CHAPTER ONE
“Use it up,
wear it out,
make it do,
or do without.”
~ New England Proverb
* * *
Kate McKenzie reached across the Berman’s kitchen table to touch Meg’s hand, then pointed to a small gray plastic box propped against the bottom of the room’s yellow wall and half-hidden behind the leg of the small oak task desk. She could see part of a red rubber band stretched several times around the device’s perimeter, holding a darker gray button against the body of the object. A silent, shining red light glowed behind the desk leg, and she could barely see the halo of light that seeped around the obstruction. She didn’t want to interrupt the story Gil Berman’s guest was telling, so she leaned closer to Meg and asked in a quiet voice, “Isn’t that one of the walkie-talkies we used to try to figure out who was framing me for Amelia’s murder?”
Meg glanced in the indicated direction, and her face turned nearly as red as her hair. “Mark, you’re grounded,” she growled under her breath. She raised an eyebrow at her husband, then rose from her chair and stomped down the hall.
Across the table, Gil chuckled, put his finger to his lips for a moment, then resumed discussing old newspaper stories with their guest, author Paul Gaines. A few minutes later, Meg returned, bent to retrieve the small transmitter and turned it off before regaining her spot at the table. She tossed the unit onto the tabletop.
“What sentence did you give him? Any chance of parole?” Gil asked, removing the rubber band, then making the walkie-talkie twirl on the tabletop. “Remember, he’s only a fourth-grader. He can’t do hard time yet.”
“I told him we’d discuss his punishment later, but I intimated we might not let him go camping with all of us tomorrow,” Meg said.
“Pulling out the big guns. I’ll back you, but—”
Meg waved a hand. “It was just a threat. I’m going to make him work when we get there instead. Lots of firewood to gather if we want to roast hotdogs and make s’mores.”
“Mark wants to be a writer, too,” Gil explained to Paul, propping his arms on the tabletop, and letting his lanky frame go stoop-shouldered. He turned toward his wife. “I’m assuming he gave you the ‘I only want to learn’ excuse.”
“Yes, and I countered with the ‘you can’t legally bug people without a court order’ speech.” Meg sat back and crossed her arms. “We’re going to have to do something, Gil. He doesn’t understand the right to privacy. He keeps quoting the First Amendment and freedom of the press like that overrides everything else in the Constitution.”
Kate chuckled softly, but Paul Gaines laughed outright.
“He’s obviously of the opinion that the truth shall set you free,” Paul said. “Give him a little time and he’ll figure out how to get to the truth without getting caught.”
“Don’t you dare say anything along those lines to him,” Meg pleaded. “Mark needs no encouragement.”
Still dressed from work in his blue oxford shirt and no tie, Gil was a sharp contrast to Paul’s black t-shirt and khaki shorts. Meg had already mentioned how Paul called his own shots since he’d won a Pulitzer for his last exposé on the latest evolution of New York’s mob syndicates, and that she was worried Gil might decide to go for bigger journalistic fish.
“I never want to hold him back, of course,” Meg had said to Kate earlier. “But I also don’t want him writing stories likely to get him into dangerous situations. I know state politics isn’t as sexy as mob money exposés, but it certainly makes me sleep better at night.”
So, Kate wasn’t surprised to see a couple of frown lines deepen in Meg’s forehead as they sat and listened to Paul’s urban war stories, and Gil’s face took on a light of both enthusiasm and a little jealousy.
“Oh, before I forget.” Paul stood and started rummaging around in the pockets of his cargo shorts. “I need to give you the key to the cabin.”
“I’m sorry that we’re displacing you like this,” Gil said. “I would have never asked Jim for the cabin if I’d known you were going to be staying there.”
“No problem. I found a guy nearby who has a little caravan setup I can use,” Paul said. “As long as I have electricity for my laptop and phone, I’m good.”
“And running water,” Meg added, using her fingers to count amenities. “And an indoor toilet and doors that lock and—” She stopped when the men laughed.
“I can see you have your own ideas about spending time in the great outdoors,” Paul said.
Meg waved a hand. “I just believe R&R doesn’t have to stand for rough and ramshackle.” When everyone laughed, she added, “This is a trip to give all of us a little break. I don’t want anyone to actually get broken in the process.”
The McKenzie and Berman families were using the cabin Gil’s editor owned near Weston, Vermont to enjoy a long weekend in the area’s national forest. A planned outing already months overdue since it had been put off numerous times that summer due to scheduling problems at the newspaper every time Gil thought he had an all-clear. In the meantime, Paul had been borrowing the cabin as a place to stay while he worked on his latest manuscript and sent tie-in newspaper columns to his paper to whet interest in the upcoming RICO trial his information played a key role in securing for federal prosecutors.
With school starting again soon, it was now or never, and the all-clear signal came for the next few days. Paul arrived immediately after dinnertime to provide the cabin keys. Kate was invited to drop in to meet him when Meg learned Kate’s twin daughters were spending the night at their McKenzie grandparents’ house, and her husband, Keith, was covering for a colleague by trading times for their radio shows for the weekend. Kate watched the body language of the people at the table: Meg crossing her arms and chewing a hangnail, Gil leaning toward Paul and making the coffee cups rattle when he laughed and slapped the table. And Paul, sitting back, comfortable in his spotlight, telling one close call and another almost-missed deadline after the other. All in pursuit of the next story.
Lights flashed on the wall, and she turned to see Keith’s Jeep pass the house.
“Oops, that’s my cue.” Kate rose and pushed in her chair. Extending a hand toward Paul, she added, “It was wonderful meeting you. If you want a campfire meal cooked this weekend, stop by and see us. You know where we’ll be.”
A puzzled expression crossed Paul’s tanned face. “You do know there a full kitchen in that cabin, right?”
“Yes, but I expect our crew will want us to do the whole outdoor experience as much as possible,” Kate replied. “The boys have already convinced my girls they won’t really be camping unless they’re sleeping outside in a tent.”
“Which means the fathers will be sleeping in the tents, too,” Meg said, as she scooped up the plate holding a decimated lemon Bundt cake. “Hang on a minute, Katie, and I’ll wrap up a piece of this for Keith.”
As they moved to the counter, Paul stretched and stood. “I need to be going, too.”
“You aren’t driving back tonight,” Gil said, rising to walk him out.
“Have to. I need to get something to my editor first thing in the morning, and I haven’t started writing it yet.”
“Then stay here.” Gil wrapped an arm around Paul’s shoulders. “You have your notes on your phone, don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Then, come on and use the laptop in my office.” The men moved toward the formal living room Gil had appropriated for his library and workspace. “We’ll get you set up so you can write and email from here. That’ll give Meg time to make up the guest room too.”
Kate heard teeth grinding, but Meg never said a word while the guys were within earshot. As soon as the pocket doors slid closed, however—
“Be happy you’re not married to an inconsiderate newspaper columnist,” Meg said, shoving the plastic-wrapped package into Kate’s hands.
“I can stay and help.”
Meg shook her head. “Go home to Keith. I’ll have the room ready in a few minutes. I just hate being treated like ‘the help’ by my husband.”
“You never said whether Paul is married.”
“He isn’t right now.” Meg planted a hand on her hip and raised an eyebrow. “But I have a good idea why he’s already been divorced three times.”
Kate decided to take the shorter route out the back door. “Does he have any kids?”
“One daughter. She graduates this year, I think, but only sees her dad on a semi-annual basis.” Meg flipped the light switch for the back porch and followed Kate outside.
“Does she live far away?”
“Connecticut. One short train ride from Paul’s New York apartment.”
The women crossed the soft lawn to reach the gate.
“I would imagine the daughter has to resent that kind of inattention,” Kate said.
“You would think so.” Meg held out a hand to grab Rowdy’s collar, the larger of the two loveable Berman mutts and the resident escape artist. “But, she adores him. Drives her mother insane.”
“Are all of his ex-wives bitter? Or only that one?”
“Pretty bitter. Though they do all get alimony. The man is a serial adulterer, so I guess he needs to focus on his work to pay their bills. When he’s not playing around, of course.”
Keith opened the McKenzie’s back door and walked to the end of the wooden deck. When he called out, Kate waved to him.
“Hang in there,” she said to Meg, stepping through the gate and closing the latch. “I’ll see you in the morning.” Holding up the cake, she added, “And thanks for this.”
“Thank you for coming over tonight. I wasn’t looking forward to experiencing that much megawatt author testosterone without some backup. Now I have to steel myself to live through the hero worshiping from Gil and Mark until they can get the jerk out of their systems.”
“Guess I shouldn’t have said he could come for a campfire dinner.”
Meg shrugged. “It’s fine. I have no doubt Paul will show up during our trip anyway. He’s like a bad penny. You can’t get rid of ’im.”
