by Jove Belle
“He can come, too,” Ava said easily.
With that, Olly decided that Ava was okay in her book. She patted her leg, and Rampart hopped up to follow. “Thanks. He does okay on his own, but I like to keep him with me.”
“He’s a good boy. He doesn’t deserve to be exiled to the front step, does he?” Ava started out talking to Olly, but she dropped to her knees to pet Rampart and finished speaking in that silly sing-song voice reserved for babies and animals. Olly didn’t like it when people did that, but Rampart just wagged his tail and leaned into Ava, soaking up the attention with no regard for how ridiculous she sounded.
She finished adoring Rampart and rose to her feet. “Sorry. My wife is allergic, so we can’t have a dog at home. I just have to take advantage when one shows up on my doorstep.”
“Bummer.” Olly wasn’t quite sure how to respond. It sucked that Ava was taken, especially by someone who wouldn’t let her have a dog.
Ava smiled and waved her hand dismissively. “It’s okay. I love dogs, but I love Valentina more.”
“Of course.”
Ava led her through the front of the shop and a set of swinging doors that looked as if they belonged in an Old West saloon. They led to a room that looked to be part office, part break room, and part daycare. The space ran the width of the storefront, but wasn’t very deep, maybe six feet. To the left, a glass door led to a lovely courtyard, and to the right sat a set of wooden stairs that matched the swinging doors in style. Olly hoped they weren’t as fragile as they looked. An overflowing toy box and a shelf full of children’s movies were tucked into the space beneath the stairs. Along the back wall, between the stairs and the glass door, were a couple of modern doors, both closed.
Instead of leading Olly to the storeroom as expected, Ava went to the courtyard. She lit a cigarette and said, “Another thing I can’t do at home because of my wife. Do you want one?”
Olly eyed the pack. She’d quit a couple of years ago, but that didn’t stop her fingers from itching with the instinctual need to take one when offered. Instead, she jammed her hands into her pockets. “No thanks.”
Rampart ran out the door to check out the courtyard. He flopped down on a small patch of grass and sighed.
Olly rocked back on her heels, hands still firmly in her pockets, as she waited for Ava to speak. For her part, Ava seemed content to puff silently on her cigarette and watch Rampart sleep in the grass. She understood that Ava couldn’t exactly give her a tour while smoking, but at the very least they could discuss the details of the job.
She gave up on waiting politely and asked, “So, where’s this stockroom that needs rescuing?”
“Right.” Ava took one last long drag on her cigarette, then extinguished it in a coffee can next to the door. Ava’s wife, Valentina, obviously wasn’t very observant if she hadn’t connected the overflowing makeshift ashtray to Ava, never mind the undeniable smell that clung to smokers.
Olly moved so Ava could step inside. Rampart lifted his head and looked at Olly. She motioned for him to stay and enjoy his nap. He relaxed with another deep, happy sigh.
Ava waved her arm in a sweeping gesture. “Let me give you the grand tour. This is my office.”
An oversized wooden door resting on a pair of sawhorses served as a desk. It held an ancient Windows-based computer. The monitor was dark, and Olly wondered if it even worked. There was also a small table with a set of shelves above it that held a microwave and several boxes of easy-to-prepare foods such as breakfast pastries and fruit cups. In the far corner, beneath the stairs, a teddy bear and a coloring book lay on the floor.
“Do you color?” It seemed unlikely, but the play area confused her.
Ava laughed and shook her head. “Only when my baby asks me to. Sometimes Val brings the girls by.”
So, not only was Ava married to a woman, but they also had children. This small town was obviously more progressive than what she was used to.
“Girls?”
“Clara is three, Corina is eleven months. She just started walking.” Ava spoke with the obvious pride of a parent.
“Congratulations.” Olly didn’t know what else to say. Ava’s life sounded suffocating to her, but Ava obviously liked it if her tone was anything to go by.
Ava chuckled. “Thanks. Domestic bliss really is more than I ever could have wished for. I never would have believed it possible before I met Val.”
Olly nodded and looked around the room. She was pretty sure she’d need to be medicated heavily in order to find anything about a wife and two toddlers blissful, but she wasn’t about to tell Ava that. She still wanted the job. “So, the stockroom?”
“Of course. I was giving you a tour.” Ava crossed the room and stopped at the foot of the stairs. “There’s an apartment of sorts up there. It’s pretty beat up, but it came with the building, and I haven’t had a reason to change it.”
“Do you own or lease?” Olly didn’t care, but she knew it was the polite question to ask. Her mom would have asked and known the benefits of both options, all while quickly calculating how to turn that advantage in her favor. Her mom relished the game more than anyone else Olly knew.
“Own. I bought it when I moved to town. Property’s a lot cheaper here than the Bay Area.”
“Right.”
Ava opened one door to reveal a small bathroom. “This isn’t the storeroom, but you might need to know where the toilet is at some point.”
“Thanks.” Olly tried to keep her voice from curling up into a question at the end, but she wasn’t sure it worked. All she really wanted was to get started on the storeroom, assuming, of course, that Ava actually hired her. She thought she had the job, but this was the strangest interview process she’d ever been through.
Ava did a drum roll with her hands against the wall and said, “And here’s the storeroom. Ta-da!” She swept the door open with a flourish and stood to the side with her arms held out as if she were a model on a television game show.
Olly peered through the doorway, trying to make out the contents in the dim light. She stepped partially into the room, and glanced around for the switch. She found it to the left of the door and flipped it on. An overhead fluorescent tube light flickered on and off before settling in to a low buzzing that produced a pitiful amount of light.
Items were stacked everywhere in a chaotic jumble. She couldn’t make out much except for what looked like an old, tattered barber’s chair, a stack of lumber, and a V-twin engine from a motorcycle. Harley, maybe.
“I have some shop lights at home. I’ll bring them in tomorrow so you can see what you’re doing.”
Olly nodded. As much as she wanted to get started today, that clearly wasn’t an option. “Tell me what you want done.”
“I want some shelves built along the walls. You can do that, right?” Ava looked momentarily panicked. Perhaps she’d just realized that she hadn’t actually interviewed Olly and had no clue what she was capable of.
Olly half-smiled, one side of her mouth curling upward, and nodded. “Yep. I can do that.”
“Oh, good. I forgot to ask.” She turned back to the room and gestured toward a few items that Olly couldn’t make out. “I want to sort through the stuff and separate it by work and home, keep and toss. The work stuff I want here, easy to get to. The home stuff I want to take out back and set on fire.”
“Really?” Bitterroot was a small town, so maybe it was possible that their fire codes allowed for random bonfires within city limits.
“Yes, but I won’t. Valentina would kill me. My plan is to get her down here and make her decide what to do with it. All I know is, I can’t very well expand my front area if I have every leftover piece of our personal lives stuffed back here. But, it all starts with shelves.”
“Do you have the materials?” Olly had a hammer and a small level in her truck, but she didn’t have a stock of lumber or nails.
“Yeah, right there.” Ava pointed to a tarp-covered pile.
Olly peeked un
der the tarp and did some basic calculations in her head about what the length, width, and height the shelves needed to be. She nodded slowly as the vision of the finished stockroom came into focus in her mind. “Got it.”
“So, you’ll start tomorrow? I’m usually here by one.”
“Sounds good. I’ll see you then.”
Olly called Rampart on her way toward the door. There was a lot of time between now and tomorrow afternoon. Perhaps the apple guy could offer some insight on the second card as well. Two jobs meant twice the money, and that was never a bad thing.
Chapter Four
Beth stumbled out of the bathroom looking no better than when she’d gone in. Her hair was a tousled mess and her eyes half-closed. She bumped into the door frame and swore under her breath, then stepped fully into the room. She rubbed sleep from her eyes with the back of her fist and blinked. With gestures like that, Sam could almost see the little girl she used to be instead of the angry young woman she’d become. “Why am I awake this early?”
“Do you want coffee?”
“I’d kill for some.”
“That’s why you’re up.” Sam grabbed the keys from the dresser and slipped a sweatshirt over her head. Even in late summer, Idaho mornings were still cool. “Let’s go.”
“Can’t you just bring me some?”
“I could, but hopefully we won’t be coming back.” Everything was packed, and she’d optimistically loaded their suitcases into the car. Hopefully, she’d see the hotel differently after a night to process what she’d found yesterday. If not, at least this place seemed to have quite a few vacancies. They should be able to get a room again that night if necessary.
“Right.” Beth pushed her hands through her hair and brought it down to an almost manageable tangle. She still wore the battered Metallica T-shirt and torn jeans she’d put on the previous morning, and it was unlikely that they’d been clean then. “Can we even get coffee this early?”
Sam had thought about keeping a change of clothes out for Beth, but odds were she’d hate whatever she selected on principle.
“I hope so.” She checked the time on her phone. It was 6:30, earlier than Beth had been up in months. The question about finding a place to get coffee wouldn’t have come up in Vegas, but Bitterroot ran on a different schedule. She wasn’t sure they could find a place open, but she had to try. The insurance office opened at eight, and she was determined to be their first phone call of the day. She had a lot to get done before that.
Beth followed her out the front door and then stopped abruptly. Her lips curled up in disgust. “God, what is that smell?”
Sam took a deep breath. The sun hung low in the Eastern sky and the only scent was fresh mountain air. “What?”
Beth glared as she shoved her sunglasses into place. “Smells like morning.”
Sam laughed even though Beth wasn’t trying to be funny. She opened her arms wide as if to embrace the world. “I love it.”
“Ugh.”
“I promise you’ll get used to it. Life surrounded by neon and cigarette smoke isn’t natural.”
“You keep telling me that, but I don’t believe you.” Beth sounded almost amused. She pulled a Marlboro Red box from her jacket pocket. It was slightly crushed and only had three cigarettes inside. Beth slipped one between her lips and lit it.
Now was as good a time as any to revisit their conversation about Beth’s smoking. It was another habit she had picked up from Denmar. Sam would bet her new property that his mom supplied them to her as well. But it also was yet another indication that she had dropped the ball as a parent and that hurt worse. “You know you’re going to quit that, right?”
Beth took a long drag and then held the cigarette up. She studied it as she exhaled a stream of grey smoke. She blew it up and away from Sam, but the wind caught it and pushed it into Sam’s face anyway. She tried not to cough. She was used to the dull, dingy layers of smoke that hung in the air in Vegas, but the direct bolt of a fresh cigarette still got to her.
“Why would I quit?” Beth continued to look at her cigarette rather than lifting her gaze to meet Sam’s. Surprisingly, she spoke with a level, metered tone, rather than yelling. Sam considered that progress.
“Because your lungs hate you when you do it.” Sam had done an endless amount of research about the health problems related to smoking and second-hand smoke, all of which she’d tried to talk about with Beth. The words bounced right off Beth, though, because she was still young enough to feel invincible. Sam cried anytime she allowed herself to really think about what Beth was choosing to do to herself.
“My lungs don’t hate me. They hate you for making me get up so early.”
Sam shook her head and decided to change tactics. If Beth didn’t care about her health, perhaps Sam could make some headway with logic. “You’re almost out. Who are you going to get to buy for you here?”
Beth finally looked at her. “I’m sure I’ll figure something out.”
So much for logic. “I won’t do it.”
Short of strapping Beth to a chair twenty-four hours a day, there was no realistic way for Sam to stop Beth from smoking if she really wanted to do it, but Sam wouldn’t provide her with a constant supply, either.
“I won’t ask you.”
Of course she wouldn’t. Her fifteen-year-old daughter probably had a fake ID that listed her age as twenty-four. At least Beth wouldn’t have a corner store within walking distance of home like there was in Vegas, and she was still too young to drive, if only for a few more months.
There was nothing else to say. She wasn’t giving up, but it was time for her to regroup and try a different approach another day. “Come on. It looks like the office is open. Maybe we can get coffee there.”
The complimentary continental breakfast really didn’t appeal to Sam, but if her options were bad coffee or no coffee, the choice was obvious. And if they were lucky enough to find an open coffee stand on the side of the road, she could always dump it out.
Beth stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray next to the lobby door. Sam shook her head, but didn’t say anything. She hated that Beth smoked, but she hated a lot of other things that Beth did, too. The important part was to remember that, despite all the bumps, she loved her daughter. Not to mention, Beth was preprogrammed to run in the opposite direction when Sam pushed too hard.
As expected, the lobby had a pastry box of goodies and a pump dispenser full of coffee. She filled a cup for Beth, then one for herself. Beth selected a bear claw and an apple strudel from the box. The sign on the table said one pastry per person, and the man working the front desk glared at her. Sam smiled at him and thanked him for the coffee, but she didn’t make Beth put one back. She wasn’t eating one, so it balanced out if Beth ate two.
They drove to the Queen in relative silence. Sam enjoyed her surprisingly good coffee combined with the stillness of morning in Bitterroot. In Vegas, the time didn’t matter. People smoked and gambled at all hours, and the sallow tint the fluorescent lights cast over their skin didn’t change if it was noon or midnight. Here, the morning was crisp and quiet. She felt a reverence at the passing of time, something she’d never experienced before. Her trepidation about moving eased to a dull, manageable buzz. She had a lot of work in front of her, but Bitterroot was a pretty picturesque place to do it.
Beth wore her sunglasses and slept the twenty minutes it took to drive to the Queen. Somehow, she managed not to drop her coffee, which was impressive. When the Queen came into view, Beth pulled her sunglasses down and looked over the top of the lenses. Apparently, she hadn’t been sleeping after all. “Mom, what’s that?”
Beth pointed to the back corner of the lot. A blue International Scout was parked there, almost behind the building and partially covered by overgrown shrubbery. Sam frowned. If it was the same kids who destroyed the motel, they were out awfully late. Or early, depending. Either way, the vehicle clearly didn’t belong there.
“What the hell?” Sam pulled slowly
into the lot. She wanted to go over and tell the driver to get off her property, but she also didn’t want to get murdered by a small town serial killer and then left undiscovered in the bushes for months. Maybe she should call the police. Too bad she packed up her pepper spray with all her personal belongings. It was currently in the shipping container somewhere between Vegas and here.
As she dialed the number for the local police, Beth leaned against the hood of their car, slipped another cigarette between her lips, and looked thoroughly bored as she lit it. If she was concerned about the driver of the Scout, it didn’t show.
Sam pointed at Beth, disappointed that she was smoking again so quickly. “We’ll talk about that in a minute.”
As she listened to the phone ring, an engine roared to life. A moment later, the vehicle drove past her and out of the parking lot. The driver—a young woman with dark hair and olive skin—turned right, headed into town. The vehicle disappeared in the distance before Sam even thought about writing down the license plate number.
She disconnected the call. Sure, she could still report the incident, but what would she say? “Yes, I’d like to report a parked car. No, it’s no longer parked.”
She made a quick check of the property where the Scout had been parked, just in case. There was no new damage to the structure. It even looked as though the debris in the immediate area had been cleared away. Rather than the empty beer cans and pizza boxes she’d expected, there wasn’t a single sign that a party had taken place in this section of the lot.
Sam glanced at her watch. She had a full hour until the insurance agency opened for business. That gave her enough time to take detailed photos of the damage and track down the inspection report that had been completed prior to her making an offer on the Queen. That was in the same storage container as her pepper spray, but hopefully the realtor, a local woman who talked fast and without pausing to breathe, would have a copy. If not, she should have the contact information for the inspector.
