“Veronica, help!” Chloe exclaimed into her cell phone. “I’m squatting in the bathroom, while my date inhales the fourth course of a dinner that will not end. I’m about to have a conniption. Please tell me one of your children has sustained a life-threatening injury and I must come right away? I’ll give blood; a kidney even.”
“They’re all right as rain, but I can give you a call back in five minutes and pretend otherwise.”
“Thanks, I owe you one.”
“And I will collect. Love you!” Veronica’s sign off was always the same, and even though Chloe knew it, the endearment always made her feel special. Veronica had a way of making everyone feel special. It was one of the things Chloe admired most about her. That and her willingness to partake in behavior Emily Post would consider questionable.
James looked crestfallen when, right on schedule, Chloe’s phone rang and she insisted he take her home immediately. “I’m really sorry about this, but thank you so much for dinner.”
He grudgingly complied, and Chloe flew out of the Hummer the second it came to a halt. “Thanks again!” she called, running inside and slamming the door.
* * *
Chloe realized she had grossly underestimated EV’s penchant for revenge when two more random men contacted her, and she was harangued into going on dates with both of them. When they both ended up being complete whackadoos, Chloe’s resolve kicked in.
For one, she intended to ferret out EV’s ulterior motive—no one could contrive this brand of torture over nothing more than a few lousy emails.
Secondly, Chloe intended to throw EV under the bus with Dalton the very next chance she got. Clearly, EV was processing something big, and needed a gentle nudge. Or a push off a cliff, if that’s what it took for her to stop playing Mystery Date with Chloe’s love life.
“You rotten old bat!” Chloe ranted into EV’s answering machine when her friend failed to pick up the phone. “First I get to dine with a complete tool whose man bits must be itty-bitty to necessitate that monstrosity he picked me up in. I had to fake an emergency to get out of a fifth course at Delmonico’s with that jerk. Then, a freaking Oompa Loompa shows up at my door with a bouquet of my own asters in his hand. He might as well have kicked my cat and peed on my doorstep! Then, to add insult to injury, I was forced to sit through Final Destination 17, or some such nonsense, and eat theater nachos for dinner!”
A resounding click let Chloe know that she had gone over the acceptable message length, so she called back to continue her rant.
“Oh, and date number three consisted of me huddled in the back of a pickup truck with a 12-pack of Coors Light, waiting for a meteor shower that isn’t actually happening for another week, while a man who might have been considered attractive—save for the bushy back hair poking up through his shirt collar—tried to get me to go skinny dipping in the freezing cold on the first date! And by the way, you lunatic—get voicemail! Nobody uses an answering machine with a tape anymore! I know you’re home, listening to this, you wimp! Your Christmas present is getting smaller and more irritating by the second! This is so not over!”
Chloe slammed the phone down emphatically, feeling a bit better after unloading her irritation on the responsible party. The only thing left to do was bake; it always calmed her nerves.
Chloe loved to both cook and bake, but each served a separate purpose. Cooking was easy: you could adjust the seasoning; throw something new into a recipe; or simply wing it and still wind up with something delicious, or at least edible.
Baking, however, required meticulous attention to detail. You needed the right ingredients, measured exactly; the correct type of pan or tin; and an accurate oven temperature. So, Chloe reserved baking for when she needed to either focus, or distract herself.
Setting the music app on her phone to the Colbie Callait channel, Chloe hummed along while measuring out equal parts egg, flour, butter, and sugar by weight. Two lemons worth of zest completed the sponge cake batter. After slipping the loaf into the 350-degree oven, Chloe juiced the lemons and mixed in some powdered sugar. She set the sticky glaze aside and danced around the kitchen island singing Dream Life until the cake was ready.
Chloe agreed with Colbie as she belted out the lyrics; she wanted to make her real life as much like her dream life as possible, and she had an inkling of what would make that wish come true. She also knew any judge from one of the umpteen singing competition shows now airing would describe her singing as pitchy, but she didn’t care. Sugar and Spice seemed to agree and, after fixing her with twin looks of disdain, vacated the room. A blur of sleek, tawny fur, they raced up the stairs to snuggle up on their chair in Chloe’s office.
A toothpick inserted into the center of the cake came out clean, so Chloe shut the oven off and used a skewer to poke several holes through the loaf. While still hot from the oven, the lemon glaze coated the top and dribbled through the holes, permeating the cake with sugary goodness.
Once cooled, it would set into a flaky crust. Realizing she had nobody to share the tasty treat with, Chloe softened and shot a text to EV.
Lemon Drizzle Cake is cooling on my counter. Truce?
You overloaded my answering machine, and now must pay. I will accept cake as a peace offering.
Chloe smiled and made sure the back door was unlocked. All the thefts in town, despite their seemingly benign nature, had prompted Chloe to start locking her doors regularly; something she and nearly everyone in town had never felt compelled to do. Deep down, she knew her closest friend loved her to pieces, and that EV must think she had Chloe’s best interests at heart. The pair couldn’t stay mad at each other for long.
EV crept through the door and held up a small white flag. Chloe laughed, and any tension that may have been lingering immediately dissipated.
“So, you didn’t like James, or Billy or Bob? Or was Billy Bob one person? I can’t remember.” EV smirked and received a pointed glare from Chloe.
“You’re evil. And I want to know why. What bug crawled up your butt and made you decide to torture me?”
EV paused, choosing her words carefully. “Look, I know you’re hesitant about getting into a relationship. And I know you have feelings for Nate that you’re running away from.”
This again, Chloe thought, while EV continued her explanation.
“I know I’m the queen of trust issues, but you don’t have to join the court. I wanted you to realize that there are a lot of frogs out there. If you ask me, Nate’s your prince. You both need to suck it up and be honest with each other. I thought you could use a gentle push.”
“I’m not sure I’d use the word gentle.” Chloe pouted. “And I know there’s chemistry with Nate, but I also know that he hates it here. I finally found my happy place, and I don’t have any intention of moving. He’ll never settle down here, so what’s the point? At least I can keep him as a friend this way.”
“You don’t even know what he’s thinking. People change their minds. Would you rather kick yourself, or spend your life wondering?”
Chloe ignored the question, filing it away to think about later, when she was alone. “And what about you? I know you have more feelings for Dalton than you’re letting on, and now that you know what else is out there, don’t you think maybe he’d be the better choice?” Chloe pulled out her laptop and logged into EV’s Funtime profile.
“Partyboy69 sounds like a winner. He’s wearing a Hawaiian shirt unbuttoned enough to show off a chest so furry, it looks like his beard went south for the winter. How do you feel about wall-to-wall carpeting? And would you look at all that bling. Even Mr. T would pity the fool.” EV’s eyes shot daggers at her friend as she settled onto a bar stool and started scrolling through prospective matches.
“A little bit of chest hair is okay, but if you’ve got to draw a line between neck and back hair, that’s where I, well, draw the line. Oh, Jeebus, look at this one. JaketheSnake says the most personal thing about him is that he’s a virgin. Wait, there’s an update from
last week that says ‘Sorry, Ladies, not anymore!’ I’m pretty sure I’m past the training stage, thankyouverymuch.”
“That’s just…the word ew isn’t remotely descriptive enough.” The next profile had them both laughing out loud.
“Isn’t that Batman?”
“I can’t tell. His beer belly is covering up the belt buckle. If it’s not Batman, there’s some weird S&M stuff going on. Pass.”
“This one’s actually kind of cute. Niceguy57 likes Riesling, moonlit walks, and oh, never mind, wearing women’s underpants.”
“No cross-dressers please. I mean, no judgies, but not my scene.”
“Ooh, hungryforthebooty is a professional,” she made air quotes, “sign spinner in front of the Quiznos in Gilmore. I bet he could get you some free sandwiches if you showed him the junk in your trunk.” Chloe’s shoulders shook with laughter, and tears had begun to run down her cheeks as she struggled to get the words out.
EV did not grace her with a response, and instead kept scrolling. If she found something that actually made Chloe wet her pants, EV figured she deserved it.
“This guy looks like Santa Claus, and he’s wearing one of those foam hats shaped like a block of cheese and holding a light saber. The caption reads, Do you want your partner to be kinkier than you? and his response is: not possible!” EV erupted into gales of laughter alongside Chloe.
EV popped open a bottle of Riesling in honor of Niceguy57, and the two settled onto Chloe’s couch to continue crucifying all the prospective dates who shouldn’t have ever been allowed access to the Internet. By the end of the night, they had killed the bottle and laughed out any residual tension caused by their mock feud.
“I guess we’re both better off meeting men the old-fashioned way. Though I might start doing a background check on potential dates, just to make sure they’re not hiding a creeper profile in their web browser. Assuming I’ll ever date again. Which isn’t likely.”
Chloe nodded in agreement. “That right there was enough to make me hesitant for a very long time. I think I need a shower!”
Chapter 7
Nate took a deep breath and glanced over at Dalton, who stood to his left. Noting the marginally less nervous look on Dalton’s face than his own, Nate willed his body to settle down. An 8-foot-high, ornately carved set of double doors loomed in front of them; on the other side sat a conference-style chamber reserved for the town elders’ use. Nate had visited the room only one other time, and had felt the same level of anticipation then as he did now. He knew it was ridiculous; he saw these people out and about town on a regular basis, and had known them all for his entire life. Yet, somehow, all of them grouped together made Nate feel like a teenager who had gotten into trouble, and now must explain his behavior.
With the Selectman system in place, there was no need for a secondary governing body, which made the town elders something of an enigma. Technically, they had no legislative function or role in the everyday decision-making processes—that fell to the elected officials. Few of the newest town members, and even some of the ones who had lived there longer, had any idea why the town had elders, and why they had the last word on certain decisions.
Nate was hazy on the details himself, though as he understood it, the Selectmen saw to it that Ponderosa Pines met all the rules, restrictions, and fiscal responsibilities required by the state in order to maintain their status as a town. The elders, on the other hand, held sway over those issues that were specific to the founding tenets around which the town was formed. Between them, EV and the elders were the heart and soul of Ponderosa Pines—its conscience.
It was to that conscience Nate hoped to appeal.
The doors opened and the two men were ushered in and offered seats at a large rectangular table already occupied by the six town elders. Marjorie Hillard, Johnathan Lewellyn, and Dalton’s parents, Edward and Elizabeth Burnsoll occupied one side; Nate and Dalton sat across from them, bookended by Louise Naughton and Martin Craig.
Marjorie was by far the most outspoken with Martin Craig’s demeanor directly opposing her own. He was the oldest—and most revered—elder, and tended to stay quiet until interjection was absolutely necessary. When he did speak, everyone listened. Johnathan Lewellyn, whose wife Priscilla owned the local yarn shop and hosted a regular knitting group, had been active in town business for years before his recent appointment to the board.
“So what brings you two in today? Must be serious to have requested a meeting with all of us.” Marjorie asked. Dalton’s parents kept quiet, but smiled encouragingly at Nate’s pinched expression.
“We would like to discuss the blackmail letters that were written to Evan Plunkett, and the possibility that this person could continue to target the town. He approached Gilmore’s town officials and convinced them that we, as a town, wanted to merge with them. Obviously, he stood to gain something big, or why would he go through that much trouble? And he used an alias, which is that much more damning. What if he tries again? We, Dalton and I, are requesting your support in continuing the investigation, with the intent of exposing the blackmailer and ensuring that he doesn’t continue trying to undermine our town.” Nate made his initial plea with genuine concern showing on his face.
What little evidence Nate had found was nowhere near enough to keep the investigation open, except as a civil matter.
The other five elders turned toward Martin expectantly, and he answered gently, “The proposal was shot down; it’s never going to happen. We don’t want to merge with Gilmore. Nobody can force us to disband the town, and when it comes down to it, the Pines is stronger at its core. I don’t think we’re in any danger at this point, and we have no evidence that this man has done anything illegal.”
“Why go out looking for trouble where there is none? If something else comes down the pike, we will certainly address it. But I think we should conserve our resources for the time being.” Johnathan chimed.
“What if this person is dangerous? I know he didn’t actually kill Evan, but he did threaten to expose him. Who knows how far he would have gone. What if he decides to target someone else? What if he targets the town again, with more ammunition this time? Are we doing our civic duty by letting this go? I don’t think so.” It was the first time Dalton had spoken up, and he looked to his family for support. It was his father who responded.
“We appreciate your enthusiasm, both of you.” Edward cleared his throat and nodded at each of them in turn. “But the matter is closed. We are in no danger, so why waste resources in trying to catch someone who isn’t a threat. Thank you for your time, gentleman.”
“But…” Nate began to protest.
“The matter is closed, Nathaniel.” Elizabeth’s cool voice put an end to any further argument, and Nate and Dalton were bid farewell and escorted to the door. “Don’t worry, you two. Everything will be all right.”
* * *
“Well, that was a colossal waste of time. Did you get the impression they had already discussed the situation and made a decision before we even opened our mouths?” Nate asked with frustration after he and Dalton had returned to their tiny shared office.
“I’ve never had much luck arguing with my mother; I didn’t expect today would be any different. My parents are descending into old age, and their level of urgency has certainly declined. I admire their confidence, and maybe they’re right. But I don’t think so.”
“So we keep pushing? On the down-low?”
Dalton paused for a moment, weighing the options. On the one hand, they could be searching for a needle in a haystack; or the needle could in fact be a match, one that would set the haystack ablaze and take Ponderosa Pines down with it. “We move forward with the investigation, however we can.”
“I know someone who might be able to help. Elise owes me a favor—a big one, so she’ll handle this for us on the down low. I’ll make the call first thing in the morning.”
“And if we find nothing, nobody, will be the wiser. Including my parents.
If we’re right, and we can take this guy down, they’ll have no choice but to eat their words.”
Chapter 8
Arriving home after enjoying steaming mug of cappuccino and a plate of biscotti at the Mudbucket—and a chilly walk through the woods—Chloe opened her front door and immediately knew something wasn’t right. No pitter-patter of little paws bounding up to climb her pants like a tree; Sugar and Spice usually greeted her at the door, but tonight, all was suspiciously quiet.
Chloe flipped the wall switch, illuminating the entryway, and crept stealthily around the corner into the living room. Something dark and winged floated from the far end of the room. In the split second it took her to turn and race back the way she had come in, Chloe recognized the intruder as a bat. Safe outside, she slammed the door behind her. Leaning against the wall for a moment to give her pounding heart a chance to slow, she fumbled around in her pocket, dragged out her cell phone. Barely stopping to think, she dialed Nate’s number.
“There’s a bat in my living room! The kittens are in there, and I didn’t see them when I opened the door. Help!” Chloe blurted as soon as he answered, ignoring the way her heart leapt at the sound of his smooth hello.
“And I’m the only person you could think to call?”
“Just get over here, please!” she shouted before hanging up.
Pacing back and forth outside the front door 15 minutes later, Chloe nearly burst out laughing as Nate jogged up the driveway dressed for bat battle. Glove-covered hands brandished an old butterfly net; jeans tucked into work boots, and a hoodie pulled tight around his face completed the ensemble.
“Okay, where is the little sucker?” he asked, tapping the net against his free hand while attempting a menacing expression that was diminished by the obvious fear in his eyes. Nobody liked dealing with a possibly rabies-infected bat. Chloe covered her mouth with her hand to mask a smirk; she pointed toward the door, eliciting a grumpy look from Nate as he squared his shoulders before propping open the screen door. “Living room,” came her muffled response.
Crafting Disorder (Ponderosa Pines Cozy Mystery Series Book 2) Page 5
