She rolled her eyes. “Somehow, that makes me even more anxious.”
“Well, I hope you’re still willing to help me. I think I know where Justyn is, but I don’t want to investigate this place alone.”
“What about Sean?” Makayla asked.
I shook my head. “It’s just a theory. If I’m right, we’ll call him and he can zip on over and make the arrest. But I don’t want to waste his time if I’m wrong. I already did that once by calling him in on a wild-goose chase yesterday. I won’t be like the boy who cried wolf.”
“All right, I’m in.”
Squeezing my friend’s hand in gratitude, I said, “Great. And can we take your car? I don’t think my scooter is the best vehicle for a stakeout.”
Makayla laughed, a sound as lovely as the ringing of church bells. “And don’t forget that I’ve got cup holders. We’re not playing at Starsky and Hutch without our lattes.”
I WAS AT my desk before any of my coworkers arrived at Novel Idea. Leaving my door open, I put on some Mozart sonatas and reached for the packet from Thomas Wipple that I’d received yesterday. I was barely into the first page when Vicky walked past my door.
“You’re hard at work early, especially for a Saturday!” she proclaimed. “It’s a rare day that someone gets to the office before me.”
I smiled in response and continued reading, pleased to see that T. J. West had removed the teddy bear from the victim’s arms and deleted any reference to children in the murder. The writing was even more engaging than in his first submission, and I felt that unique thrill that told me I could sell this project.
After sending Thomas Wipple an email requesting the complete manuscript, I tackled the overflowing pile of papers in my in-tray. Bentley breezed past, nodding her head in my direction. Gratified that she’d witnessed my dedication to the job, I turned my attention to a proposal for a cozy mystery whose protagonist was a pastry chef in a large restaurant. In the midst of pondering whether the writer might be better suited to cookbook writing than fiction, the phone rang.
“Hi, Mom,” Trey said, sounding weary. “I guess Nana told you about last night? It was not a good scene—all those cops and freaked-out co-op people running all over the place. Plus, I really laid into Jasper. I probably shouldn’t have, and a cop tried to hold me back, but I was just so mad.”
“I understand, honey. You felt betrayed.”
“Yeah. And not just me.” He sighed heavily. “Did Nana tell you that Iris stayed with us last night? She has a lot to figure out now. Jasper’s disappeared and the co-op’s closing. She’s got a cousin or something in Connecticut she could go to, but…”
“Things will fall into place, Trey. Somehow they always do.” My heart went out to my son, who seemed to be shouldering burdens too heavy for such a young man. “What are your plans for today?”
Immediately his voice perked up. “Nana’s lending us her truck and Iris and I are driving to UNC Wilmington to check out the campus and the town. If Iris likes it, she can go online and request an application. We’ve already looked at the website a bunch of times. I’m hoping to start in January, and Iris can take classes part-time until she’s officially accepted.”
Buoyant after that phone call, I found it difficult to concentrate on writing a response to the pastry chef writer. I was tempted to pick up the phone again to call Sean and tell him the good news about Trey’s decision. And I wanted the official update on the co-op raid and whether or not Jasper had been captured. However, this morning Sean had texted me to say he was thinking of me and Trey, but he’d be busy all day and didn’t know when he’d be able to call, so I chose not to bother him. Besides, if I did get through to him, I might let something slip about my excursion with Makayla tonight, and he’d want to talk me out of it. Instead, I turned my attention back to my work and endeavored to stay focused.
My diligence paid off, and by the end of the day I was caught up on correspondence and filing, I had made several phone calls, and the stack of proposals in my in-tray had disappeared. Satisfied that I’d made up for the time I’d taken away from work recently, I left the office feeling guilt-free.
Makayla was already sitting in her car in front of the building. When I slid into the passenger seat, she held up a paper bag. “Sandwiches from Big Ed’s for the stakeout—a couple of Columbos. Seemed fitting, somehow. Turkey, hummus, cucumber, and spinach on a whole-grain kaiser.”
I shot her a grateful smile. “Thanks. I was so focused on our outing that I didn’t think about dinner.”