Page 3 of Axe Backwards
It was no use. I needed help.
I dug my phone out of my purse and googled the number for the Caffeinated Moose. I’d calmly tell them what happened, and someone would help me out.
It rang and rang. No one picked up.
It was morning rush; it was so loud out there. Even if poor Raeanna could hear the phone, she probably didn’t have time to pick it up.
I closed my eyes, my mind flipping through the faces of townsfolk who could help.
Loretta’s image snagged my attention. Yes. She was sitting by the window with a group of ladies who were knitting and sipping tea.
Clearing my throat, I pulled up her contact information and called.
“Victoria, how are you?” she asked, a buzz of the people in the background.
Loretta had been president of our local bank before she retired and found her true purpose as a town gossip and busybody. Even I had to admit that woman knew how to get shit done.
“I’m here,” I said, finding it hard to speak. “I’m at the Caffeinated Moose.”
“That’s lovely.”
“I’m locked in the bathroom.”
A small gasp escaped her. “Oh dear.”
“Can you tell Raeanna that I need help? The lock on the door broke.”
“Of course. Don’t panic, sweetie. We’ll figure it out. Are you hurt?”
“No.”
After I disconnected the call, I waited, once again focusing on my breathing.
I rubbed my temples. I was not canceling this meeting. Aunt Lou was struggling, and I’d promised her that I would keep everyone in this county fed.
The woman had been single-handedly running the food pantry for thirty years, and I had a fucking MBA. Surely I could solicit a few donations from the local rich assholes.
Except I had a heavy wooden door standing between me and my objective.
“Vic?” Raeanna called as the door shook a little. “We’re working on getting you out. Looks like the lock is broken. I called the fire department, but they’re out on a call.”
I banged my head gently against the solid wood. Of course they were. This was a tiny town. The entire Lovewell fire department was probably out rescuing a cat from a tree.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, conceding defeat. I’d have to call Charles Huxley’s office and reschedule. I got the impression he liked to feel important by toying with the plebs, of which I was one, so I’d had to jump through hoops to meet with him, and it had taken months to get on his calendar.
But he was a powerful guy with a lot of connections. As a former lieutenant governor and owner of a large, successfulconstruction company, he was an important ally in the fight against food insecurity.
Fuck.
Motherfucking door.
After my sister’s phone call, I should have expected a ridiculous scenario like this. I should have been prepared to find a stupid, broken dead bolt standing between me and what I hoped was a big donation.
I was pulling up the number to Mr. Huxley’s office when a deep, muffled voice called out.
“Ma’am? I’m going to take the door down. You okay in there?”
“Yes,” I shouted. Excellent. I guess the fire department had made it after all.
