Moonlighting in Vermont (6 page)

I looked over her shoulder. She had drawn up several diagrams on letter-sized paper. These were strewn over the table. Even if she had needed help, I doubt she would have asked me for it. This was out of my league.
“Are these going on poster board or something?”
“Uh huh. I’ve got a big piece of cardboard in my room. I’m going to cover it with butcher paper and glue the parts of my presentation on it.”
“Sounds good. Have you seen your mom around anywhere?”
“I think Mom was going down to the barn for a while. You might find her there.”
I retreated out the door and made my way down the slippery hill to the new barn. I gave myself a mental high five when I arrived without landing in the mud. I stepped into the doorway and waited for my eyes to get used to the dim light. Meg was leaning against a stall door watching Scott sanding the bottom of the support beam. She said something I couldn’t hear, and he looked up and smiled at Meg.
They didn’t notice me. Meg said something else, and Scott laughed. She reached down and touched his shoulder. They laughed together some more. Scott didn’t seem the least bit uncomfortable with Meg. And Meg wasn’t acting like she had any qualms about being there.
“Hey,” I called. “What’s up?”
They both jumped, and Meg scooted away from Scott. I didn’t know what to think. I certainly didn’t want to be thinking the thoughts that were currently running through my head.
“Hey, Bree. Are they any closer to finding who killed that woman at Whispering Birches?” Scott asked.
“I don’t think so. But the cops don’t really tell me anything.”
“Too bad. It would be interesting to be in on the investigation.”
“It might be interesting, if I wasn’t a suspect. But as it is, I’m not finding it amusing.”
“Point taken.”
“Meg.” I turned my attention to her. “I need to talk to you about something. I was looking for you up at the house.” That, at least, was the truth.
“Oh.” Meg frowned “I took a break from the office. I just came down here to give Scott a message for Tom. We can go back up to the house now if you like. See you later, Scott.”
Meg and I walked out of the barn together. I was telling myself to mind my own business, but I couldn’t do it. “What the hell do you think you’re doing down here with Scott?” My voice came out two octaves higher and much louder than I intended.
“I was just telling Scott about a saddle rack Tom wants Scott to add to the tack room. He saw a new design up at Stillson’s Barn.”
“Well it sure didn’t look like you were discussing saddle racks. I thought the point of telling him you like him was to be too embarrassed to go down to the barn.” I sounded like a bitch, and I knew it. But, jeez, what did Meg think she was up to?
Meg stomped up the hill toward the house. I tried to catch up with her, but my boots had smooth soles, and trying not to slip in the mud was slowing me down. Meg was part mountain goat, and she had her lugged hiking boots on. She motored on up the hill. About halfway to the house Meg stopped and whirled around.
“I want to know what you think you’re doing here?” There was an undertone of anger in her voice.
“I called your house looking for you.” I stopped walking and felt the mud sucking my feet down the hill. “Jeremy told me you were somewhere around the house, so I came over to talk to you about what happened at the barracks today. Apparently, your little fling with Scott is way more important than that.” I took a few steps to keep from slipping any further backwards. I cast around for a solid place to stand, but Meg seemed to have staked out the only firm spot on the hill.
“I have the right to hang out in my barn with whoever I choose to, Bella MacGowan,” Meg shouted in my face, “whether it’s Scott Howe or anyone else. You have no right to come here and accuse me of God knows what. Get right off my property right now!”
Tom chose that moment to walk out onto the back porch. “What are you two shouting about?”
Meg jumped and spun around. I jerked back when she jumped, startled by the movement. I slid backward again for about a second, and then my feet slipped out from underneath me, and I was face down in the mud. Again. I pushed myself up out of the muck and onto my knees. Tom started down the porch stairs, but I waved him away. No point in both of us rolling around in the mud.
Meg was looking down at me with her mouth open. I had a momentary impulse to pull her down in the mud with me. I let it pass and gingerly got to my feet. Meg had snapped her jaw closed but the corners of her mouth were twitching, and her shoulders started to shake. I took a step up the hill toward my bike, but my foot slipped again, and I went down on my knees.
A snort of laughter escaped Meg. Then another. Pretty soon, she was laughing so hard that tears were running down her face. I could hear Tom telling Meg to stop, but it was too late. I grabbed her pant leg and yanked. She went down hard, landing on her butt in the mud.
Meg looked at me with disbelief. Then she reached out and knocked my shoulder, knocking me off balance and sending me backward to the ground. I could hear Tom yelling now, but the words were lost in the roaring in my ears. I struggled to sit up. Meg was laughing again. I picked up a handful of mud and smeared it over the front of her blouse. She gasped and launched herself at me.
We were rolling over and over in the mud. Meg shoved a handful of wet muck down my shirt, and I smooshed mud down her collar. She tried to get on top and straddle me, but I swiped some slop up off the ground, and it splattered in her face. I rolled her off me while she was trying to wipe her eyes with the inside of her jacket. Apparently, it wasn’t really clean, because it wasn’t doing any good. Finally, she swore and pulled the jacket off. She turned it inside out and wiped her face with the inside of her sleeve.
“Damn!” Meg started to launch herself at me again, but Tom grabbed her and hauled her away from me. I saw my chance to get in one last shot, but before I could move, I was grabbed from behind. Scott grasped me around the waist and hauled me backward away from Tom and Meg.
“That’s enough of that.” Scott was trying to sound stern, but I could tell he was trying not to laugh. He had his arms locked around my waist.
“What’s so funny?”
“I haven’t seen a fight like that since I was in college. We used to watch mud wrestling at the local pub on Wednesday nights. Even in bathing suits, those girls couldn’t beat you two for entertainment value.” He was laughing hard now.
“Sorry to be a killjoy, but I’m going home now.” I twisted out of his arms and stomped back up the hill, stumbling and sliding as I went. I made the top of the hill and turned to see Tom dragging Meg up the steps to the house. She grinned over at me.
“See you tomorrow at the paper?” she called.
“Yeah, I’ll be there.” I dragged my muddy butt across to the bike. It was beyond me how Meg and I could have a knock-down, drag-out fight and come away feeling better. I did feel better, though, and I could tell Meg did, too. She’d looked positively delighted as Tom dragged her into the house.
I shivered; it was too cool for my clothes to dry. I wiped my boots in the grass, but the rest of me was a lost cause. I swung my mud-plastered leg over the seat of the bike. I’d be cleaning this machine before I rode it again. I headed home, where I took my second shower of the day and flopped onto the bed to try and unravel my bizarre life.
It was dusk when I woke up. I yawned and made myself get out of bed. I padded down the stairs and looked in the fridge. I didn’t see anything I wanted so I grabbed the Moose Tracks ice cream out of the freezer. I ate half the carton standing up, leaning against the counter.
I went to feed the outside animals. Then the dogs were hounding me, so I fed them and the cat, too. The rain had stopped. The evening was crisp and clear. The breeze had blown the damp air away into the night. I stood on the porch, hugging my sweatshirt around me, and watched the sky darkening while Annabelle entwined herself around my ankles.
I walked out to the paddock behind the barn, where Lucky was snarfing up hay. I hopped the fence and stood with him, rubbing a spot on his back just above his tail. He blew air at me and went back to his dinner. It was his way of telling me he liked being scratched. I told him about the fight with Meg and riding home all muddy. Lucky turned around, rubbed his face on my arm and let me pull the tangles out of his forelock with my fingers.
I headed back indoors and checked the clock. I wasn’t scheduled to work at the Inn this evening, but I had a ton of unfinished work at the paper. The couch was calling my name but it seemed kind of pathetic to fall asleep watching TV. I grabbed my jacket off the hook and pulled on my boots and helmet. I picked up some rags and a soft brush and headed for the bike.
The mud on my bike was still too wet to be brushed off. I dragged the hose off the porch, attached it to the spigot, and pretended I had a high-pressure washer. That did the job, and I dried the bike with the towels. I put on my jacket and helmet. I threw my leg over the bike, forced myself into the darkness, and headed down the hill into town.
I was clicking along down the dirt road, about halfway to town, when I saw movement in the hay field to my right. I slowed a little and flicked my eyes to the right. Definitely something out there, but it was too dark to see what it was.
I glanced back at the road and then tried to focus on the movement. It was too big to be a dog. Too slight for a cow. Didn’t move like a bear. The clouds cleared a little, and I took another look. Bells went off in my head. It was a fawn, a lone fawn. I shifted my vision back to the road in front of me, and in that instant, a doe appeared directly in front of me.

Five

I shoved the bike to the left, trying to swerve behind the doe as she bounded across the road in front of me. The bike missed the deer but lost traction. My tires started to slide out from underneath me on the gravel. I shoved right, trying to force the bike upright. It was too late. The dirt road was slick from the rain, and the bike was going down. I hit the engine cutoff switch, curled onto my side and pulled my left leg free of the bike as I hit the dirt. The bike slid for what seemed like forever, but it was probably only a couple of seconds.

I lay in the road for a moment staring into the dark sky. My left thigh felt like it was on fire. I hoisted myself up and gingerly moved around. Nothing seemed to be broken, but my leg hurt like hell, and I could feel warm blood seeping into my pants. The doe and her fawn were long gone. Well, at least I hadn’t hit either of them.

It occurred to me that if a car came along now, I’d be flattened. I muscled my bike up off the road. I couldn’t see it clearly, but I doubted there was any serious damage. Scratches, probably. I got back on, pointed it back up the hill, and motored home. I left the bike in the tractor shed and limped into the house to check out the damage to my leg.

I peeled off my helmet, jacket and boots in the kitchen and headed up to shower yet again. I couldn’t seem to stay out of the mud. I clenched my teeth as I pulled off my jeans. My left leg was bleeding from my hip to my knee. My boots had protected my calf, and the jacket had protected my shoulder and arm. I had a few abrasions on my side where my jacket rolled away from my skin.

I stood under the hot water and scrubbed the dirt out of my leg. I yelled like crazy as the gravel came away. I had a bunch of road rash and one pretty good gash in my leg. I must have slid over a sharp rock or piece of metal or something. The dogs whined at me through the door.

I turned off the water, dried myself off, and dabbed the blood off my leg. Band-Aids would be useless. I pulled on an oversized tee-shirt and went down to my mudroom. I rummaged through the cupboard until I found some gauze and neon blue vet wrap I keep around for the animals. I used them to fix up my leg. I had to roll the vet wrap around my leg, hips and waist to keep the gauze on. Wonderful. I grabbed a bottle of Motrin off the bathroom shelf, a yogurt smoothie out of the fridge and headed up to bed. It had been a very long day.

It was three in the morning when I realized I wasn’t going to sleep. I gingerly got out of bed and crept downstairs. I was walking like a little old lady. Everything hurt. I wondered where the expression ‘quiet of the night’ had come from. My night was filled with the sound of snoring dogs. Four dogs can make a lot of noise when they sleep. Only Diesel woke and followed me down the stairs. He stood at the kitchen door, vibrating his stubby little boxer tail.

“Sorry, Bud. I’m not letting you out.” I knew he wanted nothing more than to chase the creatures of the night. Woodchucks, not vampires. Last time I’d let him out at night, he’d treed some poor animal and barked until his voice echoed through the hills and woke the neighbors. Diesel remained at the door, his expression expectant until he realized I wasn’t going to let him out. Then he sighed and collapsed on the doormat.

I rummaged through the fridge wondering what to do. I don’t have many late night skills. I’m not an undercover novelist, and TV mostly bores me. I could read, but I didn’t want to. Yesterday’s sudoku puzzle? That could sometimes put me to sleep.

But I didn’t really want to sleep. I wanted a revelation, a solution to my problems. I wanted the hand of God, or my fairy godmother, to tap me on the head and say “Bing, go out and play.”
No. That’s Bill Cosby.
What I needed was divine insight into the mind of a murderer.

I was on the couch when my alarm blared early the next morning. I couldn’t shut it off from downstairs, so I groaned and rolled onto the floor. I hurt everywhere. I stumbled up the stairs, shut off the alarm, and headed into the bathroom. I pulled the vet wrap and gauze off my leg. I had to sit on the toilet and put my head between my knees. My leg looked disgusting, and it hurt like hell.

I talked myself into the shower again and cleaned up the best I could. If I kept bathing like this, I was going to turn into a giant prune. Then I re-wrapped my leg and pulled on some sweats and a big tee-shirt. I limped down to the kitchen and raided the fridge. I scrambled some eggs and ate them with toast. Then I fed the dogs and the cat.

When I sat down again, I noticed that there was blood on my sweats. Shit. I picked up the phone and dialed Max. He agreed to feed my animals for a couple of days and rang off. I sat there for a couple more minutes, bleeding and looking at the phone for inspiration. Who could I call? I didn’t want to bug Meg again. Jim had to be in the office this morning. In fact, most of my friends worked days. It was still early, but anyone I called would end up missing work.