Plain Dead Read Free

to Stone Mill. Rachel didn’t see Coyote, but Blade, a rough-featured man with a long ponytail, a scraggly beard, and full sleeves of tattoos, was behind the counter, the newest addition to their family tied to his chest with a colorful baby sling. A small boy in a wheelchair sat beside him, scrolling through an iPad.
    Blade glanced up, saw her coming toward him, and grinned. “Rachel. Coyote was looking for you earlier, but she just ran out to the car. This one”—he glanced meaningfully down at the sleeping infant—“just had a major explosion, and I left the diaper bag in the van.”
    â€œI’ll be around for a while, so I’ll catch up with her. Hi, Remi,” Rachel said to the small boy. He had a round face; silky black hair cut straight across his forehead; large, dark, intelligent eyes; and skin the exact shade of English toffee. “Are you reading anything good today?”
    â€œ The Giving Tree, but I read it before. I know how it ends.” Remi had an endearing lisp.
    â€œI imagine Ell has some wonderful books over there. Maybe we can find you something you haven’t read yet.”
    â€œJust what his mama said,” Blade agreed. “Although it’s hard to keep him in books. He’s reading everything he can get his hands on.”
    Rachel suspected that Remi’s IQ, as yet to be formally tested, would surprise even his parents. Not old enough to attend kindergarten yet, Remi had already been reading chapter books for more than a year. “At least you’ll never be bored.”
    Intense pewter-gray eyes lit with pleasure. “Coyote says that, too. Whatever may happen, our kids are our treasure.”
    Rachel nodded. For all his scary tattoos, her friend’s husband was a gentle soul and a model family man always willing to help his wife or his neighbors. She knew Blade had spent four nights that week erecting booths for the festival as well as shoveling fresh snow and ice off the high school sidewalks. “I saw your booth was drawing a lot of interest from visitors this morning. How are sales?”
    â€œGreat, so far,” Blade answered. “I think Coyote wants me to bring over some more of those blue mugs and the cream pitchers this afternoon. She sold one of the sinks already, the one with the brown swirl.”
    â€œIt was beautiful. She’s going to make one for me for that little half bath I’m making out of a downstairs closet.” She smiled at Remi. “Tell your mama I’ll stop back by.” He nodded and Rachel moved on.
    Coyote’s pottery booth stood beside a larger display of oils and watercolors featuring work by local artists past and present. Beyond that were candle vendors and stands displaying braid rugs and traditional painted floor coverings. Rachel’s own booth was given over to photos and text relating the history of the Stone Mill valley from the seventeenth century up to the present, including a case featuring a local collector’s stone spear points, Native American pottery, and models of the type of homes and farming methods used by First Peoples. A friend and neighbor, Hulda Schenfeld, had volunteered to host the booth for a few hours today. It was Hulda who’d insisted that the display include before-and-after restoration photos of Stone Mill House and magnets with the phone number of the B&B listed. Hulda, in her nineties, remained a savvy businesswoman, and Rachel knew she had a lot to learn from her.
    More than half of the vendors were Amish. One entire wall of the gymnasium was given over to foodstuffs, with residents offering local goat cheese, honey, apple cider, pickles and relishes, and all kinds of jams and jellies. There were folks selling homemade leather goods, handmade brooms, and wooden rockers and baby cradles. There were also craft projects and face painting for children, a petting zoo in one of the outer garages, and winter activities for all ages,