“Dani Greene.”
“Is Dani short for Danielle?”
“No, it is not.” I wasn’t about to tell him what it was short for either. The last man I’d shared that with got a splinter in his cheek from rolling around on a hardwood floor laughing.
“We’ll leave it at Dani then. Age?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“Really?” I didn’t think he was trying to flatter me. Most people think I’m nineteen, maybe twenty. Sometimes I even get asked for my license when I try to get into an R-rated movie. If I wear a pleated skirt and Mary Janes, I can order off the children’s menu. You want directions to the fountain of youth? A hyperactive metabolism, short stature, and freckles. As far as I can tell, I’ll never be able to convince anyone to give me a senior citizen discount.
“Really. Any more questions?”
“Marital status?”
“Is that one of the questions?” Having a biological big brother, I tend to be wary of the governmental kind.
“Not officially, but another conservation officer and I are conducting an informal survey. We’ve documented a higher-than-normal call rate from unmarried women on Friday nights. Especially from those who’ve been drinking.” He grinned at me again and I felt my Barbie fists curl and land on my hips.
“I think we’re done here.” I scurried to the door as quickly as my short legs allowed and popped it open, hoping a hungry mountain lion would pounce into the sugarhouse and consume one of us. I was embarrassed enough that I didn’t even care which of us was eaten.
“It’s your call.” He pocketed the notebook and laid my pen and a business card on the bench next to the wine bottle. “Don’t hesitate to contact me if you see anything else. I’ll be working next Friday night, too.” He flashed me a condescending smirk.
I stood there stunned into angry silence while he backed down the driveway. I slammed the door then opened it so I could slam it again. As soon as his taillights started to fade, I remembered I was several hundred yards from the main house and there was a mountain lion prowling nearby. Fueled by fear and anger, I ran all the way to the house. Just in time, too, because as soon as I’d snuggled myself under my quilt, the heat of anger finally dissipated in the chilly air of the drafty farmhouse, I heard the crunch of gravel in the driveway and my family’s raised voices as they swarmed inside.
Two
Thanks to the efforts of the Sap Bucket Brigade, the grange hall looked festive and inviting when I arrived early the next morning hoping to make up for not helping the night before. Every table was decorated with a balloon bouquet and a maple leaf centerpiece. Each place setting at the contest table had a pint of Greener Pastures maple syrup centered on the plate. Members of the Brigade hurried around the hall, arguing over the number of expected attendees and when to start perking the coffee. As usual, Myra Phelps’s voice rasped out over the rest and took charge. When not fielding calls at the police station, she served as the president of the auxiliary. With the clout of the police department behind her, she got her way the majority of the time. Rumor had it she had spent a portion of her youth working as a lady wrestler, and watching her bully the treasurer, Connie Wilson, into starting the coffee, it was easy to imagine.
I had just poured myself a cup of coffee when the door to the hall creaked open, sending the balloon bouquets dancing on their ribbon tethers. I looked up wondering if some hungry guests were trying to sneak in early. There stood Graham Paterson, turning a wool cap around and around in his hands. We locked eyes and he made straight for me. I looked around for somewhere to go and then, realizing the auxiliary women were all watching, decided to minimize any scene that might make for a good story as soon as anyone showed up to tell it to.
“I owe you an apology,” Graham said, stopping in front of me.
“For what? Calling me drunk, calling me crazy, or for implying I was lonely and desperate enough to lie to get a man to my house?”
“All three. Some information has come my way that makes your call make a lot more sense and I should have taken it more seriously.” I looked at him over the paper rim of my coffee cup.
“You look like you could use some coffee yourself.” He nodded and followed me to the coffee station. I poured him a cup and watched as he carefully added cream but no sugar. No sweet tooth. After his attitude the night before, I should have known.
“I really am sorry. Could we sit for a minute? I’ve been up all night.” I looked at his face a little more closely. His eyes were shadowed underneath, and his shoulders weren’t quite as straight as they had been the night before. Even his dark curls seemed to have lost some of their spring. I nodded and was surprised when he pulled out a chair at a long table and pointed at it for me to take a seat.