Vermont Escape

by Marsha R West

  “This is about the murders of your husband and father. Why leave your home? Why leave your friends, and their moral support? Why come to Woodstock? Unless you’re somehow involved. Are the cops after you?”

  “Where did you get those crazy ideas?”

  “I did an Internet search and found several articles about their suspicious deaths. I discovered you had an alibi for both murders. But you could’ve hired someone to kill them.”

  He slammed his hand on the back of the bench, hoping his intimidating behavior would result in her getting the hell out of Woodstock. “You have another guy on the hook, Ms. Barlow? You couldn’t wait for Daddy’s money? Why’d you come here?” He shot the questions at her each one louder than the last.

  Her right hand tightened on the arm of the bench, whitening the knuckles. Her left clenched in her lap.

  “How dare you?” Her voice lowered in pitch. Vibrated with anger. “Who are you to accuse me?” The words flew from her mouth and marched through the air in bold capital letters.

  “I’m taking care of my town and my mother.” He straightened and crossed his arms. “Woodstock isn’t the place for you.”

  “You can dictate where I live, and what kind of work I do?” She pushed herself off the bench and straightened to every inch of her five feet two. Her hands clenched at her sides. “Being an Assemblyman gives you that kind of power?”

  “Being from one of the oldest families in Woodstock, I have a responsibility to keep my family and the town safe.”

  “You bastard. You don’t know a damn thing. The store belongs to your mother. If I have the money, which I do, and she wants to sell, which she does, then I believe we have a done deal.”

  She stepped closer to him and poked him in the chest with her index finger. “Now, you leave me alone. If you repeat your malicious lies to anyone, my lawyer will sue you for slander.”

  Chapter Three

  SUNDAY, MAY 6

  “You look nice, Mother.” The night after the disastrous meeting with Jill Barlow, Jerrod escorted his mother to dinner. She’d dressed in a purple suit and a lavender silk blouse. The heels she wore were one of her vanities.

  He’d driven them to a restaurant with windows overlooking a large waterfall near the Vermont and New Hampshire state line. She’d been unusually quiet on the ride. No matter. He had to make her understand the possible danger of doing business with Jill Barlow.

  They’d taken their seats when his mother asked, “What’s the occasion for us coming to one of my favorite places to eat?”

  The waiter brought menus. “I can’t take my lovely mother out to eat without an ulterior motive?”

  They placed their orders.

  “You’re a politician, Jerrod.” Her tone suggested he thought her dense.

  The wine arrived.

  “This evening has the trappings of a grand scheme. Let’s take care of whatever is on your mind then we can enjoy our meal.” She took a sip from her wine glass. “Nice woody flavor.”

  He swirled the dark liquid before taking a sip. He’d intended to put off the discussion until she’d had a drink or two and enjoyed her favorite veal dish. She’d have been mellower.

  “Well? What’s going on?” Her fingers briefly tapped on the white tablecloth then stopped.

  “I ran an Internet search on Jill Barlow.”

  “You did?” She leaned back in an apparent attempt to separate herself from his action. Her eyebrows shot halfway up her forehead.

  “Of course. We needed more information about her than knowing she had the money to buy your shop.”

  “Regardless of whether I want to hear or not, you’re going to tell me what you found. That was the purpose behind this dinner tonight, or am I mistaken?” His mother’s ramrod straight back and fingers of one hand drumming on the table shouted he was in trouble.

  The soft buzz from the diners sitting around them and the clink of silver and crystal provided the backdrop for what Jerrod had hoped wouldn’t be a difficult conversation.

  He ran a hand around the back of his neck before he attacked the issue. “The store is important to you, and you’d be upset if you sold it to the wrong person.”

  “Wrong person. You think Jill is the wrong person?”

  “At least, you should know more about her before you sell the store.” He reached inside his breast pocket and pulled out copies of the newspaper articles he’d printed. His mother read the first one about the death of Barlow’s husband in Fort Worth two years before. Her only comment a short gasp. After reading the second, which recorded the murder of Barlow’s father, Representative Stevens, in Austin almost a month ago, his soft-hearted mother wiped at a tear with one hand and bunched the paper with the other.

  Before Jerrod could talk with her about what she’d read, their food arrived.

  “Let’s eat, and then we’ll discuss this afterwards, Mother.” What he’d intended in the first place.

  Her short nod of agreement didn’t bode well for later.

  Jerrod shared stories from the recently adjourned assembly. Something his mother normally enjoyed hearing. Despite sharing a couple of the more absurd incidents, he never pulled more than a partial smile from her. This endeavor was proving to be more difficult than he’d anticipated. When their desserts and coffee arrived, Jerrod, against his mother’s wishes and at the risk of straining their close relationship, returned to the uncomfortable subject of Barlow buying the store. “Mother, having read the articles, I’m sure you can understand why I’m concerned.”

  “If it were about what this poor woman has gone through, I’d say yes. Since I suspect that’s not it, why don’t you tell me?” She blended cream with the liquid in her cup to make a pale pretense of what coffee should be. Her steely blue gaze pinned him.

  “I think she’s running away. Because she killed one or both men.” His brows knit together, remembering Jill’s reaction in the garden yesterday. “Or—or she knows who did.”

  “Oh, Jerrod—”

  “In either case, I’m certain she’s hiding something. This has the potential to be a dangerous situation. I’m not comfortable with Barlow hiding out in our town, much less her doing business with you.”

  His mother glared at him in the same manner she had when he was a boy, and he’d disappointed her. Since becoming an adult, he’d only received the look once. When he told her he was getting married.

  “I have failed somewhere in your upbringing, Jerrod. You have a blind spot about women. You married Janice when anyone of modest intelligence could tell she was only interested in our name and money.”

  “Mother, let’s–”

  “I can forgive you, because she gave us Don and Liz. All these years later and you’ve never found someone to settle down with. It wouldn’t hurt your political career to have a wife. I’ve heard the rumors. They’re talking about you for the US Senate.”

  “That’s quite a speech, Mother.”

  She huffed out a sigh. “Now, when a woman needs your understanding and perhaps your help, you turn on her for reasons which I struggle to discern.”

  “I have very good reasons.”

  “The only reason I’ve been able to find for your dislike of Jill is she’s lost loved ones in a tragic manner.” She paused, leaned back in her chair and tapped her fingers on the white cloth. “Or is it because she’s blonde and from Texas—I assume that’s because Janice was. You really should’ve moved on from that.”

  He had no answer for her.

  “You’ve painted Jill as some sort of black widow.”

  “To be precise, Mother, ‘black widows’ kill multiple husbands. To my knowledge, she was only married to one man, George Barlow.”

  “Thank you for the clarification. Do you have one scrap of evidence to suggest she was involved?”

  The waiter came toward the table, but Jerrod waved him away. The sounds of the other diners again filtered past his concentration. Jerrod leaned forward convinced he could make his case. “The articles me
ntion the police interrogated her.”

  “Wouldn’t that have been normal? Don’t they always question the spouse?”

  He drummed his fingers on the white tablecloth but stopped after only a few raps. The action modeled his mother’s finger gymnastics. He granted her a reluctant nod of agreement. Damn her and her mysteries, which she read by the car load.

  “If they’d had anything, she’d have been arrested,” his mother insisted in her determined manner.

  “Maybe, maybe not. Could be they didn’t have enough to arrest her before she took off. At any rate, Mother, she’s been involved in sordid matters.” Damn, now he sounded like his grandmother. He drank a large swallow of wine. “If she’d been honest with you, she’d have told you what happened.”

  “Son, we’ve not known her long—”

  “My point exactly,” he said.

  “I was going to say, we’ve not known her long. Perhaps she didn’t feel comfortable confiding in us at first. If a problem exists, I’m sure Karen and Tim know.”

  “If they know, they should’ve told us. Damn. Karen introduced Barlow to Liz.”

  “Don’t swear,” his mother admonished him. She picked up her glass, tipped it up, finished it, and then carefully set it on the table.

  “Let me make something clear to you, Son. I can do whatever I want with the store, because it’s mine. I like Jill Barlow. If we can come to terms on the financials, then I intend to sell Crystal Rainbows to her. You have absolutely nothing to say about the transaction. Do you understand?”

  Jerrod nodded but ground his teeth.

  “And what’s more, I intend to spend time getting to know her better. If you can’t, or won’t tolerate her, the result will be I’ll spend a whole lot less time with you.”

  He couldn’t think of anything else to say, and silence followed his mother’s announcement. He’d make himself scarce and see how long she held out. He’d miss her, but he’d win her over in the month or two before they could complete the sale.

  He gestured to the waiter who hurried over.

  “We’ll take the check now.”

  “Yes sir.” He laid the brown leather folder on the table. “I’ll handle it when you’re ready.”

  Jerrod glanced at the bill. After taking care of it, he nodded at the waiter. “Thank you. I don’t need any change.” He turned back to his mother. “If that’s the way you insist on handling this situation then it’s time we go home.” He held her chair and took her arm to escort her outside. Neither spoke during the ride home. No doubt where he got his stubbornness.

  TUESDAY, MAY 22

  Jill hadn’t seen Jerrod since the appalling evening he’d accused her of murder. She shuddered at the memory. If she never saw him again, it’d be okay by her. It was a wonder people at the inn talked with her after she slapped him. Damn, it felt wonderful, and he’d deserved it. Bigoted ass.

  Her behavior shocked Jill. Something about Jerrod Phillips aroused powerful emotions. Emotions, which made her uncomfortable.

  The lawyers were still negotiating with papers going back and forth. Michelle and Gary planned to fly up for the signing. Maybe they’d feel better about the whole thing when they came to see the store for themselves.

  Jill and Karen had gone with Mark Jennings, the real estate agent, and they’d found a perfect place. The move into the weathered frame house on Pleasant Street brought back memories of her old life. The smallest thing caused flashbacks.

  Dreams disturbed her rest. Sometimes they seemed surreal and other times all too realistic like last night’s.

  Detectives showed up on her porch speaking words, which hit her with the force of a baseball bat. Excruciating pain began in her middle and trembling spread outward. Her breath dissolved in her chest. Darkness closed around her vision. She stumbled backwards. “No.”

  Her glass dropped from her hand and shattered on the floor. The red wine puddled on the white tiles. Her legs gave out. The detective reached for her, but she slid down the wall. A long agonizing wail came from deep in her core. Her father, too, had been murdered.

  Jill shook herself free of memories and focused on the good things in her life now. One of those was being able to leave work and run home for lunch. She stepped into her sunny yellow kitchen and pulled the ingredients for a sandwich from the refrigerator.

  After putting it together, Jill held the back door with her hip and picked up the plate and glass of iced tea. Mid-step, her cell rang. She backed into the kitchen, put her lunch on the table, and glanced at her new phone. Her accountant.

  Maybe an unnecessary precaution, but she enjoyed a sense of control to know no one had the new number beside him, her lawyer, the kids, and a few choice people in Woodstock. She clicked answer before the message kicked in.

  “Hey, Gary, how are you doing?” She popped a chip in her mouth.

  “Jill. I’ve got bad news.”

  She gasped, nearly choked on the chip. What more could go wrong? “What is it? Tell me.” She gulped a sip of tea and made herself pull air into her lungs to get past her tendency to hold her breath in times of stress.

  “Your house has been broken into.”

  “Oh, my gosh.” Her legs gave out, and she sank into one of the kitchen chairs. Property. Not people. She could deal with this.

  “We discovered the problem when I took a prospective renter to see the house. By the way, we’ve probably lost him.”

  Even under the circumstances, Jill appreciated Gary’s understated humor, and a smile pushed at one corner of her mouth.

  “My first clue was the deactivated alarm. I’m positive I armed the system the last time I left the house. The police are walking around inside now taking pictures of everything. Officer Fletcher wants to talk with you. He’s already made noises about you coming to check out what’s missing.”

  “I’m not returning, Gary.”

  “I agree that’s not necessary, but still you’ve got to talk with him.”

  “You have the inventory of everything I left in the house and garage, which should be sufficient to determine if anything was taken.”

  “That’s what I’d expect, but I’m alerting you that Fletcher insists on talking with you.”

  “Okay, Gary. Get his phone number for me, and I’ll call him. I’m sorry this is getting dumped on you.”

  “It’s okay, I’m glad you weren’t here when they broke in.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Had it been a random break-in? Her heart skittered at the direction her thoughts ran.

  “Fletcher is coming this way now. I’ll get his phone number and call you back.”

  Her sandwich forgotten, she paced and prayed. Please don’t let this burglary connect to George or Dad’s murders.

  The store was on speed dial, and after one touch and a brief pause, she connected.

  “Crystal Rainbows. This is Sally, may I help you?”

  “It’s me, Jill. Something has come up. I won’t be returning right away. That okay?”

  “Sure. It’s quiet now. Everything all right?”

  “Yes. Thanks, Sally.” Jill ended the call right before Gary got back to her with Fletcher’s number. Putting off contacting him wouldn’t accomplish anything. First, she pushed the buttons customer service promised would keep anyone from identifying her number. Guess she was about to find out if they were correct.

  WEDNESDAY, MAY 23

  Homicide Detective Mike Riley hung up the phone on his desk at police headquarters in downtown Fort Worth. Interesting. Jimmy Fletcher had called about a break-in at the Barlow house. Sharp cop to connect the B & E, Senator Stevens’ recent murder, and George Barlow’s death two years ago. One of Mike’s unsolved cases. Damn.

  Mike headed out to meet Detective Fletcher and Gary Myers, Ms. Barlow’s accountant, for a walk through of the house. He’d been meaning to contact the woman again anyway. Kind of a courtesy call, to let her know they had nothing new on her husband’s death. He kept in touch with family members when he had an open case.


  Just before ten o’clock, he parked in front of Barlow’s residence. While he waited for Fletcher and Myers to arrive, Mike flipped through his folder on George Barlow’s murder. His death looked like a professional hit, although they suspected the real target was Representative Stevens, and he’d survived.

  One of those flukes when someone moves unexpectedly, making a millisecond of difference. Bill Stevens dropped his phone and leaned down. The action saved his life. Had he been sitting up, he’d have been hit and not his son-in-law. And Jill Barlow wouldn’t be a widow.

  She’d been gracious at her husband’s funeral despite her pain and the job he had to do. Her father and kids had surrounded her almost constantly. Still she’d played hostess, seeing to others’ needs. She’d been dressed in a dark suit. The skirt had hit at her knees, setting off a great pair of legs. It made him uncomfortable he’d noticed.

  Not the time, the place, or the woman.

  Fletcher’s car arrived derailing Mike’s thoughts. A dark blue Mercedes pulled in next. A large man climbed from the sedan and walked toward him. Fletcher intercepted, and made the introductions.

  “Riley? I remember you. The lead detective in the investigation of George Barlow’s murder, right?” The man’s Texas twang laid the words out like a casual meander through a prairie.

  “That’s correct.” Mike shook Myers’ hand. The accountant wasn’t someone you’d want to tangle with. Mike could almost see the wheels whirring in his head. He had to wonder why a homicide detective arrived on the scene of a burglary.

  Myers dismissed Mike and turned to Fletcher “I can help recognize whether anything is missing. Ms. Barlow’s detail minded, and before she left, we went through the whole house listing whatever remained after sending boxes and several pieces of furniture to storage.”

  “Do you have a list, Mr. Myers?” Fletcher asked.

  “Yep, and I’ve brought you a copy.”

  Two hours later, they’d gone through the entire place, but they reached the consensus nothing was missing. Lots of mess. The safe had been broken into. Myers reported that Ms. Barlow placed everything of value in her Fort Worth bank.