LIE FOR ME

Mandrake Falls Romance

CONSTANCE KENT

Copyright 2014 Constance Kent

Writewood Creations Publishing 2021

All rights reserved.

This publication remains the copyrighted property

of the author and may not be redistributed for commercial

or non-commercial purposes.

ISBN 978-0-9937704-4-9

Cover design by Slidesignus

Cover images by BNP Design Studio/sparklestroke

Table of Contents

Copyright Page

From the Publisher

LIE FOR ME

About the Author

From the Publisher

The year is 1987. The town is Mandrake Falls, Vermont. Relationship status reports are posted at the local beauty salon and the locals all have an opinion. The pace of small town life is slow until one of its citizens falls in love and that's when things get interesting. Folksy, funny screwball romance with a side of sexy times sizzle.

ALSO IN THIS SERIES

The Jilting

The Way Home

Love Rising

♥

LIE FOR ME

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

— 1810 child’s nursery rhyme

Chapter One: Keep Your Enemies Close

THE LIGHT was barely visible from the road, just a spark of white against the black velvet of the construction site.

But it was enough.

Sheriff Sawyer McIntyre pulled the cruiser into the empty parking lot, switching off the headlights as he did so. The beam of light vanished almost immediately. He removed his gun from his side holster, although he was confident he wouldn’t have to use it. The last homicide in Mandrake Falls was over thirty-five years ago. But Sawyer followed procedure from force of habit and a healthy pessimism that told him to expect the worst. He dug the flashlight out of the glove compartment and stepped out of the car.

It was cold for early October, the night air already biting under the collar of his black padded sheriff’s jacket. Cold nights like this transformed the green maple leaves to scarlet and gold, a drawing card for the hundreds of tourists that invaded Vermont every year. The movement coming from the sprawling sumac could be just a couple of tourists deciding to camp out. Sawyer’s mouth twisted. More likely a couple of Mandrake Falls teens using the construction site as their personal party palace.

With a soft click, he turned the flashlight on and raised his weapon. The beam swept over the shrub’s spiny burgundy leaves. Instantly, the movement inside the bush stopped.

This is Sheriff McIntyre of Mandrake Falls Sheriff’s Department. You are trespassing. Identify yourself.

The dry leaves of the shrub began to rustle violently. Sawyer swung the light lower and caught sight of a small black form on all fours under the sumac. It was crawling as fast as it could through the dense growth in the opposite direction.

Damn it! He secured his weapon and dove after his quarry, the beam from his flashlight swinging wildly in all directions. Sawyer scrambled through the gnarled stems of the shrub on his hands and knees, shielding his eyes from the branches that whipped at his face. He could barely make out the black clad figure now moving faster just ahead of him. The trespasser struggled to his feet, about to break into a run. Sawyer rose up and lunged, catching the intruder around the ankle and pulled hard. His quarry fell with a grunt to the ground. Sawyer threw his whole weight on the sprawled figure, pinning him to the dirt.

Get off me before you break something!

Sawyer didn’t need to see her face to know who he had trapped beneath him. If he couldn’t guess from her attempts to knee him in the groin—a skill she’d perfected in high school—her voice alone was a dead giveaway. No one else in Mandrake Falls had a voice like it; gravely and low sounding like sex and danger, which was ludicrous when you saw Shelby Porter in person.

Shelby Porter. Mandrake Falls’ answer to Lois Lane. The owner of Mandrake Falls Gazette and a royal pain in the ass. Sawyer shifted his weight, flipping her to her back. He shone the light from his flashlight full in her face. A pair of bright brown eyes framed by heavy black-rimmed glasses that looked like they came straight out of the fifties blinked at him. Shelby freed an arm to adjust her glasses on her smudged nose and grinned.

"Well, hello Sheriff. Fine night isn’t it?’

I might’ve known. Sawyer shook his head in disgust. Who else but you would be out crawling around the middle of the night? I could have shot you, you idiot.

He relaxed his grip, shifting his weight to one side and she used the opportunity to poke him in the ribs. You’d have to take the gun out of the holster first, cowboy.

Sawyer slapped her hand away. Knock it off.

Hey, police brutality.

I’m only just getting started. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her free of the sumac. What are you doing here?

Shelby stumbled against him as they emerged from the shrub, bits of tree and dirt clinging to the black turtleneck sweater and black jeans she was wearing. A black woolen cap covered her cropped dark hair.

Dressed for breaking and entering, I see, Sawyer said, eyeing her get-up.

I haven’t broken anything. I just entered. There’s a hole in the fence. You ought to get that fixed. Anyone can get in.

Porter! What are you doing here?

Shelby brushed a clump of dirt from her sweater, eying him defiantly. Porter’s eyes were always defiant, particularly when they were fixed on him, as if she were daring him to catch her at something. Inevitably, the look was followed by a complaint and this time was no different. Shelby launched into her grievance without drawing a breath. If you had checked out that report I brought you yesterday about the environmental hazard this construction site poses to the whole community, I wouldn’t be here right now.

It wasn’t a report, Sawyer said evenly. It was an anonymous tip, and I did check it out. See for yourself, the pond is exactly where it’s always been. Ryan is following Vermont State environmental law to the letter.

Shelby’s voice dripped acid. "Forgive me if I sound skeptical, McIntyre, but as the big sign posted at the entrance to this site says McIntyre Construction and the McIntyre in question is your brother, I think it’s possible you might have missed something."

Sawyer had a brief wrestling match with his professionalism. The urge to tell Shelby what he thought of her and her theories was strong. He dealt with all criminal types in his jurisdiction but Shelby Porter, even looking as she did now like a myopic cat burglar with her glasses slightly askew, was his most dangerous adversary. Owning the only newspaper in town anyone bothered to read gave her enormous power, which she used against him and his brother Ryan every chance she got. Porter’s editorial in last week’s edition of the Gazette led with: ‘Can Mandrake Falls’ Top Cop maintain his objectivity when he’s related to the most powerful man in town?’

He didn’t know why it rankled so much. Sawyer gave up long ago trying to prove to the local press that he could remain impartial after his brother’s construction business began landing big development contracts throughout the county. Nothing he said or did made a dent in Shelby Porter’s prejudice against him. He had to hand it to her though—not many writers could manage to imply that the most powerful man in town was a crook and the sheriff his toady, all in one economical sentence.

He would conceal his dislike for her if it killed him. Pardon me if I’ve misunderstood you, but are you saying I’d look the other way instead of upholding the law in order to protect my brother?

Even in the low light from his flashlight, Sawyer could see the expression in Shelby’s dark brown eyes harden. No, I never said you were stupid.

That came dangerously close to a compliment. You’re slipping.

Sawyer, you would’ve heard the message if you didn’t have a problem with the messenger—namely me! You don’t believe a thing I say. You never have.

Do you even hear yourself? You’ve been riding me in the paper ever since I got elected.

She met his eyes stonily. Consider yourself lucky you still have a job. If it weren’t for Dolly I’d have forced you out of office ages ago.

Ah, the ethical journalist reveals her true colors at last. Good. It’ll be a relief to stop pretending you’re anything but a gutter rat.

Shelby flinched but Sawyer was unmoved. He wasn’t going to let her forget her murky past. Dolly practically raised the McIntyre boys after their mother died, until the day she brought home a street kid. Sixteen-year-old Sawyer took an instant dislike to the undersized twelve-year-old. She was probably a thief or a drug dealer, or both. It was a fact she’d got into some kind of trouble with the police before coming to live with Dolly. What the trouble was, or how she landed in a Vermont half-way house on a court order, Sawyer didn’t know. But he’d been watching her ever since.

I don’t know why I’m wasting my time with you, she spat out. You haven’t believed a word I’ve said for seventeen years, why would you start now?

You asked me to check out the pond and I did. I didn’t find anything because there’s nothing to find. You invented this story and now you’ll scream it’s a cover-up because you didn’t find anything.

Why would I do that?

Sawyer pushed his face in hers. To sell papers—what else.

You think I’d destroy a man’s reputation to sell a few papers? Shelby howled. You don’t know me, McIntyre. If you think I’d do that, then you don’t know me at all.

Enlighten me.

I don’t control public opinion, Sheriff. I just report the facts.

Sawyer’s mouth twisted. Sure you do. And when you can’t find any facts to support your theories, you resort to anonymous tips to get your story.

Shelby’s eyes glinted in the half-light from the dying flashlight. If you think I made this report up then you won’t have any problem when I print it. Ryan can sue me for libel—if he has a case.

Stop calling it a report like it came from Greenpeace, Sawyer said impatiently. You got a phone call from someone whose voice you can’t identify and there are only nine hundred people in this town. Doesn’t say much for your skill as an investigative journalist.

The caller gave me very specific information. He knew things that only a worker at the site could know. How can you be sure you didn’t miss something when you checked it out?

Because I’m very good at what I do, Porter. I don’t miss things.

Well, I’m not out here for my health, McIntyre, and I don’t use my paper to air my personal grievances.

What a relief.

But if I see the democratic process being circumvented by a rich and powerful man in order to increase his wealth and power at the expense of the community—

Enough! Get off your soapbox and tell me straight. Is Ryan doing anything illegal here?

I’m convinced of it.

Sawyer crossed his arms over his chest. Okay, let’s see what you’ve got.

Oh, I don’t think so, she retorted. I’m going to tell you so you can report back to your baby brother? Nuhuh. Not going to happen.

You have nothing.

You interrupted my investigation.

Okay. Let’s go. We’ll check out your hot tip together.

You’ve got to be kidding.

Look Porter, I’m cold and I’m tired and the only way I’m going to let you look over this site is if I’m with you.

Go home. Relax. She waved him away. You can read about it in the morning.

Have it your way. Sawyer spun her around, reaching for his handcuffs at the same time.

Hey!

Shelby Porter, I’m charging you with trespassing and taking you into custody—

Okay, okay!

Okay, what?

Shelby exhaled furiously. You can come with me.

Sawyer grinned. Cheer up, Porter. It won’t be so bad having me for an escort. At no one least no one can accuse you of sabotage.

Fine, let’s go, she muttered and set out for the dark behind the huge McIntyre Construction sign. This way.

Sawyer followed, his victory losing some of its sparkle as she led him through the thick weedy growth behind the sign. The damp cold crawled into his back making it ache and he eyed Shelby’s thick sweater enviously. He should have arrested her, Sawyer thought sourly. He could be almost home and back in his warm bed by now.

So why didn’t he? Why didn’t he just arrest her? If it had been anyone else he would have charged them on the spot. He scorned the backlash he’d face in the Gazette; Shelby had already painted him as a spineless backwoods sheriff. He had nothing to lose as far as his reputation with the local press went. So why didn’t he arrest her?

Sawyer watched the slight shapeless figure tramp ahead in the dim light thrown by his flashlight. Years of law enforcement had given Sawyer McIntyre the ability to divine, like a sixth sense, when something illegal was in the wind. It was this ability that had kept Mandrake Falls’ crime rate low for the ten years Sawyer had been the town’s sheriff. His sixth sense was working now. He could feel a crime in the making and somehow, in some way, Shelby Porter was mixed up in it.

He thought over the report she filed yesterday. An anonymous caller identifying himself as an insider at his brother’s company had told her the work crew was instructed to fill in the pond on the old farm site, reneging on an agreement with local environmentalists to preserve the nesting habitat. The caller thought the Gazette would be interested in printing the story, but Shelby, unable to get a statement from anyone at McIntyre Construction, decided to ask the Sheriff’s Office to check it out first. When Sawyer arrived at the construction site, the pond was where it had always been, undisturbed. The only change was an orange fence placed around the area to keep it free of debris. He’d taken a soil and water sample to be tested for contamination; the lab analysis gave the pond the all clear.

Sawyer watched Shelby approach the pond like a hound on the scent. There wasn’t a problem with the pond, he was sure of that. But there was something wrong with the whole scene. As much as it pained him to admit it, Porter wouldn’t be here if she didn’t have confidence in her information. She wouldn’t risk a trespassing charge if there was no story.

She slung a leg over the webbed plastic fencing. Are we doing this or what? she barked.

Shelby, you can see from here that the pond isn’t being filled in.

Eyeballing it in the pitch black is not my idea of conducting an investigation, Sheriff McIntyre.

Sawyer didn’t bother to defend himself. If she wanted to go roll around in a swamp at three o’clock in the morning she could do it alone.

I’ll wait here, he said.

She threw him a look of disgust and vaulted over the fencing. He could hear the soft sucking sound of her shoes sinking in the muck that bordered the pond.

It would help if I knew what you were looking for.

A pump or a pipe. Any sign of dredging. Her teeth were already chattering with the cold. Give me the flashlight. I dropped mine in the sumac bush when you jumped me.

Sawyer handed it over the fence. The battery is dying. Better make it quick. And I didn’t jump you. I apprehended you.

Sawyer followed the fading beam as Shelby moved clockwise around the pond bouncing the light through the reeds, inching closer to the edge of the water. Watch it, he warned, it gets pretty deep there—

The beam disappeared in the loud splash of water that followed on the heels of Shelby’s scream. She fell in, just as Sawyer expected she would. He groaned and rubbed his eyes, wishing passionately that he had just arrested her when he had the chance.

Oh, damn, it is cold—my hat. I lost my hat. Shelby giggled hysterically.

Do you need help?

No, I think I’m okay. I think I can manage. Oh crap. I’m stuck. Damn it’s cold!

Sawyer cleared the fencing easily and waded in the freezing water to where he could hear her struggling in the reeds. It was pitch-black on the pond; the kind of black that only happens in the country. With the moon behind a cloud, Sawyer could barely make out Shelby’s head and upper torso. He caught her under her arms and pulled her up through the reeds to the bank. She was soaked to the shoulders. They were on their feet—frozen but not hypothermic though her teeth chattered ferociously and her sweater was dripping wet.

Take that thing off before you freeze. I’ll give you my jacket.

Shivering violently, Shelby pulled the turtleneck over her head. In that split second, the moon cleared the cloud and shone like an ice blue spotlight on her body. Sawyer stared with mild amazement at her breasts which were hard to miss under the circumstances. The white tank top she was wearing was undersized, soaking wet, and she wasn’t wearing a brassiere.

Shelby Porter was a woman. The shapeless black sweaters she favored were a great disguise. But she was a woman all right. She flipped the sweater to the ground and plastered her arms over her chest. Are you going give me that jacket or what? It’s cold out here.

Sawyer felt his face go hot. Shelby Porter was still Shelby Porter. Sorry. He yanked his jacket off and handed it to her.

She clutched