I haven’t been in Vermont all that long, but I do know that if you want to get sloppy drunk, hit on, or arrested, Scooter Springs is ground zero for all that fun and more.
It turns out, the Dillinger Distillery also owns and operates the karaoke bar and grill right next door. And that little crooning and swooning hole-in-the-wall just so happens to be where Carol works as the manager.
Tilly, Stephanie, and I hurry into the building in an effort to escape the snow coming down outside.
The DoReMi is a spacious eatery with a majority of the space designated as a dance floor, or I’m guessing a brawl sprawl when the alcohol hits just right. The interior is made of gray wood from top to bottom with matching wooden tables and booths. The entire place is decorated to the gilt hilt for Christmas with its red metallic garland strung up everywhere you look. A Christmas tree sits in the entry, lit up with colorful blinking lights, and hanging on every branch is an ornament in the shape of a beer mug filled with the bubbling brew.
A woman up on stage is belting out the lyrics to “Blue Christmas,” and the entire bar is losing their collective minds in whoops and hollers.
The scent of onion rings and juicy grilled burgers infiltrates my senses, and suddenly my tummy is clamoring to have at least three helpings of each. I’ve never been one to economize either my food portions or my spending habits, thus the financial pickle I’m in to begin with.
Tilly gasps as she takes a few steps inside. “Would you look at that?” She swats my sister as she points to the bar. “Aren’t those the men you’re after, Lola?”
My sister’s mouth rounds out. “Son of a gun. It’s as if the universe is trying to tell me something.”
“What are you looking at?” I squint in that direction, hoping she’s eyeing the same onion rings and burger I am, but as soon as I spot the offense, I realize the universe cares less about feeding my sister’s stomach and more about feeding her flesh. I suck in a breath, so fast and sharp, I’d swear on all that is holy I just inhaled a French fry. “What are they doing here?”
“You know them?” a female voice pipes up just as Carol Bransford hops in front of me, and I startle once again in a thirty second window.
I’ve never had a suspect pop up out of the woodwork like that.
“We only kinda sorta of know them,” I say, taking a moment to glare at the Italian Stallions knocking back beers at the bar. I’m pretty sure we shouldn’t fess up to even remotely being aware of them, let alone claiming them in any single way.
Carol huffs as she tugs down a tiny red velvet dress almost identical to the newly issued uniforms at the café—Regina’s doing. I’m sensing a naughty Santa theme here.
“They came in an hour ago,” she says. “I guess they each run their own security companies. I tried telling them I didn’t need protection, but no matter how hard I protested, they insisted I choose between them. They also mentioned they’re looking to buy around here.”
“Buy? Buy what?” My heart thumps unnaturally because I have a feeling I know exactly what those young studs are up to. A dull laugh pumps from me. “Well, well, if it isn’t a couple of Santa sinners spreading Christmas fear wherever they go.”
Stephanie moans. “Let me at ’em. Don’t you worry about a thing, Bowie Binx.” She unbuttons her blouse three notches. “I’ll go teach ’em a lesson right now.” She zips off, and Tilly holds out a hand.
“Wait up! They don’t call me the punisher for nothing.”
“Well, there’s that.” I shrug over to Carol with her blonde curls, that red velvet lipstick on that matches her dress. “Fancy meeting you here.” I suppose I can always use Steph and Tilly’s incessant need to feed their testosterone addiction as a cover for standing in front of her.
Carol belts out a laugh. “Didn’t we just meet last night? You’re S.J. Wexler’s girl, right? You’re the wannabe detective Regina introduced me to.” She cringes. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. Those were her words, not mine.”
“No offense taken. Regina’s been insulting me for the last nine months. So what’s the deal with this place?” I ask, looking around. “My friend says the DoReMi is where it’s at if you want to have a good time.”
“Oh, it is.” She’s quick to nod. “Each day this month we’re hosting a Christmas themed event. Tonight, it’s exclusively Christmas carol karaoke. We’re hosting a Santa stocking surprise tomorrow night where everyone wins a free shot on the house and then some. If you think it’s lively tonight, just wait until tomorrow.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I happen to be the manager here.” Her chest expands as a prideful smile glides over her lips.
“Oh? Do you still work at the distillery, too?”
Her expression darkens. “I would love to, but that sort of went south a couple of years ago. At first, I thought manning the helm at this place might be a demotion, but I’ve had more fun, laughter, and happy tears than I can remember since I’ve stepped through that door. The staff and patrons are like family now. But one day I hope to be back on the board, and if things go well, I can have my old position back along with doing what I love right here. I’ve given my entire life to the Dillingers. They practically owe me.”
“Have you worked here long?”
“First job—right out of college. A friend of mine landed me the position.” Her expression sours. “But it’s been good for me here, and I don’t want to leave. For a while I was afraid I’d be booted out on my rear—what with all the budget cuts, but things
