by Ellen Parker
“Color’s good. Quality’s better.” Basil cooperated with the briefest of handshakes. “I like my customers to be repeaters. Live addicts spend more money than one-shot overdoser wonders.”
“Sounds like a marketing campaign. Or a poetry attempt.”
“It could be.” Basil depended on word-of-mouth advertising. Twitter blasts worked to spread time and location of his raves. Constant surveillance of the initial Twitter group plus a sharp eye at the entrance continued to keep out the wrong clientele: undercover cops.
Basil beckoned two of his associates over and the four men spent the next half hour unpacking, counting, and weighing drugs. Brightly colored tablets in tiny plastic bags passed from five-gallon pails to smooth countertop to an electronic scale. He segregated random samples and carried them over to a magnifying light.
“They’re good.” Daniel hovered at his shoulder. “Quality control claims priority in my lab. It’s right up there with cleanliness.”
“You work in a barn.” Basil examined the double-B butterfly logo on both sides of a lime green tablet. He felt Daniel’s presence too close, the chemist’s ego pushing into his personal space like a pocket of heated air. Arrogance could kill a man in their business. Basil gestured Daniel to take a step back.
“A very clean, former dairy barn. You’re welcome to come inspect it.” Daniel flicked lint off his black polo shirt.
“It had better keep that identity to the outside world.” Basil moved a second visit to the lab outside of Crystal Springs, Wisconsin, up on his list of priorities. One more piece of evidence to support the rumor of Daniel ignoring his “exclusive” contract with Basil and the man would be hosting an angry instead of patient wholesaler.
“No problem. My parents buy the story I’m working on a better mouse poison.”
Basil choked back a laugh. “And are you?”
“It would kill them. No doubt about it. One nibble or lick and a mouse, rat, even a cat or dog would be gone from heart failure.”
“Is that what my customers can look forward to?” Basil scraped the edge of one dose with a clean knife and touched his tongue to the powder. No doubt about the quality of this batch. He reached for a bottle of water, rinsed his mouth, and spat into a trash can.
“You and I plus half the literate population know ‘E’ in all its forms causes problems in the long term. How many of your customers will live long enough for them to show? Or be able to trace it back?” Daniel took a casual stance with both thumbs hooked into his back pockets.
“All that reminiscing from my elders about ‘wild in my younger days’ is one reason I’m in this business.” Basil smiled at Daniel. “And the money. A person can’t ignore the positive financial aspect of pharmaceuticals.”
“Easier to sleep when the pillow’s full of cash.”
“Speaking of payment.” Basil unlocked a cabinet and pulled out a black slingpack. “The boys will pack up your transport pails with the usual raw materials.”
Daniel opened the pouch and thumbed through random bundles of cash.
Basil gulped down the final third of his water and began a slow circuit of Daniel’s truck. He peered behind the seats for any stray containers. “How many business appointments today?”
“Just the one.” Daniel threaded a slim nylon tie to secure the money pack’s zipper. “Why do you ask?”
Basil shrugged. “Color me curious.” He paused at the rear left bumper, pointed with his toe. “Is this new?”
“What? The sticker?”
“Yeah. Who are the Cougars?” Basil studied the font of “Go Cougars” and the paw print done in bright yellow on green. The design and color combination pulled a cord in his memory that took only a few seconds to connect to a certain white van.
“Local high school sold those this spring.”
The Crystal Springs mascot is the Cougars. Basil clicked a photo with his cell phone. “My little brother likes bumper stickers.”
Chapter Five
Mona tucked the cash from Lorraine Terrier deep into her pocket. Today’s work had been demanding enough to take her mind off the trio of Linc, Basil, and Matt for much of the time. In addition, Lorraine turned out to be talkative and informative. If Mona stayed in Eau Claire she’d return and work next week.
“Ready?” Linc reached for his seat belt.
“All set.” She recited road signs and landmarks with silent lips during the late afternoon drive from the greenhouse to Linc’s duplex. At every stop sign and traffic light she scanned for Basil’s distinctive ride. A chill had lingered deep within her all day, a reminder of her status as prey. He could use a different car. She tensed and squeezed the shoulder belt.
“Home again,” Linc announced before he pressed the garage door opener and guided the van inside.
Home? “Temporary.”
“Your decision.” He opened the driver’s door. “One day? A week? It’s up to you.”
She stood beside the van and looked out the open double garage door. It would only take a moment to grab her pack and dart outside. And do what? Spend another night on campus evading security guards and their questions? Rent a motel room and dream of her money flying away?
Linc can be trusted. We’ve known him two years. Mona snatched the phrases from Lorraine’s comments and hung on tight. She wanted to believe the other woman’s assessment. Giving another person time and opportunity to show true colors came naturally to her. She lifted her backpack and scanned the space. Shelves filled most of one long wall. Stacks of baskets draped with tattered blankets sat in front of them.
“Hey. Everything okay?” Linc came around the rear of the van carrying the large magnetic sign from the driver’s side.
“I’m good. I won’t be running off today.” She set her pack on an overturned plastic bucket near a small door. “Need a little help?”
“I won’t turn it down.” He placed the sign he carried face down on a shelf and gestured to the other magnetic sign still on the van. “It works best to start at a corner, and tap it with the side of your hand until you can get a couple of fingers behind it.”
“Why are we taking them off?” She had noticed the panels with a bright green design similar to the business card on campus this morning. They’d been absent yesterday, she was sure of it—almost.
“Tomorrow’s Saturday.”
She shrugged and began to follow his directions for removing the magnetic sign. “It always follows Friday.”
“I go to the orchard on the weekends. It’s out of our service area. No need for the signs.”
Orchard. Farm. She slid her forearm under the panel and held one end of the sign away from the van while Linc freed the other end. This must be the family land near that little town—Crystal Springs. She remembered a snatch of conversation mentioning a problem with either the orchard or the land. “Every weekend?”
“Almost.” He moved toward her pulling the sign free. “You’re invited. Or does Lorraine have plans for you?”
“Monday. She’ll drive us from the greenhouse. Like today. Only earlier.” Mona pressed her lips tight. If she remained. If Basil didn’t find her. Best not to voice what she didn’t want to happen.
“Figured as much. What did you attack today?”
She struggled not to smile at his word choice. It was close to the truth. “We started clearing out bedroom closets. She said her sister and brother-in-law moved into the house thirty-five years ago. From the looks of what we found today, I’ll guess her relatives saved every receipt, utility bill, and pay stub they ever received.”
“Maybe she can rent a heavy-duty shredder.” Linc unlocked the entrance to the house proper and pressed the control for the garage door. “Ready to go inside?”
She snatched up her pack. “Do I get a full real-estate sales tour?”
“Condensed version.” He stopped in a small foyer and removed his work boots. “Up six steps you’ll find the main living area, kitchen, office, and a half bath. We’ll go down first. That’s
ten steps to two bedrooms, full bath, laundry, and storage. Follow me.”
She stayed two steps behind during the descent to an open area with washer and dryer visible and several closed doors. “Nice.”
“My room. Off limits.” He tapped a pale wood panel before opening the bathroom door and pointing inside.
She blinked back surprise at the huge, bright flowers on the shower curtain. She’d have guessed a solid neutral color was more his style.
“Your room.” He opened the door next to the one he’d declared his own and gestured her forward.
Mona entered a generous room furnished with a bookcase and small table and chair, plus a metal framed futon. One window set high in the wall furnished light and a reminder they stood in a basement room. She dropped her pack on the floor and went to the window. With the sill at forehead height, she tipped her face up a few degrees to look out at trimmed grass and wooden steps leading to a deck. Worm’s eye view. “This … this is very nice.” She realized he’d stepped away, listened for a moment, and heard a door hinge complain. “Linc?”
“I’m searching for the sheets that come closest to fitting your bed.” He stepped into view with bedding and towels draped over one arm and a pillow dangling from his other hand.
“Thanks.” In an instant she began to case the pillow. She allowed her gaze to loiter across his shoulders and arms while he pulled the futon away from the wall. He looked more luscious than a Chippendale’s calendar man. It was time to move her thoughts off the male body an arm’s length away before she said something foolish. “Nice room. Do you have guests often?”
“Family’s stayed.”
She picked up the towels and draped them over the chair back. Three children in a framed photo over the table caught her attention. “The kids in this photo … which one are you?”
“The taller boy. That was taken a long time ago.”
“So I figured.” She glanced between the man switching the futon into bed configuration and the boy holding a fat, black puppy. Yes, she could see a resemblance between man and boy, as well as both boys and the girl in the photo. “Your brother and sister?”
“Madison, my sister, is currently a food scientist, wife, and mother.” He walked over and leaned against a bit of wall near the door. “Jackson, the boy with the tooth missing in the photo, grew up to be an attorney.”
“I …”
“Lawyers feast at the expense of the starving.”
“I didn’t say that.” She looked at his smile. “I’ll hold my tongue on the lawyer jokes.”
“No one else does. Jackson tells them best.”
She allowed a genuine smile to linger more than a heartbeat. The warmth and luck present here paralleled gatherings with her few longtime friends. At first peek, Linc’s family appeared to be one that didn’t take everything serious all the time. Not so very long ago, she, Matt, and mother could fill the apartment with laughter, showing off a new recipe or bargain wardrobe additions. She missed those days.
“Come on.” Linc brushed her arm on his way out the door. “I’m getting hungry. I’ll show you the kitchen. I’ve got work in the office to occupy me while you perform your cooking magic.”
She stood still, fighting the urge to hold the warmed skin where he had touched her. How many months since she’d experienced a man’s touch? Too long. My imagination’s getting carried away. “It’s talent and practice. No magic involved.”
“Let me be the judge, will you? I haven’t been grocery shopping for more than a week. For all I know, I’m out of all the key ingredients.”
Twenty minutes later, Mona squirted a portion of dish detergent into the stream of hot water. Tension fled her body with every breath. Kitchens were familiar territory, and Linc’s compact model, with the counter completing a large U and separating the workspace from the dining end of the great room, felt right. Even the pantry behind the narrow door in the hall fit the space.
She rinsed the dishes from her cooking preparation and allowed her mind to pick highlights from the day.
Today they’d gone over to the house on Polk Street. Lorraine had given her a few instructions on one bedroom closet and then gone to work in the next room. Exclamations and comments of disbelief punctuated through the slim wall dividing them. At the rate they discovered things today, the large Dumpster scheduled for delivery on Monday would be full in two days. And Linc’s suggestion of a heavy-duty shredder was worth a mention. Over a simple lunch of tuna sandwiches, Lorraine sketched out portions of Linc’s background. Two years ago he’d been working for a major seed company and looking for a job closer to Crystal Springs. Linc’s mentor, a friend of Dr. Terrier, made a few calls at the right time and career matchmaking resulted.
Mona had shared a few of her ambitions in the restaurant field when Lorraine’s questions turned in her direction. Lots of nods and follow-up questions made her feel as if lunch had ended with a preliminary job interview.
She glanced over the counter, past the dining table set for two, and out the patio door. A small wooden deck was attached to the house and doubled as a fire exit. She reached for the next dish and compared the scene outside the slider to the view from her bedroom. Half-basement, lower level, it gave a different perspective than past bedrooms.
He didn’t need a housekeeper; that much was obvious from the general appearance of the place. Why had he taken her in as a stray? Why not set her up with a married couple? Or a single female who wanted to share rent? Friend or enemy? Either way I’ll keep him close until I know.
“Hey. It smells good.”
She pivoted at the sound of Linc’s words.
“Whoa.” He retreated a step and raised his arms in surrender.
“It’ll be done in ten.” She skimmed her gaze over him, amazed at how wide his eyes opened in a face pale with surprise.
“Put …” His throat showed the mechanics of swallowing. “Put down the weapon.”
She glanced at her right hand. The eight-inch French chef knife shed a drop of soapy water. “Weapon? This?” She waited for his nod before slipping the kitchen tool into the sink of clear rinse water. “No problem. Better now?”
Linc rubbed his arms. “Much. Sorry about that.”
Three steps closer and Mona stopped, rested her hips against the counter, and pointed to his right arm. A previous glimpse had hinted at a scar but now she realized the length of it. “Is it because of that? How long ago?”
“January.” He traced the long shiny scar with his left index finger. Silence descended upon them before he lowered his arms and stored them behind his back. “It’s a complicated story. The summary is that I’m not good at disarming a woman with a knife. Can we save the details for later?”
“Later works for me.” She understood the man in front of her well enough to know he disliked being forced on a topic. And she still needed to consider what to do if Basil traced her. Were his men trying to beat her location out of Matt? “What do you drink with supper?”
“Milk. Please.”
She opened the fridge, found the milk, and filled a tall, clear glass for him. “I’ll help myself to this iced tea. If you don’t mind.”
“Suit yourself.”
A quarter of an hour later, Mona poked the last piece of elbow macaroni on her plate and raised her gaze to Linc. He’d been silent. Not even so much as a “good” or “poor” on the chicken breasts baked and smothered with commercial pasta sauce. “Am I hired?”
“As cook? Certainly. If you bother to look, you’ll see my plate is empty.”
If he expected her to stay he’d need to learn to talk. She wanted confirmation of some of Lorraine’s statements before she spent the night with only a lightweight door between them. “Did you go to college here? In Eau Claire?”
He spooned the last of the pasta onto his plate. “They didn’t have the major I wanted. I graduated from Stevens Point. They have a better horticulture program.”
“Sounds like you’ve had a thing for plants for some
time.”
“That’s one way to put it. Two years ago, when I wanted to change jobs, this was the best market close to the farm. Still is.”
“I’ve never been on a farm. Does it have cows and pigs or only crops?” So far his answers remained consistent with her previous information. How could she keep him talking? Her knowledge of farming wouldn’t fill a teaspoon. A visit to the Minnesota State Fair last year was as close as she’d been. Her companion, a co-worker recently arrived from a rural portion of northern Minnesota, tried several times during their hours at the fairgrounds to explain the difference between various breeds of livestock. But at the end of the day she remembered the displays of sewing, woodworking, and other crafts more clearly than the barns.
“The renter plants corn and soybeans. I go every weekend to work in the orchard. Five acres and the old hog shed are reserved in the lease agreement.”
“Who lives there? Grandparents? An uncle?”
“A guy named Daniel Larson.” He twisted his mouth as if he’d bitten into a lemon.
“From your expression I’ll guess he’s not a friend.”
“He’s a bully. Or at least that’s how I’ve seen him since I was a kid. If you’re lucky you won’t meet him.”
You’re making me curious.
“My grandparents used to live in the house. It’s known as Hilltop Farm. Decades ago an ancestor painted Hilltop across the end of the barn. When I get a few things straightened out I’ll rename it Hilltop Orchard.”
“Are your grandparents …?”
“Gone? Yes. Grandmother died a year ago later this month. Gramps passed two years before. The estate rents the land. Until … never mind, it gets complicated.”
“Perhaps you’d rather save it for dessert. I put together peach shortcake.”
His jaw slacked and he sent her a silent question. “I didn’t have peaches in the house.”
“I improvised with canned.” I didn’t find any fresh produce in the house.
“Oh. I’d forgotten.”
