Chloe’s quiet groan went ignored. At this rate, she would be burning the midnight oil if she wanted to get her weekly gossip column ready for editing. None of what she had heard today was particularly juicy, but breaking the news of a rash of thefts had some appeal—as long as it wouldn’t hinder what she was sure was about to become a full-blown investigation.
“You’ll never guess what’s happened.” Sabra leaned an elbow on the hood of the truck, and prepared to settle in for a good gossip session. Out of the corner of her eye, she cast a hopeful glance over the front seat, just in case EV had brought along a jar of crabapple jelly. Sabra had been trying to get EV to tell her the secret ingredient for years. Disappointed at seeing none, she turned back to say, “Someone borrowed,” air quotes, “one of those decorative cast iron pots I keep my plants in out front.”
“Plants and all?” EV asked.
“No, I use plastic liners, so they yanked the plant right out of the pot and left it on the porch.”
The headache that had been threatening since EV’s fall in town bloomed into a full throb as she once again promised to look into it, and hustled Chloe out of there as quickly as possible.
“Do we have to finish this today?” Chloe wanted to go home.
“Might as well. Nothing will change between now and tomorrow.” EV’s tone was dry, her face set in grim lines. “Only way to deal with this is head on.”
“This is true.”
Chapter 2
Dalton must have left The Mudbucket and gone straight to his temporary boss and trainer, Detective Nathanial Harper, with his newfound knowledge, because EV had barely stopped at the loaner box in front of the church when the two men sauntered up. Nate kicked one of her truck tires with a frown.
“Is this thing even road legal?”
“I don’t take it on the highway, if that’s what you’re asking, but it does well enough to drop off a few pumpkins around town. I keep it under the speed limit.”
Chloe snorted. “Trust me, turtles move faster than that thing.”
“Look Missy, without a load on, she’ll do a good ten miles an hour.” EV teased Chloe.
From the look on his face, Chloe judged Nate would like nothing more than to give EV a ticket, but since the truck had a valid—though in this case the term was debatable—inspection sticker and registration, there was nothing he could do.
Pissing off EV was probably the worst use of his time, so he let it go.
“Tell me about the missing table.” Nate gave EV his best stern cop face, which had zero effect on her.
EV lifted her shoulders; played it off. “Sounds like you already know. He was there,” a nod of her head indicated Dalton. “Ask him. He knows what I know.”
“Don’t give me that. The two of you have made at least four other stops between here and there, gossiping all the way, no doubt.”
“Well, Jingle Bells to you, too, but I don’t think that’s quite how it goes.” Dalton bit his lip to hold back a snicker sure to get him in trouble with Nate or EV—probably both.
“I never gossip.” Chloe pressed a hand to her heart and put on her best innocent face. If his smirk and raised eyebrow were anything to go by, Nate wasn’t buying it. EV’s snort earned her a dirty look.
“Fine. We know stuff.” EV paused to decide what and how much to tell him. Based on her calculations, someone was due to connect all the minor thefts any minute now. Once that happened, the poo would hit the fan with maximum velocity, and spread around town in under an hour. No sense hiding information now.
“Things have been going missing all over town. Nothing valuable, mind you. A broken table and chair; a broken wheelbarrow; some rusty old fence wire; the clothes off of Zellner’s scarecrow.”
Nate suppressed a small smile at that last item.
“Everyone assumes a group of kids are trying to set up some kind of clubhouse, but I’m not buying it. All the kids in town know enough to ask if they want something. This isn’t normal behavior for any of them.” Chloe took over while EV circled the truck and pulled out the last sheaf of corn stalks. Dalton moved to help her while they both kept an ear on the discussion going on at the front of the truck.
“Why not? If I remember correctly—and I do—we pilfered some stuff from the town gardens in our day.” Nate leaned in toward Chloe, his body angled for privacy. “For those picnics in the woods.” His voice turned smooth and deep.
“Shh. Don’t tell any of our dirty secrets.” Chloe tried to ignore the way his vocal caress touched off shivers that started down low in her belly. Those woodland trysts had been totally innocent, but there was nothing virtuous about the way he was looking at her right now—like he could slurp her up in one long gulp. The man smelled like sin—a little spicy, with a hint of wood smoke, and something else—something unidentifiable, but intensely masculine. When the warning sounds exploded like a klaxon in her head, Chloe stepped back to put some distance between them. It was too hard to think with him standing so close.
Nate stepped closer, rested a hand on the truck next to Chloe, who ducked under it and retreated to help unload the last six pumpkins that were slated to decorate the front steps of the church. She reached for the biggest one, but he plucked it effortlessly from her grasp. Chloe’s eyes narrowed as she watched him lift the hefty gourd with no trouble from his injured shoulder.
Two weeks—three at the most—and he would be gone. If she wasn’t careful, he’d take her heart with him when he left. Nate’s post as a detective in the nearest city of any size, Portland, had netted him a torn rotator cuff; he chose to take up the post at the Pines out of necessity and obligation. He loved his hometown, but had stated—in no uncertain terms, and on more than one occasion—that he didn’t have any desire to return permanently. Either you loved the Pines, or you hated it.
Tension settled into Chloe’s shoulders, tightening the muscles until they felt taut as guitar strings. She schooled her expression into one of bored indifference, snatched the next largest pumpkin from the bed of the truck, and marched toward the church, leaving Nate with no choice but to follow.
* * *
“I think the air just turned cold.” Dalton observed. “Any idea what that’s all about?”
“Mating dance of the young and cuckoo.” EV’s sharp eyes hadn’t missed the hurt behind Chloe’s sudden tension. Stubbornness ran deep in Chloe’s family; without intervention, she stood to lose out on the love of a lifetime. EV couldn’t let that happen. Good thing she already had a plan.
“Speaking of dancing, you’re not going to welch on me again, right?” Dalton reminded her. She’d been putting him off ever since the day Ashton Worth nearly killed himself in EV’s kitchen.
“I have a corn-related injury,” EV prevaricated.
“I’d be happy to kiss it and make it better.”
“Dalton Burnsoll, did you really just offer to kiss my ass?” His face flamed red, but he waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
“If that’s what it takes to make sure you’re ready tomorrow night when I come to pick you up.” He puckered up and made loud kissing noises.
EV couldn’t help but laugh; the man did have a sense of humor.
The tone signaling an incoming text saved her from having to answer right away. Roger Kroger, legal representative from the neighboring town of Gilmore, would be delighted to meet her friend Chloe for dinner and drinks. EV loved it when a good plan came together.
A recent misunderstanding between the two towns had Ponderosa Pines residents under the impression the town of Gilmore was underhandedly trying to annex their town; the powers that be in Gilmore thought Ponderosa Pines was the one seeking to combine.
Someone had been playing both ends against the middle, and perpetrating a bit of extortion in the process. Unfortunately, the blackmail victim, Evan Plunkett, had been murdered for an entirely unrelated reason before he could provide any additional information that might lead to catching the blackmailer.
The furor over the town f
eud—that had ended up being mostly imaginary—may have died down temporarily, but EV and Chloe agreed that there was no way this was over. Anyone willing to go to the trouble it had taken to track down Evan’s deepest secret probably still had an agenda, even if his—or her—opening play had been blocked.
They could stay quiet and wait for the blackmailer’s next move, or they could be proactive and learn everything they could in order to try and find him.
With Evan gone, EV figured the best way to track the mysterious blackmailer was by gaining the cooperation of someone on the inside in Gilmore. Roger fit the bill perfectly, and EV’s crime-solving partner, Chloe, was the right woman to pry information out of him. Once EV filled her in on the plan.
As an added bonus, she owed Chloe a bit of payback for pushing her into that first date with Dalton, and now that that particular can of worms had strewed its wiggling contents all over her life, she would enjoy opening one for Chloe. Just to add more incentive—if the little scene she had witnessed between Chloe and Nate was anything to go by—the pair of them needed a gentle push, or maybe a ruthless shove in the right direction. A little competition might be the fastest way to accomplish that objective.
If nothing else, the fireworks would be fun to watch.
Dalton cleared his throat, calling EV’s attention back to her other, more pressing, problem. Keeping Dalton relegated to the friend zone had been considerably easier before he had kissed her senseless and even Chloe had no idea exactly how much that one kiss had changed EV’s opinion of him. He’d gone from an annoyance to a distraction—which sounded like it amounted to the same thing, but the two were leagues apart.
He’d given her the tingly toes, and she couldn’t forget the feel of his lips or the touch of his body where he’d pulled her against him. A night of dancing presented too many opportunities for bodily contact, but she had promised, and EV never reneged on a promise.
“Okay, but if I hear the first notes of teeny-bop music, I’m out of there. Classic rock, right? Is there any place that even plays that stuff anymore?”
“Friday nights at Drifter’s in Warren. We’ll do dinner first?”
Hoping their friendship could survive a trip into true date territory, she confirmed the time while, out of the corner of her eye, EV watched Chloe and Nate return for another pair of pumpkins.
“Chloe, don’t forget Roger will be by tonight to pick you up for dinner.”
In the middle of reaching into the truck for her final victim, Chloe stilled, flashed EV a raised eyebrow before opening her mouth to protest. In the face of EV’s pointed look, Chloe covered the momentary lapse.
“I’d almost forgotten about that. Thanks for the reminder.” She risked a glance at Nate, but his face had gone cop hard and unreadable.
Turning toward Dalton, “I think we should head out to Zellner’s place and take a look at that naked scarecrow of his.” Nate said in a voice cold enough to freeze the ears off a brass donkey. “I’ll talk to you later, EV.” His subtle emphasis of the word you was not lost on Chloe, who chimed in with a cheerful-sounding, “See you later, Dalton.” She waited until the men were out of sight before rounding on EV.
“Tell me that was a joke. You didn’t really fix me up with Roger, right? Isn’t he that nerdy-looking guy from the town meeting?”
“I did. But not for the reason you’re thinking.”
Chloe’s mind had already gotten there, though. “It’s about that Gilmore business. And Evan’s blackmailer. You want me to pump Roger for information.”
“Well, I don’t want you to pump him for anything else.”
“Ha ha.” A pause, “You’re evil, you know that?” Chloe wasn’t really mad; the idea had possibilities. EV wasn’t the only one who felt the pull of untied threads. “I’ll do it because we both know this isn’t over. But there will be consequences.” Two could play at this game.
“Whatever.” EV waved a dismissive hand. “We’re done here. I have chicken stew in the crockpot. You want?”
“Dumplings?”
“Naturally.”
“I’m in; if you think we can get this heap back to your place before I starve to death.”
“Yeah? Watch me.” EV pulled a U-turn to head back home. A quarter mile down the road, she shot Chloe a glance and took a right-hand turn down an almost hidden track through the trees. What followed next had Chloe bracing herself and clutching the seat belt. EV bounced the old truck through the woods in a nearly straight line that cut the drive time in less than half, but when the truck approached an old wooden bridge with no side rails that Chloe didn’t ever remember seeing, she shrieked.
“Are you crazy? You’re going to kill us!”
EV hunched over the steering wheel, flashed an evil grin, slammed her foot on the gas pedal, and sped across while Chloe swore a blue streak at her.
“I’m going to kill you if we make it back in one piece.”
The truck shot out of the woods a few hundred feet from EV’s driveway. She whipped the wheel to park it next to the shed before looking at her watch. “And that’s the record.”
Once her heart rate returned to normal, Chloe decided the chicken and dumplings would be worth staying for—but EV would be getting a side of rant with hers.
* * *
“Needs more pepper,” EV handed the grinder to Chloe after dusting her own bowl liberally enough to bring on a sneeze. “You really think kids are stealing stuff around town?” She asked with watering eyes.
“Not really, do you?”
“Maybe Zellner’s scarecrow, as a prank. But the rest? No. Too random. I’m betting it gets worse before it gets better. Tomorrow’s my day for working at the co-op; I’ll probably get an earful while I’m there.”
Chloe blew on a bite of dumpling to cool it before popping it in her mouth. Her eyes dropped shut in appreciation.
‘Yum. What’s in these? They’re heavenly.” Flecks of herb and vegetable studded the dough.
“Pinch of fresh sage—chopped up fine—along with some diced onions, carrots, and celery. It’s a cross between stuffing and dumplings.”
“Worth almost getting killed on the way here.”
EV smirked, but chose not to answer the insult to her driving.
While the stew in her bowl cooled enough to eat without burning her tongue, EV jotted down a list of missing items on a pastel purple legal pad. She could see no pattern, other than that most were unusable, and had been slated for recycling.
After puzzling over it for another minute, she pushed the list aside. Tilting her head, she observed Chloe until the other woman put down her spoon, and asked, “What?”
“We should come up with a strategy for dealing with Roger.”
“How about you go on the date—that’s a strategy that works for me.”
“Meow. Cougar on the prowl? I don’t think I’m his type, but I do think that if you vamp him too hard, you’re going to open Pandora’s Box.”
“Truth. I’ll be careful, and you can trust me to get the skinny—whatever skinny there is to get, anyway.” Time to change the subject. “What are you thinking about these thefts?”
“I’m thinking we have another case to solve.”
* * *
“Yes, please, another vodka-soda, light on the vodka. How about you, Roger, would you like a refill on your rum and coke?” Chloe purred, shooting Roger a flirtatious look from beneath her eyelashes.
“Um, yes, absolutely.” He stammered, draining the dregs of his last drink before handing his glass to the waitress. About one more and I’m golden, thought Chloe with an internal smirk. It wasn’t that Roger wasn’t a nice guy, but what kind of man ordered coconut-flavored rum in front of a woman on the first date? A whiskey and coke? Sure. A long island iced tea? Perfectly acceptable. Girlie drinks, however, should be saved for a tropical vacation. Or for lazy Sundays watching Netflix with your steady girlfriend. Though Chloe did admire his total lack of self-consciousness, she felt a pang of guilt for being judgmental�
��and for accepting a date with an ulterior motive. Still, she had a goal to accomplish, and accomplish it she would.
“Tell me about yourself, Roger.” Chloe hoped he wouldn’t need too much prodding before letting slip some useful information.
By the time the food arrived—Chloe’s salmon Caesar salad looked as delicious as Roger’s fish and chips—Chloe had learned that Roger held a degree in architecture, was an avid camper, and loved classic ‘80’s movies. Upon further inspection, he wasn’t that bad looking either, in a corporate sort of way. He sure looked good on paper, but Chloe wasn’t getting the tinglies like she did when a certain someone was around.
“So how did an architect from Gilmore wind up at a Ponderosa Pines town meeting, anyway?” Chloe gently pressed for information.
“Well, my side project is flipping houses. I deal with the planning, and my partner does the remodeling. We’ve been delving into more eco-friendly materials and methods. It’s why I volunteered to attend your town meeting; I was curious.” He finished, looking somewhat sheepish.
“Ah-ha, ulterior motives!” Chloe exclaimed with a genuine smile. “If you ever need a brain to pick, please ask…though our methods aren’t always the most flashy or hi-tech.” Roger’s eyes lit up at the offer, and Chloe realized she might want to scale it back a notch, lest he develop a hard-core crush she’d have to nix.
“Tell me the real story behind Ponderosa Pines. I’ve heard some crazy rumors, but I don’t tend to put much stock into gossip.” Chloe had to choke back a laugh at that; her job as secret gossip columnist for the Pines’ weekly newsletter, The Pine Cone, made innuendo her business. Nobody in town, save for her editor, Wesley, and her best friend, EV, knew she held the position. The secrecy created a buzz, making ‘Babble & Spin’ the longest running and most popular regular column, bar none.
Crafting Disorder (Ponderosa Pines Cozy Mystery Series Book 2) Page 2