by JoAnn Ross
“Terrific.” Tomorrow gave her mother less time to back out. “We’ll get it over with, then how about going up to Lake Crescent and having lunch in the Roosevelt dining room?”
Lake Crescent, located in Olympic National Park, was famous for Franklin Roosevelt having hosted a political dinner in the lodge dining room, then spending the night in one of the cabins. Many tour books considered the lake the most beautiful in America.
“I need to work.”
“It’s my first day home,” she pressed. “And when I was here for the wedding, you’d already hired two stylists, and manicurist, and that massage therapist you mentioned from Sequim. With the summer people gone, you can’t be all that booked up, so surely your staff can handle things for one day.” Jolene paused for effect. “Did I mention my apartment burned down just two days ago and I really need some self-care of my own?”
“That’s emotional blackmail.”
Jolene wasn’t about to deny it. “Is it working?”
Gloria shook her head. “You knew it would.”
“It’s been forever since I’ve been up there.” Jolene pulled out her phone, ignored all the texts and emails waiting, undoubtedly all still gossip-breakup related, and tapped into the lodge’s website. “Oh, wow. They’ve updated the menu. How does a cup of Quinault clam chowder, with bacon, fresh thyme, red potatoes and white wine sound for a starter, then an organic Dungeness crab mixed green entrée salad with sweet grape tomatoes, carrots, red onion, spiced pecans and a lemon lavender vinaigrette sound?”
“Delicious. And expensive.”
“Nothing like what it would cost in LA, even if the fresh oysters and crab were available. Besides, we’re worth it. Wait, I have a better idea.”
“I was just looking forward to the chowder.”
“We’ll have that. But tomorrow’s Saturday.”
“So?”
“So the salon isn’t open on Sunday. And you’ve already said they’ll probably send your ultrasound to another radiologist for a second read.” She’d read up on various possible procedures the night she’d gotten the call from Sarah Mannion. “So, since we’ll go with no news is good news until we can meet with Dr. Lancaster on Monday, why don’t we spend the night? And come back late Sunday afternoon?”
“Because...” Gloria paused. Frowned. “I honestly can’t think of a reason.”
Other than the fact that Jolene couldn’t remember her mother ever doing anything for herself. Either she’d been trying to keep her husband out of trouble, or smoothing things over when he had gone on a tear, or doing her best to ensure that Jolene’s life was easier than her own had been.
“It’s settled.” Jolene tapped some more on the phone’s keyboard. “Fortunately it’s off-season so they have vacancies. You want separate rooms or do you want to share?”
“Why would we want separate rooms when we’ve been apart for so long and can catch up. Unless, of course, you’d prefer the privacy.”
“A single it is.” Hearing the hesitation in her mother’s voice Jolene wondered if she thought she’d stayed away because she didn’t want them to be together. Whenever her mom had visited her in California, Jolene had packed the time with so many activities she thought her mom would like, but now realized that while she’d been showing off her exciting big-city life, they’d never really had that much quiet time together.
Though she had seemed to enjoy the Emmy Awards and lunch. They’d sat at a table with a hairdresser who’d once done Meryl Streep’s hair, and had immediately hit it off, launching into a discussion of the actress’s chameleon looks, able to take on the persona of whatever character she was playing. Which, as they both agreed, was helped by hair and makeup, including Streep eschewing Anna Wintour’s trademark brunette bob and insisting on imitating Helen Mirren’s real-life hairstyle for The Devil Wears Prada. A bit of movie trivia even Jolene hadn’t known.
“Here’s a great first-floor room with two queen beds, a private bath and a porch, views of the lake and mountains, and it’s only a hundred feet from the shoreline.” Jolene turned her phone so her mother could see the photo.
“It looks perfect.”
“It doesn’t have TV.”
“That’s fine with me.”
“Terrific.” In truth, ever since she started working in the business, Jolene found it hard to lose herself in a movie or TV story when she was constantly checking out and—yes, she’d have to admit—often criticizing the actors’ makeup. “It’ll be like a grown-up slumber party.”
Two clicks, her credit card charged, and they were set. After which Jolene stood up, went around the table and gave her mother a hug. “We’ve got this,” she promised.
“I remember telling you the same thing when I picked you up at the hospital after Aiden Mannion’s call that night.”
Aiden. There was no escaping the man.
Then her mind jumped to that moment, just for a second, when she’d remembered all too well how those silky black curls had felt against her breasts. And how his beautifully shaped lips could be both strong and soft at the same time.
Nope. Not going there.
“I remember.” Jolene shook off memories that had escaped the box she’d tried to lock them away in. “And you were right.”
With her mom’s support, hard work and a lot of luck, Jolene had moved on. As they’d do with whatever that suspicious lump turned out to be. Whatever we tackle, we conquer.
CHAPTER NINE
IT HAD BEEN a quiet, uneventful morning. Just the way Aiden liked it. After starting his morning with coffee and a Danish from Cops and Coffee, he’d checked into the office and found that Don James had called in sick.
“If you ask me, he’s faking,” Donna said. “Just to get back at you for yesterday. And for the record, he’s out of personal leave days.”
Aiden shrugged. Honestly, if it wouldn’t be a waste of taxpayers’ dollars, he’d be more than happy to have the guy stay home forever. “It’s not worth fighting over.”
Although the former chief’s brother-in-law had always been a bully, when Aiden had first accepted the job, he’d been willing to give James the benefit of the doubt. After all, he, himself, was proof that people changed. Unfortunately, from the scattering of unofficial complaints he’d been told while having dinner at his brother Quinn’s pub, or picking up bread and milk at the market, it seemed that James had never evolved.
It wasn’t that James had been reported using excessive force on anyone, though Aiden knew from personal experience that the deputy chief of police had done that on at least one occasion. And every kid in high school knew he got sadistic kicks harassing teens he’d caught making out, though as far as Aiden knew, he’d been the only one physically harmed. But even if his deputy chief didn’t go around beating up Honeymoon Harbor’s citizens, his swagger, and the way he often rested his hand on the grip of the pistol holstered on his hip, undoubtedly spoke volumes to those who didn’t want to cross him.
Donna passed him a small handful of message slips, which had him smiling, remembering the huge stack that would usually greet him in LA. All marked “urgent.” And any day he hadn’t had to start a new murder book was a good day, right?
He glanced over and saw Bodhi checking out the flyers for the upcoming Christmas festival on the community board, including the Holiday Court princesses wearing evening gowns and red sashes.
“They’re too young,” he said when one of his partner’s blond brows rose at a particularly nubile student from the community college.
“What did you say?” Donna asked, looking up from her knitting. Even as he scrambled for an answer, it occurred to Aiden that this was another thing about small towns. What jurisdiction in Los Angeles County would have a 911 operator spend a good portion of her day knitting blankets for Project Linus, a volunteer group that provided blankets for seriously ill or traumatized children?
“I was just saying how young the princesses look compared to when I was in school.”
“They look younger as we get older,” she said, her needles clicking away. This latest blanket was blue with yellow stripes. “That’s the way of life. I still remember the first time the boy bagging my groceries at the market called me ma’am. I cried all the way home.”
“You’ll never be old,” he assured her, shooting a side eye at Bodhi who’d moved to sitting on the edge of his desk. “Because you’ve got a young heart.”
She laughed. “And aren’t you the same silver-tongued devil you always were.”
“Do people think that?” He asked what he’d been wondering since before he accepted the job. “That I’m the same smart-ass kid who was given the choice between juvie and the Marines?”
“Some expressed doubts when they heard you’d come back from California.” Donna believed in speaking the plain truth, Aiden appreciated that. It might be a small force, but he’d still been tasked with protecting and serving the people of Honeymoon Harbor. Which he couldn’t do if his team, such as it was, shielded him from the facts. “After all, you were certainly a handful growing up. I recognized your behavior because my baby brother, a preacher’s son no less, behaved much the same way.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask how he turned out.”
She chuckled. “After sowing his wild oats, finishing college and getting his divinity degree, he settled down as a Methodist minister down in Oregon. Grants Pass, to be specific. He married the woman who led the church choir and they’ve got two smart, well-behaved kids who are in college themselves.”
“That’s great.”
“It’s a true happy ending, sure enough, though my mother always blamed her gray hair on him. Anyway, when you disappeared out to the coast house, there was talk about what might be going on out there.”
“Really?” At first he was surprised anyone would even care, but then again, entertainment being what it was in the harbor town, he could see why there’d have been speculation.
“You know how it is. Same gossip that let you know right off the bat that it was the Rogers boy who tagged the railroad trestle with that red spray paint last weekend keeps folks buzzing about local happenings.”
It hadn’t taken all that many detecting skills to learn Ryan Rogers had been the one to paint “Marylou Jennings is a heartbreaker,” since apparently half the town and probably all of the high school knew that Marylou had broken up with Ryan for flirting with Jessie Reynolds at the Big Dipper. After a great deal of groveling, and a pair of dangly shell earrings from the Dancing Deer, Ryan had won his way back into Marylou’s good graces.
Meanwhile, Aiden had made him clean the paint off the trestle and write an official apology to the Jennings family that was printed in a box in the Honeymoon Harbor Herald, right next to the weekly police report.
“But Seth cleared things up when he told people that you were just recovering from getting shot and losing your partner during a top secret Homeland Security mission. Which, tragic as that was, impressed a bunch of people, especially the guys down at the Veterans, Elks, and American Legion halls.”
“Hey, I gave you creds,” Bodhi said, blowing on his knuckles, then rubbing them over his heart. Or where it would be, if he was still alive.
“Given Seth’s recommendation, along with the fact that Homeland Security trusted you, the town council decided to appoint you chief. To be honest, it was a no-brainer since the only other person who wanted the job was Don James.”
“Yeah, I figured I got this badge by default.”
“It doesn’t matter how you got it because you’re doing a good job. The only holdouts are mostly ones who grumble about nepotism, but then again, they’re old goats who wouldn’t have any reason to get up in the morning if they didn’t have something to complain about. They’re the same ones always griping in the comments section of the online Herald, so no one pays them any mind.”
“Anyone ever tell you that you’re a treasure, Donna?”
Her plump cheeks colored. “Not that I recall. At least since I lost my Alton.”
“Well, you are. And while I might still be learning how this department works, I could spot the first day that you’re the one who really runs the place.”
“Oh stop that. You may have gained responsibility, but I’ll bet there are a lot of women here in Honeymoon Harbor who are going to be glad you didn’t lose your charm. I swear, you remind me of your uncle Mike when he was your age.”
“I meant it,” Aiden said seriously, before turning his attention to the messages.
There was one reminding him of the monthly chamber of commerce meeting he’d been scheduled to give a speech at, another asking him to represent the department for career day at the elementary school, one from his mother asking whether he’d rather have oyster or sausage dressing with the Thanksgiving turkey and a final one from his father, letting him know that although the fire department was responsible for hanging the town’s Christmas street ornaments, the police department traditionally had a decorated boat in the annual harbor parade.
“We have a boat in the parade?” he asked Donna.
“We always do,” she said. “Guess it’s been a while since you’ve been to one.”
Probably not since he was twelve and decided it was for kids, Aiden thought, but did not say.
“Don’t worry. Chief Swenson didn’t do all that much. Just strung up some lights and put up an artificial tree, which, truth be told, has gotten pretty ratty if you look at it up close, on the bow. We’ve already got the decorations we’ve used for the past few years in storage. Though if you’d like to change things up—”
“No, whatever we’ve done will be fine.”
“Seems a new administration should have a new, updated look,” Bodhi suggested. “Just saying.” He held up his hands when Aiden shot him a narrow-eyed look. “It’s a good way for you to put your own stamp on the department’s image.”
And wasn’t that why they’d been such good partners? Because they’d each looked at things so differently, together they’d been almost invincible.
“Maybe we’ll change things up,” he said.
Donna beamed, obviously pleased with that idea. “That’s a good idea. Not that I’d want to complain, but, like I said, the old stuff is getting a bit ratty and dated. And everyone’s seen it for at least a decade. Perhaps—”
She broke off as the 911 phone rang. “Honeymoon Harbor Police Department,” she answered. “Is this an emergency? It is?”
Aiden’s shoulders immediately stiffened.
“Oh, hello, Mrs. Gunderson. Yes, he’s here. Yes, I understand. I’ll send him right out. No problem. That’s what we’re here for.”
“Do you need to call fire or an ambulance?”
“No, it’s just Mrs. Gunderson. Ever since she was widowed, she calls in with a problem every so often because she’s lonely. You might remember her. She taught English at the high school.”
Unfortunately, Aiden did remember. She’d also sent him to the principal’s office on more than one occasion. Which was weird, since the principal was—hello?—his mother.
“What’s her problem this time?”
“Someone’s stolen one of her gnomes.”
He knew the bungalow well. It was part of a development that had been built as housing for mill worker’s families back in the 1930s. Not wanting to move into his family’s farmhouse, Aiden was currently renting an almost identical one three blocks away. A major difference was that his had a harbor view and the front yard didn’t look like a gnome forest. “How can she tell?”
“She’s named them all. Apparently Nisse isn’t guarding the gate where he belongs. She needs you to, and I quote, ‘lock up the scoundrel who kidnapped him.’”
“Make sure you bring your dusting kit to check for fingerprints,
” Bodhi said.
Knowing when his chain was being yanked, Aiden didn’t bother to roll his eyes. “Tell her I’m on my way.”
* * *
THE ELDERLY WOMAN, who had to be eighty if she was a day, was standing by the front gate waiting for him, despite the fact that the rain was beginning to turn to sleet as the wind sweeping off the Olympics caused the temperature to drop dramatically. It wouldn’t be long before the roads began to ice up. Another problem he’d never had to deal with in LA.
“It’s about time you got here,” she said as he got out of the SUV, although it had been all of three minutes since she’d called the station.
“Sorry, Mrs. Gunderson,” he said. “So, Donna tells me you called in a property crime?”
“A kidnapping. Or, I suppose, to be technical, you’d consider it a theft,” she said. “Nisse was guarding the yard and house. It’s obvious someone stole him to make us—” she waved her mittened hand around to encompass all the other gnomes and her house “—vulnerable to a more dangerous crime. Like breaking and entering.” She pressed her hand on the outside of her puffy jacket over her heart. “Or even worse.”
“Can you give me a description of the missing gnome?”
“He’s about this high.” She put her hands about three feet apart, that would have made him one of the larger of the community she’d created. “With a white beard and a red hat.” Her voice broke and he thought he saw her eyes moisten behind her thick glasses. “My Lars gave him to me for our first Christmas sixty-two years ago next month.”
Okay. Damn, he hated waterworks, which had always been part of the job. Apparently even here in Honeymoon Harbor. He was going to have to find the damn gnome if it took all day. “Why don’t you go into the house, Mrs. Gunderson,” he suggested. “While I look around for him.”
