Nightshade

CHAPTER 1 It was the kind of perfect fall afternoon that erased even the memory of the blanket of heat and humidity that summer's end had laid over this part of New Hampshire. The first frost had struck a week ago: the leaves of the ancient maples and oaks that lined the streets of Granite Falls were just beginning their annual transformation, their edges barely hinting at the riot of color that would develop in another couple of weeks. As Joan Hapgood slid her Range Rover into the slot that seemed to have been left just for her only a few steps from the Rusted Roosterwhose original name had long ago given way to the condition of the sign that hung over its doorshe considered the possibility of driving up to Quebec for the weekend. She'd heard of a terrific little inn with a view of the St. Lawrence, and just that much farther north the trees would already be in full regalia, their colors so brilliant as to be almost blinding. But as she glanced at her watchexactly one minute before two, when she and Bill had agreed to meet for a late lunchshe was already beginning to catalog the reasons why they wouldn't be able to take off for the weekend. First, there was the opening day of hunting season, which she knew Bill wouldn't miss. Her husbandalong with nearly every one of his friendsregarded the opening day of hunting season with the same reverence most people reserved for religious holidays. But it had always been that way in Granite Falls: the hunting fervor had become so entrenched among the Granite Falls families that could trace their roots back to the seventeenth century that Joan (whose own roots went back only to her mother) suspected it was actually in their genes. But it wasn't the kind of hunting that was fashionable in other placesin the small enclaves of old, if somewhat diminished, wealth farther south, where ducks and foxes were the favored prey. In Granite Falls, it was deer. "We've always hunted deer," Bill Hapgood had explained. "It's just the way it's always been. We're not pretentious people up hereit's not like it is down in Connecticut and places like that. We hunt in the woods, we hunt on foot, and we eat what we shoot." But Joan knew that it wasn't only the opening day of hunting season that stood in the way of their slipping away for the weekend. There was Matt's football game, too. He'd finally made the starting lineup last week, and Bill wasif possibleeven more excited than she at the prospect of seeing Matt score for the Granite Falls team for the first time. That was one of the things she loved best about the man she'd married a decade agohe'd always treated Matt as if her son was his own. And neither of them would miss the biggest game of Matt's life. But it was the next problem that was the worst, and not just for the coming weekend, but for every weekendindeed, for every dayin the foreseeable future. That was the problem of Joan Hapgood's mother. As thoughts of Emily Moore filled Joan's mind, the exhilaration which the weather had brought her began to drain away, and as she stepped through the door of the Rusted Rooster, the closeness of its low-beamed ceilings and half-timbered walls only accentuated the depression that was settling over her. "You all right?" her husband asked, half rising from his chair as Joan sank into the one the waitress held for her. Joan smiled thinly as she automatically scanned the menu despite the already certain knowledge that she would have the Cobb salad. "I was just fantasizing about running away for the weSaul, John is the author of 'Nightshade' with ISBN 9780449005903 and ISBN 0449005909.