Chapter 16
Kaylee
I drag my lounge chair into a position where I can observe both Mrs. Richie Rich—who’s still sulking inside her tent—as well as the VW Bus Gang. Yellow Galoshes is nowhere in sight, but I’ll keep my eyes peeled for her as well. Liz climbs onto the chair and sits on my feet, keeping them warm and toasty.
The VW bus family keeps me entertained. Both kids play a game of fetch with the dog while the parents prepare breakfast. Using a camp stove and fry pan, the father fries up bacon and eggs. The delectable aromas drift across the campground, causing my stomach to rumble. If I ever go camping again, I’m going to bring a stove like theirs. A plate of bagels sits on the table, and the mom hauls out what looks like cream cheese from a small cooler. Within minutes, they’re all sitting at the picnic table chowing down on the food .
Because I’m nosy, I use my phone and zoom in on their beverage cups. What?! They’re drinking tea? The little paper square at the end of a string is a sure giveaway. My coffee-lover’s heart does a nosedive. Don’t they know that life without espresso is depresso?
“Good morning!” a male voice shouts, making me jump. The old man and the basset hound amble by. I was so focused on the family, I didn’t see him coming. Liz yaps at his dog, who responds with one gruff bark.
“Great day for a walk!” I reply, giving the man a jaunty wave. I’m relieved when he meets up with Yellow Galoshes and they make their way slowly around the loop, so I can keep an eye on her too.
Every now and then, Yellow Galoshes picks up a rock, but she mostly flirts with the old man. They’d make a cute couple. Despite my matchmaking thoughts, I’m getting a bad vibe from Yellow Galoshes. Is she flirting and picking up rocks to throw me off the scent ?
A half hour later, I’m tired and can barely keep my eyes open. This surveillance stuff is as boring as watching a drip coffee maker!
When Yellow Galoshes ditches the old man and heads for the vending machines, I see my opening. Despite Luke’s warning to stay at my campsite, I grab Liz’s leash, and dash over to the snack hut. Now’s my chance to test out my interrogation skills!
The suspect is standing in front of one of the vending machines. I casually walk up to the other machine and pretend to be debating between candy bar options. “There are so many choices! Snickers and Baby Ruths are tasty, but where’s the Kit Kat bars?” I stare at the woman—this is my first time seeing her up close. Her short hair and rigid posture make me wonder what her background is.
She glances sideways at me. “Personally, I’m in the mood for crisps.”
The British accent and reference to potato chips as crisps throws me off, and my senses go on high alert. Don’t they always have a British spy out for no good in the Mission: Impossible movies? This may be our gal!
“Are you looking for parsley flavored chips?” I emphasize the word parsley while carefully watching her expression.
Swiveling to face me with a bemused expression, she asks, “Are there parsley flavored crisps? I’ve never heard of them.”
“Yes, Alpine Snacks makes a version that’s delicious!” I thought dropping the terms parsley and alpine would garner some type of reaction. A quickly drawn-in breath...A widening of the eyes...Something.
Instead, she stares at me with a blank expression. If she’s ever heard of alpine-parsley, her face sure doesn’t show it. She’s either a great poker player or she’s never heard of the rare plant. Dang! Maybe I should have waited and let Luke show me the ropes for how to do an effective interrogation, because I’m not getting anywhere.
“Well, good luck finding that candy bar!” she trills, then strolls off—without making a purchase .
That seals the deal. I’m keeping her on the suspect list. No one goes to the snack machine and leaves empty handed. I pop my money in the slot and select a Snickers then head back to camp to add notes about Yellow Galoshes to my document.
~*~
It’s been a couple hours, and I wonder how Luke’s surveillance is going. He’s so much better at this than I am. Maybe he caught Mr. Richie Rich in the act. Is Luke going to return to camp victorious, turn the evidence in at the park service, and head back to California? That will end my stint as a secret agent, along with any possibility of a relationship with the hunky mountain man. My heart sinks, and I shove away my Debbie Downer thoughts.
A park ranger speed-walks past as if he’s got somewhere important to go. When he zooms past the old man—who’s out walking again, though sans Yellow Galoshes—the basset hound barks at the ranger, as if telling him to slow down. Did the ranger catch Mr. Richie Rich poaching plants? But if that’s the case, where’s Mr. Richie Rich and where’s Luke?
My anxiety ratchets up, and every few minutes my eyes swivel in the direction where Luke disappeared earlier. I try to entertain myself by going through the suspect list again, adding my observations about the old man. Does his dog need that much exercise or is he always out walking because he’s on a surveillance mission himself? Maybe he and Yellow Galoshes are a team sent here by the alpine-parsley gang to distract Luke and create a diversion so the gang can poach plants right under our nose.
Concern for my partner escalates as I form additional theories, documenting them in my spreadsheet. Should I go after Luke? I promised him I’d stay here but what if he’s injured or hurt?
“Liz, what do you think? Should we go find Luke?”
My dog’s ears swivel when she hears her name. She leaps up and nudges her cold nose into my hand, hoping for a treat and not expressing her opinion about tracking down our partner. I start to sweat as my internal debate rages on.
Go after Luke. . . Stay here in camp. . . Go after Luke. . . Stay here in camp. . .
About fifteen minutes later, just when I’m collecting Liz’s leash and preparing to go after Luke, my partner walks up looking safe and sound, and my shoulders sag in relief.
“Did you find anything?” I ask after he’s sitting on the picnic table bench a few feet away from my lounger.
“Yes and no,” he says, leaning forward and resting his chin in his hand.
I rub my hands together. “What did you find?” Excitement tinges my voice at the hope Luke had better success than I did.
“Here’s what happened. A park ranger stumbled upon my hiding spot while I was spying on Mr. Richie Rich. As a cover up, I pretended to be taking photos for my mom’s podcast. ”
My brows draw together. “I didn’t know your mom has a podcast! What’s it about?”
“Fake podcast,” he clarifies.
“Oh, that’s a shame. I was ready to give it a listen,” I say, just to pull his chain.
He throws me a skeptical look, as if he’s debating whether I meant what I just said. “The point is, the park ranger insisted that I follow him back, so I couldn’t track Mr. Richie Rich anymore.” Luke taps his finger against his chin. “The ranger seemed adamant that I not proceed any further in search of alpine-parsley. He knew what that plant was when I mentioned it, that’s for sure.”
Is the ranger another suspect? Maybe the poacher is with the park service, hiding in plain sight. I make a mental note to add him to the list.
“Let me guess, your cover was that your mom wanted photos of the plant for her podcast. ”
He chuckles. “Exactly! But I almost blew it because I made up such a crazy podcast, then asked the ranger if he wanted to become a follower.”
A laugh rips from my lips. “You did? Oh, my goodness!” Laughing uproariously, I take several beats to recover. Drawing in a breath, I wheeze, “What was the name of the podcast?”
“ Rare Flora and Delightful Brews of the Rocky Mountains,” he says while his lips twitch.
My eyeballs pop open wide enough to fall out of my head. “What if he was a rare plant enthusiast or a coffee aficionado? He might have signed up!”
Peals of laughter spurt from both our throats. We bend over and laugh until tears trickle from the corners of my eyes and my stomach hurts.
Holding up a hand, Luke says, “In my defense, the man was a real jerk, so I pretended to be a nerd and made up the most outrageous podcast I could think of. ”
Shaking my head in amusement, I tease, “The subject does seem rather intriguing. Too bad there isn’t a podcast like that.”
Rolling his eyes, Luke says, “Shouldn’t you be taking notes?”
Sitting up straighter in my chair, I exclaim, “You’re right! Especially since we’ve got another suspect. The park ranger!”
Luke nods. “And I got some good photos of him talking to Mr. Richie Rich.”
My fingers fly over the tiny keyboard as I type notes into our suspect list. “I saw the park ranger a while ago. He was practically sprinting back to his truck.”
“Where was his truck parked?”
“Over by the shower building,” I say, nodding in that direction.
“Now the question is whether the ranger was on to me and tipped off Mr. Richie Rich so he doesn’t attempt a plant delivery today,” Luke says in a frustrated tone .
“Let’s wait and see. I bet the sale is still going down today,” I reply rubbing my hands together with excitement.
Luke snorts. “Listen to yourself! Talking just like a seasoned secret agent,” he jokes.
“Well, not exactly seasoned,” I admit.
Arching an eyebrow, Luke says, “What did you do, Kaylee?”
Blowing out a frustrated breath, I say, “It was an impulsive move.”
His eyes narrow. “And?”
“I interrogated Yellow Galoshes,” I whisper.
“Kaylee! What if she’s the poacher?” Luke takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “How exactly did this interrogation go down?”
My lips tip into a frown. “I followed her to the snack machines and then asked her if she was looking for parsley chips, made by Alpine Snacks. At the time it seemed clever.” When I re-tell it, it sounds ludicrous. No more ludicrous than Luke’s fake podcast, though .
My partner shakes his head. If it weren’t for the glint of amusement in his eyes, I’d be groveling in shame right now. His voice is gentle as he continues. “If Yellow Galoshes is our suspect, you just tipped her off that we know about the alpine-parsley. It would have been better to lead by asking her casually why she’s visiting Rocky Mountain National Park. See if you detect any reservation in how she responds.”
“I blew it, didn’t I?” My lips wobble and my voice cracks knowing I may have ruined our surveillance and any hope of catching the poacher.
“Hey, don’t worry about it.” He waves his hand as if swatting a gnat. “Let’s see how things play out because the Richie Richs are still our prime suspects.”
His reassurance helps me feel marginally better. How is the guy so patient and forgiving? If only he wasn’t headed back to California as soon as we catch the bad guys.