Thyme to Kill

by Tegan Maher

  Thankfully, the server returned to my table with my drink, so I didn’t have to try so hard to keep my ears to myself.

  Casting an eye-roll at the couple at the table, she whispered, “Don’t mind them. That’s the mayor and his wife, and they’ve got an election coming up. They always go at each other when it’s that time.”

  “Ah, that explains it, then,” I said, nodding.

  “So are you new to town or just passing through?” She tucked an errant red curl behind her ear.

  “New,” I replied. “I just bought Mercy Lodge.”

  Audrey’s face lit up. “Oh, cool. That place has a lot of potential.”

  “That’s kind of what I thought,” I said, raising a brow, “at least until I saw it in person.”

  “Yeah,” she replied, nodding in sympathy. “It needs a lot of work. So are you going to make it a lodge again, or did you have something else in mind?”

  I frowned. “I guess I really hadn’t thought that far. I just figured it would make a nice place to get some writing done and to find some peace and quiet.”

  Audrey’s eyes got big. “So you’re a writer. Wow!”

  “I am. Or at least I want to be. My name’s Toni, by the way.” I stuck out my hand, which she took.

  “I’m Audrey,” she said, giving me a firm shake, “but everyone calls me Dee. Well, everyone except Fiona, that is.” She jerked her chin toward the kitchen.

  “Nice to meet you, Dee.”

  “Order up,” bellowed Fiona from the open window. “And I don’t pay you to chitchat with everyone who passes through here.”

  Dee rolled her eyes. “I better go,” she whispered, “but I’d love to chat sometime when I don’t have her breathing down my neck.”

  “Likewise,” I said, surprised to find I meant it. I wasn’t normally a huge people person, but something about her made me want to know more, and I was, after all, turning over a new leaf. I figured making a friend was a step in the right direction.

  She hurried back to the window and picked up a plate with a burger and some fries on it, then whisked it back to me. “I’ll go and get your ranch, and do you want a refill?”

  “That would be great,” I replied as she set my plate in front of me.

  She smiled. “Coming right up.”

  I lifted the bun and noticed there were no condiments on it, so I reached over and grabbed the ketchup, squirting a generous glob on top of my burger. I was just putting it back together when Dee set a small plastic container full of ranch and a fresh coke in front of me.

  “I wish I could stay here and talk with you some more,” she said, gesturing to the window, “but Fiona will kill me if she sees me standing here again for too long.”

  I nodded. “I understand. Why do you put up with it?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “Jobs aren’t exactly easy to come by around here. Enjoy your meal.” And with that, she hurried back to the long, stainless steel counter and began scrubbing it.

  Frowning, I returned my attention to my plate. I didn’t even know her, but insecurity, even—or especially—if it was justified, was never good.

  I took a bite of my burger, and my stomach clenched at how pink it was in the middle. It wasn’t horrible, but certainly not my favorite way to have a burger. I debated sending it back but decided I didn’t want to put Dee in the line of fire more than she already was. Plus, I had a sneaking suspicion that Fiona was the type to spit in food if you pissed her off.

  Sighing, I ate all of the burger except the reddest part of the center, along with the lukewarm, soggy fries, wishing they’d been cooked a while longer. I’d thought the reason the woman across the way still had a plate full of food was that she was upset, but it was just as likely that her meal was as lackluster as mine.

  When I was done, I left Dee a generous tip despite the less than stellar food. I had to practically empty my purse to find enough cash to leave her, but I didn’t mind. The way I saw it, the service she provided had been excellent. It wasn’t her fault Fiona couldn’t cook, and it certainly wasn’t her fault that Fiona was a total shrew. Setting my empty glass on the cash, I went to the register at the end of the stainless steel counter by the restrooms and settled my bill with my debit card.

  I left, wondering what I could accomplish once I got home. Home. It was weird but liberating to think of this little town as being my new home, even if the lodge was practically falling in on itself. I smiled as I drove, and dug through my purse for my recorder. Maybe I could listen to my notes and sit down with my laptop to get some writing done once I got back to the cabin.

  I frowned when I didn’t feel my recorder anywhere in my bag. Pulling over so I could actually look through it properly, I groaned when I realized it wasn’t there.

  Where had I last used it? I searched the passenger seat, the console, the floor, but nothing. Then it dawned on me. I’d pulled it out when I’d emptied my purse to get change for Dee’s tip. I must have missed it and forgot to pick it back up.

  With a sigh, I turned my vehicle around and headed back to the café. It wasn’t any busier when I pulled up than it had been when I’d left. I eased into the same spot I’d used before and strode into the café.

  Dee smiled when she looked up and realized it was me again. The other couple had left before I had, and the place was empty except for Dee and Fiona, who scowled at me through the window. Why on earth she’d chosen to go into a people-oriented business was beyond me.

  “I think I left my recorder here,” I said, craning my neck toward the booth I’d occupied. “You didn’t happen to find it, did you?”

  Dee sighed as she glanced over her shoulder toward the kitchen. “Yeah. Fiona has it. I’ll go get her for you.” Dee turned and walked back through the kitchen door. A few moments later she emerged with Fiona.

  The woman walked over to stand across from me and reached into her front apron pocket, pulling out my missing tape recorder. “So this is yours?” She handed the recorder to me.

  I nodded. “Thank you so much for holding onto it for me.”

  The woman swaggered over to me, giving me the once-over. “So you’re a writer or something?”

  I nodded.

  The woman hmphed. “Well I certainly hope you have another source of income because I hate to tell you, but what’s on there is garbage.”

  Dee winced. “Fiona!”

  Without taking her eyes off me, Fiona said, “I don’t pay you to stand around interfering with my conversations. Don’t you have something to do?”

  “Not really. Liver and onions night wasn’t exactly a door-buster,” Dee grumbled before ambling off to a vacant table and wiping it down instead of the counter.

  Fiona narrowed her eyes at her and called, “You may be related to me, but don’t think I won’t fire you.”

  I cleared my throat in an attempt to break the tension, or at least veer her foul mood back to me rather than heaping it on the waitress. After the day I’d had, the combination of horrible food, the snide comment about my writing, and the way she treated Dee was enough to push me over the edge. The woman was something else, and I didn’t mind telling her about it.

  “So you’re a writer, or an editor, or a beta reader?” I asked, brow arched. The thing about writing is that everybody thinks they’re a professional.

  Fiona shook her head.

  “Oh, then you must read a lot?”

  Fiona shook her head again. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything. It doesn’t take a genius to know when something sucks.”

  I couldn’t stifle the smirk that spread across my face. “Well then, I’ll take your opinion for what it is—sheer meanness. And she’s right—liver and onions suck, and as bad as the cheeseburger and fries were, I can’t imagine you can do anything to improve it.”

  I spun on my heel and was almost to the door when Fiona bellowed at Dee. “There’s a sink full of dirty dishes back there. Maybe you can haul your lazy ass back there and do ’em.”

  My jaw
clenched involuntarily as I stopped, hand on the door. The woman was off the chain. I pulled in a deep breath and released it before I could turn around and tell her about herself. The only person that would hurt would be Dee, and she was having a hard enough time as it was.

  “You got a problem, writer girl?” she called, talking to me.

  Gritting my teeth, I turned back to her. “Not as long as I live through the next eight hours without dying of food poisoning.”

  Fiona pursed her lips, turned on her heel, and stalked back to the kitchen.

  With a self-satisfied smile, I pushed the door open, but about jumped out of my skin when Dee tapped me on the shoulder.

  She glanced at the kitchen then said in a quiet voice, “Don’t let Fiona get to you. She’s like that with everyone, and I, for one, think your story sounds amazing.”

  I smiled appreciatively. “Thank you, Dee.”

  “I can’t believe the way you stood up to her.” Dee glanced at the kitchen again. “Not very many people stand up to Fiona.”

  I glanced at the kitchen, where the wildebeest in question was scowling at us through the order pick-up window. “Well you seem to, and maybe more people should.”

  Dee shrugged. “I suppose. I guess it’s just easier for me because we’re family, but I think she scares the crap out of most everyone else.”

  “Get to work,” Fiona bellowed, as if on cue.

  Dee shook her head and looked up at the ceiling. “I swear, one of these days ...” Her gaze dropped back down to me. “Well, I have to go. Just don’t take what she said about your writing to heart. She’s a lot of bark, and sometimes she bites, too, but don’t let her get to you.” She sighed. “Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”

  I nodded as I turned and left. Again.

  Chapter 3

  AFTER STARING AT A blank computer screen for nearly two and a half hours, I decided to go for a run. Maybe Fiona was right and I didn’t have the chops it took to write a good book. I shook my head trying to clear those thoughts. I refused to let that old hag get into my brain.

  I was already in yoga pants and a T-shirt, so I slipped my running shoes on and trotted off the porch and onto the path to the main house. I ran to the end of the long driveway and back, finding it much easier to navigate on foot than in my car.

  I was almost home when the bushes to my left rustled, startling me out of the. I jumped to the right so quickly I almost broke an ankle in a pothole. Heart galloping, I glanced over at the brush and picked up my pace, wishing I had a dog. Who knew what kind of wildlife was out there that could eat me? And no one would have any idea what had happened. I’d just be gone. Poof. I made a mad dash back to the caretaker’s cabin.

  I was just unlocking the door to go inside when a male voice said from behind me, “Can I help you with something?”

  Already wound tight, I about jumped out of my skin and spun around. A man in cowboy boots, blue jeans, and an old blue flannel shirt that had definitely seen better days was staring at me, waiting for a response. He was what romance novels would call rugged, and his skin was the color of someone who spent a lot of time outside.

  “I think you have that backwards,” I said, tilting my head at him. He didn’t look like an ax murderer, but then again, I’d never seen one in person. “I live here, so can I help you with something?”

  He shifted from foot to foot, hands tucked into his front jean pockets, as a look of realization dawned. “Oh. Sorry. It’s just that I’ve been taking care of this place since the previous owner died. Or at least as much as I can without spending an arm and a leg considering the heirs aren’t willing to spend a dime on the place. I knew it had sold, I just didn’t realize the new owner was here already.” He stepped forward and extended a hand. “The name’s Scout.”

  I glanced at it before accepting it. “My name’s Toni.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, Toni.”

  “You, too, Scout.” I didn’t usually ask, but the writer in me couldn’t keep her mouth shut. “To Kill a Mockingbird?”

  “Pardon?” he said, confusion in his ice-blue eyes.

  “Your name,” I said. “Did your parents name you after the character in the book?”

  “Oh that,” he said, a smile crinkling the outer corners of his eyes. “No.”

  When he didn’t offer more, I let it go.

  He rocked back and forth from his heels to his toes. “It’s supposed to be a little chilly tonight, so you’ll probably be needing some firewood. Do you need me to bring some in for you?”

  I shook my head. “Thanks, but if you can just point me in the right direction, I’m sure I can manage.”

  “Well, I’ll do one better than that. How about I just show you where it’s at?”

  I really wanted to go in and go to bed. It had been a long day, a long drive. But I also didn’t want to freeze to death, and the air did have a nip to it. I nodded and followed Scout around the back of the cabin. There was a small, rundown shed in the back with a ramshackle carport-type structure next to it. Inside, under a blue tarp, sat several rows of split logs.

  “The shed has an ax, a sledgehammer, and a few mauls if you need them,” Scout said, gesturing to the small building.

  I had no idea what mauls were, but I felt confident I could figure it out on my own with a quick Internet search. Besides, I’d probably just turn on the furnace since I didn’t need the ambiance. I knew folks used wood heat to keep the cost of electric down, but I was willing to bite the bullet, at least for a couple of nights.

  “I hear you’re from Florida, so I have to ask—have you ever split wood or built a fire in a woodstove before?” Scout asked.

  Judging by the light in his eyes and the smile spreading across his face, I was pretty sure he’d already surmised the answer to that question.

  “I’m sure I can manage.” I’d been camping plenty of times, so I glanced around. There was some deadfall by the tree line. Maybe I could use that for kindling.

  “I’d be happy to do it for you,” he said. “Or show you how to do it.”

  My recent history with men didn’t lend much to my patience, especially when I thought I detected just a hint of condescension. Of course, that could also be the leftover remnants of being married to a pompous jerk for the last several years. I smiled, hoping it didn’t look too forced. “I think I’ll be fine.”

  Scout chuckled and held up his hands. “Okay. I guess that’s my cue to leave, then.”

  “I didn’t see a vehicle when I got back,” I said. “Do you live close?”

  He walked with me around the cabin and back to my front door. “I live about half a mile east of here on a small farm with a couple horses and my dog. I guess you could say, by Mercy standards anyway, that we’re neighbors.”

  “And you walked over here? Alone? Without your dog?”

  Scout laughed. A rich, deep sound. He nodded. “Yeah to the first question. The outdoors clears my head. I would spend all of my time outside if I could.”

  That made one of us.

  “As for the last two,” he said as he glanced around, “I’m not alone. Jake, my dog, is running around here somewhere.”

  I looked around as I nodded. Maybe that’s what had scared the bejesus out of me in the bushes.

  “So is there a Mr. Toni?” he asked, casting me a sideways glance.

  I shook my head. “Not anymore.”

  “That’s too bad,” he said. “I’ve never been married, but my best friend just went through a messy divorce.” He rocked back on his heels, his gaze roaming over the front of the cabin. “You know, this place needs a lot of work, and the big house is a mess. I’m pretty handy with a hammer if you need some help.”

  I paused, my hand on the doorknob. I didn’t want to come off as the damsel in distress because that’s just not who I was, but I didn’t want to turn away a willing helping hand, either. Besides, the offer felt genuine. “Thanks,” I said, giving him a small smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

 
“You do that, Toni. And don’t forget to bring in some firewood. Like I said, it’s going to be a chilly night.” He tilted his head as he said, “Have a good evening.”

  “You, too,” I said, “and it’s nice to meet you.”

  He gave me a wave over his head, and I watched until he disappeared around the curve, a little tendril of hope blooming in my chest. In Orlando, I’d lived in a condo for three years and hadn’t even known my neighbors’ names. I’d been here less than twelve hours and had already met two people that seemed nice.

  After a decent night’s sleep, maybe tomorrow wouldn’t seem so hard.

  Chapter 4

  I WOKE UP BEFORE DAWN and lay huddled under the blankets, hoping to doze back off. It had been an excruciatingly long night and I was exhausted. Sleep had been brief thanks to a rustling noise outside my window and the perpetual yipping of some coyotes that seemed way too close to the house for my comfort.

  To make matters worse, the woodstove was the only source of heat in the place. I’d run out of what little wood had already been in there in the middle of the night, and thanks to all the creatures that seemed to have me surrounded, I didn’t feel comfortable going outside to get more. It didn’t matter much, though, because I’d had a hard time getting the fire going well to begin with. I’d kicked myself a hundred times for turning down Scout’s offer to help the evening before.

  When the sun peeked over the mountains, I sighed and tossed the covers back, finally deciding I needed to get up and start my day. Since it was daylight, surely the nocturnal woodland creatures had to be asleep, or at least had full stomachs from a successful night of hunting. At least, I hoped so. I wasn’t feeling quite so gung-ho as I had the night before, and it didn’t help that I wasn’t a morning person even on the best of days.

  I stumbled to the shower and turned it on, waiting for the hot water to kick in. No such luck, and there was no way I was climbing into freezing water. I grumbled and shut the water off, casting the offending faucet a dirty look as I did. Yet one more thing I’d have to deal with. Later.