by CF Frizzell
She hated these internal debates. They tore her conscience to shreds.
Mel locked the heavy farmhouse door behind her and went silently up to her bedroom, careful not to wake Nana. Lying in the dark, she added Nana’s eighty-five-year-old opinions to the pile of worries in the back of her mind.
Chapter Two
Shay followed the moonlit wooded trail from Coby and Misty’s backyard and felt her spirit lift when she finally found the modest campfire in a secluded niche along the lakeshore. A few hours at the Exchange, and the drinks and propositions that came with them, had her tired and more alone than she’d expected. Finding Coby relaxing by the fire, Shay eagerly settled into the sanctuary of her best friend’s company.
Coby poked at the burning logs with a stick. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself. I followed the light of your fire.” Shay sat down heavily beside her on a tree trunk. “Brought you a beer.”
“Bless you.” Coby raised the bottle and saluted the lake. “Another tranquil night.”
“I like this…your burning place. I like this town of yours, too, Cob.” Shay tossed a stray branch into the flames and shook her head at her thoughts. “I’ve only been here a week and already I’m getting good vibes about Tomson. I can’t explain it.”
“Hanging at the Exchange wouldn’t have anything to do with it, would it?”
“Hell,” Shay shook her head, “going out for a few dances now and then is pretty harmless, but I think I’ve gotten that out of my system. And just so you know, that one night I took Paige out for a ride was it.”
“Paige?”
“Paige Hackett. That redhead.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It was just a ride, although she wanted a whole lot more. That’s probably why she hasn’t been around—and believe me, I’m glad. Just being here feels too good to mess up, and I’m not looking to complicate things.” Shay watched Coby prod the coals. “You two have such an amazing life here. Storybook stuff, Cob.”
“I think you’re staying. At least for a good while.”
“You’re pretty confident that this city girl can hack it?”
“Yup. It’s happening,” Coby said softly. “The land plays a big part. I’m convinced. The air, so much sun, so many stars. It changes people. And now you’re hooked.”
“Hmm. I’d need a job, though. I won’t be a freeloader on you two.”
“You can’t be a freeloader, stupid. You’re family.”
“No, seriously. For me to stay on with you guys a while, I’m paying. End of discussion.”
Coby prodded the fire again. “Thanks, but you don’t even know what you want yet, let alone if there’s anything local to be had. Why don’t you just hang on to your savings while you look around.”
“No pay, no stay, my friend.” Shay leaned forward on her knees and stared into the flames. “I tucked away almost all of that huge insurance settlement I got for when the time is right, for when opportunity knocks again, so there may not be lots of cash in hand, but there is a significant stash. Starting a business from scratch is an uphill grind, I know, but I did it once and I intend to do it again.”
“So sorry about all that, Shay. I know it set you back in a lot of ways. Do you ever hear from Lee?”
Shay sipped her beer. “Opportunities in the New York art world are a lot more appealing to her than my burned-out motorcycle business. Those punks torched a lot more than they ever knew.”
“Well, at least it all led you here.”
“There was nothing left, no reason to stay, and I certainly didn’t want to go home. Plus, hell, I missed you, Cob.”
“I’ve missed you, too.” Coby set a hand on her shoulder. “I hope you give Tomson a chance because I’d like you to stay.”
“Well, Tomson can’t be some right-wing hotbed if you’re this happy here. Am I reading it wrong? They’re pretty accepting of us?”
“Y’mean being gay out here?” Coby shrugged. “Eh. I’m sure Chicago and Boston are a helluva lot more progressive than Tomson. We have a serious percentage of ignorant assholes, but we all try to stay out of each other’s business.” She sent Shay a mischievous glance. “The Exchange does push our luck a bit, though.”
“No doubt. Just like a female mechanic looking for a job.”
“You never know, Shay. Sonny’s garage just outside of town might be interested in more help. God knows that big ol’ boy could use it. But check the papers. The Chronicle has some help-wanted stuff, and the Tribune out of Billings has a bigger section. It’s bike season, so that’s a plus, but who knows what might pique your interest. You can swing a hammer and drive all kinds of rigs. There may not be much locally, but you never know.”
Shay nodded toward the shrinking flames. “I’ll take a look tomorrow.”
*
Melissa fought not to snort like a bull.
The envy of at least half the women in Tomson, Mel’s luminous hair snapped like lightning off her shoulders as she spun away from the counter and raged out of the town hall. The confirmation she’d just received splashed gasoline on her fire. The impact-laden shopping complex, entitled The Tomson Heights Trade Center, the latest ground-gobbling brainchild of Slattery Enterprises, had just spent all of two hundred dollars on the last of the permits needed to proceed. Mel steamed.
Two hundred dollars, my ass. Developers blow their noses on two hundred dollars. Here in sweet little Tomson there’s no such thing as a twenty- or fifty-thousand-dollar fee, nothing that would even make the almighty Della Slattery blink, let alone think twice. Once again, for just a pittance, Cruella-Della will do as she pleases here in her hometown. You, too, can desecrate some of the most pristine, picturesque land in the entire USA for a song. Just two hundred dollars and go right ahead, plant a bunch of cheap look-alike houses or a shopping center out of concrete and asphalt, don’t worry about how much our shopkeepers and landowners can handle. She cursed town leaders and even the voters for ignoring her often controversial editorial opinions in the past, for not adopting protective bylaws and fees that would have guarded against such corporate rough-riding.
Composing next week’s editorial torrent in her head as she stomped down the granite steps, Mel nearly collided with Tomson’s selectmen chairman on his way up.
“Morning, Miss Baker.” He stopped and tipped his golf cap. “Our lovely newspaper editor’s on a mission today, I see.”
Mel collected herself quickly. “Mr. Nelson. So good to see you. How’s business these days?” The man had her so conflicted, her stomach protested at the mere mention of his name. He held the controlling vote on most town affairs while walking the fine conflict-of-interest line as manager of the two-year-old Home Depot. As such, in the ultimate catch-22, he was the leading advertiser in her newspaper. Revenue from his sales inserts alone covered the rent for her small storefront office.
“Oh, things are moving well,” he said. “Business is growing. We’re catching on. Spring’s a busy time of year, you know, so I can’t complain.”
“That’s great for you.” Should I tell you how the local hardware store is struggling now?
“Say, I trust that this is the year you’ll join us duffers for the Indigo Club’s annual Harvest Ball. The wife and I were just talking about it this morning. She’s on the decorations committee, you see, already getting things in gear, so I hope you’ve marked your calendar.”
“Well, I’ll be—”
“Your grandparents always attended. It’s when we raise most of the Winter Fuel Fund, as I’m sure you know.”
“I plan to cov—”
“I know each year you promote our fundraising free of charge—and we’re so grateful, believe me—but we’d love to have you join us. Bring a date and dance the night away.” He winked and Mel’s stomach rolled. “I’m sure Elsie has told you plenty of good stories about our annual shindig.”
“My grandmother brings out the stories every season,” she said. “I’ll see what I can do this year.”
�
�Excellent.” He stepped closer and Mel knew he had more than dancing on his mind. “On a different topic, if I may, Mel, I just want to say your editorials these past few weeks have been, well, let’s say concerning.”
“I hope the topic of developing Tomson is always concerning, Mr. Nelson. It’s a very weighty, far-reaching issue.”
“No argument there. But I just hope you realize how upsetting it is, having our newspaper advocate against jobs and increased income for our families. A sizeable percentage of townspeople are counting on those construction jobs and looking forward to opportunities you’re quite adamantly against. From what I’m hearing, it’s not sitting well.”
“I understand and can certainly sympathize, but the broader picture is critical. I realize times are tougher than ever, and projects the size of Slattery’s offer tempting relief, but Tomson can’t afford to blindly green-light every project that comes to the table.”
“Our town boards give no one a free pass.”
“Not deliberately, but too many projects—mostly by a developer I don’t need to name—have wound up, let’s say, less than advertised, and proved burdensome to residents and the town as a whole. There’s a serious need for oversight every step of the way, not to mention what’s required for the future.” She hoped he recalled his own woes, the roof reinforcement required after Home Depot’s first winter, the layoffs executed after that so-so initial spring. Construction materials and business projections Slattery used to bring the Home Depot to town had been costly and seriously lacking.
“Just putting you on notice that some folks are seriously upset with the Chronicle.”
“I appreciate the heads up, Mr. Nelson. Thank you. I truly hope people see there’s no need to be divided about this. And now, if you’ll pardon me for rushing off, I have—”
“Oh, by all means. I certainly can appreciate a busy work schedule.” He tipped his cap again as Mel backed away. “Give Tomson some positive press now, young lady.”
The Chronicle will say what needs to be said.
Honestly, the man gave her the creeps, but she walked a fine line herself. She offered a polite wave. “Give my best to the family, Mr. Nelson.”
Mel drove back to her office in a daze. The hypocrisy of her position overwhelmed her whenever she let it. And now was not the time. She reminded herself that the Chronicle was Tomson’s local weekly, and on the day she signed the contract with her father, she’d shouldered the responsibility of making it the informative, thought-provoking member of the community that it was meant to be. She simply had to live the life he dictated a bit longer to inherit the paper free and clear, but that had nothing to do with taking her role seriously.
“Young lady,” my goddamn ass. I’ve got a grandmother here, Nelson, in a homestead dating back to before you were born. I’m as invested in Tomson as you are with your damn Home Depot, and I’ll fight to protect it any way I can. Jesus Christ, why do these stuffed shirts always come on like Dad? It’s a wonder he’s not blustering around here, too.
She fumed over the notes in her hand: the battle with the territory’s largest employer was ramping up. Prior to Home Depot, Slattery Enterprises had built several residential developments, complete with their share of design issues, and now, with the Heights complex, was about to introduce the first Walmart to this part of the state. She shuddered to think of the impact it would have on Tomson’s already straining infrastructure, and wished those ramifications had received deeper investigation during the initial permit process. Hell, she thought, the site prep alone posed a serious environmental risk, so close to the Rohan River, but it, too, had been fast-tracked forward. Like every Slattery project.
“Are you getting out of the car today?”
Mel woke from her daydream to see her photographer, Mike, standing at her driver’s window, hands on his hips, frowning.
“I said, are you get—”
“Yes. Yes. I heard you. Sorry.” She flung open the door and grabbed her purse and notebook off the adjacent seat. “Think I spaced out there for a minute.”
“Try ten minutes. I was going to just wait you out, but I got a tip to head over to the cop shop. They’re moving that guy they busted down to Billings in about…” He checked his watch. “Well, now in about ten minutes.”
“For Gronlund’s horse rustling case?”
“This guy’s the only one they caught. Supposedly, there are five of them, but this one decided to talk.”
Mel shooed him away with her free hand. “Go. Go. Get something other than a mug shot.”
Alone at her desk, Mel stared down at the current issue on her blotter. She’d left it open to the Slattery Enterprises full-page color advertisement about the July Fourth festival. The three thousand dollars it added to the Chronicle’s bank account eased the grind of paying bills, signing paychecks for Mike, her correspondent, and herself, but it brought to mind the measly two hundred Slattery had just paid for the final go-ahead to build the Heights. The corporation paid more to win the town’s favor via the festival than it did to affect its future.
She turned to her keyboard and her fingers flew. It was never healthy for a community to live by a single source of news, this she knew, but right now she was thankful the Chronicle was the only paper in town. Popular or not, what she had to write might rile more than a few readers and advertisers but needed to be written. She was gambling with the Chronicle’s lifeblood, her own income, but, ethically, she didn’t have a choice.
Chapter Three
Shay sat back down in the porch rocker with her second slice of pizza and tipped her beer bottle toward Coby in the opposite chair. “His name is Tom Rogers. He’s Slattery’s maintenance foreman. I couldn’t believe it when he asked if I was interested. It was too good to be true, less than an hour after I landed Saturdays at Sonny’s.”
Misty shook her head. “I can’t believe it either. I didn’t think that Five Star bunch would, well, take to you.” Her cheeks pinked. “I mean, no offense, Shay, but you’re not the all-American girl.”
Coby pointed at her. “Course not. She’s the all-American dyke.”
Shay shook her head at them both. “It seems Rogers is beyond that. He was pretty forthcoming, took me outside to show me around and talk privately. I guess the mechanics work under a different boss, Angelo Sorvini, but we weren’t introduced.” She caught Coby and Misty sharing a knowing glance. “Rogers told me the owner, Della Slattery, liked my resume and said hiring me was a good idea, considering I obviously had Sonny’s endorsement. Lucky I stopped by his garage first. He carries some weight around here, doesn’t he? No pun intended.”
“Yeah, he’s a big boy, for sure,” Coby said, “but there’s a reason that place has been the lifeblood of his family for generations. The town loves him, and everybody depends on his work, although if he doesn’t take better care of himself, he won’t be working much longer.”
“He was nuts about my bike and we hit it off right away. I even helped him pull a motor before I left. He seemed to regret not being able to offer me full-time. He really could use the help.”
“Must’ve felt like Christmas when the Five Star said yes.”
“I couldn’t believe it. I answered all Rogers’s questions and showed him a few things, but this Sorvini didn’t join us. I got the impression he’s not the sociable type.”
Coby grumbled as she chewed. “Probably not thrilled about having a dyke around. He’s the town asshole.”
“Really? Well, sounds like Della shut him up. Rogers turned all red telling me. It was kind of cute.”
“It sure sounds promising, Shay.” Misty pushed off in the glider and sipped her wine. “But Sorvini can’t be fun to work for. Just so you know. This will be full-time?”
Shay nodded. “He said Sorvini’s mechanics always have equipment needing something, and when they don’t, there’s a ton of prep work for the Fourth that needs doing. Apparently, the ranch crews are expected to do all that, plus gear up for Slattery’s project called t
he Heights, and they’re swamped. So I’d be helping out his carpentry guys, too, and doing miscellaneous things, I guess, like painting, hanging signs, even playing the gofer.”
Coby took another slice of pizza and leaned toward Shay. “Wait till you meet Della.”
“A home-grown success story,” Misty said. “I think her great-great-grandfather helped establish the town. Lord knows, the Slatterys owned most of it at one point. Just the Five Star Ranch alone is about thirty thousand acres. More money and land than she knows what to do with.”
Coby chortled. “And very attractive. She’s late forties, a high-fashion corporate buzz-saw.”
Misty hoisted her wine glass. “You must’ve made a good impression, Shay. Rogers showed you around?”
“Yeah, you could say. He had me run the mill saw and then tell him how I’d re-roof the main barn. Then he had me back up a flatbed and load and unload a D-8 bulldozer, just to prove I knew how to handle them.”
“Way to go, Shay.” Coby sat back. “Any guys give you trouble?”
“Nah.” Shay shrugged. “A couple times I found guys whispering to each other, but overall, they seemed friendly enough.” She set her empty bottle on the table. “One kid, Freddy something, he was ballsy enough to tease me about my haircut. I like him, too, like Rogers. There are other crews working there, but I didn’t meet any of them.”
“And you didn’t go face-to-face with Sorvini?”
“Just saw him from a distance. He’s got a mouth on him, lots of swagger, real beefy. What’s his story?”
Coby snorted. “He’s part of the old-school breed still hanging on to the days when ‘men were men,’ you know? He’s bought up some land in the area, and I think he’s out to make a name for himself.”
“Even if he bought every piece of Tomson that’s left, he still wouldn’t overtake Della,” Misty said. “Maybe he does see himself as king of the hill someday, but there isn’t enough property available. Bet he’d love a piece of the Heights project, if he doesn’t have a vested interest already.”