Vermont Escape

by Marsha R West

  “But you don’t think she’d carry the evidence on her person?”

  “God, I hope not. Don, I’m concerned you didn’t find any record of her father contacting the FBI. If he turned over information, some evidence of an investigation should exist. And for you to turn up nothing? Shit. Not good news.”

  “If I pick up anything at all, I’ll give you a ring.”

  “Yeah, and we didn’t have this conversation. This morning before Jill told me, she made me promise not to talk with you, because she was afraid any inquiries you made would get through to the alleged corrupt agent in the Austin office. But I didn’t know any of that when I asked you to find out about her family.”

  “It’ll be okay, Dad. I was vague with my inquiries. Probably a good thing I didn’t know all the details. I would’ve asked more specific questions that could’ve tipped off an agent.”

  “Thanks, Don.” A ball of worry the size of Maine filled Jerrod’s stomach.

  “Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “Sure thing.” Jerrod disconnected. Needing to finish his conversation with Jack, he returned to the sheriff’s office.

  The sheriff ended his call and glanced up at Jerrod, a quizzical tilt to his eyebrows. “So, you’ll never guess who that was.”

  “Probably not. Why don’t you tell me?”

  “Mike Riley is a homicide detective out of Fort Worth. This was something in the way of a courtesy call. He wanted to let me know he planned to come up here. He’s concerned about Ms. Barlow’s safety.”

  “Well, hell. Based on what Don told me, we may need to be concerned.” “He was your call?”

  “Yeah. He found no record of any kind of investigation in the Austin office regarding Jill’s father.”

  “Hum. And you expected he would?”

  “If what Jill’s telling me is true, yeah. Supposedly, her father handed over incriminating evidence about the gambling consortium to someone in the Austin office of the FBI. Of course, all we’ve got is her word.” Jerrod dropped into the chair in front of the sheriff’s desk.

  “She seemed pretty upset last night at your house. What’s she normally like? You know, is she prone to flights of fantasy? Or is she grounded in reality?”

  “Well, she decided to buy Mother’s store damn fast, which doesn’t fit with the idea of her being a cautious person. On the other hand, both her children seem to be solid citizens. Daughter’s a marine biologist. Son’s in the Army.”

  “Maybe the result of an attentive father,” Jack suggested.

  Jerrod clenched his hands at the mention of Jill’s husband and how they’d worked out the child rearing responsibilities. “If you talked with Mother, she’d swear by Jill.”

  “That’s the best recommendation you can get in this town. I’ll operate from that. Do you want to meet Riley when he shows up? We can pool our information. If people are after Ms. Barlow, we need to develop a plan, so we’ll be ready for them.”

  “Yeah. Let’s do that. Listen, I’ve been gone longer than I anticipated, and my absence was already going to take some explaining.” Jerrod stood and angled toward the door.

  “I’m glad we’ve finished with the leaf peepers. Having fewer visitors around will make it easier to notice any newcomers. We’ve had so many people here I don’t know how we could’ve picked out someone acting suspicious.” The sheriff closed the file where he’d made notes.

  “Maybe we’ll be lucky, Jack, and none of this connects to the mess in Texas.”

  “I hope nothing else happens, but we’ve got to keep alert in case. Does she have a gun?”

  “Don’t know. Wouldn’t think so based on some comments she made right after she arrived.” Jerrod’s hand held open the door.

  “Find out. Keep in touch.”

  Jack Hardwick might be a small-town sheriff, but he was a knowledgeable lawman. Depending on what info Riley shared, maybe they’d figure out this puzzle. Jerrod didn’t like things or people who screwed with the tranquility of his town and family. At this point, Jill Barlow was messing with his ordered life.

  It was almost one-thirty by the time Jerrod knocked on her front door. “Hey, anyone home?” he hollered when no one came right away. He pounded again, beginning to feel uncertain about having left them for so long, but the three women together should’ve been fine.

  His imagination jumped into overdrive. All the stories of one man overpowering several women and slashing them to death flashed through his super charged brain. Shit. He’d raised his hand again when the door jerked open, and Myrtle Bates’ steely gray eyes nailed him.

  “You got a problem, Jerrod Phillips? I know your mother brought you up with better manners than to stand on a body’s porch and holler loud enough to be heard in Boston.”

  “Sorry.” He pushed past her. “Is everyone still here?”

  “Yeah, we’ve still got a lot of work left. Not that you’ve been much help,” she chided.

  Only an old family retainer could make you feel five-years-old again. “I’m sorry.” He realized he was repeating himself, but it seemed needed. “Have you eaten yet?”

  “Nope, we kept plugging away. Why? You got an idea to feed us?”

  Jerrod laughed. Thank God for Myrtle.

  “Yes, that’s exactly the idea I have.”

  “And what idea is that?”

  Jerrod glanced toward the stairs where Jill stood part way down.

  “I want to take the three of you to eat. If you haven’t had a break, you need one.”

  Karen walked into the front hall. “I vote for that. Give us a second to wash our hands, grab coats, and you’ve got yourself a deal.” She turned and headed for the kitchen with Myrtle.

  “I can’t stop now. We’re a long way from being finished.” Jill continued down the stairs with a basket of laundry in her hands.

  “You’re not staying here tonight if Tommy doesn’t get some sort of security system hooked up. Frankly, I don’t see how he can pull that off. He’ll come by the house today, but it will be tomorrow or the next day at the earliest, before anyone can begin installation.”

  “And your point is?” She set the basket on the floor.

  “You don’t have to finish everything today because you’re not staying until the security issue is addressed. Now go get your coat.”

  JILL STARED AT JERROD for a moment. She couldn’t believe his audacity. “Listen, Mr. Phillips. I decide where I’m going to stay. You’re not the boss of me.” Jill turned and rushed up the stairs. Who died and made him king? She glanced in the mirror at the red staining her cheeks. She’d regressed to her four-year-old self.

  Jill pulled her coat out of the closet. A sick feeling settled in her stomach at the idea of staying in her house before she got a system installed and the back door repaired. She should’ve followed Gary’s suggestion about security. Maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe she needed to leave Woodstock. The idea popped into her mind at odd moments of quiet. Followed quickly by a question. Where would she go?

  God, she was exhausted. They still had a lot to do before they’d have cleaned enough for her to stay, no matter about getting a security system installed. Her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t had anything since Jerrod’s oatmeal. Excellent at the time, but long gone. She should eat.

  When she descended the stairs, she found her helpers bundled up and ready to take off. “Okay, ladies, Jerrod’s right. I’m taking everyone to lunch. Where do you want to go?”

  “Mountain Creamery?” Karen suggested.

  “No argument from me,” Myrtle agreed.

  “Mountain Creamery, here we come.” Jill pushed everyone through the front door.

  “What about me? Don’t I get a vote?” Jerrod’s words filled the emptying hall.

  “No. You haven’t helped to the extent they have. Let’s take my car, because we’ve gotten enough exercise for today.” She started around the house toward the shed in the back.

  “I’ll drive. Everyone pile in with me. My car�
�s out front and already warm.”

  That made sense to the group, including Jill. “But I’m paying,” she insisted.

  “Whatever you say.”

  Riding with him provided its own problems. She felt physically safer with him but being in the company of Jerrod Phillips for any extended time raised concerns for her emotional safety.

  Last night she’d been exhausted, and maybe she’d be so tired tonight she’d be able to fall asleep. At some point, getting a restful night would be difficult if not impossible lying in the room next to his. She didn’t need the added complications, the fanciful thoughts, the longings proximity to him sent surging through her mind and body. Damn. She should be able to control her reactions to the man. Reactions embarrassing in their inappropriateness. If her mother were still alive, she’d be mortified.

  Chapter Twelve

  FRIDAY, OCTOBER 12

  Sid Cranston followed his ritual process of lighting his cigar knowing his actions would piss off his wife. She tried to limit him to one a week, but that was crap. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. His phone buzzed. Damn. Hadn’t gotten the stogie going good. A few more puffs while the phone continued its annoying noise.

  “Yeah?” Cranston answered.

  “Sid, we may have a problem.”

  They didn’t talk often, but the distinctive twang of the Texas lobbyist for the gambling consortium rang through the airways. Sid saw him on news reports when the Texas legislature was in session supporting casino gambling as a way out of the state’s funding problems.

  “Talk to me, kid.” Cranston puffed out blue-gray smoke. Greg Richardson’s recent call providing Jill Barlow’s location had been the first one in years. A second contact so soon meant some serious shit must’ve hit the fan.

  The sound of Richardson grinding his teeth at the nickname brought a smile to Sid’s face. They’d first met when Sid caught Greg in a scam when he was just a boy. Sid, now sixty-five, loved reminding Greg of their history. It made the younger man squirm. Showed him who was boss. “Spit it out.”

  “I just got off the phone with my FBI guy here in Austin. He says he happened to catch a call from a man inquiring about whether any investigations around Stevens’ death had begun,” Richardson said. “Makes me nervous.”

  “Could your friend tell where the questions came from?”

  “He told me the guy had an accent—like a Yankee. Said his name was Tom Sullivan.”

  “Take it easy, kid. We’ve got a Vermont connection, and I’m on top of that.” He rolled his cigar between his thumb and forefinger.

  “You are?”

  The doubt in Greg’s tone insulted Cranston, but he swallowed his anger. “Richardson, you still got the original in your possession?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good. I was damn disappointed our bill didn’t pass last spring.”

  “Me too. We had a done deal. Then several of the schmucks decided to honor their fallen comrade. Oh, they’re saying for sure next time, but I was certain with the state’s money woes and Stevens dead, this was our time.”

  Greg’s whiney tone made Sid nearly gag.

  “Another year and a half until the next session. We’ve lost a lot of money,” Sid’s voice became more guttural. “You gotta grow a set and get it done next time.” How much firmer could he be with this message?

  “Yeah, I know, Sid. What about the Yankee my contact talked about?”

  “Don’t sweat the New England thing, kid. I’ve got that covered.” Cranston disconnected without another word.

  He puffed on his cigar. Next steps? Phillips should have gotten back to him by now. He’d turned out to be a big disappointment. He’d give him one last chance. Almost time to send Judson to Vermont to extract a different kind of payment for the debt from the worthless welcher if he didn’t produce.

  Cranston leaned back in his large leather chair and punched in the numbers to find out where Phillips stood. He spoke sharply into the receiver. “Mitch boy, talk to me. How’s the search coming?”

  Phillips’ gulp was audible. He’d obviously recognized Cranston’s voice. The right reaction.

  “I don’t have her purse, yet.”

  “Get it. If you don’t find anything in it, grab the woman and make her spill where she’s hidden the God damned device.” Cranston pinched the cigar between his finger and thumb. He’d squeeze Phillips’ balls if necessary to get this job done.

  “Are you certain she has the flash drive you’re looking for?”

  “What?” Who the hell was this little piss-ant to question his directions? “You do what I tell you. Understand?”

  “Yeah. Sorry, Mr. Cranston, anything you say.”

  “Okay that’s better. Once you’ve got the device, off her. I’m tired of messing with this bitch.” Cranston blew smoke circles toward the ceiling. A trick his grandkids loved. His daughter, like her mother, ranted to him about smoking inside. “Did you hear me, Mitch?”

  MITCH’S MIND BOGGLED. He tightened his grip on the phone until pain shot through his knuckles. Off her. As if it was that easy. “Uh, yeah. Besides locating the drive, you want me to get rid of Jill Barlow.” What the hell had he just promised? His gut twisted into a mass of knots.

  “Good. Let me know when you get it done. You’ll be reinstated at all of our casinos, your debt forgiven, and a healthy amount added in your account.”

  The buzzing in his ear told Mitch the Las Vegas gambler had hung up on him. Shit. What was he going to do now? Could he kill the woman? It didn’t take him long to come up with the answer. Damn, if it came to her life or his, the broad was toast. His skin crawled like snakeskin molting. Mitch paced figuring how to do the deed before he sank into a kitchen chair.

  Shit, shit, shit. His fingers drilled on the tabletop. A situation with disaster written in red six-inch letters. Breaking in was one thing, killing someone entirely different. He grabbed the bottle, poured a slug of whiskey and then set about developing a plan. Maybe he’d put a drug in her drink, but he needed to talk with her first. He’d get her to go for a drive with him for some reason. After he got the flash drive or she told him what he wanted to know, he’d hit her over the head with something like a baseball bat. Evidence. What would he do with the evidence? Maybe burn the bat and the body.

  Or he’d could cart her up to the mountains, and let the snows cover her. Nobody would find her until next spring, if even then.

  He was getting the hang of this, like being on a TV cop show. Only he was smarter than those stupid screw-ups who got caught. Not long now, and he’d be sitting pretty in one of those beautiful halls of chance, making so much money, he’d never have to come back to Vermont. Yeah, his luck had changed for the better.

  The tricky part would be getting her to ride with him.

  He needed to get to know her better, so she’d trust him to go in the car. She and his mother seemed to be thick. Maybe he’d spend time with good, ol’ Mom. He’d get some ideas of how to grab Barlow from her. Not that she’d know she was supplying him with them. He laughed then raised the glass in a toast to his changing luck and swallowed, the burn a welcome reminder he was alive, and anything was possible.

  At this point, his plans were hazy, and he needed to firm them up if he wanted to have a snowball’s chance in hell of getting away with the whole deal. He picked up his cell.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “Mitch? How nice of you to call.”

  “Yeah, well, what’s up?” Maybe she’d have a heart attack, and he’d inherit his fair share. Then he’d make tracks for Europe and disappear, so Cranston couldn’t find him.

  “Have you heard about the break-in at Jill Barlow's house?”

  “Break-in?” He played dumb. She went on to share all the details. He clamped his jaws shut to keep from saying, Yeah, I know all about it.

  “I’ve invited everyone to come to dinner tonight who helped with the cleaning.”

  Hmmm. He hadn’t helped, of course, but he’d contributed to the r
eason for the gathering.

  After disconnecting, his laughter burst out at his own cleverness. He’d stop in tonight. She’d never send him away.

  A few minutes after eight, he knocked once and let himself in to find the others already gathered in the dining room. “Hey, Mom. Got room for one more?”

  “Well, of course, dear. I always have enough for one more, particularly when it’s you.” She approached him for a hug before going to set another plate.

  Mitch hated being here. His brother and mother always made him feel he wasn’t good enough. At this point in the game, he figured he’d put up with anything to do the job for Cranston and get him off his ass. It’d be awesome to have enough money to move on with his life and out of this tourist town.

  One thing he could always count on—his mother’s good cooking.

  “You know the old saying when it rains, it pours?” Jill placed her coffee cup in the saucer toward the end of the meal. “My battery died today—or sometime. Don’t drive the car enough anymore, I guess.”

  “That’s the pits. Like you need any more trouble, especially with the car,” Karen said.

  “The mechanic’s coming Monday morning to work on it, which wouldn’t be a problem, but I’m scheduled to pick up a couple of Robert Dillon’s latest creations. I’d hate not to go. I’ve already contacted Ms. Cooper, and she’s driving in from Litchfield for them Monday afternoon.”

  “Peggy frequently met me at the front door of the shop when I let her know I’d gotten in one of his new works.” Anne sipped her wine. “She knows what she wants and doesn’t mind the price or the inconvenience of coming. I offered to mail them. She always refused.”

  “That’s what she did with me, too. I hate to call and tell her not to come.”

  “I can take you,” Mitch said, jumping in before anyone else spoke. He’d lucked into his chance. Damn, it was all going to work out. The fact everyone knew she’d gone with him provided an added alibi. No one would be stupid enough to attack a woman when so many people knew you were together.