Crafting Disorder (Ponderosa Pines Cozy Mystery Series Book 2)

by ReGina Welling

  “It’s a start. And I think we should also do some Internet research; this guy had to come from somewhere. He must have a reason for hiding out in the woods. Someone might be looking for him.”

  “Yeah, probably wielding a huge butterfly net and a tranquilizer gun.”

  “So you’ll get started on the research, and tomorrow morning we’ll go take a look for ourselves.”

  “Sounds like a plan. See you tomorrow.” Chloe signed off.

  Chapter 15

  Chloe poked her head through the open top portion of EV’s Dutch-style back door, and called out to her friend. “I’m here; let’s get this show on the road.”

  “I’m coming, I’m coming. This whole thing is ludicrous, by the way. They’re calling themselves professional Yeti hunters. You know every able-bodied male in town has taken a swing through the surrounding woods, and no one has found anything yet.” Only EV’s voice came to the door; the rest of her was somewhere in the pantry area. Chloe could hear her rummaging around.

  EV emerged, sporting a bright orange hat. She handed Chloe an orange vest, holding back a tiny smile at the thought of her friend in hunter’s orange. Chloe made a face, but donned the garment. They both knew it was bird hunting season, and weren’t taking any chances. EV pulled out Bertha, her trusty 12-gauge shotgun, and strapped it to her back. “Just in case this Sasquatch gets mouthy.”

  “What crawled up your butt? We know these woods better than most. Those Yeti hunters have no clue. If we can find him first, and prove he’s not really Bigfoot, maybe they’ll go away and leave us alone.” She held up the camera hanging from a strap around her neck for emphasis.

  “I like Bertha’s odds better, but all right. Let’s head to the other side of the pond where the woods are a bit thicker. I’m betting the Sasq-Watchers will poke around Sabras for a while before they take to the more obvious trails. Did you get anywhere on the Inter-webs?”

  “Certainly not as far as I’m sure Nate progressed with his official search, but I did read enough about wanted criminals to keep me awake at night. I’ll keep digging, but until we have a better description of this whackadoo, it’s a crapshoot.” EV hadn’t really expected a firm lead, but had hoped for a stroke of luck. Maybe their invader didn’t hail from nearby. That would make things a lot more difficult.

  The two loaded into EV’s pickup truck and headed for the canoe launch, opting to take the more scenic—and less frequently traveled—route down a dirt road that wasn’t quite wide enough for boat trailers. Sunbeams shone through open spaces in the trees where leaves had recently given up their fight and submitted to unrelenting autumn. Many still clung to life, and some varieties had yet to turn color at all. Fall would continue, with its bursts of yellow, red, and orange for a couple more weeks. Chloe enjoyed the way the plethora of pine trees contributed lush green to the mix of rich colors. It was her favorite time of year, but given everything she’d had on her mind lately, she hadn’t much time to enjoy it.

  “Your mom and I used to walk this road nearly every day during the summer. We found a secret garden back here and claimed it for our own. It was really just a patch of wildflowers in a clearing, but we thought it was beautiful. Later, we brought dates out here before heading out to the pond for some skinny dipping.” EV wiggled her eyebrows at Chloe’s eye roll and continued. “That’s where she and your father kissed for the first time.”

  Chloe’s face softened at the thought of her parents, young and in love, driving out to this spot. She knew Lila had been happy in the Pines once, and she knew that Alexander’s death had been the spark that ignited a fire under her mother’s butt—sent her careening away from her childhood home. Too young to remember her father, or living at the Pines as a child, his ghost didn’t haunt her the way it would have haunted Lila.

  Sure, Chloe had spent all her wishes—every shooting star; every birthday candle; every 11:11 on the clock—pleading to have her father back; to know what having a cookie-cutter family would feel like. Just as all children who lost a parent tended to do. But, over time—and as with all things to be endured—the pain diminished to a dull ache, filed away for quiet contemplation. Now, she could observe it without being pulled under by it; whereas Lila couldn’t bring herself to speak of Alexander with any semblance of frequency, Chloe enjoyed any tidbit of information she could find.

  “Can we look at your photo albums again soon?” Chloe asked EV as they approached their destination.

  “Any time you want, Sweets.”

  EV parked the truck at the end of the road and headed into the woods, following a trail Chloe barely recognized, but that seemed familiar to the older, more seasoned hiker. They trailed around the far side of the pond, covering several miles of ground, and gleaning nothing more than some shots of the brilliant foliage.

  “Someone has definitely been through here recently, but with all these fallen leaves I can’t track a clear path. It could have been days ago, or even a couple of weeks ago. This is a bust; I say we head back.” EV led Chloe back to the truck and hopped in.

  “Where else could someone be hiding? Especially someone who’s been stockpiling random items pilfered from all around town?”

  “I’m not sure, but I think it might be worth a trip to look at the records in the town office. I don’t have an updated land survey or topographical map of the Pines, but we can take a look and figure out where the best place to squat might be. What am I missing? I know this area better than most, but I’m coming up blank.”

  “Drop me here and I’ll run over there and meet you back at your place. Got anything good to eat?” Chloe’s stomach rumbled.

  “It’s covered; see you in a bit.”

  Chloe left the unsightly orange vest in EV’s truck, along with her camera bag, and wove through the trail toward the town hall that also held Nate and Dalton’s small office. As she approached the edge of the tree line, she noticed a red sports car parked in front of the building. Stopping short, she watched as Nate deposited the same woman from the diner into the driver’s seat and waved as she drove away.

  Fire burned through Chloe’s veins, and steam wanted to pour out of her ears. She felt faint, and angry. Before she even realized what she was doing, Chloe stomped across the street and straight into Nate’s office without knocking.

  “Who was that? I’ve seen you with that woman twice now, and I want to know who she is!”

  Nate surveyed Chloe for a moment until his own emotions surged up inside him. Part of him was elated; Chloe was jealous, so that must mean she wanted him as more than a friend—while another part of him was angry. Where did she get off acting like he was doing something wrong, when she had been the one gallivanting all over town with the biggest losers EV could find?

  Everyone had noticed. Even the gossip-mongering columnist who’d had the audacity to call him Inspector Hottie. He was a detective, not an inspector. What an idiot.

  “What business is it of yours, anyway? Men have been coming and going from your house so frequently, I was beginning to wonder if you’d taken out a personal ad.” He shot back.

  “I told you, EV set me up on those dates. I didn’t even want to go.” Skepticism wrote itself across his face. “What, you don’t believe me?”

  “I believe you could have said no. I believe you could have told me about it before it happened. You have to know how I feel about you, and it didn’t occur to you that maybe that would hurt my feelings?”

  Both elation and shame leapt to life within her. Chloe turned her face away, but kept her mouth firmly shut. As much as she wanted to tell him how she felt, she just couldn’t find the words. And so far, he hadn’t denied that he had been seeing someone else.

  The silence stretched out until into its echoing abyss she said, “How? How is it that I have to know how you feel about me when you’ve never told me?”

  Looking at him at that particular moment was more than she could do. Whatever emotion might be plastered across his face, she wasn’t sure she wanted to
know.

  In any case, he let the silence lay between them.

  “Whatever, Nathaniel, you’ve clearly gotten over it, so have a nice life!” She spun on her heel and bolted out the door before he could see the tears in her eyes.

  The door slammed, and Dalton, who had been standing in the supply closet when Chloe burst in, walked into the room tentatively. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “She’s made up her mind, and I’m not going to reward her for coming in here and yelling at me when she’s never even let on that she wants more than friendship.” Rather than risk making himself vulnerable, Nate had kept his mouth firmly shut, refusing to reveal his true feelings. Maybe he did share some of the blame for all those years of silence, but since his return, he thought he had made his intentions perfectly clear.

  He’d battled a bat for her—surely, that was a sign of love. He had made his intentions known. Hadn’t he? Self-doubt threatened to pull him under, but he ignored its clawing insistence and instead chose to remain indignant.

  “You’re being stubborn, and short-sighted. I know you love her, and you could be throwing away the best thing that ever happened to you.” Dalton hoped his friend would see reason, but knew enough not to push too hard.

  “My personal business is none of your concern. Get back to work.” Nate said sullenly. Dalton nodded, beat back the temptation to smack the young idiot in the back of the head, and decided to put a pin in the conversation, at least for the time being.

  Outside, Chloe took a deep breath before trudging back through the woods toward EV’s, her mission at the town office unfulfilled and forgotten.

  Chapter 16

  Wind whistled and shrieked through Ponderosa Pines, stripping early-turned trees of their fall glory, and sending them skittering into every corner. EV fought to keep the lumbering pickup from being blown off track on her way into town. By the time she muscled her way to the curb, she was wishing she’d stayed home.

  The promise of gossip had dragged her from the warmth of her cozy fortress, and the stress of the drive turned her feet toward where dark-brewed, caffeine-laced nectar waited.

  There was time for a cup before knitting group. EV pushed the coffee shop door open. Struggling, she managed to get halfway in before the wind sucked it closed again. So she shoved harder. The wind died down long enough to let the door slam open hard. EV stumbled through, and grasped the edge of the closest table to catch herself from falling.

  Unfortunately, her knitting bag suffered no such reprieve, and flew out of her hand to dump its contents all over the floor. Muttering imprecations under her breath, EV gathered the mess together without bothering with neatness, and shoved it back into her bag.

  Combing her fingers through her hair, EV tried to restore some semblance of order to the tumbled mass. Failing miserably, she fell into her customary chair with a whooshing breath.

  “Blustery out, hmm?” She said to Rhonda, who approached with a coffee pot and mug.

  “You should hear the wind whistling out the back door. It’s crazy.” Rhonda agreed. Glancing around to make sure no one was close enough to hear, she lowered her voice to a whisper. “And speaking of crazy, listen to what happened this morning.”

  EV gestured for Rhonda to sit.

  “You remember that table and chair that was taken from here? Well, they’re back.”

  “The thief returned them?” Unexpected news.

  “Yeah, but he didn’t simply return them, he repaired them and then, well, you have to see for yourself. Come on.”

  Rhonda led EV behind the counter and through a door leading out the back of the shop.

  “Look.”

  The only reason EV knew they were the same pieces of furniture that had gone missing was that they matched the rest of the tables in the shop in both size and shape. But that was where the resemblance ended.

  If their invader was a Sasquatch, he sure knew how to work a penknife. How long it had taken to carve the name of the shop, along with a finely nuanced, steaming mug surrounded by coffee beans, EV couldn’t speculate. Horizontal stripes of black and white decorated the rim of the table—courtesy of the school’s missing art supplies, EV supposed. Matching stripes decorated the seat rim, and back of the chair.

  “We found them outside the back door this morning when we opened up the shop. David said not to touch them because they’d probably be considered evidence.”

  “And nobody saw anything?” EV appraised the pieces as best she could—from a distance, and with the wind still whipping her hair into her eyes.

  The round cafe table, meant for a single diner, or maybe a couple if they wanted to get cozy, would easily fit in the wheelbarrow that had been stolen from Horis. And with a little rope to secure it, the chair, too.

  Pulling out her phone, EV snapped a few photos, and though she suspected David had already done so, advised Rhonda to alert Nate or Dalton to this new development. No sense in keeping them in the dark, but if Rhonda did the calling, EV wouldn’t be asked to share her thoughts on who might be behind the thefts—and now the non-thefts.

  She had plenty of thoughts. Nebulous ones that she couldn’t seem to marshal into any type of pattern. And right now, it was time for knitting group—providing anyone else had braved the wild weather.

  * * *

  When EV blew—literally—into Thread, the shop next door that hosted knitting group, she grinned to see that it was as full, as always. Ponderosa Pines bred hardiness into its citizens—to them, a little wind was an inconvenience, not an excuse for hibernating.

  That the ongoing discussion had not become hushed at her appearance, coupled with the enthusiastic greeting she received, convinced EV she had been worried over nothing when she speculated about being cut out of the gossip loop. She laid it down to the craziness present around harvest time, and the inevitable rush of getting ready for winter.

  Choosing a seat on the sofa, EV reached into her bag to pull out the mangled mass of yarn and needles she had shoved in there scant minutes before. Priscilla Lewellyn, owner of Thread, and leader of the group—a woman whose features and movements always reminded EV of a chicken—actually enhanced that mental image by clucking when she saw the mess.

  Oh, well. EV was never going to make a star knitter, as anyone who had ever received one of her scarves for Christmas could attest. She had absolutely no patience for it. But, coming here kept her in touch with her neighbors. So she would continue to knit parallelogram-shaped afghans and scarves with wobbly, uneven edges, and maybe this year she would even attempt a hat.

  An ugly one, no doubt. Mainly because Priscilla flatly refused to sell EV any of the prettier, more expensive yarns until she at least learned the purl stitch. If the refusal had been meant to spark EV on to greater heights of learning, it had failed, utterly.

  After watching EV fumble helplessly while trying to untangle the wind-tossed mess of yarn, Priscilla, with an uncharacteristically sharp gesture, snatched the bundle from EV’s hands and began to sort it out herself. Apparently, her unlimited patience did have a breaking point. Under Priscilla’s deft hands, the yarn was quickly untangled. Noting a dropped stitch or two, she took the time to weave them back in before returning the work to its owner. Priscilla’s stern look made EV long to stick out her tongue.

  Allegra Worth, the woman whose husband—soon-to-be ex—had killed Evan Plunkett, sat apart from the rest and knitted quietly. In the weeks since Ashton had gone to prison, she’d begun to take on a softer—less Cruella DeVille—look.

  Town consensus, among those who hypothesized about such things—which was nearly everyone—had pegged her as likely to slink out of town in the middle of the night. Yet, here she was. Calmly knitting. EV had to give the woman credit for having guts enough to stay. More, for showing up here, knowing Talia Plunkett rarely missed a session.

  Talia, sister-in-law to the philandering Evan, and wife of Luther, put on a cheerful front, but EV noted the occasional flick of her eyes toward Allegra. Nothing
the shift of her shoulders away from Allegra’s side of the room, and the tinge of color in her cheeks, EV concluded that Talia wasn’t completely comfortable being in the same room with the woman whose affair had been at the heart of her own husband’s murder. Who could blame Talia for that? EV, for one, admired her restraint, and her hardy constitution; a lesser woman would have torn Allegra’s hair out by the roots.

  Talk turned to the recent rash of thefts.

  “I haven’t been able to find my Uno cards for a month.” Talia pitched her voice low and ominous.

  “Crying out loud, Talia,” Lottie chided, her voice shrill with derision. “Unless you left them outside, they’re probably safe.” The look she gave her sister included plenty of scorn, along with a set of rolling eyes, and garnered her a scorching glance from Talia.

  “You don’t know. Those pictures Sabra took face right at my bedroom window. We, the whole town, rarely ever lock our doors, so he could have been creeping around in my house.”

  “Yes, I’m sure there’s a big black market for stolen Uno cards.”

  Before the sisters came to blows, EV figured she’d better do something to distract them.

  “Last night he brought back the table he took from out behind The Mudbucket.” EV tossed the comment into the mix.

  “Really?” Wide eyes and perked ears turned toward EV.

  “And you should see what he did to it. He fixed it, and carved a design into the top. It’s beautiful work.”

  “So our thief is also an artist?”

  “Looks that way. It’s an art attack.”

  “Say what you want about him, but I know he took my Englebert, and Drambuie is missing besides.”

  “Cats?” Priscilla questioned.

  “Englebert is my ceramic gargoyle and Drambuie is that white cat I found the night Luther died. He’s such a darling. I hope that nasty thief hasn’t eaten him.”

  “Oh, Lottie, that’s disgusting,” Talia shivered at the thought, “Don’t even say such a thing.”