Moonlighting in Vermont (8 page)

* * * * *

I woke up to the phone ringing. It was still dark. I felt around on the bedside table and picked up the phone.
“Hey, did I wake you?” Nice voice. Not Jim. I couldn’t place him.
“Who is this?”
“It’s Rob. You know, your mechanic.”
“Hi. Something wrong?”
“I heard you took a spill on your bike. Jordan Peevey saw you riding through town all covered in blood. I just wanted to be sure that you weren’t bleeding to death over there.”
“I’ll be fine.” It wasn’t really a lie. The damage wouldn’t be lasting. Not to my thigh, or to my heart. “It’s not as bad as it looked, really. I’ll be fine.”
“Will you call me if you need anything?”
“Sure.”
“Will you promise not to climb on the bike and try to drive yourself to the hospital again?”
“I’ll think twice. That’s the best I can offer.”
“I guess I’ll have to live with that. Sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep. And don’t get up early tomorrow, it’s Saturday.”
I looked at the phone in my hand for a minute. I was used to news going through town like wildfire. There was nothing new in that. What was new was my mechanic calling to check on me.

Six

I spent Saturday doing as little as possible and nursing my thigh. Max fed the outside animals for me, and I took care of the dogs and Annabelle. After explaining to Ranger that he was too big to lie on the couch, I spent the early afternoon napping with Annie in my lap. Ranger, Hank and Diesel lay sprawled on the living room floor, while Annabelle curled in the big, overstuffed chair in the sunfilled room.

In midafternoon, I got tired of feeling sorry for myself and called Val. “How would I go about finding out the details of Vera’s death?”

She was quiet for a moment. “Depends on if the O.I.C. is releasing information or not. Could be common knowledge, if it’s he’s talked to the press, but if he’s trying to keep certain details quiet, it could be a while before the details are released to the public. What do you want to know?”

“Everything. Being at the top of the suspect list is bugging me.”
“You could try Googling Vera’s death. I can see if I can get any details from the investigation for you. Give me some time.”
I rang off, booted up my laptop, and Googled Vera Post. Nothing. No details of the murder beyond what I already knew. No mention of a will. Nothing to indicate someone might have been on Inn property who shouldn’t be there. I dropped my head into my hands.
Vera had been in the housekeeping closet attached to Gunnar Ericson’s room. In a closet he shouldn’t have been able to get into. Would Gunnar Ericson murder a housekeeper? I had no answers.
That brought me to why Gunnar was following me around. Surely, it wasn’t typical for a mega-star to pursue a housekeeper. It wasn’t as if there weren’t any single women staying at the Inn, women who had status and money. Maybe he liked slumming. Or maybe he figured he could trust a housekeeper to keep quiet. We were required to sign contracts with confidentiality clauses.
I looked at the clock. Five on Saturday evening. I took a chance and called Tom at home.
“Hey, how do cops go about conducting an investigation?”
“Is this a question about investigative technique or about Vera’s murder?”
“The murder. I want to know when she died. How she died. Did she have a will? Who had motive?”
“Bella.” He was quiet for what seemed like forever. “Why do you want to know?”
“I want to clear my name. Being a murder suspect makes me feel slimy.”
“Are you sure that isn’t the pain pills you’re taking?”
“I haven’t taken any pain pills today. Come on, Tom, how would you feel if your name was on a short list of murder suspects?”
“It would suck.”
“But you’d have access to tools to help you clear yourself of the charges. I’ve got nothing. I don’t like sitting around here waiting for someone else to do it for me.”
“I get the picture, Bella. I’ll see what facts Brooks is willing to part with. Maybe there will be something to help you. But don’t hold your breath. Hang on, Meg wants to talk to you.”
Meg came on the line. “Why don’t you come to lunch tomorrow? You need to get out of that house. I’ll bet you slept half the day away.”
“Okay, Mom.”

* * * * *

I piddled away the next morning doing chores. At eleven I jumped in the shower and cleaned myself up. My leg still looked awful, but it wasn’t hurting quite as much as it had the day before. I left it unwrapped and dried my hair before I pulled on jeans and a tee-shirt. I fussed over my eyes for a couple of minutes, swiping on shadow and mascara.

My heart dropped when I remembered I’d have to ride the bike again. It was a nice day, not too cold, but the thought of getting on the bike was depressing. There weren’t any other options, so I pulled on my boots, grabbed my jacket and helmet, and headed out to the tractor shed.

My initial unease dropped away from me as I started down the road. The ride down to Meg’s and Tom’s was breathtaking. Autumn in Vermont never fails to amaze me. The countryside is dotted with little farms interspersed with the wild color of the woods. The air cooled as I dipped down to ride across the river and warmed again as I zipped up the hill on the other side. Heaven.

The table was set for eight when I walked into Meg’s kitchen. I shucked my jacket and left my boots by the door. Meg was pulling one of her famous homemade pizzas out of the oven. When her tomatoes were ripe, she simmered the sauce for days and then canned it. She made the crusts fresh every Sunday.

“Hey, there.” I plopped onto a stool at the counter. “Who’s the eighth for lunch?”
“Beau. He and Tom are taking the kids to the Tunbridge Fair this afternoon. They want to watch the pig races again.” Beau, Tom’s younger brother, spent a lot of time hanging out with his nieces and nephews.
“I used to love the pig races. Now they just give me a headache,” I said.
“I know. They’re way too loud. It takes an entire day to get your hearing back. Are you going to the fair this year?”
“No. I always spend too much money when I go to the fair. I’m saving up for car repairs.”
“How’s your leg? Getting any better?” Meg set Parmesan cheese and chili pepper flakes on the table.
“A little stiff, mostly. Doesn’t hurt too much. Have to pop ibuprofen every so often.”
“I wish you’d sell that motorcycle. It makes me nervous when I know you’re riding it.”
“Can’t. It’d break my dad’s heart.”
“Humph.” She walked over to the stairs. “Cover your ears.” She hollered, “Lunch!” The thunder of feet sounded overhead as they all came thudding down the stairs. Pete, the ten year old, came first, followed by Gemma, eight. Next came twelve-year-old Sara, and lastly, Jeremy.
“Bree!” Gemma threw herself into my lap. They milled around me, embracing me in a group hug. Three silky brown -haired heads tugging me in for kisses. Two pairs of brown eyes, and one of green, laughing at my protests of being squished. Jeremy stood apart from the others, but even he flashed me a welcoming smile. Tom and Beau clomped down the stairs, and we all sat down to eat.
“Hey, Bree,” said Tom. “Did you ever get that car of yours inspected?”
“My car’s at the shop now. That’s why I’m freezing my butt off on the bike.”
“Well, be careful on that thing, will you? I don’t want to lose my best babysitter.”
“What were you guys doing upstairs with the kids? They were so quiet, I didn’t even know they were up there.”
“Beau was showing them how Google Earth works. We were looking at satellite pictures of our house.”
“If it kept all our kids quiet, it was magic.” Meg plopped down in her chair.
Meals are a hectic affair at Meg’s and Tom’s. Food is passed around the table, and the talk comes from all directions at once. I pulled out my worst manners and joined right in, passing pizza in all directions and talking with my mouth full. Meg had salad and cookies on the table with the pizza. The kids ate everything in no particular order, but their parents didn’t seem to care.
I enjoyed watching Tom and Beau together. Same wavy dark hair, same gray eyes, strong jaw and chin. Beau was taller and thinner, and more muscular, than Tom. A stonemason by trade, his job kept him fit. Tom held himself with more authority than Beau. I wasn’t sure if that was because he was the elder or because he was a cop. They shared a sense of humor and kept us all laughing.
There had been times when I thought Beau was attracted to me, but I tried hard to keep him at arm’s length. He was attractive and a great guy, but if things went wrong, and with me they always did, I was afraid it would get in the way of my friendship with Meg and Tom. His attention was focused on the kids today, so I could watch him across the table instead of pretending that I wasn’t interested.
After lunch, Gemma, Pete, Sara and Jeremy scurried around looking for shoes and jackets. As the men pulled on their coats, there was a mad scuffle to see who would get out the door first. While Sara and Jeremy jostled at the door, Gemma slipped between them and skipped down the sidewalk, taunting the others. Within minutes, they were all belted into the car and on their way.
Meg cleared the plates from the table and put water on for tea. “Are you going to tell me what happened at Jim’s last night?”
I sucked in my breath and let out a deep sigh. “He dumped me.”
“What? He’s crazy about you. I know he’s crazy about you. How could he dump you?”
“Dunno. Just said he couldn’t see me for a while. He was sort of cryptic, and I didn’t really give him time to explain. I felt kind of blind-sided, so I just left. There didn’t seem to be much reason for sticking around. I wasn’t going to beg him not to dump me or anything.”
“Do you want me to call and talk to him?”
“God, no! Then I’d really look pathetic. I’ll just lick my wounds and lay low for a while. I’ll hang out with Rob, when he’s not with Lisa. It’s not like I don’t have stuff to do or anything. Anyway, if I act like I don’t want him, he’s more likely to want me back.”
We finished cleaning the kitchen and headed into the living room. Meg almost never had control of the television, so when the kids were out of the house, she liked to sit and flick through the channels. She plopped on the couch and grabbed the remote. At my house, TV reception was worse than the cell phone reception. I only got three channels. I plopped right down on the couch next to her. TV with Meg was fun.
The first show we watched was on the do-it-yourself channel. A married couple was decorating on the cheap. They made a valance by rubber-banding fabric to a piece of cardboard.
Meg looked at me. “I bet I could rubber-band a newspaper together.”
“I bet I could rubber-band a car together.”
“I bet I could rubber-band a marriage together.”
“You got me there, but I bet I could rubber-band a boyfriend together.”
“Well, you got that half right.” Meg grinned at me. “But it wouldn’t be a rubber band.”
I threw a pillow at her. “You are just rude.”
“Hey, you just got dumped.”
“Uh, yeah. I don’t think you have to rub it in.”
“No. I mean doesn’t that call for margaritas?”
“I think it does.”
“Well, then.” Meg dragged herself off the couch and went into the kitchen. I flipped through the channels while the blender whirred in the background. Meg came back and set a couple of huge margarita glasses on the coffee table.
I tossed her the remote, and she flipped to a channel where a huge lady was parading a Bullmastiff around a show ring. Then a guy with flowing red hair pranced around with an Irish Setter. “Did you know,” I said, “that somebody did some kind of study that showed that people really do look like their dogs?”
“What does that say about me, then? All my dogs are different.”
“Maybe you started out like a poodle, and you’ll end up like one of those wrinkly Chinese dogs.”
Meg threw the pillow back at me and switched over to the NASCAR races.
“I can’t watch this. It’s making me dizzy.”
“Have another margarita, that’ll make you feel better.” I got up, stumbled over the coffee table, shuffled into the kitchen, and poured myself a drink from the blender. “You want more?”
“Nah, I’m a light weight.” She switched the TV to CMT. Tim McGraw was singing about being a real bad boy. “Too bad he’s not single. I’d chase him around the bed a couple of times.”
“You’re drunk. You wouldn’t take your eyes off Tom long enough to chase someone else. Jeez, you got panicked over flirting with Scott.”
“Hey! You could go after Scott now. He’d take your mind off Jim, believe me.”
“No, thanks. I think I’ll go after that waiter down at the cafe in town. He has got the best eyes.”
“Pfff.” Meg snorted. “Eyes, nothing. He’s got a nice ass, is what he’s got.”
The shows we watched got progressively more hilarious as the day went on. Gilligan’s Island was playing, and Meg and I were giggling hysterically over Gilligan’s pants when Tom walked in. Meg jumped up to give Tom a kiss and fell over the coffee table into a giggling heap on the floor.
I leaned my head over the back of the couch to look at Tom. “You could kiss me instead. I’m a lot better kisser than Meg.”
“Am not,” came a muffled cry from the floor, and Meg extricated herself from the blanket she’d had wrapped around her on the couch. Her hair was wildly on end from static.
“You’re drunk.”
“Yeah, it’s a good thing we didn’t go anywhere, huh?” I said.
Meg found her way across the room and threw herself at him. Tom caught and kissed her before setting her back on the couch. “You stay there. You’re a hazard to yourself. It’s a good thing the kids are out to dinner with Beau. You two are a mess.”
“I need another drink. Can you get me one while you’re up?” I smiled my most beguiling smile at Tom. “I’d make it worth your while.” I felt flirty and wondered if I should undo the top button on my shirt. My faulty life skills had kicked in again. I knew it, but I couldn’t stop myself.
Tom leaned over the couch and kissed me on the top of the head. “You are going to be hurting enough tomorrow as it is. I’m going to make you two something to eat, and then it’s off to bed. There are only two days until the paper comes out. You girls are going to wish you didn’t do this.”
“We had to do this,” said Meg. “Jim dumped Bree.”
Tom shook his head and headed into the kitchen. I could hear him on the phone with Max, making sure my animals would get fed. Meg and I watched some more country videos, but my eyes were having trouble staying open. Tom brought us scrambled eggs, and after we had eaten, he helped me up the stairs to bed.
“You should take me home.” I sat on the bed with my eyes closed. “You’ll get in trouble for hair brushing, I mean harboring a fugitive.”
“You’re not going to be a fugitive, and if I take you home, you’ll have to clean up your own barf. This is way more fun.”