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

  “Hang on to your hat ‘cause this is big. He works for the same electrical company that Mr. Baker hired to put in our new power outlets in the back room. What’cha think of that?”

  Cole sat up in his chair. “That’s an awfully big coincidence.”

  “That’s what I thought. And he has motive for doing damage to us since we lost his case.”

  “But then you saw him dressed as a fireman. If that was him, I mean.”

  “Yeah, can’t figure that part out. He’s connected though. I know it. I’ve got a hunch.”

  “Like last year’s ‘hey, Cole, let’s trespass on someone’s property and release a hostage’ kind of hunch?”

  “Oh, no, kidnappings are so last year,” I remarked, oozing sarcasm.

  Cole rolled his eyes. Things felt right between us again.

  “Well, I’ve got work to do,” he began, standing up to leave. “When you figure out our next steps on this, let me know.”

  “Our next steps? So, you’ll help me investigate?”

  “Somebody’s gotta keep an eye on you, Charlie,” he said as he winked and shut the door.

  CHAPTER SIX

  JOSEPH, Carrie and Tommy arrived home within minutes of each other.

  “Mom, I’ve got to work on editing our steampunk film tonight. Is there something I can have for supper that I can eat while I work? There’s tons to do.”

  “You mean to tell me that you’re so busy you can’t eat a meal with your family?” I asked Joseph.

  “Kind of, yeah,” he replied sheepishly.

  I laughed. “A film maker’s work is never done. I’ll look through the pantry and see what I can throw together that’s um…portable.”

  Tommy grabbed his iPad from the charging station in the kitchen and ran to his room without saying a word. I figured no news was good news, and decided to let him be…at least for now.

  “What are thinking about making?” Carrie asked. “I’ll help cook.”

  “It’s been a crazy day. How about some Wendy’s burgers? You can go with me to the drive-through a little later.”

  “Mom, we’re supposed to be eating better and eating at home more.”

  “Thank you, Jiminy Cricket,” I said with a sigh. “You’re right. BLT’s? We have a new package of turkey bacon.”

  “Yeah! And we have the stuff to make pasta salad. I’ll take care of that when we’re ready to cook.”

  “Deal.”

  After our at-home supper, which Joseph ate at his computer, Carrie started her homework and Tommy made himself a bubble bath. I couldn’t shake this feeling that Dugray had turned arsonist in a quest for revenge. My mind kept running through scenarios trying to piece it together while I did household chores. I started a load of laundry and thought about how much time had lapsed since the case had been lost. Why wait ‘til now to retaliate? I unloaded the dishwasher and thought about the fire. Why at night? Wouldn’t he want to hurt someone?

  I tucked Tommy in with a hug, a kiss, and our multi-step routine.

  “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight.”

  “Be good!” he told me.

  “You, too!” I called back as I closed the door to his room.

  Unable to wrap my head around Dugray and the fire, I decided to drive to the office and look around. I told Carrie I was leaving for a few, grabbed a flashlight and started towards the door. My phone beeped with a text.

  How did lunch go? Text me all about it. In a bored meeting and I spelled that wrong on purpose.

  It was Su who had gotten roped into attending a board meeting for a newly established autism center. I had done similar work, and knew meetings like those were tiresome.

  Lunch date bad. Walking out door. Text you later with details.

  I included a poop emoji after the word “bad,” and she replied with a sad face emoji. The urge to fill her in on the day’s happenings was great, but I really wanted to go look around at the office. Maybe something there would help me figure this out. Just before I grabbed the door handle, I remembered something important to take along. I ran back to my room and removed my gun from the safe.

  It fit perfectly into the specialized back pocket of my purse where I also kept my concealed carry permit. I was still carrying it without ammo but it made me feel safer anyway and plus part of the course instruction was to carry it around empty until you felt comfortable putting rounds in it. One step at a time.

  The office was dark except for the dim glow of the nearby street lights. I pulled out my flashlight and crossed the yellow tape that blocked off the building. Mr. Baker had hired the electricians to put new outlets in the back room a few months before. That was where the fire had begun, and the location of the worst damage. I unlocked the front door and stepped inside, shining the light towards the back room which was now exposed to the outdoors. Moonlight shone through the burned-out roof, casting shadows on the remaining walls. Then, all of a sudden, one of those shadows moved. My heart started racing as memories of being grabbed by a masked man at night rushed through my mind. That moment last year, being threatened and scared out of my wits, was why I had sought out a way to protect myself. I took a deep breath to calm the anxiety that had flooded my body.

  I pulled my gun from my purse and stepped quietly towards the back of the building; reminding myself it could’ve been a cat. Both my gaze and my flashlight were concentrated on that back room so I didn’t see the file cabinet ‘til I bumped into it, causing a commotion. Something came hurling at my head. I ducked as I screamed.

  “I have a gun and I’m a really good shot!” I yelled.

  A loud crashing sound and muffled groans came from outside. I ran to the back and looked out behind the building. A man was running away in the distance, and another man struggled to stand near some knocked-over trash cans. Behind the building was kind of dark but I could still make out a face.

  “Cole? Is that you?”

  “Yeah,” he groaned. Then he noticed my Glock. “Don’t shoot me, Charlie!”

  “Don’t worry, it’s not loaded anyway.” I told him as I put my gun back into my purse.

  Cole looked stunned.

  “Not loaded?”

  “Nope. I’m just carrying it around without ammo to get used to it.”

  “Charlie, you never pull that gun unless you can and need to actually use it.” His voice more stern and serious towards me than usual. “I’m sure they taught that in your permit class.”

  “Well, yeah…I guess…y-yeah, they did. I was just startled and instinct kicked in.” I said, now on the verge of tears.

  Cole’s voice grew softer. “What if it was a police officer and they thought a criminal was in here and in the dark all they see is your gun? They would be totally justified in shooting someone pointing a gun at them.”

  “You’re right, Cole. It was careless and stupid and I promise it won’t happen again.”

  “Good, Charlie.”

  “So who was that running away?” I asked as my nose ran and I wiped some moisture off of my cheeks.

  “I don’t know. Didn’t get a good look. Your scream scared him and he ran right into me. I fell over these stupid trash cans, and he took off.”

  “What are you doing here, anyway?” I asked him, perplexed by his sudden appearance.

  “I knew you were contemplating the connection between Dugray and the fire, and I thought you might come by here once the kids were in bed. So, I drove by, saw your car pulling into the lot, and decided to stop. But, I thought I saw someone back here and came around this way first. So why were you screaming?”

  “Something was flying towards my face!”

  “What was flying? I didn’t see anything flying.”

  “You were busy getting tackled to the ground.”

  “I was knocked off balance. Totally different.” Cole said in his own defense.

  “Tomato…tomahto…”

  Cole just shook his head.

  The two of us walked inside the office with my flashlig
ht and found a dove roaming around.

  “Wow, a dangerous dove came flying at your face. How scary,” Cole teased.

  “It was dark, and there was a man-sized shadow moving around. You would’ve gotten scared, too.”

  Cole took the flashlight and shined it all around the skeleton looking room.

  “I wonder what’s worth coming back here to find?” I asked Cole.

  “No telling. I mean everything is charred to a crisp.”

  “Should we call the police?”

  “No point. We can’t prove anything. Could’ve just been a looter or even a homeless person.”

  Cole walked me to my car and handed me my flashlight.

  “Be safe, Charlie.”

  “You too.”

  “I will.”

  Gee whiz, we were starting to sound like Tommy.

  Having gotten home around eleven, and been unable to fall asleep from all the excitement; my six o’clock alarm was entirely unwelcomed. I even knocked my phone to the floor in an attempt to shut it up.

  The calendar on my phone chimed to remind me I was committed to take a covered dish to the church for a post-funeral meal for the family of the deceased. I hated attending funerals, especially if I didn’t know the person well. So, my contrition to helping the bereaved was to bring food. That I could do.

  Shuffling along in my comfy sweats and flamingo slippers, I went into the kitchen and started the Keurig on a cup of coffee. Then, I grabbed my late grandmother’s cookbook and flipped to her recipe for chicken casserole. It was simple yet delicious; using chicken breast, cream of mushroom and cream of chicken soups, and sour cream. The casserole could be frozen and heated in the oven later, but I had to bake this to be served at the church. I grabbed my coffee, splashed in creamer, and set to work cooking.

  Soon, the kids came wandering into the kitchen asking what I was making for breakfast. Luckily for them, I had made a skillet of sausage gravy and stuck some canned biscuits in the oven. Even though I often avoided cooking, I really did enjoy it once I got started.

  “Can we have this once a week?” asked Carrie.

  “I’m thinkin’ twice a week,” added Joseph.

  “I don’t like biscuits,” said Tommy, shoveling a spoonful of the gravy into his mouth.

  “We’ll see. I could at least make sausage biscuits more often than I do.”

  “Yeah, once a month isn’t enough,” said Joseph. “I gotta get a quick shower before school. Wait to run the dishwasher?”

  “What, you don’t like cold showers?” I teased.

  “Uh, no not really.” Joseph told me.

  His aspyness was showing. Sometimes he didn’t get sarcasm.

  “I’m kidding, sweetie. I’ll wait. But, hurry it up in there. If you miss the bus, I’m not driving you!”

  I entered the church carrying my chicken casserole with my travel mug of coffee precariously perched on top, holding it with my chin. Momma Pat, one of the Grannies, came running to extract the casserole from my hands.

  “Honey, let me get that for you. You’re gonna spill coffee all over yourself.”

  “Thanks,” I said, grabbing my coffee and letting her take the casserole dish.

  “Follow me to the kitchen. Granny’s got some cookies for you to take home to the kids.”

  In the kitchen, each of the Gaggle was performing a task. Granny was checking whatever was in the oven. Mammaw Sellers was slicing cucumbers. Little Momma was stirring a potato salad and shaking her head

  “Somebody used too much mustard. There’s no need for puttin’ that much mustard in a potato salad,” she complained. “I’ll put this one in the back.”

  Sure enough, she set in the back of the potato salad section which contained no less than six large bowls of different women’s versions of the classic side dish.

  “That’s a chicken casserole,” I informed Momma Pat who was uncovering the dish and finding a serving spoon for it.

  “I’m just glad it’s not a dessert. Somehow we ended up with way too many desserts,” Mammaw Sellers said, pointing to an eight foot long table covered end to end.

  “Good Lord, we’ll send this family into a diabetic coma,” I quipped.

  The Gaggle all stared at me.

  “Honey, don’t say that out loud. That’s how Mr. Fernandez passed away…complications from diabetes.”

  I stood there horrified for about six seconds.

  “Gotcha!” laughed Little Momma.

  Then, they all busted out laughing.

  “So, I want to hear about what went wrong with Ian,” Granny demanded. “I just saw him talking to Lynnette and they were making plans for dinner!”

  “Yes, well…Ian and I had lunch, but it didn’t go very well. See, he has his business running well enough that he can come and go as he pleases. And, his kids are all grown and off doing their own thing. So, he wants to travel and you know…”

  “That sounds great to me!” Little Momma commented.

  “It does. The problem is, I have Tommy. I’ll always have Tommy. And Ian realized that during our lunch when I took a phone call to talk with Tommy while he was at school. He’s obviously looking for someone with more, uh…freedom.”

  “Well, his loss,” said Granny. “I hope you at least got a good meal out of it.”

  “Oh, I did! The best fried green tomato sandwich I’ve ever tasted,” I said with a smile.

  That statement made the Gaggle happy, and they each gave me a hug before I left. I walked away with a box of no-bake cookies, a quickly written recipe for proper potato salad, and a flyer for the next single’s meeting.

  Before going home, I stopped by Femme Fatale Arms, the ladies gun shop where I bought my weapon and took my class. Marcy, the owner, was there and I told her about the shooting at the office.

  “So, you pulled your gun because you were startled?”

  “Yeah. I know, big blunder. I should’ve kept my cool and assessed the situation.”

  “You were scared. It happens. Maybe you should take a tactical shooting class; learn how to shoot somewhere besides a firing range.”

  “I was going to ask you about that actually,” I admitted.

  “So, I take it there was no real threat after all?”

  “Well, my screaming scared someone away and I think I about gave Cole a heart attack when he saw my gun.”

  Marcy had a hearty laugh.

  “Well, if he’s seen your target from your first time shooting he should’ve been scared, honey!”

  Home was originally my next stop, but Ginny texted and wanted to meet at Starbucks so she could give me some paperwork I needed. I reluctantly agreed to join her.

  I ordered an almond milk Frappuccino just because it sounded good, and sat down next to Ginny.

  “They’ll call your name when it’s ready,” she informed me.

  “I know. Thanks.”

  “What did you order?”

  “An almond milk something or another.”

  “Almond milk is good, but high in fat. They have sugar free syrups, too, you know, since you’re trying to watch your weight.”

  “I’m not watching my weight,” I replied, tying not to let her know I was insulted.

  “Oh.” Ginny put her mouth to her straw and added to injury to insult with a slurp of her sugar-laden, high calorie, dessert-as-a-drink.

  “Charles!” yelled the barista. “Almond milk Frappuccino for Charles!”

  “I think that’s you,” Ginny informed me.

  I walked up to the counter. “Is that for Charlotte?”

  The barista squinted at the scribbled name on the cup. “Oh, maybe it is.”

  I took the drink, and it was really tasty. But, then I started wondering if I should only drink part of it…to watch my weight. Did I need to watch my weight? I was a size eight. I didn’t think that was bad considering I was in my forties and had three kids. Darn that Ginny, she had gotten into my head!

  “Here,” Ginny said, handing me a stack of papers. “I nee
d you to do a few extra things on this case because I’m going away for the weekend and don’t want to take work with me. What’s the point of going away if you take work with you?”

  “Agreed,” I replied while thinking how nice it must be to get away for a weekend.

  “I figured you wouldn’t mind doing a little extra work since you don’t really do much else. I just can’t get it all done with my two boys to pick up from school and their soccer and karate…and my hair and nail appointments…and we’re doing Whole 30 meals now so that takes time…”

  I rolled my eyes, stuck the papers in my bag, and stood up. “Gotta run, Ginny. Have a nice trip.”

  That wasn’t at all what I wanted to say, but God had been dealing with me about how I responded to Ginny. Sermons, my morning devotional, and those internal nudges (you know the ones) had all been teaching me to respond to her with kindness. I wasn’t quite up to the kind response, but I could at least avoid saying something spiteful. It took effort, but I managed to bite my tongue; and there’d be a scar to prove it.

  Down to a can of tuna and half a box of Poptarts, my need to buy groceries was great. I decided I should quit procrastinating and get the shopping over with. I could walk the aisles, push my buggy and sip my fancy drink like the women I’d seen in Target. The only differences would be that I didn’t have a fancy manicure, my eyebrows were overdue for a plucking, and my purse wasn’t Michael Kors or Coach. Plus, I wouldn’t be shopping at Target. I was at Wal-Mart.

  I walked inside with a nagging feeling of inadequacy after comparing myself to Ginny and her peers. A quick glance around at the women in pajama bottoms and halter tops gave me an entirely new perspective. I was somewhere in the middle of the two stereotypes and I was okay with that. Maybe I was just…normal. Nah.

  I pushed the buggy towards the back to the dairy section. My system for grocery shopping was always back to front, and my list was broken down into sections accordingly. Of course, this time I had forgotten my list on the kitchen counter. Still, I knew the staple items I’d need, and my plan for supper was to grill turkey burgers. Easy stuff to remember.