I glanced over at Madelyn, how had I not seen her before today? The market is always packed, but I tried to make a habit of introducing myself to new vendors and giving them my card, in case they ever needed a cop. And here this beguiling woman had been in the market for two months, yet we have somehow missed each other.
She nodded, her eyes staring at some point far away, lost in some thought, “It's our main source of income. Johnny doesn't make much in the scrapyard, but it's a job. I don't know how we'll make rent now.”
I deflated a little at the fact that she had a guy. I had a little hope when she was bantering with me about how cute the sisters at the bakery were. Of course, she's taken. I mean, look at her Dani. Get with it woman. I guess I had my blinders on when Zoey said their truck and Madelyn said our truck. Great investigative instincts... not.
I looked back to the screen, finishing up my reports. She didn't have any savings? I offered, “Maybe it isn't as bad as it looks. Or maybe we can find someone to share their table in the main Arcade. Those are all booked months in advance. You'd be surprised at how much the people at the Market look out for each other.” Then I smirked and added, “So long as you don't have competing products of course.”
She perked up a bit. “You think someone would share their table?”
I lifted a shoulder and looked back over at her. “You never know until you ask. I have a contact, Crystal, who is owed a few dozen favors in the Market... hell, I owe her for Seahawks tickets. Maybe she can pull in a marker.”
She didn't say anything as she seemed to study me. Then she asked tentatively, narrowing her eyes almost imperceptibly. “Why are you helping me? I mean, this is a little above and beyond for a... for a cop.”
There it was again, that mistrust. I assured her, “Like I said, the market is a community, and we look out for our own.”
She regarded me with those eyes that seemed to see through me, then she nodded slowly and said with a bit of mistrust, “Thank you, I appreciate the help.”
I hit send on my laptop and snapped it shut, giving my best, forced smile. “Don't mention it. Ready?”
She nodded, and I pulled us out into traffic. It was slow going until I got us clear of the Market area and heading west. I asked, “Elliot to 15th, or Aurora to Leary?”
She perked up and said in an appreciative tone, “15th is pretty slammed this time of day, Leary is usually best, less chance of the bascules being up on the Ballard or the Fremont.”
It was my turn to grin. She knew the proper term for the drawbridges. The Ballard and Fremont were double bascule bridges. Having two counterbalanced leaves which raised to allow for some of the larger ships that traveled up from the locks to pass.
It still amazed me how much traffic still used those bridges when the chances of being stuck for a raising was high. The Aurora bridge soars high over the water allowing for even the largest ships to pass far below its decks.
I asked, “Did you know that the Fremont Bridge has the distinction of being the most frequently opened drawbridge in the United States, opening an average of thirty-five times a day?” Someone shoot me now.
She just grinned at me and said, “You're odd and random. No, I didn't know that.”
I sighed and admitted with heated cheeks, “Sorry about that. I'm a wealth of useless information and trivia. I like reading and learning about the minutia of almost any subject. Maybe too much for my own good. I find things like that fascinating.”
She looked away, covering her smile with a hand, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she teased, “Let me guess, single?”
I looked over at her incredulously. “Hey. I'm not that bad.”
She wouldn't turn back, I could tell she was still hiding a smile as she muttered to herself, “Les jolies filles sont toujours folles.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “I told you I didn't speak French.”
She turned back to me and dropped her hand from her face, her smile beaming with mischief as she said, “I know.” Grr... I'd have to try to remember what she said and look it up later.
We started to banter back and forth, and I relaxed the tension I had in my shoulders as she seemed to forget I was a police officer. She was quick witted and pretty damn funny, even if her humor was mostly at my expense. I was finding myself fascinated that she should keep me so off guard, she was able to break down my walls like they weren't even there. I had to remind myself repeatedly that she was taken so I wouldn't say something utterly stupid.
She directed me to the residential area of Sunset Hill. All older houses with those narrow streets of a well-established neighborhood. The houses were all tightly packed but with generous front and back yards. Newer housing developments could learn a thing or two from the past like this.
She had me back into a driveway on one of the rare double lots at a white two story house that looked to have been constructed around the early 1900s. It had a certain charm to it, but the yard wasn't as well maintained as the surrounding houses. I stopped Courtney at a large three door garage that matched the architectural style of the house and had some narrow stairs on the outside that led up most likely to an apartment over the garage.
She hopped out to get the door, and I had to smile as I watched her go, she had a cute sway to her hips that matched the playful personality I saw emerging from her bashful exterior. Her guy was certainly lucky, she had the whole package, personality, wicked sense of humor, and a smile that stopped you dead in your tracks.
Chapter 3 – O'Brien
I glanced back at that big black truck, I had actually been having fun speaking with a cop. Go figure. That was both unexpected and oddly enjoyable. The woman was sort of a geek about odd facts, and that just struck me as odd and wrong for a police officer. What did I expect, they were just people under their badges I suppose.
I caught myself smiling back at her as I got to the little door on the side of the garage by the stairs and unlocked it and slid inside. The automatic garage door opener was in our truck, so I had to use the button on the wall.
I guided her back until her truck-- I snickered-- Courtney, was half way in, before stopping her. She stopped the truck and hopped out, joining me. She slowed to a stop as she lowered the tailgate, her gaze sweeping around the garage.
She seemed to be in shock as those pale green eyes of hers widened a bit. I looked around then blushed. I squeaked as I hopped up into her truck to remove the tie downs. “Mr. Laurey lets me use the garage for my workshop. He doesn't have a car anymore, he lost his license when he turned seventy-five.”
Why was I explaining? Was it the uniform or something else? I caught myself checking her out at the thought of the uniform and was embarrassed I was finding her so much more interesting after our easy banter on the ride over. I reminded myself that cops aren't our friends.
She shook her head. “This is amazing, Madelyn.” She wandered past my drying racks, and all the hand dyed fabrics to some of the larger sheets I had been painting scenes on with fabric dyes.
She stopped in front of one that depicted the organic resonance of Pike Place. With the space Needle and Mount Rainier looming in the distance, using artistic license since you couldn't see either from the Market. She looked at the fish mongers and the people bustling about. Her hand reached out, just shy of touching my impromptu canvas, her fingers almost touching the cobblestones by everyone's feet. I had incorporated the winds of change blowing through, painting the world and people differently to depict how the Market is in a state of constant flux, with a life of its own.
She squinted and asked, “Is this... is this watercolor?”
I shook my head and started wringing my hands as I looked down, my voice was small as I said, “No, just some fabric dyes I was messing with. I just play around like that while I dye my fabrics for the scarves and shirts I sell at the market.” I pointed to my felters bench. “I make hats too.”
She just stood there staring at the scene, it was starting to make me feel self-conscious. It was
just me goofing around, and I was well aware of the multitude of flaws with it. “I'll be cutting it up for rags and scarves to be re-dyed. It's just a doodle.”
This seemed to take her aback as she finally tore her eyes from it and blinked at me, gape-mouthed and in shock, “You're... you're going to destroy it?”
I shrugged. “Like I said, it is just a sketch, trying out various dyes and techniques. That's why I use duck cloth, the cotton will show me how each dye mixture bleeds.” I tried to get her attention off of it by holding up some scarves I had tie-dyed then ghosted various flowers, or birds, and even a couple with the Space Needle on them for tourists, before I set the dyes permanently. “This is my actual work.”
She took one of the scarves and looked at it, turning her gaze back to the yard of canvas hanging from the clothes line I had stretched across the bay. She said, “It's beautiful. Please don't destroy it.”
I felt my face heat as a blush burned across my cheeks and down my neck. She was just being polite. I knew all the flaws and inconsistencies in it, it wasn't serious work. I shrugged and said, “I've dozens like it and have cut up dozens more. It is good practice for my real art, and to perfect my dyes.”
She saw a pile of duck cloth discards on one of the boxes below the mural and started sifting through them. Her eyes got wider and wider then became almost pained as she lifted one I was currently cutting strips off of to dye and use as ties for my hats.
It had a chunk taken out of the yard of fabric which held a surrealistic vision of the Portland skyline with a reflection of the past and future stretching beneath it like the ripples on a still pond, revealing other worlds and other possibilities.
I had been playing with various midnight blues and beeswax subtraction on that one, that's how I got the stars and ripples with such stark white clarity and sharp edges without any bleed-over from the other dyes. I read about the process online and wanted to experiment. The scarves I use the process on are currently some of my best sellers.
The look on her face was a cross between horror and pain as she looked at it, running a finger along the cutout section. I know, it was just a doodle. A bad habit, I could do the same thing with just solid dye jobs, but I like to draw.
I tried to pull her away from her explorations. “So, how are we going to get my cart down? You don't have two men sitting around in your pocket to help do you?”
This got an amused smile from the woman, damn... if she wasn't a cop...
Get real Maddie, if she wasn't a cop, she still wouldn't give you the time of day. You've learned that over and over once they see the real you. I absently touched the ends of the hair of my wig.
She strode back to her truck with a confident smirk. “Well, it isn't that heavy, we could just slide it down on a board.” She looked around then up and snorted. “Or we could just use the engine hoist on the i-beam up there.”
I followed her pointing finger to the chain and block and tackle that hung from the metal beam that spanned the length of the bay. Huh, I wondered what that thing was for. I figured it was some sort of mechanics thing since Mr. Laurey told us he used to work on stock cars in his youth.
I watched as she deftly slid the chain on a little shuttle on the beam over the truck's bed, then lowered a hook by pulling on the chain as it slid through the block. I felt sort of useless as she used her tie down straps to make a little cradle under the cart and fasten them to the hook before pulling on the chain the other way.
With a little creak of the truck's suspension the cart lifted and swayed. She was all grins as she hopped down and heaved a bit with one arm, her muscles bulging slightly with the effort. I caught myself looking on appreciatively then blushed and looked down at my hands as I wrung them together.
She operated the chain again, and a few seconds later, my cart was home. I grabbed the loose spoke, and she glanced at me and said, “If you want to unhook her, I'll move Courtney out.” I was grateful to do anything, it made me feel a little useful.
I quickly unfastened the straps and carefully rolled them. She joined me and slid the chain on the trolly to the back wall again. She glanced at the tools and equipment along the back wall and whistled, “Yours?”
I shook my head. “No, they belong to Mr. Laurey, he said we could use whatever we needed. He's a really nice guy. Cusses a lot for an old man, but he's pretty funny.”
She grinned at that. Then she said, “This is all professional grade equipment.”
I lifted one shoulder. “I guess. He used to work on racing cars.”
She froze then asked carefully, “Mr. Laurey? Charles Laurey? As in Sparkplug Laurey?”
I screwed up my face in thought. “He said his first name was Chuck, so maybe? Who is Sparkplug Laurey?”
She chuckled. “A few decades ago he was known as the wizard mechanic of the Emerald City in the racing circuits. In the days before all the computerized fuel management and high-tech materials. The man could coax an extra horsepower or two and a couple miles per hour out of stock cars.”
I couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm and teased, “Into racing are you?”
She blushed and turned to the cart and squatted to look at the damage. “Not really, I just like to read fascinating facts about just about any topic... and my dad is a mechanic.”
I couldn't stop myself, sometimes I hate being a smart ass, it will get me in trouble one day. “You and I have a different definition of fascinating.”
She turned to look back at me with her lips pursed and humor twinkling in those oddly pale green eyes that would actually qualify for my definition of fascinating. “Says you.”
I chuckled, was this going to be our thing now? Not that I'd see her again after today unless they actually caught the thief and returned my cash box. The money was probably already spent, and I'd never see it again. I did my best impression of her as I flipped my hair back over my shoulders. “Yes, I did. Just now. You were right there when I said it.”
She snorted. “I don't flip my hair like that.”
I rolled my eyes. “Just being glamorous.”
She hesitated at that then furrowed her brow a bit before turning to look at the wheel. I kept my trap shut. After a minute she held up the spoke and pointed, “It looks as if some internal dowels sheared. If you can't afford the repairs and don’t have insurance as you said, it probably wouldn't take much to repair it.”
She quickly added after she glanced at me, “You'd have to disassemble the entire wheel to do it, unfortunately, but I bet you could have it up in a day or two.” She looked hopeful.
I gritted my teeth and scrunched an eye. “If Johnny or I knew anything about how to use tools.” Then I perked up as my smartassery kicked in again. “I can swing a mean hammer, though.”
She snorted at me and smiled in amusement again. She wasn't the stormtrooper I had thought she was, and I was seeing the girl beneath more and more as I got to know her. She was someone I'd be able to be friends with in another life. And multi-faceted. Though one of the facets was a wealth of useless trivia, which embarrassed me over the fact that I found it endearing that she had a hidden geek inside of her.
Then I sobered. “We can't afford to be down a couple days. Unless I can get that table in the Arcade.” I cringed, it sounded like a cross between a whine and pathetically hopeful. She had already gone above and beyond the call of duty, I didn't need to lay my own baggage on her.
I noted she wasn't looking at me, her eyes were scanning the garage, then she asked as her eyes settled on my old bicycle. I don't even know why I brought it with us, it was in serious need of servicing and I didn't have any time to ride it as we struggled to make ends meet.
She noted, “Pink. I take it that's yours and not Sparkplug's?”
I nodded, and she said, “Tell you what, if you aren't emotionally attached to the bike, and that welder in the corner works. I think I can jury-rig a temporary fix for you tonight. It won't be pretty, but it'll do the job while I work on the wheel.”
I blinked as she stood up and stripped out of her uniform shirt and unclipping her utility belt. Her gun dangling from it in its holster. She laid them across one of the boxes of blank t-shirts. I swallowed as I just stared at her in a tight white tanktop that showed off some nice tight abs and curves in all the right places. There was some ink showing on her side, just peeking below the hem of her top, teasing and making me want to see what it was. She had a screeching eagle and American flag tattooed on her left shoulder.
Oh lord, oh lord, oh lord... just, wow. She hesitated when she turned to me, and I snapped my mouth shut. Fuck, she saw, and she smirked. I stared down at my hands, rubbing at some of the dye on them that was always present because of my chosen occupation.
I said defensively, angry for some unfathomable reason that she caught em checking her out, “I didn't ask for your help. I'm no charity case.”
She cocked her head, and her eyes darkened. “I know, I'm offering. We have each other’s backs in the Market.”
Part of me was thrilled that she wanted to help us, and I'd be able to see her again. The other part of me was being rebellious, telling me that... I blinked, all thought washed away by heat as she stretched first one arm over her head, grabbing her other shoulder, then repeating with the other, then unpinned her bun to let her honey blonde hair drop to her shoulders.
“Earth to Madelyn?” She prompted.
“Huh?” Oh, she was asking something, what the hell had she said? I was a bit distracted. Umm, something about a bike. Oh yeah, I said with surety that's what she was asking, “No, no emotional attachments. Umm... to the bike. No attachment to the bike.”
Oh, I wanted to wipe the suddenly smarmy smirk off her face as she looked me up and down again. With those cop eyes, above those cop lips. And that... Holy shit Maddie, focus!
She said, “Great, you can be my tool wrangler then. Unless you need to work on making product that is.” She indicated my various workstations.
I shook my head then tested my voice. “Just let me change into something more relaxed, don't want to dirty my Market clothes, I don't have many.”
The Pike_Right To Remain Silent Page 4
