The Spring At Moss Hill. Carla Neggers
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“I get the impression people around here have you pegged as a reclusive, eccentric artist. Are you?”
She eased the car onto Main Street. “I just had lunch with four people. I didn’t tell you to find your own way to town. That’s not being reclusive.”
“We are here in your little car together, that’s true. Self-interest at work? Did you suck it up and go to lunch so you could find out more information about what’s going on at Moss Hill this week, with Daphne arriving and me here?”
Kylie could feel her tension rising but tried not to show it. Russ Colton was a pro. He knew what he was doing. He knew how to elicit information from people. She drove past the common, sunny and green on the perfect spring day. “It would be a simple solution if I were the reclusive, eccentric artist who doesn’t like the idea of dozens of people showing up in her creative space.” She kept her tone as neutral as she could manage. “If I’m the one spreading these rumors, you talk to me, reassure me, threaten to take away my crayons, and all is well. An unknown rumor-monger and potential saboteur is more worrisome. I’m not a threat to anyone.”
“You weren’t messing with the fire extinguishers or something like that when I caught you at the mill this morning?”
“You didn’t ‘catch’ me. I just happened to be there the same time you were.”
“You ran when you saw me.”
She glanced at him. “Wouldn’t you?”
He grinned. “I’d buy me a beer.”
“It was too early for beer,” she said, taking the turn onto the back road to Moss Hill.
“Are you being straightforward or combative with me?”
“Maybe both.” She tightened her grip on the wheel. “This is becoming one of those days I wish I could start over.”
“Sorry. I shouldn’t badger you when you’re kind enough to drive me to lunch and back.”
His tone didn’t hold a single note of contrition. He wasn’t sorry. He was doing his job. The apology was merely a tactical maneuver. “Why don’t you just tell me how I got on your radar? Was it running when I saw you, being in the lobby in the first place—or was it lunch and these rumors?”
“Now, that’s combative,” he said.
“I consider it straightforward.”
He settled back in his seat. “Here’s my take. You were blindsided by the news of Daphne’s class on Saturday and an investigator about to show up on your turf. You calmed down when you remembered Julius Hartley. Then you saw me, and I’m not Julius—not by a long shot—and Ruby O’Dunn invited you to lunch out of the blue. You guessed something was up and decided to find out what.” He paused. “Am I right?”
“I don’t consider Moss Hill my turf.”
“I’m staying across the hall from you. I’d consider that my turf.”
Meaning she was on his turf. His bottom line, maybe. “I’m coming up for air after a series of tight deadlines. I only expected to stay in Knights Bridge for a few months when I moved here. Now it’s been ten months, and I’m trying to be more social and meet people in town.”
“That’s it, huh?”
Obviously he didn’t believe her. “Maybe I knew you were jet-lagged, and I thought I’d be a good neighbor and accompany you to lunch. Welcome you to town. Make up for our bad start.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” He shifted his long legs, clearly having difficulty getting comfortable. “I’ve been in little seats too many of the past twenty-four hours.”
“You didn’t demand a first-class seat?”
“Coach is fine with me.”
Kylie glanced at the river, quiet and shallow, without any steep drops away from the dam. “I haven’t seen anyone sneaking around Moss Hill, in case that was your next question,” she said. “I don’t keep track of all the comings and goings. Probably not even most of them.”
“Does Mark Flanagan have enemies?” Russ asked.
She’d expected the question. “Not that I’m aware of. It’s my understanding that Mark grew up in Knights Bridge. People in town know him and like him, from what I can tell. But I’m not the best one to ask, since I’m new here.”
“Where did you grow up?”
“East of here. Near Mt. Wachusetts.”
“Any enemies?”
“Me?”
“You. Yes.”
She attempted a smile despite his probing questions. “I don’t get out enough to have enemies.”
“It could be an ex-boyfriend, ex-husband, ex-friend, ex-colleague.”
“I can’t think of anyone in my life who would spread rumors about Moss Hill, for any reason.”
“I’m not asking you to draw a conclusion. I’m asking if you have enemies.” Russ’s tone had softened, as if he’d realized he’d gotten intense. “You’re the only resident at Moss Hill, and you’re new in town. You seem to know more about the people here than they do about you. Why is that?”
“A natural consequence of being new here. I want to get to know people now that I have more free time. Everyone is busy with their lives and the people they already know.”
“And you’re reclusive,” he said.
“Busy, not reclusive.”
“Hair-splitting.”
Fair point, she thought. “Focusing on me is a waste of your time, but feel free. I’m sure Ruby’s taking idle talk to an extreme conclusion.”
“Could be,” Russ said. “Who is Christopher Sloan?”
The abrupt shift in subject caught her by surprise, but she welcomed it, could feel her grip on the steering wheel ease. “He’s one of two full-time, professional firefighters in town,” she said. “The Sloans are another local family. They own a construction company. There are a bunch of them. Christopher’s older brother Brandon is married to Ruby’s sister Maggie.”
“The Sloans worked on Moss Hill?”
“Some. I don’t know details. Christopher and Ruby...” Kylie didn’t finish.
“He and Ruby what? They’re an item?”
“I don’t know for sure. You know what it’s like when you’re the newcomer in a small town.”
“I don’t, actually.”
“People sometimes say things in your earshot they might not say if they knew you from when you were in kindergarten.”
“So, you’ve heard talk about Ruby and this firefighter.”
“There are sparks between them.”
“Sparks, Kylie?”
She heard the amusement in his voice and instantly felt heat rise in her cheeks. She resisted glancing over at him, but was aware of how close he was in the tight quarters of her small car. “You know what I mean,” she said finally.
“I’m not much on noticing sparks, I guess. Let’s just say my friends don’t come to me for romantic advice, at least not more than once. I ask them if they want to stay in or get out of the relationship. Only two options.”
“You’re a black-and-white thinker.”
“When things are black-and-white. What about you? Do your friends come to you for romantic advice?”
He’d set her up, she saw now. “It depends on the friend. And I don’t tend to be a black-and-white