by Terry Odell
He showered, shaved, and put on the plush robe his sister had sent when he’d been in the hospital. Pulling on his customary sweats still hurt too much to be worth it. Wearing a robe made him feel old as his grandfather, although his grandfather probably wouldn’t have gone for the handcuff print. But Scott didn’t want to risk spattering bacon grease on his work clothes. Or bare skin. Been there, done that.
Enough with this pity party. Cook, eat, and face your first real day on the job.
He was washing the dishes when someone gave a gentle knock on the door. Who knew he was here?
He dried his hands and checked the peephole. A distorted image of a brunette woman appeared. Belting his robe a little tighter, he opened the door. “Yes?”
“Hi. I’m Ashley. I live next door. I thought I’d … um … welcome you to the building.” She extended a platter covered in foil.
As he tried to process all the possibilities—she had a bomb under the foil; she was a reporter wanting yet another story; she was scoping out his apartment for a future burglary—he accepted the obvious. She was a neighbor being friendly. He found the wherewithal to attempt the same.
The platter was warm to the touch. “Thanks, I’m Scott.” He lifted the foil and discovered the source of the chocolate smells. “These must be what I’ve been smelling since yesterday.”
She nodded, keeping her eyes on his, backing away. “I should let you go. I have to get to work.”
“Wait. There’s no way I can eat all these.”
“Share them. I’m opening a new bake shop, and I’m testing recipes. I already eat too many of them. Thank goodness for the fitness center downstairs, or I’d be a total blimp. I have to go, really.”
His brain kicked into gear. She was the woman who’d crashed into him yesterday, and the first one he’d seen on the treadmill this morning. “Thanks. I can take them to the station.”
“Please do.” Stepping away, she spoke over her shoulder. “And if they like them, you can tell them my shop, Confections by Ashley, will have a lot more.” She paused, as if what he’d said had reached her brain. “The station? Where do you work, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“At the police station.”
Her gaze moved from his face downward, then back up. He realized she was looking at his robe. What had she thought? That he was into bondage games?
“You’re a cop?” she asked.
Not any more. “No, a civilian. I do administrative stuff, which lets the cops deal with cop stuff.”
“But you know cops, right?”
He almost told her he used to be a cop. Almost. That part of his life was over, and the sooner he buried it, the easier it would be.
Which is why you took a job at a police station? Get real. You can’t give it up. It’s been your life for so long.
He shrugged. “Actually today is my first day.”
She nodded. “So, you’re new to Pine Hills?”
Although he could tell she wanted to know where he was from, he ignored the implied question. “Yes. Just moved to town.”
When she smiled, his first impression that she was a drab, basic brown—hair, eyes, and a bronze tan to her skin—disappeared. Her eyes brightened, and there was a sudden prettiness radiating from her face. All the pieces worked together. Her straight nose fit perfectly between her deep brown eyes and her full lips.
“So did I. I’ve been here about four months. I used to live in Pittsburgh, but I wanted a small town. My dream was to open a bakery.” She flushed. “I’m sorry. I’m blathering. And I really have to go. I open on the fifteenth, and I’m not sure the Klutz Brigade is going to be finished.”
“I need to get going myself.” He lifted the tray. “Thanks again.” He watched her retreat in those curve-hugging jeans she now wore.
Cool your jets.
Nothing wrong with getting to know your neighbor, which could include enjoying the female form. He eased the door closed, then went to get dressed for work.
“Think you can handle reception? Doranna’s here until two, so she can show you the ropes.” Kovak seemed to have lost some of that “in the presence of a hero” aura he’d projected yesterday.
Scott’s thoughts strayed to Ashley. Maybe that was why he found her refreshing. If she’d been in Pittsburgh until four months ago, odds were she had no clue what had happened to him.
“Scott?” Kovak’s voice snapped him back. “Reception. Usually isn’t too busy, and you can get a feel for things. Answer phones, reassure people. File paperwork.”
“Sure, no problem.”
“Then I’ll leave you in Doranna’s capable hands.” Kovak nodded, then walked toward his shared office.
“You have local emergency dispatch, right?” Scott asked Doranna. “No 911 calls come to this desk?”
She moved a stack of file folders. “That’s correct. You’ll have your share of people screaming they can’t find their dog, or their neighbor’s hitting the volume on the stereo. Do whatever you can to calm them down, then route calls. There’s a list of extensions and the duty roster by the phone.”
“Spent the last three weeks riding a desk at County. I think I can handle it.” Scott eyed the chair. He’d skipped the pain meds this morning to keep his head clear, which in hindsight had been a stupid move. He excused himself, hit the john, and swallowed a pill. He stopped at the break room for coffee, where everyone had descended on Ashley’s cookies like vultures on road kill. Score a few points for the new guy.
He sipped the coffee. Burnt sludge. A police station standard. It felt like home.
He returned to the desk, took his seat. The public area was a tiny room with four chairs, separated from the police side of things by a glass partition. Long gone were the old days when any citizen could walk into a police station and actually see a cop. And now, his job was to maintain that separation.
He sensed Doranna looking at him. Please, let it be because she was making sure he didn’t screw up. Not because of more damn misguided hero worship. The phone rang. He gave her a nod. “After all that paperwork we filled out yesterday, guess I should start earning my paycheck.” He picked up the handset. “Pine Hills Police. Scott Whelan.”
***
Ashley paused at the door of Elaine Rathburn’s photography studio, which doubled as the town’s printing service. Inhaling a breath for courage, she pushed it open. Inside, there was no one at the counter.
“One minute.” A female voice came from somewhere beyond a narrow doorway behind the counter. Ashley settled onto a faux leather love seat and waited.
Photographs adorned the walls. Portraits filled one—weddings, babies, graduation shots. Another was landscapes. Although Ashley hadn’t been in Pine Hills long, she recognized some of the Oregon terrain. She got up and wandered over, admiring a group of seascapes.
“May I help you?”
Ashley turned at the voice. A tall, slender woman with blonde-streaked hair held atop her head by a plastic clip appeared from a back room.
“I’m Ashley Eagan. Maggie Cooper recommended you. She said you could print some flyers for me.” Ashley handed over the sample she’d spent two hours working on last night. “I know it’s last-minute, but it’s kind of an emergency. I need five hundred as soon as possible.”
Elaine slipped on a pair of readers and glanced at the page. “Ah, yes. The new bakery shop. Maggie called. If you want copies of this, I can have them in half an hour. If you want me to create a professional one based on this—” She paused and gave Ashley a look containing more than a hint of condescension. “It’ll be tomorrow.”
Ashley refused to take the bait. “I know what I’ve done isn’t very professional. But time is of the essence. I have the file on a flash drive if that will help.”
Tight-lipped, Elaine plucked a slip of paper from under the counter and slid it in Ashley’s direction, along with a pen. “Fine.” She disappeared into the back again.
As Ashley filled out the required information on Elaine’s Ser
vice Request Form, which seemed to stop short of demanding her blood type and promise of her first born child, she figured she owed Maggie another one. Without Maggie greasing the skids, Ashley had a feeling Elaine would have brushed her off unless she agreed to pay for an original creation. And probably taken three days to get it done.
Well, she didn’t have three days to spare, and it was a stupid flyer with a bakeoff entry form. In a week, it would be obsolete. She completed Elaine’s form, then went to the loveseat and retrieved the plastic container of cookies she’d left there. “Elaine? Excuse me?”
After a moment, Elaine emerged, her smile tight rather than friendly this time. “Finished?”
Ashley nodded and extended the container. “I thought you might like a sample of what I’ll be offering when the shop opens.”
When Elaine made no move to take the container, Ashley opened it and slid it closer. “Triple chocolate chip cookies.”
Almost reluctantly, Elaine nibbled the edge of one of the cookies. Ashley tried to keep the anticipation, the need for approval, off her face.
Elaine nodded. “Not bad. You’re going to be selling these?”
Ashley grinned. “And lots more.”
Elaine finished the cookie, took the container and slid it under the counter. She inspected the sheet Ashley had filled out. “Let’s take care of the details.”
While Elaine ran Ashley’s credit card, Ashley took a breath, and plunged in with her next request, telling herself Elaine would be the hardest sell of the day. If Elaine shot her down, things could only go up.
“I thought you might like to photograph the event. I’m afraid I can’t pay much, if anything, but you’ll definitely be acknowledged. And, of course, I’d be coming to you to design and print the giveaway menus I plan to have.” No need to tell Elaine that the idea had come to her not three seconds ago.
Elaine’s eyebrows winged upward. She studied the sample flyer, frowned. “The fifteenth? I’ll have to check my calendar.” After clicking some keys and fussing with the mouse, she gave a smile a few degrees warmer than before. “I have that evening open. I’m doing a workshop on the coast the fourteenth, but I’ll be back that night.”
Ashley’s heart lifted. If she could convince grouchy Elaine to help, she should be able to recruit other merchants as well. Especially armed with more cookies. “That’s wonderful. Thanks so much. I’ll be back in an hour.”
Heading in the direction of her store, Ashley passed the Municipal Building. Remembering what Maggie had said yesterday about the sabotage at That Special Something, she wondered if the cops would be able to tell if whoever had caused Sarah’s problems might be causing hers.
Even thinking about walking into the police station and asking them to check had her feeling like a fool. Why would someone who wanted to harm Sarah’s business—someone she’d never heard of, and who had no reason to know about her—want to do her harm?
Maybe her new neighbor could do some quiet checking. He seemed nice enough. Perhaps she’d bring him another one of her experimental recipes tonight. If he worked at the police station, he had to be safe. Her face warmed as she recalled her initial images when she’d seen him in the handcuff-print robe.
Yeah, right. Like he’s got a four-poster bed and likes to cuff women while he has his way with them.
Her face went from warm to hot as she thought about how their bedroom walls backed up to one another, and how sound carried. Not that she’d met anyone here to make noise with. Or wanted to.
She brushed aside thoughts of her ex fiancé. Yet another dream crusher.
No, she wouldn’t bother Scott. Sarah would be back from her honeymoon soon, and Ashley would bring it up then. She’d only met Randy a couple of times, but he’d been friendly enough, and Maggie thought he was a good cop. He might be willing to do something for his new wife.
Part excitement, part dread filled her as she neared her store. Maybe a miracle had repaired her window. Carl hadn’t called yet today. That had to be good. To delay the possible discovery that things were not good, instead of circling the block to drive past the storefront, she turned left and headed straight into the back parking lot.
Heartened to see Carl’s pickup, Willie Duncan’s pickup, and an electrician’s van, she parked and strode to the rear entrance. As she opened the door, she paused. The whine of power tools and the explosive reports of the nail gun played like a symphony. No crashes. No curse words. Afraid she might jinx something, she left the crew to their work and tapped on the back door to That Something Special.
Maggie opened it. “Come on in. I was about to make some tea.”
When wasn’t she about to make some tea? Ashley stepped inside. “I wanted to thank you again for the brainstorming session last night.”
“Don’t be silly. Come on back to the office. Jennifer’s minding the front. I’m trying to make sure everything is ready for Sarah’s return. I imagine she’ll be tired after three weeks in Florida. All that sun. The ocean. The theme parks. Enough to exhaust anyone.” She winked. “Assuming she and Randy ever got out of their hotel.”
What was it with sexual undercurrents today?
Ashley nodded a hello to Jennifer, who was busy with a customer, and followed Maggie to the small back office.
“I meant to ask you,” Ashley said while Maggie poured two china cups of whatever tea she’d chosen for the day. “Tell me more about the Women’s Center. I wonder if I should join, or do you just show up? And what sorts of things do the women do—besides bail out struggling bakery stores?”
Maggie settled into her chair. “It’s primarily a support center. Gives women a place to go, people to talk to. They’ve got formal counseling, informal therapy groups.”
“You mean the women from last night were there because they have—problems?” She remembered the way the last woman—Lorna—had arrived, cowering as if she was afraid someone would jump down her throat for being late. “Lorna?”
Maggie lowered her voice. “An abusive relationship. She refuses to leave. No skills, no money, nowhere to go. She’s new to the group.”
She tried to imagine what that would be like. Ashley might have left home because she couldn’t find what she needed there, but she had skills. An expensive Culinary Institute education. A dream.
What if she’d believed her parents when they’d said she was foolish to want something more than to play a supporting role to her fiancé? “Why do you need to work?” her father had said. “Being a stay-at-home mom was good enough for your mother.” Ashley’s mother actually believed her husband could do no wrong.
“But if you need to work until you get married and settle down,” her father had said to her, “what’s wrong with being a secretary? I can get you a job with Norm Shapiro.”
Secretary. Even with the more modern terminology, administrative assistant, it was still an assistant. Ashley’s stomach churned.
What if she’d been locked into a marriage with Barry, who thought her dreams to open a bakery were cute? But no place for his wife.
Wife. Right. He expected her to give up her dreams to be his wife. What would he give up to become her husband? Not his social circle, that was for sure. He was a flipping insurance broker. His firm had offices all over the country. Would he even consider moving for her dream? Ha!
Even so, Ashley had never considered seeking a support group beyond a couple of daiquiris with her friend Tina. Life happened. You found a way to cope.
Sipping tea, Ashley wondered what problems brought Kathleen and Penny into the group. They seemed perfectly adjusted.
None of your business.
Maggie must have sensed her curiosity. “Some of us are there to lend an ear. We take some basic training, but anything out of hand, we turn over to the counselors, who can refer them to specialized agencies if they need even more help.”
Ashley knew Maggie would never reveal where each woman fit, so she switched gears. “My web designer is uploading an on-line entry form for the bakeof
f. Elaine’s going to do the flyers. I’m going to pick them up in an hour and start asking merchants to have them on their counters, stuff them in bags. And donate something for door prizes. Penny’s idea was great. If we have lots of prizes, we should get more people to come.” She smiled. “I brought cookie bribes.”
Maggie flapped her hand. “I know they’ll be appreciated, but hardly needed. We’re all in the same boat here. Small independent businesses trying to keep afloat before the mega-store iceberg hits.”
A crash from next door completed the image.
Chapter 4
“I’m going to file these,” Doranna said, picking up a stack of color-coded folders. “You all right flying solo for a bit?”
“Fine.” Scott checked the time. Ten-thirty. This was going to be a long day. So far, he’d channeled phone calls, answered basic questions, and dealt with the, “I want to talk to a real cop” attitude. His biggest challenge had been calming one woman down long enough to figure out what she wanted, which was to report someone dumping trash on her property. When he’d called a uniform to take her statement, his mind was already processing the myriad possibilities. He’d caught a case once where a body had been dismembered and dumped in trash bags all over town.
What difference did it make? Even if it turned out to be more than some bags of garbage, it wasn’t his job to investigate anymore.
At least Doranna wasn’t the chatty sort. He pegged her at late forties, early fifties. Hair going gray, bifocals, a no-nonsense attitude, and he detected an invisible wall between her and the sworn officers. She had her job to do, and she took a straightforward approach to doing it.
A buzz indicated someone had entered the lobby. He looked up, surprised to see his next-door neighbor. She entered with the same look of confusion everyone seemed to have when they first walked in—scanning the room, trying to figure out what to do.
