Free Talk Me Down by Victoria Dahl

cheerful tone.
    Brenda appeared almost immediately in his doorway, shooting a disapproving look at Frank’s back. “I’m sorry, Chief. You shouldn’t have to put up with this nonsense.”
    “It’s fine, Brenda. Honestly.”
    “Miles Webster should be shot.”
    “He’s just doing his job.” The words stuck in his throat, but he got them out.
    “Job,” Brenda spat, her face turning red with anger.
    “Did you have a message for me?” Ben asked quickly.
    The blood began to fade from her cheeks. She shook her head, setting her graying hair bouncing. “No, but you wanted me to remind you to check the mine gates before tonight.”
    The chair squeaked as he leaned back with a sigh. “Right. I got to three of them yesterday, but I’ve still got to check the one up on the ridge. Everything looks fine so far.”
    “Be careful if you’re going up there. You seem a little tired.”
    “Nah, I’m fine.”
    “Oh, I almost forgot.” She held up a plastic bowl and stepped in to set it on his desk.
    Ben couldn’t help but smile as the aroma of spices and tomatoes filled the small room. His stomach growled. “Chili?”
    “Yes, sir.” Her eyes sparkled with satisfaction and her cheeks balled up into rosy globes when she smiled. She really did look just like her mother.
    “Thanks, Brenda. This’ll get me through a long evening.”
    “You work too hard,” she sighed, shaking her head as she left. “And try to stay out of trouble, will you?”
    Ben didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because all he really wanted to do was get into trouble. Deep into it. As if he’d never learned anything from his father at all.

    “L OVE’S G ARAGE .”
    “Lori, it’s Molly. Can I ask you a favor?”
    “It doesn’t involve martinis does it? I think I’m still hungover.”
    Molly laughed. “We need to get you out more often.”
    “I…Really? All right, I’m in. Training, right? Practice makes perfect.”
    “We’ll start tomorrow. But first…Listen, we’re supposed to get snow this weekend, and I need a favor. If I get stuck in the snow, will you pull me out and—here’s the important part—not tell Ben about it?”
    “Well, I rarely report back to him anyway, so no problem. But if you’re that worried, why don’t you get a truck?”
    “I had one all picked out in Denver, but they wouldn’t give me the deal I wanted. I’m just driving the Mini until I can wear them down. I think they’re close to breaking.”
    “I think you’re close to breaking your ass in that tiny car.”
    “Eh. I’ll be fine. And I’m having fun scaring the hell out of Ben in the meantime.”
    They were both still laughing when Molly hung up, but her humor faded the longer she held her new cordless phone in her hand. She was going to have to call Cameron, because she was starting to get that feeling again. That feeling she’d had in Denver. Of being watched, of little things being out of place.
    First, the noises on her walk down to The Bar, then afterwards, the front door had been unlocked. She’d thought she’d forgotten, but she’d woken the next morning with the thought still on her mind… I could’ve sworn I’d locked it. But maybe she hadn’t, or maybe it was hard to lock. She didn’t know this house yet, didn’t know its quirks. And that was a problem, too, all the shifts and sighs of the house as it cooled at night.
    In her paranoia, she’d even let Mrs. Gibson’s latest nasty e-mail get to her. Maybe the old lady wasn’t so harmless. Maybe she was more like Kathy Bates in Misery than an eccentric grandma. But when she’d done a Google search for Mrs. Gibson’s name and address, all the hits had pointed directly to an eighty-year-old woman who lived in a Long Island nursing home and wrote frequent letters to the editor of the local newspaper. Mrs. Gibson wasn’t only outraged by erotic fiction; she was equally upset by liberal school boards and unfair sales taxes.
    All of that pretty much eliminated her as a