When she wasn't hyperventilating over the situation she nailed down four specific problems.
1. She had just spent all of the money in her corporate account.
2. Stephen would never forgive her. She doubted he could sue her, and yet there were moments when that possibility made her want to vomit. Although she had loudly proclaimed to everyone that she had no interest in reconciling, she'd had a spark of hope that they might. She had just stomped that spark into oblivion.
3. There was at least a possibility that this Killian was a serial killer who laid a trap for heartbroken food bloggers by feigning knowledge about rare fruit, and then used their severed heads to bait his crab traps.
Her Mother was going to kill her.
She ordered a Jack and coke. She messaged Killian with her cell number and let him know she'd be on the four o'clock ferry. She was suddenly wishing his name didn't have "kill" in it—what was wrong with his parents? "Bob" wasn't good enough for them?
Her cell vibrated almost immediately. Killian had sent detailed instructions on getting to Slick Trench. "Take the B shuttle from the airport. It's to your left when you leave baggage claim. The ferry is usually cold and damp, you'll need a jacket. The ferry has a concession stand, but it only takes cash. Pay the $5 to check your bags on the ferry; I'll get your bags for you when you get here. It will be 8 pm before you dock. We'll get you some sleep and then get out into the woods in the morning." He had answered questions she hadn't even asked yet. It might have been his thoughtfulness, or it might have been the whiskey, either way she slept the rest of the flight.
She awoke to fifty text messages. From Stephen: "Call me Right now." Followed by "What the fuck did you do?" and variations on that theme. Apparently Mimi and Stephen had tried to book their flights to France and discovered that they couldn't afford them. They had determined that the last action on the account had been the purchase of a round trip ticket to Alaska. This should not have made Cass as happy as it did. She positively chortled.
She lucked out. The airport had a store that sold boots, coats and bear spray. She sheepishly bought some bear spray, feeling every inch the city slicker. There wasn't a big selection of boots, but it spared her trekking to a store with her luggage.
The clerk told her to go up a size. Fat chance! "Oh hell," she thought, "even my feet are overweight." It was a moot point since they didn't have a size up. "These will be fine," she said, opting for a pair that were her regular size. They were only a tiny bit snug in the baby toe area, they'd stretch. This left her with plenty of time to kill. She took a second to send a post to the blog
As part of my ongoing commitment to living a delicious life I am on my way to Alaska. Slick Trench Wilderness Tours is graciously hosting me. I will be posting as per usual, but it will be from the road. I need some more huckleberries in my life, and that means you are getting some too. To hold you over, here are some of the most popular salmon recipes. She attached links to Ginger soy grilled Salmon, Salmon En Papilote With Baby Leeks, Carrots and Endive, and Smoked Salmon Mini Quiches. She included a photo of her feet in their new hiking boots, propped up in front of a sign that said "Gateway to Adventure". She hadn't put pictures of herself on the web site in years.
She called Jen who was stoutly supportive, if a trifle incredulous. "Alaska? Alaska? Like polar bears and igloos, Alaska?"
Cass's phone vibrated with another call. "Oh shit—it's him."
Jen was calm although the baby's wail reached a fever pitch. "Take it. Say it's my damn money—go get an actual job. " Cass wasn't going to say that. She would explain how it was in the best interest of the blog, huckleberries are seasonal and, yeah, something like that.
She took the call, with a knot in the pit of her belly.
"Hope you like jail." It was a snarl, pure viciousness.
Asshat. So much for her plan. "I had full access to that account…"
"Only because I trusted you, thief."
"I am not a thief! Wait a minute—you trusted me? Who cheated on whom? "
"You wouldn't be anything without me; you'd still be working at that cookbook store and even fatter than you are now. The blog doesn't need you."
She was on the down escalator when the rage overtook her and her voice carried far more than she had intended, "I AM CASS. I AM THE COOK OF CASS FUCKING COOKS". Heads swiveled. Apparently, in Juneau women didn't routinely shriek obscenities as they glided downward towards the Cinnabon. She cringed.
"Fat bitch. I have been in touch with my lawyer."
She was thinking, "What lawyer?" Stephen was a body building gym manager. He was hardly a titan of industry. Instead she said, "So have I."
He snorted at her. "Your college roommate, not a real lawyer. You are sulking because I have a hotter, younger girlfriend now."
That might have been true, up until he had called her a thief. No more. "Don't call me again, Steph." She hung up decisively and then immediately regretted it. She called Jen back, "He's got a lawyer." She whispered, trying not to cry.
"So do you! I'll make sure your assets are protected. We'll get him a certified letter today ending any sort of business relationship. I should have done it after that dinner party, but I didn't think you wanted to."
THE dinner party, the single most humiliating moment of her life, she closed her eyes briefly remembering the look of pity in her friends' eyes. Nope. No more wallowing. A cinnamon roll she could use as a life raft and then an Alaskan adventure. She was on her way.
"He can't sue you." Since being her college roommate Jen had gone on to be her lawyer too. She'd done all the paperwork for CassCooks, Inc. "I wasn't always a lactating, sleep deprived new mama zombie, I am damn good at my job. He cannot sue you for taking money that is yours. "
"He says he is," Cass found herself suddenly very afraid of the prospect. "I emptied out the account."
"So? You are Cass; you spent Cass's money. No crime there. If that lowlife mouth breather thinks he can break an incorporation done by me—let him try." Jen sounded like Rambo, except for the suddenly renewed wailing of her infant daughter. "Oh crap. Listen, it will be fine. I promise. I have to go; she'll only nurse on my right side. I'm going to end up totally lopsided. Call me. Love you."
The cook in question was suddenly holding a disconnected phone.
Chapter 3 - A Fish Tale
Killian had been right about everything. She had been grateful that she had gotten some cash, she never had cash on her in the city, and it was a relief to not worry about her bags. She got a coke and settled unto the ferry. She still had several hours of travel to go. She hadn't realized that she could have taken a small plane which would have saved her time, but cost a lot more. Just as well, she thought. She'd have fodder for some columns and she wasn't intrepid enough to fly in one of those puddle jumpers.
"You must be Cassandra."
She opened her eyes. No one called her Cassandra, except her mother and that was only when she was in trouble, which meant the next time she spoke to her Mom she could expect a full on "Cassandra Elyse Harper"…
An elderly couple slid into the bench facing her.
"How was your flight dear?"
"It was fine. I'm sorry, have we met?" It was a nicety; she'd swear she'd never seen them before. They were a sweet duo though, holding hands. The man wore a "Bass Pro" baseball cap, a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up and jeans belted practically under his arm pits. He let his wife do the talking but his eyes were warm and engaging.
"We haven't met—we are Bea and Hugh Waller. Killian knows we take the ferry back, on Wednesdays. He asked us to see if you needed anything."
"How did you know I'm me?"
"Your blog of course. Killian sent me a screen shot on my phone. The picture of you tasting whiskeys is my favorite. You are adorable when you are drunk."
"I wasn't drunk." She had beyond drunk. "Maybe a little."
"Sweet pea, you were sitting on that Scotsman's lap because you couldn't stand up." That was absolutely
true, so Cass made no further comment. Hugh winked from underneath his fishing cap.
"I'm a tequila man myself." Bea was as round as she was tall, with a brightly colored scarf tied like a turban around her head, polyester pants, a camouflage vest and bright red Keds sneakers. She could be anyone's Nana if the Nana in question was an artsy survivalist who shopped on the softer side of Sears.
Cass brought coffee for herself and Hugh and tea for Bea. She considered making a pun about but it seemed too obvious, even for a bleary eyed passenger on a ferry. They were delightful company, readily sharing stories about the Nelson family and the community. They were almost certainly related to Killian and his parents, but no one knew exactly how, the town having less than 200 people. Tourism had changed the tiny town in recent years, but most people still hunted, fished, gardened and gathered. Cass was getting the notion that life was an awful lot of work in Slick Trench.
"Slick Trench is a sort of an… unusual name for a town isn't it?" She hadn't meant it to come out like that.
Hugh laughed. "Yes, I suppose it is. Slick was an explorer and he found a deep trench about a mile off of shore. It sounds dirty I suppose, but it's just one of those things."
Bea lifted her head from his shoulder. "Don't be a salacious old man, only you would think there was anything racy about it." Ahem, thought Cass, not exactly. Bea dozed against her husband's sturdy shoulder while he lectured Cass at length on the joys of halibut. Hugh was a retired fishing boat captain, and the man clearly knew his way around a fish. Cass knew a gold mine when she saw one. When he began to read a newspaper, she began to write a blog post.
I am learning that deliciousness isn't just about the food you put into your mouth, but about the experiences you allow yourselves to savor. On the ferry out of Juneau, I got to spend some time with Bea and Hugh who shared some delicious halibut recipes. This is something like 400 LBs of halibut. You will only need about two pounds for each of these recipes. Try one of them. Now. Or at least tonight. Reclaim it from the restaurant business. You've tried salmon, and cod now try cooking Alaskan halibut.
She included a picture that Hugh had in his phone of the couple standing on either side of an enormous fish dangling from some sort of large hook on a boat, salt mist in the air and big grins on their faces. She pulled some halibut recipes from the archives and included the links. When she hit post, she got a message "you do not have access". She tried again and again. Heart pounding, she used her browser to search for CassCooks. When she clicked on the link, her gut roiled. "CassCooks" now featured a picture of Mimi in a crop top leaning suggestively against a marble counter. The recipes Cass had built up over the years were gone. No pictures of her remained. The name hadn't been changed—the newest post was "CassCooks 'Tips to keep your weight from creeping up"—incorrectly punctuated, she noticed—which included such gems as "Eat less" and "Buy smaller clothes that will keep you motivated" which not only substituted the word "that" for the appropriate "which" but featured a ridiculous cheering emoji dancing around underneath it. Stephen the carbophobic jack ass had blocked her from her own site. She texted Jen. "Go look at CassCooks NOW" She couldn't believe she had been so stupid. She should have known. Her career was over and she was in the middle of nowhere. She leaned her forehead against the cool glass, determined not to cry on the ferry. When had she become someone who had to work to not cry all the time?
Jen texted her back "Dealing with it. YOU own that name. I'll threaten to rip his balls off and then you will need to change your passwords so he can't pull this again."
Cass told herself that Jen was a genius with a terrier like tenacity and she would take care of it. Just to torture herself she went and looked again. Nothing had miraculously changed. She remained erased.
Chapter 4 - Mr. Nelson
The ferry docking was a ballet of movement. The crew and the passengers all seemed to have done this countless times. Bea roused and the three of them clamored off.
He was leaning against a brick wall. She would have recognized him anyway, but it didn't hurt that he wore a denim shirt emblazoned with "Trench Wilderness Outfitters". Bea hustled over to him and wrapped him in a cheerful embrace. "This handsome fellow was one of the smartest first graders I ever taught."
Cass was thinking of the wording of a philosophical nugget about the overwhelming interconnectedness of a small town, so she didn't really pay attention when Bea continued, "You just ignore people." Before Cass could ask what she meant, Bea gratefully accepted Killian's proffered arm. It was only then that Cass emerged from her wordsmith fog. Killian Nelson was breathtakingly handsome. His photos didn't come close to doing him justice. His attentiveness to the feisty Bea only made him more appealing. He clearly doted on the woman. As Bea leaned on both Killian and Hugh, Cass realized that the woman was ill. It dawned on her that the elderly couple took the ferry every week for medical appointments. That would explain the scarf. The sensitivity of Mr. Nelson was obvious; He had made sure that Cass had a friendly face on the ferry and that Hugh would have someone to help if he needed it. Strong, compassionate and a skilled bartender.
After he had Bea and Hugh ensconced in his jeep he turned to Cass. "Sorry, I haven't welcomed you properly." He extended his hand. It was a strong hand and he looked full in her face as she shook it. "I am so glad you are here. I've never done anything that impressed my Mom as much as my getting you to come here."
It was easy to like him, even if he was frighteningly good looking. He helped her into the jeep and she suddenly felt both intrepid and ladylike. She liked it. Her phone began to chirp and she tried to subtly check her texts. It appeared to be a steady stream from Stephen all volatile and cruel.
"I'm telling all of your friends that you are a sick weirdo."
"Mimi is a million billion times more of a woman than you are." Oh God, she thought, I've had my heart broken by a third grader.
"I will make sure you never get to post on CassCooks again—no one wants you to anyway." and several that were one word insults, 'bitch' being the most civilized. Nothing from Jen yet.
Closing her phone, she reminded herself that she was here to experience Alaska; she could be made to feel like shit by Stephen anytime.
Cass wasn't sure what to expect. She vaguely remembered watching a show on Alaskan real estate where the houses all seemed to be in perpetual state of being added onto and none of them had running water. Oh God, wilderness, a shockingly handsome man, a lawsuit hanging over her head and now an outhouse. They dropped Bea and Hugh off at a snug ranch style house near the ferry. While Killian hoisted their bags into their front door, Cass found herself hugging them. Bea hugged her as if she was a long-lost, adored daughter. "You come by anytime, you hear? Any friend of the Nelson's is a friend of ours." Hugh gave her a courtly kiss on the cheek.
Bea pulled the much taller young man into a deep embrace. She was whispering something that made him smile. He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. He hugged Hugh and whispered, "Take care of our girl, Uncle."
"You know I will, son." Cass was fairly certain that 'uncle' and 'son" were endearments, but it seemed rude to ask. They climbed into the van and Cass was surprised at how fond she already was of the elderly couple. "Bea is sick isn't she?"
He nodded his head. "Breast cancer."
"Oh no," she whispered.
"We're pretty scared, "he said, although he looked no such thing. Apparently Alaskans were unflappable. Killian paused at the stop sign. "Do you need anything from the drug store before we head home?" It was a whole new world, a town with one stop sign. Cass had never in her life lived longer than a five-minute walk from every sort of retail establishment that she could ever desire. This offered up possibilities for another blog post—"Maintaining a pantry". She did a quick mental inventory. "Alcohol?"
"That we got," he said and he turned the jeep away from town.
"So does the sun never go down here in the summer?" She was embarrassed to admit that she was unsure of that. Why hadn't she paid more a
ttention in Earth Sciences 101?
"No, it does. We're not that close to the pole, we'll get about four hours of darkness this time of year."
"That's not a very long night." It dawned on her that the darkness of a winter full of four hours of daylight would be grim, but a lack of night time could be its own kind of torture. She wondered if Alaska had a higher than average number of serial killers. They drew up to a large gate and Killian opened it with a remote. Within the fence there was a large stone house with a broad porch, manicured gardens, and some fruit trees. Smaller stone cottages with navy shutters dotted the property. He pulled up to cabin #3, and before she had even unbuckled her seat belt he had set her bags on the porch. He handed her a key.
"Settle in and then come on up to the big house. We'll plan our day tomorrow and you can help me quality test some more mojitos."
"Perfect, see you soon. Thank you for picking me up." He grinned and waved and backed the jeep back down the gravel driveway. The cottage was cozy. It consisted of a sitting room, replete with a wood burning stove. Rag rugs adorned the floor; there was a comfortable looking love seat, and two large soft chairs, situated with reading lights. An alcove contained a queen sized bed. There was a bathroom with, she was beyond relieved to see, a flush toilet and a sink and bath tub. It was pleasant and warm and spotless. Oddly, it also had shutters both inside and outside the windows. Someone must have gotten a hell of a deal on shutters. She took a few minutes to unpack. After brushing her hair and washing her face, she called her mother. Her mom already knew she was in Alaska because Stephen had called her to let her know that her daughter was a thief experiencing a psychotic break.
Shockingly, her mother was supportive. "Good for you, honey, that man is an asshole. Be careful. Love you so much, I'm going back to bed." Cass had forgotten about the time difference. Chicago was three hours ahead, which meant she had called her parents house at almost one o'clock in the morning. She sheepishly said good night and plugged her phone in so that it could gather some charge, resolutely refusing to read through the backlog of texts from Stephen and apparently Mimi who had been added to the chorus. She could only imagine what Mimi could possibly say. "You eat too much and Stephen told me that you want to be spanked like a naughty little girl. Gross." She was cheered up by imagining Mimi struggling to write the most basic of texts. She hesitated on the porch, looking around for potentially fatal wildlife. She was reassured by the tall brick fence that circled the property. Dashing down the stairs, she followed the path to the main house. She was amazed at how bright it still was outside. It was all quite lovely, she could see six cottages, just like hers ringing the lodge. The main house was surrounded by a large covered porch. Rocking chairs, small tables and hanging swings dotted the porch. A family was happily playing scrabble at the largest table. Cass couldn't remember the last time she'd seen three teenagers with no electronics in sight. They happily waved a greeting as she mounted the porch. She waved back. This could be the beginning of a Twilight zone episode, she thought and decided that no, it was the beginning of a new life of adventure. She could feel the anxiety rolling off of her shoulders. A delicious aroma wafted through the screen door. A small, plump, hurricane of a woman opened the door and wrapped Cass in an exuberant embrace.
Roasted (The Cass Chronicles Book 1) Page 2
