F is for Fred

by Rebecca Cantrell

  “Can’t you find someone else?” She ate the cheesecake.

  “I don’t want anyone else. You’re perfect.” He gave her that look again, and she fought to keep from responding. “I’ll cook you dinner every day for a week.”

  She was softening already, but she wasn’t going to go down easy. “Two weeks.”

  “All organic,” Gray said. “Not that crap you usually eat. And no takeout.”

  She sighed. Gray was an excellent cook. “Deal.”

  He leaned across the table and kissed her right on the lips. Quick, but very hot. She needed to get Jaxon out here soon.

  “You saved my life,” Gray said. “With a single word.”

  A camera shutter clicked. Someone was having a lucky day. The guy took a few more shots while she and Gray pretended to ignore him. If they looked at him, he’d start demanding poses and they’d be there all day or else they’d refuse and he’d get pictures of them looking like jerks.

  After the photographer had backed off a little, Gray said, “Did I ruin your love life?”

  “I’m still dating Jaxon.”

  “He’s a good guy,” Gray said. In addition to owning his own ranch, Jaxon was a trick rider. He’d stunt-doubled for Gray on a movie a while ago. He knew the score.

  “He’s a busy guy,” she said. “That was the first kiss I’ve had in weeks.”

  “Maybe it’s your hair,” Gray said. “When you come by for the Oscars, I’ll get Pierre to—”

  She whacked him on the arm, and the photographer clicked away.

  “Kissing and fighting.” Gray laughed again, and the photographer laughed with him. That might be the infectious laugh or the knowledge that he’d be getting a giant payday. “Aren’t we just the most passionate?”

  “Those dinners better be ambrosia.”

  “You know they will be,” he said. “They always are.”

  She couldn’t really argue with that. “No British food either.”

  Gray made an X motion above his chest. “Cross my heart.”

  More clicking. “Get out of here before Jaxon starts to worry.”

  Gray stood and kissed the top of her head. “I gotta run. I’ll text you the details later.”

  “Sure. Get what you want and then leave me.” She smiled up at him.

  “I paid for your lunch on the way in,” he said. “And I have the most amazing idea for what you should wear. Magenta. You’ll look luscious. Every camera on the red carpet will be in love with you.”

  “Shoo,” she said. “I need to save Fred.”

  10

  Sofia strolled along the wooden planks of the Malibu Pier. Bright white railings ran along each side to Malibu Pier Farm Café at the very end. Given the chance, Priscilla would probably paint those railings pink. No, grapefruit. She laughed.

  The sun was warm against her hair, and the sea air smelled of salt and adventure. Not a bad place to spend an afternoon.

  Except she was at work. Sort of.

  She scanned the cloudless sky for a familiar seagull. About ten circled overhead, all too far away for her to see their legs. Even purple ones.

  Maybe something would entice them to come lower.

  Halfway down the pier a couple of shirtless guys held fishing poles. Their lines arched over the railing and down into the ocean. In one of his videos, Fred had been stealing fish guts from what looked like this pier. Where would he get fish guts? Fishermen. She headed over for a closer look.

  “Catching anything?” she asked the first guy. He looked young, about her age, freckled, and his nose was peeling. An octopus tattoo in blue undulated on his back as he tugged at the line.

  “Nope.” He didn’t turn from his task. His blond hair was streaked by the sun. Some people paid a lot of money for that tousled and highlighted look, but she bet his was genuine.

  Maybe she ought to take up fishing. Of course, her dark hair would streak red, not blond and she probably wouldn’t catch anything but Fred.

  She peeked into the five-gallon bucket of water next to the blond guy’s leg. Empty.

  “Me neither,” the other guy said. He was older, probably in his fifties, and he wore a khaki hat with fishing lures attached to the band. He looked like the guy from M*A*S*H—Colonel Blake. Her mom was a M*A*S*H fan, but even she thought Colonel Blake was a bit of a dweeb.

  She shaded her eyes with her hand and looked up again, turning in a slow circle. A couple of seagulls had broken off from the rest and circled over the fishermen. Too far away to see if one was Fred. Even if he was up there, she wouldn’t be able to catch him without a rocket pack or springs on her shoes. Or a dish of caviar.

  “Half Pint Detective?” The Colonel Blake guy rested his pole against the railing and held out a calloused hand. “Tom Childers.”

  She shook it and stepped back again. He seemed harmless enough, but you never knew. “Sofia.”

  “I thought it was you.” He grinned. His teeth shone white against his tan face. “My daughter is a big fan of your show. She used to watch it with my wife before she passed.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” She tried to inject some real emotion into the words. It felt pat, but she wasn’t sure what else to say.

  He waved his hand. “My daughter says she saw you smooching with Gray Cole on the internet.”

  Smooching? Who says “smooching” anymore? Still, she had to give the photographer credit for promptness. She shrugged.

  “That playboy is going to break your heart,” Tom said. “You know he’ll never settle down.”

  “He might surprise you,” she said. Although, really, Tom was right and there was no way Gray would settle down with her. But that was a level of detail he didn’t need to know.

  “Oh, honey,” the man said. “Be careful. You’re not young forever.”

  What a nice thing to tell a girl on a sunny afternoon. “Have you seen a seagull around here with one purple leg?”

  “Not today,” said the freckly guy. “When he’s here, he’s a real pest. He’ll dive-bomb you to get your fish. Or even your bait sometimes.”

  That sounded like Fred.

  “But he doesn’t come round when the fishing is bad like today,” said Tom. “He seems to know when the fish are running hot.”

  Fred was an expert at knowing where his next meal was coming from.

  Tom started to reel in his line. “Now that you mention it, if he’s not here, I’m probably wasting my time.”

  “Thank you!” She waved and moved on down the pier before Tom could give her any more unsolicited relationship advice.

  She decided to walk to the café end of the pier and back. Fred wasn’t due to show up at Nobu until the late afternoon, if his videos were anything to go by.

  Her phone rang. Her sister Emily’s picture flashed across her screen. She was probably going to warn her that their mother had seen the pictures with Gray on the internet. Her mother adored Gray and thought he’d be a good match for Sofia, although her real hopes were on Aidan. Sofia figured both men were equally unlikely.

  “Hey!” Sofia answered. “Is this about Gray?”

  “Van broke his arm skateboarding. But he’s OK. We’re at Los Robles Hospital. Can you come and take Violet? Maybe for a few hours?”

  Sofia was enjoying her first kid-free day after two weeks of family time and she still hadn’t found Fred, but an emergency was an emergency. “I’ll be right there.”

  “Good.” Emily hung up without giving her any more details. Bad sign. Maybe Van wasn’t as OK as she’d said.

  A man with a familiar walk had reached the far end of the pier, near the beach. She craned her head to look at him. He was wearing shorts, a gray T-shirt, and a faded red baseball cap. Who did he remind her of?

  She directed her worry about Van into her legs and jogged down the pier. The man with the familiar walk seemed to spot her because he did a double-take and sprinted away from her toward the parking lot. She recognized his run even more than his walk—long stride, good form. The
guy from this morning, the one who’d shot at Fred.

  Damn. He had a long head start on her.

  She poured on speed, dodging a grandma holding the hand of a toddler, a middle-aged man walking a golden retriever, and a troop of Girl Scouts. But by the time she reached the parking lot, the man was long gone. She looked up and down the space and over to the exits. Maybe he’d got held up trying to pull onto the highway, and she could get his license-plate number.

  No luck.

  Out of breath, she hurried over to her dusty Tesla. No time to waste on the one that got away again. She had to make sure Van was all right and collect Violet so her brother could get some peace. Family first.

  But Fred was family, and no one was looking out for him. What if the creep had come to the pier looking for him, the same as she had?

  11

  Sofia broke a few speed-limit laws driving to the hospital, but she didn’t get a ticket.

  She parked and hurried to Emergency. Emily sat in the waiting room next to Violet, holding her hand as if the little girl might break away and tackle a nurse. A pretty good assessment.

  Emily stood up and gave her sister a hug. She was so pale her lips looked blue. Yvette had looked more relaxed while drowning.

  “Hey,” said Sofia. “How’s it going?”

  “Fine,” Emily answered, in a detached voice.

  “Van fell off his skateboard and his ulna broke and poked out through his skin,” Violet said. “The doctors wouldn’t let me go in with him even though I carried him four blocks back to the house.”

  Emily looked like she might actually faint.

  Sofia rolled Violet onto her lap and wrapped both arms around her. “That was brave.”

  Emily ran a shaking hand through her hair.

  “No man left behind,” Violet said. “That’s my policy.”

  Sofia spotted a vending machine across the room. She spoke into Violet’s blond hair. “How about you go over there and tell me what they’re selling in slots B3, J7, and E4? I’ll give you a buck.”

  She let go of Violet, and the child tore across the room.

  Sofia pulled Emily in for a long hug, keeping one eye on Violet. She whispered in Emily’s ear, “You really OK?”

  Emily nodded. “He was very brave, and so was she. A lot of blood. Ray’s in there, but they won’t let Violet in.”

  “I got her,” Sofia said. “Go.”

  Emily stepped away. She had a little color back in her face. “Thanks for coming on such short notice.”

  “Of course,” Sofia said.

  Violet was back. “Snickers, Twizzlers, and Cheddar cheese Ruffles.”

  Sofia fished a dollar out of her pocket and handed it to her. “Pick one.”

  Violet did better with specific instructions, and she immediately ran back toward the machine, dollar bill flapping in her hand.

  “Is Van really OK?” she asked quietly.

  “He is,” Emily said. “It’s not that big of a deal, but he’s my baby. Ray’s a great dad, but I want to be in there holding my boy’s hand.”

  “I’ll take Violet for as long as you need.”

  Violet was back with the Twizzlers. Emily gave her a hug and tousled her hair. “Be good.”

  “I’m always good.” Violet pressed the Twizzlers into her mother’s hand. “For Van. They’re his favorite.”

  Violet was giving her brother her candy. She was definitely shaken up, too.

  Sofia took her sticky little hand and led her out into the sunny parking lot.

  “What’re you doing today?” Violet asked.

  “Working.”

  “Shaking down perps? Shadowing dames?”

  Sofia unlocked the car and took a booster seat out of the trunk. At some point, she’d decided to buy a set and carry them with her. It made unscheduled kid hand-offs a lot easier. “What have you been watching?” She buckled the seat in on the passenger side.

  “Moonlighting. It’s a show with the guy from Die Hard.” Violet climbed into the booster seat and fastened her seatbelt. “So, what’s our mission?”

  “We’re tailing a seagull.”

  “Fred’s in trouble?”

  “Maybe.”

  12

  Sofia spent the drive explaining the case to Violet. Violet was not surprised that Fred had his own YouTube channel, or that he might be in danger because he’d witnessed a crime. Kids today were a lot more sophisticated than she’d been at that age.

  “Nobu!” Violet grinned. “Best sushi around. Of course Fred eats there.”

  “When did you go to Nobu?” She couldn’t imagine Ray and Emily taking the kids there. It was ridiculously expensive, and would the kids really appreciate a fifty-dollar lunch? Probably not, no matter how well plated it was.

  “Gray took me,” Violet said. “On the way home from fencing class.”

  Violet was determined to learn every form of martial art, and Gray was helping her. As an action star, he had coaches for everything, and he sometimes took her to training with him. The coaches adored her and most said she had real talent.

  Sofia wasn’t sure how she felt about that. On the one hand, it held Violet’s attention, wore her out and she was learning a lot. On the other, it gave her an unfair advantage over the other children in the world of hand-to-hand combat.

  But Violet had a very kind heart and it was rare that she hurt anyone. Except Aidan, of course, but wasn’t it his own fault that he’d fallen for the Nutcracker move?

  Sofia pulled into Nobu and handed her keys to the valet, Takeshi. He was putting himself through Pepperdine University and that place was expensive, so she always gave him a big tip. In return, she got her car back at lightning speed.

  She glanced up at the sky. The sun was well past its zenith. If Fred followed his regular schedule, he should be here soon. Although, really, how reliable was Fred? Was he more a Stanislavsky kind of seagull or a Meisner?

  “Miss Salgado!” The manager, Akira, came over. “And little Violet. Always a pleasure.”

  Violet snapped her arms down straight at her sides and bowed. Akira bowed back.

  Gray must have brought her here a lot.

  Really, you had to have Gray’s income to come here at all. She was hoping she could expense this lunch to Mrs. Solov, but she wasn’t sure Brendan would agree. Maybe she’d just have a cup of tea.

  “We have the perfect table for you by the aquarium.” Akira led them into the restaurant. It was packed with people wearing very expensive, very California clothing: it had a patina, as though it had been worn for months and left in a heap to ripen at the back of a teenager’s closet. But it was an artificial aging and the clothes were more expensive than the sushi.

  She’d hoped to pick her own table with a clear view of the dumpster, but she realized she’d have to get lucky if she was going to spot Fred. There was only one table free and she couldn’t judge the angle from their position near the door. This might end up being a very expensive washout. But she still had a chance. One side of the restaurant was open to the ocean. Maybe Fred would fly into view from that side.

  Akira and Violet were deep in conversation about tempered steel, so Sofia got to the table first. She took the chair that faced the dumpster. She couldn’t actually see it—Nobu was way too classy for that—but she could see the sky above and that was what she needed. Perfect.

  Violet sat across from her, unfolded her napkin and set it carefully on her lap. Gray’s influence, obviously. “Van will be fine, in case you’re worried.”

  “Good to hear.” She wasn’t sure how to react. Should she be honest and admit that she was worried? She let Violet take the lead. Violet never had a problem with that.

  “I talked to his doctor, Dr. Puppet,” Violet said.

  “Dr. Puppet?” It seemed like an unlikely name.

  “That’s what Grandma called him.”

  Sofia wasn’t sure where this was leading. “What did he say?”

  “He said that Van’s injury was something he
saw every day. He’s fixed it hundreds of times and all Van will have is a very cool scar.” Violet’s voice was filled with longing at this thought.

  “Did he say, ‘Chicks dig scars’?”

  “He did. And we do.”

  Violet was a little young to be a chick, but Sofia wouldn’t be the one to tell her.

  Akira arrived with menus and left.

  Violet pointed to something behind Sofia. “Are those the ones we eat?”

  Sofia turned her head to look. “Those are for decoration. There’s a clownfish in there. I don’t think they’d let us eat Nemo.”

  Violet looked disappointed. “He’s too little to be Nemo. Maybe Nemo Junior.”

  “Either way, those fish are not for eating,” Sofia said. She wanted to make that very clear for Violet. Otherwise, the little girl might just reach in there and eat Nemo Junior raw.

  “Fine,” Violet said. “I’ll have the tuna nigiri.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Sofia glanced down at the menu. There had to be something that didn’t cost an arm and a leg.

  A flash of white.

  Sofia’s head jerked. A seagull. Heading toward the dumpster. Maybe a purple leg? She jumped to her feet. “Stay right here, Violet. Don’t move a muscle.”

  “Except to breathe, right?”

  She knew there was a loophole in there, but she didn’t have time to figure it out. “Just to breathe.”

  She dashed through the dining room and out of the back door. The smell of rotten fish on a hot day hit her, and she gagged. She knew what drew Fred to this place.

  And there he was!

  He perched on the edge of the dumpster, peering inside, like he expected to find caviar. Given his current situation, he probably would.

  The camera on his head tilted to one side and then the other. She wondered what was in that dumpster. Jeffery must always edit that part out.

  “Heya, Fred!” she called.

  The bird swiveled his camera around to face her. She took a slow step toward him. For the first time, she wondered how she was going to get the harness off his head. She should have worked out a plan for that in advance. Next time she had to steal a camera off a wily gull, she’d be better prepared.