Borrowing Trouble (20 page)

“Probably not.” But she couldn't say for sure. “We'll be able to figure out more once we know who he is.”

“What if we never find out?” he asked.

“There's a chance we won't. That's where you two come in. This is an important job you're doing, so don't screw it up. I'm going now.”

“Bye, Officer McBride,” Rose said. “See you Monday.”

“Pilot program,” she muttered to herself as she crossed the square. But she had to admit that she kind of liked the idea of working with at-risk kids, especially in a town like this, where there weren't a lot of options for them.

She found Brady in the inn's kitchen, peeling and deveining more shrimp than Sloane had ever seen. Lina and a couple of people she didn't know stood over the sink and counter, trying to keep up with Brady. Still, he did six shrimp to everyone else's one.

“Pick up the pace, people. We've got other stuff to do.” Surprisingly, he came around the counter and laid his lips on her. “Don't want to touch you . . . shrimp hands.”

“You need help?”

“Nah. That's what I pay these lug-heads for. Your hair looks nice.”

“Thanks. Darla's crazy busy.”

“Yeah, Sam just went over and Maddy just came back. It pays to be a guy.”

At the moment he had a folded bandana tied around his forehead, keeping his hair out of his face. The sleeves of his chef's jacket were scrunched up to his elbows. Sloane thought it was a good look. Between the headband and the tattoos he looked a wee bit disreputable.

“I guess I'll see you tonight then,” she said.

“I'm not even planning to go home first.” He glanced around the kitchen, which looked like a bomb had gone off. A pile of vegetables, which Sloane assumed was for a crudité platter, sat in a tray of ice. Serving dishes lined one of the counters and sheets of mini toasts had been stacked on vertical cooling racks.

“Good luck,” she said, flashing him a commiserating smile.

“See you later.” He went back to peeling shrimp.

On her way out she bumped into Andy.

“You coming tonight?” he asked her.

“I am.”

“I'm working it,” he said, and bobbed his chin at her. “But maybe you and I can have a drink.”

The kid was barely legal, but she didn't want to hurt his feelings. “We'll see, Andy.”

“I tried to get Jake to hire my band, but he's doing a play list from an iPod. Cheesy.”

“You ever hear Tater's band? What were they like?”

“Gold Country was before my time. But Tater's a legend. He used to sit in with freakin' Willie Nelson.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. I'll probably have him jam with my band one of these days.”

From everything she'd heard about Andy's band, Sloane doubted Tater would be interested. “I'll see you tonight, Andy.”

She had her hand on the door when he said, “Some guy called here the other day, wanting to know how to get in touch with you. He said he'd heard you were staying here, which I thought was weird 'cause you'd only stayed that one time.”

Sloane slowly turned around. “Did you get a name?”

“I can't remember whether I even asked.”

“What did you tell him about me?” Sloane had a bad feeling.

“That he should call the police station. You didn't want me to tell him where you lived or anything, right? I mean it's not like he couldn't figure it out in this town but—”

“You did good, Andy. Don't ever tell anyone where I live.”

“T
hat was one hell of a wedding.” Griff in rested his elbows inside Tawny's truck window while he filled her tank.

“I'm still recovering,” she said. “The last guests left Sunday after the big breakfast, and we drove Jake and Cecilia to Reno to catch their plane.”

“Hawaii, huh?” Since coming into his money Griff had gone to the Big Island and spent some time on Maui. Beautiful place.

“Cecilia had never been and was dying to go.”

“They'll have a great time. Ordinarily, it would've gotten them out of the snow.” Griffin gazed out over the horizon at the mountains. Usually, the peaks looked like vanilla ice-cream cones. Now, not so much.

“It'll still be warmer.” Tawny tugged her coat tighter and Griffin felt guilty for talking her ear off with the window open.

The gas nozzle clicked. He hung up the hose and screwed on her gas cap. “You're all set.” He tapped on her roof and waved goodbye.

It really had been one hell of a wedding. The booze flowed like the Feather River, the food was about as gourmet as it got without being too fussy, and watching Lina work in a tight black skirt and fitted white blouse . . . well, that had been a nice extra.

All the servers had worn black and white, but none had worn it as well as Lina. For her part she'd pretty much ignored him. To be fair, she'd had a job to do and didn't have time to hang around, flirting with him all night. It was mystifying how much she'd changed. How responsible she'd gotten and how immune to him she'd become. It was like he was nothing but an old flame.

He got out of the cold and holed up in his office for a while doing paperwork. When he came back down about an hour later to grab a hot dog from the convenience store, a guy with a Lexus SUV asked him about getting an oil change.

“You want it done now or can you pick it up tomorrow?” Griffin asked.

“I put it on craigslist a few hours ago and have a couple of people coming to look at it first thing in the morning. Any way you can do it now?”

“Let me check.” Griff gave the Lexus a once-over. It was a 2013. Sweet ride. He talked to Rico and motioned for the guy to pull it into the last bay on the right.

“I'll handle it, boss.”

“Nah, I've got this one,” Griffin told Rico. He wanted to get his head under the hood.

The owner climbed out of the driver's seat. Griffin got in and pulled it onto the ramps while Rico took over a brake job in the bay next to him. “You the original owner?”

“Yeah. I just bought the NX hybrid, figured I'd save on gas. My wife has an Outback. So what do I need with this?”

“Out of curiosity, how much you asking for it?” Griff checked the odometer. The guy must just drive it to church and back.

He rattled off a number that seemed more than fair to Griffin.

“It drives well?” Griffin flipped on the hydraulic lift, put on a pair of gloves, and slipped a drip pan underneath the vehicle.

“Drives great, especially in the snow. Be nice to get some, huh?”

“This drought is killing California.” With a socket wrench Griff loosened the drain plug, then unscrewed it with his hand, letting the oil spill out.

“Man, don't I know it. This drought is killing my business. A couple of guys and I own a ski resort in Glory Junction. The place is deader than the off-season.”

“Why'd you come all the way to Nugget for an oil change?” Hell, it was a thirty-minute drive.

“The truth. I don't trust my cars with the mechanic over there. I usually go to Tahoe, but someone told me you guys were fantastic—and cheaper.”

“Nice to hear. I'm the owner, so I really appreciate that. We also build custom motorcycles.” It sounded like the dude and his friends had money if they owned a ski resort. Good to get the word out.

“Yeah? What kind of stuff?”

“Something along the lines of a Ducati. But we can build anything.” He mopped the underside of the Lexus with a rag and replaced the drain plug.

“Hmm. I don't ride, but I know a couple of guys who have BMWs and may be looking to trade up. I'll let 'em know.”

“I appreciate that.” Griffin moved the pan and started replacing the oil filter.

“Hey, it's not easy making a living up here. I used to work in venture capital in Silicon Valley. Jeez, the money that poured through there. Kind of made you sick.”

Griffin hadn't exactly earned his from hard labor either. Being half Wigluk Indian he was entitled to a huge draw of the tribe's profits, including money from one of the largest gaming casinos in the country.

He sealed everything up and lowered the vehicle, wiping his hands on a towel. While he added the oil, he checked the engine, transmission, and the brake lines. Everything looked clean as a whistle. Even the tires looked brand-new.

“You take care of this baby, don't you?”

“I take care of all my vehicles. They'll run forever that way. But what the hell am I telling you that for?”

Griff cracked a grin. “It should drive cleaner now.”

“I doubt the average Joe will feel the difference, but it's like leaving the new owner a clean house. Pride of ownership and all that.”

“You mind if I take it for a quick spin?”

“Not at all. If you hear or feel something that's off, let me know. I'm sure whoever is interested in buying it will get it checked out by a mechanic first.”

“More than likely.” Griffin got inside and backed the SUV out of the bay.

For the next fifteen minutes he drove it around Nugget, even took it out on the highway, testing the heater, AC, stereo, GPS, windows, and wipers. The first thing to go in these babies was usually the electrical system. But everything worked like a dream. And the ride was smooth—good suspension. Griffin suspected that by the time he returned to the Gas and Go, the Lexus's owner feared that he'd run off with the truck.

Parking it beside the convenience store, Griffin jumped out. “You want cash or a check?”

The man jerked in surprise. “You want to buy it?”

“Minus the price of the oil change, I do. If you want cash, we'll have to go to the bank.”

“Cash would be good.”

“You drive.” Griffin tossed him the fob.

Two hours later, Griff returned in his new Lexus to the Gas and Go. After making the money exchange, signing the pink slip, and registering the paperwork with the DMV, Griffin had taken the former owner home and stopped off to grab a sandwich. He'd never gotten that hot dog.

Now he desperately needed coffee. Inside the convenience store he filled a cup and leaned against the counter while Rico rung up a woman for a smog check.

After she left, he cocked his head at the window and said, “What do you think of my new Lexus?”

“What do you need this car for, boss? You already have a Range Rover, a Ducati, and too many other motorcycles to count.”

“It was a good deal.”

Rico rolled his eyes. “It was exactly what the Kelley Blue Book said it was worth.”

“You don't find vehicles in mint condition every day.”

“You're full of crap, man. I know exactly what you're planning to do with it. Let Lina get her own car.”

Griff followed his mechanic into the garage. “What's your problem with Lina?”

“I have no problem with her. Love her like a sister. But you're hot and cold when it comes to the girl.
She's too young
,” Rico mimicked. “
I love her so much
. Make up your mind. But if you think she's too young, don't go leading her on by giving her a luxury car. It's douchey.”

“She's got a birthday coming up.” Griffin shrugged. “Besides, you weren't there when I had to tell her the Scout was dead. She cried.”

“Dude, you're pathetic, and Lina's not a charity case.”

Griffin pinched the bridge of his nose and walked away. “Do me a favor, Rico? Mind your own business.”

 

Darla gave Rose the works. An adorable layered cut that flattered her face and made her look lighter. She even added highlights.

“Not too many,” Sloane said.

The girl was only fifteen and should stay as natural as possible. At least that was Sloane's philosophy. Working in LA, she'd seen girls as young as sixteen getting boob jobs, nose jobs, even liposuction. Television, magazines, and advertisements had given girls such an unrealistic view of beauty that it made Sloane sick.

Working out, eating right—not that she wasn't prone to stuffing her face with junk food now and again—and making the best of what you were born with was the ticket to true beauty.

And for all of Darla's tacky plastic jewelry and outlandish hair colors, she knew how to play up a person's natural features. To accentuate Rose's beautiful brown eyes, Darla shaped her brows, giving them a wonderful arch. Afterward, Rose got a facial and a bag of cleansing products and instructions on how to use them.

“The key,” Darla said, “is keeping your pores open and clean. Nothing is more attractive than healthy skin.”

Harlee watched the whole process, regaling Rose with stories about her youth. How she'd had frizzy hair, a unibrow, and a mustache. No one looking at Harlee now would believe it, which had gone a long way toward perking up Rose's confidence.

Sloane could tell that the new hairstyle and Darla and Harlee's easy way with Rose had helped her come out of her shell. In just the short time she'd worked at the police department, Sloane had seen a difference in the teen. She was more self-assured. In less than a week, she'd be going back to school, and Sloane hoped that Taylor and her posse would leave Rose alone. It would also help if Rose's mother took a little more interest in her daughter.

Early that morning, Sloane had picked Rose up at her house with the express purpose of meeting Mrs. Jones and getting her permission for the makeover. In a raspy smoker's voice, Mrs. Jones had said, “As long as it doesn't cost me anything,” and promptly got in her car and drove away. Well, the makeover hadn't cost anyone a cent because Darla did it pro bono. Sloane had insisted on at least paying for the products.

Harlee, who couldn't seem to resist a project, threw a couple of extras in the bag. “You look awesome, Rose.”

Rose stared at her reflection in the mirror and Sloane could tell that she liked what she saw. They went back to the police station, where Connie, Jake, and Rhys made a big fuss.

“You at least look like a girl now,” Simpson said, and Sloane wanted to beat him over the head with a billy club.

She'd give the kid credit, though. He'd thrown himself into the John Doe project like a mathematician with a problem to solve. Today he'd ridden over on his bike right after school and begun where he'd left off on Sunday. She'd come back from a call to find him hunkered over a list of missing persons reports, adding new names to the dry-erase board.

Rose didn't seem to mind the rude jibe. The two kids appeared to have a nice camaraderie. Sloane didn't think they were boyfriend and girlfriend, just two people who had the sad commonality of being teenage outcasts.

A horn honked outside and Rose gathered up her things, including Darla's goodie bag. “That's Skeeter. I've gotta go.” She ran out the door, calling, “See you tomorrow.”

“Don't you have homework to do, Simpson?” Sloane asked.

Simpson hitched his shoulders. “When do we start calling these people's families?” He nudged his head at the board, where there were at least fifteen missing persons listed.

“I'll start first thing tomorrow morning.” All she wanted to do now was go home and take a nap.

The weekend, between the wedding and working, had worn her out. Not to mention that she'd spent much of it on high alert. Ever since Andy had told her that someone had called the Lumber Baron looking for her, she'd been a nervous wreck. She'd wanted to tell Brady, but he'd been so busy with catering Jake and Cecilia's three-day event, including a breakfast on Sunday, that she hadn't felt right about it. She should've told Rhys. But he would've demanded that they go to LAPD, and that was the last thing she needed.

For all she knew it was a friend from LA or even someone from Chicago. Still, her cop sense told her the call was suspect and that she needed to watch her back.

“I'll be at school in the morning,” Simpson said, sounding disappointed.

“We'll have a briefing as soon as you come in. In the meantime, you should really go home, Simpson, and start your homework.”

“Okay.” He grabbed his jacket and bike helmet. “Rudy Mendoza, this kid who goes to school with Rose and me, wants to help too. Can he?”

“Um, sure.” But they were getting down to the last of their missing persons.

She thought about Rhys's idea that they wash police rigs. Kids were pretty smart. They'd know that was just grunt work. The John Doe case made them feel like they were doing something important. She'd have to come up with some other tasks they could work on that would seem significant, like a real contribution.

After Simpson left, Sloane decided to cut out too. At home she found Brady on the porch, leaning back in his rocker, reading a book. It was a Jack Reacher novel. She loved those.

“You recovering?” She climbed the stairs.

“Yeah. Long weekend, huh?”

“I didn't get to thank you for the roses. They're beautiful. I have a present for you too.”

“Not much of a Valentine's Day.”

“I wouldn't say that. The food was amazing. Those shrimp skewers. . . I ate at least ten. And those pastry cup things and the plum tomatoes filled with ceviche . . . oh my God. It makes me want to have a party just so I can hire you as the caterer.”