by Jacquie Gee
“Good. Because we have to get to work on a solution, fast. You on board to help me, then?”
“That all depends.” He frowns. “You’re not planning on murdering, are you?”
“No, not just yet.”
“Well, that’s comforting to know.” He drags a hand through his hair. "You wanna tell me what’s really going on?”
“You’d do anything to help my Mom, right?”
“That goes without saying.”
“Well then, consider yourself part of mission ‘save the bridge.’”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, am I hearing this right?” Trent’s mouth pulls into a shifty-looking smile. “Is Becca Lane switching to the dark side? I could have sworn you didn’t give a hooey about the bridge just a few hours back.”
“Yeah, well, I still don’t.” I turn heel and head toward the door, taking hold of the doorknob. “But I give more than a hooey about my Mom. And since she is apparently, insufferably attached to the old bucket of wood and bolts, I find myself needing to take action on her behalf.”
Trent crosses his arms. “I do believe you’ve been bitten by the Heartland Cove bug, Miss Becca. I just don’t think you know it yet.”
“Yeah, well, don’t fool yourself.” I swing the door open. “I was born and raised here, remember.”
“All the more reason for it to take effect.”
I smile and walk through the door. “You’re sure this won’t involve killing anybody?”
“No murder.” I grin. “But perhaps espionage.”
“Espionage is my specialty.” He winks. Dimples deep as trenches cut into the sides of his whisker-shadowed cheeks as he smiles, and I’m so happy he’s willing to help I have the sudden urge to cup his cheeks and kiss him.
Golly wow, where did that impulse come from?
“Okay, so, I’ll be back.”
“Wait a minute.” I turn to leave, and he pulls me back, his fingers tight on my arm. We stand so close we’re belly to belly, eye to eye, his warm, sweet breath raining down over me. “It’s going to be pretty hard to fight for something you don’t believe in, don’t you think?”
“Who said I don’t believe?”
“You, yesterday, on the bridge.” He lowers his head, along with his voice.
“Well, that was yesterday.” I smile, breath racing, as he stares down at me, the look in his eyes making my whole body vibrate. I feel my neck reddening with that crazy sensation you get when you know you've just been checked out by a super-hot guy, and he's rated you a ten. "I'd better go," I say, stepping back from his chest when his warm, broad hands encompass my waist. He pulls me to him, the look in his eyes holding me steadfast. I should leave, I’m not ready for this. For several heartbeats, we just stand there staring, his chest rising and falling against my own, my knees giving way. Every fiber of my being is alive with his touch.
Don’t go there, Becca, don’t go there…
“What is it?” he asks, noting the slight tremble in my lips. I see his eyes dash there and back. “Is something wrong?” He steps away, as I lower my head, overcome by grief and regret. Not about him, or this, about me. About my abandoning Mom here all alone, not being here when she needed me most—about being so caught up in my own selfish life, I didn’t even recognize the signs.
I don’t know why, but in that moment I tell him everything. Every raw, rotten detail of what I’m thinking. “I don’t understand how everything got so out of control, so fast. I never would have left her here, all alone with no help, if I’d known.” My voice quavers. “She kept it from me. She kept so much from me.” I sniff, running the back of my trembling hand under my nose.
“Hey, hey, hey.” Trent moves in, wrapping his arms around my waist, and I drop my head against his chest, holding him tighter than I have held anyone in years, my heart strumming hard against his. “It’s okay. It’s okay,” he whispers, petting my head, his lips close to my hair. “It’s all right, it’s all right, now. everything’s gonna be okay.” He rubs circles over my back with his palms. “You’re here now. Everything’s gonna be all right,” he whispers. “Trust me, I known what it means to feel like you’ve failed them.”
I pull him close, fighting tears.
“Did you want me to use sausage in the Creole jambalaya tonight, or tofu?” Pamela enters the room abruptly, kitchen door swinging at her back. “Whoops.” She reverses, trotting backward into the kitchen. “Never mind, I’m not here.”
“No, Pamela,” Trent calls out. “It’s okay, come on in.” He drops his arms from my waist. His cheeks look flushed. He’s a little embarrassed, I can tell.
“Yeah,” I say, falling back from him. “I was just leaving.” I rub the tears from my cheeks and nod in his direction. “Definitely not the tofu,” I say to Pamela on my way out the door. “Nothing like eating tofu at a place called Green Grub.”
Chapter 24
I skip down the steps of the front porch and out across the road, toward the parking lot of Mom’s store. I haven’t felt this wondrously hopeful since I arrived back home. Trent’s right. It is gonna be okay.
I’m gonna make it okay.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of something moving around under the bridge. Startled, I whirl around. There are no tour buses here, so the place should be desolate.
I race to the side of the bank to check it out, catching sight of a dark figure of stocky build slinking along the far bank. I squint to catch a glimpse of his face around the girders, but he keeps his back to me. He’s dressed all in black, which also seems out of place. What would someone be doing sneaking around down there?
I start to head down the hill and notice he’s gone. Completely gone. Like he’s vanished.
My eyes flick to the road, where a car speeds away.
A Lexus.
Chapter 25
“Penny. I need to talk to Aunt Penny about this.”
I sprint up the bank and straight into Mrs. Williams Busy Body herself. What brings that bat out of her cave this fine morning?
“You know they really should replace that.” She squints up at the peg-board sign over the bridge. The kind where white peg letters stick into a black backboard. The ‘V’ is missing from the word Cove, along with an ‘L’ from the word longest, and the ‘A’ from America…
Heartland Co e. The Home of North merica’s Second- ongest Bridge, it reads.
That’s pretty unimpressive, I must admit. Suppose Aunt Penny and Mom haven’t had time to fix that either.
“Not that it matters much now,” she adds.
What’s that supposed to mean?
“You on your way to the meeting?” her shrill voice peaks. She bats her lashes and raises her steno pad, indicating she’s on official business. It must be something of importance, Mrs. Williams’ voice always gets higher the sweeter the gossip.
There goes my good mood.
“What meeting?” I ask, playing into her hand.
“Why, only one of most important one of the year.” She adjusts her cat’s-eye frames. “You seriously don’t’ know?”
“Would I be asking if I did.”
She grins, thrilled she gets to slather me in info. “Well, only that your former beau called a meeting this morning, regarding the emergency state of Heartbeat Bridge.”
“Emergency state?”
“Yes. Something about its engineering being in jeopardy.” She flips a dismissive hand toward the bridge. “The age of that thing. It’s a wonder it hasn’t killed us all before now.” She chuckles. “Anyway,” she cups a hand to her mouth like she’s about to share a secret. “It’s my understanding they’re considering bringing the old crate down.”
“Down?”
“Yes. As in demolishing it,” she whispers. “But you didn’t hear that from me.”
“Why?”
“I dunno. Something to do with faulty beams about to give way.” She lowers her voice even further. “Rumor has it, he’s brought the Ministry in to shut it down right away.”
“Oh, a good reporter never gives away her sources.” Mrs. Williams shakes her head, her cheeks flushing. “But you can hear it for yourself. The meeting’s about to start. I was just on my way over.” She averts her eyes to a small clutch of people who’ve begun to gather on the opposite side of the bridge. “It’s a wonder your mama hasn’t heard anything.” She arcs her brows. “Being she’s the rightful owner of the bridge, and all.”
I glance over at the people, and then at the bridge. There’s no way there’s anything wrong with it. That bridge has withstood wind, weather, and storms for over a hundred years now. It’s survived floods, hurricanes, ice jams, even one tornado. If something were wrong with it, we’d know it. This has to be a ploy.
“The meeting. Where is it?” I snap her way.
“Why, at the town hall of course.”
“The Town Hall?”
We don’t have a town hall, last time I checked. We’ve never had a town hall.
“Out in front of Bates’ bait shop,” Vera admits. “Should be startin’ any minute.”
I barely hear the end of her sentence as I burst into the entrance of the bridge
“Wait!” Vera breaks into a plump-legged jog after me. “We can go together!” She waves her steno pad over her head.
Sunlight stripes my face through the slatted wood plank sides of the bridge as I race the length of its covered interior, and breathlessly out on the opposite side of the river.
Jebson Jefferies stands on a lobster box out front of Bates’ Baits, preparing to address the small conclave of neighbors who have gathered.
Chapter 26
There are not enough people here to form a consensus by any means, so if he’s looking for a vote, he’s out of luck. Thank goodness. I take out my phone and ring Aunt Penny. No use upsetting Mom, but I sure would like her here to hear this with me.
The phone rings and rings. No one picks up.
I drop it back into my pocket, frightened by the increasing numbers of the crowd. Who knows what Jebson’s up to here? There seem to be more and more people flooding in from all directions now. Vera had to be lying. This isn’t an emergency. People must have known this meeting was going to happen.
Everyone, it seems, but us.
There are enough gawkers here to fuel the rumor mill. Which Vera is sure to activate.
And what starts as a rumor in this town has an odd way of becoming truth.
This is fast becoming a dangerous thing.
Mrs. Williams comes charging up beside me, winded, her hair all out of place. She flips me a dirty look and then drops into the crowd, elbowing her way to the front. She announces of course, who she is and why she’s here, to everyone who will listen, reminding people along the way of her inflated importance. I decide to stay at the back, unseen until the time is right.
The crowd becomes anxious, and Jebson raises his head. He taps the microphone that’s been set up on a lectern out front of Bates’ store, holds his chin held high like he’s some preacher at a pulpit, and begins. “As you all know…” The cheap sound system squelches, drowning him out. He makes some adjustments, looking annoyed, and tries again. “As you all know, if you’ve been keeping up with the Mayor’s Office communiqué, Heartbeat Bridge has become somewhat of a constant concern, of late.”
Concern? For whom?
“And it has been for quite some time now. A cross the community has had to bear.”
The community? Try my mother. What a liar!
People mill and fidget. They’re not buying it either. But no one seems willing to challenge Jebson out loud, so the absurd meeting progresses.
“What with the discovery of the unpaid taxes owing to the community, and now the looming cost of repair.”
Repair? What repair?
“What was that?” someone finally shouts out loud. It’s a man in pants with suspenders holding them up. When he steps out of the crowd, I recognize him as Mr. Hoskins from the mill. “I’ve not heard of any repairs.”
And he should know. The wood would have to come from him.
“Neither have I,” Mr. Anderson steps forward. He works down at the local lumberyard along with Mr. Hoskins.
Mr. Ducharme steps up next. “Nor me.” He works down at the local deli, but still.
“Me either.” Audrey Pinsonnault bravely speaks up. She’s a secretary.
“Nor, I.” I finally reveal myself, stepping from the shadows into the center of the road. Jebson’s eyes settle on me. They spark with a startled flash.
What, weren’t you expecting me?
“And as the owner of the bridge, or rather, on behalf of my mother.” I lower my chin. “I’d like to say, neither of us has heard a word about any need for repair.”
Jebson’s lips part. He’s prepared to fight me, hard, I can tell. “Perhaps, just as with the taxes, the owner can’t remember she's been informed of the situation.” He drags his scathing words out for the crowd.
“Lies,” I say.
“I beg your pardon?”
“All lies. You’re a liar.”
Jebson’s glare fixes on me. His face turns red. He looks about to combust. “I think it might be best if you check your information before making such accusations.” The crowd’s attention shifts to him.
“I might suggest the same protocol to you. You see, neither my mother nor I recall any details of any so-called need for repair. ’Cause there is no for repair. The bridge is perfectly sound.” I hold my ground and stare him down.
“Or maybe, your mother has just avoided the situation, just as she’s chosen to do about the taxes she owes.”
“Oh, cut the crap, Jebson. You know there aren’t any taxes. Just as you know, there's nothing wrong with the bridge. You’re making the whole thing up to sway people’s thinking. To get what you want.”
“If that’s true, then why am I holding a quote for repairs?” He flips a bill up.
The crowd gasps. Their eyes fall on me.
My eyes travel quickly to a man dressed in black, standing at his shoulder that I haven’t noticed until now. He steps away, after handing him the paper. “Perhaps we could go over this another time, Miss Lane.” Jebson glares at me.
“Prove it,” I say. “Show it to me. Show me the repairs. Show us where the bridge needs repairing.” I throw out my arms, meaning everyone in the crowd. “I’m sure we’d like to see it for ourselves. Being that so many people’s livelihoods here are directly connected.” I break from the crowd, wading my way toward the front, my eyes still on Jebson, stopping directly in front of him. “Seems only fair, since I hear a rumor you might be shutting it down.”
“Shutting it down!” the crowd gasps.
Vera Williams throws me the filthiest look she ever has.
“I think it’s time he substantiates his claims, don’t you?” I turn to the crowd. “Put’s his money where his mouth is, for once.” This makes them laugh. “After all,” I turn back to him, “You did call in the Ministry. Don’t wanna waste the big wig’s time.” I slide my gaze from Jebson to the man in the suit, who I can only assume is the mystery Ministry man, considering he’s the only other person next to the man in black, that I don’t know in the crowd. “Is that what I hear?” I glance again at Vera, who is positively steaming.
Jebson’s head snaps around. He scans the crowd, locking his angry sights on Vera Williams. She shrinks a little in height.
“If the bridge is in such need of repair, then what’s the problem? Go ahead. Show us.”
The crowd stares.
Jebson’s dark, cold eyes turn into specks. Eyes I’ve looked into many times before.
“Perhaps later,” he says.
“No. Now,” I insist.
The crowd mutters something inaudible. Men clear uneasy throats.
“I wanna see it? Don’t you?
” I turn to Dora James standing beside me, who nods vigorously. “And I’m sure you do too, right, Harry?” He agrees. I turn then to Mr. Pinsonnault and several of the rest, who all are nodding.
“I’d like to see it," Mr. Bates of Bates Baits speaks up. He steps valiantly forward, a canister of worms in his hand, where he’s been taken from work.
“Me, too.” Vera Williams chirps. She readies her camera around her neck, which infuriates Jebson all the more. He's lost control of his own witch hunt. Poor darling.
The advantage I have over Jebson is I grew up in these parts. I know everybody here by name, and they know me. They also knew my dad, and my granddad and great-granddad. And they know, because of them and our bridge, that we have an attraction in our town which brings people from far and wide, and fills the coffers of our small businesses with enough money to scratch out a living in the middle of stinkin’ nowhere.
Jebson, on the other hand, is an import. A foreigner.
He was not born in Heartland Cove. He and his family moved here when he was a kid. His father started a law practice, which he promptly failed at, then moved onto real estate. He’s been the king of it in this area ever since.
They spent three short years living in a small shack up their road in Sussex, before moving to their new mansion up on the bluffs overlooking the bay. Real Estate has been good to these outsiders. Much to the insiders’ dismay.
We attended the same schools, though I never completely got to know him until tenth grade. My fatal flaw. Though I’m convinced, no one really knows Jebson. Despite spending all that time here, he’s remained somewhat of an outsider. That’s why I don’t understand what kind of witchcraft occurred to make him mayor.
“You got something to show us, or not.” I bring my hands to my hips and hold my ground, even though inside I’m shaking. There can’t be anything wrong with the bridge. Three buses a day, seven days a week, pass over it. He can’t possibly have anything to show us. He’s bluffing.
Jebson’s eyes flash with just a tiny bit of terror, then he swallows his pride and tips his head toward a man in a work jumper standing to his left. He seems to have just appeared, conveniently. “I guess we’ll hold the meeting after, Ernie,” he says to the man. “Give the people what they want.” He nods, then nods a second time at The Ministry Man.
