Cage frowned. Jerry Petraski and his brother-in-law—the chief of police, Daryl Freed—were not fans of the Sanctuary project, though the exact why of it was still unclear. What was clear, however, was that they used their positions to intimidate locals who might otherwise support Sanctuary and its mission.
“That’s why you stopped doing Meals on Wheels?” Doc asked, shaking his head. “That is so messed up.”
“Messed up but true,” Mad Dog said. He turned and pointed his fork in Cage’s general direction. “Which means, it’s more important than ever that the reporter sees the truth for herself before her head gets filled with bullshit.”
“Cage will take care of it,” Heff said, topping off his beer from one of the pitchers. “In fact, I’m certain he’ll find some way to keep the pretty reporter happy and occupied. Won’t you?”
Cage glanced across the dining room to where the woman was writing in her notebook again.
“I’ll do my best.”
Chapter Nine
Bree
Bree awoke with a sense of anticipation. Despite their straightforward mission statement, there was an air of mystery about Sanctuary—or at the very least, Martha’s reaction when Bree had mentioned it.
Granted, her cursory internet research hadn’t netted much information, but her curiosity was piqued, especially after getting her first glimpse at some of the members. Bonus: the thought of seeing the Good Samaritan again made her smile.
Once she got a look at the place and talked to some people, she’d have a better idea of what angle to take and where to dig deeper.
She took a quick shower and applied a bit of light makeup. The scent of coffee and baked goods drew Bree downstairs, where she found Ms. McGillicuddy bustling around near the stove.
“Ah, there you are,” the B & B owner greeted cheerily. “I was hoping you weren’t a late sleeper. I’ve got to get to Obermacher’s this morning before the best produce is picked through. What would you like in your omelet? Cheese, ham, onions, peppers?”
“Just onions and peppers, please.”
Martha narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “You’re not one of those vegetarians, are you?”
Bree smiled. “No.”
“Good. I don’t trust people who don’t eat meat. It’s just not natural.” Satisfied, Martha pulled a massive green pepper from the fridge and began chopping with the skill and speed of a chef.
Bree cringed at the huge dollop of butter Martha dropped into the pan. “Can I help?”
“No, dear. You’re a guest.” Martha tilted her head toward the dining room. “Go on in and get started. I’ll bring your omelet out in a jiffy.”
Bree entered the adjacent room, where a long table and six chairs commanded the space. A solid-wood hutch sat on the far side, displaying china behind beveled glass paneled doors. The matching buffet table appeared against the opposite wall.
A coffee urn sat beside a tray of pastries, a bowl of fresh fruit, and a domed serving dish. When Bree lifted the lid, the savory aroma of smoked slab bacon mixed with that of the sweet, buttery Danishes and gave her a mini foodgasm. It seemed like overkill since she was the only guest, but she feared saying so might offend her hostess.
She could practically feel her hips getting wider from the smell alone. Unable to completely resist—Martha had gone to such trouble after all—Bree selected a small pastry, a banana, and two pieces of bacon.
After making herself a cup of coffee, she sat down at the table and picked up a copy of the Sumneyville Times, grinning at the headline. The big news wasn’t crime or politics; it was the announcement that potbellied pig races would be part of the upcoming Sumneyville Community Days celebration. Inside, there was even a special insert with a schedule of events, including a car show, live bands, and a tractor pull.
Bree sat back and sipped her coffee. Was there any place more wholesome? Going to the event and snapping some pics could be the perfect wrap-up to her article.
Ms. McGillicuddy slid a plate in front of her, then sat down with her own cup of coffee, and selected a pastry for herself.
“Thank you,” Bree said, refolding the paper and setting it to the side. “But please don’t feel the need to cook for me every morning. I’m used to just grabbing something quick.”
Ms. McGillicuddy seemed insulted. “Nonsense! Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and this is a bed-and-breakfast.”
Bree took a bite of the omelet and almost moaned. She’d become so accustomed to using nonstick spray that she forgot just how much flavor butter added to a meal. “This is delicious.”
“Glad you like it. So, did you get to do some of that exploring you were talking about last night?”
“I did, yes.” Bree told her about her drive around town and her dinner at Franco’s.
“Franco’s is good for Italian food,” Martha agreed, but the way she said it suggested that she didn’t think much of Italian food. “Do you have plans for today?”
“Sanctuary’s granted me an interview, so I’ll be heading up there this afternoon.”
“Oh?” Martha leaned forward in interest. “Are you going alone?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think that’s wise, dear?” Martha asked with a frown.
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Well, the Sanctuary is primarily men and former military men at that. Men who have”—Martha lowered her voice—“issues.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Bree told her, slightly amused by Martha’s concern.
Former military they might be, but based on her initial observations, they were also polite, respectful, and friendly.
Martha pressed her lips together and said nothing more, frowning into her coffee cup.
“I’d like to ask you some questions too,” Bree said.
“Me? Why would you want to interview me? I haven’t done anything.”
Bree was somewhat taken aback by Martha’s response. “I’d like your insight on the town. The people. What it’s like to live here. Things like that.”
“Oh,” Martha said, but the furrow between her brow remained. “I’m afraid I don’t have time for that right now.”
“Perhaps later then? After I get back?”
“Yes, I
