Outfoxed

Book 3: Fox Crossing, Maine Novel

by Melinda Metz

Genres: Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

The town of Fox Crossing, Maine, has something special—a legendary fox with a knack for bringing fortune, love, and happiness to anyone lucky enough to see it . . .



THESE TOWNSFOLK MAY THINK THEY'RE PRETTY SMART



Victoria Michaud has lived in Fox Crossing her entire life without encountering the fabled fox. And then, on the day of her thirtieth birthday, she spots a beautiful, golden-eyed vixen . . . right before she also recognizes Bowen Gower, the guy who made her high school years hell. So much for good luck. Victoria already has enough to deal with, between running her Junk & Disorderly antique store and refereeing her divorced, still-bickering parents.



BUT IT TAKES A SLY FOX TO SHOW THEM THE WAY



There are a lot of things Bowen doesn't remember about growing up in this town on the Appalachian trail, and some he's chosen to forget. Back to settle his grandfather's estate, Bowen soon realizes it won't be easy to make amends to those he wronged. But he's eager to convince Victoria to give him another chance.



It'll take some doing—and perhaps more luck than one fox sighting can provide. Then again, sometimes one look is all you need . . .

Release date: November 29, 2022

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 304

Sample

“It’s so unusual.” And by unusual Victoria Michaud meant “unusually ugly.” Truth? She wasn’t a hundred percent sure exactly what it was. It weighed about ten pounds and was about two feet tall. It was painted gold and liberally dusted with rainbow glitter. It didn’t seem to have a function, so she’d have to classify it as a . . . sculpture, a sculpture of something with eyes. At least she was about ninety percent sure the large faux emeralds were eyes. But were they the eyes of a camel? Or a swan? There was a curve that could be a hump or a neck, but the eyes didn’t seem in the correct position for either creature. “I could give you . . .” She hesitated, taking in Mrs. Haggerty’s bouclé coat, nice and cozy for fall, but not nearly heavy enough for Maine in March. At least she was layering. It looked like she had at least two sweaters on underneath. “I could give you twenty-five for it.” Which would probably mean a loss of $24.50.

“Wonderful! I hope someone gets as much pleasure out of it as I did.” Mrs. Haggerty set the . . . the swamel on the counter and gave it an affectionate pat. As soon as she was out the door, Bonnie came over and picked up the statue. “When you said twenty-five, I was hoping you were talking cents. Even then you might take a loss. I’m not sure this would even go on the ten-cent-Tuesday table.”

“I know.” Vic sighed. “I know, I know, I know.”

Bonnie raised her eyebrows. “And yet?”

“The store’s called Junk and Disorderly. There needs to be some fun junk on the shelves. That’s part of the appeal, seeing some crazy ugly.”

“I think we’ve got that covered.” Bonnie put the swamel on top of a low mahogany dresser between a lovely brass comb, brush, and mirror set, and a Barbie Fashion Head that had, unfortunately, been given a makeover with Magic Markers, permanent Magic Markers. She used both hands to brush rainbow glitter off her black overalls. “Herpes of craft supplies,” Bonnie muttered, glaring at the glitter that had been left behind.

“Gives you a little pizzazz.”

“I don’t do pizzazz.”

True. Vic’s assistant liked straight lines and solid colors, especially black, set off by a sleek blunt bob. Vic’s own style was eclectic. Bonnie sometimes accused her of dressing in all the pieces that didn’t sell at the shop, but not true. Mostly not true.

“I never thought I’d say this, but Barbie is looking almost pretty next to the thing.” Bonnie fluffed Barbie’s hair. “Maybe we can use that. We’ll just put it next to whatever we’re hoping to sell.”

“Once we hit hiking season, all this will go. The trail widows are always ready to shop.” Bonnie looked dubious. Time for a new topic. “How’s Addison doing?” A question about Bonnie’s thirteen-year-old daughter was always an easy way to change the subject. Besides, Vic wanted to know. “She still missing Rose as much?”

“As much as if she just moved yesterday. Addison and Rose were so tight, and I always thought it was great. But maybe it kept her from connecting with the other girls enough. Last night, I asked if she wanted to invite a friend to come to the movies with us, but she said no.”

“You could bring her the swamel. I bet that would cheer her up.”

Bonnie snorted. “As in ‘swan-camel’?”

“Exactly.” Vic loved how she and Bonnie were almost always on the same wavelength. She looped her arm around Bonnie’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “I know it’s got to be so hard watching Addison feeling sad and not being able to fix it.”

“I keep telling myself to give it time, and that Addison will eventually get close to some of the other girls. But I remember seventh grade. I remember how cliquey it could be, even though now it feels like they are way too young for all that. What if she never makes a friend ever? Which is how I know she thinks of it. Never ever.”

“I remember how a school year felt so long back then. Summer vacation went on forever. Now—” Vic snapped her fingers. “But there’s no way she won’t eventually find another bestie. Addison’s too—” Vic was interrupted by her brother coming in the door. “Henry!” She rushed over and got one of his patented Henry hugs, so hard it felt like it dented her ribs. “Are you hungry? Have you eaten? Are you tired? Do you want a nap? The drive was long, I know. Or maybe you want coffee? Or something cold? Or—”

He held up one hand. “Research shows people are only able to hold three or four things at a time in their working memory. I’ve reached capacity.” He grinned at her. “But I appreciate the welcome.”

“It’s how she greets me almost every afternoon.” Bonnie smiled at him. “I’m Bonnie, the assistant.”

“I can’t believe you two haven’t met. Bonnie’s been working here for three years. It’s been too long since you’ve been home, brother of mine.”

“Only because we’ve been doing the annual beach trip,” Henry answered.

The beach trip where Henry, Vic, and their mom and dad visited both sets of grandparents, who’d made the move from Maine to Florida together and gotten side-by-side condos. That trip was never going to happen again.

“Well, it’s good to finally meet the big-shot doctor brother,” Bonnie said.

“Brother, yes. Doctor, kind of. A PhD, not an MD. Big shot, not so much.” He walked over and shook Bonnie’s hand.

Vic’s brother always acted like his accomplishments were nothing. Not like he should walk around bragging all the time, but Vic wished he would just take a compliment without deflecting. Okay, a PhD wasn’t an MD, but he’d worked hard for that degree.

“I say heading up the community health-needs assessment qualifies as big shot.” Bonnie winked at him. “Your sister talks about you once in a while.”

“Vic’s always been my cheerleader.” He sucked at taking a compliment, but he was always generous about giving one.

“She just paid twenty-five bucks for this.” Bonnie patted the swamel on the hump. “I think she may be in need of a health assessment.”

“I know, okay? I know, I know, I know.” Vic ran her fingers through her long hair, accidentally pulling one of her sparkly butterfly barrettes free. “But it was Mrs. Haggerty selling it.” She slid the barrette back in place so it would hold her wavy hair, same dark brown as Henry’s, away from her face.

“I don’t remember—Oh, wait. Cafeteria lady, elementary school.”

“Yep.”

“Always gave me extra, which I didn’t need.” Henry pulled his parka off. “Was coffee one of the hundred things you offered me?”

“In my office. Come on.” Vic led the way to the back room. She filled up a YOU’RE FOXY mug for him, and one with a little ceramic fox in the bottom for her. She doubted there was anyone in Fox Crossing who didn’t have at least one fox mug. She gestured Henry to the overstuffed armchair on one side of her desk, keeping the wooden one with the wobbly leg for herself.

“Should I ask if you’re turning a profit?” He eyed the pair of clown dolls dressed as a bride and groom propped on one of the half dozen bookshelves she used for storage.

“With my eye for hidden gems?” She laughed. “I do okay. Especially in the summer.”

“Summer is, by my calculations, a quarter of the year.”

“I don’t need much. Pop-Tarts and Diet Coke.”

“I hope you’re kidding.”

“Diet Coke has no calories, so that takes away some of the calories of the Pop-Tarts, if you average the two together.” Vic realized she had half a Diet Coke sitting on the desk and took a swig. Warm and flat. But still not bad.

“You do realize you have a cup of coffee in your other hand?”

Vic laughed and downed the rest of the soda. She picked up the wonderfully ornate footed bowl she used for sugar, then looked around for the spoon. She didn’t see it, so she shook some sugar into her mug—and a little onto the desk—then grabbed a pen as a stirrer.

“You drink Diet Coke, but put sugar in your coffee?”

“I’m not having Pop-Tarts, so it’s okay.”

Henry shook his head. “I’m having Mom flashbacks.”

“Yeah.” Their mom had constantly been on a diet. She’d also constantly made food that had been on no diet ever—fettuccine Alfredo, chocolate pecan pie, mashed potatoes with butter, butter, and more butter. Usually, she’d just sit and watch them eat, drinking a Diet Coke. But Vic had caught her downing the leftovers straight out of the fridge more than once. Vic’s mother always said whatever you eat standing up didn’t count. She was the queen of rationalizations when it came to food, and Vic was still using her calorie math. “She kept her weight at—”

“One-thirteen.” Henry sent the pitch of his voice higher. “‘Same weight as I was when I won Junior Miss Georgia Peach.’”

“Exactly. And she thought I should be the same. I guess it did leave me with some messed-up eating habits. But that’s all going to change when I turn thirty. I’m going to become disgustingly healthy.”

“Only one day left.” Henry pulled the lumpy pillow out from behind his back, shook his head as he read the I LOVE WEIRD embroidered on it, then tossed it on the floor.

“Right. Except, I have to have birthday cake. So maybe I’ll take two days. Although, according to Mom, cake with writing on it doesn’t have calories.” Vic took a sip of coffee. “I forgot to ask if you wanted sugar for yours. I can find a real spoon if you don’t want the pen.”

“Don’t bother. I’m doing the Whole30. No sugar. No MSG. No—”

“No, no, no. I’m not sure if I can live with you.”

“It’s only until I find my own place. You could do the 30 with me. You said you wanted to get healthy, disgustingly healthy.”

“I said disgustingly healthy, not revulsingly. And I told you, you should stay with me the whole year. We hardly ever get to see each other. It will be fun. Unless you try to make me give up sugar entirely, then we’d have to throw down.”

“If I do stay, I’m paying you rent.”

“Don’t be stupid. I really am fine. I told you, I’ve got everything I need.”

“Everything you need, plus whatever those things are on your legs.”

“These, brother of mine, are spats, short for ‘spatterd ashes.’ Mine are brocade, and before you say anything, I know they don’t match. I prefer that they don’t match. People used to wear them to keep rain and mud from spattering on their shoes and socks. I just think they’re purdy.” She stretched her legs out in front of her to admire them. The motion almost dumped her on the floor, but Henry caught her arm and held it until she got the wobbly chair steady again.

Vic noticed a worry line forming between her brother’s eyebrows as he took in more of her inventory. He blinked several times as he studied one of her latest acquisitions, a Fiji mermaid.

“Isn’t she cool?” Vic said. “I like the shape of the skull. Sometimes artists make it look too human. The real Fiji mermaid had the skull of a juvenile monkey.”

“That has to be the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen, and I had to dissect a cow’s eye in one of my bio classes.”

“I’m not sure I believe you, considering you puked when Buddy Dyer showed you his toenail-clipping collection.”

“Because I had the flu.”

“So you say.” Vic grinned at Henry. It was so great having her brother home. “Anyway, ugly or not, there’s a market for those mermaids. I have to remember to spell Fiji f-e-e-j-e-e on the tag. More authentic. That’s how Barnum did it in his sideshow.” The frown line on Henry’s face didn’t go away. “Dude, seriously, I’m fine, just like I am every time you ask. Do I need to remind you the shop is paid for, as is the apartment above it?”

“I’m still paying rent.”

“Don’t be stupid. I always make a few good estate-sale finds, and Bonnie made us a website.” Henry was looking stubborn. Vic knew he was never going to agree to stay if he didn’t pay something. “I guess you could split utilities with me, if you really want to.”

“I pay it all, or no deal.”

Vic considered the offer. “Whoever can hold their breath the longest decides.”

“I know you used to cheat.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yeah, I did. You’d puff up your cheeks real big, then breathe through your nose.” He did a demo to remind her.

“Why’d you let me win all those times then?”

“It’s a big-brother thing.”

“Little brother,” Vic corrected.

“I’m much bigger than you.”

True. He was a six-one tower of muscle. He’d always called himself her big brother back in the day too, although back then they were about the same height and he probably weighed fifty or sixty pounds more. At least their mom hadn’t expected him to be the weight she was when she’d been crowned Junior Miss Georgia Peach. He’d gotten a growth spurt the summer after his senior year and lost the rest of the excess weight in college, but by then the damage had been done. Years of being fat-bullied had left him with scars.

“Just let me pay the whole utility bill. Like your friend said, I’m a big-shot doctor.”

“I suppose, if you insist, you can pay the entire thing.” She gave an elaborate, put-upon sigh.

“Why, thank you.” Henry took a swallow of coffee. “I’m not sure if I should ask, but how are Mom and Dad?”

With the mention of their parents, Vic felt a familiar surge of sadness. It’d been more than a year since they’d split, and the divorce would be final in less than a month. She should have dealt with it by now. She wasn’t a child. But a part of her that still needed them, needed them together. “We have a system.” She’d never admitted this to Henry when they’d talked on the phone. But now that he was going to be living in town, he was going to find out.

“A system,” he repeated.

Vic picked up a calendar—she had a separate one just for their parents—and handed it to him.

His eyebrows went up as he studied it. “I’m assuming M for ‘Mom’ and D for ‘Dad.’”

“Brainpower of a PhD at work,” she teased.

“I wanted to be sure, because this seems like craziness. Why are you keeping track of their appointments?”

He didn’t get it. Well, why would he? “It’s more than that. They refuse to be in the same room, so I make a schedule that shows when each is allowed to be at one of their usual places—Banana’s, Flappy’s, the BBQ, every place.”

“They can’t even sit at different tables and ignore each other?”

Vic shook her head. “A trivia tournament is coming up, and I live in fear that both their teams will end up in the final round. I guess maybe I could ask Banana to set up a table outside his pub and one team could yell their answers though the window. But it’s pretty cold for that.”

“How did you decide which one of them had to leave the Quiz Pro Quos?”

“Oh, that wasn’t even an option. The only way I could make it work was to have them both quit Quos and join other teams. The trivia world was rocked. Rocked, I tell you.”

Henry scrubbed his face with his fingertips. “I can’t believe Mom and Dad . . . just never saw it coming.”

“Me either.” They were both silent a moment.

“What would happen if you just refused to mediate?” Henry tossed the calendar back on her desk.

“I didn’t at first, but every time they ended up in the same place, which happened a lot because, Fox Crossing, there would be shouting and tears. I’m talking about from me.” She forced a laugh. “It just got too stressful. And now you know why I am having two birthday parties tomorrow night. You are required to attend both. One, because they are your sister’s birthday parties. Two, because if you choose the one Dad is organizing, Mom would never forgive you, and vice versa. Mom’s is at Wit’s Beginning because, of course, Banana insisted on his pub being used for at least one of the parties. Dad’s is at Shoo Fly’s because, Dad claims—now he claims—that Shoo Fly’s cakes are better than Mom’s.”

“Being back is going to be an adjustment. A part of me feels like if I go to the house, it will just be like every other time I’ve come to visit. Mom and Dad waiting for me.”

“Sometimes I feel the same way. Pretty soon the house will be sold.” It shouldn’t matter. Vic hadn’t lived there for years. But it felt like such a loss.

“And they’ve still never said why they’re getting divorced?”

“They grew apart. That’s all either of them will say.” Her eyes suddenly stung with unshed tears, and she blinked them away before Henry could notice. She needed a subject change. “So, tell me more about the job.”

“I saw what you did there,” Henry said, but went along with the new topic. “The study covers all of Piscataquis County. The first thing I need to do is make some community contacts in each town, people who can help me get information from every resident. If the study is going to end up getting funds to the people who need it most, I can’t miss anybody.”

She could hear the enthusiasm in his voice and knew it would be infectious. He was going to be able to get everyone he needed involved.

“I’m going to start with Fox Crossing, since the local-boy factor will give me an in. That’s what got me the job, really.”

There he went again. Downplaying. “Yeah, I heard it was between you and the Duck of Justice. It has more than two hundred and fifty thousand Facebook followers.” The DOJ was the mascot of the Bangor Police Department, a duck illegally killed that had been taxidermied.

“And it’s dead. Which maybe gave me an advantage.” He picked Vic’s letter opener off her desk—Lucite with samples of horse estrogen pills inside, some kind of veterinary pharmaceutical giveaway, she guessed. He frowned at it, then put it down without commenting on its fabulousness. Her brother had no appreciation for the finer things. “Never thought I’d be living in Fox Crossing again. But it’s right in the study area—”

“And allows spending time with your fabulous sister.”

“And allows spending time with my fabulous sister.” He stretched. “I might take you up on that nap.”

Vic pulled out a set of keys with a miniature Sorry! game on the ring and handed them over. “I made you a set. Guest room’s all made up.” Henry opened the miniature Sorry! box and twirled the tiny spinner. “There’s a little side drawer that has magnetic game pieces.” As soon as she’d spotted the key ring on one of her garage-sale sweeps, she’d thought of Henry. They’d played many a game back in the day.

“I let you win at Sorry! too.”

“No way. I earned every moment of sweet, sweet revenge.” Every time she’d sent him back, she’d done a victory dance and yelled “Sorry!” as loud as she could. She might have been a tad obnoxious.

“That’s it. Rematch at dinner.”

“You’re on.” They both stood. Vic put her hand on his arm as he started for the narrow staircase that led from the back room to her apartment. “There’s something you should know. Not a big thing. Just—Maybe it doesn’t even matter.”

“Obviously it matters. You’re getting all twitchy.”

Vic realized she’d been twisting one of her rings around and around and forced herself to stop. “Okay. Here it is. Cassian Gower died last week.”

“That’s too bad. I didn’t ever really know him. I mean, he was the mayor, so I knew him that way. He wasn’t a family friend or anything. Or did that change?”

“No. It’s just that . . . his estate has to be dealt with, and that means—” She realized she’d started fiddling with her ring again and made herself stop and meet her brother’s gaze. “Bowen Gower is back in town.”

Bowen Gower stared at his grandfather’s house, his home for his last two years of high school. His hand closed around the door handle of the rental, still somewhat annoyed that he’d reserved an Audi TT, but gotten a Hyundai Kona. He tightened his grip on the handle, but didn’t open the door, just sat there looking at the massive house, every window, balcony, and gable familiar.

Just do it, he told himself. It’s not like he could keep sitting out here on the driveway, not in Maine in March. He shoved the door open, popped the trunk, grabbed his bag, the Lotuff No. 12 GQ said was the best duffel, and strode to the front door. He fumbled a little with the locks, the bottom one sticking, then stepped inside. The house was warm, too warm. Or maybe it only felt that way because he’d been sitting in the cold car. He shrugged off his coat, a Kingsman Shackleton, a GQ pick for one of the best winter jackets. Not that he really cared. But some of his associates and clients would. He’d learned that from his granddad, who’d taken him shopping for interview suits when Bowen graduated from college. When Bowen needed clothes, he usually checked a GQ list, then used the link to order online. No fuss, no muss.

As he hung the jacket in the corner coatrack, the grandfather clock began to chime the quarter hour. The same chimes that played in St. Michael’s Church in Charleston. The British had taken the bells back to England after they took over the city during the Revolutionary War. His grandfather had told him that story many times. The man loved history. He’d had a story about that compass-rose inlay on the floor too. The compass rose had. . .