The Company She Kept by Archer Mayor

Why do you think the boss gave me the floater job? He’s smelling a rat here, just like I am.”
    *   *   *
    Newport occupies the southernmost tip of a long, skinny lake, three-quarters of which lies in Quebec, Canada, and all of which is saddled with the tongue-twisting name of Lake Memphremagog. Once a logging and railroad town, Newport is smaller than nearby St. Johnsbury, but brags of a more picturesque setting. This is a good thing, since tourist recreation has arguably become the city’s biggest reason for being. Otherwise it is a blue-collar community, fortunately located near Jay Peak, the thirty-mile-long lake, and Canada itself.
    It also caps Vermont’s fabled Northeast Kingdom, an area whose nominal capital is Newport’s aforementioned rival “St. J,” some forty miles to the south. The Kingdom—labeled thus most famously in a 1949 speech proclaiming its beauties—is isolated, heavily forested, and almost empty, even by Vermont standards. It is also heralded as a bastion of sometimes eccentric or isolationist inhabitants.
    Vermonters were proud of the Kingdom and its quirky lore, enjoying its hunting and wilderness offerings, while perhaps paying less attention to its financial straits and social woes. Natives eager to earn a living often moved away, while people seeking refuge from the wider world came to settle—or tried to until the harsh weather or the economy drove them off.
    Finding that some anti-lesbian hatemonger had an address within the Kingdom had been disappointing to Joe Gunther, who had been introduced to the region by a favorite uncle during summers long past. But, sadly, it had not been a huge surprise.
    Lester Spinney was at the wheel as the snow-covered countryside unfolded before them, the enormous white slab of the frozen lake coming gradually into view. Joe liked Lester to drive, as if the latter’s steady, dependable spirit leached into how the car handled the road.
    â€œIt’s fun to be back,” Les said. “Remember when you and I worked that old case together? I was still with VSP and you were on assignment for the local state’s attorney? That was years before the VBI was even a glint in anyone’s eye.”
    Joe did remember, as he did so many other cases across this small state. By the time he had reached his current place in the law enforcement pecking order, it was easy to believe that he’d either worked with or met a majority of his fellow colleagues. Spinney, nevertheless, had been a standout, both because of his storklike appearance and his near-bulletproof good cheer. Native-born, like Joe, he carried a reasssuring sense of being where he belonged.
    â€œWho did you get out of our St. J office to work on this?” Joe asked.
    â€œTo convince the post office to cough up the PO box holder? Cila Lewis,” Lester answered. “You know her?”
    Joe thought for a moment, priding himself on knowing all of VBI’s special agents. “We met a couple of times. She came from the Burlington PD, didn’t she?”
    â€œYup. Her hubby wanted to try farming, and the best land deal he could find was up here, so rather than commute, she applied to join us. Worked out pretty good for both of them—and us, too,” he added. “I hear she does a hell of a job around here. She’s a tough little bugger.”
    The description helped Joe to sharpen his memory of her, which was a relief.
    â€œYou’re an old-time farmer, Joe,” Lester went on. “What chances do you give them?”
    Joe glanced at him. “I’m the son of a farmer, and I got out as soon as I could. My brother did, too—became a butcher. Farming’s a hard life. The long winters and short seasons this far north don’t help.”
    Spinney drifted toward the interstate’s off-ramp—two exits shy of the Canadian border. Joe took advantage of the brief silence to admire a brightly