A Sticky Situation Read Free Page B

Greener Pastures during the busy season to get to the bottom of why he wasn’t doing what he was paid to be doing. I regretted more than ever agreeing to hire him for the work Greener Pastures was helping to subsidize on the opera house restoration.
    For the past several years the good people of Sugar Grove had been hosting and supporting fund-raisers to restore the opera house to its former glory. Just last month the committee had run Meat Bingo, one of the most popular fund-raisers in town, to try to bulk up the coffers. Finally, an anonymous donor, also known as my grandparents, had come up with sufficient funds to get the first part of the renovations under way.
    An early February cold snap had frozen and burst a few pipes in the ancient heating system and Grampa felt if we waited any longer for the money to trickle in through the usual fund-raising routes the opera house would rot off before summer. He told my grandmother he wanted to sit in the balcony and neck with her in thedark once more before they both died and he didn’t see that happening without a little help.
    Which meant the restoration committee, composed of my grandparents, my sister, Celadon, Doc MacIntyre, the fire chief, Cliff Thompson, and yours truly got on the stick and hired Russ to begin the grunt work in the basement for a new heating system. Russ wasn’t really skilled at much except coming up with excuses for not working, but skilled labor wasn’t what we needed.
    The old coal room in the basement still had some leftover coal in it that needed clearing out to make room for the high-efficiency unit we were installing for the whole building. The town hall would get the benefit of the upgrade as well and the whole town would enjoy decreased heating costs in their tax bills while simultaneously restoring heat to the subzero opera house.
    Why I had to be the only Greene in the house when Russ called to say he had run into a problem I couldn’t imagine. Sure, I was the only one whose stomach was growling only a couple hours after breakfast. I wondered if I had angered Mother Nature during the winter and she was making sure I wasn’t going to get my hands on any maple goodness.
    I tried to put Russ off but he was insistent that I drop everything and head straight over to the town hall basement. He sounded all worked up, which, knowing Russ, really was troubling. Since Russ was the only person I’d ever met who sat down to play boccie this seemed extreme.
    I grumbled all the way into town. The roads were pocked with potholes and snowmelt flowed across them like the ocean waves of an incoming tide. My MG Midget was just back from its most recent emergency trip to the auto body shop and I was in no hurry to bottom it out in a rut bigger than an inground pool.
    Winter in New Hampshire can be a lot of fun but the roads are generally not for the faint of heart or the low of chassis. I should have taken the farm truck or the minivan but I had missed my little car so much while it was being repaired I hated not to drive it. I always felt like I was cheating on it when I went out with any other cars.
    Fortunately, parking in Sugar Grove is never a problem anytime except during maple festival weekend and I found a spot right in front of the town hall. I hustled into the building and raced for the stairs to the basement.
    â€œRuss, where are you?” I called out. The light level in the cellar was about what you’d expect from a space with bare bulbs hanging every ten feet or so. The electrical system could use some work, too, from the looks of things. I heard some shuffling at the back where the coal storage had been so I headed in that direction.
    â€œBack here, Dani. Did you bring a flashlight?” I pulled up short at the entrance to the coal room.
    â€œNope. You said hurry so I left with nothing but my car keys and a coat. I’ve got my cell phone we could use.” I scrolled through the apps and turned on