Moonlighting in Vermont (3 page)

A hair salon, a print and copy shop, a deli, a video store, a grocery, book store, laundry, two restaurants and a pizza place occupy the lower floors of the buildings on Chelsea Street. The upper floors house apartments and various professional offices. The
Royalton Star
has offices over the laundromat.

I parked next to the green across from our office, jogged across the street, and took the stairs two at a time to the second floor. Meg was sitting at my desk, frowning, when I flung open the door to the office. Her curly bangs had fallen over her eyes, and she absentmindedly blew them out of her face. She looked up at me and blinked.

“I don’t know how you stare at this computer screen all day. I’ve only been here a couple of hours, and already my head hurts. Nothing fits right on the page.”

“Sorry I’m late.” I tossed my blazer over a chair. “I got called into the barracks”
“It’s okay, Tom told me.” She squinted back up at me. “You should have called me, though. I might have worried. Here, take your desk. You can do your job for a while.” She pushed away from my computer. “See what you can do with that mess, will you, or we’ll never make it to press tonight.”
We went to press every Tuesday night. The paper came out on Wednesday mornings. Every Tuesday, we worked like madwomen to finish the paper, and every Wednesday morning, we slept in. Normally, we’d both be in here early, inhaling coffee and working out the bugs together. My visit to the barracks had messed up our schedule.
I turned to Meg. “This whole Vera thing has me discombobulated. I didn’t sleep great last night. I let my mom get the better of me on the phone this morning, and now I’ve got the impression that Brooks doesn’t think Vera’s death was an accident.”
“What makes you say that?”
“They asked me to notify them before I leave town.”
“Are you leaving town?”
“I wasn’t planning on it. Lieutenant Brooks just told me to let him know if I was thinking of leaving town. Maybe I should.”
“No. You should not leave town. They’ll probably have this whole thing straightened out within the week.” Meg looked at the ceiling. “Oh, by the way, Tom says your car needs to be inspected. It’s four months overdue.”
I spent the first couple of hours double-checking ads I’d designed last week. Then I checked to see if anyone had requested specific page placement. I always try to place ads in logical places, the fundraising dinners near the calendar, the employment ads in with the classifieds, and the birthday announcements that read, “Ain’t it nifty, look who’s fifty” with fifth-grade braces pictures near the local interest articles. Sometimes, someone wants to shake things up and get prime placement for their ad on the third page. I’m fine with that as long as everything fits.
Except for the occasional “Crap!” it was quiet. Our reporters avoid the office on Tuesdays. They know they’ll get roped into running errands, bringing coffee and lunch. Locals who might be tempted to drop by other days of the week knew better than to show up on a Tuesday. Meg and I could get pretty testy during paste-up.
At three o'clock, Meg looked up. “I’m going down for a sandwich. Do you want anything?”
“Yeah.” I fished around in my wallet for some bills. “And I need caffeine. A soda would be good.”
Meg took my money and headed down the stairs. I turned my attention back to the computer screen, but my concentration had been broken. I put my head down on my desk and thought about Vera and why I shouldn’t leave town. I had a hard time believing her death could have been murder. Not that half the people in this town wouldn’t love to see her brought down a notch. But murder?
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I heard Meg come back in the room, and I jerked my head up off my desk.
“Too late,” Meg laughed. “I know you were sleeping. And I know why. You let Jim sleep over last night.” She started singing, “He likes you. He wants your babies…”
I threw an eraser at her head and missed. “Give me a break. Where’s my soda? We’ll never get the paper done if I don’t get some caffeine. The
Royalton Star
, the only paper in Vermont that comes out on a different day every week.”
Meg scowled at me and set our sandwiches and sodas on my desk. She grabbed her chair and rolled it over. “How far are you from finishing?”
“Hmmm, I’m guessing I’ll be zapping it over to the printer around ten tonight. Why?”
“I wanted to talk to you about something. I’ve got a problem.”
“What? Is Jeremy giving you trouble again?” Meg’s oldest was fourteen and a great kid, but he had a mind of his own, and puberty wasn’t treating him kindly.
“No it’s not the kids. It’s me. I have a problem. A huge, horrible problem.”
“You’re not sick are you?” I was puzzled. Meg’s life seemed so perfect. “You’re not pregnant?”
“No. Tom and I haven’t had any time alone together in ages, so I’m not pregnant.” Meg looked down, her face flushed. “You know Scott Howe? The guy we hired to build the new barn.”
“Uh huh,” I nodded. “Hotty Scotty.” Scott Howe is Brad Pitt in a tool belt. He’s in his early thirties and has a reputation as a good, honest contractor and a nice guy. I’d seen him over at Meg’s. He was easy on the eyes and had a quick smile.
“Well.” She sighed. “I’m attracted to him.”
“Jeez, Meg. Every woman within a fifty-mile radius could say that. You’re married, not buried, as Val would say.” Val is a good friend of ours. She’s a ton of fun to hang out with but has a tendency to get her friends in trouble. She’s also a lawyer, so she has the ability to get us back out of trouble, if she has to.
“No, it’s more than that. I’m really attracted to him. If he made a pass at me, I’d drag him into my bed kind of attracted. And I can’t stay away. Whenever I have three seconds free, I find myself down at the new barn, flirting.”
“Does he flirt back?” Bells were going off in my head. If Scott made a pass at Meg, things could get really ugly. Tom wouldn’t tolerate another guy hanging around his wife.
“God, I don’t know.” Meg sounded miserable. “He’s always been friendly. And Tom is never around any more. There are so many new hires at the barracks that he has to be there all the time. He works every weekend, and when he does come home, he has a bunch of chores to do. Jeremy does what he can, but he’s in high school now and has tons of homework.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I’m thinking of telling Scott that I’m attracted to him. I thought that might cut some of the tension. Maybe he’d be more careful around me. Maybe if he knew, I’d be embarrassed enough to stay away from him.”
“On the other hand, if he’s not as nice a guy as everyone thinks he is, he could take advantage of the situation and ruin your marriage. Or he might be so uncomfortable that he quits and leaves your barn half built. Tom would want to know why. You still love Tom, don’t you? You don’t want to leave him?”
“I never even see Tom anymore. I need companionship, I need affection, and I need sex! If I don’t get some soon, I’m going to burst. And don’t tell me to take care of myself. Doing it alone in the shower is not the same thing!”
“Hey I didn’t say anything about a shower.” I looked over at her. “So what do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. I just get so worn down from all the bickering up at the house. Those kids are at each other all the time. Even with the banging and hammering, the barn seems peaceful and quiet. And Scott is nice to me.” Meg eyes started to tear up. “No one is nice to me any more. The kids are horrid, and Tom doesn’t notice them or me. He comes home late and exhausted, shovels dinner in his mouth, and disappears into the den. I guess he still loves me, but it’s hard to tell for sure. I thought things would be better when he was promoted to captain, but they’ve gotten worse. No money was better than no Tom.”
I made a mental note to corner Tom next time I saw him. Tom Maverick is my older brother’s best friend, and we had a long history together. Ignoring Meg was going to stop now. I’d threaten him, beat him, whatever it took.
Meg sniffed and blew her nose on a tissue. “We’d better get back to work.” She pushed her chair back over to her desk.
“Listen, if you do decide to have an affair with Scott, I don’t want to know about it. This is not a secret I could keep.”
“What if I have an affair with someone besides Scott. Can I tell you about that?”
“No! I’ve known Tom my whole life. I don’t think I could keep a secret from him if I tried. He’d get it out of me. You know he would.”
“I know.” Meg spoke quietly. “I’m not planning an affair. I don’t want to ruin what I’ve got with Tom. But if something happens I promise not to tell you. Shoot, I promise not to tell me. I can’t keep secrets from Tom any better than you can.”
Meg proofed pages while I worked on getting everything laid out. It was a system we’d been using for a couple of years. After I’d worked on something for a while, I couldn’t see typos or missing lines, and Meg had hawk eyes when it came to that stuff. We printed a hard copy and laid it out on a master so Meg would have copy to mark up.
It was nine-forty before I made the last change and transferred an electronic copy to the printer, and we were done for the night. Meg and I tromped down the stairs together and out into the chilly night air. I contemplated heading down to the corner bar for a drink, but I knew Meg wouldn’t go with me. It felt kind of pitiful to sit in the bar by myself.

* * * * *
The next morning, I called our local auto shop, Rockin’
Rob’s Automotive Repair. Rob could fit me in for an
inspection if I got there before ten. So I fed my animals,
spent a little time grooming my old pony, Lucky, and
made myself coffee and an egg sandwich. I ate the
sandwich in the car on the way to the auto shop. Eating
while driving on the narrow back roads isn’t always the
best idea, but I got lucky and didn’t meet anyone coming
the other way.
Rob’s shop is always spotless inside. He’s the cleanest
mechanic I’ve ever seen. No tools lying around, grease and
oil kept to a minimum. Floor always swept up. I’ve never
been in his bathroom, but I’m willing to bet the toilet and
sink aren’t black with dirt like they are in the male-owned
video store down from the paper.
Rob McCullough is tall and solid with short, dark hair,
dark brown eyes, long lashes and an engaging smile. He
likes to listen to French music while he’s working on cars,
and he keeps himself as clean as his shop. He’s got pictures
of his motorcycle hanging in the shop, and if you
encourage him, he’ll stand around talking about riding across Canada for half the day. When I was younger, I used to have a crush on him. Who am I kidding? I still think he’s fabulous, but we’ve never been more than mechanic and the girl with the Junker. The Junker changes
every so often, but I keep my mechanic.
I strolled into the shop, and Rob went out, pulled my
car into the bay, and put it up on the lift. He fussed around
underneath it for ten or fifteen minutes, then came to join
me by his workbench.
“I’m guessing you were hoping to drive out of here
today.” I nodded, and he shook his head. “You’ve got a
bad ball joint. I can’t give you a new sticker until you get it
fixed.”
“How much is that going to cost me?” I love my old
Toyota, but it’s starting to fall apart. I’m afraid I’ll be
driving on the back roads one day, and the thing will just
rattle itself to death, leaving a string of car parts in the
road behind me.
“I’ll call you with an estimate. I’ll need to get in touch
with the parts shop. I can get you a quote today, but I
won’t be able to finish the work right away. I could get it
back to you the by end of next week.”
“Oh, crud. If I don’t get the dang thing fixed, I’m going
to end up with a ticket. If I do get it fixed, I’m going to
have to stop eating for a month.” I puffed out some air.
“Do you want me to leave it with you?”
I called Jim to see if he could pick me up and take me
to the office, but he wasn’t answering his cell. So I called
Meg. Meg was home with a sick seven-year-old, so she
called Tom to see if he could pick me up. Tom sent Steve to
come get me.
Rob laughed when he saw the cop car pull in. “Nice
taxi you got there. This is going to be good for a few
laughs at the bar tonight. I don’t know what’s going to be better, teasing Steve for picking you up, or teasing you for getting picked up by a cop.” He grinned and disappeared
back inside his shop.
I slid into the passenger seat of Steve's car. “Thanks for
coming to get me. Pretty sad when the state trooper
doesn’t have anything better to do than give rides to
stranded women.”
“The only reason you’re getting a ride is that the boss
thinks he needs to watch over you. Otherwise, you’d be
walking like everyone else.” He smiled.
“Anything cooking on Vera’s death? Lieutenant Brooks
asked me not to leave town. That doesn’t sound like
accidental death to me.”
“Not my case,” Steve replied, his eyes fixed on the
road.
“But you’ve heard something, haven’t you?” “Not my place to say,” Steve looked unhappy. He shot
me a look. “I don’t want to lose my job, which is what will
happen if I tell you anything at this point.”
Steve dropped me at my house. I was majorly bummed
about my car but I did have a back up. My dad’s old 750
Kawasaki Spectre was stored in my barn. The weather was
getting a little chilly for riding, but it was better than
puttering around town on a tractor. A tractor could put a
real damper on a person’s style. I’d discovered this in high
school when hunky Bucky Osborn dumped his truck in the
river and had been reduced to driving his John Deere into
town. His date-ability factor dropped dramatically. I tromped into my barn and pulled the sheet off the
bike. It wasn’t too dusty. I’d ridden it during the summer
and only put it up for the winter a couple of weeks ago. I
got my motorcycle license in my early twenties when my
dad bought himself a Honda Goldwing and lent me the
Kawasaki. We used to ride together a lot, zipping up Route 100 on warm summer evenings and riding the scenic road
up Stowe Mountain.
I checked to see that no essential parts had been
chewed by critters and rolled the bike out of the barn. I
picked up the gas can and put a couple of gallons in the
tank. The engine turned right over, purring like a big cat. I
rode it up to the house and went inside to grab my helmet,
gloves, and leather jacket. My Dad had drilled the
importance of protective gear into me. “I don’t ever want
to have to watch someone picking gravel out of that pretty
face,” he’d say to me. I didn’t want anyone picking gravel
out of my face either.
The phone rang while I was in the house searching for
my gloves.
“Hey, Bree, it’s Rob. It’s four hundred and fifteen
dollars to get your car repaired and inspected. And I don’t
take credit cards, in case you forgot.”
“Okay, Rob. Go ahead and fix it. Thanks, I guess.”
What kind of businessperson doesn’t take credit cards?
And where was I going to find four hundred big ones by
the end of next week? Crap and double crap. I pulled on
my gear and mounted the bike. I shot off to work so I
could raise the money to fix my car.