Two Rivers Anthology Book Eight Part 4: A High Price to Pay

The next morning, local folks packed Jeremy’s River Eats Café. After more than two weeks of blizzards, snow had been piling up on streets and roofs. Roads were treacherous from slush that had iced over, so people suspended chores and trips out. The sight of townies enjoying the warmth of friendship over coffee heartened me. We were spared that day from having to put up with the lowlanders who increasingly flock to Two Rivers. Ironically, the local phone company had done a good job of providing cell phone coverage for the town proper: Great for longtime residents, but when the tech bros discovered they could telecommute from our fair city during the pandemic, they started buying up homes and muscling out locals. Fortunately, they stayed out of the café in bad weather.

At his usual seat, Jimmy-Tim from The Pick & Pan Saloon sat at the counter with his business ledger open and a small carafe of coffee at the ready. Sally from the deli always slips into the café before she opens her place to have a cappuccino on the theory that since she works hard, she deserves at least once a day to be waited upon. The Baileys Bradley (father and son) yacked up Frank Aliberti from the county museum. Bradley senior, over ninety now, is still spry as folks say, and enjoys entertaining Frank with tales of Two Rivers from back during the Depression and war.

As our Gang of Four settled in, I decided not to share with Nick what his wife thinks about him when he comes home from work. Instead, I figured I’d tell Reverend Steve later. He would know how the subject could be broached.

Sliding into the booth, Nick said, “Well, I got Betty off to work today. Even though it’s snowing like crazy, she wanted to go and left in a hurry an hour ago.” Additional conversation about Betty, fortunately, was cut off by the arrival of Sandy Lavitch, CEO of Two Rivers Water & Power. A few folks actually booed when Sandy walked into the café. TWIRP, as we now call the local utility, had drastically raised rates and announced water rationing—that continued even in winter—all because a newly built computer server farm down the road in Quartzville was using Two Rivers’ water and power and literally sucking TWIRP dry.

Flustered by the booing, Sandy searched for a place to sit. There were no empty tables—but there were empty chairs. No one invited her over, though. After assessing the situation, she told Jeremy she’d take her coffee and doughnut to go.

Glancing around at the frowning patrons, Jeremy said, “I think that’s wise.”

We’re a peaceable lot in Two Rivers, so I doubt if harm would come to Sandy, but folks were particularly irked that their utility rates had suddenly increased thirty percent. Sensing what the diners were thinking, Sandy blurted out, “You must understand. It wasn’t my choice. The board raised the rates.”

And to this, Bailey Senior called out across the room, “And you got a fat salary increase. A big one, too—another twenty-four thou a year. Meanwhile, all of us are tightening our belts and still losing money.” This brought a round of hear-hears from the café crowd.

Jeremy handed Sandy her order and said rather loudly, “That will be nine dollars.” This caught folks’ attention, and the café hubbub died down.

“What!” Sandy exclaimed. “That’s ridiculous. Nine dollars for a coffee and doughnut?”

Jeremy smiled. “It’s a new surcharge,” he said flatly. “My costs have increased—water and power.” He waited with a hand outstretched, wiggling his fingers.

Sandy slapped down a bill, said keep the change, and summarily marched out into the billowing snow with her purchase. She must have heard the applause after the door slammed behind her. Jeremy held up a twenty-dollar bill for show-and-tell. “I guess that’s the last I’ll see of her—or her money. Oh, well.”

Folks’ attention turned back to the door because a frowning Deputy Jack entered. He made a beeline to our booth and told Nick he needed to speak with him about Betty.

“Was she in a wreck?” Nick asked, his voice cracking.

“No. Nothing like that. I’ve been meaning to tell you that last week when I came up Highway 49 after a bout of heavy snow, I saw your Subaru Legacy pulled over near the old Commonwealth Mine property, where it abuts Quartzite. I stopped. Betty wasn’t around. I looked inside and saw something kind of odd. A pair of brown shoes were on the front seat.”

“That’s what she wears to work usually,” Nick said.

“Does she have boots with her?” the deputy asked.

“Not that I know,” Nick said, sighing. I watched his eyes scrunch up with worry. I, too, was worried about Betty after I’d seen her car parked along the road—and she nowhere around, but I kept silent.

Deputy Jack slid into the booth across from Nick. “Here’s the thing. Yesterday, I saw the car again in the same spot, closer to that computer company, and a white Tesla was pulled in behind your Legacy. When the driver saw me, he sped away, so I went after him and pulled the guy over. He’s heavy-browed, dark coat. A craggy face like a prize fighter. In other words, a real thug. On the seat, there’s a notepad and your car’s license plate number written down. I remembered then that I’d seen the Tesla often parked actually at that computer place. The guy shows me his ID. His name is Igor Rustovski. He’s Russian!”

A native Californian, H.A. Silliman grew up in the Gold County and currently lives in the northern outback. He is author of The Two Rivers anthology. ©2023 H.A. Silliman.