Getting Dumped (20 page)

Pete beamed as he reached out to grab the ringing phone. “It’s a date.”

I walked through a side door and headed down the hallway that led to Collin’s office. I hesitated for a moment before knocking.

“Yes?” he called from inside.

I pushed through the door and stopped short at the sight of a female ass lifted high in the air.

Green Barbie was rummaging through the recycling, moving empty Coke cans from one bin to another. I paused for a moment to wonder if her skirt had actually been manufactured that short, or if she altered it somehow. Then I considered whether her lady bits ever got chilly.

Collin was staring at his computer screen, seemingly oblivious to the x-rated show taking place on the other side of his desk.

He glanced up at me. The faintest hint of a smile played across his face. “Hullo, JJ. Did you need something?”

“Burt told me you have a new program for my GPS unit. He said I could just bring you the memory card and you’d swap it out for a new one.”

“Right. Yes, jolly good.”

He reached out to take the memory card and his hand brushed mine. We both froze for a second, our fingers touching, our eyes locked. A jolt of something warm and electric sizzled its way up my arm, and I couldn’t have pulled my hand back if I’d wanted to.

Collin took a breath, and I watched his pupils dilate in those pools of amber light. The room felt very warm.

“Does anyone, like, care if I swap out this bin for a new one?” Green Barbie asked. “There’s, like, something gross and sticky in here.”

Collin swallowed and pulled his hand away from mine.

“Go right ahead.” He turned and placed the old memory card on his desk, then grabbed another one from a little box beside his computer. He cleared his throat before speaking. “Here’s the new card. You know what to do with it?”

“I stick it in my slot, right?”

He quirked an eyebrow at me. “Er, right. That’s it exactly.”

I felt my cheeks heat up as I realized what I said. I had a sudden urge to flee the room.

“Okay, so I’ll see you around, Collin.”

I practically ran from his office, down the hall and to the break room. Burt was already inside, seated at the table and happily munching on something. He dug his hand into a big plastic bag of Bing cherries and shoved one in his mouth.

“The guy from the farmer’s market just brought ‘em in,” he said proudly, popping a cherry into his mouth. “He was gonna dump this whole truckload of stuff, but these looked pretty good to me. Nice and ripe. Still in the bag and everything.”

I watched as he spit the pit into his palm and stuffed it in his pocket before flicking something black off another cherry and popping it in his mouth. A swarm of fruit flies hovered hesitantly around the bag, clearly contemplating the hygiene implications of eating food from the dump.

Burt scooped up another fistful.

“Want one?” he offered, giving the bag a little shake.

“Um, no. Thank you,” I said, eyeing the fruit flies. I looked down at the Tupperware container I’d just rinsed out. “Actually, would you mind if I grabbed one of those fruit flies from you?”

“Sure, sure, help yourself,” he said, holding out the bag, not the least bit alarmed by my request.

It took a few tries, but pretty soon I had a particularly large specimen humming around in my Tupperware. I added smushed cherry, just to keep him occupied, and then poked a few tiny holes in the lid. I admired my handiwork as I headed for my locker, blushing a little as Pete ogled me again when I walked past his desk.

As soon as my shift was over, I drove down to the police station with the bug flitting around unhappily inside the container.

Petty wasn’t at the front desk when I arrived, but after explaining my situation to the receptionist and displaying the fruit fly, I was escorted back to Officer Frank’s desk.

He perked right up when I handed over the Tupperware. He held it up to the light, turning it from side to side.

“A Rhagoletis indifferens, very nice,” he said, getting out his tweezers and another tiny plastic container filled with cotton. “The Western cherry fruit fly. Very common. Of course, I’ve never found a specimen quite this large.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve gotta know the right people,” I said, dropping into an empty chair in front of the desk. I watched him work for a moment, wondering if he really thought this was the sole reason for my visit. He took out a small vial of some sort of solution and busied himself with preparing the fruit fly.

I watched for as long as I could, but finally couldn’t take it anymore.

“Any suspects in the case of who trashed Pete Wilco’s car?”

Frank glanced up at me. “We’re looking into some things,” he said cautiously.

“Sure, sure. How about the situation with the threatening note and handbag on my doorstep? I’m assuming the cop who came out the other night gave you some sort of briefing about that?”

Frank set down his tweezers and folded his hands on his desk. “We’re pursuing that case as well.”

“Aggressively?”

He sighed. “Miss Shultz, you need to leave the police work to us. If there’s a connection between what happened to Mr. Wilco’s car and those threatening notes – which I highly doubt – we’ll certainly get to the bottom of it.”

“I’m sure you will,” I said, watching him screw the top onto his fruit fly container. “Right after you deal with all the robberies and homicides and other important police work.”

He folded his hands together and gave me a stern look. “Miss Shultz, I can assure you we’re giving the matter our undivided attention. Destruction of personal property is a significant crime, and the threatening note left on your doorstep is certainly a concern to us as well. We’re looking into the matter. But like I keep telling you, it’s not our top priority.”

“So what about the fabric scraps?”

“Fabric scraps?”

“The ones I showed you the other day. The ones that indicate someone is manufacturing fake handbags.”

“Right,” he said, glancing down at his fruit fly. “That’s on the priority list, too.”

“It is?”

“I didn’t say it was very high.”

I sighed. “I had martinis last night with a former colleague who dumped mustard in her co-worker’s fake Chanel tote.”

He frowned. “Do you want to report that as a crime? Because I’ve got to tell you, even in light of the ketchup incident with Mr. Wilco’s car, I’m highly skeptical that there’s a connection with the mustard—”

“That’s not what I’m suggesting. It’s just – I’m thinking if I could find out where the fake Chanel came from, maybe we could uncover a bigger operation. And maybe that could lead us to my sister’s missing intern.”

Officer Frank gave me a tired look. “Tell you what. You let us handle the vandalism and the threatening notes, and you can feel free to investigate the authenticity of your girlfriends’ handbags.”

I gritted my teeth, wondering how tough it would be to yank the arm off my chair and beat him with it.

On the other hand, he
had
just given official permission for me to continue to investigate my counterfeit handbag suspicions. I could tolerate a bit of patronizing.

I stood up and retrieved my empty Tupperware container from his desk. “Thank you, Officer Frank,” I told him, pasting on a smile. “You’ve been very helpful.”

He gave me a puzzled look, probably wondering what I might have mistaken for helpfulness. “Sure, sure, no problem,” he said. “Thanks for the Rhagoletis indifferens, by the way.”

“That’s what all the boys say.”

IT WAS STILL early evening by the time I got home and made a scrumptious shrimp fettuccine for two and set the table while my sister chattered breathlessly about her evening with Adam. It was only 5 p.m., but Lori had closed up shop early and we were both starving for comfort food and the chance to gab about her unexpected reunion with her high school sweetheart.

We wound the pasta sloppily around our fork tines and grabbed salad right out of the bowl, not bothering with the tongs.

“So are you going to see him again?” I asked when she finally paused long enough to sip her wine.

She nodded, looking a little embarrassed. “There’s a band I like playing at Albright Brewery at eight. I’m meeting him there.”

“So do you think it’s serious?”

She shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t know what to think.”

“Trust your heart, Lor.”

She rolled her eyes. “There are several palpitating organs involved here. Tough to know which one’s my heart. Speaking of which, how’s Pete? Or Collin? Or Daniel?”

“Good,” I said primly, averting my eyes as I twirled my fork through the pasta.

“Do you think it’s serious?” she parroted, grinning at me.

“You’re asking me about three different guys. Does that sound serious to you?”

She laughed and reached over to refill our wine glasses. “For you, that’s practically an engagement. So which one do you like best?”

I forked the pasta into my mouth, giving it some thought while I chewed. “Collin is smart and sexy and mysterious and we have this really crazy head-butting chemistry. When he’s not accusing me of being a spy, that is. Pete is gorgeous and sweet and has this whole warrior/protector thing going on. Really hot, when he’s not lying to me about having a girlfriend. And Daniel is successful and charming and an amazing kisser. Totally great, when he’s not forgetting to mention that the company policy on co-worker dating has changed.”

“So jump them all,” Lori suggested, spearing a shrimp and reaching down to feed Blue Cat.

“Thanks, Lori. It seems wise for me to take romantic advice from a woman who just fell into bed with the man she’s been wishing dead for seven years.”

Lori began shoveling bits of sundried tomato around her plate, not looking particularly offended.

“Did I tell you I went back to see Officer Frank today?”

“Oh?”

“I told him the latest on the handbag stuff.”

“Which isn’t much.”

“Nope. But he didn’t seem to mind if we keep investigating things on our own. That seemed like a plus.”

I stood up to grab more bread and had just made it to the kitchen when my phone rang. I peered around the corner to see Lori glance at the caller ID.

“Who’s Gretchen McVeigh?” she called.

“Mindy’s co-worker with the fake Chanel, remember?” I hustled over to grab the phone. “I left her a message this afternoon.”

Lori went back to eating while I flipped the phone open, balancing a loaf of French bread in my other hand.

“Hey, Gretchen, thanks for getting back to me,” I said, dropping into my friendly PR voice.

“No problem, it’s great to hear from you,” Gretchen replied, breathing heavy in my ear. “I heard you aren’t working for the county anymore.”

“Not exactly. Just took a job with another department.”

“Oh?” she huffed, her breath coming in strange, rhythmic bursts. “Where are you working now?”

“I’m actually with the Department of Solid Waste,” I said, holding the phone away from my ear a little.

“Really?” she panted. “I didn’t know they had a PR department.”

“They don’t. I’m driving heavy equipment.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, punctuated only by her noisy breathing and the occasional grunt. When Gretchen spoke, her voice was winded. “I’m sorry, I’m doing ab crunches right now so I didn’t hear you. It sounded like you said you’re driving heavy equipment.”

“I am. A compactor, actually.”

“Wow,” she said, her breathing suddenly back to normal. “That’s, um – that’s something.”

“It is,” I agreed, bristling a little at the idea of being judged by a woman who carried fake handbags and made social calls during her workout. “So anyway,” I continued, “I wanted to catch up with you in the next week or so, maybe get together for a drink or dinner or something.”

“I can’t do it next week,” she huffed again, her voice fading in and out a little and sounding strained.
Pushups?
Biceps curls?
“I’ll be eliminating.”

“Eliminating?”

“No alcohol, wheat, gluten, meat, dairy, corn, sugar, caffeine, soy, nightshade vegetables—”

“What
can
you have?”

“Carrots,” she grunted. “Seltzer water.”

“I can’t think of a bar that serves that.”

Gretchen huffed a few more times, dropping the phone once. Then the breathing stopped, replaced by a peculiar series of beeps and then the thunk of heavy footsteps.
Treadmill?

“God, I’d love to see you though,” Gretchen panted. “It’s been ages since I went out with friends. I’ve been doing this cleanse that gives me terrible gas, and of course I had that unexpected downtime after my last colonic irrigation, and then there’s the triathlon I’ve been training for. It just seems like I never get out with any of my work friends anymore. But I need to focus on my health, you know?”

“You could, um, have people over,” I suggested, a little disturbed at the thought of a dinner party at Gretchen’s house.

“Can’t. I’ve been doing this feng shui to the whole house, so the place is a disaster. My dining room table is in the bathroom right now, and I’m trying out my bed in the living room.”

“I see,” I said, not particularly wanting to.

“You wouldn’t believe how many bags of stuff I cleared out of my closet last night,” she continued, her breathing growing more labored. “I’m tackling the kitchen next, but I’m
so
not looking forward to cleaning out all those random moldy takeout containers that have been in there since—”

“Mold?” I asked, perking up a little. “You have mold?”

“Of course I have mold,” she panted, her footsteps pounding in the background. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, JJ. I mean, this is the Pacific Northwest—”

“No, that’s not it. It’s just – have you heard about that new deadly mold that’s been going around?”

“Deadly mold?” she gasped. I heard some beeping in the background, and the footsteps suddenly halted. “Are you serious, there’s a deadly mold?”

“Not to worry,” I told her, smiling a little at my own ingenuity. “I know just the person to help you out. Shall I bring him by tomorrow afternoon?”