Page 6 of Exposure of Murder

He was about thirty-five years old but appeared older. Jane guessed he had a hard life, and she could see it reflected in the wrinkles on his face. He mentioned he grew up on a farm and knew how to run fencing, drive a tractor and feed animals. All the things she would have to learn—eventually.

The Harvest Moon Diner was a short walk from the yoga studio. They walked along Old Town Road to Firehouse Road. Jane knew the police station was located there, and that’s where the crabby sheriff worked. She hoped he was more pleasant to his staff than her.

They arrived at the classic diner, which was built in the 1940s. It had a barrel-shaped roof, with a blue-and-white striped canopy extending over the entrance. Inside was a long marble counter with black vinyl-covered metal stools. Red upholstered booths on the opposite wall looked out over the courthouse. Black-and-white checkered tiles covered the floor and were worn in the middle by the many feet who had been there. On the walls were vintage posters of Beaver Creek, and a jukebox was playing hit tunes from the fifties.

“Hey, girlfriends.” Leah waved from the kitchen window. Plates of sandwiches were on the shelf ready for pickup. They waved back and grabbed a seat.

Flo Williams, one of the waitresses, came over.

Jane was sure Flo had been there since the diner opened. The gray-haired grandma was wearing the diner’s signature vintage light blue waitress uniform with a white collar. She had on a navy-blue apron with the Harvest Moon logo on it.

“Hi, Flo. How are those cute grandbabies of yours?” asked Emily.

“Oh, honey, they’re growing like weeds,” Flo replied, her face cracking open with a huge smile. “Thanks for asking. Now, what can I get you girls today?”

Emily put down the menu she was holding. “I’d like a cup of coffee and a piece of apple cider pie, please,” she said.

“Mmm, that sounds delicious,” said Jane. “I’ll have the same thing.”

“Good choice.” Flo collected the menus and placed their orders.

Jane settled into the booth and looked around, listening to snippets of conversation, a holdover from her writing days. And what a varied collection of gossip it was: An older man in bib jeans was talking to a young man about a new calf; the woman behind Emily was excited about a new dress she bought; two teens sitting at the counter were giving each other moon eyes; and a deep voice two booths down was complaining about flatlanders—a name native Vermonters gave to people who moved up north from elsewhere and not always meant to be nice.

A voice she was familiar with. The sheriff must have come in after they did, because she sure would have seen him and suggested they go elsewhere to eat. It hurt to hear his assessment of her and the broken window in the barn as if she lied about it. Jane’s heart sank, and in an instant, she lost all the good feelings she had about her new home.

Emily frowned and reached over to touch her arm. “Jane, he’s just shit-talking. Ethan is the fairest man I know. I’m sure he believed you.”

“Yeah, and I’m the Easter Bunny.”

“You’ll see as you get to know him.”

Jane doubted that.

She had enough of the police in Boston, especially that rookie who callously wondered out loud if something she wrote could have caused Mike’s death. She knew from experience that once the police got something in their mind, the thought didn’t go away. Jane realized she’d always be on Sheriff “Loose Lips” McQueeney’s radar.

Five

“The woman certainly has an overactive imagination,” Ethan muttered. “Although I guess someone would have to have one to in order to write mysteries.”

He shook his head and exhaled, thinking about his visit to ol’ man Jenk—no, Jane Goodwin’s farm. She was doing a nice job of renovating it with Clarence’s help. But it was a broken window, for God’s sake. Nothing was taken or destroyed. Yet Jane acted like Beaver Creek was full of criminals.

“You’re overreacting,” said his older brother Dylan. They sat in their usual booth at the back of the Harvest Moon, Beaver Creek’s popular diner. “I’m sure she’s just being cautious. She’s a single woman living alone on a farm on a dark street.” He added ketchup to his double burger and took a bite. “Mmmm. Leah makes a mean burger.” Dylan looked at Ethan. “What’s your issue with her, honestly?”

Ethan shrugged. “She’s a flatlander with an overactive imagination, and you know how they are.”

Dylan raised a brow and smirked, his lips curling up, teasing Ethan. “Pray tell.”

“People move up here from big cities and expect the same services they had. They’re always in a hurry to get nowhere and expect everyone to jump when they say jump,” Ethan replied.

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve heard today,” said Dylan, chuckling. “This town needs fresh faces and new ideas. From what I’ve heard, Jane is renovating the old farm, so it isn’t an eyesore. She’s employing local people, making friends in town and breathing life into the community.” He squinted his eyes at Ethan. “What’s really going on?”

Ethan’s fingers nervously scratched the back of his neck while thinking about his answer. The diner was packed. The scent of grilled meat assaulted his nose. Patrons’ voices were just background noise. He looked out the window at people passing by, laughing and shopping. He was home.

However, listening to Dylan’s words stirred up a whirlwind of guilt inside Ethan. Categorizing people and questioning their concerns wasn’t who he was. Or at least he didn’t think it was until Corrine left him for the city, telling him she’d die if she didn’t have more stimulation.

It had him questioning not only his role as sheriff but his life here. He never saw Beaver Creek as dull. He loved the small-town feel, the access to larger cities, the lifelong friendships he made, and the concern people had for their neighbors.

Memories of roaming through the woods with his brothers, catching frogs, swimming in ol’ man Jenkins’s pond and camping under the stars in the summer filtered through his mind. He had a wonderful childhood. He knew Corrine did, too, and that was why he was blindsided.

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