by Jody Holford
“I’m not going to be in tomorrow. Think I caught something from the old lady. I’ll see you Saturday.”
Irritation made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. He was so abrupt.
“Is that something you need to clear with Alan?”
Vernon’s throaty chuckle grated over her skin. “I don’t think he’ll complain. In fact, I don’t think he’ll say anything about it at all.”
Molly’s brows nearly touched. She did not understand this man, but staffing and sick days were not her concern. Still, she didn’t like the nagging suspicion he was avoiding her.
She set her soda on the counter and pressed her palm flat against the cool surface. Through clenched teeth, she asked, “Are we going to stay at odds? Because it’s tiring.”
“Get used to it, sweetheart. Life is tiring.” She heard him shuffling and he didn’t bother to cover the phone when he called out, “Keep your pants on. I’m coming. I have to go. Got a visitor.”
He hung up on her and the shock of it had her staring at her screen. All she could think was who would visit him willingly? Maybe it was food delivery. What an annoying, self-absorbed jerk. Molly worked not to judge people based on one or two incidents, but it was becoming impossible to see Vernon as anything other than a miserable old man.
Grabbing another handful of chips, she chewed angrily, trying to work her way back to a good mood. She thought of calling Alan to get Ms. Phillips’s home number. Maybe she should have gone with her gut and interviewed the woman herself.
Giving up on work, Molly decided to change into her comfiest pajamas and binge watch Veronica Mars. It would take a lot more than one dour, has-been reporter to chase her out of this sweet little town. She’d find her way and her place and she’d do her job well. She’d make friends and keep them. Heck, maybe she’d even swing by to get her oil checked whether it needed it or not. The memory of the mechanic’s warm smile was enough to incite her own. There were plenty of nice people in town.
Molly wouldn’t turn tail and run because one man in a town of many had decided he hated her. For no reason at all.
Chapter 4
On Saturday, Molly wasn’t late, but she definitely wasn’t early. Intent on sticking to a routine that didn’t include rushing into the office just to show she was there first, she swung into one of the diagonal parking spots outside of Morning Muffins. Sam Alderich stood at the counter, one jean-clad hip against it, chatting with Bella Reid, the baker and owner of the delectable-smelling shop.
“Good morning. Molly, right?” Bella asked, her dark, pixie-cut hair making her look more like a wood nymph than a baker.
Sam’s eyes met Molly’s and that tumble in her stomach she’d felt the first time, returned. She gave a small wave, hoping her cheeks weren’t flushing pink just from seeing his happy smile.
“Morning, Bella. And yes, it’s Molly. Hi Sam.”
“Hi Molly.” His eyes were lit with amusement and she wondered if he woke up with that mischievous grin.
“What can I get for you?” Bella asked as Molly approached the counter. Sam didn’t move over one inch, so the scent of his cologne and…him washed over her, smelling almost as good as the coffee and muffins. She was extremely pleased that she’d showered with the subtle, berry-scented shampoo she’d purchased.
“I’ll take a double-blueberry scone and a jumbo latte,” Molly answered.
While Bella grabbed her order, Sam sipped his coffee, glancing at her and making nerves zip up and down her spine. Nothing to be nervous about. He’s just a guy. And you don’t care because you’re all about work. All work or not, it would be hard not to notice the way his jeans hugged him perfectly or how at ease he was in his own space. In her space.
“How’s the Jeep?” Sam asked.
“Great. Thanks. And for the carriage-house recommendation.”
“No problem. I didn’t say anything about her being my mom because I didn’t want it to be weird, like—Hey, my mom has a place. She likes having you there. Says you’re good people.”
Molly laughed as she angled toward him. That sounded like something Katherine would say. Sam’s dark hair fell onto his forehead just a little, making her fingers itch to push it back. Fingers to yourself! She did not, however, make any attempt to put space between them.
“You look just like her,” Molly said.
Both of his dark eyebrows rose as Bella came back with her coffee and scone.
“I look like my mom? Um…thank you?” Amusement colored his tone.
Bella laughed and Molly peeked at the floor, wishing it would slip out from under her. Heat rose over every inch of her skin, but she made herself look up at him as she tried to explain.
“I just—she has—eyes. You have her eyes.” And you’re just making it worse.
She pulled a five-dollar bill out of her pocket and set it on the counter. The nice thing about small towns was five bucks would cover it. The not-so-great thing was despite feeling like she’d just stuffed her hands into her mouth up to her elbows, there was nowhere to hide.
“I’m just teasing. I knew what you meant,” Sam said.
When her eyes met his again, the warmth in his gaze settled her nerves. Bella pushed the five dollars back to her.
“First time is on the house,” Bella said.
Because she wasn’t done being ridiculous, Molly said, “But I’ve been here before.”
Bella’s light laugh filled the awkward space. “First time I serve you.”
Molly grabbed her bill, her stuff, and started backing away. She hooked a thumb over her shoulder, pointing to the door.
“I should go. You know, news to report and all that jazz.”
Sam smirked and Bella smiled like Molly hadn’t just made a fool of herself.
“Have a good day,” Bella called.
“See you around, Molly,” Sam said.
Molly waved and got into her Jeep with measured movements. The last thing she needed was to drop her coffee or her breakfast right there in front of them. She resisted the urge to lay her head on the steering wheel. Get over yourself. It’s no big deal. Right. What was a little foot-in-mouth-disease while talking to the one guy in town who made her heart hammer like a woodpecker gone mad? You don’t even know him. Stop it. Taking her own advice, she started her vehicle and headed to the paper. The other nice thing about small towns was it took less than three minutes to get there. Maybe she should start walking to work.
Inside, she looked through her email while she inhaled her scone. Bella Reid was a culinary magician. Molly savored the last bite, thinking Guy Fieri should bring his red convertible to Britton Bay and check out the local food hot spots. He wouldn’t be disappointed.
Washing down the scone with a long swallow of coffee, Molly checked the time on the computer. Where was everyone? They seemed to have an erratic start time, but Molly figured that was because she’d practically been showing up at dawn. As if she’d summoned company, she heard the front door bell jingle. Through her open office door, she saw Clay come strolling in, no pen cap in his mouth this morning. Maybe he ate something different for breakfast today.
“Morning,” he said, not meeting her gaze.
“Morning,” she replied, finishing up an email.
When she joined Clay, he was working with the layout of next week’s edition on the computer. It was looking good. Glancing at the time again, she wondered where Alan, Elizabeth, and Vernon were. No one had been bothered by Vernon’s absence yesterday, but today should have been business as usual. It was nearly nine. With the current edition printing today, Molly hoped they’d be able to follow up on some of the stories they were looking at.
When Elizabeth and Alan came in together at nine-thirty, Molly glanced up from her desk where she was proofing the articles Elizabeth had written on the local happenings around town.
“Good morning,”
Elizabeth called out, going straight to her desk.
“Morning.”
Alan went directly into his office, offering only a small wave. Molly tried very hard not to speculate and distracted herself with wondering, again, where Vernon was.
“Is Vernon often late?” Molly asked as she walked to Elizabeth’s desk.
Her hair was wound into a tight bun and she wore very little makeup. She was a pretty woman regardless, but the way she held and carried herself made her elegant as well.
She pursed her lips. “No. Not that I can recall. Want me to phone him?”
Molly shook her head. “No. I’ll do it.”
She left them to their work while she phoned Vernon and left a message on his voicemail. When he hadn’t responded an hour later, she swung by Alan’s office.
He was running his hands through his hair, staring down at a piece of paper that had clearly been folded several times. When she knocked on the door, he startled, closed up the paper, and forced a smile.
“How’s it going?”
“Mostly okay. Vernon is late and Elizabeth says that’s not the norm. I’m wondering if maybe someone should swing by his house.”
Alan frowned, checking the time. “He’s never late. I was surprised he even took a day off yesterday. Two in a row isn’t his style. Did you phone him?”
Molly nodded, curious about the paper under her boss’s hand.
“I can go over,” Alan said. His tone was heavy.
“Why don’t I go? I need to learn my way around and I’m worried that he’s not here because I’ve hit him over the head with a bunch of new expectations.”
She wouldn’t feel guilty for doing the job she was hired to do, but maybe she could have tread a little lighter. Her eagerness, to others, might seem like forcefulness.
“You’re only doing what I’ve asked you to. But sure, why don’t you run by his place. You can take Clay with you,” Alan offered.
It was Molly’s turn to give a false smile. “I won’t be long and he’s working on the paper.”
Alan nodded and when Molly walked away, she looked over her shoulder, toward the open office door. He’d unfolded the paper and was frowning at it. Obviously, not happy news. None of your business. Curiosity was in her nature, though, so it was hard not to wonder. Plus, she genuinely liked him. Whatever it was he’d read, hopefully it wasn’t anything too bad.
Once she was in her Jeep, Molly followed the GPS instructions and drove away from Main Street into a more residential neighborhood. She passed Britton Bay High and the library, as well as city hall, the police station, and a few parks. The bus stops she saw had large, barrel-style planters on either side of them and were bursting with colorful flowers. A couple people were out walking or doing yard work. Idyllic, she thought. It was a sweet little town; big enough so that she would never know everyone, but small enough to feel like she knew many.
Vernon lived in a duplex about ten minutes from the paper. His aging, gray Toyota sat parked in the gravel driveway. She pulled in behind it, wondering if he was just having a tantrum. Cut him some slack. Maybe he wanted and deserved the editing job and some girl swoops in from California and takes it? She didn’t do a lot of swooping, but she could empathize with the idea of things not working out as he might have hoped. Still, it didn’t excuse not showing up for work.
Taking a deep breath and hoping the ocean air was filled with courage, she knocked with three hard raps on the door. She waited. Looking around from her spot on the concrete steps, she noted the yard was well cared for. The house itself was in good repair, painted a soft gray. She couldn’t picture him home on the weekends doing yard work or puttering around. You don’t know him.
Since finding her ex with his ex, Molly worried maybe she wasn’t the best judge of character. The thought was unsettling. As was the silence. She knocked again. Had he looked out the window and seen her Jeep? The window to the right of the door had dark curtains over it. She pressed the doorbell and listened to the cheerful chime.
Her hand went to the doorknob before she even thought through how silly it was to turn it. But when she did, she found it unlocked. She snorted out a breath of surprise. Small-town living. No way would she have left her door unlocked in her old place. Or this one. Some city-girl habits were too well ingrained.
Uncertainty clawed at her chest. If Vernon wasn’t a fan of her, coming into his house after he’d ignored her would not win him over. Straightening her shoulders, she opened the door a little wider.
“Vernon?” She put one foot in and tried to peek through the small opening she’d made. “Vernon? It’s me, Molly.”
The smell of alcohol hit hard. Molly scrunched up her nose. Maybe he wasn’t pouting at all. From the smell of things, he was sleeping one off. The idea made her angry. If he didn’t like her, fine. But don’t use it as an excuse to be utterly irresponsible.
Molly opened the door wider and stepped into the house. She didn’t shut the door behind her, figuring the place could do with some air.
“Vernon? Are you awake? You’re late for work,” she called.
An unwelcome thought jumped into her brain—what if he was with someone? Oh please don’t let me see that. Slowing her steps, listening just in case, she shuffled down the narrow hallway. When she got to the end of it, there was a kitchen in front of her, a sunken living room to the right, and another hall to the left. From where she stood, she could see a television, a chair, and a wood-burning fireplace. Molly rounded the corner, wondering if he’d passed out on the couch.
When she saw Vernon lying on the floor near an antique pine desk, she stopped in her tracks. Idiot. He’d never even made it to the sofa. He’d just passed out right on the carpet. Taking the two steps down and then moving toward him, Molly’s frustration rose like bubbles in a boiling pot. What a child.
“Wake up. This is ridiculous. Vernon! You need—”
Her words stuck in her throat as if she’d swallowed them wrong. Her vision blurred: The sight of Vernon lying facedown danced in front of her like an old film reel. He was lying in a pool of deep, rusty red liquid. Molly’s stomach revolted, but she forced herself to lean closer.
“Vernon. Can you hear me? It’s me, Molly. Vernon!”
She pressed her fingers to his neck, knowing by the cool feel of his skin that she’d find nothing. Had he hit his head? How could that kill him? She looked around frantically, wrestling with the zipper on her purse. She pulled out her phone just as her eyes landed on a stainless steel mug—one of those big, sturdy ones that she’d seen at construction sites. It was lying close to the body, on its side. Panic launched in her chest like a rocket. There was blood on the bottom of it.
She dialed 911. Small towns had that, right?
Without realizing it, Molly had edged backwards, away from Vernon’s body. She hit the step with her ankles and lost her footing, falling and landing on her backside, as an operator picked up.
“Nine-one-one. Fire, police, or ambulance?”
Molly backed herself against the wall, unable to take her eyes off of the man she’d come to maybe form a truce with.
“Ambulance. Police. Both. I think there’s been a murder,” Molly said into the phone. She didn’t recognize her own voice.
Chapter 5
Molly wasn’t sure what to do in the moments between the phone call and the arrival of the police. Her eyes scanned the room endlessly as she tried to avoid focusing on the dead body. The dead body. She’d lived in major metropolises around the world and never had she stumbled into a crime scene. A crime scene. Oh my God. Breathe. Her eyes fell on Vernon again.
The stillness of his body stole her breath. Aside from the stainless steel cup lying a foot from Vernon’s head, there was an upturned glass with a stain surrounding the carpet around it near the back of the desk. If she had to guess, she’d say there had been scotch in it—the stench stil
l hung heavy in the room. It was making her stomach pitch. Molly pressed one hand to her stomach, while clutching her phone with the other. The tiny chip on the corner of the case—from dropping it on the cement—dug into her hand, but she didn’t loosen her grip. The sting of it against her palm was tangible evidence she was alive and seeing this now. Alive. Unlike Vernon. Molly drew in a ragged breath, pushing back against the wall and somehow managing to find enough strength in her wobbly legs to force her up.
She couldn’t look at him any longer. Keeping her back to the wall, needing the support it offered, she eased her way along until she was back to the intersection of the hallway. Just leave. You can wait outside. One foot in front of the other. Go. Molly hesitated, her legs feeling loose and uncooperative. Leaning over, she placed her hands on her knees and hung her head, breathing slow and deep. Nausea roiled in her stomach like she’d downed a liter of scotch herself.
A car door slammed outside. Molly lifted just her head, which felt heavy. Her eyes landed on a piece of plastic. Scrunching her brows together, forgetting the weakness in her lower limbs, she took a step closer to where the hallway led out of the house. Nestled in the carpet, resting along the white molding like it had recently been dropped, was a pen cap. Her heart seized. She got close enough to see the indentations in it—the bite marks— then froze as uniformed officers entered the house.
The officer who spoke first seemed very young. Or maybe Molly just felt very old in this moment.
“Ma’am? You’re the one who called in a possible murder?”
The officer behind him had his hand on his gun, but the one who spoke just had a hand up, palm out, his body in the ready position. Ready for what? For apprehending you! You just found a dead body. Oh God. Do not pass out. Calm down, you’re going to hyperventilate. Pull yourself together. You’re being ridiculous.
“Ma’am? I’m Officer Beatty. Are you the one who called nine-one-one?”
She stood tall, breathed in and out through her nose. “Yes. My name is Molly Owens. I’m new in town and work at the Britton Bay Bulletin. I was coming to check on Vernon East because he didn’t show up for work this morning.”
