Vermont Escape

by Marsha R West

  VERMONT ESCAPE

  Marsha R West

  MRW Press LLC

  Vermont Escape © 2017 by Marsha R. West

  MRW Press LLC May 2017

  ISBN# 978-0-9961475-7-6

  Cover by Charlotte Volnek

  Formatting by Draft 2 Digital LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, or events, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Vermont Escape

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  About the Author

  SECOND ACT | Book 1 The Second Chances Series | Chapter One

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  Dedication To my wonderful husband, Bob. You have backed me in everything that I’ve ever wanted to do. From the time I said I want to write a book, until VERMONT ESCAPE’s first release, was approximately six years. You never complained though you must’ve wondered what was taking me so long. Thank you. I couldn’t have done this or any of the other endeavors without your love and support.

  Acknowledgements

  I’M EXCITED TO RELEASE this book under my own publishing company. It was the first book I sold, and I appreciate Lea Schizas of MuseItUp Publishing for the encouragement she and her staff gave. I learned a lot from them, but it’s fun being an Indie Author and not a Hybrid. Thanks to the many friends in North Texas RWA who gave encouragement and continue to do so.

  Thanks to three friends who loaned me all or parts of their names and professions: Gene Miers, Melinda Smith, and James Russell.

  Margie Lawson, you showed me how to fix what my critique partners Jerrie Alexander and Jeannie Guzman said was missing from my writing. Your packets and the time on the mountain with you and the Stellar Scribes made the difference between a good book and publication. Many, many thanks.

  Thanks to my daughters and sons-in-law for their support.

  Lastly, thanks to Charles Ireland, who gave me the idea for the first book I ever wrote which started me on this journey.

  You’ve heard it takes a village to raise a child. Well, it takes a small town to get a book published. I am indeed fortunate to have such an excellent small town. Any errors or mistakes are my own.

  Chapter One

  WEDNESDAY, APRIL 25

  Jill Barlow reached for her make-up kit and brushed against the one thing she’d been doing her damnedest to avoid. Her heart rate tripped into overtime.

  It was the package she received days after her dad was murdered. That was one month ago, but she couldn’t face opening a reminder of the nightmare.

  Pictures of her vigorous father mixed with recent images of his closed casket. Nausea hit. Again. Damn. Why would someone blow off her father’s head? She hadn’t stayed to find out. She’d run.

  She’d pushed herself on a four-day trip from Texas to Vermont. Emotionally and physically exhausted, all she wanted to do now was unpack her pajamas and climb into bed. Habit required she clean and moisturize her face. Habit provided comfort when life was chaotic. Habit could get her through the worst. Or not.

  She removed the package and dropped it onto the bed in her Woodstock Inn suite. It lay on the white coverlet like a scorpion.

  Sweat drenched her palms. Hands propped on her knees, she leaned over and drew in needed oxygen. A minute passed, and then she straightened.

  “Okay, open this. Every time you come across the thing, you implode, morphing into a quivering mass of mush.” Two years since her husband George died. Now a second murder, and Dad was gone. No wonder she’d lost the battle against stress and babbled out loud.

  Despite the vibrato in her voice, she reached toward the potential time bomb. Bile rose in the back of her throat. Her hand shook.

  “I’m forty-nine, and I’m acting like eighteen and talking to myself again. Daddy probably sent me a nice piece of jewelry.”

  She used her manicure scissors and slit through the tape. Holding her breath for a moment, she released it in a whoosh, and then flipped open the flaps. Her heart fluttered like a bird caught by a cat. She drew in needed oxygen. Inside, nestled a small box. A relieved sigh escaped. Had to be jewelry.

  Jill withdrew the box and raised the lid. Pulling out tissue revealed the contents. A flash drive.

  “What in the world?” She removed the device.

  Jill written in Dad’s distinctive script on a folded white piece of paper.

  Her heart jammed against her throat. The stationary in her unsteady hands wavered like a leaf caught by a zephyr. She opened the sheet.

  Dearest Jill,

  I hope I’m able to answer any questions you have. If I’m not around, arrogance got me killed. You need to get out of Texas.

  You told me how much you loved Vermont when you visited after George’s death. Go there. With me out of the way, you, Ellen, and Ethan should be safe.

  I sent the original information on Greg Richardson and the actions of the consortium against me to an FBI agent. You know how responsible I feel for George’s death.

  This copy is for you. I didn’t want you to be shocked when the news about the arrests hit the papers.

  However, if I’m dead, the bad guys won, kitten. Use your own good judgment. Destroy this or not. Your choice.

  You and the kids are everything to me. Love, Dad

  Jill’s whole body quaked. Tears slid down her cheeks before they became a gushing waterfall. Sobs gagged her. She stumbled into the bathroom where she threw up. Finally, she stopped. Weeping, she collapsed on the cold tile floor.

  The sobs changed to whimpers, and then became short hiccups. She tried to stop crying. To catch her breath. To stop hurting.

  Holding onto the counter with clammy hands, she pulled herself up. Weeping willow legs offered little support, and she leaned against the cabinet. She rinsed her mouth. The cold water she splashed on her cheeks stung. She looked up.

  Mirrors didn’t lie.

  Grief hurt.

  The last two years showed on her face. What should she do?

  Jill stumbled against the overstuffed chair in the small suite and made for the door. To think, she needed to walk. She dropped the key card in the pocket of her slacks. Rapid strides carried her down the lengthy hallway. Flowers in a large vase at the far end marked her goal. Their sweet scent provided a contrast to the turmoil in her mind. No other guests appeared to interrupt. She chewed over the problem of what to do with the flash drive.

  She’d suspected the gambling syndicate was responsible for the murder two years ago of her husband, George, but the Fort Worth police found no hard evidence. A month ago, when her father was shot, evidence didn’t provide any solid clues for the Austin Police Department or the Texas Rangers.

  After reading Dad’s wor
ds, what should she do with the flash drive? If her father gave the original to the FBI, and it contained evidence as he claimed, they should have investigated. An agent should have contacted her. But no one did. Didn’t they investigate? If not, why?

  A lightning streak of fear zinged through her heart and sorting through all the options shot pain through her temples. Jill spun on her heel at the end of the hall and made for her room. She slid the plastic key card into the slot. The soft click clarified her decision. She’d stash the device in a bank safe deposit box and not look at the information that got her father killed.

  His note lay on the desk. One word jumped from the page.

  Vermont.

  “Well, Daddy, I’m here. Let’s hope you’re right.”

  THURSDAY, APRIL 26

  Tall and slim, Jill’s transplanted Texas friend Karen wore her curly brunette hair tied back in a long bushy ponytail. Fine lines outlined her eyes and grooved her thin cheeks. Jill always considered her friend an earth-mother type.

  They ate breakfast in the inn’s restaurant, chatting like schoolgirls catching up after summer break. Through phone calls and social media, it seemed no time had passed since they’d been together.

  “Did you get hold of Ellen and Ethan after you arrived last night?” Karen raised the cup to her lips and blew before taking a sip.

  “Yes, after I unpacked I called them.” Warmth spread around her heart. The twins checked on her every day during her trip north. They’d become the caretakers. Grown, and with their own careers, Jill couldn’t deny her maternal desire to protect them from everything connected to their father and grandfather’s deaths.

  “I’m sure they must’ve been worried about you on the road by yourself.” Karen took a bite of bacon.

  “They were concerned.” Not a subject she wanted to pursue. The blueberries in her pancakes burst on Jill’s tongue with their combination of sweet and tart. “We just don’t get anything this fresh at home.”

  “Texas Bar-B-Q sings to my taste buds. I always make a point to eat it a couple of times when we visit family.” She leaned forward. Karen obviously had a scheme on her mind. “I hope you’re planning on continuing with your volunteer work.” Karen lowered her voice. “Because we’ve some great organizations in town, any of which could use your skills and experience.”

  “I don’t know what I want to do.”

  “Well, I have no doubt we’ll find something worthwhile.” Karen’s voice had the confidence of someone who hadn’t endured incredible loss.

  “Let’s hope so.” Jill slung a brown sweater around her shoulders and slid back the chair. “Okay, time to get this show on the road.”

  Karen stood and then glanced down. “I’m glad you’ve worn comfortable shoes.”

  “Comfortable shoes?” A chuckle burst out. “I learned my lesson last time when you walked me to my knees.”

  So much had happened since then, yet so much was the same.

  They left the inn and headed across the village green. “I can’t get over how much this place looks like a movie set.” Old buildings. Ancient trees. Fragrant baskets of colorful flowers hanging from light posts. All gave the town its picture postcard charm.

  “First stop is the bank.”After opening her account and placing the flash drive in a safe deposit box, Jill drew in a deep breath. The clean air washed through her. She puffed out much of her anxiety. The little bit of technology had weighed her down. A dull headache, plaguing her since she’d read her father’s note, lessened a degree.

  Tires screeched, and the two women paused at a corner. Horns blared. Jill’s heart rate jacked up, and her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, my gosh,” she yelled, not the calm person she pretended to be.

  A man dashed in front of the car, waved to the driver, and scooped up a small, fluffy white dog. The man hurried up the street. Yips faded away. “The pup and his owner were lucky,” Jill said in a shaky voice. The hand on her chest quivered with fear at how close the car had come to smashing the dog.

  “The pooch belongs to Anne Phillips. Whenever her son is home, he spends part of his time catching the run-away.”

  “Well, that’s nice of him.” Jill gulped another calming breath. “If the dog makes of habit of escaping from the house, I’d probably decide it was safer to keep him leashed.” The light changed, and they crossed the street.

  “Jerrod has suggested as much to his mother. Anne doesn’t comply, and Princess skips out. He’s a good son. Unlike Mitch.” Karen almost huffed.

  “Who?”

  “Long story. Not now. Now is for fun.”

  They walked on with an occasional stop to window shop. Karen looped her arm through Jill’s. “Tim and I are so sorry for your loss. We hated that we couldn’t get there for the funeral.” Her voice shook with emotion. “Your dad was a sweetheart.”

  Jill nodded and tightened her jaw against the loss never far away. “Thanks. Your support means everything.”

  “I’m glad you decided to come.” Karen gave Jill an extra hug.

  Jill cleared her throat. “You helped so much last time. I figured I’d give you another chance at putting me back together.”

  Karen blinked away tears and squeezed Jill’s hand. “You’re staying longer this time?”

  Jill nodded. “You know a good real estate agent?”

  “Sure thing. Mark Jennings’ office is down the street past Anne’s store.” Karen grabbed Jill’s arm and dragged her to a stop.

  “What’s the matter?” Jill’s heart jumped into her throat. She had to get a grip if she wanted to others to believe she was okay, trustworthy, normal.

  “We’ll stop by her shop. She must be there. It’s the only time Princess gets out.” Karen threw an arm around Jill’s waist and hurried them along. “Anne told me to be sure you looked her up when you arrived.”

  Jill’s conscience tugged at her, raising the specter of a returned headache. She hadn’t told Karen everything. Damn, she couldn’t risk mentioning Richardson or the gambling consortium and certainly not the flash drive.

  Because Karen knew everyone in town, they stopped often to introduce Jill. When Karen discussed a piece of business for the Historical Society’s gala with a board member, Jill smiled at the reminder of her old life in Fort Worth.

  Pain wound its way through Jill’s chest to the back of her throat. She swallowed hard. How could she have a good time with her father recently murdered and George gone? Curling her fingers tight into her palms, she straightened her shoulders and stuffed her feelings deep inside. That’s what both men would expect of her. She could almost hear them say, “carry on.”

  “I’m sorry.” Karen grinned in apology. “We get into a discussion whenever we run across each other. Drives Tim nuts. We’re almost to Anne’s store.”

  “Seems like she talked about selling when I was here before.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t know how hard she tried. It was only a month ago I saw the ‘For Sale’ sign.”

  Windows full of rainbows and sparkling crystal caught Jill’s attention.

  “We’re here.” Karen pushed open the door.

  The tinkle of chimes welcomed them, accompanied by a delightful aroma.

  “Anne, look who I’ve got with me.” Excitement filled Karen’s voice as though she was about to give the storeowner a long-anticipated gift.

  A man stood in front of one of the counters. He was a little under six feet, but still towered over Jill. Salt and pepper hair and neatly trimmed dark beard suggested a professor type, or maybe a TV commentator. Wide shoulders filled out a khaki sport jacket. In his arms, he securely held the fluffy white escapee.

  “We can visit with her later, Karen. She’s busy.” Jill’s hushed words tripped over each other, and she turned toward the door.

  The woman glanced up. “So nice to see you, dear. Glad you returned.” Her low voice held a patrician ring. “I don’t believe you met my son when you were here before. This is Jerrod.”

  “We don’t want to inte
rrupt.” Jill’s rushed words ran together.

  “You’re not in the least. Jerrod’s returning my delinquent here.” Mrs. Phillips ruffled the hair on the pooch’s head. The dog’s tongue zipped out and administered a couple of quick kisses.

  “Mother, you’ve got to fix the fence or hire someone to babysit this little girl or sell the store, so you can stay home. You’d be upset if chasing after you gets her killed.”

  The man’s deep voice reverberated in Jill’s chest, sending a tremor along her spine. Her gaze snapped to his face. His eyebrows canted down. One hand scratched behind the dog’s ears. Clearly a dog lover and a man who cared about his mother. He never looked in Jill’s direction, focused instead on concluding the business about his mother’s pet.

  “Princess is very determined, Jerrod. You know I’ve fixed the fence several times.” Anne’s smile made up for the lack of a welcoming one from her son. “Forgive me, we’re being rude. Jerrod, this is Karen’s friend from Texas, Jill Barlow.”

  The man handed the dog toward Mrs. Phillips, but she didn’t reach for the pooch.

  He frowned, as though not at all happy about his mother ignoring her responsibility for the dog. His displeasure spilled over onto Jill, and he scowled. Maybe the beard added to the impression of gruff disinterest he gave. Jill granted him the benefit of the doubt, but his behavior struck her as odd.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Phillips.” Jill extended her hand. His fingertips had a slight roughness, and a tingle zapped her hand, almost like she’d experienced a mild, static electricity shock, but the floor wasn’t carpeted.

  “Ms. Barlow.” He sent a nod in her direction and turned to Karen with a warm smile. “How’s Tim?” From his tone, Jill knew he was speaking to a good friend.

  “He had a cat surgery this morning,” Karen said, “but I skipped out.” She barely squelched her chuckle when she hugged the man.

  “It’s nice to see you again, Mrs. Phillips.” The woman didn’t appear any older than when Jill met her on her last visit.

  “Oh, you must call me Anne.”