Nabbed in the Nasturtiums

by Dale Mayer

  “That is quite true. She was in Vancouver,” she said, frowning. “I guess I can’t get a copy of the files out of Vancouver, can I?”

  “Nope,” he said, with a wry note of satisfaction.

  She glared at him. “You could help.”

  “Nope,” he said. “The whole idea is for you to find a hobby that doesn’t get you hurt all the time.”

  “If this woman has been dead for a long time, who’ll hurt me?”

  “Whoever killed her,” he said, staring at her.

  “Besides them.”

  “There is no besides them,” he said, groaning. “You and I both know you put yourself into these crazy cases, and you’re the one who ends up getting attacked.”

  “You could just help me not get attacked,” she said. “Besides, I’m a long way from this one, so surely it would be less dangerous.”

  He studied her for a moment, his fingers drumming the deck railing, and she realized he was thinking about it.

  “I’m becoming a great amateur detective,” she said, “and that’s a huge hobby. I’m also helping people, you know? Finding closure and all. I mean, I’m doing all kinds of stuff, and it’s good for me, and it’s good for them. Why is it not good for you?”

  “Don’t start spinning this around and blaming me,” he muttered on a groan.

  “I would if I could,” she said, “but somehow you always turn it back around against me.”

  “I’m not against you,” he said. “I’m trying to keep you safe.”

  She smiled. “And I really do appreciate that. Honestly.” He rolled his eyes at her, and she chuckled. “Okay, I know I don’t always appear to be thankful, and I probably haven’t even said thank you for all kinds of things in the past that I should have,” she admitted. “Apparently I’m not very good at saying thank you at all.” After a few moments of silence, she frowned, looked at him, and said, “Now you’re making me feel terrible.”

  He raised both hands in frustration. “I’m not making you do anything,” he said. “You’re the one doing it all.”

  “See? There you go, making me feel bad again.”

  He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and said, “Okay, this crazy conversation has gone on long enough.”

  “So does that mean you’ll help me out then?”

  “No,” he roared. He hopped to his feet.

  “Uh-oh. You’re not leaving, are you?” she asked.

  “I should.” He looked at his watch and said, “Yet I guess we need food again, if you’re hungry.”

  “We sure do, and, yes, I am,” she said, with a big smile. “What did you bring?”

  “Basics,” he said. “I just brought over some veggies. You probably don’t have any meat, do you?”

  “I’ve got some.” She hopped up to look in the fridge and the freezer, while he unloaded the bags that he’d brought. “I’ve got some ground beef, but there’s not very much of it.” She held up the small package she found. “I got it on sale. I also have a couple chicken breasts in the freezer.”

  “How about a chicken stir-fry then?” he asked. “I even grabbed some chow mein noodles, without even realizing that’s where we were heading.”

  She looked at the noodles. “I don’t think I’ve ever had those.”

  “They’re crunchy,” he said. “You make up your stir-fry and toss them in afterward.”

  “And you eat them crunchy and uncooked?”

  “They’re technically cooked already,” he said, “and you can eat them soft or hard.”

  She shrugged. “You’re the master.” He snagged the chicken breasts, put them in the microwave to defrost, as she watched. Frowning, she said, “I thought defrosting meat in the microwave wasn’t a good idea?”

  “Sometimes you have to. In this case I’m not really defrosting it, not fully. I’m just defrosting them enough so I can slice them.” When they were done, he took them to the cutting board with a big knife and sliced them thinly.

  “Now what?”

  “Now get a bowl and some soy sauce and start to marinate all of these in it.” He gave her a bunch of other spices to add in, including something called five-spice powder.

  She shook her head. “Why not do the individual spices?”

  “Why not just conveniently put them all together as one?” he countered.

  “You’re the chef,” she muttered. She followed his instructions, ending up with dark-looking chicken slices. Then he brought out the wok, tossed in some oil, and had her wash a mound of veggies. “That’s a lot of food.”

  “I’m starving,” he snapped. “Nothing like being around you to make me hungry.”

  “Oh,” she said. “I don’t want to be responsible for you gaining weight.” He stopped and stared at her. She shrugged. “Not that you are.”

  “Are you saying I’m fat?”

  Her lips twitched.

  He glared at her. “Don’t look away. Are you saying I’m fat?”

  She shook her head slowly. “Never,” she said, but something was in her tone.

  He turned, looked at her, crossed his arms over his chest, and said, “Are you calling me fat? Don’t evade the question. Yes or no?”

  She shook her head, tried to control herself, but, against her best efforts, her lips twitched. Again. And she started to snicker. Then, giving up the fight, she laughed and laughed and laughed. By the time she had control of herself, she was sitting on the kitchen floor, wiping the tears from her face.

  Mack glared at her, but thankfully he had a grin on his face. “I gather you’re not calling me fat.”

  “I wouldn’t dare,” she said, laughing. “And, besides, you are not fat at all. You know that.”

  “Of course not,” he said. “I work out. I eat healthy, and I’m fit. You’re the one who’s so skinny.”

  “So why’d you get so upset at me?”

  “Just to piss you off,” he said, “but it had an even better reaction. You look really good when you’re laughing.”

  “I don’t think I’ve done enough of it,” she said. “Honestly it doesn’t seem like I’ve had a whole lot to laugh at.”

  “There is now,” he said.

  She snickered. “Yeah, you.”

  He gave her a mock look of outrage and said, “You’re pretty cheeky tonight.”

  “Yeah, I’m getting dinner soon,” she said.

  “You mean, you’re hoping to get dinner soon,” he muttered.

  She made her way back over to his side, so she could watch, as he waited for the oil in the electric wok to be hot. Then he threw in most of the veggies, all the meat, and all of the onions. “It doesn’t look like there’s a whole lot to making this.”

  “There isn’t,” he said. “I should be having you make it.”

  “Maybe,” she said, “next time.”

  He said, “You should practice. It’s not hard. You just get the oil hot, throw in your veggies and meat, toss them and stir them. If you want them cooked a little bit longer, add a bit of water, throw on a lid, and, when that steam comes out of the side, wait three minutes, and the veggies are perfect.”

  He put the lid on and watched, while she counted. As soon as the three minutes were up, he lifted the lid, and she cried out in amazement. “They’re perfect.” He nodded, stirred it all up, made a well in the center and added a little bit of a cornstarch mixture. “So that’ll thicken it?” she asked, watching.

  He nodded and said, “See that bubbling up in the center?” She watched tiny bubbles appear, and he said, “Now you stir it. The cornstarch won’t thicken unless it’s bubbling. But now look.” And, sure enough, the cornstarch was well and truly thickened. “It’s all good to go.”

  “Do you want rice with it?”

  “Nope,” he said. “That’s why we have the noodles.”

  He grabbed the bag of noodles, brought them over to the wok, and upended half the bag into it. He said, “That’s probably about right. We’ll try it and see.”

  “It looks fasc
inating,” she said. “I’ve never seen those noodles before.”

  “I like them,” he said. “I’m sure other people would choose other kinds of noodles, but this is great for a change.”

  Since she had never tasted them herself, she wasn’t a judge. But, when she sat down and tucked in enthusiastically, she nodded. “Good choice.”

  “Glad you think so,” he said, watching her eat with satisfaction.

  When she realized he wasn’t eating, she looked up and asked, “What’s the matter?”

  He chuckled. “Nothing,” he said. “It’s just very rewarding to cook for you.”

  “Why?” she asked in astonishment.

  “Because you eat everything with such enthusiasm, so it doesn’t really matter if it’s good or bad.”

  “But that would imply that it could be terrible and that I’d still eat it,” she said, frowning up at him.

  “And you would,” he said. “You’re also very polite.”

  She wrinkled up her nose at him. “You make me sound terribly boring, but I do have an opinion, you know?”

  “Oh, I know,” he said. “Trust me. I’ve heard them many a time.”

  “Then you can always count on me to be honest about food.”

  “I’m really glad to hear that. I’ve wondered, every once in a while, if maybe you were just eating for the sake of eating.”

  “Meaning, because I’m so hungry?”

  He nodded.

  “Some things I prefer more when compared to others,” she said, “like pasta, but I don’t think you’ve ever cooked me anything I didn’t think was delightful.”

  He searched her face for a long moment and then relaxed. “Good,” he said. “So you truly do like everything, don’t you?”

  She nodded. “Okay, I like food. It wasn’t until I ran into a shortage of it that I realized how much and how simple most food truly is.”

  “It’s only complicated if you make it complicated,” he said.

  “And I didn’t have any prior exposure to realize that,” she said. “So your cooking lessons have been quite an eye-opener, and, for that, I thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said. “It’s been fun, but I need to see you doing more cooking.”

  “Okay, so I’d like to learn how to do more of these,” she said. “How about tomorrow night?”

  “That’s possible,” he said. As he looked around her kitchen, he added, “We probably have enough veggies here to do another stir-fry.”

  She clapped her hands.

  “Perfect.” He grinned. “You know that you clap your hands just like Nan does, like a little kid.”

  Immediately she dropped her hands into her lap and glared at him.

  He shrugged. “It’s cute.”

  She sighed. “I don’t know about how cute it can be when it’s the behavior of an almost eighty-year-old woman.”

  “I don’t think she’s quite that old.”

  “I’m not exactly sure how old she is, and, if I’m honest, I’m not sure she’s ever told me—or if she even would.”

  He laughed at that. “I guess egos are still egos, aren’t they?”

  “Particularly for her, but she’s adorable though.”

  “Yes, she is,” he said, with a big grin. “Don’t worry. She is a great friend of mine too.”

  “I really appreciate that, and I know she gets away with murder sometimes,” she said, “but honestly she comes from a good heart.”

  “Getting away with murder on her gambling, you mean?”

  She nodded and winced. “Yeah, it’s like she just can’t quit.”

  “That’s what addictions are,” he said, “and gambling is definitely an addiction.”

  “Even if you’re the one organizing the bets?”

  “Absolutely,” he muttered. “Think about it. It doesn’t really matter who is doing whatever it is. Still, you’ve got to have your hand into it.”

  “At least she’s not trying to make money off of people anymore.”

  “Isn’t she?” he asked in surprise.

  Doreen frowned, shrugged, and said, “I don’t think so. I think she’s doing it mostly out of fun.”

  “Just because it’s fun for her doesn’t mean that it’s fun for anybody else, and, if other people aren’t as wealthy as she is, then it can be very painful for them to lose that kind of money.”

  “I don’t think they’re losing much in the way of money these days. It’s become almost like, you know, gambling with chopsticks or toothpicks.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” he said, “because I know Richie is not as wealthy as Nan.”

  “Right,” she said, “and I guess that would be hard if it was somebody she knew too.”

  “And we don’t always know what people’s circumstances are,” he reminded her. “Just because a lot of people know about your circumstance doesn’t mean everybody does. They all see this house and think that you’re lucky enough to own it.”

  “Which I am,” she said.

  “Right, but they don’t know you’re struggling to put food on the table.”

  She frowned. “No, you’re right. Maybe I should have a talk with Nan to make sure she’s not fleecing anybody she shouldn’t be.”

  He laughed. “In Nan’s world she’d probably say that they’re all there to be fleeced.”

  “You’re not wrong there,” she muttered. “Still, I don’t think she is coldhearted.”

  “Nope, she sure isn’t, and it’s all about fun and games. But fun and games can have terrible consequences for some people.”

  Wanting to change the conversation, she turned her attention back to the food—and Mack’s current case. “You still haven’t told me much about this gardener.”

  “Not much to tell,” he said, shrugging. Finally he opened up a bit. “He was working in the flower beds and apparently was supposed to return at a certain time with the equipment. When his supervisor realized the gardener hadn’t shown up, his boss went down to the site and found no sign of him.”

  “But how do you know he didn’t just drive home then?” she asked.

  “Because he’s not at home. His vehicle was there. All the equipment that he was supposed to have was there, but still no sign of him was found. Nobody had seen him, and no cameras were around either.”

  “You sure he didn’t just have a heart attack in a ditch?”

  “First off, he’s younger, only forty-eight. Second, he’s more or less healthy, as far as we can tell. So that would be an unlikely occurrence, but still they’ve been carefully searching and have tried hard to find him.”

  “So, any ransom note or something like that?”

  “No,” he said, frowning, looking at his phone, checking to see if he had any messages. “Nothing at all.”

  “That’s sad,” she said, “because, if you have no information, what are you supposed to do?”

  “That’s where the problem lies,” he said. “We have to keep looking and inform the public to keep an eye out. But, at the same time, nothing much we can do. After we’ve searched everywhere and we can’t find him, then what?” he asked, almost with a bit of challenge.

  “Any sign of his phone? Any sign of family members having heard from him all day?”

  “No, nothing,” he said. “It’s like he got into another vehicle and drove away.”

  “Which could have easily happened,” she said. “Somebody could have picked him up, like taking him for lunch or something, and never brought him back. I mean, maybe he had a great afternoon somewhere.”

  “And that could be why he is not answering his phone?”

  “Sure, but a lot of people wouldn’t, if it came to playing hooky. Chances are, he’ll show up tomorrow, apologetic and hoping he still has a job.”

  “That would be the best-case scenario,” Mack said, “but I can’t count on it.”

  “Of course not,” she said sympathetically. “Plus, the public is after you to do something.”

  “Of course,” he s
aid. “If it was somebody you knew, you’d be after me too.”

  “Always,” she said, with a nod. “Same as now. I’m looking at this woman who disappeared over twenty-five years ago and wondering what would be left for information to find out who and what. These cases never go away, do they?”

  “No, even if we do suspect it’s a serial killer, and we can’t prove anything, it’s not like we close it on the suspicion,” he said. “We wait until we have an actual cause. We keep working it until we get it solved.”

  “Interesting,” she murmured. “In which case, you could get me whatever there is on my case, and I could look into it.” When he opened his mouth, she cut him off, saying, “Remember. The niece went missing a long way from here, so it’s not like I’ll get into any trouble from Vancouver.”

  “As long as I find absolutely no connection to Kelowna,” he said. “But, the minute there’s one whiff of a connection, I am not helping you.”

  “That’s fine,” she said immediately. “I really do mean to be an armchair detective for this one.”

  He snorted at that. “I wish that would be the case, but you have this bad habit of ending up personally involved in everything.”

  “Which is why it’s so good,” she said, beaming, “because I get the benefit of helping somebody.”

  “You also reap the not-so-nice benefit of getting in trouble and getting hurt all the time.”

  “That’s true,” she muttered. “But we can hope that, this time, it won’t happen, right?”

  Chapter 7

  Monday Morning …

  The next morning she woke up to a text message from Mack.

  Check your email.

  With joy, she hopped up, checked her phone for her email and realized he’d sent her the file on Hinja’s missing niece. Doreen raced through her shower, quickly putting on the coffee, and, only then she sat down outside with her notes from the day before and with the file that he’d sent her. The only trouble was, it was too sparse. She groaned when she looked at the few pages in it and then sent him a text message. Are you sure you didn’t forget to send the rest of it?

  Nope, there’s no information. Nobody saw anything. Nobody heard anything. She just didn’t show up again.