by Cindy Sample
“Can I help you?” asked a tall, willowy blond as I reluctantly put aside a multicolored scarf that brought out the color of my eyes.
“Possibly.” I pointed to the vacant cubicle next to her. “Is that stall available to rent?”
“I don’t think so,” she said, “although now that Axel is gone…” A wistful expression crossed her face. “The previous vendor packed up her supplies late on Saturday after he gave her notice.”
She abruptly began straightening a rack of scarves although they looked fine to me.
“I think I remember that vendor,” I said. “Was she the one who sold the weather vanes?”
“Tried to sell. People weren’t exactly standing in line to buy them. Axel offered the stall to some fancy spa owner from down the hill is what I heard.” She sniffed, evidently not a fan of fancy spa owners or people from down the hill.
Wait until she got an earful of my friend’s posh voice. Liz had discovered that her “Queen Elizabeth” accent went a long way toward selling overpriced cosmetics.
I leaned closer. “I bet the weather vane lady was upset. Wasn’t she here for years?”
“You better believe Vanna was pissed. Last Friday I was in the ladies room shortly after she and Axel had their conversation. I overheard her tell someone she’d like to stick a weather vane up his––” She theatrically flung her arm out and not so elegantly pointed to her behind.
“Do you think Vanna was angry enough to kill Axel?”
“We all say stupid things like that every now and then, but I can’t imagine her acting on her emotions.” Having realized she’d probably said more than she should, she excused herself to talk to a more appealing customer. One holding a wallet in her hand.
I mulled over the information I’d gleaned in a very short visit. Despite the fact Axel was well-liked in the community, he’d managed to upset his own applecart by angering both his farm manager and one of his vendors.
Not to mention the anti-powdered-sugar nut whom Glenda mentioned earlier. Could a deranged donut aficionado have done the dastardly deed?
Or had I been reading too many culinary cozies?
The rest of my afternoon proved a complete bust. Brent was away for the afternoon so I couldn’t ask him about Liz’s supplies or his relationship with Axel. And evidently apple farm owners don’t hang around their orchards all day counting bushels of apples, waiting for bank personnel to drop by and woo their deposits away. I left my business card with cashiers at three venues and arrived at the bank empty-handed.
Except for one pink cardboard box of donuts for the break room. A little donut love goes a long way with our staff.
My office voicemail included some good news and some better news. Detective Reynolds informed me Jenna’s items had been released. I could pick them up at the Sheriff’s Office.
The better news was from another detective. Tom said he could manage to get away from the task force for a few hours Thursday night. Was I available?
Was I ever! Neither kids nor killers could keep me away from my honey.
Now wasn’t that a country song just waiting to get wailed?
CHAPTER NINETEEN
They say a year in a dog’s life is equivalent to seven years for humans. These past four weeks away from Tom felt like six months to me.
I walked into the bank on Thursday, my lips humming “Satisfaction” while my body hummed a refrain of its own in anticipation of tonight’s duet. Tom planned on driving directly to my house where we would spend several hours together, but he also wanted sufficient family bonding time with his daughter before she went to bed. I’d made my own family bonding arrangements for my children––quality time with their grandparents whether they wanted it or not. Sometimes it felt weird for my mother to be my confidante when coordinating one of my infrequent rendezvous with my boyfriend.
With a cup of lukewarm coffee in hand, I bumped into Stan halfway down the corridor leading to my office. Although his version was somewhat off-key, he seemed to be humming the same Rolling Stones tune as I was earlier. His toothy grin sparkled a good morning to me, a strange response in itself since mornings and Stan have never been compatible.
“You certainly look chipper,” I said to him. His smile widened as he executed an abrupt U-turn and followed me down to my tiny office. I stowed my purse, pressed the on button for my computer and settled into my chair.
“You won’t believe my news,” he said.
“Try me.”
“Remember on Monday I attended that luncheon for the El Dorado County Musical Association?”
“Right. Sorry I was so nervous about my presentation that evening I forgot to ask how it went. Are you going to join their board?”
He nodded so vigorously his wire-rims slid down his pointed nose.
“I’m not only going to serve as a director, but they cast me in the upcoming show.”
I lifted my newly tweezed brows at him. “In the show? Like on a stage? In front of people?”
He frowned at my less than enthusiastic response. “No, in front of cats and dogs. Of course, I’ll be performing in front of an audience. I’m going to be a shark.”
Ah, that explained it. “They’re putting on The Little Mermaid?”
Stan looked even more puzzled than I felt. “You need to get out more, Laurel. I’m playing one of the Sharks in West Side Story. Leather jackets and tight pants. Très butch.”
As far as I was concerned, it would take more than slicked-back hair, tight jeans and a leather jacket for my friend to morph into a believable gang member, but as long as he and the director were happy then so was I.
“I’ll have to practice every evening since the show starts in less than two weeks,” Stan explained. “One of the chorus members dropped out so they were really in a bind. Zac, the director, said he’d spend as much time with me as necessary.”
Stan stopped to fan his face with his palm. Then he blushed.
Okay, now I got it. “So what’s Zac like? Is he one of those Harvey Fierstein types?”
“No, more like Colin Farrell but sexier.”
“Tough gig,” I said drily. Stan laughed and within seconds we were both engulfed in hysterics. It had been a long time since Stan had been attracted to anyone. Hopefully the feeling was mutual.
The manager of the underwriting department walked past my office and glanced at the two of us. Stan leapt out of his chair and left for his cubicle. While he hadn’t completely embraced the Sharks’ swagger, his step was buoyant. Perhaps a star would be born.
The rest of my day crawled by. Drafting flyers promoting the bank’s hot mortgage products couldn’t compete with my even hotter daydreams about my upcoming date with Tom. I’d worried that by spending so much time apart, Tom’s feelings for me might have cooled as much as the temperatures in the Lake Tahoe basin.
But since I had enough heat coursing through my body to melt a glacier that should be sufficient for the two of us.
Jenna texted to tell me she’d be staying after school. She needed to make up for missing band practice earlier in the week. She also informed me she’d arranged a ride to her grandparents’ house in El Dorado Hills so I didn’t need to provide chauffeur service. Jenna ended her message with a smiley face. I wasn’t certain whether her emoticon was aimed at me and my date tonight, or whether she was pleased to be participating in band practice now that she had her oboe back.
I felt blessed that my children approved of my boyfriend. For several years after our divorce, Jenna maintained hope that her father and I would eventually get back together. She finally realized that although Hank and I could remain friends and supportive parents, we were not meant to live together.
My cell rang as I was placing it back in my purse. The raucous sound of “Applause” by Lady Gaga reverberated off the walls of my tiny office.
“Hi, Gran.” I reduced the volume on the phone since Gran’s conversations tend to be at decibel levels more suited for an amphitheater.
“Di
d you figure out the killer yet?” she squawked.
I moved the phone a few inches away from my ear. “Gran, this isn’t a one-hour crime show. Of course not.”
“Nina said you and her talked for quite a while yesterday. You must have come up with some suspects other than her grandson by now.”
“A few people seemed angry about some of Axel’s business decisions, but that’s not necessarily enough motive to kill someone.”
“Harrumph. Looks like I’ll have to take over surveillance. Give me some names and addresses, and I’ll tail them. See what they’re up to.”
“Your red Mustang isn’t the best car to use if you’re going to follow someone.”
Her earrings jangled against the receiver. “Good point. Maybe I should rent something that’ll blend in. Like one of those big ole SUVs that are always hanging on my bumper when I drive around town.”
Gran might own a sporty cherry-red, eight-cylinder convertible, but she still drove like a little old lady. And her family was grateful she did.
“Look, I have a date with Tom so I’ll be tied up tonight. Please don’t do anything foolish.”
“Hey, I saw that Fifty Shades of Grey movie with my Red Hat ladies. Don’t you go and do anything foolish yourself. Or, at least, nothing I wouldn’t do,” she cackled.
I wasn’t certain what my grandmother would do should she manage to rope some old gent into her bed. And I definitely wasn’t going to ask.
“Jenna is working at Apple Tree Farm on Saturday. Why don’t we plan an investigatory expedition then?”
“Okay,” she said, sounding somewhat mollified. “I’ll expect a total update from you tomorrow, of course.”
“About my investigation?”
“Nope, about your date!”
CHAPTER TWENTY
What was that famous phrase frequently quoted? Something about the best laid plans of mice, men and horny women going awry?
Tom called around four with a travel update. Naturally, I chose that moment to take a break and missed his call. His message stated that a meeting had gone longer than anticipated, but he should arrive at my house by 6:30 p.m. at the latest.
I pride myself on my ability to go with the flow, so I texted him back saying I would be waiting for him with open arms. And open chardonnay. After all, it’s not the quantity of time, but the quality of said time.
My plan was to make the most of every second.
By 6:20, I was ensconced in a wing chair in the family room watching the news. I’d dressed in a long-sleeve, turquoise scoop-neck top and matching print skirt––casual yet feminine and somewhat flirty. My matching lacy lingerie was one hundred percent flirty.
I was taking my first sip of chardonnay when the doorbell rang. I placed my goblet down on the end table and hurried to answer the door, my leather-soled sandals sliding across the slick wood-planked floor of my foyer. I felt elated yet also nervous. A month apart can be hugely detrimental in a budding relationship.
I unlocked the oak door and it whooshed open, banging against the wall. We stood face to face, smiling like two lovesick teens.
The breeze ruffled Tom’s chestnut-brown hair. In the past month, he’d grown a beard and added a large earring in his left ear, giving him the dashing look of a pirate. Or a rock star. His hot chocolate brown eyes remained the same––tender and loving.
Tom’s gaze raked over me from my bangs to my painted toes, searing me with heat and anticipation. He threw his arms around me, lifting me almost a foot so we were practically at eye level. I clung to him, my emotions jangling like a jar full of pennies.
Tom set me down and proceeded to kiss me in such a way that if I’d been wearing any socks, he would definitely have knocked them off. He nuzzled my neck, his kisses drifting lower and lower until…
My home phone rang, startling both of us. I reared back and knocked Tom into the wall. Frustrated by the interruption, I was tempted to ignore its demanding ring, but my maternal instincts kicked in and I ran to grab it. My mother’s number showed on Caller ID.
“Sorry, Mother could be calling about the kids,” I said to Tom.
I picked up the receiver. “Hi, Mom. We’re kind of busy here. Are the kids okay?” I asked, hoping she would get my subtle hint.
“So I gathered,” Mother replied testily, “from your heavy breathing.”
“Is there a problem?”
“I’m not sure. We seem to be short one grandchild.”
“What?”
“Jenna still isn’t here. Didn’t you say she was getting a ride to our house after band practice? She should have been here by five at the latest.”
My heart plummeted down to my tile floor as I looked at the rooster clock in my kitchen. It crowed out the fact that it was nearly seven p.m. “She should definitely have been there by now. Did you try her cell?”
“My call went directly to voicemail.”
“Omigod. I wonder if she’s been in an accident. Jenna didn’t tell me who was driving her to your house.”
“Maybe she and her friend stopped for a bite to eat.”
“I suppose that’s possible. She also might not have turned her phone back on after band practice.”
“I’m sure everything is fine. Don’t worry. We’ll handle it. You just have––fun.”
“Thanks,” I said, wondering how she expected me to have “fun” and not worry about my missing daughter. Life was so much easier when my kids were still in droopy diapers. After we hung up, I called Jenna myself but also ended up in her voicemail. I left a brief but demanding message for her to call me. At once.
Tom joined me in the kitchen. He leaned against the tiled counters, a concerned look on his face. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Jenna was supposed to go to Mother’s house after school so we, um, I mean you and I could...” I paused, feeling my cheeks redden until they matched the teapot sitting on my stove. “Anyway, she texted me that someone would drive her there after band practice. But she still hasn’t arrived.”
I gazed at his toned six-foot-three frame then grinned ruefully. “A hug from you might help, but I’m afraid we’d get distracted.”
“Family comes first,” he replied. “What can I do to help?”
“I’m sure it’s nothing. She’s probably forgotten about the time. But…”
“But that’s not like Jenna, is it?” he asked, confirming once again why my heart belonged to this man. He not only knew how I operated, but also understood my teenage daughter.
“No, it’s not, which is why I’m worried. She’s always so conscientious about her studies, and it bothered her that she was behind in her schoolwork because of her backpack being held at the Sheriff’s Office.”
I began chewing on my fingernails, a sign of my own stress. Tom reached over and clasped my palms in his large and comforting hands. “Don’t destroy your nails. I have something better for you to gnaw on.”
He walked out of the room, and I heard the front door open then bang shut. While I gnawed over his comment, he returned with a box of chocolate truffles in his hand.
Does this man know me, or what?
He untied the bow secured around the box, opened it and handed it over to me. I reached for a truffle and popped it into my mouth. I smiled as the rich dark chocolate tickled my taste buds. Not quite the orgasmic experience I’d been anticipating all day, but it was probably as good as it was going to get tonight.
Tom reached over and wiped a speck of chocolate from my cheek. “So what do you want to do?”
What I wanted was to rip his shirt off, but I knew that option was no longer on tonight’s agenda. I sighed. “I’ll call Jenna’s friends. See if they know where she went. And with whom.”
“I’ll call the Sheriff’s Office to see if any accidents or other unusual occurrences have been reported.”
We grabbed our respective phones and placed our calls. My first three calls were brief and revealed nothing. On my fourth try, I finally received some useful intel. J
enna’s friend, Ashley, who also participated in the marching band, noticed Jenna talking to Eric Thorson a few minutes before band practice. But she hadn’t paid attention to where Jenna went once practice ended.
Tom must have noticed from my expression that I hadn’t succeeded in tracking her down. He completed his own call then wrapped his arms around me. While his strength provided comfort and support, he still couldn’t allay my concerns. Probably silly of me to worry about her, but I came from a long line of worrywarts.
“I’m going to call my folks and tell them I’ll be late,” he said. “I don’t want to leave you until Jenna is located.”
“You need your time with Kristy,” I replied. “It wouldn’t be fair for me to take you away from your daughter. Jenna will show up…” I gulped, “eventually.”
We both jumped when my cell trilled “Before he Cheats” by Carrie Underwood. Tom looked startled at the song choice, but on the day I chose my family and friends’ cell phone theme songs, I was particularly annoyed with my ex-husband.
“Hank, what do you want? We have a crisis here.”
“Are you missing any red-headed daughters?” he asked.
“What? Yes. Do you know where Jenna is?”
“She’s here at the house with Gran and me.”
“What is she doing there? Why didn’t she call me or Mother? She was supposed to be at their house hours ago.”
“She lost her cell,” he replied. “Here’s Jenna now. I’ll let her do the explaining.”
While I waited for her to get on the line, I pointed at my phone and mouthed Jenna’s name to Tom. He smiled and gave me a thumbs-up.
A subdued Jenna got on the line. “Hi, Mom.”
This was not the time to yell at my daughter, so I attempted to remain calm. “Why aren’t you at your grandmother’s, honey? We’ve been going crazy looking for you.”
She sighed an Oscar-worthy sigh. “I screwed up. Can we talk about it when I get home? Dad said he’ll drive me there.”
