Bitterroot Queen

by Jove Belle

  “What’s first?” Beth didn’t sound interested, exactly, but maybe willing to help. Still, it was progress after the last week of yelling alternating with pouting.

  “We need to take pictures,” Sam said.

  “Do you have your camera?”

  The camera was in that same storage container.

  “No, but I have my phone. That will have to do.” Sam held up her iPhone, already set to take a photo. She snapped a quick shot of Beth, much to her daughter’s annoyance, and then turned her attention to the building. She should start with a broad curbside view of the property as a whole. The effect was pretty devastating.

  “What should I do?”

  “We also need an itemized list of all the damage. Do you want to work on that?” Sam wasn’t at all sure about Beth taking on such an important job, but she wasn’t about to tell her daughter that. Worst-case scenario, Sam would recreate it later.

  Beth wrinkled her nose. “I’d rather take the pictures.”

  Beth was the artist in the family, so that actually made sense.

  “Of course. That would be great. Start with the exterior, a shot of the whole building, then closer shots of the actual damage. Include shots of the broken glass and beer bottles in the lot, but don’t bother with the landscaping. It looks bad, but it happened naturally rather than being inflicted upon the poor place.

  “After that, go room by room. Take a shot of the exterior, including the room number. Then a shot of the room as a whole and then focus on the damage.”

  As Sam talked, Beth listened and nodded along. At the end, she said, “Got it.”

  In Vegas, she had used a digital recorder when she did her daily property walk. Then, when she got back to her office, she used speech to text software to convert everything into a document on her computer. God, that would be handy right about now, but like everything else she thought she wouldn’t need, it was packed in a box somewhere. The spiral-bound notebook and generic blue pen she’d picked up at the Red Barn Market the previous evening would work for now.

  Beth made her way to the outer edge of the property to begin her photo assignment, and Sam flipped to a clean sheet of paper.

  ∞

  Olly left Rampart in her truck and headed into the Red Barn Market. It was a little after seven in the morning and she was surprised to find the store open that early. Small towns usually closed down at six at night and didn’t open back up until eight the next morning.

  She’d never been to a Red Barn before, but on the inside it looked like any other grocery. She picked out some fresh fruit. They didn’t have an organic section, but sprayed fruit was better than no fruit. At least that’s what she told herself. If she thought about it for too long, she might change her mind.

  Until she sorted out a place to stay, she couldn’t cook anything, so she had to settle for foods she could eat off the shelf. She could handle the muscle kinks that came with spending the occasional night in the Scout, but she hated not being able to prepare her own food. In addition to the fruit, she grabbed a couple of packages of mixed nuts, some jerky, a loaf of whole grain bread, and some free-range, antibiotic-free sliced chicken breast.

  At the checkout counter, she bumped into a spinner rack that held an assortment of postcards. She set her items in front of the cashier and steadied the rack. She selected one at random for her sister. She never had more to say to Genevieve than what would fit inside the four-inch square.

  “Good morning. Did you find everything you were looking for?” The checker wore an unreasonably sunny smile and a crooked name tag that identified her as FRED.

  Olly nodded slightly. “I did, Fred. Thanks.”

  “Oh, I’m not Fred, silly. They just make us wear this when we forget ours at home. It’s supposed to be an incentive to help us remember. But I really don’t care what the tag says. Everybody knows who I am. Except you, that is.” The girl stood about five-four, several inches shorter than Olly, with dark hair and dark eyes that sparkled when she talked. She looked to be around sixteen or seventeen. Too young to be working instead of attending classes.

  Olly nodded and made a polite humming noise to indicate she was listening. People like Not-Fred created the fabric of a community. Even though she didn’t expect to be around long, she still enjoyed learning the quirky things about the individuals she came into contact with.

  “I’m Rachel, by the way. Now next time you come in, you’ll know for sure who I am.” She finished ringing up Olly’s items. “You need anything else?”

  Impulsively, Olly grabbed a second postcard and handed it to Rachel. She’d send it to Mrs. Vernon. “This, too.”

  “You got it.” Rachel brushed her fingers against Olly’s as she took the card, and in addition to the smile, she gave Olly a little wink.

  Olly was pretty sure Rachel was flirting with her, though odds were against it. For a town this size, one out lesbian was rare. Bitterroot met its quota and then some with Ava and her wife. Then again, maybe she’d unknowingly stumbled onto a lesbian Mecca in the mountains of northern Idaho. Olly liked that idea, no matter how unrealistic it was.

  “Shouldn’t you be in school?” Normally, she would never ask another woman about her age, but it seemed the quickest way to re-direct Rachel’s attentions.

  Rachel scanned the last item, then glanced at the clock on the wall. “Not yet. School starts at twenty after eight. My dad lets me come down to open the store until the day shift person gets here.”

  Olly nodded. As far as part-time high school jobs went, that wasn’t a bad arrangement. “Nice.” She paid and stopped Rachel from putting the items in a plastic bag. She’d forgotten to bring her reusable cloth one inside with her, but she’d bought only a few things, so she could easily carry them. No reason to add another plastic bag to a landfill.

  She juggled the items around until she was able to hold them all in her arms. “Thanks.” She nodded politely and headed for the door.

  “I’ll see you next time.” Rachel smiled broadly, then turned to help the next person in line. She interacted with him in the same friendly, borderline flirtatious way. Olly’s hopes for a lesbian oasis fell apart.

  Ah, well. It was still a pretty town. She’d stay until she couldn’t any longer.

  Chapter Five

  After spending the morning on top of George Randolf’s barn, Olly was sore and a little sunbaked. As luck would have it, the second card from the bulletin board belonged to the farmer who’d sold her apples, and he’d been very happy to put her to work. He paid her more than promised and invited her back for another day. All in all, not a bad way to spend a morning.

  With the slim stack of fresh, crisp twenties safely stowed in the compartment beneath the driver’s seat, Olly headed into town to start work for Ava. As she drove, she and Rampart shared two apples and a thick roast beef sandwich, both courtesy of George the apple farmer.

  She arrived at Bitter Ink thirty minutes early and spent the spare time stretched out on the grass of a nearby park with Rampart. While waiting, she scribbled a clichéd “Wish you were here” on a postcard to Genevieve. She struggled with the second card meant for Mrs. Vernon.

  In the end, she settled for a few lines about how they’d arrived in Bitterroot safely and how much Rampart enjoyed the mountain air. It was weird, holding onto a connection with someone after she’d driven away, but Mrs. Vernon had been kind to her. In another world, she was exactly how Olly imagined her own grandmother might be.

  As she walked from the park to Bitter Ink, she added postage from the pack of stamps in her wallet and dropped the cards into a mail collection box. She was still a few minutes early, but figured she could wait on the step until Ava arrived. Surprisingly, the front door was unlocked and Ava’s voice carried from the back room. She was singing. Olly didn’t recognize the song, but Ava had a mellow alto that she found soothing.

  “Ava?” Olly called as she made her way to the back room. She didn’t want to startle Ava. Apparently, Ava didn’t hear her
because she kept right on singing. Olly called her name a little louder and knocked on the door frame before stepping through the swinging doors and into the back room.

  “Oh, hi!” Ava removed her earbuds and let them dangle around her neck. A bluesy melody that reminded Olly of smoky clubs and smooth whiskey was barely audible from the tiny speakers. Olly liked her music a lot harder and louder, but had to admit the song wasn’t bad for what it was.

  She nodded hello. Rampart, on the other hand, ran over to her, tail wagging so hard it wiggled his whole back end. The door to the storeroom was open, so Olly went there while Rampart and Ava got reacquainted. As promised, there were several shop lights set up inside, along with a circular saw, a level, a tape measure, a cordless drill, and a box of screws.

  “I didn’t know what kind of tools you have, so I brought mine just in case.” Ava didn’t look like the kind to use tools, but that didn’t really mean anything. Just because she had the bone structure of a goddess and a manicure that made Olly question whether she was really a lesbian didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy building birdhouses in her spare time.

  “Thanks, this helps.” Olly had a few tools in the Scout, but not enough for this job. She was glad not to have to buy them.

  “Do you need anything else from me or are you good to get started?”

  Olly realized that they hadn’t discussed payment or deadlines or any of the details that usually came along with a temporary job, but she wasn’t quite sure how to bring it up. Instead, she said, “Radio?”

  Ava gave her that I’ve-got-a-secret smile. “What? You don’t want to listen to me sing?”

  “Um...” Olly had no idea how to answer that question. If she said she liked Ava’s singing, then she’d likely be forced to listen to that instead of music she really liked, and if she said she didn’t, she’d be insulting her temporary boss. Either way, she was screwed. “It’s just that...”

  Ava laughed, saving Olly from finishing her answer. “I’m just kidding. There’s a radio over there.”

  Sure enough, there was an eighties-era boom box sitting on top of an equally old exercise bike. “Does it work?” In Olly’s experience, just because something was old didn’t mean it wasn’t useful.

  “It did when I put it in here five years ago. I’m assuming it still does.”

  Olly thanked Ava and waited for Rampart to join her in the storeroom. Instead, he stood in front of the exterior door that led to the courtyard where he’d sunned himself the day before. “Really?”

  Rampart barked once, then settled onto his haunches. Olly didn’t blame him. She’d rather spend the day outside, too.

  “Do you mind if he goes outside?” The area was enclosed, and he wasn’t the type to run off even when the opportunity existed.

  “Of course not. How about I prop the door open? That way he can come and go as he likes.”

  Without waiting for her to respond, Ava pushed the door open and used a large rock to brace it in place. Rampart was going to get spoiled if this job took more than a day or two. She didn’t say any of that to Ava, opting instead for a simple, “Thank you.”

  Olly closed herself into the storeroom. She liked her music loud and power tools weren’t exactly quiet, either. She plugged in the stereo and heavy static rattled the speakers. The last person to use it had left it turned on. She adjusted the tuner until she found a song that wouldn’t put her to sleep. Nine Inch Nails wasn’t her favorite group—she preferred Hinder or Drowning Pool— but it was certainly better than the boy bands she usually found on the radio. She wasn’t looking for music she could dance to, just a throbbing bass and heavy drumbeat that she could get lost in while she worked.

  With the music sorted, Olly turned to her task. She uncovered the pile of lumber to inspect what she had to work with. The stack included a decent number of two-by-threes and several sheets of half-inch medium-density fiberboard. She doubted there would be enough studs to complete the job, but there was enough to make a good start. Before she could do anything else, however, she needed to clear the space next to the wall where the shelves were meant to go.

  Olly removed her button-down shirt, leaving her in a ribbed tank top. She was ready to get sweaty.

  ∞

  So far that morning, Sam had left messages with her insurance agent, the utility companies, the local trash company, and a locksmith. She’d also filed a police report about the damage because the insurance company would want it.

  None of that satisfied the tension building in her shoulders, so she used her phone to find a local law office and made an appointment there. Hopefully she wouldn’t need it, but it was better to have her bases covered.

  Around eleven, she made another call to the insurance company. This time, she was transferred directly to a claims agent.

  “How can I help you?” The agent, a man with a nasally voice, asked.

  Sam gave him her policy number, along with the details of how she’d found the property when she arrived yesterday.

  “So, you don’t know when the damage was done?”

  “I have a general idea, yes.”

  “But not the specifics?”

  “Of course not. If I’d seen it happen, I would have stopped it.” She took a deep breath. It wouldn’t help for her to lose her temper with this guy.

  “Hmm. Well, I’ll email you the form you need to complete, along with a list of documentation we’ll need.”

  “That’s it?”

  “For now, yes. Thank you for calling.” Without waiting for a reply, he disconnected the call.

  Frustrated, Sam left another message for Karen, who worked long shifts at the women’s prison for several days in a row, followed by a block of days off. In some ways it was an ideal schedule, but Sam wasn’t a fan. There was no way their apartment would be habitable before nightfall, and she’d much rather stay with Karen than the other hotel in town where they’d spent the previous night.

  Through all of Sam’s huffing and puffing and irritation, Beth had worked steadily at cleaning their apartment. In the moment, Beth seemed years older, and Sam caught flashes of the adult she might become with the right guidance. She swore to herself she was going to provide it. Occasionally, she glanced at Sam, headphones in place over her ears, and smiled. She had to give Beth credit. In spite of being a class-A pain in the ass over the past few years, her daughter was right there, scrubbing the remnants of another lifetime from their new home.

  She made one more call, this one to the realtor. When the call kicked over to voicemail, Sam left a message explaining the state of the Queen and asked her to reach out to the seller.

  “Mom?” Beth stared at the wall adjacent to the bank of windows with a distant, contemplative look on her face. It was the expression she got when she saw something as it could be, rather than as it was.

  For all the tension between them, Sam envied her daughter’s ability to visualize beauty where it didn’t exist and was eager to hear what Beth had come up with this time. She left her phone on the counter and went to stand next to her. She pushed her hair out of her face and tried to see what Beth did. All she saw was an on-the-way-to-clean beige wall. She settled her arm around Beth’s waist and gave her a side hug. “What’s up?”

  “Can I have this wall?” Beth didn’t look at Sam, and when she finished the question, her lips continued to move as she silently talked herself through what she wanted to do.

  “Can you wait until we’re done cleaning?” She wouldn’t deny Beth’s request, but she really hoped that she didn’t need to get started right now. They had too much to get done for a side trip to the art supply store. Hell, she wasn’t even sure there was a store in Bitterroot that sold the supplies Beth needed.

  She finally looked at Sam and smiled. “Yeah, I can do that.”

  When Beth smiled like that, like she’d burst if she didn’t find a release for her creativity soon, her happiness radiated from her very pores. Sam cherished those moments and, as far as she was concerned, Beth coul
d paint every damn wall in the place if she wanted.

  “Thank you. If we finish up here early enough, we can run to the store.” All of Beth’s supplies, with the exception of her sketch pad and charcoal, were still in transit.

  The faraway look returned to Beth’s face and she nodded as she turned to face the wall again. “Home Depot. I need a lot of paint.”

  “Okay.” Sam kissed the top of her head. Bitterroot might not have a big box store like Home Depot, but they were bound to have a hardware store that sold paint. “Soon as we’re finished.” She ruffled Beth’s hair and headed back to the kitchen. The self-cleaning oven she’d been working on certainly wasn’t living up to its promise.

  “What about the carpet?” Beth asked, surprising her. She thought the conversation was over.

  “What do you mean?” So far she’d managed to avoid thinking about the carpet. It looked unsalvageable to her and that was an additional expense that she hadn’t budgeted for.

  “Are we going to clean it or replace it?”

  Sam hadn’t even considered cleaning it. There were stains there that made her wonder if she should report a crime of some sort, and she was sure the possibility of contracting an STD simply from walking on it with her shoes off was far too high.

  “I think it’s gotta go.”

  “Cool. I can paint without using a drop cloth.”

  “Sure.” Sam returned to the stove. They’d been there for four hours, and all she’d managed to do between phone calls was pick up the debris on the floor and wipe down the countertops. At this rate, she wouldn’t finish the kitchen until late tonight.

  A cell phone rang in one of the bedrooms, and Sam was halfway there before she realized it was Beth’s ringtone, not her own. Her own phone lay silent on the kitchen counter. She stepped out of Beth’s way and tamped down a jab of jealousy. She needed her phone to ring more than Beth’s did.