Studfinder (The Busy Bean)

by L. B. Dunbar

  “About that.” He exhales. “Nothing was held back to hurt your feelings. We just thought it would be better to let you settle into one thing at a time.” His voice even sounds like my brother, rough and low, with a hint of ease underneath it. I’d like to accuse him of having an easy life, but after I went to prison, I know he didn’t. He was suddenly raising his father, and my bitterness falls back to Nolan. He’s always being taken care of.

  Turning away from Rory, I continue forward on my path, needing the fresh nighttime air. Rory falls into step beside me. He isn’t wearing a jacket, and his hands slip into his jean pockets. We walk in silence for the rest of the block and turn toward town.

  “Should we talk about it?” Rory questions. “I know what you did.”

  I stop, but Rory takes another step forward before turning to face me. “You went to jail for me, didn’t you?”

  “Rory.” I sigh. What can I say?

  “We didn’t mean for it to happen.” He pauses to exhale. “We were stupid kids.”

  “I know you didn’t mean it.” A stray firework? The fire didn’t make sense. It didn’t add up. However, I wasn’t allowed to investigate the scene because I was accused of the crime. “And I’m not even convinced you did anything to that building.”

  “I’m still so sorry, Uncle Jake.”

  When I’d been arrested, I wasn’t in a good state of mind. My brother was in the hospital with a major injury, still in a medically induced coma to ease his pain. Rory was full of guilt, but I told him not to mention anything to anyone until I could learn more. Then I was arrested.

  “And I’m sorry for Mr. Sanders,” I say. Someone had been in the building after all.

  “I know.” Rory exhales. “I liked Mr. Sanders.” Liking him won’t bring him back to life, though, and the man lost his life that night. The principal was in the high school for some reason. The best summation was he smelled smoke and investigated on his own. I didn’t understand why the fire alarm didn’t trip until deeper investigation showed the alarm system had been tampered with. It didn’t make sense. The principal’s body was found in the wreckage.

  “I still don’t understand how a single firework could have set the building on fire. We didn’t even hear a window break.”

  The investigation claimed the fire began in the chemistry lab. Chemicals within the lab ignited. A firework was never mentioned, but something sparked the blaze.

  “I never thought it was a firework,” I admit. I wasn’t able to prove otherwise, but a stray firework still didn’t make sense to me. Deep down, I’d always wondered if my conviction had all been part of some bigger plan. The state was mandating cuts in civil services, including fire prevention. They didn’t believe an arson investigator was necessary. Let a regular fireman handle the cases as if it were that simple. The number of full-time firepersons was on the chopping block, cutting back chiefs which were the only paid position in the department. The state believed volunteers would be enough for our smaller community firehouses, suggesting they could run themselves and solve their own mysteries.

  Taking a deep breath, I look at my nephew. He has an innocent face with a permanent expression of curiosity. Nolan and I always knew he’d amount to more than us. We wanted him to be more. At seventeen, almost eighteen, he would begin his senior year that fall. If he had started that blaze, he’d be tried as an adult, and his future would have been ruined. I couldn’t do that to Rory, and I couldn’t do that to Nolan.

  Upon my arrest, Nolan needed Rory more than anything, and I couldn’t strip my brother of his son.

  My nephew was more than a nephew. He was like an extra little brother, closer to a son himself to me, which I’ll never have. I didn’t want to resent him, and I’d had seven years to forgive the doubts that crept in from time to time. I didn’t know what to believe, but I couldn’t imagine Rory and his friends set off a blaze that ignited a school and killed a man.

  “In many ways, it no longer matters how it happened or who did it. I’ve already served the time. I’ve already lost seven years of my life. I can’t get any of that back.”

  “I could turn myself in.” Rory sheepishly offers, but his suggestion is not genuine or necessary. His admission would be based on guilt, not a confession.

  “You’d never be tried for something the court already considers solved. There’s no evidence a firework began that blaze, and you wouldn’t be able to handle prison.” Rory wasn’t weak, but he was soft enough that prison would not be the place for him. He was better trying to right wrongs on the outside of jails than be placed inside one.

  “Tell me more about Brynne.” I take a step to restart our walk and dismiss a discussion I’ve circled over in my head too many times in the past seven years. Rory’s face shifts. His expression lessens from contrition to something else. His cheeks brighten.

  “She’s amazing.” His voice lifts. The lilt is one of love, and I’m so damn envious. I remember that feeling, even if it didn’t last.

  “Yeah, what’s so great about her?” I listen as we cross into town and walk along a quiet, decrepit main street. Rory tells me about the assets of his girl. How pretty she is. How kind she is.

  “She’s a teacher. She loves kids.” Without asking if he wants his own, I know the answer. Rory will be a great dad. He’s learned humility from his own and devotion from me. Or at least, I hope that’s how he’s seen it. His father’s injury certainly was a lesson for Rory.

  “You know Dad would never have done that to you,” he states, breaking into my thoughts.

  “Done what?”

  “Slept with Aunt Lisa.”

  I huff. “Yeah, I don’t really think he would either, but you never know what attracts people. Sometimes things happen, or we just choose someone for a night without explanation.” My thoughts leap back to Rita and images of her underneath me. We took it slow, and that made all the difference. I didn’t want to rush through my first encounter after seven years, even if I knew it wouldn’t last more than a few seconds. What surprised me most was my ability to immediately recover and start again without even leaving the warmth of her body. Rita was a wonder. I couldn’t explain why I was so attracted to her. I just was.

  Like Rory, I could gush about how pretty I thought she was or how kind, but those were only on the surface. What I saw the other night was a vulnerable woman, and that attracted me even more to her. I wanted to know her secrets. I wanted her sob stories.

  “I guess I wouldn’t know for certain, but I don’t think Dad’s been with anyone since the accident.”

  I snort, uncertain myself as my brother never mentions anyone, even though he’s always talking about sex. Then again, men who brag or fixate the most on sex are usually not the ones getting it.

  I don’t have a response to my nephew’s comment. If Nolan slept with Lisa, I’d have no way of knowing, and I honestly didn’t care. Not any longer. Lisa was out of my life by her choice, not mine. My choices had all been stripped from me.

  “We’re good, aren’t we Uncle Jake?” Rory pauses, bringing us full circle. “I don’t want you to hate me.”

  I stop in my tracks and face my nephew. “I could never hate you, kid.” Reaching out for him, I awkwardly pull him into me, finding his larger frame and taller stature less manageable to embrace than when he was a skinny teenage kid. Still, I hold on to him, patting his back as tears prickle my eyes. It’d be easy to blame a bunch of kids for the fire, but my heart felt it wasn’t their fault. Even though I had no proof, I just didn’t believe they had caused that blaze, accident or not.

  “I love you, little man,” I say to him, finding the words strange as I haven’t said that phrase in years to anyone, and calling him the endearment from his childhood felt wrong. He certainly wasn’t little anymore.

  “Love you, too, Uncle Jake. And I’m so glad you’re home.”

  Rory pulls back from my embrace and offers me a slight smile, matching his father once again.

  “Me, too, kid,” I state, wishin
g I could mean it a little more.

  12

  Rita

  I felt sick about leaving Jake the other morning, but I could not rouse him in the early hours. He was wrapped around me so tightly I’m surprised I was able to climb out from under him. When I could not disturb him enough to wake him, I covered him and left. Not only am I riddled by how things went the morning after, but I can’t seem to stop thinking about what we did the night before that morning. Staring into the abyss over scattered papers and my open laptop, I sit at my desk with my feet on the corner and my head in the fog.

  “Rita, I’ve been calling your name for five minutes.”

  Blinking up at my law partner, I slowly sit straighter in my seat, kicking my hiking boot-covered feet off my desk. “Oh, sorry. What do you need, chickie?” I like May Shipley. With dark hair, a tall stature, and long legs, she could have been a model, but I’m happy she uses her brains over her beauty. From the moment we met, I knew she’d be a good fit for me. She went to my alma mater for both undergrad and law school. She was a recovering alcoholic, and she understood my sense of humor.

  “I have some questions about this case, but you seem distracted today. Is everything okay?”

  Tipping back in my seat, I allow it to bounce on the springs. “I’m just all over the place lately.” I glance up at my laptop, open to a case report I’ve never had the heart to read. I didn’t need the details.

  Ian was gone. That’s all I needed to know.

  “Is there something I can help you with?” May asks from across our shared office. As a recovering alcoholic, May knows the slightest deed or subtle hint can trigger old desires. I like to think I have my shit under control, but there’s no doubt Jake Drummond could drive me to drink if I so desired to return to that road, which I do not.

  “Man trouble.”

  May’s mouth falls open while her eyelids rapidly blink. She doesn’t speak for an entire minute.

  “I didn’t know you were dating someone.”

  “I’m not.” I don’t know what I’m doing with Jake. I certainly understand the particulars of what we did the other night, but I still had questions. Was it a one-night stand? Did what we did mean something to him? And why now? Why him? After all this time of skirting dates and turning away interested parties, why was Jake the one under my skin and over my body?

  A rush of warmth travels down my spine and settles uncomfortably between my thighs. I cannot stop thinking of him. How he took his time. How he watched every move he made. How he kissed me afterward.

  “You didn’t knit him a sweater, did you?” May teases me, reminding me of when she gave a hand-knit sweater to her beau Alec Rossi before he was officially hers. I told her about the sweater curse.

  If you knit a man a sweater, you’ll break up or something like that.

  “No, ma’am. I certainly did not.” I gave Jake Drummond something else. I’m not a virgin—heavens no—but I have not had sex since that disastrous night six years ago when I thought I was ready after losing Ian. When I drank too much and woke alone on my hallway floor, certain I’d been with a man who came home with me but had disappeared during the night. That poor decision scared the drink right out of me. How could I do that to myself? That morning, I accepted I wasn’t ready to move on from Ian and I needed other coping mechanisms rather than those gin and tonics that filled my nights. I sought grief counseling and Alcoholics Anonymous. I had trouble accepting my weakness, but I’d nearly lost my business because of it. I definitely had lost faith in myself and my judgment.

  “So what’s the problem?” May questions.

  “I slept with him instead.”

  “And that’s a problem, how?” May slowly gives me a mischievous grin.

  “Don’t give me that look, lady,” I sternly warn her, but my lips lose the battle and match her smile.

  “I have two questions for you. Did you enjoy yourself, and were you safe?” May dropped her voice as she spoke in a poor imitation of me, recanting our conversation when she considered Alec only a rebound hookup. Then she laughs.

  “Yes, Mom,” I tease back at her, although I’m over a decade older than her.

  “I do remember a certain someone once telling me as long there was no alcohol involved a little rebound loving never hurt anyone,” May reminds me. “But this wasn’t a rebound, was it?”

  Ian and I hadn’t broken up. He’d died. My first bounce into sex was a wake-up call to my deeper issues, which May knows about as I first sponsored her in AA. I glance back at the case report pulled up on my computer and touch a key to close the file.

  “Maybe I should have just knitted a sweater,” I state, dismissing my slip with Jake. If I knit him one, will he go away now? Do I really want him to?

  “Nah. I’d always go with sex,” May says, winking at me, stealing all my lines. I’m paying for teasing her about Alec, but there’s nothing to joke about. Her beau is a hot, hunky man who does right by my girl.

  Suddenly, I’m considering that sweater and decide some retail therapy in the yarn store in Montpelier is a better use of my time than staring at a report I don’t want to read.

  Two days later, I’m still ruminating over what Jake and I did. I went to an AA meeting for professional women only in Montpelier intent on avoiding the meeting Jake attends in Colebury. I’d also been avoiding the building site, although Alfred called me, wondering if I’ve made a decision about the directorship. I hadn’t yet.

  In addition to all that, I’d been thinking about what Jake told me about being a former arson investigator. Curiosity had me wondering if he worked on Ian’s case. I hadn’t followed the story in the news or anywhere else for that matter. I had a funeral to plan and a wedding to dismantle. Some say I should have gone to the trial, for closure or retribution or something, but I disagreed. What would facing the person who killed Ian prove? It was ruled involuntary manslaughter—a fancy label for an accident. Whoever committed the crime wasn’t aware Ian was in the building.

  Still, I wondered if I should ask Jake about the case. So many emotions were conflicting lately as I’d done what I’d done with him, and memories of Ian had returned with a vengeance.

  Finding myself aimlessly driving toward my home east of Montpelier, I see Jake as if thoughts of him conjured him up in my small town. He’s standing outside the old firehouse, and I slow to a stop before the ancient brick structure and roll down my window.

  “Jake?” I call out in question although it’s definitely him. Slowly, he turns away from looking up at the two-story building.

  “Hey,” he says as if shaking himself from deep thought. He steps over to my SUV and angles an arm against the roof.

  “What are you doing in my neighborhood?” I tease, noticing my heart fluttering just from seeing him again up close.

  “You live around here.” He lifts his head to glance up the street.

  “Hampshire is my hometown.”

  “Huh.” His sound leaves me stumped.

  “Why are you looking at the old firehouse?”

  Jake turns back toward the building before responding. “I’m curious about the place. I’d love to see inside.” The building is vacant as the county merged fire departments, building a newer community department outside of town a few years back.

  “Hang on.” He steps away from my SUV, and I pull over to park along the curb. Searching for a phone number on my dash, I find who I’m looking for and make a quick call. When I exit my crossover, Jake is still standing in front of the old brick building. Two large bay doors flank the front to accommodate fire trucks, and a bell tower stands on the left side of the structure. It’s charming and a little enchanting.

  “Come on,” I say, leading Jake to the front door.

  “What are you doing?”

  “This place is for sale. I know the realtor and gave her a call.” Once we stand before the main entrance, I lift the security lockbox and enter the code my realtor friend gave me.

  As we enter the old lobby, a staircase
leads to the second floor. I stand still, watching Jake spin in a slow circle around the entry. Eventually, I follow him up the narrow stairwell to the second floor, where rooms are sectioned off, and an old fireman’s pole leads below.

  “Want to ride the pole?” he asks, wiggling his brows. I’m wearing heels with a skirt and a blouse today.

  “Not certain how that would work in my present attire.”

  “Just wrap your legs around the pole and glide.” He chuckles softly, glancing down at my bare legs exposed beneath the hem of my skirt. “Although, I can’t promise it won’t burn.”

  “You just let me worry about where it will burn,” I remark, smirking at him.

  Jake goes first, sliding down the old metal cylinder like an expert but the pole wobbles as he descends. When he reaches the bottom, he jiggles it back and forth.

  “I don’t know how safe this is,” he hollers up to me. “But I’m liking the view.”

  He can’t really see up my skirt from his angle, so I know he’s teasing until he says, “Purple again? It’s my new favorite color.”

  Stepping back from the hole for the pole, I take my time to descend the narrow stairs and meet Jake in the large, open garage space. He’s twirling in a circle again, and I’m wondering what he’s thinking.

  “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

  “Someone asked me what I’d want to go my way in my life.” He narrows his eyes at me and gives me a teasing smirk. “And I’ve been thinking about an answer.”

  “A firehouse?” This is what he wants?

  Jake paces around the pole. “A place to call mine. For the longest time, I thought I wanted out of Vermont. I wanted distance from here. From what happened. From what didn’t.” He bitterly chuckles. “But now that I’m out, I see once more I can’t leave my brother.” His brows pinch, and he shakes his head like he isn’t pleased with what he’s saying.

  “There’s just something fun about this old building, but it needs work.”