Jasmine and Jealousy

by London Lovett

  Briggs stretched his legs out and leaned back on his hands. "They've hired a new detective to assist with my case overload."

  I was so relieved, I blew a puff of air from my lips. "Is that all? A new detective? That's good news, isn't it?" My brows rose. His expression didn't seem to corroborate my good news theory.

  Briggs smoothed his palm over the thick grass. "Not quite sure how I feel about it all. Yes, I occasionally get overwhelmed by the amount of work, but it's kind of nice being the lone wolf in town."

  I cleared my throat to remind him he had an unofficial partner, a title I'd rightly earned.

  "After all, I have you when the murderers get out of hand," he amended. He picked up our trash with one hand and gave me a hand up with the other.

  "I suppose we could always use the extra pair of eyes and ears," I mused. "As long as he doesn't get in my way."

  "It's a she," Briggs said. He took a side route to the trash can and rejoined me.

  "A woman detective?" I asked, suddenly not entirely sure I was finding the whole thing good news either.

  "Detective Chrissy Fairchild. Not sure how I feel about her yet either." He reached for my hand and we strolled along the sidewalk.

  "Interesting name. She sounds nice . . . and pretty?" I made sure to end it like a question hoping he would give me some indication and either put my mind at ease or disrupt it even further.

  "I guess," he said non-committal-ly.

  Was he agreeing to the nice or the pretty? (Ugh, sometimes men were so clueless.)

  He lifted my hand to kiss the back of it. "Hmm, tastes a little like salsa but I like it. Those were great tacos. We'll have to give the truck a whirl again this week."

  I was still mired in thoughts of the new detective, the female new detective who was possibly nice or possibly pretty or possibly all of the above, but he had moved on in the conversation.

  "Yes," I agreed. "But we'll have to stop in at the diner too, so Franki doesn't suspect anything. The second I said it, we spotted Franki marching across the town square, her beehive bouncing from side to side on her head as she headed toward the taco truck.

  "Do you think she saw us, or should we make a run for it?" Briggs asked.

  Franki waved frantically. "Detective Briggs, I need to show you something. Please come here!"

  "I think that's your answer," I said. We walked meekly toward Franki.

  Chapter 5

  There was no sneaking through alleys or skirting the diner parking lot. Briggs and I were caught in the middle of what appeared to be a significant scuffle between Franki and the owners of the Taco Brothers truck. We reluctantly approached Franki. She was standing in the midst of the lunch line, hands on her hips as she scowled at the chalkboard. The sign maker had erased the name Franki from the chalkboard, but he'd done it only halfheartedly. It was easy to see the word Franki through the chalky dust.

  "This is slander," Franki said to no one in particular. That was when I noticed that a number of the people lined up for tacos were staring down at their feet and looking the other direction, hoping that Franki didn't notice them. We were all going to feel quite sheepish the next time we walked into the diner. But, at least for now, Franki wasn't concerned with her traitorous regulars. She was far too upset about the sign.

  The tall, thin scarecrow-ish guy came out from the back door on the truck. "I hear someone has a problem with my sign." He spotted Briggs. "I fixed it just like you asked."

  Briggs glanced at the sign. "I take it you were never chalkboard monitor at school." The guy looked puzzled.

  I leaned over and whispered into Briggs' ear. "I think chalkboards might've been before his time."

  Briggs sighed. "Just wanted some tacos," he muttered. "Listen, Mr.—"

  The man stuck out a hand, also covered with tattoos. "Cody Long, nice to meet you. I'm in charge of marketing and social media for the Taco Brothers Corporation."

  Briggs shook his hand briefly. "Nice to meet you." He brought out his badge again. "Detective Briggs."

  "James," Franki said sharply and realized her mistake. "Detective Briggs, please tell this man he needs to erase this chalkboard. It's slander and false advertising." She turned her scowl to Cody Long. "I'd like to know who gave you permission to park this ghastly green truck right here at the town square." Her face snapped back toward Briggs. "Did you happen to notice a license when you ordered your tacos?" She spoke crisply and gave me a withering glance as well.

  My posture shrank three inches. Two tacos and I'd been branded a traitor. I felt awful and yet the tacos were sort of worth it. Poor Briggs had just gone out for a lunch break, and now he'd found himself in the center of it.

  "Mr. Long," he said resignedly, "if I could talk to the owners of the truck, please. And tell them I'll need to see their operating license and permit to be parked here. Tell them I'll only keep them a minute as long as they have the proper paperwork." He directed the last part toward Franki to let her know that was the extent of his power.

  Cody didn't seem like the type to put up any argument or defense. He nodded and cast a smirking smile at Franki as he headed back to the truck.

  An awkward moment followed as Franki avoided eye contact with us. She was truly upset, and I was really starting to regret the tacos. How easily I'd turned into a Benedict Arnold and all for a dollop of guacamole, albeit exceptional guacamole.

  Thankfully, the uncomfortable moment was short. Just a minute after Cody had returned to the truck, two men in their early to mid thirties came out of the truck. One of the men was thin and embellished with tattoos like the marketing genius, Cody. He had a bandana that matched the neon green of the truck rolled into a band around his greasy forehead and hair. The second man, who looked marginally angry about having to leave his truck, seemed to be the older brother. He was definitely larger in height and width. A green shirt with the taco logo was stretched tight over his thick chest and shoulders. He clutched some paperwork in his large hand.

  "Are you the cop who wanted to see our permit?" the big guy asked without an ounce of manners.

  Briggs wore a faintly wry smile as he pulled out his badge. He always found what he called tough guys to be comical, and this guy was certainly trying to portray himself as one. He used his height and width as an attempt to intimidate Briggs. It was a silly attempt.

  "I'm Detective Briggs. And you are—?"

  Once the man realized his intimidation tactic didn't work, he relaxed his menacing posture. "I'm Vince Sanders and this is my brother, Rico." He tossed his outstretched thumb toward his brother.

  Rico straightened. "Hey, didn't you just order some tacos?" he asked.

  Briggs nodded. "Yes, they were very good."

  Vince seemed to regain some of his cockiness. "Don't tell me you called us out here just to tell us that?"

  "No, I just want to make sure you have the proper license and permit to be operating here. It's unusual for a food truck to be parked at the town square," Briggs said calmly.

  The big guy had an especially creepy smirk. His thick fist shot out to hand over the papers. Briggs glanced over the documents.

  Franki, who was never intimidated by anything, stepped into the circle and came nearly toe to toe with Vince. "Even if you have a permit to be here, you've written slanderous things about my diner and I won't stand for it."

  Vince made a show of walking over to the chalkboard. His put his meaty fists on his hips and read the sign out loud. Then he spun back around. Customers standing in line were getting agitated about the wait. Vince motioned with his head toward the truck. "Hey, Rico, get back in the truck. I'll handle this." There was a harshness in his tone, but it seemed to be more directed toward his brother than us.

  Rico hesitated. "You should let me handle this, Vince. You always make things worse."

  There was a good minute long stand-off between the brothers where it seemed they might just throw fists. Obviously, there was something more behind their story, but that was their problem. We were
there to help Franki. Rico, possibly due to his far smaller stature, was the first to break off their angry stares. Reluctantly, he turned and strode back to the truck.

  Vince turned toward Franki. "I don't see anything about you and that greasy diner on the sign."

  Briggs placed a supportive hand on Franki's shoulder to let her know he would handle it. Poor Franki's face turned beet red. "Head back to the diner, Franki. I'll talk to him. No need to get yourself worked up. Everyone in this line knows your food is the best in town," Briggs spoke the last part in Vince's direction. "They're out of here in two weeks," he added, then turned to Vince. The Taco Brother had a few inches and pounds on him but somehow (and possibly it was just the rose colored glasses I always saw him through) Briggs looked way bigger. "Or less. Don't give me a reason to get this permit cancelled," Briggs said in a chilling, concise tone. "And get your chalkboard man to do a better job erasing Franki's name from that board, or you'll be packing this truck up tonight." He said it in a way that told everyone involved the discussion was over.

  Franki walked away without another word to anyone (even Briggs and me). I was wracked with guilt about it but then it was rather unfair of Franki. After all, we just bought some tacos. It wasn't as if we'd committed a terrible crime.

  "Cody!" Vince's loud bark startled everyone. "Erase the name on this sign and do it right. You're already on a thin rope." With that, the large man barreled through the crowd of taco-eaters back toward the truck. He wasn't exactly an expert on customer relations.

  Briggs was pleased to break free of the whole scene. "Next time, let's just eat sandwiches at your desk," he suggested.

  "That sounds perfect."

  Chapter 6

  While I always enjoyed lunch with Briggs, I was glad to get back to the shop. The tacos were delicious, but now I was firmly on the side of them not being worth the trauma. I expected Ryder to ask about the food the second I stepped back inside, but he was far too engaged in something that seemed to heavily involve my crow. Ryder was on the back side of the work island, leaned over and fidgeting with something near Kingston's foot.

  "Did King hurt himself?" My urgent mom tone snapped Ryder out of his focus. His face popped up, causing his bangs to drop over his eyes. He flipped them back and smiled.

  "No, he's fine. I just gave him an extra treat so he could be my Hedwig." He returned to his task. Kingston was still busy breaking up a peanut with his beak and, therefore, uninterested in anything that was happening from his gullet down.

  Still trying to suss out what a Hedwig was and untangle why it was familiar yet confusing, I circled around the island and to my astonishment discovered my normally stable and reasonable assistant gently tying a small scrolled piece of paper to Kingston's leg with a piece of curling ribbon.

  "Hedwig," I said with an aha gesture. "Harry Potter's mail delivering owl."

  "That's right." Ryder was biting his lip as he took care to secure the note while making sure it wasn't on too tight.

  Kingston discarded the last bit of peanut shell and was just starting to come around to the fact that the latest treat came with a hitch. The bird stared down curiously at what was happening below his big belly. He poked Ryder with his beak a few times but Ryder persisted.

  I walked closer and placed my hand across Ryder's forehead. "Hmm, I don't feel any fever."

  "Ta-da," Ryder cheered. He ignored both the sharp beak and the fever check and straightened.

  Like a rotund man trying to get a good look at his feet, Kingston craned his short neck to see just what had attached itself to his leg.

  "I'm going to assume that note attached to his leg is addressed to Lola," I said.

  "I thought it might be a nice way to get my apology to her." Ryder double checked that the ribbon wasn't too tight. "You said he spends more time over there these days than sitting on his perch. I thought I'd just send him across the street where he could patiently walk up and down the sidewalk in front of the shop until Lola notices and lets him in. Then she can find the note, read it and she'll come racing over here to forgive me with a big kiss."

  "Or—" I put up a finger to let him know I was about to make an important point. "Or you could keep my poor bird out of this and walk over yourself and offer a grand apology, which would hopefully result in the 'I forgive you kiss'."

  Ryder looked down shyly. "I tried that but lost my nerve halfway across the street. This was my plan B."

  "I'm not so sure about this, Ryder. For one thing, while the whole Potter world owl delivery thing was cute and catchy, the book was, and I'm pretty sure Google will confirm this, fiction. And, in the movies, I believe the owls were merely the creation of the digital artists."

  "Valid point," Ryder agreed without hesitation. "But carrier pigeons were real. They've been used throughout history for delivering important messages." He patted Kingston's head. His beak searched for another treat. The bird had already forgotten that he had a little scroll of paper attached to his leg. Ryder gave him another peanut.

  "You're certainly working the bribery angle well," I noted. "Go ahead, give it a try. I'm actually looking forward to seeing how it goes."

  Ryder grinned. "Awesome. Who knows? If it works, you can start sending James messages by crow carrier."

  "Or I could just text him," I added.

  Ryder thought about that for a second. "Right, I guess that's why carrier pigeons aren't really too widely used anymore."

  "I won't stand in the way of love, but I must warn you, your message carrier is somewhat biased when it comes to his true love, Lola. We'll just have to assume he was far too distracted by the peanut to realize what the note says."

  Ryder laughed. "I know he's a smart bird, but when he starts to read—then we really need to close up shop and take him out on the road." Ryder walked to the door. "Come on, King. Go to Lola's." It took a few pendulum swings of his arm to get Kingston's attention. The crow, satisfied that he'd devoured every crumb of peanut from the island, decided to humor the human and head outside. Twice on his trot across the floor, Kingston stopped to looked down at his feet. He knew something wasn't quite right but then the warm summer breeze coasting into the shop coaxed him out onto the sidewalk.

  Not wanting to distract him from his matchmaker mission, Ryder and I stood quietly in the front window to watch the spectacle.

  I rubbed my hands together. "I'm feeling both proud and a little nervous for my baby's first mission."

  Ryder laughed. "I just know he'll do fine."

  We held our collective breaths as Kingston hopped along our sidewalk for a bit, then he swept up into the sky and landed directly on Lola's roof.

  "Come on, King. Drop to the ground and let her know you want to come inside," Ryder muttered.

  Almost as if he'd heard Ryder's quiet plea, Kingston dropped to the sidewalk in front of Lola's shop. He began his usual pacing but stopped short to stare down at his leg again. He dropped his beak and yanked the paper and ribbon free with one good tug. Both the paper and ribbon flew off with the breeze.

  Ryder blew out a long, disappointed breath.

  I looked at him. "I think your first mistake was handing him a treat before he finished the mission."

  "I'll remember that next time," Ryder said as we both turned away from the window.

  I put my hand on his. "Just give her a little time, then go talk to her."

  He raked his hair back with his fingers. "Yeah, you're probably right, boss."

  Chapter 7

  Ryder took an extra long lunch. I hoped that meant he'd walked over to talk to Lola, but my hopes quickly turned to concern when he walked into the shop looking even more downtrodden than when he left. The poor guy had been gone for months and thought he was coming back to a girlfriend with wide open arms. Instead, he'd been shunned and ignored. It was time for me to have a best friend to best friend chat.

  "How did lunch go?" I asked, hesitantly.

  Ryder shrugged. "I spotted Lola at Corner Market and tried to talk to he
r, but she ignored me. Couldn't even finish the sandwich I bought."

  I pulled off my work apron and tossed it on the stool. "Right. Well, I've had about enough of her drama. I'm going to go talk to her." I paused, suddenly wondering if it was my place. "Is that all right? I don't want to step on toes, but maybe if I explain the whole innocent joke thing, she'll come around."

  Ryder glanced across the street. "Can't hurt. Maybe you can talk some sense into her."

  "I intend to do just that," I mumbled to myself as I headed out the door.

  I started across the street in a sort of resolved march. Words spun in my head about what I wanted to say. My message was simple.

  "Enough." I repeated the word to myself as I pushed open the door. My bird had decided that a Victorian hat tree was his perch away from home. Kingston seemed to notice I wasn't there on a friendly chat visit. He quickly spun around on the metal hat hook, apparently deciding that if he couldn't see me, then I definitely couldn't see him.

  "Keep your feathers plugged in, buddy, I'm here to see Lola."

  Lola popped her head around a corner of the shop. "Oh, hello," she said dryly, then disappeared back around the corner.

  "Don't hello me." I headed toward the corner and kept talking. "Ryder is miserable. You have to stop with the big dram—" I stopped as I reached the corner.

  Lola shot me a nose crinkle. A woman was measuring a walnut dining table. She looked up in surprise at the raving woman who had just marched into the store.

  "Pardon me." I nodded to Lola. "Didn't see you were with a customer."

  "Yes, feel free to browse and let me know if there's something you want to see," Lola said coolly to me, pretending as if I was just a random customer who had walked into the store.

  The woman cast me a cautious smile, then returned her attention to the table. "I'd like to see all the chairs you have that would fit this table."

  "Yes, of course. Let's start with the ones in the back of this room." Lola smirked again. It seemed she was going to be awhile, so my plan was thwarted. I slunk back out and blew a raspberry at my bird as I passed the hat tree. He continued to ignore me. I expected no less.