The Chupacabra Catastrophe
A Charlie Rhodes Cozy Mystery Book Two
Amanda M. Lee
WinchesterShaw Publications
Copyright © 2017 by Amanda M. Lee
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
Contents
1. One
2. Two
3. Three
4. Four
5. Five
6. Six
7. Seven
8. Eight
9. Nine
10. Ten
11. Eleven
12. Twelve
13. Thirteen
14. Fourteen
15. Fifteen
16. Sixteen
17. Seventeen
18. Eighteen
19. Nineteen
20. Twenty
21. Twenty-One
22. Twenty-Two
23. Twenty-Three
24. Twenty-Four
25. Twenty-Five
26. Twenty-Six
27. Twenty-Seven
28. Twenty-Eight
29. Twenty-Nine
Mailing List
About the Author
Books by Amanda M. Lee
1
One
“There has to be something.”
I looked Millie Watson in the eye and folded my arms over my chest, resolute. Millie, who looked like a fifty-five-year-old extra for an off-Broadway showing of Grease – pink satin coat and liquid eyeliner included – clearly didn’t find my enthusiasm endearing.
“Charlie, has anyone ever told you that you’re annoying?” Millie wasn’t one to mince words and she opted to refrain from pulling verbal punches here.
“If you think you’re the first one to say something like that to me, you’re not.” I refused to back down. She didn’t so much hurt my feelings as pique my interest. Millie was one of the few people at The Legacy Foundation – that’s where I drew my paycheck while looking for the fantastical – who always seemed excited to see me. Even now, when I knew Millie had a hangover and would probably rather be napping in the break room, I believed she would hear me out before completely dismissing me.
That’s right, Charlotte “Charlie” Rhodes (that’s me, in case you’re wondering), had a few questions for one of the more seasoned members of the group. Millie just happened to be handy when I decided to ask them.
“You have to know something, Millie,” I wheedled, adopting a whiny voice that got me more than a few random toys when I was younger and working my father. “I’m dying here.”
“You are far from dying.” Millie flicked me between the eyebrows, causing me to rear back and glower. “Do you want to know what your problem is, Charlie?”
This was so not how I saw this conversation going. I was used to whining my way to answers, occasionally blundering my way to them or even outright annoying someone until they blurted out what I wanted to hear. Millie wasn’t like most people, though, and she refused to simply roll over and give me what I wanted simply because I asked for it.
“I really don’t want to know what you think my problem is.” I lowered my gaze to the floor and rubbed the back of my neck. It was time to regroup and approach Millie from a different direction. I was determined to get answers, but Millie was equally determined to hold me off. I wasn’t in the mood to play that game.
“Your problem is that you have no patience,” Millie said, barreling forward. “I get it, girl. You’re young and you have so much energy you think it might burst right out of your chest – kind of like the creature in that movie Alien. It’s kind of cute sometimes. It’s not always cute, though. You need to remember that.”
“What’s not always cute?” Jack Hanson, the Legacy Foundation’s head of security, meandered over to where we sat and flopped in a chair as he stared at some contraption in his hand.
“What’s that?” I switched my attention to Jack, which wasn’t hard because he’s all lean muscles, chiseled cheekbones and shoulder-length hair that makes him look like a male model rather than a security chief. Before you get too excited about my hormones going out of whack, he’s also dismissive and often treats me like a child. Quite frankly, that eradicates all the other stuff. No, really it does.
Jack arched an eyebrow as he slid a cool look in my direction. I’d been with the Legacy Foundation for only a little more than a month, but I had a suspicion that it felt longer to him. “What is what?”
“That thing in your hand.”
“This is something I’m working on for a new radio device Chris is convinced would’ve helped us on the last job,” Jack replied, referring to our boss, Chris Biggs. He was the nephew of the company owner Myron Biggs (who also happened to be Millie’s ex-husband, but that’s a long story I haven’t quite heard all the details on yet). Chris was enthusiastic, handsome and never talked down to me. He also spends all his time in the lab mooning over one of the other scientists, Hannah Silver, so I very rarely saw him.
“Are we talking about the lake monster dinosaur here?” Millie asked, sipping her coffee. Her hair, which was shot through with silver, didn’t look to have been washed today. That was nothing new. Millie was known to frequent biker bars when we were close to home – no joke – and sometimes she rolled from whatever dive she spent the night entertaining herself in right to work. It clearly drove her ex-husband crazy, which I was pretty sure was the point of the little exercise.
“That would be the one.” Jack, his expression flat, used a small screwdriver to work on his toy. He was a gadget guy, which gave him something to do with his hands, and he preferred focusing on work rather than people. It was an annoying trait. In fact, I’d decided everything about Jack was outright annoying these days.
“I think that case could’ve gone either way,” I offered to no one in particular. “I happen to believe that the Colorado locals saw something that could be the Loch Ness Monster’s cousin and we simply missed it because it was too smart to let us get a glimpse of it.”
Jack arched a dubious eyebrow as he flicked his dark eyes to me. They were almost always impossible to read and went almost completely black when angry. How did I know? Well, in my brief weeks with the group, I’d had occasion to make Jack angry a few times. I was starting to turn it into a game and really enjoy it.
“Charlie, there was a dinosaur in the lake.” Jack’s tone was even and cool. “It just so happens it was a fake dinosaur and the local miniature golf course decided it didn’t want to pay to dispose of it as much as they wanted to make it disappear, so they dropped it in the lake because they thought no one would notice.”
“See … that story doesn’t make any sense.” I wagged a finger for emphasis. “The locals said they saw the dinosaur above water. Cement sinks.”
“It wasn’t made from cement,” Jack shot back. “It was made from plaster or something. It bobbed along the top of the water until it got saturated and sank. That’s what people saw.”
“I happen to disagree.” I stared at my fingernails, which were gnawed rather than pretty and pink, and ran my tongue over my teeth as I waited for Jack to explode. Instead of getting my wish, he merely shook his head and went back to his work.
Millie, who fancied herself something of a fix-up artist, watched the exchange with something akin to glee. I knew what she was thinking, and I didn’t like it one bit. She kept trying to play matchmaker between Jack and me – something I dissuaded at every turn – and she was determined to get her way.
“Do you want to know what I think?” Millie interjected, drawing two sets of eyes in her direction.
“Not even remotely,” Jack answered.
I bobbed my head. “I always want to know what you think.”
Millie smirked. “You want to stay on my good side because you’re convinced I have power over Myron and Chris, which means I can pick and choose assignments,” she said. “I don’t have that sort of power.”
“You’re working for a company owned by your ex-husband and you get away with whatever you want,” I argued. “That seems to suggest you have some sort of power.”
“Not as much as I would like,” Millie said dryly. “As for the lake monster, I agree with Jack. It was a putt-putt throwaway.”
I wrinkled my nose, my anticipation dropping. “It could’ve been both,” I muttered.
Millie wagged her head as she eyed Jack. He looked smug, which I really hated. Millie seemed to enjoy agreeing with him and often took his side during arguments, which only served to make his ego even more unbearable. “I still think it was a putt-putt monster, no matter how much you feel like pouting,” she challenged. “That doesn’t mean the next monster we go looking for won’t be real, though, so keep your shoulders square and emotions high.”
“You sound like a demented self-help guru,” Jack drawled, furrowing his brow as he stared closer at the contraption. “You should have your own television show.”
“I’ve been telling people that for years,” Millie said. “What is that thing? I don’t see how any radio doodad could’ve helped us with a plaster dinosaur.”
“I don’t either, but Chris is convinced that our inability to talk to each other while we monitored the lake from multiple points – that storm really screwed us up that one night and caused a bunch of mayhem – is the reason we’re not writing the plot for the next Jurassic Park movie right now,” Jack said. “He wants me to boost the signal on these things.”
“Can you do it?” I asked, tilting my head to the side. Jack was handy and enjoyed toiling over electronics and weapons. I didn’t get it, but I respected the trait. It was one of the few things I liked about him … other than his looks, body, hair, smile and gravelly voice, of course. What? I told you that I’m not interested in him that way. He might look like a wicked angel, but he talks down to me like a terrible babysitter. It’s not an attractive combination.
“I don’t know,” Jack replied. “I’m still working on it. A lot will depend on if we get a new job and take off or if we stick close to home for a bit.”
“I hope we stick close to home,” Millie volunteered. “The Rowdy Roadhouse is having a wet T-shirt contest this weekend and I want to participate. I think there’s a good chance I can take home the title. The winner gets free drinks for a year.”
My mouth fell open as I conjured a picture of Millie in a wet T-shirt contest. She wasn’t ancient by any stretch of the imagination, but she was old enough to know that wet T-shirt contests weren’t a good idea. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, but I am.” Millie pressed her lips together as she locked gazes with me. “Do you have something to say about that?”
I risked a glance at Jack and found his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. He was clearly having a good time. “You’re messing with me,” I said after a beat. “I should’ve realized that.”
“You’re too literal sometimes,” Millie agreed. “As for the wet T-shirt contest, it’s real. I’m simply a judge. I don’t want to miss it, though. There’s nothing I like better than messing with stupid girls who want to show their breasts off in public.”
“You should tell me when that’s happening,” Jack suggested. “I might actually stop in – to offer you support, of course. Although, the Rowdy Roadhouse is a bit much for me. Whenever I go there I end up having to wrestle some loud moron to the ground and threatening him because public drunkenness is never attractive.”
“You just haven’t been drunk enough with me in public,” Millie teased. “But I’m not sure the girls who hang out at the roadhouse are your type. They lack … um … substance.”
“I’m fine with that.” Jack was blasé as he removed a screw and rested it on the table next to his chair. “Sometimes the best women have zero substance.”
The statement grated even though I pretended otherwise, and focused my attention on the wall behind Jack’s head, allowing myself to stew even though I told myself I was simply annoyed on behalf of my gender.
“I think you’re having a hard time trying to convince yourself of that,” Millie countered. “If we had a nice quiet week here, though, I certainly wouldn’t complain.”
“Well, you totally jinxed us by saying that,” Jack said. “Now that you’ve put it out there for the universe to hear, odds are we’ll have a case within the next twenty minutes.”
“Do you want to bet on that?” Millie challenged.
Jack smiled. “I bet you fifty bucks we’re out of here in twenty minutes.”
It seemed like an easy bet, but Millie was nobody’s sucker.
“What do you know?” Millie asked, her eyes lit with interest as she leaned forward.
“What makes you think I know anything?”
“Because you’re refusing to make eye contact and you’re not exactly what I would call a good liar,” Millie replied without hesitation. “You know something.”
I followed Millie’s gaze, doing my best to study Jack with the cool detachment he managed so well when looking at me. He looked the same as always, intent on his task and otherwise only mildly engaged in the conversation. Perhaps that was an act. Millie would obviously know better.
“Where is Chris?” Millie lifted her head and studied the room. The Legacy Foundation maintained its offices in the basement of a large business complex. The Biggs family had its fingers in a whole lot of pies, and the foundation seemed to be the red-headed stepchild of the bunch. That didn’t mean we weren’t well funded – because we were – but we were also shuttered away in the basement so people wouldn’t ask too many questions. Even though it was his family doing the shuttering, Chris didn’t seem to be bothered by it. He was far too interested in the work to care.
“Last time I saw Chris he was in the lab with Hannah,” I offered helpfully. “That was about an hour ago. They were looking at some sort of bloodwork on Hannah’s new microscope. I didn’t understand what they were looking at, but they seemed excited.”
“They were looking at each other but didn’t realize it,” Millie supplied. “They’re both hot to trot for each other but can’t quite seem to admit it to themselves. It’s getting frustrating. I’m considering locking them in that lab and turning the heat way up so they have no choice but to strip naked. Maybe then they’ll finally get somewhere.”
Jack snorted, amused. “Why not let them do things on their own timetable?”
“You act like you just met me,” Millie complained. “I’m not known for my patience.”
“I never would’ve guessed,” Jack teased. He always lit up around Millie. It wasn’t a romantic attachment, but he appeared to genuinely enjoy her company. It was the only time he loosened up and allowed himself to have a good time. “I thought you were the queen of patience.”
“Ha, ha.” Millie wagged a warning finger. “You think you’re a funny guy, but you’re not. Chris is my nephew. I might be divorced from Myron, but Chris is still family. The boy has always been dedicated to his work above all else. I would like him to look around and notice that there’re more than monsters in this world.”
“I don’t think he likes it when we call them monsters,” I offered, rolling my neck. “He prefers we use the scientific terms.”
“I am. They’re monsters.” Millie made a clucking sound wi
th her tongue. “Is it so wrong that I want the boy to get some?”
I almost choked on my soda as I sipped. People say I’m the blunt one, but Millie often puts me to shame. When I first landed at the Legacy Foundation I harbored a crush on Chris for exactly two minutes. That’s how long it took me to realize that he was over the moon for Hannah, even though she didn’t notice. I backed off right away, because even though there’s no harm in a little work crush there’s no sense engaging when the other party doesn’t even know you’re alive.
“I think we should talk about something else,” I suggested.
“I agree,” Jack said. “The last thing I want to talk about is Chris getting some.”
“That’s because you need to get some, too, and you’re determined to live like a monk rather than a twenty-seven-year-old man with viable options close by,” Millie said, her gaze briefly resting on me. The simple stare was enough to make me feel uncomfortable, so I squirmed in my chair and went back to staring at the wall.
“I’m perfectly fine being a monk,” Jack argued. “We’ve had this discussion, Millie, so there’s no reason to have it again.” His tone was weighted, his gaze pointed. “Knock it off.”
Most people would pull back in the face of Jack’s obvious anger. Millie wasn’t most people.
“I’m good,” Millie said, her eyes flicking toward the door as Chris bustled through it. His face was flushed, his hair windswept and he looked excited.
“What’s going on?” I asked, my stomach clenching at the thought we might have another case. We’d had three since I joined the group. One turned out to be a human (although I got to meet real-life witches in the process, so that was exciting), one turned out to be a plaster dinosaur in a lake and the third turned out to be a mutant strain of fireflies that people were convinced were pixies. I was ready for something real, something I could sink my teeth and brain into.
The Chupacabra Catastrophe Page 1
