by Destiny Ford
Jay, Ned, and I all looked at where she was pointing, and then exchanged a worried glance. There was nothing there. No trace of mice, or their tiny little footprints. But my mom was agitated enough that I knew better than to disagree with her. I looked at Jay and Ned, giving them a nod to indicate they should just play along. “Right. They’re right there.” I took my mom by the shoulders. “Why don’t we let Jay tow Xena back to the house, and I’ll take you home.”
My mom, feeling sufficiently vindicated, nodded in agreement, and went to get in my Jeep. I gave Jay instructions on towing the car, and paid both him and Ned. I didn’t think there was much in my account to pay them with, but the card cleared, so I took it as a win.
As I started to leave, Ned said, “I can’t wait to tell people I was a Catasophie witness!”
I winced, thinking this little adventure was bound to start the Ladies’ gossip phone tree and answered, “It’s not really a distinguished list.”
After a discussion with my dad about less than stellar prison food and beatings, he agreed not to murder my mom. We were both concerned about her stranger-than-usual behavior, though, and my dad set up an appointment to take her to the doctor.
I made it home and had just crashed on the couch when my phone buzzed with a reminder text from Annie about dinner tomorrow night. I smiled, thinking of hanging out with friends like a normal twenty-something instead of my usual schedule, which involved things like skunk pits, hot air balloon crashes, crazy teenagers with guns, cow suicides, and now fake mice herds.
I spent the afternoon at the Tribune office catching up on some things. It was pretty quiet because most people were still at the fair. I’d already written the story about Opie’s lemonade stand crash, and tried to call the hospital for more information about his condition. They’d been less than helpful, which was pretty typical. I’d also called the Saints and Sinners cookie company for an interview, but got a voice mail. I left my name and number. I was in the middle of finishing an article about the fair auctions—with lots of photos of kids and the animals they’d sold—when Spence came in.
“Hey,” I said, leaning back in my seat and raising my hands above my head to stretch.
“Hi,” he said, his lips lifting slightly. He was wearing a nice pair of black slacks that hugged his lean muscled frame, and a button down emerald shirt with sharp lime pinstripes. It looked fantastic against his mocha skin. He was hot as hell, and had a lot less baggage than the other men in my life—unfortunately, I wasn’t his type. I whistled at his clothes choice. “Lookin’ good! Where are you off to?”
He glanced down at his clothes, a slow smile stretching over his face. “The fair.” His voice held a bit of hesitance, and was not at all convincing.
“Yeah, right,” I said, my tone disbelieving. “That outfit doesn’t exactly scream cattle, pigs, and deep fried Twinkies. Plus, the other night I had to cover for you on the hot air balloon crash, and I heard a rather masculine laugh in the background when you called. What gives. Who have you been hanging out with?”
His smile widened, a secret clearly hidden behind his lips. “A friend.”
A quirked a brow. “A friend? Or a friend?”
He thought about it before committing to an answer. “A friend I’m hoping is on the way to becoming a friend.”
My eyes lit up. I wanted Spence to be happy, and knew that was a hard request in a place like Branson Falls where gay people were still often ostracized. I was worried about what would happen when he finally came out of the closet to someone other than me. Apparently he was, too, because the minute the door chime went off, indicating someone had just walked in the back door of the building, he stopped talking.
“Hey ya, Katie!” Ella said, wandering in with her giant purse slung over her shoulder. The purse was bigger than she was, and could easily be used as a weapon.
I took a deep breath. “I’m never going to be able to get you to stop calling me Katie, am I?” Drake had started it, and I kind of hated him for it.
“Nope,” she said, leaning against my desk. “And speakin’ of Drake, he was seen buyin’ condoms at the convenience store the other day. Word is you’re the lucky gal. How was it?”
My jaw dropped and I couldn’t speak for at least thirty seconds. “Are you kidding me?”
She shook her head rapidly.
“So just because one of the men everyone thinks I’m having an affair with—even though I’m not—buys condoms, we’re having wild monkey sex?”
Ella’s eyes went wide. “Who said anythin’ about monkeys?” She paused and seemed to be thinking. “Is that even possible?”
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t know who he was buying condoms for, but it certainly wasn’t me. I’ve had a long dry spell.” One I wasn’t happy about.
Ella nodded and gave me a sympathetic look. “Me, too.” But her dry spell was for religious reasons and the fact that most men her age were dead. Mine was because I was slightly terrified of my sex partner options.
“I assume the Ladies told you about this?”
“Yep.”
“Speaking of that, I have a bone to pick with you,” I said, pointing at her. “Why didn’t you tell me about the Facebook page?”
Ella toed the sage colored high-traffic carpet with her shoe and looked in every direction but at me. “What page?”
I shook my head and winged a brow. “Don’t try to pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about. When was it started?”
She plopped down in a seat at an empty desk across from me. “The Ladies started it a couple of weeks ago. Thought it would be easier to keep track of you that way.”
I took a few deep, calming breaths so I wouldn’t try to kill someone. I needed to turn on Neil Diamond. His soothing songs had stopped me from committing murder on several occasions. I put my hands on my hips. “You need to get me in that group,” I said to Ella.
Her mouth opened in a surprised “O” as she gestured to herself. “Me? Why me?”
“Because you’re the only one I know who can.”
She shook her head over and over again. “I don’t think I could do it. They don’t want you seein’ what they’re sayin’.”
“I know. That’s exactly why I want to be in the group.”
She looked at me thoughtfully. “Let me think about it and see if I can figure out a way.”
“Thanks, Ella,” I said, meaning it. “Hey, have you heard any more on Opie’s condition?” I asked her. As one of the Ladies—one of the non-crazy ones, at least, most of the time—I thought she might have more information than I’d been able to gather from Annie and my subsequent check in at the hospital—which had gotten me nowhere.
Ella didn’t answer and looked like she was staring off into space. “Ella!”
She jumped. “Sorry, I was still thinkin’ about the monkeys.”
I was working on the newspaper layout when my phone started playing “Sweet Caroline.” This time, I recognized the number, and thought I should probably assign him his own song considering how often he was calling me lately. “Hey, Bobby.”
“Hi, Kate. I have some news about the body we found in the sugar factory.”
“What did you find out?” I’d been waiting for the info from Bobby before calling Kory Greer, the sugar factory owner.
“We’re still tryin’ to identify the body…it’s hard in a fire situation. But we know it wasn’t any of the factory workers, and we don’t believe the person was from around here.”
“Do you know what they were doing at the factory?”
“Not yet. We’re lookin’ into it.” He paused. “The body was a bit mangled thanks to the explosion.”
I wrinkled my brow, unsure whether I really wanted to ask my next question, but going for it anyway. “What do you mean ‘mangled’?”
“Well…” he hedged and seemed like he really didn’t want to go on before saying, “the body was missin’ arms and legs.”
I blinked and it took me several seconds to r
ecover. “Arms and legs?” I muttered.
“It probably happened during the explosion. It was a lot of force.”
The image made me recoil. “That’s horrifying.”
“It wasn’t pretty to see in person, either.”
I couldn’t imagine it was. “Anything else you can tell me about it?”
“Not right now.”
“Okay. Thanks, Bobby.” I hung up.
I took a few deep breaths to try to get the thought of mutilated bodies out of my head, then dialed the number for Kory Greer, the sugar factory owner. I got his assistant and told her my name. She put me through to Kory.
“This is Kory.”
“Hi, Kory. This is Kate Saxee with the Branson Tribune. I’m covering the story on your sugar factory fire, and I have a couple of questions if you have time.”
“Sure, Kate,” he said, his voice a rich baritone. “What can I do for you?”
“Do you know what caused the fire?” The theory was sugar dust, but I thought Kory might have more information.
“The firefighters are still investigating, but we think it might have been a spark from an old machine. We’ve been having problems with one of our mills lately, and we were going to have a new machine installed this week. The machine could have sparked and caused a fire at any time; we were just lucky it happened on a night no one was working.”
That was pretty lucky…and convenient. “Do you plan to reopen the factory in the future?”
“We’ve moved production off-site for now. The location is smaller, but everyone should be able to keep their jobs. We’ll rebuild the main factory as soon as the insurance money comes through.”
“That’s good. I’m sure your employees appreciate that. Jobs are hard to come by in small communities.”
“I agree.”
I knew the police had talked to Kory about the body, and I needed to ask him about it too. There was no real way to ease into a question involving charred, mutilated remains. I just decided to go for it. “One more question. The police said a body was found in your building. Do you have any idea what the person was doing there?”
His tone became morose. “I wish I did. I’m sad someone lost their life.”
“So you don’t think you knew the person?”
“Not that I’m aware of. But they’re still trying to identify the body. If I had to guess, I’d say it was probably someone who got caught in the fire during a robbery. The person could have been anyone, though.”
“They picked a bad night to break into your building if that’s the case.”
“Yes. I hope the person’s family will be okay.”
A thought struck me. “Do you think the person had something to do with starting the fire?”
“That’s one of the things the firefighters and police are investigating.”
“Okay. Thanks for your time, Kory. I appreciate it.”
“Anything to help. Have a nice day, Kate.”
I thought it was pretty coincidental that the fire had started the same time someone broke into the building. I had a feeling the two were connected, I just didn’t know how. I’d wait until I had an identity for the body, and go from there.
I stopped by the store to get some sparkling cider for Annie and her husband, Rich. Sparkling cider was the equivalent of wine in Utah, and I tried to keep it on hand for social gatherings—though, I rarely attended any. Really, I should have brought Jell-O or a casserole like most people in Branson, but it had been a long week and I didn’t have it in me to cook anything. My recent war with my bread maker helped solidify the fact that I wasn’t a capable cook—even if a machine was doing the work for me—and shouldn’t be making food for myself, let alone other people. I had no interest in being the cause of someone’s food poisoning. Sparkling cider was a much safer option.
I didn’t even have to knock before Annie was opening the door of their recently built, two-story home. The upper story of the house was a latte colored stucco, and the lower half was a red and beige brick that complimented the stucco. The fact that Annie was so Johnny-on-the-spot made me think she’d been watching for me.
“I heard there was a situation with your mom yesterday,” Annie said as I stepped into the house. She was wearing a long black skirt and teal shirt with cap sleeves. It complimented my own outfit—a white skirt with big black flowers, long white tank top, and sea green beaded bracelet and necklace—well.
My mom’s mouse adventure was probably the reason Annie had been watching for me. I’d have wanted to know about it too if I hadn’t seen it firsthand. I snorted a laugh. “‘Situation’ describes it mildly.”
Her eyes got bigger with intrigue. “Apparently there was a tow truck and an exterminator present?”
I sighed and followed Annie through her house—decorated in relaxing, cool tones of blues and whites—to the backyard. They had a wood pergola, stained a deep shade of brown, and a misting system to keep it cool in the hot summer months. I loved her for that alone. It was like having air conditioning outside, and I decided I might never leave.
I handed her the bottle of cider. She opened it and poured us each a glass before we both settled into the comfortable patio chairs with thick cushions. “Yeah, she thought she saw a bunch of mice running around inside my dad’s Mustang while she was delivering some brownies and crashed into Miller’s pond. The exterminator couldn’t find any evidence of mice, though.” I took a sip. It was very sweet, and tasted just like carbonated apple cider. “My dad didn’t kill her when he heard about the submerged car—that was a surprise.”
Annie laughed and laughed. “Her brownies are pretty amazing. I bet the recipients were glad she tried to get them there.”
I shook my head. “She didn’t even get to deliver them. The brownies got wet with everything else.” A fact she’d been rather upset about. Even more upset than the knowledge that she’d crashed my dad’s car after a probably fake mice herd had staged a revolution. “I took her home for my dad to deal with. I could see him sprouting new gray hairs with each new piece of information I explained.”
“But you said there were no mice?”
“Nope. It was strange—even for her. My dad made her an appointment with the doctor.”
“A lot of strange things have been happening lately,” Annie said. “I mean, we get our share of weird—mostly from your mom—but we’ve had a lot of odd stuff happening the last few weeks. And the hospital has been pretty busy.”
That piqued my interest. “Weird things like what?”
Annie shrugged. “A lot of car accidents—mostly fender benders, but more than usual. Barney Jacobs had a full-on conversation with his farm animals, and was convinced one of them was planning a hostile takeover of his barn.”
I suppressed a laugh at the image that conjured up. I wondered if he’d been reading Animal Farm.
“And we’ve had some calls about heart palpitations and fatigue. I mean, it’s not stuff that would normally stand out, but it’s just happening a lot. Must be something in the water.”
I snorted at the hypothesis. “Like pregnancy.” It seemed like everyone I knew always got pregnant at once.
Annie laughed.
“Then again, this is Utah where everyone is always pregnant anyway.”
Annie nodded, picking up a handful of crackers she’d brought out earlier with hummus as an appetizer. “Rich and I haven’t had kids yet. The whole church congregation seems rather concerned about it.”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course they are. Because people’s procreation choices are everyone’s business.”
“Around here…” she trailed off as she tilted her head to the side in annoyed acceptance.
“How long have you been married?”
“Three years.”
“They probably think you’re barren,” I said, totally serious. A couple without kids in Mormon-heavy Branson was rarer than a Bigfoot sighting.
She nodded. “And they’re not afraid to ask about it, either.”
I could tell Annie was frustrated by it. I would be too. I hated having my own choices questioned, and Annie and Rich’s membership in the church meant they had to justify their decisions to the masses constantly. I didn’t know what their reasons for staying childless were, but it was none of my damn business. “It’s so ridiculous,” I said, getting more annoyed as I thought about it. “And it really pisses me off. I’ve had friends who want kids and can’t have them, but they’re constantly being asked about it anyway. It makes them feel horrible. And I’ve had other friends who just don’t want kids, but they get harassed about that and called selfish. It’s such a personal decision. People who can’t be parents, or don’t want to be parents, shouldn’t have to explain their choices to anyone else.”
Annie smiled as she finished eating a cracker. “I think we’re kindred spirits.”
I smiled back as I leaned forward to reach the appetizer tray. “I agree,” I said, dipping my own cracker in hummus as Rich, came out of the house holding a pitcher of mixed drinks. And by ‘mixed drinks,’ I mean Sprite-spiked fruit punch—a Branson staple. “Hey Rich!” I said. We’d been introduced earlier this summer when I ran into Rich and Annie at a town party.
“Hey, Kate,” he said, nodding in my direction.
I noticed someone was following behind him. Huge shoulders with a muscular build framed the body in the doorway.
“Look who I found at the grocery store,” Rich said.
I swore under my breath as every last, large, looming part of him came into focus.
“We were talking in the produce section and he didn’t have plans,” Rich, a business analyst for a healthcare company, explained, “so I invited him along.”
Of course Rich did. Because apparently, one night of relaxing with normal people I liked spending time with was something completely out of the realm of possibility for me.
Annie glared at Rich before giving me a consoling smile. I knew she was remembering my experience earlier this week that had sent me to the grocery store for coping treats. “Hi, Drake,” Annie said.
