Free The Spring at Moss Hill by Carla Neggers

“I’d buy me a beer.”
    â€œIt was too early for beer,” she said, taking the turn onto the back road to Moss Hill.
    â€œAre you being straightforward or combative with me?”
    â€œMaybe both.” She tightened her grip on the wheel. “This is becoming one of those days I wish I could start over.”
    â€œSorry. I shouldn’t badger you when you’re kind enough to drive me to lunch and back.”
    His tone didn’t hold a single note of contrition. He wasn’t sorry. He was doing his job. The apology was merely a tactical maneuver. “Why don’t you just tell me how I got on your radar? Was it running when I saw you, being in the lobby in the first place—or was it lunch and these rumors?”
    â€œNow, that’s combative,” he said.
    â€œI consider it straightforward.”
    He settled back in his seat. “Here’s my take. You were blindsided by the news of Daphne’s class on Saturday and an investigator about to show up on your turf. You calmed down when you remembered Julius Hartley. Then you saw me, and I’m not Julius—not by a long shot—and Ruby O’Dunn invited you to lunch out of the blue. You guessed something was up and decided to find out what.” He paused. “Am I right?”
    â€œI don’t consider Moss Hill my turf.”
    â€œI’m staying across the hall from you. I’d consider that my turf.”
    Meaning she was on his turf. His bottom line, maybe. “I’m coming up for air after a series of tight deadlines. I only expected to stay in Knights Bridge for a few months when I moved here. Now it’s been ten months, and I’m trying to be more social and meet people in town.”
    â€œThat’s it, huh?”
    Obviously he didn’t believe her. “Maybe I knew you were jet-lagged, and I thought I’d be a good neighbor and accompany you to lunch. Welcome you to town. Make up for our bad start.”
    â€œYeah. Maybe.” He shifted his long legs, clearly having difficulty getting comfortable. “I’ve been in little seats too many of the past twenty-four hours.”
    â€œYou didn’t demand a first-class seat?”
    â€œCoach is fine with me.”
    Kylie glanced at the river, quiet and shallow, without any steep drops away from the dam. “I haven’t seen anyone sneaking around Moss Hill, in case that was your next question,” she said. “I don’t keep track of all the comings and goings. Probably not even most of them.”
    â€œDoes Mark Flanagan have enemies?” Russ asked.
    She’d expected the question. “Not that I’m aware of. It’s my understanding that Mark grew up in Knights Bridge. People in town know him and like him, from what I can tell. But I’m not the best one to ask, since I’m new here.”
    â€œWhere did you grow up?”
    â€œEast of here. Near Mt. Wachusetts.”
    â€œAny enemies?”
    â€œMe?”
    â€œYou. Yes.”
    She attempted a smile despite his probing questions. “I don’t get out enough to have enemies.”
    â€œIt could be an ex-boyfriend, ex-husband, ex-friend, ex-colleague.”
    â€œI can’t think of anyone in my life who would spread rumors about Moss Hill, for any reason.”
    â€œI’m not asking you to draw a conclusion. I’m asking if you have enemies.” Russ’s tone had softened, as if he’d realized he’d gotten intense. “You’re the only resident at Moss Hill, and you’re new in town. You seem to know more about the people here than they do about you. Why is that?”
    â€œA natural consequence of being new here. I want to get to know people now that I have more free time. Everyone is busy with their lives and the people they already know.”
    â€œAnd you’re reclusive,” he said.
    â€œBusy, not reclusive.”
    â€œHair-splitting.”
    Fair point, she