Pint of No Return Read online

  Trinidad was still trying to think of what to say when the chief strode back to her car. Ambulance attendants loaded Quinn on a stretcher. She hurried over and gave his hand a squeeze.

  “I’ll be fine,” he said. “The doctors will x-ray my pea brain to be sure it isn’t cracked or something.” Lines bracketed his mouth.

  “I’m sorry this happened, Quinn. I feel so guilty. I should have gone with you to the photo shop.”

  “Not your fault. I can’t believe I lost the photos right here in Sprocket.” Defeat crept across his face. “I’m no good at the cloak and dagger stuff or most anything, for that matter, except growing nuts and fixing engines.” He sighed.

  “This is not your fault.” She looked around at the bystanders trying not to outright stare as the chief talked to each one of them: Warren, Cora, Vince, Candy.

  And what about the others who had been around only a moment or two before? Tanya, perhaps Sonny packing up his paints, all of the outwardly friendly Sprocketerians. Any of them would have had the opportunity to hit Quinn with the rock and make off with the pictures.

  She forced a smile and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead. “Don’t worry about that right now. I will come to the hospital as soon as I pack up the truck.”

  “Actually, I know it’s a lot to ask, but would you please go to the farm and check on Doug? Tell him I’ll be home as soon as I can. He might be, er, upset so maybe play down the whole injury thing, okay? I mean, tell him the truth, I never lie to him, but…he may be fearful when he hears I got hurt. I’m sorry to ask, but…”

  “Of course I will, and, if you have to be admitted overnight, I’ll stay with him.”

  His blue eyes widened. “You would do that?”

  “Yes, I would.” She felt her cheeks begin to glow. “I’m just trying to live up to the townsfolk. Somebody told me that people in Sprocket are good sorts.”

  “So they are, except for the one who hit me with a rock.” He blew out a relieved breath. “Thank you, Trinidad. I’m really sorry I lost the photos.” His voice broke as if he might cry.

  She squeezed his hand to reassure him. “Like I said, it’s not your fault. Did you…I mean, did you happen to take a peek at them?”

  His face crumpled. “All I did was glance to be sure they were photos of the storage unit. I figured it would be better if we went through them together.”

  “Do you remember anything in the photos? Anything at all?”

  He closed his eyes for a moment. “Boxes, blankets, some stacked papers, some pots, an old fishbowl, it looked like.” His eyes opened again. “Sorry, but nothing much else I can recall.”

  “It’s okay. You didn’t know you were going to be attacked for them. How could you? Did you tell anyone where you were headed?”

  “No. No one.” Quinn was loaded onto the ambulance. He waved a tired hand in farewell.

  Trinidad waved back, fighting tears.

  Papa Luis watched the police car and the ambulance roll away. “So, Sprocket is a nice safe town, huh?” He shook his head.

  She wanted to answer, but her throat felt clogged with tears. Papa wrapped his arm around her shoulder and held on. “We will sort it out, whatever needs sorting.”

  She was grateful for the words, even if she had no idea how they would actually come to pass.

  Somehow, they limped through the rest of the event. Candy locked up the house and got into her car without a word to the ice cream team. Trinidad took that as a dismissal. All that remained was to clean up the shrapnel and get back to break the news of Quinn’s injury to Doug. She wondered how he would take it.

  ***

  She parked Papa in a folding chair in the shade with some ice cream while she and the boys packed up. Noodles sat at his feet, mouthing a dog treat.

  Carlos and Diego were electric with excitement. “Oh, man. This is insane. So, like, someone attacked Quinn to get their hands on some photos?” Carlos said.

  Her mind felt like curdled milk. “Guys, how about we just clean up here and hold off on the detecting for a bit. I need to focus.” Her hands trembled as she grabbed a roll of paper towels. Her mind kept replaying the horror: Quinn could have been killed, his skull cracked open.

  Somehow, she managed to do the job. The twins helped her wash the utensils and wipe down the stainless steel counter until it shone.

  Task finished, the questions remained. Who had known that Quinn was planning to pick up the photos in the first place? She hadn’t told anyone, and neither had Quinn. She was sure Stan hadn’t, either. The shadow outside Stan’s office replayed in her mind. Whoever it was had overheard and decided they had to prevent anyone from seeing those pictures.

  Why?

  Obviously, it all went back to Edward Lupin and his phantom treasure.

  She realized the boys were both standing there, waiting to be taken back home. Her gaze drifted to her grandfather.

  “Tell you what, boys. How would you like to take a ride in a classic Chevy Bel Air?”

  Her suggestion was met with enthusiastic whoops. Papa would love to show off his car, and it would give her time to check in on Doug.

  Papa Luis greeted her idea with his usual geniality. “Of course. I’ll demonstrate to them all the features of a truly fine automobile.”

  She kissed him. “I’ll meet you back at the shop, okay? There’s a great coffee place across the street where you can wait for me. Ask them to make you the strongest cup they can muster along with a banana square. You’ll love them.”

  Noodles rejoined her in his co-pilot’s position in Quinn’s truck. As she drove away, she saw, in the rearview mirror, her grandfather greeting each boy with a formal handshake and a nod of his dark-crowned head.

  Her thoughts still ricocheted like kernels in a popcorn machine. Some detail from the day poked at her, but she could not focus her thoughts to retrieve it. Visions of treasure, masked attackers, and poor Quinn rolled around her brain. And now, a friendly Cuban gentleman had joined the mental procession. Her frazzled nerves refused to settle.

  Close to the farm, her cell phone rang, and she pulled over to answer it.

  “I’m here at the hospital,” Stan said. “Quinn called, and I came over immediately. He filled me in just before the chief rang. She was…displeased. My ears are still throbbing.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Nothing to apologize for, but I’m afraid we can’t count on much of a spirit of cooperation from her until she cools down. Quinn said to tell you he is done with the scan and expected to be released in a couple of hours. He asked about Doug.”

  “I’m on my way there now.”

  “I will tell him before I get going.”

  “My grandpa is in town, Stan. He might be showing up at your shop later.”

  “I will be honored to meet him.” He paused. “Trinidad, someone is feeling threatened by our inquiries. Be careful. Very careful.”

  She felt a thrill of fear. “I will, Stan. You, too.”

  A few minutes later, she was entering the office at Logan’s Nut Farm. Doug was standing behind the counter, tinkering with the tiny internal components of some sort of machine.

  “Hi, Doug.”

  He gave a slight nod, eyes on Noodles who wagged his tail.

  She told him, as gently as she could, that Quinn had had a minor accident, a bump to the head. “He’s in the hospital, just for a short while longer.”

  The word hospital landed like a bomb. Doug backed away from the counter and began to rock back and forth, a pained keening coming from somewhere deep in his throat. She moved forward, hands out to comfort him, but that only increased his agitation.

  Unsure, she backed away a few steps.

  “It’s going to be okay,” she reassured. “He will be home soon, in a couple of hours, most likely.” Her words did not soothe him, and her proximity seemed t
o further his agitation. He started to pound his thighs with his fists. She struggled to think what to try next. Noodles edged past her, hustled to Doug and rose up on his rear legs, his old front paws scrabbling gently at Doug’s stomach.

  “Noodles, don’t…”

  Doug’s noises grew louder, and he tried to shove the dog away. “Down, Noodles,” she said, reaching for his collar. Noodles ignored her. He kept pawing, ignoring Doug’s attempts to push him.

  She was just about to snag the dog when, suddenly, Doug dropped to his knees, and his arms went around Noodles. Trinidad froze. They stayed there, and Doug’s moans grew softer and his body stilled. He buried his face in the thick fur of Noodles’s back, and the dog licked his neck.

  Breath held, she waited. The waves of Doug’s agitation seemed to calm into gentler ripples. After several long moments, he rubbed his cheek on Noodles’s graying head. The dog licked Doug under the chin and poked his nose into Doug’s ear. She watched in awe. Some part of Noodles’s training she hadn’t even known about kicked in, and the dog had gotten between Doug and whatever fears were tormenting him. Doug’s breathing slowed and his rocking stilled. They sat together on the floor until Doug went fully calm again, the agitation gone.

  She stayed motionless, unwilling to break the tranquility. She was afraid to upset him again, afraid to ask him to come with her. Should she stay at the farm or try and get him to leave with her? After a while, she ventured a suggestion. “Doug, would you like to stay at the Shimmy and Shake Shop with me until Quinn comes? I could use some help with the machines.”

  For a while, he did not respond. The seconds ticked by. Without a word, he got up and left the office with Noodles trotting next to him. They both climbed into Quinn’s front seat, waiting.

  He seemed okay, in control, the storm of emotion passed. Noodles wagged his tail and lounged against Doug’s leg. Doug kept his fingers twined in the dog’s hair.

  Starting the engine, Trinidad guided the truck off of the farm property, her own senses buzzing. She was not even sure what she had witnessed between Noodles and Doug, but she knew it was a powerful moment. The silent conversation between her dog and Quinn’s brother had spoken louder than any human voice.

  Heaving out a breath, she thanked God for Noodles, her angel in a fur coat.

  ***

  Back at the store, she found her grandfather pulling up in his Chevy. “I stayed to chat with the Martins. Wonderful family.” He beamed, offering his palm to Doug and introducing himself. Doug looked at his feet and ignored Papa’s outstretched palm.

  “He doesn’t shake hands, Papa. This is Doug, Quinn’s brother. He’s going to stay here and help until Quinn comes.” She avoided using the word “hospital.”

  Papa smiled broadly, and the three humans and one dog let themselves into the shop. She felt a surge of pride when she showed Papa the various machines and sparkling clean counters.

  “A marvel of a place,” he said, taking it all in. “When did you say we open?”

  The “we” gave her a bit of a start. “On the Fourth of July.”

  “Excellent,” he said. “I will be settled in by then. Refreshed and ready to report for duty. These machines are fancy, but the basics are the same.”

  “Um, Papa, how long were you planning to stay?” And where?

  “I am at your disposal for the whole summer,” he said grandly.

  The whole summer?

  “Your mother will be gone another three weeks, and then Frida will stay with her. Your mother will be in good hands, and I’ve hired Len, the fishmonger, to care for my greenhouse on the weekends. He’s very generous with his time, you know. Very good man.”

  He moved around her, peering into the refrigerator and freezer before he checked the whimsical name tags for the ice cream tubs. Two still had yet to be filled. “You know what you need, Trina?” His brown eyes sparkled. “A taste of the Cuba. Our mango and cream, remember? That would be just the thing.” He admired the antique ice cream machine she’d set up for display in the front window. “Fine workmanship. A treasure.”

  Doug examined the shake machine, his reflection mirrored in the immaculate stainless steel.

  “I think we have a man with an eye for machinery here,” Papa said.

  “Me too.”

  Her grandfather had been an electrical engineer who had kept things humming in the rumbling Cuban sugar mills. Papa appreciated efficiency, clean design, and someone who exhibited lively curiosity akin to his own.

  Papa yawned, glancing out the front window as a taxi rolled up. Quinn got out, and Trinidad met him at the door with a gentle hug. “Are you okay? You didn’t have to get a cab. I would have come and gotten you.”

  “I’ve caused enough fuss already.” Quinn pumped Papa Luis’s hand as she introduced them. “Good to see you again, sir. This time while I’m upright.”

  “Please call me Luis.” His look went sly. “I understand you were doing a favor for my granddaughter when you were knocked down.”

  “Yes, sir,” Quinn said. Doug straightened from his perusal of the shake machine. Quinn moved to him. When he was a few feet away, he held out his hand, and Doug clasped Quinn’s fingers tightly between his palms. Quinn covered their joined hands with his free one. It was oddly touching, the formal gesture, which held such deep feeling.

  “I’m A-OK,” Quinn said softly. “Are you?”

  Doug nodded. His mouth twitched with some unspoken emotion before he let go.

  “Thank you, thank you both for keeping Doug company.” Quinn reached down to give Noodles an ear rub. “I’d better get us home.”

  “I’ll drive you,” Trinidad said. “You shouldn’t be behind the wheel with a head injury.”

  “That’s what the doctor said, too. I guess I should take you up on your offer. Stan said he and Meg would return my truck to the farm tonight.”

  “We’ll take the Pinto, then.” She turned to Papa with the question that had been bubbling inside her since she’d clapped eyes on him. He was still studying Quinn carefully.

  “Papa, um, there’s no hotel in town, but there are a few nice ones in Josef, about thirty minutes from here.”

  He waved her off. “Hotels are for travelers like your mother. I’m not so fancy. Your house will be fine.”

  “But, I, uh, it’s small—tiny, in fact. I’m not sure…”

  He smiled. “Not to worry at all, my girl. I require only a very compact space, a chair or sofa in a far corner. Point me the way. I will drive over and fix us something to eat right after I get some coffee at the shop across the street.”

  That seemed to be all there was to it. All she could think to do was give him directions to her miniscule house.

  “I will see you there. Goodnight.”

  Quinn pulled the shop door closed. Trinidad’s fingers fumbled with the keys before she got it locked up.

  “Something tells me you didn’t expect to have a houseguest,” he said.

  “No, I sure didn’t. Two adults and a dog in a 200-square-foot tiny house with a store to open, Juliette in jail, and a killer clobbering you and swiping the photos. What else could possibly happen?”

  She felt just the barest sliver of fear as she uttered the words. Stan’s sober warning rose in her mind again.

  “Someone is feeling threatened…be careful. Very careful.”

  If the attacker was desperate enough to risk clobbering Quinn at a crowded location in broad daylight…what would they do next?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Papa arrived at the little house a half hour after Trinidad returned, having lingered to get to know everyone at the coffee shop. He did his best to hide his surprise as he took in the features of the wee house from the loft bed to the miniscule kitchen counter. “Here,” he said, settling his bag on what passed for a sofa. “The perfect bed for me.”

  “You are not s
leeping on the sofa,” she said firmly. “The big bed is in the loft.”

  “Where you will sleep,” he replied resolutely. “I will not take my granddaughter’s bed from her under pain of death. Besides, that ladder is much too steep for a man my age.”

  A man who recently drove two thousand miles and hauled bags of potting soil around his greenhouse with ease. “Papa…”

  He was already headed to the kitchen. “I will fix us an omelette.”

  She sank into the chair and let him work.

  “So, this man Quinn,” Papa said as he whisked eggs. “He lives here in town?”

  “Yes. He farms hazelnuts.”

  “Ah. A landowner. That is an advantage over Len but also a deficit. Farming is not the life for you, Trinidad. Much too hard and never any rest.”

  She straightened. “Papa, don’t get any ideas about matchmaking. Quinn is just a friend. When, and if, it comes time to find another husband, I’ll do it myself.”

  He didn’t reply, but the lift in his bushy eyebrow was enough. It said, “Like Gabe?”

  Papa Luis had voiced his reservations about the exuberant Gabe. “I don’t trust a man who likes to talk about himself instead of letting others boast about him,” he’d said. “And he knows nothing about cars or plants or cooking or baseball. What is there left to talk about?” Gabe was one of the few humans on the planet that Papa Luis did not like. That should have blared a warning klaxon in her ears right there.

  While Papa turned to his eggs, she flopped back on the cushion and tried to refocus on the case. On Juliette. She would go and talk to her again. Maybe something had jogged her memory, something she’d seen in the storage unit. She also had to ask her to add Vince to her caller list. How could she possibly break the news that they’d lost possession of the photos?

  Papa interrupted her thoughts by sliding two plates full of eggy fluff on the table. Dragging herself to her feet, she sat across from him. The meal was delicious, and having him there, chattering about things he’d seen in his cross-country drive, fed her spirit. They talked, laughed, and reminisced until her body sagged. A shower and jammies, an extra blanket for Papa and a biscuit for Noodles was all she could manage before she hauled herself to the loft and slunk into bed.