Asking For Trouble

“For the first time in my life, I feel like I’m succeeding, doing something important with my life. I’m not an extension of anyone else, but my own person, and I like the person I’ve become.”

“I like the person you’ve become, too, Beth.” He wrapped his arm about her and this time she didn’t pull away. “Thanks for sharing your story with me.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what made me go on like that. Maybe I’m more tired than I thought.”

“Or maybe you just needed someone to talk to. I’ve found myself in that same boat many times.”

Beth turned in his embrace and looked up at him. There was yearning in her eyes, but also fear. He wanted to kiss her, to take her burdens away, but he knew she would never allow any man to do that. She was proud, and he was still confused, more now than ever.

PHINNEAS PICKENS HAD BEEN the loan officer for Mediocrity’s only bank for over twenty years and was a well-respected member of the community.

He was meticulous, almost persnickety about his dress, and it was his habit to wear three-piece suits to work. In the front pocket of his vest he carried a gold watch with a long gold chain that had once belonged to his grandfather. It was his habit to check that watch every fifteen minutes to make certain he remained on schedule.

Punctuality was a virtue. Phinneas’s mother had impressed that upon him at the tender age of six when he’d arrived home late for dinner one evening and had his backside thrashed as a result. He’d never been late again.

The banker had many routines, and he followed them without exception, almost religiously, in fact. On that sunny afternoon he found himself dining at Emma’s Café on Main Street, where it was his habit to eat lunch five out of seven days a week without fail.

Tuesday was meat loaf day and Phinneas loved Emma’s meat loaf. In fact, he loved everything Emma Harris cooked. His wife’s cooking left a lot to be desired, and that was putting it mildly. Finnola couldn’t boil water without burning it. He loved his wife, but he hated her cooking.

Across the table from the loan officer sat Seth Murdock, the town’s sheriff and one of Phinneas’s closest friends. He was a tall man, almost six foot three inches, with an appetite for food that equaled his passion for fishing. His uniforms were specially made for him by Mrs. Murdock to accommodate his large girth, which increased on a weekly basis, due to his fondness for beer and beer nuts.

“Had to inspect the old Swindel house yesterday,” Phinneas informed the sheriff between bites of mashed potato, savoring the lumpless creation beneath his tongue and sighing in appreciation. Finnola’s potatoes had lumps the size of small boulders. “Beth’s applied for a loan to finish up the repairs on the inn. She’s got her work cut out for her, that’s for certain.”

The sheriff shook his head. “Throwing away good money after bad, if you ask me. Never could abide those two old gals. My daddy never trusted them, and I don’t either.” He forked a Brussels sprout and continued, “If you ask me, they did away with Iris’s fiancé all those years ago. The man just up and disappeared, and I’d bet money the old witch and her sister did him in. They probably boiled him in oil and cast some spell on the poor guy. Daddy was sure of it, but he didn’t have any evidence that could prove their guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. Maybe one day I will.”

Phinneas nodded. “I feel uncomfortable around those two, and that’s a fact. Why, just the other day I saw Ivy Swindel at the bank. I did my best to avoid her, but, of course, that’s like trying to avoid getting wet when it rains. That woman is always flapping her jaw about my schooldays, saying what a terrible student I was. It’s very annoying, not to mention totally untrue. I was an excellent student.” His indignant expression softened when he added, “But I don’t hold anything against their niece. Beth’s a good woman and has worked hard to make something of herself, after that miserable episode with Coach Randall.” He shook his head. “Such a shame. The man was a fool.”

“I hear what you’re saying, but I’ve always subscribed to the adage, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. I’d bet money that Beth knows more than she’s saying. After all, she’s lived with those two old hags for years.”

“But how could she? Beth wasn’t even alive when Lyle McMurtry disappeared.”

The sheriff shook his head. “Don’t know. I just feel it in my gut.” He patted his protruding belly. “Damn good meat loaf.”

At the next table, Brad sat quietly eating his turkey sandwich. He had dropped Stacy off at the movie theater an hour ago to catch a matinee and had come into the café to grab a bite to eat, though the food at the café wasn’t nearly as good as the inn’s, he’d discovered.

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but when the sheriff had mentioned the Swindel sisters and Iris Swindel’s missing fiancé, his interest, as well as several red flags went up. Someone by the name of Lyle McMurtry was missing; so was Brad’s father. Was there a connection, or was it merely coincidence? He decided to find out.

Turning in his chair, Brad tapped the burly sheriff on the shoulder. “Excuse me, Sheriff. I’m Dr. Bradley Donovan from Charlottesville, Virginia. I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation about the Swindel sisters.”