888
"Damn, it's even worse than I thought," Dean snarled as he maneuvered the big black Chevy against the cobblestone curb that lined the main thoroughfare.
"I don't know, seems like a nice enough place." Sam replied easily as he took in downtown Harmony.
With a snort, Dean rolled his eyes at his brother's comment. "Yeah, nice enough if you're a Stepford. I mean come on, Sam. No way there's a town this perfect. I can already feel the evil."
Sam gazed about, taking in the tree lined streets, the well-appointed homes and the small business' that lined the avenue. Unable to help it, he teased, "Yeah, I see what you mean, Dean, this place is just waiting to erupt."
"Yeah, well yuck it up all you want, Chuckles, but I'm telling you now, nothing good's going to come out of this place."
Listening to the seriousness in his brother's tone, Sam again scanned the streets, trying to figure out just what had Dean's hackles up. Again, nothing jumped out at him. Couples strolled along the streets, a nearby café was doing a steady stream of business and there were even a couple kids playing jump rope in front of a tiny ice-cream shop. Harmony looked like Any-town, USA, better in fact given its obvious lack of graffiti and crime.
Then Sam's gaze darted over at a restored three-story Victorian home, and he couldn't help but notice the hint of unease that ghosted up his spine. Focusing more fully on the beautifully appointed home, he shrugged off the feeling as he noted the building's perfectly manicured lawn and surrounding gardens.
Without thinking, Sam returned his gaze to his brother and chided, "Since when'd you become so cynical. Sometimes a town's just a town."
A flash of pain flickered through Dean's hazel eyes at Sam's words, making the young hunter remember that he hadn't been a part of his brother's life for the last two years. Given Dean's closed off expression he had plenty of reasons to be so cynical.
"Like our good friends in Indiana? I mean that was just a town."
Sam rolled his eyes and sighed, "Come on, really? You're going to bring up the scarecrow. Burkittsville isn't the norm, Dean, this is."
"You really have been gone a long time, Sam" Dean growled, his gaze scanning the tiny hamlet. "Burkittsville is the norm, or at least it's the norm for us."
Not ready to concede the point, but no longer willing to argue, Sam shook his head and pushed open the Impala's heavy door. Wincing slightly at the squeal of protest the old car made at the gesture, Sam couldn't help but glance guiltily toward the outdoor café that was only a few building's down.
As expected the brothers had drawn attention. Patrons of the restaurant were now watching avidly as Dean made his way around the car. Sam rolled his eyes and resolutely turned his back on their audience. He hadn't actually planned on alerting the entire town that they'd arrived. It was always easier to find the truth if you could catch people off guard. In this case, they needed all the help they could get. Sara Blake had mentioned that the private detective that had been investigating Emma's disappearance hadn't had much luck questioning the residents in the tiny burg.
"What now, Sam? Nearest Motel's forty minutes out which means if we're planning on finding this girl, we'd better find someplace a bit closer to work from."
Sam nodded as he gazed up and down the street hoping for inspiration. As a newspaper vending machine caught his attention, he quickly searched his pockets for loose change. Coming up short, he held a hand out to his brother. "You got any change."
Dean stared hard at his brother before thrusting his hand into his jeans pocket and fished out a handful of quarters. "A newspaper, Dude? Do you really need to read about Aunt Fanny's Award Winning jam recipe or find out that Farmer Fred's prize winning pig ran away?"
His brother's words shocked a true laugh out of Sam as he purchased the daily news. Still chuckling, he made his way back to the car and spread the paper out on the hood. As he took a look at the front page, a long fingered hand reached forward and tapped the paper's first headline.
"Told you so."
As Sam took in the day's top news story, he couldn't help but jab his elbow into Dean's side. "Just because there's an article about a county fair doesn't mean there's no real news," he assured his brother with more conviction than he felt. "Besides I'm not looking for news, I'm looking for a place to stay."
Skipping to the back of the paper, Sam quickly scanned the real estate section until an ad caught his interest. "Here we go, room for rent, looks as if it's just off Main Street."
His brother leaned forward, and quickly gazed at the ad, nodding, he pointed back the way they'd come. "Front Street's about three blocks back. We passed it on the way in."
Carefully tearing out the ad and handing it to his brother, he then proceeded to fold up the paper. "You wanna walk?"
Dean sent one nervous glance toward the crowd that was still watching their every move and nodded for Sam to get going. "Yeah, no point in moving the car until we have a place to park it.
Sam moved out, his long stride quickly eating up the distance between them and Front Street. As he moved, he couldn't help but grin at the sight of his brother, tucked against his side, his steely gaze sweeping the residential neighborhood with a grim purpose.
Throwing out his elbow, he jostled Dean slightly and grinned down at the shorter man. "Ease up, man, we're gonna find this girl, send her on her way back home and be out of this town before the body snatchers can lay a finger on you."
"You just had to go and say it didn't you, Sam. I'm telling you now, don't come running to me, when some alien is trying to stick a probe up your-"
"No one's getting probed, Dean," Sam interrupted. "We don't even know if this girl went missing here. She could have disappeared in a hundred other towns between here and home."
"Ah, Sammy, you're so naïve. I'm telling you now, Emma was here, and it was here she disappeared, you just wait and see."
888
"No, no," Emma cried as she lifted her heavy skirt and ran the last couple of feet toward where she'd parked her rental car. Certain she'd parked the Ford right here, she closed her eyes for a moment and forced her panicked breathing to calm slightly. Giving herself a moment to quiet, she then slowly opened her eyes.
"Damn," she snapped at the still empty parking spot in front of her.
Glancing about, she began to realize the neighborhood she now found herself in was not exactly how she remembered it. Granted she hadn't take the time to really study the street when she'd parked, she'd just been thankful she'd found a place to park near the center of town that didn't require feeding a meter. Still, she was certain there had been signs lining the curbs spelling out the terms of the street parking.
Then there were the cars themselves that had once filled the tree lined street. Now, rather than a line of mini-vans and suv's there was a slow parade of horse and buggy's making their way through town.
Looking down at her clothes and then back up at the spot where her car had once sat, Emma blinked back the tears that were trying to fall. Unable to hold back the flood that threatened to overtake her, she slipped her tiny handbag off her wrist and peered inside.
Instead of the tiny pouch of Kleenex she normally kept in her purse, there was a dainty looking embroidered handkerchief. Pulling it out, she couldn't help but doubt the hygiene of blowing her nose in something she'd then have to put back in her purse. Still, persevering, she put the bit of fluff to her nose and blew.
Blanching at the now sopping handkerchief, she went to put the cloth back into her bag only to notice that she was now the proud owner of a tiny beaded change purse, and what looked like an old-fashioned iron key. Ignoring the change purse, she really doubted the tiny bag held her license and credit cards, Emma instead pulled out the key and studied it.
The key felt substantial in her hand as she traced her fingers over the ornate iron scroll work that adorned one end. As she handled the it, she couldn't help but feel as if the scroll work looked familiar. Tracing her finger over the looping pattern again and again, Emma at last realized where she'd seen a similar mark. Reaching into her bag once more she again pulled out the now soggy handkerchief.
Flattening out the scrap of cloth, Emma was surprised to see that the yellow embroidery that graced the material exactly matched the scroll work on the key. Still fingering the key, she glanced about. Taking in the Victorian houses that lined Front Street, Emma couldn't help but wonder just what she'd stumbled into.
Try as she might, she couldn't remember anything at all from the time she'd stood in the Harmony Gallery and the moment she'd awoken up outside on the sidewalk. Everything in between was a blank. Tired and still aching, Emma began to make her way down the street with no particular destination in mind. As she walked she kept turning over the moment in her mind when Mrs. Hodges had first uncovered the Ogilvie.
She could clearly remember the battered frame that housed the painting, but she couldn't remember what the painting itself entailed. That worried Emma as much as anything else did, after all art was her life.
She was only four or five houses down from where she'd last seen her rental car, when she noticed a small wooden sign. 'Birch House' it read, though that wasn't what had caught Emma's attention. No, what had caught her eye was an exact replica of the scroll work from both her key and her handkerchief that rested just underneath the painted words.
Unable to grasp just what was going on, but helpless to ignore such an obvious sign, Emma reached out and carefully pushed open the tiny yellow gate, and followed the narrow brick path toward Birch House.
888
"Here, 'Birch House'," Dean said as he slowed and nodded toward a tiny yellow cottage. Tucked in amid a street full of Victorian style homes, the little house looked slightly shabby and worn.
Taking in the painted wooden shakes, and tiny white porch complete with porch swing, Dean couldn't help but feel as if he'd come to the first real house he'd yet to see in Harmony. It was obvious that whoever owned Birch house wasn't a slave to the local historical association.
The front yard, enclosed by a low picket fence that was painted the same sunny shade of yellow as the house, included two of the biggest birch trees the older hunter had ever laid eyes on. The trees stood taller than the house, their leafy branches spread wide over the front yard throwing the whole place into shade.
"Well now, no need to just stand and stare, I don't bite,"
The brother's turned in unison at the bell like voice that called out, Dean automatically shifted slightly, putting Sam behind him. Ignoring the shove in the back from his brother, he scanned the small front yard looking for the source of the noise.
It was then he noticed an older woman waving gaily from the front porch swing. Even he had trouble holding back his smile as the woman's enthusiasm nearly caused her to lose her balance and topple off the swing.
"Watch it, that one's got evil written all over her," Sam snarked as he moved out from behind Dean and pushed open the tiny yellow gate.
"Come on, boys, I got some ice-tea put up and plate full of sandwiches with your names on it," the woman called out, gesturing again for Dean to get a move on.
Glancing once more at the tiny cottage squeezed in between the imposing perfection of the rest of the neighborhood, Dean couldn't help but feel something was seriously wrong in Harmony.
"Come on, come on," Trilled the tiny bird-like woman as Dean neared the porch. "Your brother here is gonna beat you to the good stuff."
Dean lifted a brow at his brother, who was already seated in an old wicker chair, his long legs stretched out before him. Hesitating, he hovered on the porch steps unsure of just where he was supposed to sit. It looked as if Sam had taken the only substantial seat in the bunch.
His remaining choices consisted of a spot on the swing next to their hostess, or else a tiny wrought iron chair that looked as if a strong wind might collapse it, let alone his six-foot frame. Careful to tread on a grinning Sam's size fourteens, Dean took an uneasy seat next to the white-haired lady.
"Oh, what good looking boys you are. Why I haven't had such a pair of lookers on this porch since my own boys were young," the woman crowed as she slapped her knee, obviously tickled by her own flirting.
Dean wanted to snort in exasperation as Sam ducked his head with an 'awe shucks' grin gracing his face. He couldn't believe that his baby brother was falling hook, line and sinker for the little old lady that was perched precariously beside him. Reserving judgment, Dean kept his expression carefully blank as he gave the woman the once over.
Tiny to the point where her feet, encased in a pair of sandals, swung well above the wooden decking, the little woman had a shock of bright white hair that stood up on end all over her head. Her petite frame was decked out in a pair of cream colored slacks and she wore a Hawaiian print shirt that seemed to encompass every color in the rainbow.
"Name's Birdy," the woman said with a smile as she held out a hand in greeting to Dean.
"Dean," he replied, not bothering with a last name, as he took her hand carefully in his. "This is my brother, Sam."
"Pleasure to meet you boys, now dig in," Birdy insisted, pointing toward the tray that sat on the wicker table before them.
Unsure of just what he was supposed to do with the tiny crust-less sandwiches that filled the platter in front of them, Dean instead opted to fill one of the empty glasses from the glass pitcher that was resting on the table. Lifting the ice-tea to his mouth, he lifted an eyebrow at his brother, as Sam hesitatingly chose two of the tiny sandwiches.
"That's cucumber and the other's ham salad," Birdy replied with pride. "I make the best cucumber sandwiches in all of Chautauqua County," she boasted.
"Huh," Sam replied with a faint smile as he took a careful bite of one. "Hm…good," he replied flashing Birdy a small smile.
Dean didn't bother to hold back his grin as he took another long pull from the glass of sweet tea. He had to admit he was surprised when Sam continued to nibble away at the food.
"Come now, Dean, no need to be shy. Dig in," Birdy cried as she hoped spryly off the seat and set about filling a plate for the older hunter.
Well and truly caught, Dean shrugged at his brother's grin and dug in. Given that he'd spent a large part of his life eating out of convenience stores, he was certain his iron stomach could handle a couple sandwiches.
Surprisingly, the food wasn't bad, though he figured he'd have to eat about fifty of the tiny things if he had any hope of filling up. The brothers had driven straight through to Harmony and hadn't bothered to stop for anything more fulfilling than a candy bar all day.
Sooner rather than later, Dean was staring forlornly at the now empty tray. Forcing thoughts of food from his mind, he shifted and turned toward the little lady next to him. "Ms. Birdy, I don't know if Sam mentioned it, but we're only interested in renting for a couple of days."
Birdy waved her hand at Dean's words and laughed, "No worries, not like I'd let anyone from town rent from me. I'd be happy for you boys to use the place."
At Birdy's words, Sam leaned forward, and asked, "Why wouldn't you rent to anyone from town?"
"Bah, their's nothing but fools and poppycock's in this town. I refuse to play their games and they damn well know it."
"Their games?" Dean couldn't help but ask.
"Yup," Birdy, replied proudly. "That damn historical society. They want Birch House gone; claim it's a blight on the neighborhood. A blight! Can you believe that? Why my grandfather built this place for my mother. She lived here nearly 63 years and I was born here."
"They want to demolish the cottage," Sam asked in surprise. "Even though it's that old?"
"They claim it's not dignified enough, as if. Well, they're messing with the wrong woman. They ain't getting their hands on this place until they pull my cold dead body from it."
Impressed by the woman's attitude, Dean leaned back and grinned. "Well alright then, can we see it?"
"You betcha," Birdy cried, clapping her hands as she shimmied off the swing.
Dean gestured for the older woman to go first and then followed her across the porch and around the side of the house. There he followed her down a set of wide steps and around the corner of the house. As he rounded the tiny yellow cottage, he noted what looked like an oversized shed sitting in the back yard.
Filled to overflowing with plants and flowers the backyard was more garden than lawn. Dean could see a stone driveway leading up to the back of the property that he assumed must be accessed by some kind of alley. Parked in the drive was a cream colored antique Cadillac. He couldn't help but admire the car's long lines and chrome grill.
"She's a beaut," he told Birdy, nodding toward the machine.
"That she is, Harold bought old Bessie for me back in '45. Still runs like a champ, though I don't get out in her as much as I used to."
Dean shook his head in amazement as he tried to picture the tiny woman in front of him driving down the street in her boat of a car.
"Now, there's parking back here so you won't have to park on the street. Parking authorities are sticklers for rules. You don't want to end up with a ticket," Birdy called over her shoulder as she began making her way down a brick path.
The path wound through the endless array of flowers, and ended in front of the tiny blue building. While waiting for Birdy to unlock the door, Dean found himself wondering whether his giant of a brother would even be able to stand inside.
"This was originally the garage. We turned it into a suite when my father-in-law took ill. He lived here for nearly fifteen years," she informed them as she held the door open for the men to enter.
Surprisingly, the renovated garage was roomier than it looked from outside; even Sam had no problem standing upright, given the open beam construction. Consisting of one large room there was a tiny kitchenette, a small round table with two chairs and faded floral print couch. Tucked into the far corner were two twin beds decked out in matching bedspreads.
Two doors were set against the opposite wall. Walking up to them, Birdy quickly threw them open and pointed. "Bathroom and closet. It's a bit tight for two, but you'll have more room than you would if you were in a Motel."
The woman had a point, Dean and Sam had stayed in many a smaller place. "This'll do fine. You didn't mention a price in your ad."
At his question, Dean noticed Birdy's bright eyes shrewdly studied the brother's. Feeling her gaze rake over his scuffed boots and faded jeans he couldn't help but stand a little straighter.
"I'll tell you boys what. You pay me what's going rate over at the Motel 6 in Mayville and we'll call is square."
Dean quickly considered the cash he had on him and nodded in agreement. "That'll work," he said as he moved to pull out his wallet.
"No, no," Birdy stated firmly as she began backing out of the room. "We'll square up later. My stories are about to come on and I hate to miss them. Just knock on the back door if'n you find yourselves needing anything."
With these words and a wave of her tiny hand the woman was gone, leaving Dean and Sam to stare at each other in surprise.
"Huh," Sam stated as he moved to watch Birdy make her way back up to the house. "I guess we've got a place to stay."
"Guess so, we're gonna have to get the car and some dinner. Those sandwich thingy's were barely even an appetizer," Dean called out as he headed for the front door. Carefully removing the old-fashioned key that Birdy had left in the door and pocketing it, he headed outside calling over his shoulder, "Food first."
"Works for me," Sam replied as he followed the older hunter outside, pulling the door shut behind him.
TBC
