Frappes, Flamingos, and a Fireman (A Charlotte Ritter Mystery Book 2)

by Alyssa Helton

  “So, tomorrow I have to be away to handle some work stuff,” I told Carrie. “You’re supposed to have tutoring after school, but I might not be back.”

  “That’s alright. Do I get the whole hour with Annie or do I have to share?”

  “Do you need the whole hour?”

  “Yes!”

  “But, I need Annie’s help, too,” Joseph interjected. “I have a Physics exam coming up, and she could really help me.”

  “I’ll text her and ask her to make it a two-hour double session.”

  It would cost me a little more money, but when your kids want math tutoring, you do whatever it takes. Annie was the daughter of my friend Ronda and a math genius. Seriously. She wrote a paper on the Knot theory and music her Senior year of high school and none of her teachers could understand the complexity. Her school ran out of math classes for her so she had to take online college courses. So, yeah, twenty bucks for tutoring? I was happy to pay it. Sometimes she wouldn’t even charge me, that dear girl. This time I would tip her a little extra. Besides, she was a great role model and friend to the kids. That was priceless.

  With arrangements made, I texted Cole to confirm our meeting with Dugray’s co-worker. Then, I set to figuring out what to make for supper. I had these great intentions of planning a menu ahead of time, but more times than not I would decide the planned meal didn’t sound good anymore.

  The kids wanted Mexican food, but I was wanting something lighter. We settled on a taco salad recipe my mother made when I was a kid. Lettuce, ranch style beans, tomatoes, onion, cheese and Catalina dressing all mixed up and served over Fritos. Okay, so not the lightest meal, but something different that included a vegetable.

  We ended the evening with a short game of Uno while Tommy “talked to himself” and paced the kitchen floor, waving around that same plastic fireman he’d recently become fond of. Then, we all went off to bed for a good night’s rest before a busy day of math and interrogation.

  I woke up early to a strange noise outside. Deciding it was the trash pick-up, I ignored it, but couldn’t get back to sleep. So, I opted for some quiet me-time, and went to the kitchen to make coffee. As I passed by the front window, I noticed something strange through the small opening in the blinds. Something pink was out on the lawn. Living in Florida meant we had all types of large birds that would find their way into yards; Sandhill cranes were common, as were peacocks. But, what I had seen was bright pink. I opened the front door for a better look and gasped at the sight. My entire front yard was covered in plastic, pink flamingos. I had been “flocked.” No note nor any other indication of who had done this, but I had my suspicions. As soon as he arrived, I would interrogate him for the truth.

  Cole picked me up and his car smelled like coffee.

  “Smells good in here. What kind of coffee are you drinking?” I asked.

  “Regular.”

  “What do you mean regular?”

  “I mean plain ol’ coffee,” Cole replied with disdain towards my question.

  “No such thing. Is it a French roast or Columbian?”

  “Folgers.”

  “No!”

  “It is. And, even better, it’s black. Not a drop of creamer or a grain of sugar.”

  “You disgust me. Though I hate sugar in coffee; so I’m with you on that.”

  “What kind of coffee are you drinking? Or dare I ask?”

  “It’s Green Mountain Brown Sugar Crumble.”

  “Good grief,” Cole said, rolling his eyes.

  “So, you’re not even going to mention the fact there’s two dozen plastic flamingos in my yard?”

  Cole laughed. “Knowing how quirky you and your kids are, nothing really surprises me anymore.”

  “Touché. Besides, you being the one who put them there—“

  “What makes you think it was me?” Cole demanded, acting incredulous.

  “Who else would it be? Come on, confess…it’s good for the soul.”

  “I’ll do no such thing. You’re the would-be detective. Investigate and show me proof.”

  The meeting had been set for nine-thirty at Wickham Park. We parked at the first set of picnic benches near the entrance and noticed the van with the electrical company logo.

  “He’s over there,” Cole said, pointing towards a man in his work uniform sitting on a bench facing the pond.

  “Mr. Blake? I’m Cole Lee. This is Charlotte Ritter. Thank you for meeting with us,” said Cole, extending his hand in greeting.

  Mr. Blake shook his hand.

  “Yeah, sure. No problem. I’ve got an appointment at ten. Will this take long?” He asked.

  “It shouldn’t. We just need to know about Austin Dugray. The two of you worked on some jobs together. He’s disappeared and we are working a legal case that involves him.” I didn’t lie. Our firm was handling his case.

  “I don’t know where he is. All I know is that we were working a job together a couple weeks ago and he showed up hungover. I was furious because we had difficult work to do with a lot of safety protocols. I didn’t trust him to do the job so I told him to go home and let me call in someone else. I agreed to say he was sick. But, he got irate and ranted about how I was like his ex-wife. She had overreacted—his word, not mine—to his drinking the night before. There was some kind of incident with his son, I guess. He said he was gonna lose his visitation rights. He was pretty worked up.”

  “Did he mention anything about Mr. Baker, his lawyer? Or the law firm?” I asked.

  “Not that I remember. He said something about going to see his cousin in Titusville. And some nonsense about how he had always wanted to ride a fire truck. He was acting loopy.”

  Cole and I looked at each other with the same realization. We thanked Mr. Blake and he left for his appointment.

  “We have a lead!” I squealed, once Mr. Blake had gone.

  “A lead to share with the authorities,” Cole said, raising that one eyebrow.

  “But, Cole, we need something solid. I can find information on his cousin. I’m sure of it.”

  “You don’t even know his name!”

  “I have access to all kinds of data for locating relatives, remember? It’s what I do!”

  Cole sighed and ran his hand over his bald head.

  “You’re gonna be the death of me. Alright. See what you can dig up.”

  “We need to go somewhere with Wi-Fi. I brought my laptop. And, I’m hungry.” I informed him.

  “You’re always hungry! I swear you eat more than I do.”

  “It can be something small and cheap as long as I have internet access.”

  “Okay. I could go for some chicken nuggets.”

  We sat at McDonald’s eating nuggets and fries while I worked my magic. It took me just twenty minutes to find what we were looking for.

  “Aha!” I said, louder than I’d intended. People around us stared briefly.

  “I take it you found something?” Cole said before taking a long drink of his frappe.

  “I thought you didn’t like sugary coffee?”

  “It’s a frappe. It’s different.”

  “Uh huh. Anyway, yes. There’s a cousin on the Dugray side of the family…lives in Titusville…name is Mark and…he spent five years as an active fireman. He now does some kind of educational seminar at schools about fire safety. There’s our connection.”

  “You think Dugray got his cousin’s gear to impersonate a firefighter? Don’t they mark them by location or something?”

  “They might, but we know it was dark and smoky and who’s gonna question a guy helping you fight a fire?”

  “True,” replied Cole, stuffing fries in his mouth.

  “So, we have motive, access to the scene of the crime and access to the fireman’s gear.”

  “Yeah, but why would he return as a fireman? That part doesn’t even make sense.”

  “Maybe he forgot to remove something?”

  “But, he told his co-worker he was going to visit his cousin. So, t
his was planned ahead of time.”

  “Whatever his reason, I’m convinced he’s the arsonist.”

  “Yeah, me, too. Time to go to the police.”

  I made my best pouty face and stared at Cole.

  “Not gonna work…not this time. Let’s go.”

  I made the call to meet with Sergeant Paul Atwood. He had helped us get out the mess I created with that whole kidnapping thing last year. Something told me he wasn’t too happy to see me in his office again, though.

  “Ms. Ritter, Mr. Lee, to what do I owe the pleasure?” He said pursing his lips.

  “Well, it’s not a kidnapping, I assure you,” I joked.

  He didn’t laugh. He just gazed at me judgingly over his bifocals.

  “It’s about the arson that took place at the law firm where we work,” Cole said, straight and serious.

  “Arson, huh? I assume you have a suspect?” the sergeant asked, half joking.

  “We do!” I replied, a bit too enthusiastically.

  “Great,” he responded with a sigh. “Alright, let’s hear it.”

  Cole and I told him about Dugray, his issues with custody and our firm, his cousin and the fire and the faulty electrical work. In my head, it all made sense. Sharing the information aloud sounded…far-fetched.

  Sergeant Atwood leaned back in his chair, deep in thought.

  “I can see how this seems to piece together as a criminal act of vengeance. Not all there, though.” He told us, sounding like a cop who had heard it all before.

  “No, sir, it’s not all there. But, I convinced Charlotte we should give you this information and let you do your job,” said Cole.

  “Wise decision. We’ll do our own investigating. In the meantime, please stay out of trouble. I’m not inclined to come to your rescue again.”

  “Yes, sir,” I replied.

  Cole nodded in agreement. We exited quickly, and didn’t say a word ‘til we were in the car.

  “Now, don’t you feel better?” Cole asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Oh, come on. You gave them the information and they’ll investigate. The bad guy will get caught. This is how it’s supposed to be done.”

  “I guess. Just…something feels ‘off’ about it.”

  “You’re disappointed. I get that. You like the excitement. But, this is the right way to do things.”

  I shrugged and rode in silence. Not having all the pieces fit together bugged me to no end. But, it wasn’t just disappointment that plagued me. I still had some investigating to do.

  Finally home, I kicked off my shoes and turned on the Keurig. The kids sat at the kitchen table with Annie, working intently.

  “It’s awfully quiet in here,” I commented.

  “They’re in a contest. Who can do the most of these equations in two minutes,” Annie informed me.

  I glanced at their worksheets and the math problems made my eyes glaze over.

  “I’ll leave you to it,” I whispered to Annie, and retreated to my room to change clothes.

  Having changed into my comfy sweats and “coffee before talkie” t-shirt, I sat at my computer and reviewed my notes on my arson investigation. Cole was right to question why Dugray would go back to the scene as a fireman. That was weird. And why go back again, late at night to snoop around? I still had so many questions, and it seemed as if they might never get answered.

  I could feel a headache coming on, so I headed for the kitchen to finish making that cup of coffee. The kids were chattering away with Annie, and Joseph was celebrating.

  “I won!” Joseph shouted with both arms raised in victory.

  “I’ll beat you next time,” declared Carrie.

  “Maybe next time, I’ll compete, too. I could get a page of problems from one of my professors,” Annie added.

  “Uh, no. You’d win for sure. Plus, we’d never know if you wrote down the correct answers because we can’t do any of that crazy stuff you do,” Joseph said.

  Annie laughed. “Are you saying I would cheat?”

  “No! Maybe?”

  We all laughed, knowing Annie would never cheat and yet we would definitely not be able to verify her answers.

  “I’ve had a long day and still have some paperwork to do. How about grilled cheese, chips and salsa for supper?”

  “Works for me!” Carrie replied.

  “Me, too!” Joseph said with enthusiasm.

  “You all enjoy your grilled cheese. I’m going to head home. My dad made his famous eggplant parmesan,” said Annie.

  “All yours,” Carrie told her. “I love vegetables, but not eggplant.”

  “But it’s in all this sauce and gooey cheese,” Annie described. “So delicious.”

  We said our good-byes and I handed her thirty bucks as I pushed her out the door. She would’ve tried to give the extra back if I had let her stand still.

  CHAPTER NINE

  A few days passed without any word from the police nor the fire chief’s office about our possible suspect. Life moved along at a steady pace in spite of my growing frustration of not being able to solve this mystery. The more I tried to let it go, the stronger my intuition kicked in; telling me to keep investigating Dugray. I finally decided to dedicate some time to do some further research. Before I could begin, however, I had a Renaissance Fair to attend.

  Carrie’s membership in a performance choir called Youth in Harmony required three weekends of performing at the Brevard Renaissance Fair. It was the first day and my turn to chaperone. Leaving Tommy and Joseph at home with a stocked fridge and a stack of movies from the library, I took Carrie to Wickham Park for the big event.

  What looked like castle walls were set up around the perimeter of a pretty good chunk of the park, and inside were dozens of tents with vendors selling everything from turkey legs to leather goods. Two pirate ships, a Viking encampment, musical groups and that scandalous Robin Hood running around added to the entertainment. I was rather amazed by it all. The smell of the smoked meats, the sound of the flutes and drums and the appearance of the tents and folks in costume made you feel as if you had really stepped back in time.

  Of course, Carrie was excited but nervous about performing. I calmed her nerves with an application of essential oils and a whispered prayer. While she joined her group and other cast members for a pre-opening meeting, I walked around to observe. The Sheriff of Nottingham and his guards walked by, bowing their heads and offering a “good morrow, m’lady” to me. If I had mastered a decent English accent, I would’ve responded. But, my Southern drawl had not completely faded and I would’ve sounded ridiculous. I opted to just smile.

  Over the course of the day, I watched Carrie and the rest of the choir perform songs and dances, the Limey Birds trio sing comedic (and somewhat racy) tunes, pirates perform stunts, and knights joust on majestic horses. Everything was spectacular. And, of course, I found the Ye Ol Coffee tent, and had a large cup of java. It was a perfect day.

  It was seven in the evening before Carrie and I left the park; much too late to go home and cook a meal, I reasoned. We stopped to grab some pizzas and headed home to the boys. I did at least get a chicken alfredo pizza for something different than our standard pepperoni and sausage.

  “Did you see the Vikings, Carrie?” Tommy asked her immediately.

  “Yes, I did. They walked through the camp banging swords on shields and yelling. It was really cool.”

  “Vikings are for Valentine’s Day!” Tommy exclaimed.

  Joseph gave me a curious look and shrugged. “What makes him think Vikings have anything to do with Valentine’s Day?”

  “I have no idea,” Carrie replied.

  “Tommy, Valentine’s Day is about love and romance. How do Vikings fit in?”

  “In the Veggie Tales episode, Maymay. The two Vikings marry the ladies.”

  “Oh…okay then!”

  “Well, that’s settled,” said Carrie. “Let’s eat!”

  “I still don’t get why he associates that with Valentine
’s,” Joseph mumbled.

  “Sometimes when you wonder why; the best answer is ‘because autism,’” I told him. There would always be things beyond reasonable explanation with Tommy around.

  The next morning, I awoke early and decided to make myself a bagel in the toaster oven. This particular task had become a personal goal for the new year. The last three times I had attempted to toast a bagel this way, I had gotten distracted and burned the bagel. The kids teased me about this to no end. Yes, there was a timer, but the minimum was too light and the next level was too dark so I had to actually watch the bagel till it reached the desired level of toasted perfection. This was challenging to say the least.

  As I stood there, concentrating, my cell phone chirped with a text. Mr. Baker needed me to help him review a list of items lost in the fire for the insurance company. He was emailing it to me. I texted a quick reply and turned my attention back to my bagel which was now blackened on the edges. Not as burnt as last time; so this was at least an improvement. I’d take that.

  With my slightly blackened bagel in hand (and sufficiently slathered in cream cheese—the bagel, not my hand), I opened the email from my boss and clicked to print it. Scanning it as it exited the printer, I mourned the loss of our label maker and the Apple desktop computer that I relished.

  While I stood there eating breakfast in my pajamas, another text came through. Mr. Baker and I were to meet the insurance adjuster at the office the next day. I noticed the time on my phone and realized I needed to get the kids up and going. We had to get Carrie to her car pool for the fair, and the rest of us would be heading to church. I’d be able to inform the Gaggle that I had successfully, well almost successfully, toasted a bagel. They’d be proud.

  The sermon was about heeding the voice of God. This subject had always been of interest to me because I found it a difficult thing to put into practice. Often times I would question what I perceived to be God’s voice. Should I really do that? Does He really want me to say that? It’s hard to discern what’s of God and what’s in my own head; at least it is for me. Pastor Smith used a verse from Isaiah.