***
Peter Greenfield walked into his office just in time to hear the phone ringing. He tossed a take-out container of Chinese noodles down onto his desk and snatched up the phone. “Greenfield,” he said in a gruff voice.
“It’s lunch time, so let me guess: noodles from Mr. Chen's Chinese Palace?” Sarah spoke softly.
“You're good, kid,” Pete said and plopped down into his desk chair with a chuckle as he pushed aside a pile of folders and papers. He opened the box of noodles and dug in with his plastic fork. “So, to what do I owe the honor? Or should I just ask what you want?”
A twinge of guilt struck Sarah. She paused as she looked down the short hallway in the rear of the diner and saw Amanda studying the menu at their booth. The smell of coffee, cheeseburgers, and meatloaf was calling out to her stomach, even though she was standing at a pay phone located unfortunately close to the bathrooms. “Maybe I should send you a box of cigars first?”
“Maybe you should get your butt back to Los Angeles and get back to work, Detective,” Peter quipped. Despite the humor in his voice, she could also plainly hear the fatigue. Through the phone she heard him as he dropped the plastic fork back into the noodles and rubbed a tired hand over his face.
“Oh, Pete,” Sarah replied miserably, “I hate to break it to you, but you know that part of my life is over.”
“Sure it is,” Peter huffed. “Seems to me you're solving more murders up there with the polar bears than you ever did down here in the bright sunshine.”
“I...” Sarah paused. How could she refute Peter's statement? It was obvious her old friend was in a bad mood and she knew better than to press him. “Maybe I should call back later...”
“Sure, that’ll happen.” By the tone in his voice, she could envision him rolling his eyes. “And by the way, why didn't you call my cell?”
“I lost my cell phone in the snow,” Sarah confessed. “I was moving snow in my driveway and—”
“Sure, sure, never mind,” Peter replied impatiently. “What do you want, kid? Some of us are still cops, you know,” Peter snapped and then immediately softened. “Hey, Sarah, I didn't mean that...it’s just been a tough day, you know how it is. Two bystanders took a bullet during a bank robbery that one of my guys tried to prevent.”
“I'm sorry.”
“So am I,” Peter replied. He shook his head. “Sometimes I think I'm ready to throw this job into the trash and move up there with the polar bears myself.”
“You'll never leave Los Angeles, Pete. We both know that. You wouldn’t be able to drive that vintage convertible Chevrolet of yours much in the snow. Not much surfing up here, either. Who’s going to admire your tan when you’re bundled up in a parka?”
Peter gave a brief chuckle. Sarah was relieved that at least her friend was still able to laugh. “Yeah, yeah,” he said and shifted gears. “You want a favor. What is it?”
Sarah missed her old friend more than she could ever admit. “A man by the name of William Archie Hopski was found dead early this morning. It appears the cause of death was exposure to cold, no foul play that we know of yet. But Pete, I need to know who this man is. He had a missing person report filed in Los Angeles County. If you can run a check for me, I sure would owe you.”
“You owe me too much already,” Peter reminded Sarah. He grabbed a stained mug full of lukewarm coffee and took a drink. “But I don't need to run a check on Mr. Hopski, kid. I can tell you all about the man myself.”
“Really? How come I've never heard of him before?”
“Neither had I until the man came up missing,” Peter explained. “Mr. Hopski is a wealthy realtor, Sarah. He sold mansions to the so-called stars and bought up a lot of land in the fancy hills that he gradually sold off. The man has a net worth of over four billion dollars.”
Sarah whistled low, taken aback.
“Ever hear of Sun Wave Realty?” Peter asked.
Sarah thought back to her life in Los Angeles and roamed around the city in her memory. “As a matter of fact, I remember seeing billboards with that name.”
“Los Angeles has a thousand and one realtors,” Peter told Sarah. “Mr. Hopski only sold to the so-called upper crust who could dish out twenty million for a mansion without batting an eye. We're not talking about a man who sold middle-class homes to hard working families.”
Sarah made a few mental notes. “Pete, Mr. Hopski's three children and his wife are on their way up to my little town as we speak. Can you throw any information on them my way?”
Pete finished off his coffee and winced at the bitter flavor. “Got some paper on you?”
“I have my memory.”
“Good girl,” Peter said and began going down a list of names in his mind. “Okay, the old man had three kids. Two boys, and a girl. The oldest is Natalie Hopski. She's sixty years old. Watch out for her.”
“Why’s that?”
“The woman has never been married so she’s not a black widow, exactly…but rumors have always followed her,” Peter warned.
“Thanks, Pete. I get it.”
“Good. Now, the second oldest is Chet Hopski. The guy is fifty-five years old, and like his sister, lives off his old man's dime. Chet is married to a woman named Teresa, no children, and is about as smart as a skunk crossing the road.”
“He's the opposite of his sister, I take it?”
“You bet,” Peter confirmed. “Last we have Milton Hopski, age fifty. Milton has been divorced five times, lives off his old man's dime like his brother and sister, and back in December was dating a woman who could turn out to be his sixth wife, if you can believe that. Milton has some brains to him, like his older sister, so watch out for him.”
“What about Mr. Hopski's wife?”
“Ah,” Peter said and rolled his eyes in disgust. “Charlene Nelton.”
“By the tone of your voice, I take it the girl is pretty young?”
“Charlene is thirty-one years old,” Peter said. “They married when she was in her twenties. Charlene Nelton isn't a model or an actress or a singer or any of those things.”
Sarah cleared her throat. “Okay...so what is she? Besides pretty?”
“She’s rich,” Peter replied. “Charlene Nelton is the daughter of Ned Nelton, the owner of the Green Foods grocery store chain. Ned Nelton is worth quite a bit of dough, kid.”
“How did Charlene meet Mr. Hopski? ...Wait, I think I can guess. Mr. Hopski sold Ned Nelton a mansion, right?”
“Nice to hear you're still sharp as a tack,” Peter replied. “Four years ago, Hopski and his young bride tied the knot shortly after her old man bought a mansion from Hopski.”
“A real gold digger, huh, Pete?”
Peter studied his stuffy office. “Charlene Nelton is after power and money, kid. She's the kind of dangerous woman who wants to get her dirty hands into politics. Marrying Hopski was her way of gaining more power. All I know is that the mayor’s office got involved in the missing persons report at some point, and that doesn’t happen every day. Somebody pulled some strings.”
“I see,” Sarah said and bit down on her lower lip. “And I take it Natalie and Charlene don't exactly see eye to eye?”
“Ever put a scorpion and a black widow spider in the same tank?”
“That bad, huh?” Sarah asked.
“You bet,” Peter confirmed. “But hey,” he added in a grateful voice, “they’re your problem now, Detective Garland.” Peter chuckled to himself. “Who would have thought that this department's biggest headache would end up in your lap? Serves you right, too, for leaving us in the lurch.”
“I guess it does,” Sarah agreed.
“No, it doesn't,” Peter softened his voice. “I'm just teasing.”
“I miss you like crazy, Pete,” Sarah admitted. She wiped a tear out of her eye. “I wish you would come spend some time with me.”
“Too busy, kid,” Peter told Sarah in a regretful voice. “I have a bank robber to track down.”
“I unde
rstand.”
“I know you do,” Peter assured Sarah. “But hey, listen, I have my two weeks coming up at the end of summer. Maybe I'll come up and see you then.”
“Really?” Sarah asked in an excited voice.
“You know me,” Peter smiled, “always vacation in autumn when—”
“The world is cooling down, I know,” Sarah smiled, remembering his perennial words.
Peter smiled again. “Okay, kid, I better get off the horn and get back to work. Call me if you encounter any problems.”
“I'll call you even if I don't,” Sarah promised. “I...I miss you, Pete. If you mean what you just said about paying me a visit then you just made me the happiest girl in the world.”
“I meant it,” Peter told Sarah. “Now, enough with the mushy stuff. Take a hike and get to work.” Peter ended the call. He stared at the phone where it sat on his desk and sighed. “I miss you, too, kid,” he whispered and tried to focus on his work and his lunch again.
***
Sarah walked out of the hallway and sat down across from Amanda. “Well?” Amanda asked, still studying the menu.
“It’s not the Partridge Family coming to town, that's for sure,” Sarah explained and casually looked around the diner. The diner decor was a mix of rustic log cabin and 1950s café. The walls were made of rough-sawn logs but the floor was black and white checkered tile. Photos of old country singers lined the walls while a shiny antique jukebox sat pushed up against the back wall. The jukebox was playing ‘Crazy,’ an old song by Patsy Cline. Aside from Sarah and Amanda, a few other hungry patrons were sitting in the booths, talking and eating without being too noisy or noticeable. It was a cozy place that they returned to time and again, the kind of place that the locals knew and loved very well.
“I think it's time I renovated my coffee shop and made it appealing like this diner,” said Sarah, looking around approvingly.
Amanda didn't argue. As much as she loved her best friend, Sarah knew that Amanda privately thought the coffee shop was an eyesore. “Good ideas are born every day,” Amanda told Sarah with a wink. “So…if we're not getting the Partridge Family, who are we getting?”
“Bad news,” Sarah said and shook her head. “Amanda my dear, you and I are going to have our hands full. My old friend in Los Angeles implied we should be ready for four gold-digging loose nuts.” Sarah picked up the menu and began reading through the food options, even though she already knew her favorites. “I think I'll have a cup of coffee, a cheeseburger, and some french fries.”
“I'm going with the meatloaf,” Amanda told Sarah and drew in a deep, contented breath. “Is it wrong to love a meatloaf?” she teased.
A short, plump woman wearing a blue and white uniform dress walked up to the booth. “Hello, Anne,” Sarah smiled at the server. “How is Mr. Rainy today?”
“Grouchy as ever,” Anne Rainy replied and tossed a thumb over her shoulder toward the kitchen. “Who can talk to him when he's in one of his moods?” Anne looked at Amanda. “How's your husband's leg coming along?”
Amanda made a put-upon face. “The sound of that awful bell he uses to summon me will haunt my dreams for years to come.”
Anne nodded with a chuckle. “When Wilson broke his leg, oh...ten years ago I'd say? He nearly drove me to the mad house ringing his bell all the time. I nearly made him go sleep out in the snow.”
Sarah smiled. Anne Rainy was a hardscrabble woman with a gentle heart. Even though her face never smiled, her eyes always expressed what she was feeling. “Is it safe to order a cup of coffee and a cheeseburger plate?”
Anne looked over her shoulder and studied the door leading into the kitchen. “As long as you don't mind your burger burnt to a crisp around the edges.” Sarah winced but nodded.
“How about the meatloaf?” Amanda dared to ask. “I’ve been smelling it since we walked in and my stomach won’t stop growling!”
Anne looked down at Amanda. “Meatloaf is fine,” she said and smiled with her eyes. “You want coffee, too?”
“Sure,” Amanda smiled and put her menu away. “And I'll have a slice of your famous pecan pie after my meatloaf.”
“Make that two slices,” Sarah quickly added.
Anne nodded. “Meatloaf plate, burger plate, two coffees and two slices of my pecan pie, coming right up,” she said. As she walked away, she shoved a lock of her short gray hair back into the tight bun she wore at the nape of her neck. She paused at the kitchen door, drew in a deep breath, and then disappeared through the door. Seconds later the sounds of muffled arguing were heard as Anne gave her husband their orders. No one in the diner batted an eyelash.
“Anne and Wilson fuss at each other all day long, but they'll die in each other's arms before they’ll ever spend an hour apart,” Amanda said in a dreamy voice. “Forty-two years of marriage and still going.”
Sarah stared at the kitchen door. In her mind, she tried to reframe Anne and Wilson’s out of sight argument from Amanda’s more romantic viewpoint, and visualized the couple making up after their fight with a kiss. She shook her head to clear the strange sight. Her arguments with her own now-ex-husband had never ended quite so romantically. “Love is nice...when you have it,” she said somewhat sourly and then quickly looked at Amanda. “I didn't mean...what I meant to say—”
“No, I know,” her friend said softly. “Being divorced is the pits,” Amanda finished for Sarah.
Sarah nodded. “Yes, it is. I’ll say this…what you say about Anne and Wilson never being apart, that’s the thing that I miss. I miss...coming home to...love,” she sighed. “My cabin is nice and I'm very grateful to live there...but sometimes...at night when the wind is howling...the walls are lonely.”
Amanda reached across the table and patted Sarah's hands gently. “You have me, love,” she smiled. “I don’t want you to feel lonely. If you want, I can spend the night with you tonight. We can make popcorn, watch sappy movies, cry our eyes out, and pass out with chocolate on our breath.”
“Oh, but Simon would miss you, June Bug.”
Amanda shrugged her shoulders. “My sanity could use a night off.”
Sarah considered Amanda's offer but declined. She knew there were some kinds of loneliness that even a best friend couldn’t help fix, no matter how much chocolate they brought you. “You belong with your husband, not me.”
Amanda sighed. “I belong with my husband, not that bloody bell of his.” Amanda threw her chin into the palms of her hands. “The man has a glass of water sitting right next to him on his night stand, but what does he do? He rings that bell of his and summons me to hand him a glass of water that is within arm’s reach. Please, Los Angeles, I’m making you this offer not just for you. I need it, too. Let me spend the night with you tonight.”
Sarah spotted Anne walking out of the kitchen carrying two white mugs of coffee. “No, my friend. Someday you'll thank me,” she promised Amanda.
Amanda sighed again. “Someday my pretty hair is going to fall out,” she corrected Sarah and then was distracted by Anne’s approach. “Well, at least I'm being treated to a delicious lunch.” Amanda sat up straighter in the booth and accepted her cup of coffee from Anne. “Thank you.”
Anne handed Sarah her cup of coffee. “Do me a favor,” she asked dryly.
“What’s that?” Sarah asked and took a sip of her coffee.
“Shoot me,” Anne muttered and walked back to the kitchen. When the door swung open to admit her, it disgorged a puff of smoke, the clatter of a spatula against the grill top, and the cacophony of Mr. Wilson Rainy’s choice words about his customers’ orders on that fine Alaska afternoon. Anne’s voice joined her husband’s and as the kitchen door swung shut again, their argument rose and fell again under the sounds of a crooning Patsy Cline on the jukebox.
Amanda grinned. Sarah grinned back at her friend. Love sure was grand in the spring.
Chapter 2
Spring Headaches
Sarah placed a brown shopping bag down onto the kitchen
table in her cabin and was debating whether or not to make a fresh pot of coffee when the telephone rang. “Will you grab the phone for me?” she asked Amanda. “I'll make you a cup of coffee for the road.”
“I can't believe you're sending me home to that bell,” Amanda groaned. She walked over to the telephone hanging beside the refrigerator and snatched it up. “Hello? ...Oh, hello, Andrew...oh, I see...so soon. Sure, sure, we'll be right down.” Amanda put down the phone and smiled. “It’s a reprieve,” she beamed. “It's off to the police station and not home to that bloody bell after all.” Amanda began a happy dance around the kitchen. “No bell today.”
Sarah rolled her eyes indulgently as she watched her best friend dance around the kitchen. “Okay, silly, grab your purse and let's go.”
“Just a second,” Amanda said as she dashed over to the telephone and called her husband. “Hi love, this is your wife...no, no time soon, I'm afraid. Los Angeles and I have official police business to take care of down at the police station...don't worry about dinner, I'll have someone from the diner deliver you something...I'm sorry, love, but police business is police business...” Amanda winked happily at Sarah. “I'll be home later...a bit late, I'm afraid. I love you. Bye for now.” She hung up.
“Poor Simon.”
“Poor Simon, my foot,” Amanda huffed. “That man has a mountain of snacks around his bed, the television remote control in hand, enough crosswords to last a century, water bottles everywhere, his walking cane and that silly wheelchair within reaching distance...why, you'd think he suffered a grand trauma instead of a silly broken leg.”
“A broken leg is nothing to sneeze at, June Bug.”
“Maybe not,” Amanda agreed, “but my dear husband is alive and well and will heal up from head to toe. He does not need me waiting on him hand and foot!”
What could Sarah say? She wasn't in Amanda's shoes, dealing with a grumpy husband on the mend. “Coffee for the road?”
Spring into Murder (Alaska Cozy Mystery Book 5) Page 2