Chapter 1
She could scarcely believe it. Autumn had arrived in Georgia, and Patricia McKay had spent several months traveling around on new assignments without encountering any problemsâespecially problems associated with murder.
After tangling with a difficult case in a frozen, snow-soaked desert months back, Patricia accepted each new assignment her boss, Edna Traceton, tossed at her with a little trepidation. Would her trip to Canada be filled with murder and danger? No. Patriciaâs stay in Canada had been as smooth as a newborn babyâs rear end.
After Canada, Patricia had been assigned to travel to New Zealand. Surely, she feared, some shadowy danger awaited her in that strange land. But no, three fun-filled weeks in New Zealand had passed with ease and comfort.
Surely, Patricia thought, after being sent to Finland, some unknown killer was awaiting in the frozen land of the north. No frozen killer had appeared. Patricia had spent nearly a month in Finlandâbeing delayed, to her joyâspending time with a sweet family who showed her many beautiful places on Godâs earth.
âMaybe the danger zone I was trapped in has finally dissipated,â Patricia whispered as her flight landed on a rainy runway at Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. The airport was a welcome sight for sore eyes. Louder, she added, âAh, home at last. As much as I loved Finland, itâs going to be nice to have some pinto beans and cornbread.â
âYouâre telling me,â said an old woman in a thick southern drawl. She appeared to be very fancy but in reality was very humble and modest. âMy home is just outside of Calhoun. Been away in Boston for nearly a year visiting my son and daughter-in-law and helping take care of my new grandchild. Iâm worn down to the ground.â
Patricia smiled. She liked Mabel Horn and was glad her flight had been diverted to Philadelphia before continuing on to Atlanta. Mabel had boarded Patriciaâs flight and had been a delight ever since. âYou promised to write me, Mabel.â
âHoney, Iâm seventy-one years old. If I can remember to go to the bathroom without peeing myself, Iâll try to remember to write,â Mabel complained. âAt my age, a gal is lucky if she has enough toilet paper in the house. My late husband always did the shopping, but heâs been in heaven for three years now. I can remember to buy milk and bread but always seem to forget the toilet paper. I think my late husband deliberately went to heaven first to leave me with a few headaches.â
Patricia glanced into a kind face that suddenly filled with sadness. âYou miss your husband, donât you?â she asked.Â
âI was married to the man for fifty-one years. I guess somewhere in time I must have loved him,â Mabel answered and then offered Patricia a smile filled with sorrow. âKnew I loved my husband after he kissed me. Spent some time telling myself I despised the ground he walked on, but deep down my heart knew the truth.â
Mabelâs words made Patricia think of Brian, who was waiting for her at the airport. Patricia knew she had been spending a lot of time away from homeâand Brian. However, it appeared that Brian was okay with her traveling the world. Not too long ago the guy would have put up a fuss, but Patricia was relieved that he was putting on a brave face and biting his tongue. Besides, he was busy at work being the new detective in North Frostâbusy, uh, counting jellybeans in the jar that sat on his desk, but hey, a job was a job.
Still, Patricia felt bad about spending so much time away from Brian. Deep down, as much as her heart wanted to refuse the truth, she was in love with him. Why? Patricia had no earthly idea.
âI suppose love strikes when we least expect it, huh?â she asked Mabel.
Mabel simply nodded her head and then tugged on the thick brown sweater that covered her tender frame. âLove never agrees with the songs and poems, dear,â she told Patricia and then nodded at the dark pink sweater Patricia was wearing. âYour beauty requires tender colors, not dark. Dark colors do not complement you. I know youâre wearing pink to impress your man, but next time wear a softer shade.â
Patricia tensed up. âHow do you know Iâm meeting someone?â
Mabel reached out and patted Patriciaâs soft hand. âYou became very anxious ever since we arrived in Georgia,â she said and then offered a warm smile. âWeâre almost ready to deplane. Iâll remember to write you if you remember to send me reminders to buy toilet paper.â
Patricia smiled and then leaned over and hugged Mabel. âThatâs a promise.âÂ
âYou have a very special heart, Patricia. Never lose it,â Mabel whispered and didnât say another word until Patricia walked her off the plane and entered a crowded airport that she knew like the back of her hand. âCall me, honey.â Mabel then nodded at a handsome man standing off by himself. âThat might just be your man.â
Patricia spotted Brian standing off to the east side of the terminal. He was looking out the windows, his eyes focused on the falling rain that was soaking the runways and large jets sitting outside. That was just like Brian, Patricia thought. No hello. No wave. Just focus on the weather and how it was going to affect the traffic and the ride home. âIâŚguess,â Patricia sighed.
Mabel grinned. âLove is never smooth, honey,â she whispered and then walked away without saying another word.
âI guess,â Patricia moaned. She tossed on a gray coat and then gripped her white purse. âTime to go say hello to the love of my life.â Patricia drew in a deep breath and walked over to Brian. âIâm homeâŚsafe and sound. Here I am.â
Brian looked at Patriciaâlooked into the most beautiful face he had ever seenâbut then suddenly frowned. Patricia had cut her long auburn hair. It was now short and lookedâŚsilly. Well, maybe not silly, and maybe even stylish in the eyes of the person who created the cut, but definitely notâŚwellâŚPatricia. The hairstyle was not Patriciaâs normal style.
âUhâŚnice haircut,â he blurted out before his brain could throw a little common sense at his mouth.Â
Patricia stepped back and narrowed her eyes. âThe new style in Finland. I thought I could use a change,â she told Brian in a veryâveryâdefensive tone. Good grief, she thought, first the guy didnât even greet me and then he insults my new hairstyle. Yeah, love sure isnât smoothâŚmore like a path filled with a million sharp thorns. âIâm glad you like it, Brian.â
Brian tensed up and then quickly glanced down at the brown sports blazer he was wearing over a pair of old jeans. Brian knew his look was ânormal,â if not fashionable, and really didnât care that he was more or less an old broken-in shoe. Patricia, on the other hand, always seemed to conform to new styles every time she traveled to new worldly locationsâmostly clothes. Patricia had changed her hairstyle only twice in the past and had quickly regretted the changes and hungered for her old hair back. Brian had hoped the last hairstyle change would be, wellâŚthe last. Unfortunately, it appeared that Patricia had fallen victim to the world once again. Why? Brian didnât know. Patricia was a riddle to him at times. âUh, yeahâŚnice,â he murmured.
Patricia rolled her eyes. âYou hate it, donât you?â she asked in an annoyed voice. âI knew you would. Thatâs why I didnât even talk about it to Mabel on the plane.â
Brian raised his eyes. âWho?â
âMabel, the oldâŚI mean, my new friend whoâŚoh, forget it!â Patricia snapped her arms together. âBrian, itâs not a crime to try out new styles, you know. Finland was a very beautiful country with a very beautiful culture. The family I was staying with were all very nice. The oldest daughter and I became very close friends. Sheâs the one who convinced me to try this new style, and, well, I think itâsâŚhappening.â
âWhat are we, in the seventies?â Brian asked before he could catch his mouth. He winced and then looked out at the rain again. âLook, Patricia, IâŚitâs your hair, do what you want with it, okay,â he said, struggling to sound casual instead of telling Patricia how silly he thought she looked.Â
âYouâre a jerk, Brian.â Patricia frowned. âA real gentleman would have complimented my hair even if he didnât like it. You, on the other hand, are far from being a gentleman.â Patricia looked around. âI think Iâll rent a car and drive homeâŚalone.â
âNow wait a minute,â Brian objected and then made a âwhy meâ face. âLook, Patricia, we havenât seen each other in a long timeââ
âI was working!â
âYeah, I know, I know.â Brian held up a hand. âLook, tiger, before you go chewing me to pieces, letâs just throw up a white flag and call for a peace treaty, okay? Besides, I have some good news for you.â
âGood news?â Patricia asked as she stared into Brianâs eyes. As she did, her gut suddenly tensed up. A deep worry told Patricia that Brianâs good news wasnât going to be good news. âWhat good news?â
Brian proudly folded his arms together and let out a manly smile, his chin raised in a cocky manner. âIâve been working on your motorhome.â
Patricia froze. âMyâŚmotorhome? You mean my classic 1978 Winnebago?âÂ
âYep, I turned that heap of junk into something grand.â Brian beamed.Â
âHeapâŚof junk?â Patricia asked in a painful whisper. âWhatâŚdid you do to my motorhome, Brian?â she demanded as if the end of the world had arrived.Â
âSpruced it up,â Brian explained in a proud voice. âI subscribe to your travel magazine. The June edition was all about traveling around different countries in RVsânew RVs that are top-notch. Well, that got me thinking about your old heap of junkââ
âMy old heap of junk?â Patricia repeated, feeling as if Brian were sticking a hot dagger into her heart.
Brian nodded. âNot much crime in North Frost,â he explained. âUsually, things pick up for the Autumn Festivalâdonât forget that starts tomorrow. Anyway, with you being gone and nothing to do at the office except watch the paint dry, I decided to work on your RV.â
Patricia screwed up her face as if someone had shoved a sour lemon into her mouth. Whenever Brian got into a mood to do one of his little âprojects,â someone suffered in the endânamed Patricia. Brianâs last project had been a disaster. The guy had decided to add a sun room onto the back of Patriciaâs farmhouse. The room turned out looking like a warped chicken coop. Brian Johnson was an excellent copâan intelligent, strong, solid copâbut a lousy carpenter, electrician, and plumber. âWhat exactly did youâŚdoâŚto my motorhome?â
âYouâll see when we get home.â Brian beamed. âI want it to be a surprise.â
âIâmâŚsure it will be.â Patricia sighed and then just stared at Brian. Yes, love certainly wasnât smooth sailing. âUh, Brian, Iâm very tired. As you know, a storm caused my flight to be diverted to Philadelphia. I still have to call Edna and report that Iâm home. Maybe we should just get a quick bite to eat, drive home, and call it a day, huh? Iâll take a look at myâŚmotorhomeâŚwhen I feel rested.â
âOh, itâll only take a minute,â Brian promised. âItâs parked in your barn behind your house. You wonât have far to walk.â Brian, feeling proud of himselfâand relieved that the conversation was no longer on Patriciaâs new hairstyleâreached out and dared to hug the beautiful woman. âIâm glad youâre home, Patricia. Iâm also glad you wonât be leaving again until after the Autumn Festival is over.â
âYeahâŚlucky me,â Patricia whispered as she hugged Brian back. Images of a tormented, twisted motorhome filled her mind.Â
Brian let go of Patricia. âArenât you glad youâre home?â he asked.
âHuh?â Patricia said before reading disappointment in Brianâs eyes. âOhâŚsure, sure, Iâm glad, honey,â she said and forced a smile to her lips. âIâm tired, thatâs allâŚand a little uneasy about my motorhome. I meanâŚBrian, remember the sun room?â
Brian quickly began rubbing the back of his neck. âYeah, the sun room.â He looked away and then let out an awkward laugh. âNever been so happy to tear down something I built in my life. But hey, this is different. I really went all out on your RV and even had some professionals help me.â
âProfessionals?â
âSome guys down at the local car dealership who know their stuff,â Brian explained. âYouâll see. Now, enough talk. Letâs get out of this crummy airport and get home.â
âLetâs find a Chick-fil-A first,â Patricia pleaded. âIâm starved.â
âI can do that.â Brian smiled and then gently took Patriciaâs hand. âIâm really glad youâre home.â
Patricia looked into Brianâs sincere eyes. How could she stay mad? âIâve missed you. When I was in Finland, a very handsome man kept trying to marry me, but all I could think about was you. I may regret saying that later, but itâs true.â
Brian leaned forward and gave Patricia a gentle kiss. âThe new waitress at the diner asked me to take her out for dinner, but I told her my heart belonged to you,â he whispered. âI donât think Iâll regret saying that later.â
Patricia put her head down on Brianâs shoulder and closed her eyes. It felt nice being in a pair of loving arms. Brian placed his cheek next to Patriciaâs and soaked in the lovely smell of her perfume. Holding Patricia wasâŚhome. Brian knew his heart belonged to Patricia and that someday he was going to make the beautiful woman his wife. âCome on, letâs go find you a Chick-fil-A and then weâll drive homeâŚtogether.â
Patricia smiled and then nudged Brian with her elbow. âYou better get my luggage first, cowboy, or youâll be walking.â
âOh, thatâs rightâŚluggage,â Brian complained in a joking voice. âI canât forget to get the kitchen sink you packed.â
âAnd the bathroom,â Patricia giggled and then hooked her arm around Brianâs. âWhen I was in Finland, I rode a reindeer. It was very nice,â she said and then walked Brian away talking all about her latest trip. Brian didnât mind. Just having Patricia home was enough to make his every dream come true. Sure, hearing all about Finland wasnât exactly like talking about a 1950s hot rod, but love was never smooth, and sometimes love required a man to allow a few thorns to be stuck into his ears. That was lifeâŚand yes, that was loveâtrue love.Â
* * *
Patricia smiled as Brian drove her down a solemn street lined with breathtaking trees adorned with vibrant autumn colors. Glad the rain had stopped, she quickly rolled down the passenger side window attached to Brianâs truck, drew in a deep breath of crisp air, and then simply let the wind wash her tired face with gentle hands. âOh, it feels so good to finally be back home. As much as I love traveling the world, there is no place like North Frost.â
Brian glanced over at Patricia, but instead of smiling, he frowned. Deep in his heart Brian wanted Patricia to stay home forever, but each time she returned home from a worldly visit, she always acted out the same theatrical performance. It wouldnât be long before Edna Traceton, Patriciaâs boss, called and sent the love of his life off on another worldly journey. âWeâre almost to your farm.â
âYes, we are.â Patricia beamed as Brian passed the Old Whitfield Farm. A long driveway drifted off into the trees, ending up at a large farmhouse that was currently for sale. It broke Patriciaâs heart that the farm was being sold. Mr. and Mrs. Whitfield had been such pleasant people, but sadly, age had taken its course, and the Whitfields finally moved to Florida to be close to their children, settling down in a retirement community. âAny takers on the farm?â she asked Brian, pulling her head back into the truck.
Brian shook his head. âCarl said a developer tried to sweet talk him, but that was the only nibble.â
âItâs a good thing the Whitfields made a clause that the buyer must be a farmer and that their farm can never be sold off to a developer,â Patricia stated in a relieved voice. âThe Whitfieldsâ land ends where my land begins. A developer would destroy all this beautyâŚand my land.â
âCounty is fighting hard to keep North Frost from being chewed alive by hungry developers,â Brian pointed out. âToo many North Georgia counties are being overrun by people who live in Atlanta, Florida, and New York. Our way of life is being destroyed by rental cabins and corporate America.â
âTell me about it,â Patricia sighed. âI remember the old courthouse located in a few counties west of us. You know which one Iâm talking about?â Brian nodded. âThat courthouse was built when the county formed,â Patricia continued in a sad voice. âBut then a bunch of snotty rich people from Atlanta helped one of their âpeopleâ become mayor and what happened? The courthouse was torn down against the wishes of the real citizens of the county and replaced by aâŚmonstrosity. And to add insult to injury, the little square that was once so cozy was turned into a breeding ground for âsnowflakesâ that think their poop doesnât smell.â
âNot to mention that so much of the beautiful land in that county was torn down to make way for corporate America,â Brian added. âNow I canât tell that town from any other town thatâs been laced with corporate greed.â
âExactly.â Patricia nodded as Brian began to slow his truck down. She spotted a large red barn-shaped mailbox sitting on the right side of the road and beamed. âHome sweet home.â
Brian hit the blinker on his truck, hung a right, and began traveling down a long dirt driveway that ended up at a cozy white and blue two-story farmhouse that had a blue SUV parked in the yard. The farmhouse wasnât nearly as massive as the one the Whitfields ownedânor was the land Patricia owned. The farmhouse was simple in form and stood on two open acres of lush green land surrounded by beautiful autumn woods that was complemented by a sweet mountain river running at the back of the land. Patricia owned a total of sixteen acres of landâa drop in the bucket compared to the three hundred acres the Whitfields owned. But that didnât matter. Patricia loved her farm with all of her heart.
âI checked the battery in your SUV while you were gone,â Brian said. âI let it run a few times just to keep the juice hot, but it wouldnât hurt if you took a drive tomorrow.â
âI will,â Patricia promised and then frowned as Brian scooted his truck around the farmhouse and drove down a narrow dirt road that led to the large barn that had come with the land. The barn sat in a sleepy backfield located behind the farmhouse; old, rugged, and worn by time and weather. Patricia didnât care. The barn whispered sweet melodies of years forgotten that were still a dream living inside of her heart. âUh, itâll be dark soon. Maybeââ
âI really want to show you the improvements,â Brian insisted in a proud voice. âI know youâre tired, Patricia, but weâre not old and broken just yet. We still have some fire in our steps.â
Patricia let out a low sigh. âYeah, fire in our steps.â She shook her head and waited for Brian to park. Then she slowly unbuckled her seatbelt, said a payer, and prepared for the worst. âOkay, letâs go have a look.â
âWait, Iâm going to drive your RV out into the open air,â Brian announced in an excited voice. He jumped out of his truck and dashed toward the barn.Â
Patricia moaned as she watched Brian pull open the two large wooden doors and then disappear into a dark barn that smelled of hay and dust. âOh dear,â she sighed and then simply climbed out of the truck into the crisp autumn air and waited. A few minutes later, the sound of an old, sickly engine fired to life inside the barn. Dark smoke began flowing out the doors. Patricia quickly covered her mouth. âForgotâŚabout the exhaust,â she coughed as her eyes spotted the back end of her motorhome begin slipping out of the barn. âBrian fixes everything except what needs fixedâŚyes, love is never smooth.â
A classic 1978 Winnebago motorhome slid out of the barn with a very excited driver behind the wheel. Brian, oblivious to the dark smoke busting out from the tailpipe, honked an old horn and waved at Patricia as soon as the giant vehicle was clear of the barn. âYou have to see the inside!â He quickly rolled down the driverâs side window and yelled: âYou have to see the inside!â
âIâm afraid to,â Patricia whispered under her breath as she slapped dark smoke away from her face. At least, she thought, feeling a little relief touch her heart, Brian had not touched the outside of the motorhomeâso maybe there was a little hope on the horizon.Â
Brian put the motorhome to sleep and then jumped out from the driverâs seat, ran into the motorhome, and flung open a rusty entrance door that had originally been painted brown but was now a mix of yellow, green, andâŚrust. No one in North Frost understood why Patricia loved the hunk of junk she kept parked in the barn. Only Patricia knew the real reason.
âCome on inside,â Brian urged.
Patricia winced and then, as if she were being pulled toward a major automobile accident against her will, she forced a set of exhausted legs to carry her inside her motorhomeâwell, what Patricia assumed would resemble her motorhome. What her eyes immediately saw was the interior of something that resembled aâŚaâŚfuturistic spaceship.
âOh myâŚIâŚmyâŚmotorhomeâŚâ Patricia gasped in horror as her eyes struggled to identify anything that remotely resembled the motorhome she had once loved and known.Â
âWell, what do you think?â Brian beamed, standing near a polished steel table attached to a gray booth. âAnd look at the floorâŚcomplete hardwood.â
Patricia glanced down. The hardwood was somehowâŚsilver looking. âIââ
âPainted the floor myself to match the walls,â Brian explained in a proud voice and then proceeded to show a stunned Patricia all of the ânew and improvedâ touches he had added to the RV. âEverything is new. Stove, microwave, shower, bed, furniture, television. I also rigged it where the inside power is now run by solar energy. Took out that old junky generator and tossed it.â Brian pointed up at the roof. Patricia glanced up and spotted a row of solar panels instead of an old, rusted ceiling. âYour stove, refrigerator, hot water tankâŚall work on solar power.â
Brian beamed and then hurried over to a stainless steel refrigerator, saying, âThe guys at the dealership know a man who is trying to revolutionize the RV world. He agreed to donate everything you see if we allow him to promote your motorhome in the next edition of his magazine. Of course, we still have to work on the engine and change the exterior, but weâll get to that once the Autumn Festival passes. I had to put a hold on the work for now. Anyway, what do you think?â
âIâŚIâŚâ Patricia could barely speak. Her shocked eyes roamed around the interior that looked as if they had been transported into some futuristic world. âIâŚneed air,â she said in a shaky voice and then stumbled back outside.Â
Brian frowned and followed. âYou donât like it?â he asked, stepping out of the motorhome and planting his boots on solid Georgia ground. âPatricia, those solar panels are state of the artâŚand are very expensive. It took me and the guys some time to cut the roof away and inset those solar panels just right andââ
âWho asked you to?â Patricia asked as her shock began to wear off. Anger filled her cheeks. âBrian, who askedâno, who gave you permission to destroy my motorhome? I loved it just the way it wasâŚminus the exhaust.â Patricia threw her hands up into the air. âYouâre always doing something like this!â
âLike what?â Brian asked in a confused voice. âI was just trying to do something nice for you.â
âNo, you were just trying to control my life!â Patricia snapped and then threw her hand at the RV. âYou donât like it that Iâm a travel writer. Youâve always tried to get me to quit my job and stay home. And what do you do while Iâm away? You still try to control my life.â
âBy turning a heap of junk into somethingââ
âBy not asking my permission!â Patricia yelled at Brian, feeling as if she were about to explode. âBrian, Iâm a woman who possesses her own thoughts, likes, dislikesâŚa woman who has her own life. Iâm not yourâŚwife or some woman who just goes along with everything you say or do. You should have asked me for my permission to change my motorhome, but you didnât. You just assume that your way is best for meâŚbut itâs not. Donât you understand that?âÂ
Brian stared at Patricia with hurt eyes. âI was trying to do you a favor and help you.â
âHelp me?â Patricia said in an exasperated voice. âBrian, I donât need help. I can take care of myself.â Patricia threw her hands around at her lovely farm. âBrian, I work. I pay my mortgage. I pay my bills. I buy my own groceries. I lock my doors at nightâŚnot you. I can take care of myself, but youâŚyouâre always trying to turn me into this helpless female.â Patricia shook her head. âWhen I was trapped in that spooky town in Arizona, I took care of myself. I took care of myself in Paris. I took care of myselfâoh, whatâs the point! Youâll never understand.â
Brian watched a gust of wind start playing in Patriciaâs new hairstyle. For a brief second, he didnâtâor couldnâtârecognize the woman he was in love with. Instead, he saw a stubborn, ill-tempered woman who preferred a flashy lifestyle to settling down and becoming a wife. And thatâs what Brian wanted, wasnât it? Yes, he admitted to himself, staring at Patricia. He wanted Patricia to settle down, become his wife, andâŚandâŚstay home! But no, Patricia would not listen to reason. No way! Instead, the woman would stay home for a week or so and then zoom off to some worldly location and leave him behind in the dust. And thatâs what bothered Brian the mostâbeing left behind and feeling like he wasnâtâŚneeded. The truth was, he deeply admitted to himself, Patricia didnât need him. Patricia was doing just fine on her own.
âMaybe you donât need me to understand,â he told Patricia in a voice that entered the air with bitterness.Â
âI need you to understand that a woman doesnât like to have her life controlled.â
âSo who is controlling you, Patricia?â Brian asked and then began walking toward his truck. âI was only trying to change the RV into something that would allow you and me to take a decent trip someday. I wasnât trying to control you or your life. But hey, you see matters your way and I see them mineâŚand maybe thatâs where we need to draw the line.â
âWhat do you mean?â Patricia asked. She watched Brian take her luggage out of the bed of his truck and set it down on the ground.Â
âMaybe I need a woman who can see things my way,â Brian told Patricia in a voice that remained bitter. âItâs like you said, youâre not my wife or some woman who goes along with everything I say.â Brian opened the driverâs side door to his truck and then looked at Patricia with eyes that fought back hurt. âYou can take care of yourself, PatriciaâŚyou donât need me. IâllâŚbe seeing you around.â
Patricia wanted to tell Brian to stay but instead she heard herself reply: âYeah, maybe Iâll see you at the Autumn Festival. Thanks for the ride home.â
âNo problem.â Brian climbed into his truck, carefully backed up to the main driveway, and drove away, leaving Patricia standing alone.Â
Patricia felt her heart break but quickly fought back the pain. She walked over to the motorhome, stuck her head inside, studied the interior, and sighed. âBrian will never understand. Maybe itâs better that he leftâŚmaybe itâs better if he just stays gone,â she whispered, feeling anger take over her pain. âThereâs ten million guys in this world. That inconsiderate jerk isnât the only fish in the sea.â With those words, Patricia backed the motorhome into the barn, locked the barn doors, and then carried her luggage into a warm and cozy farmhouse that happily welcomed her home. âIâm home and Iâm going to be happy,â Patricia stated as she walked into her safe kitchen filled with all kinds of goodies. âAt least the worst is over. Now maybe I can relax.â
What Patricia didnât know as she made herself a cup of hot chocolate was that the worst wasnât over. Murder was on the horizon.Â
âYes, now that Brian is gone, the worst is over,â Patricia said again, standing next to the old white farm stove waiting for the blue tea kettle to start screaming. âThat jerk isnât going to ruin my nightâŚor the Autumn Festival. Nothing.â