Perfect Kind Of Trouble

“I don’t even remember liking stickers,” I say. “My dad once bought me a sticker book when I was like six, but instead of decorating the pages with the flower stickers inside, I stole a roll of stamps from his office, licked every last one of them, and stuck them to the pages.” I laugh thinking back to how his eyes bulged when he saw what I’d done. “He was so mad.”

 

Daren scratches his jaw. “Maybe that’s the clue.” He looks at me. “Stamps.”

 

I consider for a moment. “Maybe… but what would that mean for your part of the clue? Are there special February stamps that you looked forward to getting in the mail each year?”

 

He shakes his head. “The only thing I ever looked forward to getting in the mail was the swimsuit issue of Sports Illustrated.”

 

I roll my eyes. “Of course.”

 

He pauses. “But it did come out every February.”

 

“Really?” I say. “Huh. Do you think that’s the clue then? A magazine?”

 

He shrugs. “I can’t think of anything else it would be. And if the clues are stamps and a magazine then we need to go…”

 

My mind races. “To a magazine store.”

 

“A magaz—in Copper Springs? You’re not in the big city anymore, Blondie.” He shakes his head. “Maybe we need to go to a stamp museum or something.”

 

“Oh sure.” I sneer. “A stamp museum in this tiny town makes total sense, but a magazine store? Preposterous.”

 

He squints at me. “God, you’re sassy. I’m just trying to draw a connection between stamps and magazines here.”

 

I gather all our junk food trash and toss it in the garbage can beside the bench as I shrug. “Well, they both come in the mail.”

 

We whip our heads to face each other and say, “The post office.”

 

He says, “Turner probably left the money in a postal box for us.”

 

“Yes!”

 

Quick as lightning, we dart up from the bench and take off in opposite directions—only to be whipped back into each other by our linked wrists. My chest slams into his rib cage as his knee pushes into my thigh.

 

“Seriously?” I pull back from him and huff. “Where are you going?”

 

He points behind him. “The post office is that way.”

 

“Since when?” I make a face.

 

He juts his jaw. “Since the old one burned down and got moved from Main Street to Langley Drive.”

 

“Oh.” I straighten my skirt, which has once again ridden up my thighs. I don’t know why I even bother.

 

He looks up at the sun hanging low in the sky. “It’s almost closing time. We need to hurry.”

 

As we speed walk through the park toward my car, people everywhere turn and stare.

 

Don’t mind us, folks. We’re just a couple of kids bound together with metal on the hunt for what may or may not be a twenty-dollar bill. We’re not desperate or anything.

 

We reach the car and quickly climb in. The drive to the Copper Springs post office takes less time than it takes for us to get our linked bodies out of the car as Daren climbs over the console with the grace of a one-legged chicken, cursing and thwacking his elbows and knees against the dashboard.

 

“You’re like a bull in a china shop,” I say.

 

He tries to fold his long legs into the driver’s seat one at a time but ends up kicking the steering wheel and honking the car horn.

 

“A very noisy bull.” I shake my head.

 

He climbs out of the car with a scowl. “Well maybe my bullhorns wouldn’t make so much noise if they weren’t being crammed into an Oompa-Loompa-sized car.”

 

“If you complain about my car one more time,” I say, “I will track down your precious Porsche and draw all over it in lipstick.”

 

“Easy, tiger,” he says. “There’s no need for violence.”

 

We walk toward the post office’s entrance, but stop in our tracks when we see the CLOSED sign on the door.

 

“Shit,” Daren mutters.

 

“We’re too late?” I say, wanting to scream. This day has been a complete waste. “What now?”

 

A muscle flexes in his jaw as he shakes his head. “I don’t know. Come back in the morning?”

 

“And what are we supposed to do until then?” I say, lifting our joined wrists. “Stay locked together all night? I don’t think so. We need to find Eddie.”

 

“Okay.” Daren pulls out his phone and calls the lawyer. “Hey, Eddie. It’s Daren… Yeah, so Kayla and I haven’t been able to find Turner’s money yet… Oh yeah, it’s been super fun, but we need to get into the post office and the post office is closed. So it looks like we’re going to have to delay this scavenger hunt until morning. Do you mind if Kayla and I swing by your place in a few minutes so you can unlock the handcuffs? Just until tomorrow of course. We’ll put these babies back on first thing…”

 

Daren listens to Eddie on the other end of the line for a moment. “Uh-huh… uh-huh… I see… Right, well of course… True, but… uh-huh… uh-huh… okay, then.” He smiles at the floor. “Thank you so much. You have a good night too.” He hangs up and purses his lips.

 

“So…?” I prod, waiting.

 

Daren rocks back on his heels. “So Eddie says he can’t unlock the cuffs until we’ve found the money. No exceptions.”

 

My mouth drops open. “You have GOT to be kidding me. Doesn’t he know that being handcuffed together means we can’t leave each other’s side?”

 

“I’m pretty sure, yes.”

 

“Then how does he expect us to sleep tonight?”

 

Daren holds up our chained wrists with a grin. “Side by side?”

 

Un. Believable.

 

 

 

 

 

Chelsea Fine's books