Lost and Found (Scions of Sin Book 4)

by Taylor Holloway

  Before my hellish year leading up to the one doomed episode of Out to Lunch, I’d actually been something of a womanizer. I knew the effect I had on women, and I definitely knew the effect a beautiful woman could have on me. My appetite for sex had been insatiable, varied, and ultimately shallow. I had game, and the strategy was to accumulate points and not feelings. A year ago, I would not have cared that Casey looked betrayed because I’d never have looked her up post hook-up in the first place. I’d be seven or eight one-night stands along by now.

  Or maybe it was just…her. Casey was even more beautiful when I saw her on the drab set of Forgotten Extraterrestrials than I remembered. She’d cut her long blonde hair to her sculpted collarbones in the intervening month. A few streaks of it were now dyed a trendy lavender that contrasted with her classically beautiful features. I thought she looked like a rare, tropical flower. Like a delicate and precious orchid. And I’d probably totally blown any chance to ever touch her again.

  I tried to push my frustration over the situation to the back of my mind as I waited for Alberto Dima in front of a particularly excellent lobster roll food truck. He’d told me at our last meeting that he was still trying out the various American regional cooking traditions and while California was obviously not prime lobster roll country, this food truck would at least give him a tiny taste of the authentic. I was excited to see what he would think of lobster.

  As our appointed meeting time of one p.m. rolled around and then passed, I began to get hot, hungry, and irritated. Patience had never been a virtue I possessed, Nathan got all of that. By two, I probably had a sunburn on the back of my neck and the world’s biggest scowl on my face. By two thirty, I had a lobster roll (so I was in at least a slightly better mood). By three, I’d become genuinely worried about Alberto.

  He wasn’t answering his calls or texts. Yesterday afternoon when we’d set up this lunch, we’d gone over the directions two or three times because Alberto wanted to be on time and not get lost. He had one of those stereotypical scientist-type personalities: careful, methodical, and logical. Everything about our meeting was saved in his little notebook where he wrote down seemingly everything. And yet, he wasn’t here.

  When Nathan called at four, I was still sitting in front of the food truck. I sincerely doubted that Alberto was going to show up at this point, but I had my laptop and a long list of shit to do. I didn’t want to waste the whole afternoon, so I’d gone mobile.

  “Hey David, I wanted to call and say I’m sorry about Alberto.” Nathan’s voice sounded solemn through the phone. I blinked in confusion.

  “Did you hear from him? He’s three hours late to our meeting.”

  There was a long pause of mutual misunderstanding before Nathan spoke again. When he did, his voice was much quieter.

  “You didn’t know. Shit. I’m sorry. Ok, look on your local news right now.”

  I pulled up the news and saw it almost immediately. Someone had planted a bomb in the hotel where Alberto was staying. The improvised pipe bomb had been disguised in a package and had detonated this afternoon when it was opened, killing just one person: Alberto Dima, PhD a visiting academic and researcher.

  “Holy shit,” I whispered. I was very glad I was already sitting down. According to the news report that I was reading, he’d died right before he was supposed to leave to meet me. He’d been blown to bits while I talked to Casey.

  “David are you still there?” Nathan sounded concerned. His voice sounded distant until I made a conscious effort to pull myself back to the present moment.

  “Yeah, I’m here. Sorry.” I shook my head to clear it.

  “I’m sorry. I thought you would know. I just found out from Efren. He was Alberto’s emergency contact on his luggage. The police called him to see if Alberto had any enemies.”

  “Enemies? Who would be enemies with Alberto?” He was the world’s nerdiest guy. He got excited about ferns. I’d met plenty of people in my life that never got as enthusiastic about anything as Alberto got about the topic of spores. In a month I’d learned more about ferns from him by sheer osmosis than I’d learned in all of college.

  “I don’t know.” I could almost see Nathan shaking his head through the phone in confusion. “I’m really, really sorry. I can’t believe I called like this. I didn’t mean to spring your friend’s death on you.”

  Nathan’s words caught me off guard. Friends? I guess we had been friends. We’d spoken almost every day, multiple times a day for the last month. The thought made me feel even worse.

  “I’d rather have you tell me than somebody else,” I said honestly. Nathan was my best friend, despite our polar opposite personalities. We didn’t even look alike except for our eyes.

  “Do you, um, want to talk about it?” Nathan ventured after another long silence.

  “Not really. I haven’t processed…” I trailed off. Then a thought occurred to me that cut through my haze with a nauseating clarity. “Do I need to call the police? Tell them I knew Alberto and that he was going to meet me?”

  “Yes. You do,” Nathan answered after a second. “I can’t see how it could possibly be connected to you, but it’s the right thing to do.”

  I had an instinctive dislike of anyone in a uniform, but I couldn’t argue.

  “I guess I know what I’m doing for the rest of the day. Look, I should probably go.”

  After we hung up, my prophecy about my afternoon proved dead on. I sat in a waiting room for hours before being led into a bland interview space by a short, meaty Detective who introduced himself by name but had such a big, bushy mustache that my brain instantly renamed him Detective Walrus. He was Detective Walrus forever to me.

  “What time were you going to meet Dr. Dima this afternoon?” Detective Walrus asked tiredly. He was taking notes on a legal pad as we talked.

  “One p.m.”

  “Hmm,” he replied disinterestedly. “Odd coincidence. You were interested in his research?”

  “Yes. We were planning to collaborate on a reality show that would feature a particular cooking and medicinal herb he studied in the Philippines. A fern indigenous to those islands.”

  “A drug?” Detective Walrus’ eyes opened wider beneath his bushy eyebrows.

  “Not a drug. Not unless you consider basil or oregano to be drugs. It’s for cooking, not recreation.”

  “I saw a high school kid smoke oregano once,” he said. I wanted to ask some questions about that, but he shook his head. “But no. I doubt very much that his death would be connected to something you’d sprinkle on a pizza.”

  “He received the bomb in the mail?”

  Detective Walrus nodded. “Yeah. Ugly way to go. Did he tell you he was expecting any packages?”

  I thought about it for a moment. “He said his wife sometimes sent him care packages when he travelled. Snacks, candy, spare socks…”

  “Agnes? We talked to her today, obviously. She didn’t mention sending him anything lately, but she was emotional. We’ll double check after she has a chance to calm down. Did Dr. Dima mention anything to you about problems he was having? Disagreements in his personal or professional life?”

  “No. Nothing. He was excited to collaborate on the show, and said he liked spending time in LA.”

  “Ok. Well I don’t want to keep you any longer Mr. Breyer. I know you waited for hours to give a statement. I’m sorry for your loss. We’ll be in touch if we have questions and you’re welcome to call if you have any other information to share.”

  “Thank you.”

  We stood and shook hands. Before I turned to leave, Detective Walrus glanced at his phone and groaned. He reached under the table and produced a copy of my first cookbook.

  “Before you go will you sign this for my wife? Her name is Laura. She’s your biggest fan. I’m sorry. I know this is awkward since your friend just died, but she won’t stop texting.”

  I smiled and happily autographed the cookbook for Laura (aka Mrs. Walrus). Celebrity definitely affected on
e’s life in strange ways. I could go days with nothing out of the ordinary occurring and then get mobbed by fans. Most people didn’t recognize me lately due to the addition of the beard. If I put on sunglasses and a hat, I could go anywhere.

  But as if I’d set off some sort of celebrity alarm, I was stopped no fewer than three times on my way back to my hotel room. I ordinarily liked meeting fans and deeply appreciated the fact that anyone would give a shit about what I cooked or what I had to say, but today my act was forced. I just wanted to sleep.

  My general level of exhaustion was likely what prevented me from thinking twice before ripping open the package that was waiting just inside my hotel room door. I’d already pulled off the paper and cardboard wrapping before my blood ran cold.

  What if it was a bomb?

  My hands were already in the box and they began to shake with adrenaline. Whatever was within my fingers was square, flat, and smooth. It didn’t feel at all bomb-like. I took a deep breath and pulled it free, so I could see it.

  It was just Alberto’s notebook. The one he wrote everything down in. Why he’d sent this to me was a complete mystery, as were its contents—which were entirely in Tagalog. Unable to process any further information without rest, I collapsed onto my bed and slept.

  7

  Casey

  The paperwork for my new job was waiting at my apartment when I got home that evening. On the one hand, I was pleased to see the offer was real, right down to the doubling of my salary at Forgotten Extraterrestrials. On the other hand, the fact that he’d easily tracked down my apartment meant that David would have had no trouble contacting me after our hookup. At least the offer was exactly what we’d discussed.

  I dreamed about David that night. In my dreams, we made love again like we had in his hotel room. Just like in my memory, he was giving and gentle. But unlike my memory, he didn’t rush off afterwards. Instead, we lounged for hours in each other’s arms and then ordered room service. Then, we made love again in the shower, relishing the closeness and the newness of something exciting and real. I woke up alone and disappointed.

  The next morning dawned bright and sunny, just like every morning does in LA. I breezed into work fifteen minutes early, armed with donuts, a big determined smile, and the intention to poach three of my coworkers. These three individuals from Forgotten Extraterrestrials would be integral to the success of David’s project.

  Curtis arrived first. He was the chief camera operator on Forgotten Extraterrestrials, as well as a good friend of mine despite a thirty-year age difference. I sidled up to him with an old-fashioned donut, his favorite, and flashed him a smile.

  “Morning,” I purred, knowing that the dark circles under his eyes meant he’d spent the night at his ex-wife’s again. They were on again, off again in the world’s worst way. I liked Denise a lot, but the two were a toxic mixture. They’d been married and divorced no fewer than four times.

  Curtis accepted the donut gratefully.

  “God bless you,” he said in greeting, pushing back his thinning grey mop of hair. “What’s got you in such a chipper mood? Did you get laid or something?”

  I pointed at myself in exaggerated innocence. “Me?”

  “Oh please. I know you’ve got some secret. What is it?”

  I smirked at him. “I do have a secret. I’m quitting today. And you’re quitting too.”

  He sunk his teeth into the donut and rolled his eyes at me. “Is that right?” He asked with his mouth full.

  “Yes. Because I’ve got a job offer for you. How would you like to film a reality show in the Philippines for ten days next month?”

  Curtis’ mouth dropped open unflatteringly, revealing the half-masticated donut. He closed it again and swallowed hard.

  “What?”

  “David Breyer’s got a new show. Here’s your offer letter.” I handed it to him and watched with satisfaction as his eyes grew huge behind his bifocals.

  “The chef? You’re serious?” He kept reading and then had to put out a hand to steady himself against the wall.

  “Serious like a heart attack.”

  “And I thought I’d have to film weirdos with alien boners for the rest of my career. Sold.” Curtis and I had similar opinions on the masterpiece of modern media that was Forgotten Extraterrestrials.

  I knew convincing Curtis would be easy. He loved to travel. In fact, he lived for it. He spent every spare dollar he had to get as far away from LA as he could, as often as he could. The opportunity to go to the Philippines for something this exciting was a literal dream for him. Even if the show was an absolute guaranteed disaster, he’d still sign on in an instant.

  But Curtis was only one third of the team I needed.

  “Can you help me recruit Daphne and Trevor?”

  Curtis raised an eyebrow at me. “I’ll take Daphne. You really think you can convince Trevor?”

  “I’m persuasive,” I replied, shrugging.

  “You better be. Good luck.”

  Daphne Liu, our camera assistant, was nineteen and brilliant. If she continued working under Curtis for a few years she’d be ready to graduate to operator by the time she could buy a legal drink. From across the room, I watched Curtis explain things to her and hand her the letter. Like him, she read it with widening, excited eyes. A few questions later and she threw her arms around his neck and gave me a thumbs up.

  Two down, one to go. Trevor was going to be a challenge. I found him in the dressing room, shooting the shit with Johan. A woman armed with an industrial-size can of hairspray was arranging Johan’s signature ‘do.

  “What about the Maori,” Trevor was asking, “do you think they used anti-gravity railway systems, too?”

  Johan nodded sagely. “Absolutely. There’s simply no chance that ropes and pulleys really could have transported rocks the way mainstream science wants you to think. It’s like chemtrails, man.”

  Whatever these two were smoking, I never wanted a puff.

  “Hey Trevor,” I asked coquettishly, “could I talk to you for a second?” I turned my charm up to maximum.

  He looked at me disinterestedly. “Can it wait?”

  I guess Trevor only had eyes for his Waifu, the life size anime pillow I fully believed he’d wedded in an online ceremony surrounded—in cyberspace—by his weird friends. Trevor was a truly bizarre intersection of internet subcultures. He was one-part Weebo anime fan, one-part conspiracy theorist, and all basement-dweller. Unfortunately, he was also the best sound mixer I knew.

  “Just one second, I promise,” I said sweetly.

  With an exaggerated sigh, Trevor followed me out into the hallway.

  “What’s up Casey? If you’re going to ask me out on another date, the answer is still no.”

  Trevor harbored the confounding belief that I, in addition to every other woman on the planet, was intensely sexually interested in him. Despite any evidence to the contrary, he continued to act as if his esteemed personage was simply too good for the mortal women who occupied three-dimensional space. Given that he was short, overweight, narcissistic, obnoxious, and had skin like a middle-schooler, this confidence was hilariously misplaced. If he wasn’t friggin’ Mozart with a microphone in addition to being entirely harmless, I probably wouldn’t put up with him. As it was, I pitied his social skills enough that we’d reached a weird sexual harassment détente.

  “I’ve got a professional proposition for you. Read it.” My attempt to be charming had failed, so I was going for direct. I dangled the offer letter in front of him and he plucked it from my grasp suspiciously.

  “If this is a termination agreement, I’m going to be very disappointed in you Casey.”

  If I wanted Trevor gone, he’d be gone. Good sound mixer or not, I’d never tolerate anyone crossing certain professional boundaries and he did seem to understand that. Which was the only reason I was taking the risk of including him on this production.

  “Read. It.”

  Trevor read over the agreement slowly, a l
ine growing between his eyes as he did. He spent a long time staring at it. Eventually he looked up at me.

  “David Breyer is a celebrity chef, right?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. But this isn’t a cooking show. We’d be out in the field. In remote areas of the world. Searching for secret, rare ingredients.”

  I’d just said two of Trevor’s favorite words: secret and rare. He looked back down at the offer letter.

  “Do you think it could be dangerous?” he asked hopefully.

  I stifled a smirk. Trevor wanted an adventure? I guess his mom’s basement didn’t offer him too many of those.

  “It could be. We’re going to a remote volcano in a jungle country where we don’t speak the language. There are loads of tropical diseases there. The animals, plants, and insects are all inherently dangerous. I don’t want you to think this is going to be a cake walk.” I tried to make sure I looked tough as I said this.

  “You’re going? Is it a good idea for a woman to undertake such a dangerous journey?” He sounded, for once, entirely sincere and concerned for my delicate, feminine wellbeing. I wanted to vomit.

  “I’ll be traveling with people I know. I’m a producer, not a tomb raider. I don’t plan on taking unnecessary risks.” My answer was true, although the idea that I’d rely on Trevor to protect me was a bit silly.

  “We’ll be gone for a total of ten days for filming? What if that’s not enough time to find where the red fern grows?”

  “The fern isn’t red, but in that case, we’ll extend the trip. Look, we have to put this crew together quickly. In order to get there before typhoon season, we have to get the paperwork in progress. Are you in or out?”

  Trevor chewed on his bottom lip. I’d expected him to put up more of a fight, argue about compensation, or otherwise be dramatic. Instead, he seemed to be genuinely weighing the pros and cons.