Killing Time

“The advance team was here a few weeks ago,” she told the man as she slammed her car door. “They did some exterior filming of the inn and the town. We’ve already started working on commercial spots.”

He didn’t look impressed. That could be a problem, since the town’s residents were supplying the backup to the cast. Killing Time in a Small Town would utilize the residents of Derryville as often as possible. Maybe even the old man leaning indolently against his broom. But that might not work if the rest of the residents looked as uninterested as this fellow.

“I’m sure the town will benefit from the exposure,” she continued. “And America will love this down-home, normal atmosphere.” That’s the plan, anyway.

“Ayuh, she’s a normal small town all right. With everything that goes with it,” the old man said. He gave her a lazy grin, gave himself a comfortable scratch on the belly, and began to laugh. The sparkle in his eyes showed genuine amusement.

Caro had the feeling he was laughing at her. He’d probably pegged her as a big-city L.A. know-it-all who thought small towns were as sweet and simple as they’d appeared in 1950s sitcoms. If only he knew.

She swung her soft-sided briefcase over her shoulder, locked her car and joined him on the sidewalk. “It’s a town like a lot of other ones,” she said evenly, letting him know she understood his laughter.

He studied her. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

But it was. Transplant this place to Kentucky and it would have been the same burg where Caro had grown up. And from which she’d fled as soon as she’d graduated high school.

Small. Quiet. Boring. Judgmental. Unable to forgive or forget, particularly when it came to town bullies and bad boys.

And their daughters.

Small towns hadn’t changed. They all smiled on the outside, but seethed within. She’d never move back to one. Caro Lamb hadn’t ever been tempted. At least, she amended, not tempted for several years. In that instance, she had to admit, it hadn’t been a town tempting her. It had been a man who lived in such a town. The kind of man who could tempt a nun into stripping off her habit to do a bump and grind worthy of the Vegas stage.

Enough, Caro. That subject’s off-limits.

“You really think Derryville’s gonna make it big on the TV?” the man asked, looking as if he didn’t care one way or the other.

“Oh, absolutely,” she replied with vehemence. “This place is just perfect for a reality TV show. Killing Time in a Small Town will be a huge success.”

She prayed it would. It had to be if she ever wanted to make it past assistant producer. By nailing this assignment, keeping costs in line and producing a decent show that lasted more than the kiss-of-death four-week replacement slot, she’d have a shot at a prime-time gig.

She could hardly wait. No more road trips looking for funny home videos, or scouting out wacky ideas for the next grand experiment in the reality game. She’d be in a studio, in charge, in a position of power for the first time since she’d hit Hollywood. Eight years ago, right after she’d gotten her heart broken and dropped out of college to head west.

“You going into the realty office?” the old man asked.

“How did you know that?”

He shrugged. “Saw the owner show up early. Only reason to do that is if he had an appointment.”

“I guess he got my message,” she said. She was only in town for the day to find suitable accommodations. She’d called the realty office yesterday, asking the secretary if she could come in an hour before her scheduled appointment time, since her return flight was earlier than she’d expected.

The woman had promised to try to notify the Realtor. Obviously, since he’d come in early, his secretary had succeeded.

“Enjoy your visit,” the old man said. Then he casually stepped away, continuing to push his broom, stirring up nothing but some stale summer air, puffs of dust and a few random cigarette butts.

“Thank you,” Caro said to his retreating back. Then she turned toward the office of Derryville Realty. The place looked closed from the outside. The blinds were drawn, with no hint of interior light peeking through to indicate anyone was around. The old man had said there was, however, and he seemed like the kind of person who knew all, saw all. And commented on all.

Unsure whether to knock, Caro first tried the door handle. When it twisted easily in her hand, she stepped inside. The outer reception area was, indeed, dark and deserted. Before she could decide whether to just sit down and wait, or step back outside, she heard voices coming from an inner office.

Glancing at her watch, she made out the numbers in the semidarkness. “It is 8:00 a.m.,” she whispered. And since she had to first find accommodations, do the paperwork, and then get back to Chicago for her flight home to L.A., she wasn’t in the mood to sit patiently.

Following the sound of the voices, she rounded a sofa and coffee table loaded with sale flyers, finance company brochures and photo albums. An archway revealed a back hall, lined with closed doors, one saying Meeting Room, another Restroom. The rest were unmarked offices. One of those doors was partly open, the inside brightly lit. That’s where the voices were coming from.

Standing in the darkened hallway, Caro had an easy view of the people in the room. But it still took a moment for her to mentally assess what was happening.

A woman stood inside, with her back to the hall. She hadn’t even noticed Caro’s entrance. Stepping closer, Caro realized why the woman was so distracted.

She was staring toward a man. A bare-ass naked man.

A bare-ass naked man with a very nice ass.

“Son of a….” she whispered.

They didn’t hear. Obviously whatever was happening in the room had engaged their complete attention.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Louise, haven’t you gotten a good enough look yet?” the man asked over his shoulder, his back to his captor.

Though the question obviously hadn’t been directed at her, Caro immediately answered for the woman. No. Huh-uh. Not enough. Not nearly.

“Nope,” the woman replied.

Good answer, Louise.

“Can I at least turn back around?”

Oh, please please please please please.

“Not just yet.”

Argh.

Finally realizing exactly what she was doing, Caro sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and stepped back, pressing herself against the corridor wall. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she struggled to control her ragged breathing, wondering why the duo couldn’t hear her shocked inhalations.

Obviously, the Realtor hadn’t been showing up early for her benefit. He’d had another kind of appointment altogether. The sexual kind. The kind that urged her to move her feet and get the heck out of the building before the panting and moaning commenced. At this moment, Caro really couldn’t be sure she, herself, wasn’t already doing one or the other.

“Good Lord, no wonder the women in this town are all fools whenever you’re around,” Louise, the woman in the office said.

One fool standing in the hallway completely concurred.

A discreet person would have left immediately. A calm business executive would have cleared her throat to alert them that someone was present. A sane woman would have resisted thinking about how the rest of the naked male body might look.

Caro did none of the above.

She stayed right where she was. Waiting, trying to work up the strength of will to leave quietly and not steal another peek. Finally, good sense won out. No matter what, she was not a Peeping Tom. She hadn’t been reduced to the level of a woman who hadn’t had sex in so long she had to live vicariously through other people’s sexual adventures.

Preparing to walk away and come back later when the Realtor was less, um, occupied, she pulled away from the wall. But before she could take one step, the woman in the office said something that made her freeze in place.

“I hope I don’t have to shoot you, because there isn’t a place on ya that isn’t just about perfect.”

At first she wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. She replayed the words in her mind as the truth dawned.