Carla Neggers - The Spring At Moss Hill

Russ finished a triangle of his sandwich and wiped his fingers on a napkin as he studied Ruby. “Do the rumors include Daphne or just Moss Hill?”

“Concern about Daphne and the people attending the master class.”

“What kind of concern?” Russ asked.

Ruby sniffled, calmer. “That there’ll be an accident, and people will get hurt because of the cut corners or bought-off contractors or inspectors. Whatever.”

Mark sucked in a breath. He seemed to take her high emotions in stride but clearly wasn’t pleased with this development. His wife of less than a year was pensive. “Who’s on your short list of possible jerks who could spread such a stupid rumor?” Jess asked.

“No one,” Ruby said. “I haven’t heard anything negative about Daphne’s class. I don’t want these rumors to take on a life of their own. I hope I’m not making things worse by mentioning them.”

“I’d rather have you speak up than keep this to yourself,” Mark said.

“Christopher Sloan said he’d stop by Moss Hill and talk to you.”

“Anytime.” Mark turned to Russ. “Feel free to join us.”

Russ gave a curt nod. “Thanks.”

“I just need reassurance,” Ruby said. “I know ten-to-one this is small-town grumping and griping, creating drama where there is none—someone looking for attention. You know, the arsonist who sets a fire and then sits back and watches the flames.”

Jess dipped her spoon into her soup. “In this case, the fire won’t catch and spread because there’s nothing to feed it. There are no problems at Moss Hill.”

Kylie glanced at Russ, but his expression hadn’t changed. His deep blue eyes settled on her. “What about you, Kylie? Have you heard any rumors?”

She ignored his undertone of suspicion, assuming it came with the territory of being an investigator. She shook her head. “No, but I doubt I would. I didn’t know about this class until yesterday.”

“Kylie keeps to herself,” Ruby said, the slightest edge to her voice, if only because she was so agitated. “The artist at work. Deadlines. Am I right, Kylie?”

“Fortunately, yes,” she said, forcing a smile and seeing no need to explain further.

Ruby clearly wasn’t satisfied. “If you like your solitude and need it for your work, why move into Moss Hill? You had to know you wouldn’t have the place to yourself. The apartments and offices would get rented, the meeting space would get booked and you’d run into Mark’s staff, groundskeepers, cleaners, security guards—all sorts.”

Kylie decided she’d had enough of her soup. “In a way, the activity at Moss Hill is one of its attractions after my months on my own up the road. My apartment is quiet. I can be removed from the activity around me whenever I need to be.”

“I’m sorry,” Ruby blurted. “I didn’t mean to put you on the defensive. I sound like such a bitch. I’m really on edge, I guess. I want everything to be perfect on Saturday. I’m sure there’s nothing to these rumors. Kylie, you’re welcome to come to the class. You and Daphne probably have a lot in common.”

“Thanks,” Kylie said. “I’d like that.”

“Are you on a tight deadline?” Jess asked.

“Not at the moment.” Kylie didn’t explain further. She appreciated the change in subject, but not to that particular subject. “It’s supposed to rain tomorrow. April showers bring May flowers, though, right?”

Russ picked up his coffee. “So they say.”

Kylie sensed he was aware she’d been borderline desperate to keep the subject from shifting to her work. Fortunately, the weather was ever a source of interest in New England, and everyone else at the table seemed relieved to move on from talk of Moss Hill and Daphne Stewart. Jess mentioned that it didn’t rain much in Southern California, and the rest of the lunch passed amicably and innocuously. By the time they considered dessert, Ruby was calmer, if still bothered by the rumors. Kylie was under no illusions that Mark Flanagan had dismissed them, either—and she knew Russ Colton hadn’t. Not a chance.

* * *

Russ Colton was riding back to Moss Hill with her. Kylie adjusted to this fact as she got in her car with him. She’d thought Mark or Ruby might give him a ride, or he’d want to take a walk in the village and check it out, stretch his legs after his long overnight flight, then find his own way back—but none of that had happened.

He strapped his seat belt on next to her in the little car. He oozed masculine confidence, but it didn’t strike Kylie as deliberate. It was natural. A part of who he was. Over lunch, she’d tried to assess him as an objective observer. He wouldn’t do for Cinderella’s or Snow White’s prince. Maybe a Badger. She could take part of his last name. Colt Badger, PI.

Now that could be fun.

She pulled onto the side street where Smith’s was located and came to the intersection with Main Street, aware of her passenger’s dark blue eyes on her. “You don’t seem peeved at Ruby O’Dunn for implying you could be the one spreading rumors about Moss Hill,” he said.

“I didn’t take her comments that way. She’s just nervous about Saturday.”

Russ didn’t respond right away. “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?”