The Spring At Moss Hill. Carla Neggers

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      “Ruby shouldn’t have said anything,” Christopher Sloan said as he, Mark Flanagan and Russ stood on the balcony outside the meeting room, above the Moss Hill dam. “Her mother hears all the town gossip. It’s the nature of her job, and she likes it—likes being in the know. Ruby should be used to it by now. It’s easy for idle talk to get turned into something it shouldn’t.”

      Mark didn’t look convinced. He and Christopher had finished their look at the renovated mill and hadn’t found anything amiss. It was midafternoon, cooler by the river. Russ had settled into his apartment after he’d had his own look around the property. Not a peep from Kylie Shaw. She was hiding something, no question, but he doubted whatever it was had anything to do with fire codes or corners cut during the refurbishment of the old hat factory.

      Russ sensed that he and the two local men were on the same wavelength. He hadn’t expected to feel comfortable with the two New Englanders right from the start, but he could see they, too, weren’t concerned about actual problems with the mill but instead with the potential effect of the nebulous rumors.

      “Why would there be idle talk about this place?” Mark asked. “And why now?”

      “Because a Hollywood type is on her way to town. Doesn’t matter that she lived here forty years ago. She’s dressed movie stars.” Christopher nodded to Russ. “And there’s our PI here. Ruby told everyone you were on the way, Russ. That had to stoke the fires.”

      “Drama,” Mark said tightly, clearly disgusted.

      Christopher shrugged. “Sometimes people talk out of their hats and don’t realize they’re stirring up trouble.”

      “They should be more careful.” Mark stared down at the water flowing steadily over the dam, as it had since the mid-nineteenth century. “I don’t need rumors going around that I did anything but a damn good job on this place. If I find out who said anything...”

      “You’ll tell Eric or me,” Christopher Sloan said, then turned to Russ. “Eric is my oldest brother. He’s a police officer in town.”

      Russ said nothing. He could see how frustrated and disturbed Mark was by this development.

      “This will die down once Saturday’s event passes without a hitch,” Christopher added.

      Mark continued to stare at the water. “I hope so.”

      Russ leaned against the rail. If the two men were lying and the place was riddled with safety issues, then the rail could give way and land him in the river. But he didn’t believe the rail was anything but solid. “Mark, is there anyone with a grudge against you—anyone who’d want to make your life miserable?”

      “I’ve fired people, if that’s what you’re asking. So have the Sloans and other contractors who worked on renovating this place. I can’t think of anyone who’s been a real problem.”