Above It All (Eureka, Colorado Book 4) (Contemporary Romance)

by Cindy Myers

“You ought to be paying for these drinks,” he said. “You got a bigger percentage of the advance.”

  “I have my own expenses.” She fluffed out her hair. “Looking this good doesn’t come cheap.”

  He started to say something, then shook his head. “Never mind. What have you got for me so far? Has Shelly opened up any?”

  “You first. What have you learned?”

  “I’ve learned that everyone thinks your sister is perfect.”

  “Same song, thirteenth verse.”

  The waitress delivered the drink and Mindy took a long sip, then looked around. “Do they have any peanuts or anything? I’m starving.”

  “Focus.” Travis leaned toward her. “I’ve been trying to find Shelly’s enemies and there aren’t any. Maybe you can help me out with some names.”

  “Why focus on her enemies?”

  “Because they’re the ones who will spill the dirt.”

  “I haven’t found anybody who doesn’t like her, either.” She cracked a piece of ice between her teeth and Travis winced. “I went to the bank, like you suggested. The teller there claims to be her best friend, and she didn’t even know she had a sister.”

  Travis nodded. “That might lead to some hard feelings. Did you tell this teller that her friend was Baby Shelly?”

  “No. But I did let drop that she’d cut off contact with her family because of a scandal.” She grinned. “A scandal involving money.”

  “Is that true?” He was already reaching into his pocket for his notebook.

  “Not exactly.” She sipped her drink, watching him over the rim of the glass. Too bad he wasn’t better looking, or rich. He was so easy to play.

  “Was it, or wasn’t it?”

  “Well, when she left, she took the gravy train with her. Mama had a lot harder time getting cash out of the media without Shelly there to dangle in front of them. So that makes it at least partly about money.”

  He sat back, clearly disappointed. “Why did she break it off with you all?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “You know. You just don’t want to say.”

  Where did he come off, being so smug? “I mean it, I really don’t know. Everything was going along just fine, the way it always had. All the attention was on Shelly. She was the star. I was just the extra in her big show. The next thing I knew, she’d left.”

  He had the notebook out now, scribbling away. What did it matter? If this did ever get published, at least the world would know the truth about her sister.

  “That must have been upsetting,” he said.

  “Are you kidding? I was glad she was gone. Now maybe I’d get some of the attention I deserved. But it didn’t work out that way. My parents were devastated. If anything, they made her into even more of a saint. Every day my mom talks about how wonderful Shelly was and how much she misses her, and on the anniversary of her rescue—Shelly’s birthday—she’s a basket case for a week.”

  “Have you told Shelly any of this?”

  She drained her glass and set it aside, ready for another. “Why should I give her the satisfaction of knowing how much she hurt us?”

  “I don’t think she’s like that. I mean, I haven’t spent a lot of time around her, but I’ve talked to a lot of people who know her, and I think if you told her, she’d feel guilty. Maybe even guilty enough to help us out.”

  “Shelly doesn’t want to help us. She doesn’t think about anybody but herself.”

  “Still, what have you got to lose if you talk to her?”

  Her dignity. Pride. The knowledge that she still had something on her sister, something she might use against her one day, when the time was right. But Travis was a man. He wasn’t going to understand any of that. Men always saw the world in black and white. They didn’t understand all the shades of gray in a relationship between sisters.

  “Where is that waitress?” She turned, searching for the hippie girl, but instead, saw Shelly walking in the door.

  “Uh-oh,” Travis said. “She doesn’t look too happy.”

  Mindy’s first instinct was to head for the ladies’ room or look for a back door. But she didn’t react fast enough. Shelly had already spotted them and was headed their way. So Mindy went to plan B. “Hey, Sis.” She waved. “Come to have a drink with us?”

  Shelly stopped beside their table, face red, eyes wild, practically vibrating with anger. It was nice to know Miss Cool and Collected did get rattled sometimes. “I need to talk to you two, now,” she said, her voice tight.

  “So have a seat.” Mindy motioned to the chair beside her. “Talk.”

  Shelly glanced around, then dropped into the chair. “Tamarin called and told me you were at the bank Monday afternoon, while I was at lunch.”

  “Sorry I missed you. But your friend Tamarin and I had a nice chat.”

  “How could you lie like that about me?” She grabbed Mindy’s wrist, hard. “Tamarin called, wanting to know what big scandal I’d been involved in in Texas, and what was this about money? And by the way, why didn’t I tell her I had a sister?”

  “Why didn’t you tell her about me?” Mindy pulled out of Shelly’s grasp. “Are you ashamed of me? Of your family?”

  The truth was there in Shelly’s eyes, even if she wouldn’t admit it out loud. “I didn’t want people to know about my past,” she said softly. “I didn’t want the hassle.”

  “Well, excuse me for not being ashamed of my relationship to you,” Mindy said. “For admitting that I am your sister.”

  “But you lied about me. You said I stole money.”

  “I never said any such thing. She jumped to conclusions.”

  “Tamarin doesn’t jump to conclusions. And I know you. Since the time you could talk, you’ve been a master at making up elaborate stories.”

  “Are you calling me a liar?”

  “No, but you know how to exaggerate.”

  “Says the woman who never even told her best friend she has a sister. How do you think that made me feel?”

  Shelly smoothed her hand across the tabletop, and took a deep breath. “This isn’t a joke, Mindy. I work at a bank. Banks take these kinds of rumors very seriously. I’m afraid they’re going to want to open an investigation.”

  “So let them investigate. They won’t find anything. You’ll still be Saint Shelly.”

  Travis’s chair scraped back and he stood. “I’ll let you ladies talk privately.” He started to slip past, but Shelly caught hold of his sleeve.

  “Don’t you run away,” she said. “Tamarin isn’t the only one who called me this evening. Maggie Clark said you stopped by her office and told her I was Baby Shelly.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “What if I did? It’s not a secret or a lie. It’s a fact.”

  “But it was my secret to tell or not tell.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t see it that way at all. And neither should you. You’re just upset because your friends are hurt and angry that you couldn’t be honest with them.”

  She pressed her hands to either side of her head, as if sheltering from a blow. “It’s already started,” she moaned. “All the attention I don’t want.”

  Mindy glared at her. “Don’t pull that pitiful act,” she said. “No one is going to feel sorry for you. If you didn’t want all the attention, why did you ever go down in that cave?”

  Shelly dropped her hands into her lap and stared. “I was four years old. I didn’t go down there on purpose.”

  Mindy shrugged. “You may have only been four, but you were smart. And you knew you weren’t going to be the baby anymore. I was coming along, and I was going to be littler and cuter than you. You had to do something desperate to keep from losing the spotlight.”

  “I can’t believe you’re even saying that. I was a child. And I was terrified down there in that cave.”

  Travis had taken out his notebook and was writing again, no doubt taking down every word the sisters said, documenting Shelly’s feelings abo
ut the long-ago incident.

  “I’m just saying that along with the attention and the money and everything else that ordeal brought you, you ought to be happy to accept the few drawbacks,” Mindy said. “And think about how much worse I have it, being your sister.”

  Shelly’s chair scraped back and she stood. “There’s obviously no reasoning with you. But you’re right. You are my sister. And I’m sorry I didn’t warn my friends about you. I won’t kick you out, but you had better learn to keep your mouth shut. No more lies.”

  Mindy looked away. She wasn’t going to promise Shelly anything.

  “And you.” Shelly had turned on Travis. “You can leave now. I don’t have any intention of telling you anything. If you write a book about me, it won’t be with my cooperation.”

  “It’s a free country.” Travis stuffed the notebook back into his pocket. “I’ll hang around a few more days, talk to people.”

  “I’ll keep talking, too,” Mindy said. “You can’t stop me.”

  Shelly’s face crumpled. Mindy knew that look. Any minute now, her sister would either burst into tears, or start begging. “Please don’t do this. My life is so hard. . . .” Mindy gritted her teeth. She wasn’t going to fall for that pitiful act anymore. Shelly had everything—a job where she literally had bankers’ hours, a husband who worshipped the ground she walked on, two kids who really weren’t so bad—why should she begrudge Mindy anything?

  But apparently, Shelly still had some surprises left for her sister. “No one will tell you anything you can use in your book,” she said. “My life is boring and ordinary. There’s nothing to talk about.”

  Mindy would never in a million years admit that Shelly was probably right. Her sister was painfully boring. And since she’d kept mum about her past, what could people in town say about her? She was always such a quiet person. I had no idea.... Mindy stood and gathered up her purse. “I think a big part of your problem is that there are too many things you haven’t talked about. Too many secrets. I’m done with all that.” She walked across the room, in the model’s strut she’d learned in acting class, aware of the eyes of everyone on her. Mindy would never let herself be as boring as her sister. No one was watching Shelly now, and that was just the way Mindy liked it.

  “I call this meeting of the Eureka Town Council to order.” Lucille tapped the gavel on the table in the library meeting room Wednesday evening and surveyed the attendees. In addition to council members Katya Paxton, Junior Dominick, and Paul Percival, town attorney Reggie Paxton, and reporter Maggie Clark, Bob Prescott was present to give a report on the Lucky Lady Mine, and Cassie Wynock was here for . . . Lucille didn’t know why Cassie was here, but she showed up more often than not to express her opinion and to push some private agenda. Most of the time the council ignored her, but that never discouraged the librarian.

  A few townspeople were also in attendance, the usual political junkies and folks Lucille suspected had nowhere better to go. As entertainment, council meetings didn’t rate very high, but the optimists always hoped to be present on the night someone—usually Cassie or Bob—stirred up trouble.

  “Has everyone read the minutes from the last meeting?” she asked.

  “No one reads the minutes,” Katya, the council secretary and wife to Reggie, said, opening her notebook.

  “We were all here last time,” Junior said. “We don’t need to read the minutes.”

  “I guess if I ever have trouble with insomnia, I could read them,” Paul said.

  “Would someone please make a motion so we can move on?” Lucille said.

  Junior motioned to approve the minutes, Paul seconded, and the motion passed. Lucille consulted her copy of the agenda. “Bob, give us your report on the Lucky Lady.”

  Bob, dressed as usual in many-pocketed canvas pants and a plaid wool shirt held up by red suspenders, shuffled to his feet. Lanky and bent, with a tonsure of white hair and a bushy white moustache, he might have been sixty or eighty. He had the weathered, solid appearance of stone that was made to endure for centuries. “Everything’s fine at the mine. We passed our safety inspection and we’re making progress on that new drift on level three. The smelter we’re using in B.C. reports good quality on the first haul of concentrate we sent to them.”

  “You should all have copies of the report the smelter sent in your folders,” Katya said.

  Everyone shuffled papers and found the report. Lucille had read it earlier. “We can go over the line items if anyone wants,” she said. “But what’s the bottom line, Bob?”

  “They reckon we can pull gold out of there for at least eight more years at the rate of about nine million dollars’ worth a year, after taxes.”

  “After taxes?” Paul let out a low whistle. “That kind of money could do some real good for our treasury.”

  “Except that half that money goes to Bob,” Junior said. “What are you going to do with that kind of money?”

  Bob tucked his thumbs under his suspenders. “I might buy me a new truck.”

  “Maybe you could start by buying a new pair of pants,” Reggie said, and the room erupted in laughter.

  Lucille waited for the noise to quiet down. “Anything else?” she asked.

  “Do we really have to haul the stuff all the way to British Columbia for processing?” Junior asked.

  “Unless we want to build a smelter of our own, yes,” Bob said. “And you don’t even want to get into the regulations involved in one of those. We’re better off paying the freight to Canada.”

  “Thank you, Bob,” Lucille said. “Moving right along, item number two is preparations for the Hard Rock Days festival. Junior, do you have a report?”

  Junior, a large man who owned a trucking company, hefted himself to his feet. “Everything’s going along on schedule,” he said. “We got all the new banners hung and they look real nice, and we’ve contracted with a printer in Montrose to do the posters. Participants for the Hard Rock Miner competition have until next week to register, and we’ve signed up a good number of businesses and organizations to have craft or food booths in the park.”

  “I hope we get somebody in to make it a real competition this year,” Bob said. “Since Jake Murphy died there hasn’t been anybody to get excited about.”

  “We’ve been advertising at competitions out of state,” Junior said. “We’re hoping we’ll pull in some national talent, as well as the locals.”

  “It’s not as if driving steel drills with hammers is a common skill,” Lucille noted.

  “Well it ought to be,” Bob said. “When the apocalypse comes and we don’t have all this fancy electricity and such, people will have to rely on those old-fashioned skills.”

  Lucille made a mark on her paper, avoiding looking at Bob. At least they could always count on him to add a colorful opinion. “Moving on. Item number three—we need to address the invasive weeds mandate from the state.”

  “Those legislatures must be smoking weed, to think something like this is worth wasting time and money on,” Bob grumbled.

  Lucille ignored him. “We put out bids for mitigation to several concerns that specialize in this sort of thing,” she said. “We asked for as nontoxic an approach as possible, and of course, we don’t have a lot of extra funds in the budget for this sort of thing, so that may have put off some people.”

  “How many bids did we get?” Katya asked.

  “One.” Lucille fished the somewhat wrinkled and barely legible application from a file folder. “Daisy Mott. She has a herd of weed-eating goats over in the San Luis Valley and is willing to bring them here for a month or so and have them eat all the invasive weeds. Her fee is well within our budget and all we have to agree to is to erect temporary fencing to keep the goats contained while they work, and provide a place for her to park her camper.”

  “Goats? Are you serious?” Bob asked.

  “I’ve checked with a couple of other places who have used Ms. Mott’s services and they say it’s about the best thing going, s
hort of strafing everything with toxic chemicals. The animals eat the plants down to the roots and most of them don’t come back. After a couple of years of grazing, the problem is gone.”

  “Sounds like a scam to me,” Bob said. “After all, this place is overrun with deer, and they’re not that different from goats. If they’re not eating the weeds, why should a goat?”

  “Does anyone who’s actually on the council have an opinion on the matter?” Lucille asked.

  “Is she just going to turn the goats loose to wander through town, or what?” Junior asked.

  “The plan is for her to start in the town park, then clean up along that stretch of riverfront we own, and out at the town landfill. They’d work in fenced areas, and Ms. Mott and her dog would stay with them most of the time. I understand she has a trained Australian shepherd.”

  “Ernestine Wynock Park is filled with valuable flowers,” Cassie said. “You can’t let goats in there. They’ll destroy the place.”

  “Ms. Mott says we can fence off the flowers,” Lucille said. “They won’t want most of them, anyway. You know yourself, Cassie, that the garden club planted mostly deer-resistant varieties. My guess is, that makes them goat-resistant, too.”

  Cassie’s sour expression remained unchanged. “I still think it’s a bad idea.”

  “I can’t believe I’m agreeing with Cassie, but I am,” Bob said. “Next thing you know, someone will convince you pigs control mosquitoes and we’ll have them wandering through town.”

  “Whether we like it or not, the state is requiring us to do something to address the problem of invasive weeds,” Lucille said. “Ms. Mott’s services are within our budget, they aren’t toxic to the environment, and they stand a good chance of working.”

  “I motion that we accept Ms. Mott’s bid and hire her and her goats to take care of our weeds,” Katya said.

  “I guess we don’t really have any choice,” Paul said.

  “We could ask for volunteers to pull weeds by hand,” Lucille said. “But doing that could take weeks and I doubt anyone is enough of a glutton for punishment that they’d agree to work that long.”