“This is quite good,” Ian commented, having taken a sip of his Old Bahama Blend.
I stirred half and half into my coffee, and gave Ian a smile.
“I’m glad you’re not a coffee snob,” I said, immediately thinking what a stupid thing it was to say.
“A coffee snob?”
“Yeah, you know, people who only drink ‘real coffee’ and frown upon those of us who drink the flavored stuff. I have friends who are appalled that I even put creamer in my coffee.”
Ian chuckled. Even his chuckles sounded British. Adorable. “That is snobbish, isn’t it?”
Man, did I love that British accent of his. I thought maybe I should just sit quietly and let him do all the talking.
“I’m sorry I had to run out Sunday,” I said, sincerely. “Tommy was on the verge of a meltdown. He hates being in wet clothes.”
“I completely understand. I was informed of Tommy’s special needs by…what is it you call them again?”
“The Gaggle of Grannies. Or, the Gaggle for short. They’re like my own fairy godmothers without the wings or magic. Although Granny’s no-bake cookies could be considered magical.”
“I had one at the singles meeting. They are quite magical,” he said laughing.
“One? You had one? How on earth did you just eat one? I’m pretty sure you have to eat two at a time. It’s a rule.”
He laughed again. “You’re every bit as charming as the Gaggle claimed you’d be.”
I was slightly embarrassed, in a good way. I smiled at Ian as I drank more of my coffee. This coffee date was off to a great start.
We enjoyed each other’s company for almost forty-five minutes. Ian had to go to work at his forensic accounting office. It was just as well because I had to get prepped to meet Cole for our firehouse investigation. As I walked out the door, with a to-go coffee in my hand, I literally ran into Cole’s broad shoulder.
“Hey! Fancy seeing you here, Charlie” he joked.
“Hey, yourself. I didn’t spill coffee on you, did I?”
Cole looked himself over. “No, don’t think so. If I had known you were coming out this way, I would’ve met you here.”
“Oh, well… that’s alright. You’re here now. I was gonna go over the list of fire stations near the office. Why don’t you get some coffee, and I’ll grab the list from the van? We can look it over together.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
We sat down and scanned the list.
“There’s five here. That seems like a lot. Let’s pick the two closest and go from there.”
“Yeah, good idea.”
“You don’t come here often. Just in the mood for something different?” he questioned.
“Actually, I met someone here.”
“Oh?”
“This guy. You know, the Gaggle is always trying to set me up with someone,” I said with a nervous laugh.
Cole raised one eyebrow. I was always fascinated by that ability.
“A guy? You usually talk your way out of actually meeting whoever it is they’ve determined you’re perfect for. What gives?”
“Well, I met Ian at church and he seemed nice, so…”
“Huh. Ian. His name’s Ian?”
“Yeah. He’s British.”
“Huh.”
“I do enjoy a British accent,” I gushed. Noticing the annoyed look on Cole’s face, I dropped the grin and spoke in a nonchalant tone. “He’s a forensic accountant. Sounds boring, really.”
“Huh,” Cole grunted for the third time.
“What’s with you? You asked for information about this guy, and then you act irritated that I’m sharing it.”
“He just doesn’t sound your type. Well, except for the accent maybe. I just don’t see why you agreed to meet him is all.”
“The Gaggle introduced us and he was nice so I agreed. End of story. Should we start looking at firehouses now?”
“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea,” Cole snipped, quickly standing up and heading towards the door.
“Me, too,” I said, rolling my eyes and snatching my coffee off the table. “I’ll drive!”
Cole drove us to the first station. He had gotten to his car first at the coffee shop; so I jumped in rather than debate about who’d drive even though I had clearly called it. Neither of us said a word ‘til we arrived and were walking towards a group of firemen washing a truck.
“Hey there,” Cole called out. “Could we ask you a couple questions?”
“Possibly,” replied a tall, muscular man with a deep voice.
“We work for a law firm, and we’re trying to determine if a former client works here. His name is Austin Dugray,” I told the man, maneuvering in front of Cole.
“Dugray? Never heard of him. What made you think he worked here?”
“He worked a fire recently not too far from here,” Cole replied, stepping out from behind me and to my side. He noticeably stood straighter and squared his shoulders.
“There are other stations who may have responded to a fire in this general area. I can give you addresses.”
“Thank you so much,” I said, smiling big.
The fireman walked into the station and Cole gave me that same annoyed look.
“You’re trying too hard to get noticed. It’s embarrassing,” he told me.
“I was not trying to get noticed. Though I wouldn’t mind if he did notice me. What a hunk,” I added, just trying to get under Cole’s skin.
We took the addresses of the three other stations, and drove to each of them. None of the firemen had even heard of Austin Dugray. Hitting the proverbial “dead end” didn’t help my mood…or Cole’s.
“You know, maybe it wasn’t this Dugray guy you saw. Maybe that’s why he didn’t respond to you waving. It was dark. It was the middle of the night, and you were tired. You probably just mistook one of these guys for Dugray.”
“No, I didn’t. I know it was him.”
“You have a crush on him or something? I mean, you said you two hit it off while you working his case. And, you wave him down during a fire at the office—“
“It wasn’t during the fire! It was afterwards. Yes, we hit it off and that’s why I remember him, but it wasn’t like that…not like what you’re inferring.”
Cole sighed. I sighed. We had never really butted heads like this before. It was weird. My cell phone rang, and I reluctantly answered.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Ritter, this is New Horizon’s Academy. You need to come get Tommy. He’s had a major meltdown and it’s gotten physical. He’s been restrained.”
CHAPTER FIVE
COLE drove me to Tommy’s school, and we both walked inside to find Tommy sitting on a bench in the lobby. The school secretary asked us to sign-in as visitors, which we did. Tommy had been bent over, wiggling his fingers just centimeters away from his eyes. When he heard me say his name, he ran over to me.
“Maymay, I’m sorry I let you down today. It’s just that Steven was coughing and I told him he had to cover his mouth because I don’t want to get sick. And then he hit me so I hit him back.”
“Wait, someone hit you? You were in a fight?” I asked for clarification as this was different than a meltdown.
“Yes, he and Steven had a fight, and Tommy had him in a headlock, pinned on the ground,” said Miss Jane, Tommy’s teacher, who had walked up behind us.
“Sounds like self-defense to me,” Cole muttered. It did to me, too.
“Well, the problem is that Mr. Mike had to pull Tommy off Steven, and then Tommy got physical with him. He went into a meltdown,” Miss Jane explained.
“Of course he did! His adrenaline was raging from the fight,” I exclaimed, rather agitated at the lack of understanding.
“Tommy, are you hurt?” Cole asked him.
“Just a boo-boo,” Tommy replied, pointing to the left side of his chin. I noticed the beginnings of a bruise and some swelling.
“He was punched?” asked Cole, anger in his
voice. “This looks like he was punched!”
“Yes, he was punched,” Miss Jane confessed.
“Then no wonder he had a meltdown with Mr. Mike! We need a meeting…now,” I informed her, and she left to get the principal.
I pretty much ranted for fifteen minutes before I even took a breath. No, Tommy shouldn’t have gotten physical with a teacher, but as professionals who work with autistic children, they should’ve been aware that a fight would trigger a meltdown. The whole point of having him in this special school was so I wouldn’t get called in to handle my child anytime there was a situation. They were the experts. They should be able to deal with this. Plus, this wasn’t the first time this other kid had hit Tommy. Something had to give.
Cole had taken Tommy to the 7-11 across the street for a snack. When I exited the school, he and Tommy met me at the car and both gave me hugs. We picked up my car and Cole followed me home. He hung around to make sure I got Tommy settled without incident. It was a good thing he did.
While I was in the kitchen pouring myself a frappe, Tommy tried to put a VHS cassette in the VCR. Something went wrong, and it got stuck, and things quickly escalated. He slammed his fists on the VCR, threw himself backwards on the ground, and began hitting himself in the head. Cole ran over, and it took both of us to secure Tommy’s arms and legs and keep him from injuring himself. Cole and I wrestled with Tommy for what seemed like forever. At one point, Tommy got an arm loose and unintentionally whacked me upside the head.
“That’s gonna leave a mark,” I said, attempting a quip even in the midst of total anarchy. I spoke softly and slowly to Tommy. “Let’s take deep breaths and calm down, okay? Breathe in…breathe out. Close your eyes and think about resting with your favorite blankets.”
After a few minutes, he settled down. I left Cole rocking Tommy in his arms in the floor while I grabbed the blankets. Tommy took them, buried himself on the couch and fell asleep. I plopped on the floor next to Cole and started to cry.
“It’s going to be alright, I promise,” Cole whispered as he pulled me close. “You handled everything just as you should. He’s resting. Everything’s good now.”
“Stay for a while, please?” I whimpered. “I’ll make you a caramel frappe.”
Cole chuckled. “I’d be a fool to turn down a caramel frappe.”
Carrie and Joseph arrived home, and Cole left, declining my invitation to stay for supper. I made a zucchini pie for me and Joseph and Carrie made some simple quesadillas for her and Tommy.
“I can’t believe you won’t try this,” I said to Carrie. “Zucchini pie is so good. Cheese galore and a flaky pie crust…basically a quiche.”
“But with zucchini,” she replied. “No thanks!”
After supper, the three of them tackled the dishes while I returned a missed call from Mr. Baker.
“Baker residence,” he answered.
“It’s Charlotte, returning your call. Sorry I missed you.”
“No worries. I just wanted to fill you in on the fire investigation. It appears the wiring wasn’t faulty; it had been tampered with! They found evidence that our new wiring was manipulated in order to start the fire. I just can’t believe it.”
“This is disturbing. Who would do such a thing?”
“I don’t know. Apparently, it was expert work, though. Someone knew what they were doing; or so the fire chief says.”
“Like an electrician?”
“I suppose.”
My investigative intuition punched me in the gut.
“Cole and I tried to find the fire station where Austin Dugray worked, but came up empty. No one had heard of him. And when I looked at his employment history, there was nothing about being a fireman. There was, however, an electrical company listed as his employer.”
“Are you suggesting he’s involved? That seems far-fetched; surely it was just coincidental that you saw him there.”
“Mr. Baker, we lost his case, right? Wouldn’t that give him motive?”
“It’s plausible.”
I flipped through my notebook by my computer with one hand. “Here it is; my notes from his employment history. It said he works for Integrity Electric.”
There was a long pause.
“Charlotte,” Mr. Baker gulped. “That’s the company I hired to put in the new electrical outlets. They did the work.”
As soon as I hung up with my boss, I called Integrity Electric and pulled my “Baker Law Firm” card to get information. The secretary reluctantly confirmed that Dugray worked for them. I immediately started to second-guess my hunch. Dugray worked for the electrical company, but he wasn’t the one who installed the electrical equipment. And what if it wasn’t him that I saw the night of fire? Cole was right to suggest that I mistook someone else for Austin. It was dark and smoky. I still had some details to figure out.
I awoke the following morning somewhat perky and ready for the day. Ian had texted and asked if I could meet for lunch, and his invite had put a spring in my step. I had made arrangements with Tommy’s school that if he started to feel upset about anything, they could call my cell phone and let me talk to him. This seemed to eliminate a lot of his anxiety about returning to school after the incident. It wasn’t the best fix for the situation, but it was the best I could come up on the fly.
Ian and I met at Backwater, a trendy breakfast and lunch café in Melbourne. As we perused the menu, I found it difficult to decide between the shrimp and grits or the fried green tomato sandwich.
“Fried green tomatoes are really a thing?” he asked, his British accent sounding a bit pretentious.
“Oh, yes! They’re wonderful! I’ve had fried green tomatoes over cheddar grits at this place back home in Tennessee. Delicious.”
Ian smiled. “I’m going to have to try them. I’ll get the sandwich.”
“Me, too.” Just then I heard a train whistle. “Oh! We must be at the Whistle Stop!” I joked.
Ian stared at me, confused. “Whistle stop?”
“The train whistle just now! Like the book?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t follow,” he said ever so politely.
“It’s a famous book that was made into a movie. Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Café.”
“And we’re ordering fried green tomatoes! I get it,” he said with a good-mannered chuckle. I felt so awkward amidst his abundant politeness.
“Have you see the movie?” I asked, trying to recover from my failed bit of conversation.
“No. I’m not much of a movie person. I prefer to read.”
“I love to read, too. That’s why I mentioned the book. It was excellent.”
Ian smiled. “I’ll add it to my list of must-reads.”
The waitress stopped to take our orders and my cell phone rang. It was Tommy.
“Excuse me, Ian, but I have to take this. Hello?”
Tommy preceded to tell me how was being good, but he didn’t like the lunch they were serving. I reminded him to eat anyway, and I’d let him have a snack when he got home. That seemed to settle him down, and we ended with our ritual good-bye.
“Thank you,” said Tommy.
“You’re welcome.”
“Be good!”
“You, too!” I said, and hung up my phone.
“Sorry about that. I’m letting him call me to help with his anxiety at school,” I explained to Ian.
“Your son, Tommy, right? He’s special needs?”
“Yes, he’s autistic. Some might say high-functioning, but moderately-functioning is probably more accurate. He’s had some meltdowns lately that are difficult to handle.”
“I see. What about his father? Does he help?”
“Uh…not in the picture.” I wasn’t ready to get into all that.
“So, um, Tommy requires a lot of attention and time, I assume.”
“Yes, he does,” I said with a sigh. “But, we manage.”
Ian spent the rest of our lunch date talking about his grown kids and his newfound freedom to tra
vel and pursue hobbies now that they were out of the house. He kept asking me if I like to travel here or there, and about my interests. All my answers sounded the same.
“I’d love to travel, but it’s difficult with Tommy. Being a single mother doesn’t leave much time for hobbies, but like I said before, I do like to read.”
By the time the lunch was over, I realized it was all for nothing. Ian was looking for someone to share his free time with, and I had no free time to spare except the occasional lunch. Despite the yumminess of the meal, it was actually a relief when we were done eating and we each had to return to work.
I went back home to work and Cole was there waiting on me. He immediately handed me a cup of coffee from the Cumberland Farms gas station.
“So much creamer in it, it’s beige,” he teased. “Just the way you like it.”
“Thanks.”
“How was lunch?” he asked with that one-eyebrow-raise talent of his in full use.
“Step into my office and I’ll tell you all about it.”
He followed me inside. “This can’t be good.”
We sat down at my kitchen table and sipped our coffees as I told him all about Ian and his freedom now that his kids were grown.
“So, he’s a spontaneous traveler and has lots of hobbies. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing except that he obviously wants someone who can join in with him. You should’ve seen his face when I talked about Tommy. He asked me if I thought Tommy would have to always live with me, and when I assured him that was definitely the case…the guy turned white. Seriously.”
“Not everyone is cut-out for handling special needs kids. You know that.”
“Yeah, I know,” I admitted with a heavy sigh.
Cole stared at me with this weird look. It was kind and compassionate, but weird. When I caught his eye, he looked away.
“Did I tell you about Dugray?” I asked, changing the subject.
“What about him?”
Frappes, Flamingos, and a Fireman (A Charlotte Ritter Mystery Book 2) Page 4