Jasmine and Jealousy

by London Lovett

  "I'd give it a few hours. I've been listening to her whine and moan and complain about you being halfway across the world for months. She'll come around . . . eventually."

  Chapter 3

  After the majorly disappointing reunion with his girlfriend, Ryder decided to start his first work day, hoping it would take his mind off of it. I was thrilled to have him by my side, arranging flowers and filling the morning with all the interesting adventures from his internship abroad. He had dozens of pictures on his phone to add visuals to his stories. It seemed there was, as Lola expected, a brilliant, beautiful scientist, Dr. Sandy North, on the expedition, only she wore contact lenses and her equally beautiful and brilliant husband was part of the team. I advised Ryder to lead with the husband part when mentioning Dr. Sandy.

  My stomach rumbled with hunger as I carried the last bouquet back to the cooler. Ryder was giving Kingston yet another treat as I returned to the front of the shop. He was talking to Kingston but staring sadly at the shop across the street.

  "My bird is going to break his perch if you keep feeding him goodies." My voice startled Ryder out of his trance.

  He patted Kingston on the head. "I feel like I need to make up for lost time. At least King is happy to see me."

  "We're all happy to see you, Ryder. You were sorely missed. And, while our mutual kooky friend is sitting just a hundred yards away, stewing about this morning's debacle, I guarantee she hasn't stopped thinking about you for a minute. It's taking all her willpower not to march back over here and dive into your arms. I'll bet you anything she is wearing a trench into the shop floor with her anxious pacing."

  Ryder shook his head. "Stupid, stupid me. I don't know why I thought it would be fun to surprise her."

  My phone buzzed with a text. Earlier, I'd sent a message to Briggs to let him know my marvelous, multi-talented and adventure loving assistant had returned allowing us the freedom to go out to lunch for a change. We'd been brown bagging it at my desk since Amelia decided to move out of state, and frankly, I was getting tired of the limp lettuce on my sandwiches.

  "There's a food truck in town square that everyone one is raving about," Briggs texted. "How about we give it a try?"

  I texted back. "Yes but let's take the long way around through the town square. I don't want Franki to see us walking past the diner."

  "Coward," he texted back.

  "No. Good friend who is also slightly traitorous," I replied.

  "Swing by my office," he texted. "I'm just finishing up some work." A second text came quickly. "Actually, I'll meet you outside. Unless you want to try some of Hilda's new coffee cake."

  "Nooo!" I texted back. I laughed to myself. "Poor Hilda and her strange obsession with baking," I muttered with a head shake. The woman was quite possibly the worst baker ever to walk the earth. If Elsie was on one end of the baking spectrum, wonderful, sweet Hilda was on the opposite end.

  "Hilda is still creating her bizarre concoctions?" Ryder checked his phone for the millionth time and frowned as he put it back in his pocket.

  "Yes, I just don't understand how she can taste the stuff herself and not notice how dreadful it is. James and I are going to try the new food truck at the town square. Do you want me to bring you back something? Although, I hear they have an extensive menu, so you might want to check it out yourself."

  "I'm not too hungry yet either. My stomach is still on a different time schedule. Have a good lunch and say hello to James for me."

  I headed to the office to grab my sunglasses and hurried to the door. I stopped before leaving and glanced back. Ryder was cleaning up the mess we'd made in the morning. I sighed but this was a happy sigh.

  "I'm so glad you're back," I said.

  Ryder flipped his long bangs off his face. "It's good to be home, boss."

  I couldn't hide my broad smile. The day was spectacularly perfect now (aside from Lola's brooding). I had my wonderful assistant back, and I was off to meet my equally wonderful boyfriend for what I hoped would be a wonderful lunch.

  I stopped just short of the police station front window, not wanting to alert Hilda to my presence. I was ravenous, but the last thing I wanted to do was fill my complaining empty belly with her coffee cake. Her baked goods were infamous for landing like solid rocks in the stomach. I intended to save all the room for tacos that, with any luck, would be drowning in guacamole.

  Food trucks definitely had an advantage over sit down restaurants in that their aromas were easily and perpetually released into the air, an invisible, ingenious marketing strategy that lured people to the order window. I took a deep whiff. With the help of the onshore breeze and my super-sensitive nose, I was instantly heady with the scent of grilled onions and charred meat. An extra wiggle of my nose even uncovered the faint but recognizable fragrance of freshly cooked corn tortillas.

  The front door to the station opened. I waved Briggs toward me. "Hurry. My nose has been taking in all the aromas, and I can't wait to eat." Too impatient to wait for his casual saunter, I lunged forward and grabbed his hand. "Come on, Mr. Turtle. I don't want them to run out of guacamole. I've heard dreamy things about it."

  Briggs chuckled as he allowed me to pull him along for a few steps before picking up his pace. "We'd get there quicker if we just hurried past the station and around the corner to Pickford Way."

  "Can't risk being seen by Franki."

  I led him through the alley next to Corner Market. Gigi Upton, the owner, was flattening some boxes. Her brows bunched together, then she laughed. "I see what you two are up to. You're heading to the taco truck, and you don't want a certain diner owner to catch you."

  Briggs pointed at me with his thumb. "Her idea. My mind isn't that sneaky."

  I waved to Gigi. "Guilty as charged. And mums the word."

  "Your secret is safe with me," Gigi said. "I recommend the potato tacos. They put a slaw on top of them that is spicy and delicious."

  We continued on through the alley that ended at Culpepper Road. Briggs tugged my hand to stop me from dashing across the street. "Look at that line," he said. "Maybe we should just go have a piece of Hilda's coffee cake."

  I pulled his hand. "Very funny."

  The Taco Brothers truck, a neon green boxy vehicle with a giant taco painted on its side, was parked along the sidewalk across from the lighthouse. Briggs wasn't kidding about the line. People stood all the way around the fountain and across the grass.

  "Hope they're fast," I said.

  Briggs squinted toward the truck where a man was leaning forward beneath a black and white striped awning to take an order. "With one person taking orders and one large man crammed into twenty square feet of space slinging carne asada and salsa, how could they not be?"

  Briggs said it so plainly it took me a second to interpret it as stinging sarcasm. I lightly socked his arm.

  "Seriously, I don't know if I can wait this long," Briggs said. We moved up one space as he spoke.

  "See, the line is already moving," I noted.

  "That's because this is the order line." He pointed to the various groups of people gathered near the truck with their tiny number tickets clutched tightly in their hands. "A lot of people are waiting for the actual food."

  "Please. After smelling all those onions and cumin and—" I sniffed the air. "And fresh cilantro, I'm really craving those tacos"

  Briggs nodded begrudgingly. "I suppose since we had to sneak and duck and dash to get here, we should at least stay for the food."

  I hugged the arm I'd just socked. "See, I knew you'd see it my way. Besides, this is our first chance to get out for a lunch date in weeks. I don't want to rush it."

  Briggs put his arm around my shoulder for a squeeze. "It is kinda nice not having to eat over your desk. So Ryder decided it would be funny to surprise everyone with his return. How did Lola take it?"

  "That's right. We haven't spoken about that yet." We moved forward again. The sidewalk leading up to the order window was just a few people ahead of us. We w
ere making progress. "Let's just say, there were no big hugs and kisses. The opposite, in fact. Lola smacked him in the chest with two angry fists."

  "Ouch." Briggs rubbed his own chest in sympathy. "Guess Ryder should have rethought his plan."

  "Trust me, he knows that now." We moved forward. "Yay, we're at the sidewalk," I cheered. "I can just taste those tacos now."

  Off to the side, a gangly young man with stringy blond hair and a plethora of tattoos on his forearms, was feverishly writing something on an easel chalkboard. His body blocked the words.

  I glanced over at Briggs. "If that sign says we're out of guacamole, then I just might cry." Briggs lifted his chin and looked over my head at the chalkboard. "You can save the tears, but you might just be wishing it said no more guacamole."

  My face snapped in the direction of the sign. The man was tall, thin and looked boneless like a scarecrow. He beamed down at his sign.

  "If you're tired of the greasy, processed food at Franki's Diner, then give the Taco Brothers a try," I read hastily getting angrier with each syllable. "You need to erase that," I said sharply to the guy.

  He flipped his stringy, long hair back. "I'm free to advertise. Got a two week license to sell our tacos right here on Pickford Way. If you don't believe me, then ask the mayor."

  I shook my head and pointed at the sign. "I don't care about your license or the mayor, but you can't say that about Franki's Diner. Her food is not greasy or processed." I looked at Briggs for back up.

  "You'll need to take the name of the diner off your sign," Briggs said calmly.

  I looked at Briggs. "He should just erase the whole thing. Why don't you write something positive about your food instead of writing something disparaging about another restaurant?"

  "Dispara—what?" the man asked.

  I shot Briggs a pleading look. "Do something. He can't say that about Franki's food." I was regretting even bothering with the food truck idea. I was feeling even more traitorous. (But I was also really hungry and . . . well . . . guacamole.)

  "Look, just erase the name of the diner, and we'll let the rest of your sign stay." Briggs looked pointedly at me to let me know that was as far as he could push it.

  The guy lifted his chest and chin. "What gives you the authority—" His defensive rant trailed off as Briggs held up his badge.

  The guy nodded and pulled a cloth from his back pocket. "Right, I'll erase Franki and just leave diner."

  "Thanks, much appreciated," Briggs said and pressed a hand against my back to move me forward. "That's really all I could ask," he muttered to me as we inched closer to the truck.

  "I guess it'll have to do, but I'll tell you one thing, those tacos aren't going to be nearly as good as I imagined."

  Chapter 4

  After the chalkboard incident, my appetite for the Taco Brothers food had diminished, but once I held the small paper basket filled with crispy fried corn tortillas positively bursting with a toasty pile of potatoes that were swimming in a pool of cool green guacamole my appetite returned. So did the anticipatory smile. (After all, everyone in town knew that Franki served fresh, homemade food. The slanderous sign would be ignored.)

  The picnic tables and even the cement ring around the large fountain were filled to capacity with taco munchers. There was a noticeable lack of conversation as people were hunched over their paper baskets feverishly eating their guacamole filled delights. I caught more than one person in the unseemly act of licking the remnants off the bottom of their paper basket. All done without shame.

  My thumb accidentally slipped into the guacamole on my taco. I had no choice except to lick it off. (I considered it still one good manners step above licking the cardboard basket.) "Oh wow, this stuff is delicious." I glanced back at the chalkboard sign. "Good thing for Franki and for all of our waistlines that they'll only be here two weeks."

  Briggs motioned for us to head across the street to the shady grass below the lighthouse. "Something tells me people are going to be making daily trips to the truck."

  "Poor Franki," I noted.

  "Won't be good for her business, that's for sure."

  We searched out the perfect section of lush green grass, far enough away from others and all with a nice view of the ocean. The afternoon breeze hadn't kicked in so the water was a glassy navy blue.

  "Now that you've heard about my morning, how about yours?" I asked as I settled on the lawn, taking care not to lose one drip of goodness from my basket.

  Briggs didn't answer. He settled himself down as well, but his mouth was pulled a little tight.

  "Uh oh," I said. "I know that face. Something has happened that you're avoiding telling me about." I sat up straighter. "Has there been a murder?" I asked with enthusiasm and, considering the topic, an entirely inappropriate grin.

  Briggs' brow arched. "Sorry to disappoint you on that front."

  "Lacey," a husky voice said from behind. I recognized the tone immediately and handed Briggs my tacos.

  Briggs looked up in question.

  "Just hold them. And don't eat them," I added with a pointed finger.

  He lifted his hands, both filled with food. "Don't see how I could."

  Marty stood on the cement path that circled the lighthouse. He looked so small next to his 'tall lady'. A kind smile sent a ripple of deep lines across his cheeks. I hurried over to him.

  "Hello, Marty, James and I decided to give the new taco truck a try. Do not, under any circumstance, tell Franki that you saw us here nibbling tacos."

  His chuckle crackled in his throat. "Your secret is safe with me." He stretched up as best he could to get a glimpse of the bright green truck. "I might just give those tacos a try myself. But I think I'll wait for the line to get shorter." He turned his smiling gaze back to me. "I just wanted to make sure we're still on for tonight."

  I reached for his hand. "I wouldn't miss it for the world. You brew the tea and I'll pick up something delicious from the bakery." Marty had been providing me with some amazing photos, faded brown windows into the past. The photos of his mother with Jane Price had added some missing pieces to the Hawksworth murder puzzle. I'd found his company so wonderful, we'd started a twice a month tea and dessert night tradition. I was certain I was getting closer to solving the century old murder mystery, and Marty had inadvertently become my new co-investigator. "I'll be over around eight. Sound good?"

  "I'll pull out my best tea cups." He winked and waved at Briggs before shuffling away.

  I returned to where Briggs was sitting. He handed over my food. "That's right, you have a date with the 'other man' tonight," he quipped before lifting a taco to his mouth.

  "I sure do. I'm getting close to solving the Hawksworth mystery, James. I can feel it in my bones."

  Briggs ignored my declaration as he lost himself in the delicious taco. "No wonder the line is so long." He took another bite and I did the same.

  We ate in blissful silence for a few minutes, both of us savoring each flavor filled bite. My only regret was not grabbing a bigger handful of napkins.

  I wiped a big drip of avocado off my chin. "I'm glad this isn't a first date with you. Otherwise, I'd have to take delicate, lady-like bites and pretend I was only semi-enjoying the food."

  Briggs had already gobbled one taco and was halfway through number two. He swallowed and took a sip of his drink. "I don't ever remember you taking delicate, lady-like bites. That is something I've always loved about you. You munch away at life with gusto. Just like the way you're eating that taco."

  I wiped my mouth for the hundredth time. "That was a nicely served backhanded compliment in reverse. You started with the not so nice part and finished with a polite flourish."

  Briggs unfolded and refolded his napkin. "A backhanded compliment in reverse?" he asked.

  "Yes. They're rare but when pulled off elegantly"—I nodded my head toward him—"they are quite an achievement. The part about reasons to love me was a nice touch. Let me give you an example of a regular, straightforwa
rd backhanded compliment. Then you'll get where I'm going with this. So, picture me all dressed up in my polyester blend cinnamon orange prom dress. It was half off at the mall, but I thought it was stunning. I arrive at the prom with my date, Wynn"—I shook my head—"boring and could only talk about skateboarding but I digress. Kaye Burns, one of the school cheerleaders, came up to me and looked my cinnamon orange dress up and down with her baby blues. Then she said, and I quote 'that's a great dress. Did you sew it yourself?'" I sat up straight with a chin lift waiting for his gasp or reaction, but he just stared at me as if waiting for a far more dramatic ending to my story.

  "And that's backhanded because—?" he asked.

  "Seriously? It was a compliment wrapped in an insult." I waited for his aha moment but it never came.

  "Never mind. I'm talking to the wrong audience," I said. "If I'd just told that story to Elsie or Lola, they would be rightfully appalled and most likely toss in a few colorful comments about the treacherous Kaye Burns. Anyhow, you were about to tell me the thing that you didn't seem to want to tell me." I paused to eat and left a nice, polite, easy to fill void.

  "What thing?" he asked. His dark lashes dropped over his eyes, assuring me that I was right, and he was avoiding eye contact.

  "That thing that had you all tight-lipped after I asked you how your morning went," I reminded him.

  He crumpled up his napkin and tossed it into his empty paper basket. "Right, that thing." He looked up and squinted one eye. "Couldn't we just talk about the backhanded thing again?"

  "James, what is it? Now you've got me worried."

  "No, don't be worried. It's just me not sure what to make of my new situation."

  I left the last two bites of food in the basket. They were delicious, but the new change in conversation made me feel uncomfortably full. "What new situation?" I asked, hesitantly. I had absolutely no idea which direction he was headed, but after my morning, I didn't need any more surprises.