Murder on the Lunatic Fringe (Jubilant Falls Series Book 4) by Debra Gaskill Page B

cooler and sat down at the picnic table.
    “So, how did you end up in Jubilant Falls?” Duncan asked.
    Jerome shrugged and his words came easily. “Katya hired me away from a farm up near Ashtabula.”
    “So you’re from Ohio?” Duncan asked.
    “No, Virginia. I served in the Marine Corps for a while—”
    “That was where he learned his most excellent Russian,” I interjected in my bad English. “He was guard at embassy in Moscow.”
    “Virginia to Moscow to Ashtabula to Jubilant Falls? That’s quite a trip,” Duncan said.
    Jerome shrugged again, looking sideways at me. Once again, I revealed too much.
    “I hire him because he can speak my language,” I said, trying to cover my tracks. “It makes it easier for me. Can you imagine me finding farm manager who speaks Russian? I am luckiest woman on planet!”
    “We should have included his story in the piece we did for yesterday’s paper,” Addison said. “It would have made it so much better.”
    “Oh, no, I couldn’t.” Jerome shook his head humbly, but his eyes were sharp. Addison’s eyes were just as hard, neither she nor Jerome trusting each other.
    In my position, you catch these things, the looks, the funny glances and the words with two meanings.
    “So you were a guard at the American embassy? Does that mean you have a law enforcement background?” Addison asked. “I know the sheriff’s office is always looking for new recruits. Prior military service puts you a few steps further up the hiring ladder.”
    Jerome shook his head. “Thanks, but no thanks. I enjoy what I’m doing.”
    Duncan smiled. “There’s nothing like working the land, is there? My wife tells me you’ve got llamas and alpacas. What do you use them for?”
    Jerome began to talk about the animals and I relaxed. Duncan opened the grill; potatoes wrapped in foil already sat on the hot coals. As he and Jerome talked, Duncan laid four pink steaks on the grill, their juices sizzling. The sun was warm and I heard cows mooing in the distance. Beyond the cornfield that stood between the old white farmhouse and the road, cars drove by only occasionally.
    When the steaks were done, we filled our plates and chatted as a warm breeze made the green cornstalks sway.
    For the first time in a long time, I felt safe. Jerome and Duncan were talking American football now—Jerome was actually laughing. Addison listened as I told her more about how I made yarn and how I dyed it. We ate our meal, good, simple farm food, and when our plates were clear, Addison passed around the plate of brownies.
    I helped her bring the paper plates and bowls back into the old kitchen, putting the bowls in the sink to soak. Addison wasn’t so different from a lot of the women I’d grown up with, even though she was older than me. She had a husband, a daughter, a home to be proud of, and she was a professional. Her husband was a nice man. He stood up for Jerome, didn’t he?
    Was this what it was like to have a home? A community? I hadn’t felt this way since I was little girl. Maybe Jubilant Falls, this funny little Ohio town, would be where I could put down roots, maybe I could even...
    No, I told myself. Stop thinking like that! It could never happen.
    The table was clear and the afternoon lunch was over. Duncan reached out to shake Jerome’s hand.
    “Thanks,” Jerome said. “Thanks for everything.”
    “I just wanted you to know that not everybody in Jubilant Falls is like Doyle McMaster,” Duncan said. “What he called you is not acceptable here. We’re a small town, but we don’t accept small minds.”
    Jerome looked Duncan straight in the eye. “I’d be lying to say I’d never been called a nigger before. I’d also be lying to say I didn’t beat the shit out of the white man who did it—and I’d do it again. It’s not often that a complete stranger steps in like you did. I appreciate that.”
    “I must thank you for your kindness, too,” I said. “We must have you over for dinner. I