night."
"That's just like you. You won't spend the money to buy a navigator, but you'll throw it away on a motel in the middle of nowhere."
If either of them owned a smartphone, they would not have found themselves in their current predicament. But neither husband nor wife trusted modern technology. They were simply not computer-savvy people. Laptops, tablets, video doorbells and smart watches were as alien to them as the controls of a Boeing 767.
Clayton enjoyed a brief respite from his wife's nagging, but the pleasant silence lasted less than fifteen minutes.
"Maybe you ought to turn around and go back the way we came. There's nothing on this road," Ida May complained.
"There was nothing back there either. I think ...."
Suddenly, there was a sharp bend in the road, and the Ford Focus hydroplaned.
"Are you trying to kill us?" the irate woman in the passenger seat screamed.
"I'm sorry," her husband apologized when he regained control of the sedan.
"Slow down."
Ten minutes later, the seemingly unbroken line of trees came to an end.
"Look. It's a town," the driver said with a mixture of excitement and relief.
"Not much of one."
The tall, white steeple of a church was a welcome sign. Just beyond it was an inn. Despite there being no other vehicles on the road, Clayton switched on his turn signal and pulled into the parking area.
"Finally! You're going to ask someone for directions!" Ida May exclaimed.
"I'm going to see if they have a vacancy."
"Are you serious? These New England inns are always overpriced."
Now who's being a tightwad? Clayton thought, but he dared not give voice to his feelings.
"The road conditions are bad, and I don't want to get into an accident."
It was one of the few decisions he made on his own. Although his wife did not put up much of an argument at the time, he knew he was letting himself in for an evening of criticism and name-calling.
"Are you coming in?" he asked after turning off the engine.
"You see if they have a vacancy first. There's no need for both of us needlessly getting drenched if they don't."
Ida May remained in the car while her husband ran inside. He returned, clothes wet and rain dripping from his hair, and announced that they had a room for the night.
"I don't suppose you have an umbrella in the trunk," she grumbled.
"No. Let me take the luggage in, and I'll ask the woman at the front desk if they have one we could borrow."
After lugging the two suitcases inside, he returned with two umbrellas. If his wife stayed dry, at least she would not be in too sour a mood.
* * *
Although Ida May grumbled about the price of the room, Clayton felt it was much cheaper than if they had stayed at a Mariott or Holiday Inn. Furthermore, the room was much nicer than the modern, cookie-cutter rooms offered by the major chains. The fireplace, Colonial furniture, hand-sewn quilt and overall décor gave the large bedroom a warm, homey feeling.
"This is nice," Clayton declared when he crossed the threshold.
"Hmph!" Ida May grunted.
Since no immediate criticism was given, her husband assumed she had found no fault in their lodgings—not yet anyway. He was fairly certain that before he closed his eyes and went to sleep, she would find something that displeased her. He did not have long to wait.
She picked up the remote off the night table and pointed it at the television on the wall opposite the four-poster bed. There was no reception.
"Oh, great! The TV doesn't work!"
"I'll call the woman at the front desk. Maybe she can give us another room."
Agnes Stowell, the elderly woman who ran the inn, apologized and explained that the storm had knocked out the cable.
"We have a DVD player and a selection of movies to choose from. You're welcome to borrow them."
"Thank you. I'll come down and take a look at what you've got."
Although the inn had more than fifty films from several genres, Ida May found fault with all of them.
"Stupid comedies, comic book superheroes, action movies and sappy romances. I don't see anything I'd care to watch."
"Here's a thriller," her husband announced, holding up a movie adaptation of a Dennis Lehane novel.
"I saw that already. I don't suppose there are any crossword puzzle books lying around."
Agnes, who overheard the guest's last comments, informed them that there was a bookstore across the street from the inn.
"They might have puzzle magazines there," she said helpfully.
"A bookstore?" Clayton echoed with a smile. "Maybe I could find a good mystery to read."
"You and your damned books!" his wife cried.
"I like to read," he muttered sheepishly.
After borrowing the umbrellas from the lobby again, the couple made their way through the heavy rain to the bookstore.
"Is this storm ever going to ease up?" the disgruntled woman asked as she fought to keep the umbrella from blowing away in the strong wind.
Thankfully, they made it through the door of the shop without being drenched. Closing her umbrella, Ida May looked at the young woman behind the counter. She had black hair cut in a short, spikey style. The purple highlights in her hairdo matched the color of the flowing peasant dress she wore.
"What on earth?" she mumbled to her husband. "I didn't realize it was Halloween."
"Good evening," the proprietor greeted them. "My name is Jerusha Bromwell. Is there anything I can help you with?"
"We're staying at the inn across the street," Clayton replied in his usual friendly manner. "I was hoping to get a mystery to read, and my wife wanted a crossword puzzle book."
A cat appeared from the back room and jumped up onto the counter. Ida May looked with horror as the animal rubbed up against the owner's computer monitor.
"You let that creature"—she said the word with obvious distaste—"have the run of the place?"
"Of course. Although we live in the rooms upstairs, Sorceress here, and my other cats, spend our days in the bookstore. Hence the name Canterbury Tails."
"A clever play on words," Clayton laughed.
"And I thought the owner was either stupid or an atrocious speller."
"I'm the owner, and I'm neither of those things."
"Come on, Clay. Let's get our books and go back to the inn," Ida May suggested, eager to escape from the odd surroundings.
"The large room to your left contains fiction," Jerusha explained. "Mysteries are located on the big table in the center. And if you walk through that room, there are racks in the back hallway that have magazines. I'm sure there are a few crossword puzzle books there."
"What a god-awful place!" the grumpy customer declared when she saw the books scattered about the room. "This is a far cry from the Barnes & Noble at the mall."
"I think it's charming."
"Are you crazy? There's no organization. It wouldn't be so bad if all the books were on the shelf, but look how many are piled on chairs and stacked on the floor. How is anyone to find anything here?"
"It reminds me of a flea market. I wish I had a few hours to browse through everything."
"Honestly! I don't know why I ever married you!" Ida May exclaimed, shaking her head with disgust. "We have nothing in common. I must have been desperate at the time. Either that, or I was out of my mind. I should have ...."
The woman's invective came to an abrupt end when she felt a furry animal rub against her leg. She looked down, expecting to see Sorceress, the owner's long-haired black cat, but it was an orange tabby instead.
"Scat!" she screamed. "One cat is bad enough but two?"
"Jerusha did mention other cats, so I wouldn't be surprised if there was a third or even a fourth."
"I'm surprised the place doesn't smell like a litter box."
As she headed for the hallway to search for puzzle books on the magazine racks, she encountered two more cats: a white Persian and a Siamese that seemed to glare at her with its crossed blue eyes.
"Ugh! Get away!"
Thankfully, a PennyPress crossword book was clearly visible on the rack between a back issue of Popular Science and a three-year-old edition of National Geographic. She grabbed the magazine, avoiding contact with the cats, and returned to the large room where her husband was reading the back cover of a Michael Connelly paperback.
"Aren't you ready yet?" she demanded to know.
"This one looks good."
"Found what you wanted?" Jerusha asked as the couple neared the counter.
"Yes, we did," Clayton replied, reaching into his pocket.
As the customer removed the cash from his billfold, Sorceress's emerald eyes narrowed as the cat zeroed in on his wife's frowning face. The thick, long-haired tail twitched lazily, and the feline made a low sound, more growl than purr.
"Have a good evening," the proprietor called as the Mundys put up their umbrellas and ventured out into the storm.
"Meow."
"Yes, Sorceress. She was a most unpleasant woman."
* * *
"I don't know about you, but I'm starving," Clayton announced when they returned to the inn.
"In case you hadn't noticed," his wife replied sarcastically, "we're in the middle of nowhere. There's not a diner or fast-food restaurant anywhere around here."
"We can eat here at the inn."
Ida May rolled her eyes in mock horror.
"What's wrong?" her husband asked. "A lot of these old inns have good food."
"And I'll bet they overcharge for it, too."
"We'll look at the menu," Clayton suggested. "If the prices are high, we'll just order something light."
Since the prices on the menu were roughly equivalent to those at the local Cracker Barrel, he decided to order a full meal.
"I'll take the meatloaf," he informed Kira, the amiable college student who waited on them.
"What sides would you like with that?" she asked.
"Mashed potatoes and Boston baked beans."
"Good choice. The cook makes the beans from scratch. And you, ma'am?"
"I'll have the cobb salad," Ida May answered, handing back the menu.
"Dressing?"
"Honey mustard."
"I'll be back with your coffees in a minute," Kira said, collecting the menus before disappearing into the kitchen.
Alone in the dining room, Ida May opened her crossword puzzle book and removed a pencil from her handbag. Although some people might have considered it rude to ignore her dinner companion, it was a long-held habit of hers to do so.
"One across," she said to herself, "a place of worship. Ten letters."
Since she had no idea what the answer was, she looked at the clue for one down, hoping to at least ascertain the first letter of the word.
"St. Petersburg's neighbor. I don't know anything about Russia."
"There's a St. Petersburg in Florida, too," her husband reminded her.
"How am I supposed to know which one they mean?" she cried and slammed the book down on the table.
Moments later, Kira returned with warm dinner rolls, a dish of butter, two cups of hot coffee and a small pitcher of cream. There were packets of sugar and artificial sweetener on the table.
"Your meal will be out soon. Can I get you anything else in the meantime?"
"No, thank you," Clayton replied, but his wife did not even bother to acknowledge the young woman's presence. "We're good for now. Nothing like hot coffee on a miserable day like today."
As she sipped her coffee, Ida May strummed the fingers of her left hand on the table. It annoyed her that her husband was always so polite. He always had a smile and a friendly word for people like Kira, Agnes Stowell and even that oddball bookseller, Jerusha Bromwell.
I'm surprised he didn't talk to all those damned cats of hers as well, she thought irritably.
The memory of the bookshop made her turn her head to the window. She looked across the street at the Canterbury Tails and saw Sorceress, the long-haired black cat, staring out the glass door. It seemed as though its narrowed green eyes were peering at her through the rain.
* * *
After eating their meal, the couple went upstairs to their room. Clayton took a hot shower and began reading this book. Ida May preferred to relax in a bath before returning to her crossword puzzle. Her husband was on the third chapter of his novel by the time she slipped into bed beside him.
"Two down," she said, reading aloud, "an unmarried woman. Twelve letters."
She chewed on her pencil as she pondered the answer.
"I didn't realize these puzzles were so hard," she complained. "I like the ones from TV Guide."
Clayton, who was trying to concentrate on what he was reading, gave her the answer, hoping once she had some letters to work with, she would be able to finish the puzzle in silence.
"Try bachelorette."
"I don't know if it's the right answer, but it does fit the grid," she said, unwilling to admit that her husband had a larger vocabulary than she did.
Once she had the "B" in place, she was able to figure out that the correct place of worship was tabernacle. However, she still was unable to solve the one-down clue concerning St. Petersburg. Instead, she looked at the clue for three down, which began with the letter "N": a bad dream.
"That's easy. The answer is nightmare."
While Clayton enjoyed his Michael Connelly mystery, Ida May wrote the answer to three more clues. Ten across and down stumped her, so she moved on to eleven down. The clue was enchanter, and the answer consisted of nine letters. She immediately thought of sorcerer, but that was only eight letters.
"It might be sorceress, though," she said.
"The cat from the bookstore?" her husband asked. "What about her?"
"Why on earth I would be talking about that horrible animal? No, sorceress is an answer to my puzzle. Why don't you just read your book and stop breaking my concentration?" she suggested testily.
"Sorry. I thought you were talking to me."
Mention of Jerusha Bromwell's black cat, however, cast a pall on Ida May's already low spirits. Unable to get those narrowed green eyes out of her mind, she read through more than two dozen crossword clues without arriving at an answer to a single one. Finally, she closed the magazine and laid it on the night table.
"Going to sleep?" Clayton asked.
"Yes. That puzzle is too hard, and there's nothing else to do in this godforsaken inn."
"Goodnight."
Without responding in kind, she turned toward the wall and closed her eyes.
* * *
Nightmares rarely make sense. Often, they are a surreal representation of reality, an illogical collection of places, faces and events. The fear these weirdly irrational images cause, however, is real. Sleepers frequently experience accelerated heart rates, rapid breathing and heavy sweating. Normally, Ida May's nightmares were triggered by spicy foods, horror movies and disturbing TV news coverage. The terrifying dream she had as she slept in the four-poster bed in the Canterbury Inn, however, was unlike any nightmare she had ever experienced.
It began with an ordinary, nonthreatening situation. She was in the Canterbury Tails bookstore. A smiling Jerusha Bromwell had half a dozen crossword puzzle books in her hand.
"I found these in the stockroom," the young woman with the purple-tinted hair announced. "I think this one might be of interest to you."
Without a "thank you," Ida May took the magazine from Jerusha and opened the cover. That was when the dream took a detour to the Twilight Zone. The angry, perpetually unhappy woman felt a moment of vertigo and raised her hand to her forehead. Moments later, she found herself on a page of the crossword puzzle magazine.
"Either the magazine grew or I shrunk," Ida May realized.
Her head, which had been facing down to see the white paper and black lines of the puzzle grid, lifted and she cringed at the sight of the bookstore proprietor and her cat. Unlike her, their size was in proportion to the puzzle magazine. The cat was enormous; its owner was gigantic! Ida May was shorter than the length of Jerusha's smallest fingernail.
I must be dreaming! she thought and desperately tried to force herself to wake up.
"Clayton," she called. "Get me out of this nightmare!"
However, her husband, who was engrossed in his novel, heard her whimpering but ignored it, preferring she remain asleep.
"You're not thinking of leaving, are you?" Jerusha asked. "I thought you wanted to do a crossword puzzle."
"I want to go back to the inn," the tiny woman shouted.
The bookseller disregarded Ida May's wishes and proceeded to read the first clue for the puzzle.
"One across. One of the seven deadly sins. Five letters. Hmm. Let me see. Gluttony has too many letters; envy and lust don't have enough. That leaves sloth, greed, pride and anger. Let's look at the clue for one down. Wicked blank of the West. The answer must be witch. That means one across starts with a 'W.' Another word for anger is wrath. Go ahead and put those two words in, Sorceress."
The black cat raised its paw. Ida May seeing the sharp claws coming toward her, moved to avoid them. As though she had dipped her claws in ink, the cat was able to write the answers to the first two clues into the grid.
"Let's go to two down," Jerusha said. "A belligerent woman. It has eight letters and begins with 'H.' Harridan."
The cat and owner continued to complete the crossword puzzle. Jerusha had no difficulty determining the answers to the clues, which all seemed to be related: shrew, virago, harpy, termagant, vixen, nag, etc.
With each word Sorceress wrote into the grid, Ida May was forced to draw closer to the edge of the page. What was beyond it? She crawled on her hands and knees and peaked over. The distance from the crossword puzzle magazine to the hardwood floor of the Canterbury Tails was dizzying. If she fell, she would not survive.
If I can get past Sorceress's paw, I can go to the center of the magazine where I won't be in danger of falling off.
Since Jerusha had only one clue left to read, Ida May had to act fast. When Sorceress looked up at her owner, waiting for her to speak, the tiny woman made a run for it. She felt the soft black fur rub against her left side as she darted past the animal.
"I made it!" she cried with relief as she lay down in the crease between the two pages.
"The last word," Jerusha announced. "Five letters, beginning with 'D.' Morte. That's an easy one. The answer is death."
Once Sorceress wrote the final four letters in the grid, the crossword puzzle was complete. Jerusha closed the magazine, crushing Ida May Mundy between its pages.
* * *
Clayton woke early the following morning, quietly got dressed and went down to the lobby where Agnes had a fresh pot of coffee and a selection of cookies laid out for early risers.
"The dining room opens at seven if you want to have a hot breakfast," she told him.
He looked at his watch. It was six-thirty.
"I'll have my coffee first, and then I'll see if my wife feels like eating anything," he said as he sat in the wing chair next to the bay window. "I see the rain has stopped."
"Yes. It's supposed to be a sunny day today."
Clayton looked across the street at the Canterbury Tails and was reminded of the book he purchased the previous night. He wished he had brought it down with him. It would be nice to have some quiet time for himself before Ida May woke up. After finishing his first cup of coffee, he poured himself a second, putting off going back to the room as long as he could. At five minutes to seven, he reluctantly climbed the stairs.
He unlocked the door with the old-fashioned metal key—no electronic key cards used at the Canterbury Inn. The room was dark, so he assumed his wife was still sleeping. He debated whether he should wake her. She might be angry if he did, and then she might be angry if he didn't. More than two decades of marriage taught him one thing: he was damned if he did and damned if he didn't.
I'll turn the lamp on. That might do the trick.
He flicked the wall switch, and the overhead light lit up the room. His wife did not stir.
"Ida May," he said softly.
There was no response, so he called her name again, louder this time. When she failed to respond, he approached the bed and put his hand out to gently shake her. When his fingers touched her shoulder, he immediately pulled back his arm. It was as though he had touched a marble statue rather than a human being.
"On, my god!"
Rather than call 911, he walked down to the lobby and informed Agnes Stowell of his wife's death. She phoned the local police, and they called for an ambulance. Since there were no signs of foul play, it was assumed Ida May Mundy died of natural causes, most likely a heart attack.
Clayton gave his statement to Detective Genevieve Huber, who told the widower she would contact him once the medical examiner determined the cause of death.
"I don't see any reason to detain you, but I have to caution you not to leave the country."
"I won't. You can reach me at my home in New Jersey."
After packing his and Ida May's belongings in their suitcases, he loaded them into the trunk of his car. Then he started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot. Across the street from the inn, Jerusha Bromwell stood in the doorway of the Canterbury Tails. Sorceress sat at her feet. The young woman with the purple tints in her hair smiled, raised her hand and waved.
"Good luck," she called to him.
"Thank you," he replied, returning her smile.
"You're welcome," Jerusha muttered as she watched the car drive away.
Then she bent down and scooped up the black cat into her arms.
"It was our pleasure. Wasn't it, Sorceress?"
"Meow."
Salem once wrote a crossword puzzle book. Naturally, the answers to all the clues were his favorite foods.
