I stared at the feather a few more minutes, considering, then stuffed it back into my pocket and went inside. By the time I entered the bedroom, Watson was already asleep in his doggy bed beside my four-poster. “You’ve got it so good, you don’t even know.”
I tiptoed across the room and slipped into bed, rearranging the pillows and pulling the covers up to my chin.
The red flashing lights mocked me from across the room, reminding me I’d forgotten to turn the clock around.
Watson let out a contented, dream-laden sigh, and I rolled my eyes.
Well, whatever. It wasn’t like I was going to get any sleep anyway.
I didn’t have internet service at my cabin yet, so I considered going to the library or Mom’s to do a little research first thing in the morning. However, I doubted I’d be able to identify what kind of bird the feather belonged to on Google. There had to be countless brown feathers with light spots. I’d noticed a bird shop downtown the day before. It looked like nothing more than endless birdfeeders and seed, but maybe they would know.
Bundled up for the cold, Watson and I hopped in the Mini Cooper and took off. We were halfway to downtown when I realized I was missing the obvious. I lived in Estes Park, which cuddled up next to Rocky Mountain National Park. I had a whole forest full of animal experts at my fingertips.
I took the time to stop by Black Bear Roasters to get a dirty chai and try my luck with a different pastry. Maybe the bear claw would be a little moister. Made sense, since the place had the word bear in its name.
No such luck. At least for me. Watson, on the other hand, thought his half was perfection.
We drove through downtown and up the couple of miles of winding road that took us through various neighborhoods until we neared the entrance of the national park. The snow had stopped, and the day was bright. The end result had turned Estes Park and its outlying scenery into a Christmas village. It would’ve been much more fun to be at home decorating the Christmas tree than trying to solve a murder.
The thought gave me pause.
Well, I supposed I might as well admit it to myself. Mom was right. I wasn’t simply trying to clear Barry’s name. I wanted to solve the thing. Wanted Dad to look down on me, grin, and whisper, “That’s my girl!”
And truth be told, setting up a Christmas tree didn’t sound near as fun as solving a murder.
With an odd sense of giddiness, I pulled the car up to one of the tollbooths that looked like tiny log cabins. I rolled down the window and waited for the ranger inside to look my way.
He didn’t.
After a second, I decided to knock, and reached forward. The seatbelt held me back. With a growl, I unfastened it and tried again, rapping on the cold glass.
The ranger jumped and gave a sharp holler as he whipped around to look at me.
Though his eyes were wide in surprise and his features relayed shock, I had an out-of-body experience, or at least as close to it as I’d ever come. Oscar De La Hoya stared back at me.
In other words, my dream man stared at me. The only time I really enjoyed the sport conversations Gary and Dad had was when Oscar De La Hoya had one of his boxing matches on the television. I pretended not to notice, but the man was beautiful. And I could never understand how someone with a face like his made his living by getting it hit.
Oscar slid open the window, and his shocked expression turned to a smile as he gave a little laugh. “Sorry about that! I was totally in my own little world there. Glad the window was shut. You probably would’ve heard me scream like a five-year-old girl.”
I think my mouth moved, but I wouldn’t swear to it. Whatever it did, it failed to make any words. He was even more beautiful in person than on screen.
His dark eyes narrowed in concern. “Ma’am? Are you alright?”
And that word was a brick to the forehead. A needed one. The man in front of me was Oscar De La Hoya back when I was in seventh grade. This kid was probably twenty-five and saw me as a ma’am.
And here I hadn’t even bothered with Percival’s lessons of a dramatic cat eye and simple lip gloss that morning.
Oscar leaned out the window and touched my arm. “Are you needing assistance, ma’am?”
From up close, I realized that Oscar De La Hoya was more beautifully cute than actually handsome. Attractive, to be sure, but there was more of a boyish quality to his good looks than the dark sultry edge that Branson Wexler seemed to possess in spades.
“Do you need me to call someone? Maybe a doctor?”
“Has anyone ever told you that you look like Oscar De La Hoya?”
Oh my God! Oh. My. God!
My mouth had worked, only, not really.
He flashed a brilliant smile. Why would anyone with a face like that allow someone to come at it with boxing gloves? “Yeah, I get that all the time. Although that guy’s pushing fifty, so I’m not exactly sure if it’s a compliment or an insult.”
“How old are you?” And again with the mouth vomit! Maybe the staggering amount of edibles in that stupid box from that stupid shop had permeated the air while I lay in that stupid bed. I had to be high as a kite; that was the only explanation.
“Thirty-one.” His beautiful smile turned playful. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-eight.” I said it like I’d just been given a birthday present. He wasn’t twenty-five. There was only seven years between us. That wasn’t so….
And again—Oh. My. God.
I turned to Watson, desperate for him to save me from myself.
He blinked at me.
Traitor. Then I realized I could save myself. I snatched the feather from the cup holder and held it out for Oscar to take. “Is this from an endangered owl species?”
He flinched back, and I realized I’d bumped the feather against his nose. Still smiling, he took the feather and inspected it.
I had the impression that his smile had transitioned from the genuine kind to the type someone used when confronted with a crazy person who they feared might eat their face.
Oscar ran a finger over the edge of the feather, his brows knitted. Finally he looked back at me. “I have no idea.”
“You don’t?”
He shook his head. “Sorry to disappoint you. Unfortunately we disappoint a lot of tourists. We’re always getting feathers, rocks, leaves, sometimes little portions of twigs. While I know the names of more items in the park than your average bear, I’m not actually an encyclopedia.”
“Oh.” So not only had I just made a complete fool of myself, I’d done it for no good reason.
He chuckled softly. “I gotta say, I’ve never had someone look so disappointed when I didn’t know the answer to something like that. Do you and the feather go way back?”
Probably because I already felt like the biggest fool in the world, I bristled at his teasing and snatched the feather from his fingers. “No. Not all that long. Sorry to have bothered you.” I turned to face the road, ready to pound the gas and drive away as quickly as possible. I might just keep on going. After this, it might be a good idea to start a reset on life somewhere else.
“Ma’am.” I deflated at his use of that word once more and looked back at Oscar to see him motioning over the top of my car toward a larger cabin a little ways off the road. “I have a computer in there. We can look it up if you really need to know.”
“No, thank you. I don’t need to waste your time. I’m sure I can do that part on my own. But thank you again. That’s very sweet of you, Oscar.”
I realized my mistake as his eyes bugged once more and his smile returned. He leaned forward and whispered, “Would you be disappointed if I told you I’ve never been in a fight in my life, much less in a boxing ring?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Actually, that makes me feel better. I’ve never understood why someone with a face as cute as Oscar’s would allow himself to be hit.”
And once more, the expression on his face let me know that I’d messed up again. “Cute, huh?”
&nb
sp; I felt my cheeks burn.
He didn’t give me a chance to peel out and drive myself over the edge of a cliff. “I’m Leo Lopez. And your face is too beautiful to let people punch as well.”
He rendered me speechless, again. Beautiful?
Leo angled around so he was looking into the passenger seat and addressing Watson. “Would you let your mama know that in polite society it’s customary for the other person to share their name as well during an introduction?”
To my surprise, Watson crossed the console and stood with his front paws on my thigh and stretched out to Leo, allowing himself to be petted.
Though they looked nothing alike, it seemed there must be a little bit of Barry Adams in Leo Lopez.
“Um, this is Watson, and his mama who can’t seem to string two intelligent words together this morning is Winifred Page. But everybody just calls me Fred.”
“A beautiful woman named Fred?” His brown eyes met mine again, and though there was a teasing glint then, I was surprised to see sincerity as well. “You’re definitely the first of your particular species I’ve ever met.” He paused long enough for there to be a spark of heat, unless I was imagining things again, and then motioned over the car once more. “Seems like that feather is pretty important to you. I may not know what it is exactly, but I probably have ways to find out quicker than you. May I save you some time?”
I nodded, not trusting myself to try to use the English language again, and he motioned once more.
“Go ahead and pull in on the side of the road. I’ll meet you there.”
By the time I parked, Leo was already out of the tollbooth and nearly to the cabin. As I approached him, I realized he was also several inches shorter than Branson, and was almost the exact same height as myself. He seemed a little surprised as well as I approached. I didn’t think the glint in his eye dissipated, though.
He held the door open for us. “Just remember, the next time you’re in the park, make sure you have a leash on Mr. Watson, here. Not only is it the law in the national forest, it’s simply good practice. I’m constantly hearing about coyotes and mountain lions darting out to get people’s pets. Just the other day a cougar got the family cat in the backyard during their daughter’s birthday party.” He shuddered, but chuckled. “That’s going to be some expensive therapy later on.”
It felt like he poured ice water down my back. I could envision Watson out in the moonlit snow the night before. It hadn’t even entered my mind, which, looking back, was beyond stupid. We lived in the mountains now, not the upscale Plaza of Kansas City. I mentally redesigned the dog run I’d been planning for Watson. I didn’t care about the cost; that thing was going to be top-of-the-line and as safe as I could possibly make it.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.” Reading my mind, he bent down to pet Watson, who was still acting like he was in love. “No harm done. Your little guy is safe. And it’s common for tourists to make that mistake. Like I said, what happened to the cat was someone local who should have known better. Don’t feel too bad.”
“No, don’t be sorry.” I forced a smile, though the sense of guilt still bit at me. “I’m glad you mentioned it. I’m not a tourist. I just moved to town. I’m opening a bookstore in the old taxidermy shop. And I’ve been planning on installing a dog run for Watson at my house. I wouldn’t even have thought….”
“Oh, welcome to town! And don’t stress about it. I’ll give you the number of one of my friends who does construction. He’s more than able to design something for your corgi that will keep him safe. It won’t be cheap, but it’ll be worth it. In fact—” His expression changed suddenly, and his gaze focused on the feather I held in my hand. “Wait a minute, you’re taking over the taxidermy shop? I heard about Opal.” He looked up at me and then back at the feather again. “Is that from there?”
I nodded. “Yes, I found it behind a freezer. There was a dead owl inside. But I’m not sure if this feather belongs to that particular bird or another. Or if it even matters.”
“Oh, it matters.” He plucked the feather out of my hand and crossed the room to sit in front of a computer. “We do the best we can, but poaching is a constant problem. Sometimes worse than others. I’ve wondered if Sid played a part in that, not that it matters anymore since he passed, but I’d still like to know. I raised my concerns with the police about his shop, but without any evidence, there was nothing they could do.”
I took my place over his shoulder and watched as his fingers flew over the keyboard. He definitely knew where he was going, and images and lists of species flashed across the screen. If I’d been on my own, I would’ve spent hours trying to decipher all the information, probably to no avail. But within three minutes, Leo clicked on an image and rolled a few inches away to give me more room. “Does this look like the owl you saw?”
The owl was beautiful. Warm dark brown with white spots covering it, causing it to look like it was caught in a snowstorm, with darker striated feathers near the tail. And huge black eyes. I supposed all owls had huge black eyes. “I think so. Granted, you could probably put up a lineup of five different owls and I might not be able to tell the difference, but I think so.”
“It’s the Mexican Spotted Owl, not endangered but federally threatened.” Leo held the feather between us again. “Do you mind if I keep this? I’d like to do a little more research on it. Ask my supervisor.”
For some reason I hated to let it go. But I nodded anyway.
“Thanks, I appreciate it. Any help we can get stopping poaching is priceless.” Leo laid the feather by the computer, and when he looked back at me, that unnamable twinkle had returned to his eyes. “May I get your number? Just in case the feather is useful? I figure you’d like to know.”
I’d come to Estes Park to hit Reset on my life. In every aspect. And one of those aspects was leaving behind a world that was constantly connected to my ex-husband. This new life didn’t have room or the desire for a relationship. Or for men in any sort of romantic entanglement. This life was about Fred Page, Watson, and creating my dream bookstore. Simply having a calm and pleasant life. I didn’t want anything more complicated than having to search for rare first edition books for persnickety shoppers.
Yet here I was, barely two days into that so-called reset of a life, and I was investigating a murder. Even more terrifying, I found myself giving Leo Lopez—the Oscar De La Hoya of the Rocky Mountain National Park Service—my phone number.
I didn’t remember Watson and me walking to the car or driving back out of the national park. The fog lifted on the way to downtown. I stared at Watson in accusation.
“What was that? You were all over the guy like you’d known him for years. Letting him scratch your ears, looking at him like he was Barry’s long-lost brother. He didn’t even offer to give you a treat!”
Watson’s ears perked up at the word, and he turned expectant eyes on me.
“No way, you Benedict Arnold. You only get treats when you stop me from acting like a complete moron and attempting to ruin our new life here. Absolutely no treat for you.”
He whimpered and looked longingly at the glove compartment, then back at me, his adorable large brown eyes full of pleading.
“Oh, fine!” Steadying the steering wheel with my left hand, I punched the button for the glove compartment, treats and paperwork spilling out everywhere. Watson had a heyday.
Watson and I drove back to downtown. If I’d been thinking clearly, I probably would’ve gone home and taken time to write down my thoughts and things I’d discovered so far, minimal though they were. It would’ve given me a chance to process through new possibilities and come up with a game plan. However, that would have required clear thinking. The combination of discovering the feather might belong to a threatened owl species, which pointed away from the edible connection, and Leo’s reaction to me made any chance of thinking clearly an impossibility.
Or maybe it was my reaction to Leo that was throwing me off.
Or maybe it
was my reaction to Branson that was throwing me off.
I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about any man, let alone two. If any clear thinking was happening at all, I would’ve put a pin into my investigation and found out if there was a nunnery near Estes Park and taken vows of chastity as quickly as possible.
Probably well enough I didn’t check. I doubted they let new nuns keep corgis with them in the room. But seriously? I hadn’t had a tingle of romantic notions since my divorce six years before. Well, before that, truth be told.
Telling myself it had nothing to do with shoving thoughts of Branson and Leo out of my mind, I hooked the leash to Watson’s collar and we strolled the downtown once more. Proving my brain hadn’t turned into complete cotton candy, my first stop was to Wings of the Rockies, a store specializing in wild birdseed, feeders, and so much ornithological paraphernalia the place felt a little like a cult headquarters. With one mention of the Mexican Spotted Owl, the owner demonstrated her ability to sound like an Animal Planet documentary. But ultimately she offered nothing useful to anyone who wasn’t covered in feathers.
We paused to grab a burger and fries from Penelope’s for lunch, before checking out the pet shop. I didn’t have much hope that a pet store would offer anything helpful with any aspect of my leads, and I was proven correct. But the owner, Paulie Mertz, a peculiar little man, owned two corgis of his own. Flotsam and Jetsam. It seemed he was also an avid Little Mermaid fan. Before I managed to leave the store, I’d inexplicably allowed myself into promising a corgi playdate a week from Friday.
As we walked out the door, I crashed into someone and accidentally stepped on Watson’s paw as I attempted to backpedal. He let out a shrill yip and I shuffled to give him space, once more bumping into the person.
“I’m so, so sorry. I was rushing and I—” My words dried up as I looked into cold blue eyes.
Officer Green glared at me, her hatred clear. She was in her street clothes, a surprisingly feminine sweater and skirt. She looked different enough that if it weren’t for her eyes, and her revulsion, I might not have recognized her. “What are you doing, Fred?” The amount of disgust she was able to muster at my name was impressive.
Cruel Candy (Cozy Corgi Mysteries Book 1) Page 10