Chapter 6 #2
“Laugh all you want, but my lady is out there.” He gave us a dopey smile. “She’s probably curled up on her couch reading and drinking iced coffee, considering leaving her house but ultimately deciding against it. She doesn’t yet know I exist, and I love her for that.”
I couldn’t deny the fantasy wasn’t a bad one.
After what Allie had done, I went full on monk.
The thought of dating made me sick to my stomach.
And like Logan’s, my perfect woman sure as hell wasn’t on a dating app.
She probably hated dating apps. Probably hated dating too, now that I was thinking about it.
“Besides, I’ve got bigger problems. I want to buy out Marigold. She’s been making noise about selling the land for a while.”
Logan rented a small farm from Marigold Shaw, one of the older ladies in town.
She moved into a condo near the town green a few years ago.
He’d revitalized the property and turned it into his animal sanctuary, building and landscaping and taking care of all his animals while working fourteen hours a day seven days a week as one of very few vets in the county.
“Make her an offer,” I told him. “Marigold’s got plenty of cash, and it’s not like Paul wants it.” Her grandson Paul was an accountant who wanted nothing to do with the place. He lived in town with his wife and son and seemed content with his small yard and newer construction home.
Gabe dipped his chin. “Sounds like her granddaughter doesn’t either.”
“I don’t have a lot of cash lying around.” He smoothed his hand over his overgrown beard. “The student loans are killing me. I swear I’m gonna be paying for my degrees for the rest of my life.”
I nodded. I understood that. None of our parents had had money when we headed off to college. I’d gotten my BA, but I’d paid it all off with my Wall Street money. Majoring in finance did have its perks.
But while I’d gone to work, Logan had headed to vet school and Gabe had gone to law school. The debt they accumulated had to be staggering.
“Start a nonprofit,” I told him. Again. “Get tax exempt status and fundraise. I can set up a trust and manage it. We can grow a nest egg to take care of the place.”
He nodded, his lips pressed together in uncertainty. “I gotta own it first.”
He had plenty of options. And I’d happily talk tax strategy, secured investment funds, and indexed growth all day. But my friends would kill me. Besides, that wasn’t who I was anymore.
I was a quiet farmer, living a quiet, solitary life.
Except recently, I’d been feeling more and more unsettled. And it wasn’t only the murder this spring or the business or the fluctuating price of sap that had me waking up in a cold sweat at night.
It was my new tenant. A red-haired terror in Crocs.
Head down, I finished my salad. When I looked up again, the beer hall was a hell of a lot busier than it had been when we walked in, and several folks were staring over at Gabe and whispering.
“Does Josh need to worry?” Logan’s words floated on the air, making me perk up.
Gabe rolled his eyes at me. He knew me well enough to know I’d been in my own world. “The lawyers say no,” he said softly. “But there are some… complications. We’re all trying our best to do this by the book.”
“And Sugar Moon?” Logan asked.
“Lawyered up and they’re not speaking to anyone. Or cooperating. Louisa has been on a rampage since Nolan arrested her.”
“But they let her go,” I argued.
“Yeah, but the woman has reach. She’s the CEO of one of the largest maple syrup producers in the world, and she hasn’t taken kindly to being perp-walked through the Founder’s Festival.”
That may have been how the Founder’s Festival ended, but the events leading up to it had started back in April. At the annual Maple Festival.
I’d been attending the festival since birth. Hell, I was pretty certain every citizen of Maplewood had. It had been around longer than anyone here had been alive, and it was the only good part about the dreary spring in Vermont.
When the ceremonial sap barrel had been tapped at the sugar shack on the town green during the festival, they’d discovered a body inside.
The body of Will McManus, a kid who’d done a lot of seasonal work for most farmers in town, including me, and who’d been working as a delivery driver for Sugar Moon, the syrup conglomerate in town.
And on top of that, the barrel of sap where his body had been found had come from my farm.
His death had kicked off a shitstorm in town, one full of paranoia and suspicion.
Tourism numbers were down, and all my contracts were in jeopardy.
Plus, every person in Maplewood was reeling. This was “America’s Most Charming Small Town,” after all.
I leaned back and took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. I got upset every time I thought about it. It was a senseless tragedy, and to add salt to the wound, much of the scrutiny had been directed at me and the farm.
“The rumors are the worst part,” I said.
“Don’t even get me started.” Gabe peered over one shoulder, then the other, then leaned in. “People have all kinds of ridiculous theories. Some crazy shit. Alien invasions, demonic possessions.”
“I was at the coffee shop the other day,” Logan added, “and Morty Fletcher was there, swearing it was Betsy Ross.”
“Can’t really blame him there. Betsy can be a real terror sometimes,” Gabe said.
Logan, who had some kind of weirdly respectful relationship with the wild fucking bear, shook his head. “None of the Maplewood wildlife were accessories to this crime.”
“Half the town thinks you did it,” Gabe said, nodding at me.
My stomach sank. This fucking town. Caleb Dunne had confessed and he’d been arrested. But no one believed it was that cut-and-dry.
The entire town, me included, had been waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Only half?” Logan marveled around another bite of his gross-ass veggie burger.
“The other half thinks he covered it up.”
“Efficient,” Logan remarked, still chewing.
I glared at him.
“And I’ve got people accusing me of hiding information too, saying I’ve helped Nolan tamper with evidence and threatening to recall him.
Never mind that his position isn’t an elected one.
But they don’t care about simple things like law or procedure.
” He reached over and plucked one of Logan’s fries from his plate.
Gabe was an emotional eater. After we lost the state hockey tournament during our junior year of high school, he’d eaten an entire lasagna that my mom had frozen for an upcoming church potluck.
“The fucking state police,” he murmured, “came in here, stomped all over everything, got everyone riled up, and muddied the investigation.” His face was red, sweat beading at his temples.
My always put-together cousin was on the brink of losing it.
“And everyone wants my head on a platter because tourism suffered this summer.”
“Fall season’s looking good,” Logan said. “That’s what I heard, at least.” He was hardly plugged into the Maplewood scene, but his support was genuine.
“I’m fielding phone calls from crime bloggers left and right. One even had the audacity to pitch a ‘Maple Murder Tour.’” He closed his eyes and blew out a loud breath. “I’ve had to issue a dozen statements, insisting people stop speculating and trying to monetize this tragedy.”
I set my fork down. “Did it work?”
He glowered. “Of course not. This is fucking Maplewood. People can’t keep themselves from being ridiculous.”
Maybe that was true. I myself had felt out of sorts since that night. Will’s death had put all my beliefs about this place and the life I’d built on shaky ground.
Last season had been a busy one. The weather had turned, making the late-season sap run longer than anticipated. We hadn’t complained. Late-season sap was the darkest, and restaurants and kitchens were always eager to purchase it.
We’d been working around the clock, and the last time I’d seen Will, he had come to pick up the barrels from the night before.
Maple syrup was shelf stable. It could last for years. But fresh tree sap was not. It had to be collected daily and processed immediately or refrigerated. And since we sold most of our sap to Sugar Moon, they picked up daily and processed at their facility.
The process was more efficient and more lucrative for the farm.
Sugaring our own syrup, as my grandparents had done, required working twenty-four seven in the sugarhouse during harvest time with a massive fire going constantly, boiling the sap to the right consistency, then bottling and labeling it.
We’d pared back when I was a kid, and Dad had planted more trees and increased our farming operation.
“I’ve been sleeping with my phone on my chest,” Gabe admitted. “Too afraid to miss something big. Everything is a mess.”
“It’s everywhere,” Logan agreed. “Kids are asking questions they don’t even understand and people no longer trust their neighbors.” He roughed a hand over his pulled-back hair. “It’s a coping mechanism. They’re scared.”
“I fucking know that,” Gabe snapped. “But I’m doing the best I can.”
Logan nodded once. We both knew that.
We finished up and paid the bill in silence, the heaviness of the whispers and stares getting to us.
We were two feet from the door, almost home free, when we were stopped.
“Joshua Lawrence.” I pulled up short like I’d hit an invisible wall and closed my eyes, bracing for this interaction, then turned and plastered on a smile.
Bitsy Bramble, Olive Foster, and Gail McNamee sat in the corner booth, each with clean plates and half-full pint glasses in front of them.
The ladies around here sure did love craft beer.
Bitsy wore a cardigan and a judgmental scowl, as usual. Olive was all curls and bright red lipstick while Gail batted her eyelashes at Gabe like he was a movie star.
“Well.” Bitsy clapped once. “If it’s not the mountain man himself! Out and about in town.”
Logan groaned behind me. That asshole was probably planning to take his pocket kitten and run. Not that I’d blame him.
“We hear you’ve got new tenants.”
I nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Rented out the cottage. They moved in last weekend.”
“Single mother,” Olive said. “Three children.”
“I visited her on behalf of the welcome wagon,” Gail said, her voice breathy. “Lovely redhead, brave eyes, good manners.” She lifted her chin, scrutinizing me, her friends following suit. “We like her.”
Okay. I guess it was good to know my tenant was well-liked in town. Was that why they’d stopped me, to inform me of their reputation?
Before I could figure out a way to ask them to clarify, Gabe cleared his throat.
Thank fuck. I could always count on him to intervene. He’d had my back since we were kids.
“Ladies. We’ll leave you to your lunch.”
“Don’t patronize us, Mister Mayor,” Bitsy snapped. She leaned to one side and peered around him. “Logan Becker, is that you under all that hair?”
“That beard could house wildlife,” Olive mused.
Logan opened his mouth to respond but then thought better of it and focused on his work boots.
“We want to make sure that Celine and her family are adequately taken care of,” Bitsy said. “Your parents were pillars of our community. They showed up, they volunteered, they gave to the town.”
“And you disappear,” Gail muttered.
Olive joined in on the criticism, though she softened it with a wink. “And not in a mysterious, sexy way,” she said. “Your vibe is more …” She tapped her chin. “Grumpy sasquatch.”
Logan snorted behind me.
I forced myself to smile. The move made my facial muscles ache. “I keep my head down. Lots of work to get done on the farm.”
“And that,” Bitsy said, “is why we’re watching out for you.”
“You are a treasure, Bitsy,” Gabe said, using his professional tone. “Always watching out for everyone.”
“Oh I’m not watching out for you, Mayor,” she said, lifting her chin and giving us a better view of her ever-present pearls. “I’m watching you. There’s a difference.”
Gabe grimaced, but he wiped the expression away quickly.
“We want that kind woman and her kids to thrive here,” Bitsy went on. “I’ve heard she’s a wonderful teacher.”
“What an asset to the community,” Olive chirped.
“So don’t scare her off with your grumpy bad moods.”
“Not a problem,” I said.
I’d already promised myself I’d stay far away from Celine and her kids.
As long as they stayed away from my farm equipment, I’d probably never see them.
I had almost two hundred acres across the two farms, so it should be easy to keep my distance, and as always, I had plenty of work to keep me busy.
“Okay, then.” Olive clasped her hands in front of her chest. “I think he’s been adequately warned, hasn’t he, girls?”
With a final tense smile, I hightailed it for the door, desperate to get back to the farm and a sense of normalcy.