Ropes and Trees and Murder

by Patti Larsen

  I climbed the steps to the sheriff’s office with a rise in optimism, slipping inside to the chime of the front door bell and smiling at Toby Miller behind the reception desk. A firm fixture in her fleece vest and carefully styled hair, she grinned at me with a wave when I paused to smile back.

  “He’s in his office,” she winked. “Go on in.”

  Nice to have a standing invitation these days instead of the former, more uncomfortable, state of affairs I’d suffered since returning home to Reading. Instead of being called into Crew Turner’s office to be chewed out on a regular basis for poking my nose where he didn’t want it, I instead found myself sneaking fairly frequent visits by choice.

  While not the dating arrangement I’d been hoping for, Crew’s company—and apparent delight with my appearance—reinforced my confidence our conversation in January about his intentions wasn’t just talk. Though, how he was ever going to get over his wife’s death I had no idea. Not my job. For now, I’d take a few stolen hours here and there over coffee in his office.

  I crossed to the swinging gate that separated the bullpen from the main reception area, this place as familiar to me as Petunia’s. I’d almost grown up here, visiting Dad more often than not while he was sheriff, so it felt natural to pass that border. I waved to Jill Wagner who waved back, grinning as she talked to someone on the phone. The glare from her desk mate wasn’t lost on me, though I did my best to smile a winning beam of a screw you at my disgruntled deputy cousin. Robert Carlisle sneered back, eyes narrowing, that hideous 70’s mustache of his making me queasy.

  “Sucking up to the sheriff again, Fanny?” He snorted like he was funny. Not.

  Snarly growl with a go to hell for good measure. “Don’t you have work to do, Robert?”

  “Maybe if you Flemings would mind your own damned business instead of stirring things up,” he shot back.

  What the hell was that supposed to mean? I paused to snap something highly inappropriate for the office that would require a string of curse words that likely would have singed the air when tall, dark and handsome leaned against the door frame of his office and interrupted.

  “Deputy,” Crew said in that deep, velvet voice of his, catching my attention and my breath and diffusing Robert’s pathetic attempt to get a rise out of me. That single word sounded like a command. My cousin shot his boss a sullen stare before going back to his paperwork. I arched an eyebrow at the delicious jeans and khaki shirted sheriff while his slow, lazy smile appeared. He stepped back from the door and waited for me to enter, closing it softly behind me, shutting out the rest of the world.

  I leaned back against the glass, looked up into the bluest eyes I’d ever seen and inhaled his scent while Crew didn’t move, didn’t speak. The temptation to kiss him was so powerful I felt my hands tremble while he finally broke eye contact and helped himself to one of the cups nestled in the tray.

  “Thanks,” he said, voice rough around the edges. He sipped, eyes sparkling, like this was fun for him, teasing me. Especially since one of his ground rules for Fee and Crew was in full effect.

  “I’m starting to regret our no kissing in the office agreement,” I said, knowing my voice sounded husky but not caring really, not right then with him standing so close and looking like that, all yummy and broad shouldered everything.

  Crew’s deep chuckle wasn’t helping any. He left my side and retreated to his office chair, while I repeated, “Down, girl,” in my head a million times before I sank into the wooden one opposite him and handed over the bag with the donut. Crew grinned, took a bite, handed it back.

  “Petunia will never forgive you,” he said.

  I took a nibble, a sip of my own coffee. “She’ll never know.” I sighed without meaning to, handing off the treat which Crew devoured without a word, watching me with those blue eyes like he knew I needed a minute.

  I shook off my mood, still thinking about my parents, forced a smile. Crew and I didn’t get a lot of time to talk so no way was I wasting it on something I couldn’t change and he couldn’t help me with. “What’s Robert’s problem today, anyway?”

  Crew shrugged, leaned back in his chair until it creaked, stretching out his tall, big chested body before settling. “The usual,” he said. Then made a wry kind of face, full lips twisting as he met my eyes. “Your dad’s been making his life uncomfortable lately, that’s all.”

  I was all for that. “And yours?” Okay, so Robert’s unhappiness was fair game, but I’d done enough to make Crew’s life kind of miserable since we met. I really hoped we’d moved past that, even though it was Dad and not me this time around.

  “I’m good.” Crew seemed amused rather than upset. “Let’s just say some of Robert’s assumptions about what he can and can’t get away with when it comes to law enforcement have been challenged the last few months.” How cryptic. “I think your dad went a bit easy on him when he worked for him. Family, you know?” Did I. Dad’s sister wasn’t exactly a charmer herself, though I saw little of Aunt Doris since she and Uncle Ray lived in New Hampshire these days. My most vivid memory? Her taking my favorite toy horse from me on my seventh birthday and giving it to Robert who proceeded to break it on purpose just to see me cry.

  Yeah. She was a peach.

  “And you?” I grinned around the rim of my cup.

  There was that sexy chuckle again. “Not so much. But your father seems rather intent these days on ensuring he makes up for the leeway he gave Robert all those years.”

  How interesting. “You could just fire his ass.” That would be awesome.

  Crew exhaled, sipped, lowered his cup. “Any other town,” he said before sitting up straight, arms resting on the desk, intent blue eyes locked on me. “Seriously. But council wants a Fleming on the force and even though he’s not, Robert’s the closest they get to your father.” There was a time I knew that would have bothered Crew, but any animosity or resentment seemed long gone, leaving good humor and a bit of frustration behind. “So, he stays and I get to watch your father teach him a few lessons.”

  I grinned. “Fair enough.”

  Crew’s right hand slid forward, grasping mine gently, fingers tucking under my palm, thumb stroking over the back. I shivered at the unexpected delicate tenderness of his touch, my own fingers reflexively closing over his tanned skin.

  “How are things at the annex?” Was that further roughness in his voice? Longing in his eyes to match mine? I really needed to get him out of the office so I could kiss him again. Opportunities to kiss Crew were few and far between, the kind of adventure that really needed to take priority.

  I blinked as I realized I hadn’t answered him in far longer than was appropriate. His grin and sparkling eyes told me he knew exactly what I was thinking about.

  Down. Girl. Phew.

  “Jared, Alicia and I did the final walk through just a little while ago,” I said, leaning back, freeing my hand though it was the last thing I wanted to do. But if I was going to be coherent and able to talk and adult and behave, he couldn’t touch me like that. Since when was hand holding so amazingly attractive?

  Fiona Fleming. Deep breaths.

  Crew sat back again. “You’ll have to give me a tour.” Um, wow, smoldering suggestiveness was his forte this afternoon. Because that was totally an invitation for some up close and personal interaction and he was going to get a swift kick under his desk if he didn’t smarten up because hormones? Check. Brink of breaking his no kissing in his office rule? Check.

  Naughty thoughts out of my control? You betcha.

  I had to change the subject before this turned into something I’d blush over later. “Jared invited me to the zip line park opening tomorrow.” I had lost none of my blurtiness, thank you very much, but at least I was trying to be a good girl.

  Crew’s face tightened, his flirting subsiding as he sighed. “I know he’s your friend—”

  “Don’t even try to stop me from going,” I said. That was better. A bit of temper did wonders to burn off my need to
slip into his lap and find out first hand if he tasted like the coffee he was drinking.

  He flashed me a smile and a long-suffering eye roll. “I would never,” he said. “I know better. It’s just…” Crew paused, setting down his coffee, hands folding together. “I’m expecting a crowd, Fee. There’s protestors arriving from all over the state.” He scowled briefly, gaze out the window into the sunshine, darkening his handsome face. “Olivia wants me to keep it quiet, but there’s media coming, too. She won’t let me call the state police in, so I’m hoping I’ll have enough bodies to prevent anything serious from happening.” He met my eyes again, a small, wicked smile on his face. “Knowing you’ll be there? Yeah, there’s bound to be trouble.”

  Smartass sheriff. “Ha. Ha, ha. You’re hilarious.” And adorably edible. Sigh.

  Crew reached for his coffee again. “Just, do me a favor,” he said. “No dead bodies, okay?”

  He’d pay for that. I arched an eyebrow while I considered what he’d said prior to being a smarty pants. Alicia mentioned a protest, but seriously? “It can’t be that bad,” I said.

  Crew finished his coffee, tossing it with expert aim into the trash. “I’ve worked a lot of protests,” he said. “They can get pretty ugly, Fee. Just be careful, okay?” That was real concern on his face now. “Promise?”

  I murmured the appropriate platitude while I finished my own coffee, privately scoffing at his concern. This wasn’t California, after all. This was Reading, Vermont, the cutest town in America.

  How bad could it possibly get?

  ***

  Chapter Six

  Shocked, who me? As I pulled into the parking lot of Zip It!, the bright, cheery sign depicting a cartoon family happily suspended over a painted tree line backdrop, it was increasingly apparent my estimation of what to expect from the protest was a far cry from reality. The small army of angry people of varying ages and ethnicities brandished large signs on stakes held in both hands, shaking the various slogans etched in large, black letters at the narrow line of white-painted sawhorses holding them back from the entry to the park. My hands clenched on the steering wheel a moment, stomach knotting and honestly, if it hadn’t been Jared who’d asked I might have turned around there and then. But the sight of his Wilkins Construction truck parked near the front gate—flanked by two deputy cruisers and Crew’s own sheriff’s 4X4—was enough of a reminder I wasn’t here for me.

  I parked as far from the crowd as I could get, tucking my little car in behind a pair of SUV’s, foreign plates telling me I’d likely just chosen the worst possible spot. It didn’t look like there were any tourists here after all. And none of the faces in the crowd seemed familiar.

  No, that wasn’t true. As I tugged at the hem of my fitted t-shirt, acutely aware how tight my black capris were considering I was about to march past a line of people who would likely be judging me the entire time, I recognized a handful of the rumbling group. In fact, two of them were staying at Petunia’s, the older man and his companion from the afternoon before prominent in the front of the line, their floppy hats and khaki vests now irritatingly trite. Yikes, I’d been housing opponents of Jared’s park at my place? I wish I’d known. Solidarity won over discomfort and I was already planning to give them the boot as I squared my shoulders and strode for the gate, head high.

  Let them look at my butt. I wasn’t dressed like this for them.

  Okay, so my confidence flagged a bit as I realized the two vans near Jared’s truck had major network news logos on the side and that the large, bulky cameras panning the crowd might track over me any second now. My plan to catch Crew’s eye in this particular outfit—seriously, Fee, when did you devolve to sixteen again?—knowing he’d be here this morning was acutely out of synch with reality. Like that was a shocker. At least I’d been running again on a regular basis, so my darling of a jerk cousin Robert couldn’t say anything negative about the size of my rear end.

  Well, he could try. From the scowl on his face as I slowed my approach, he wasn’t happy to see me there. That put the clip back in my step, enough to carry me past the two reporters talking into their network cameras without stumbling and making a fool of myself.

  Go me. Awkwardness avoided. So far.

  A twinge of regret won through my renewed confidence as I caught sight of the empty front gate and lack of locals showing the kind of support I’d hoped to see. Come to think of it, the parking lot, while rather full, felt more like outsider recrimination than Reading townsfolk come to show their love for this new venture. My heart went out to Jared and his friends, cutting out the rest of my nervousness, and I actually found I was angry as I crossed from the parking lot blacktop onto the wide gravel path leading to the front entry.

  Right past the protestors. Nice of them to start yelling at me, wasn’t it? And waving their ridiculous signs, “Woodpeckers are People Too” and “Save the Red Cockaded” and “Bird Murderers” like I was their mortal enemy. While I was as environmentally conscious as the next girl, this kind of uber-vegan, tree hugging, wannabe mass market posing in the guise of doing good for the planet made my stomach turn. Maybe if they weren’t all dressed like hipster lumberjacks in their designer plaid and $200 leather boots I’d be more willing to accept that the crowd shouting over one another so loudly I couldn’t make out individual voices might actually mean what they said.

  Cynical, you betcha.

  No way was I giving them attention, though it was apparent from the grim nod Jill gave me, the frustrated redness of Robert’s cheeks, they’d had it about up to their gun holsters with the rabid pack already. Crew would be missing the state police today and likely cursing out Olivia for not allowing him to call in backup.

  Frankly, I didn’t wish this job on anyone, not even my irritating cousin.

  “WHERE ARE YOU GOING, YOUNG WOMAN?”

  I screamed. I couldn’t help myself. The augmented blast in my right ear made me jump almost out of my skin as I leaped to one side, both hands clutching at my chest, air torn from my lungs while I spun with goosebumps racing over my bare arms. The man with the offending bullhorn met my gaze, the soon to be former guest of Petunia’s jutting out his narrow chest under that ridiculous multi-pocketed vest of his. Hazel eyes burned with the kind of zealot crazy that looked more like obsession than passion for a cause. He grinned at me, nasty, twisting before bellowing into the bullhorn again. “ARE YOU A MURDERER?”

  The crowd started chanting, right on cue. “Murderer, murderer, murderer,” the man turning to face them, still shouting into his mouthpiece. “Murderer, murderer, murderer!”

  To be fair, I hated being scared, loathed it. Thanks to Robert, of all people. Instead of running when I was startled, I tended to strike out instead. Enough years of my cousin’s gleeful attempts to make me scream had created a kind of perfect storm that blurred the lines between fear and hang on while I punch you in the face. Now, normally I was able to control it, especially as a grown woman. I wasn’t a teenager anymore, and it had been a long time since anyone purposely scared me like that.

  Maybe that was the problem? Whatever the case, as the older man turned away, stirring up his eager followers, floppy hat triggering my rage for no reason whatsoever, my ears still ringing from the assault of his attack, something inside me literally snapped in half. Heat rose in waves from my stomach, washing outward in a rush of magma, flooding my vision with the kind of red haze I’d heard about and always scoffed at as make believe.

  It would have ended badly. With me under arrest, likely with blood on my hands, shrieking like a wild woman and frothing at the mouth with the horrid man’s body crushed to the ground beneath me. I have utter confidence that had I managed to take that one fateful step my feet begged me to stride, neither Jill nor Robert would have been able to keep me from flinging myself bodily into the crowd.

  Instead, in the exact moment the heat wave in the core of me broke, a touch settled on my elbow and someone took their life into their own hands, firmly leading me forward a
nd away. My head snapped around, fists clenching at my sides, ready to fight, only to look up into worried brown eyes and a faint, fearful smile on a ruggedly handsome face.

  Not the eyes I was expecting, to be honest, nor the body attached to them. My anger shifted to startled acquiescence in a heartbeat, almost staggering me. Had it been Crew on the other end of that guiding hand things might actually have been worse. I’d spent enough time fighting him in the past over behaving myself, after all, and despite our recent happier interactions there was enough history I’m pretty sure he’d have heard an earful I’d have regretted later.

  Instead, I found myself walking quickly along beside Ranger Matt Winston, his hat pulled down over his brow, long legs in dark green park uniform pants and khaki shirt tight over his broad chest. “This way, Fee,” he said, tenor voice just loud enough to reach me past the shouting protestors, almost directly in my ear. I shivered from the touch of his breath, more so though from the abrupt shift in emotion as he guided me through the main gate and into the park on the other side.

  “This is ridiculous,” I snapped, finally getting a hold of myself again, tugging my arm from his hand. I spun and glared at the protestors, refraining from offering their leader my middle finger in response to his continuing attention. Far too gleeful in his personal attack of my person, if you asked me. “Didn’t the Fish and Wildlife Service clear the park?”