Moonlighting in Vermont

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"Why. Won't. You. Open!" With every word I pushed my shoulder into the door. I gave the wood a two-handed shove but all that got me was stinging palms. "I just love being a housekeeper," I muttered, put my back to the panel, bent my knees and drove my weight backward. The door gave a little and I heaved again. The gap widened and I turned to put my eye to the crack between the door and the jamb.

"Oh my God." I sank to my knees. The thing blocking the door was my boss. My dead boss, if the amount of blood on the floor was any indication. Holy shit! I knelt down peering through the crack in the door to see her chest to rise, finger to twitch, anything to suggest Vera was still alive. Nothing. "Damn it." My eyes started to burn and I blinked the tears away.

I squeezed my arm through the space to see if I could feel a pulse, but she was cold. Dead cold. I sat down on the floor, put my head between my legs and willed myself not to throw up.

Not throwing up is a life skill I haven't developed. My name is Bella Bree MacGowan. Bella is Italian; Bree-well, technically Brie, but my mom couldn't spell-is French; and MacGowan is Scottish. Basically, my name means good cheese. Or maybe, pretty cheese. Either way, it's cheese, and what kind of life skills can you expect a cheese to develop? Definitely not dealing with dead bodies, I'll tell you that much.

I sat gulping air and trying to minimize the shaking without much success. I was telling myself to breathe when the two-way radio on my belt went off.

"Bree! What's taking you so long?" The hotel manager's voice came through. "I need you back here."

I fumbled for my radio, my head still between my knees. "Brian, you need to get out here."

"What?"

I took a deeper breath. "Get. Out. Here."

"Bree, what the hell is going on?" I heard the aggravation in his voice and sat up.

"You're going to have to come out here." I looked back and caught a glimpse of blood through the crack in the door. "Vera." My voice cracked. "Vera's-"

"Bree, I don't have time for this."

"Vera's dead, Brian. She's dead. Put down the damn radio and get out here."

Silence. I pictured Brian trying to wrap his head around that last statement. The radio squawked again. "Bree, did you say Vera is dead?"

"Yes." I could understand how he felt, it didn't seem like it could be true. If it wasn't for the all-too-real corpse.

"You're kidding me, right? I wouldn't be so lucky."

"I wish I was kidding."

"I'm on my way."

I scooted to the edge of the porch and sat in the sun waiting for Brian to get there. The evening light was dappled with the color of the autumn leaves. I was thankful for the cool air and tried not to think about Vera ten feet away from me in the housekeeping closet. All that blood. I had my head back between my knees and my eyes closed when Brian showed up.

Brian stalked down the path to the cottage in his Armani pants and jacket, which would have been impressive if I hadn't grown up with him. I stood up and met him at the foot of the stairs. He looked me straight in the eyes.

"If this is a joke, I'm going to kill you." He heaved himself up the stairs to the door and glanced in. He paled and steadied himself on the wall before turning and letting himself in through the front door of the cottage. I heard his key turn the hidden latch that opened the inside door to the housekeeping closet.