Mitch nodded, his smile returning. “Roger dodger, I read you loud and clear.”
Chapter 6
There is no better smell to wake up to on a Sunday morning than the scent of cinnamon buns baking.
I sighed happily as I rolled out of bed. After all the action of Saturday night, I looked forward to a productive day at home, reading my textbooks for the Private Investigator Proficiency Exam. I was still far from having the fifteen-hundred hours of work experience required by the State of Oregon, but I wanted to be prepared.
I’d been consulting for Logan’s law firm without a license, which was perfectly legal, but my access to government databases was limited. My reach was only that of the average citizen, unless I called in a favor with someone at the police department.
My most helpful contact was dimple-faced Kyle Dempsey. He’d get me information, but the fee was a drink with him. Meeting Kyle for an adult beverage would be enjoyable, had I not been his babysitter once upon a time. Flirting with a younger man is less fun if you can remember bribing him with juice boxes.
If I wanted unfettered access to information, getting my required hours then my license was the smartest way. With my books under my arm, I went to the kitchen to greet my in-house pastry chef.
Jessica was leaning over the stove, pulling out hot cinnamon buns.
“Coffee’s on,” she said.
“Marry me,” I replied, because that’s the only appropriate response when someone’s made you cinnamon buns and coffee.
“Pick a date,” she said with a laugh.
I poured coffee into my Get Your Bark On at Central Bark mug, then walked around the counter to sit at the table and gaze out the front window.
The duplex had a townhouse-style layout, with an open space from the kitchen to the living room. Jeffrey was prowling around, his smoky gray tail swishing as he chased the rainbows cast by the prism sun catchers in the front window. Other than us, the place was empty, which meant Christopher was still over on Logan’s side. I just had to get rid of him, then I would hit the books.
Jessica left the buns to cool on a rack and joined me at the table, cradling her favorite mug—the one decorated with a quirky fox cartoon—in both hands.
She asked, “Was my mother here last night?”
“Yes. She stopped by to check on you, and she even met that nice firefighter who pulled you out of the tree. His name is Mitch, by the way. Remember him? Big guy, with curly dark hair, nice brown eyes, thick eyelashes, and all those muscles. Mitch gave us a ride back home, and your mother tried to feed him chicken soup. Do you remember her spoon-feeding it to you?”
“Sorta.” Jessica scrunched her pale face, changing the pattern of the light freckles on her cheeks and nose.
“She loves you. And she’s more than a little obsessed with chicken soup.” I sipped my coffee. “What did you think of Mitch?”
She shrugged, then got up and grabbed us some not-quite-cooled cinnamon buns. She hadn’t made icing for the batch, so I got the butter dish.
We ate, comparing notes about what had happened the night before. We still didn’t know why Christopher had shown up in town, and both kept looking at the door, expecting him to walk in at any moment.
“These cinnamon buns are your best yet,” I said. “We should make more, then drop by the firehall later today to thank Mitch and the guys.”
“I’m never leaving the house again,” she said with finality.
I sipped my coffee and tried to assess her mood. Even before the Rainforest Delight, Jessica had been in a funk for a while. Was it simply exhaustion from moving, or something more?
“Jessica, you can talk to me about anything. If I were you, I’d be pretty freaked out right now. And planning a lawsuit with Logan. Biggs Foods will probably go bankrupt immediately, but there could be settlement money.”
“I just want to forget the whole night.” She went quiet, focusing on frowning at the butter dish.
Someone knocked on the door. I expected Christopher, but found a weary-looking Officer Peggy Wiggles, who had the swaying stance of someone who’d been up all night.
She kicked the snow off her boots and stepped inside, but she politely declined our offer of breakfast.
Peggy said, “I’m heading home now. Just checking in, and I brought some things for Jeffrey.” She held open the top of a paper shopping bag.
“There’s half a pet store in that bag.”
“You know how it is. Stop in to buy one little bag of catnip, leave with an armload.”
“You’ll find His Regal Grayness relaxing over there on the sofa. Please, go ahead and see if you can spoil him any more than he already is.”
While Peggy plied Jeffrey with gifts, I told Jessica how the two had met at the police station back in December, when he solved The Case of the Mouse Who Nibbled the Snack Room Crackers.
“She’s a cat person,” Jessica said knowingly. “Enough said.”
We both watched as Peggy introduced Jeffrey to a stuffed mouse attached to an elasticized string. He played catch-and-release, then trotted down the hallway with the stuffed mouse in his mouth, the string and plastic wand trailing behind him.
Peggy joined us in the kitchen. “Can I trouble you two for the packaging your smoothie mix came in? We’re tracking down all the bags for the investigation.”
Jessica retrieved the empty smoothie bag from our trash and handed it over. Peggy dropped the packaging into an official evidence bag and sealed it.
“What will happen next?” I asked. “And are you sure you won’t take a cinnamon bun?”
“No, thanks. I should be going. As for the investigation, that’s above my pay grade. This particular foodborne outbreak goes beyond this state, so now it’s a federal matter, with the FDA getting involved.” She let out a low whistle. “I would not want to be the one in charge of Biggs Foods.”
“Me, neither,” I said. “Somewhere out there are some very disappointed investors.”
“Did you know the owner’s from here? His aunt and uncle own the gas station that was selling the stuff. They got a whole case while he was here on a visit, so because they weren’t on the regular supply list, they didn’t get the recall notice. Turns out it was an honest mistake.”
“The company owner’s name is Benjamin, right? I remember reading about his story in the Mirror. Poor guy. It sucks to be a rising star and then crash and burn. It really sucks.”
She put her hand on the doorknob, preparing to go. “I hope the locals don’t hold it against the family. That little gas station has the best selection of root beer in town. I’d hate to see it disappear.”
Peggy tried to open the door but couldn’t, because Jeffrey was throwing himself at her feet. Jessica and I exchanged a look. The little brat was doing his impression of The Cat Who Never Gets Any Attention Except From Visitors.
“Where’s your collar?” Peggy asked the cat. “Tell your humans you need a collar in case you get lost.”
I assured her that I had a new collar on my shopping list, and he was without one now only because the old one had gotten too tight. She seemed satisfied with the explanation and left.
After we’d been alone for a few minutes, Jessica asked, “Did I say anything strange to my mother last night?”
“You were totally strange, but non-verbal. Why?”
“Don’t tell anyone this, but when I was younger, I went through a phase where I suspected my mother had something to do with my father’s disappearance.”
I gave her a sidelong look, confused. “Do you mean by starting fights with him?”
“Never mind,” she said. “Just crazy teenager stuff.”
Now I was hooked, but before I could wrangle the details out of her, there was a light knock at the door, and then Christopher let himself in.
“Mr. Fairchild,” I said. “I trust you slept well in our most luxurious suite? We call that room the Bachelor Experience. Did you notice the bed is also a sofa? It’s the hottest new trend in boutique
hotels.”
Jessica giggled into her fox mug.
“The concierge told me the same thing,” Christopher said.
“What else did the concierge say?”
Christopher helped himself to some coffee, then joined us at the table. “Just that the complimentary beverage service was over on this side. And he let me borrow this.” He lifted his elbows to show how billowy Logan’s dark blue dress shirt was on his frame. “It’s a pirate shirt.”
“Yes, that must be one of Logan’s many pirate shirts,” I said. “You seem chipper this morning.”
“Chipper as a chipmunk.”
He did have a chipmunk quality, with his fine, light brown hair sticking up all over. His cheeks were pale, but his hazel eyes were bright and alert.
He said to Jessica, “I’m so sorry about making you drink that smoothie. I don’t know what I was thinking, purchasing a food product at a gas station, of all places, but the charm of the packaging tricked me. I’ve always liked tree frogs. What can I do for you, Jessica? How can I make this right?”
“Christopher, I’m not a situation that needs to be managed,” she said. “Why are you here, anyway? Is Fairchild Capital doing business with the local factory that makes chopsticks? Or the potato chip factory? If I had the choice, I’d go for the potato chips, because I don’t need a free lifetime supply of chopsticks. I’m more of a fork girl.”
He laughed. “Jessica Kelly, More of a Fork Girl. We’ll put that on your tombstone.”
She slugged him on the arm, hard enough to nearly knock him out of the chair. Jessica grew up as the baby sister to twin boys, so she knew how to punch.
He rubbed his arm. “Let me make it up to you.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. Here it came. The hidden agenda.
“You’ll wash the dishes?” she asked.
“How would you like a three-day vacation at an exclusive resort, all expenses paid? One of the owners is a world-famous TV chef. You’re going to love it. And after the stress I put you through last night, it’s the least I can do to make things right.”
“Ooh!” Jessica’s cheeks flushed with excitement.
My eyes narrowed even more, threatening to close completely. She’d just told me she was never leaving the house again, but she was powerless to resist Christopher’s sales technique.
I asked, “What’s the catch?”
“No catch, and you’re invited, too. In fact, I insist. Both of you deserve a getaway, my treat.”
I shook my head. There was always a catch, but it was hard to ferret out when Christopher put on his charming deal-making persona.
“Is there a spa?” Jessica asked.
“A small one, but it’s got state-of-the-art amenities. Have you ever been in a float tank? The sensory deprivation promotes relaxation. You float in saltwater while everything drifts away.”
“Don’t those tanks cause hallucinations?” she asked. “You said you wanted to make up for last night, not drive me to the loony bin.”
He laughed. “You don’t have to try the float tanks if you don’t want to. There are also caves to explore, and hiking trails… or you could just hang out in the lodge with me and eat the great food.”
“So, you’re going, too,” I said. “You swore there was no catch.”
“A catch?” He grinned and held out his arms, the pirate-style sleeves billowing. “Some would say I’m a great catch!”
Jessica asked, “Where is this place? When are we going?”
“The lodge is up in the mountains, not far from here, and I’m planning to be there tonight. Is that enough notice for you?”
Jessica reached over and squeezed my hand. “Can we go? Can we? Please? Pretty please?”
“You know you don’t need my permission.”
She rolled her eyes. “I meant both of us. My boss already booked me off sick for the next week after he saw me on the news last night. And you don’t really have a boss. So, can we? Both of us?”
“Let me think,” I said.
While Christopher and Jessica talked excitedly about the resort and its features, I thought up excuses not to go. I didn’t have many. I wasn’t currently investigating anything for Logan, and as for my primary job as a gift shop owner, I could disappear to another planet, and my store would keep running tickety-boo, thanks to my capable full-time manager and new part-time employee.
As for studying my investigation books, I could do that anywhere.
I muttered about arranging for a cat-sitter and excused myself. I slipped on a coat, went outside, and crossed over to Logan’s side.
He opened the door, saying, “It’s not a pirate shirt. It’s just a regular, button-down dress shirt.”
“And it looks much better on you,” I said.
“He can keep it. I don’t think I can shake the visual of seeing him twirl around like a figure skater.” He rubbed his beard and nodded for me to come inside. “What can I do for you? You’ve got that I-need-a-favor look on your face.” He reached down and touched a horizontal line across his abdomen.
“My favor is that you refuse to look after Jeffrey’s food and litter needs for three long days and nights.”
“That’s no problem. I can do it, or I can refuse. Would you mind telling me why?”
I explained about Christopher’s proposition and how I thought the resort sounded amazing. “But I can’t go, because I hate giving in to one of his schemes, and this has all the characteristics of one of his schemes.”
To my surprise, Logan said, “You should go.”
“He got to you, didn’t he? How much did he pay you?”
Logan bristled. “He tried to tip me for the room, but I wouldn’t take it. As for this trip to the lodge, I think you should go. I’ll even pay you for three hours of consulting, plus you can bill me for the gas mileage.”
“Consulting? For what?”
“The Flying Squirrel Lodge may have a quaint little name, but it’s going to be a big deal. If they don’t have someone local lined up yet for their legal needs, I’d like you to put in a good word for me.”
“You need referrals that bad? Honestly, I’d rather wear a sandwich board and walk around downtown.”
“No, you wouldn’t. Just go on the trip. A break will be good for you and Jessica. Don’t worry about your cat. We’ll leave the interior doors open. It’ll be one big house for him, and boys’ night every night.”
“But—”
Logan practically pushed me back out the front door. “Just go to the resort. Eat some of that TV chef’s cooking on my behalf. And forget the three hours of investigating. I’ll pay you for eight.”
Chapter 7
We decided to take my car up to the Flying Squirrel Lodge, since Christopher’s silver coupe barely fit two people, let alone three plus luggage.
The drive would take us along winding mountain roads, and although Christopher estimated the journey at two hours, I prepared myself for three and packed plenty of bottled water.
Jessica transferred her cozy couch-nest into the back seat of my car, starting with her favorite patchwork quilt as a base and then layering flannel throws and electronic devices. She got herself settled in and was already reading on her tablet by the time I closed the trunk on my bags.
Christopher took the passenger seat, and as I backed the car out of the driveway, looking past him to check the road, he beamed a sunny, scheming smile at me. He was definitely up to something.
After a while, I finally had to ask, “What are you gloating about?”
“Gloating? I’m just smiling because this is fun and normal,” he said. “A regular, normal, family-style road trip.”
Jessica piped up from the back, “If we’re a family, I’m playing the precocious pre-teen daughter.”
Christopher kept smiling at me. I could feel his scheming even with my eyes on the road ahead.
Jessica continued, “Let’s pretend I’m only eleven, but I’m a prodigy ballerina and genius computer hacker.”
Christopher said, “Stormy-Lou, you can be the hot mom who does yoga and bakes perfect, gluten-free vegan cupcakes.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t call me Stormy-Lou, or I’ll call you Chris.”
He shrugged. “Go ahead. Sometimes I go by Chris now. I’ve changed a lot since you went on your sabbatical. I was always easygoing, of course, but now I’m super chill. Notice anything different about me?”
“You? Super chill?” I flicked on the signal light and whipped the wheel around, doing a U-turn on the bare road. “That’s it. I’m turning this car around and we’re going home. You’re both obviously still high on drugs.”
Jessica started to wail in protest, perfectly channeling her eleven-year-old self.
“Kidding,” I said. “We’re just making a pit stop for root beer.”
Her pretend wailing stopped as I pulled into the B-Mart Stop and Shop.
Christopher gave me a confused look. “Returning to the scene of the crime? This is where I filled up last night and bought the Rainforest Delight.”
“Popular place,” I said.
A TV news van took up three parking spaces, on an angle. A dozen locals milled around, eager to offer sound bites on camera. The nervous weather girl, Daphne, was interviewing people. She appeared to be having both the best and worst day of her career.
“This looks like trouble,” Christopher said.
I parked next to the pumps and shut off the engine. “We need fuel anyway, so how about get the tank filled while you two go in and pick up some root beer. You can get junk food, too, but nothing greasy or drippy that’ll make a mess in the car, and only two things each.”
Jessica groaned, “Okay, Mom. Nachos with cheese and chili dogs it is.”
“Sure, but you’ll need to eat in the trunk or strapped to the roof like a carpet.”
Christopher had that goofy smile again. “You make a good pretend mom.”
“Get me a bag of those Old Dutch things I like.” I made a hand gesture that only someone who’d been on a number of trips with me could have deciphered.
“Puffcorn,” he said.
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