Chapter 18
Kaylee
Oh my! Mrs. Richie Rich is headed to the Coffee Loft. She flounces down the street clutching her designer bag, then enters Mom’s coffee shop. Liz and I duck behind the building and sneak in through the back door.
Violet’s eyes go wide when she sees me. “What are you doing here?” she squeaks.
“Ssh!” I say, putting my index finger over my lips. “I’m tracking a potential criminal.” Quickly texting Luke my position, I tell him to enter through the back door like I did.
“When did you become a detective?” Violet says with a smirk.
“I’ll tell you all about it later,” I say, taking Liz to the break room and filling her bowl with kibbles. She’ll be happy here, and I won’t have to worry about her during the takedown.
Luke appears a few seconds later and Violet’s jaw drops. “Is he the FBI?” she whispers .
“He’s part of a private security firm,” I reply. Peering through the small window in the door between the kitchen and the front of the coffee shop, I ask, “Who’s working out front?”
“Reggie,” Violet says as all three of us huddle by the door. This is Mom’s day off, so that makes sense. I shove down feelings of jealousy for Mom’s new hire.
“The suspect is sitting in a booth drinking one of your mom’s brews. No one else is in the café area right now,” Luke says, observing through the glass. “Maybe she was just craving a good cup of coffee.”
Considering her reaction to the instant coffee her husband served her this morning, Luke could be right. The Coffee Loft has the best brews in town and hundreds of five-star reviews on the website. “So she’s not meeting someone to sell the plants?” I ask, disappointment lacing my voice.
“Let’s watch for a little bit. She could definitely be meeting someone here. The timing seems odd that she came for coffee right after her husband came back from his hike,” Luke says.
About five minutes later, a man strolls across the empty seating area and slides into the seat across from her. “Is that Reggie?” I ask, still peering through the glass.
“Yep, that’s him,” Violet says.
They chat for a few minutes. “Don’t they look cozy? I think they know each other,” I say.
“It certainly doesn’t look like a conversation with someone you just met,” Luke adds.
My replacement and Mrs. Richie Rich laugh and converse like old friends. After she finishes her coffee, she stands, says something to Reggie, and strolls away. The bell jingles on the front door as she exits. Reggie slides onto the bench on the side of the booth where the woman was just sitting.
How odd. Why would he do that?
“I think he’s picking up something from the bench!” I whisper excitedly, although his movements are hidden from view so I can’t be sure. Next, he retrieves the used coffee mug and nonchalantly buses it to the service area. “We need to check his pockets!” I shout/whisper.
“We’re not law enforcement, Kaylee. How do you propose we do that?” Luke asks.
“Call the sheriff while I interrogate Reggie. You’ve given me some great interrogation tips! Plus, he won’t suspect a thing since I’m his employer’s daughter!” I say as I smack the palm of my hand against the door and stroll to the serving bar before Luke can stop me. Shaking my tingling hand, I plaster on a fake smile.
Reggie swivels when he hears the door. I almost trip over my own feet in my excitement over my second interrogation, so I grab my old frenemy, the ficus in the corner, to steady myself.
Luke’s interrogation tips play inside my head. Establish rapport. Ask non-threatening questions.
My replacement looks up at me, a look of surprise in his eyes. He peers around me as if to see where I came from .
Taking a few fortifying breaths, I wave at him and say, “Hi! Are you Reggie, Mom’s new employee?” My eyes scan the shop and thankfully no new customers have walked in to witness this.
His smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes, but he extends his hand and says, “Yes, I’m Reggie. And you are?”
“Nice to meet you! I’m Monica’s daughter Kaylee,” I enthuse as we shake.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” he says, as he slides his hand from the handshake.
“Oh?” I arch an eyebrow. “Like what?”
He nervously clears his throat. “Monica may have mentioned a few things.”
“Right,” I say, knowing that Mom told him I’m a klutz and I break, spill, or destroy everything in my path. Well, then, I played right into his expectations by running into that ficus. In fact, I can see his shoulders relax as he accepts my story.
Observe body language, check. Rapport established !
Sweeping my hand towards the booth he just occupied, I watch for any signs he knows Mrs. Richie Rich as I say, “Looks like you’re doing a great job connecting with customers. I saw you chatting with that woman who just left. Anything to get a tip, right?” I wink at him.
Clang! Crash! Oops! Unfortunately, my hand connects with the metal container holding creamers, sugars, and stir sticks. The container topples over and the tiny packets scatter across the serving bar counter, ruining my interrogation, making me look like a bumbling Barney Fife. Remembering Luke’s advice, I remain calm, trying to hide the fact that I think Reggie’s the mule in this poaching ring.
Reggie hurriedly busies himself retrieving the condiments while not meeting my eye, obviously uncomfortable with the conversation.
Keeping my hands still, I press the topic in an amiable tone, “Did you know her? I can’t say I’ve ever seen her in here before. ”
His hands still. “No, I was just being friendly,” he replies with a nervous hyena-like laugh.
The nervous laughter gives me confidence that I’m on the right track. Reggie is somehow involved with the poachers. But I need to be patient and not reveal my hand too quickly.
Make the suspect feel engaged, but not pressured.
“She sure had expensive taste! That purse would blow my whole paycheck. How do you suppose she afforded that?”
Tugging on his shirt collar, he says, “Maybe she’s a celebrity.”
Leaning towards him, I say in a conspiratorial whisper, “Or maybe she’s a criminal.”
He blanches and his Adam’s apple bobs.
I tap a finger to my chin, hoping to be nonchalant as I adopt an “I’m letting you in on a secret” tone. “You know, the authorities alerted Mom to a criminal ring in the area. You might have just bumped into one of their operatives. Would you be willing to be interviewed by an officer? They would appreciate any observations you can provide.”
A bead of sweat trickles down his forehead and a couple stir sticks skitter back across the counter when he fumbles putting them back into the holder.
I’ve got him worried now.
“I just met her!” Reggie shouts. “I don’t know anything useful!”
Know when to remain silent.
I want to shout my suspicions at him, but instead I count to ten inside my head as several beats of silence hang between us, then he quickly recovers from his outburst, and asks, “Was she stealing creamers?” He makes a show of holding up one of the tiny cups and forces a chuckle, but his hands shake, ruining the deflection.
I fold my arms over my chest and narrow my eyes. “It’s much worse than that. The authorities think she’s part of the alpine-parsley gang. ” When he visibly swallows, I add, “If you do know anything, now’s the time to come clean. ”
His face crumples and he wrings his hands. “I’m just the middleman! They hired me to collect envelopes from that lady and take them to a drop-off point,” he stammers. “I don’t mean any harm.”
It worked! Hopefully I keep my surprise off my face. Time to put the hammer down.
“Poaching rare plants from a national park is a felony and a five-to-ten-year prison sentence. Did you know that?” Since I’m making this up as I go, I hope these facts are correct.
“I’ll testify against them,” he squeaks, his loyalty cracking faster than one of Mom’s ceramic coffee mugs.
“Where’s the envelope and where are you supposed to drop it off?” I bark. My voice cracks and I sound like a wounded seal, but Reggie doesn’t seem to notice.
His hands shake as he pulls out an innocent-looking white envelope from his pants pocket. “Here’s the envelope. The drop-off point is in the downtown park.” He thrusts the envelope at me as if it’s stinging his hand .
Luke waltzes out of the kitchen, trailed by an official looking man in a police uniform and—to my utter surprise—Yellow Galoshes. The group stalks towards us, and Reggie looks like he’s going to faint.
“I’m Larimer County Sherrif Roger Burns, and this is FBI special agent Sandra O’Malley,” the man says in a deep, official-sounding voice. Recognition flashes in Yellow Galoshes eyes as she gives me a friendly nod. So I was right to be suspicious! The suspicious galoshes themselves are nowhere in sight now.
“Does the envelope contain the plants you’re looking for?” the sheriff asks as I hand the envelope over to Luke.
Carefully unsealing the envelope, Luke pulls out a leaf and sniffs it. “Yep, this is alpine-parsley.”
The sheriff reads Reggie his Miranda rights and hauls him away in handcuffs. It happens so quickly, my head spins. Guess I don’t have to worry about not getting my job back anymore .
“Nice work you two,” Yellow Galoshes—Agent O’Malley—says in her British accent as she shakes Luke’s and my hands. “We needed someone who could blend in while observing the campground.”
“I thought the park service, not the FBI, hired Grayson Security,” Luke says in a confused tone.
She shakes her head. “No, we knew there was a mole at the park service, so I reached out to Winston for help. I’ve known him for years; we go way back to when I was in the Royal Navy.” That explains the British accent. How did a Brit become a member of the FBI? Maybe she’s MI5? This sounds more and more like an installment of Mission: Impossible.
Now that I think about it, her stiff posture, short cropped hair, and no-nonsense attitude should have been dead giveaways for the military influence. Were the yellow galoshes just a disguise?
“I have a photo of a park ranger talking to the man who harvested the alpine-parsley,” Luke says .
“Excellent! Text it to me,” she says, giving him her number. Her phone buzzes a few moments later.
“Are you going to arrest the Richie Riches?” I ask as I re-organize the creamers, sugars, and stir sticks that Reggie didn’t finish collecting. Mom wouldn’t want any customers to see the serving counter a mess.
Agent O’Malley chuckles at the codename. “Already done. They arrested Mr. Applebaum at the campground and pulled his wife over on her way back,” she says. “Those two were my prime suspects. They sure didn’t try to hide their wealth, did they?”
“They were our prime suspects too!” We trade grins, agent to agent. “May I ask an odd question?”
“Sure! No mystery here, luv. Ask away.”
“Why wear the galoshes?” I ask, nodding towards her feet.
Cackling, she says, “When my boss said to bring boots, I brought galoshes. Every good Brit has a pair just like mine! Unfortunately, he meant hiking boots. ”
“Since we’re discussing your intriguing footwear, why did you wear the galoshes in the shower?” I’ve been dying to know this since that first encounter.
“Do you not wear a foot covering in a public shower?” she asks, her nose wrinkling with disdain. “What better guard against those nasty foot diseases than galoshes? Plus, they’re waterproof.”
Can’t argue with that.
“They were an excellent disguise,” I add lamely.
“They were also a good excuse not to try to scale that mountain following Mr. Applebaum,” she says with a wink.
Why do I feel like the boot mix-up wasn’t accidental?
“By the way, I knew my disguise was working when you questioned me at the campground snack machine. Obviously, you thought I was a suspect.” She smirks. “I barely contained my laughter when you mentioned those parsley chips. Interesting interrogation technique.”
I nod and accept her compliment. At least I think it’s a compliment .
Turning towards the door, Agent O’Malley adds, “Thanks again for your help. I’m having dinner with Frederick, so I better skedaddle. He’s such a nice man, you know he recently lost his wife, and his only companion is Wally the Bassett—we formed an instant connection when I discovered that Frederick also loves to collect rocks.” A nervous cackle accompanies her run-on sentence.
So Frederick was never a suspect? Oh well. Sounds like there’s a love-match brewing between those two.
“I better get started with the paperwork. There’s going to be lots of paperwork,” she complains as she heads out.
“We did it!” I squeal, turning towards Luke and knocking my elbow into the container I just neatly organized.
He throws out his hand and manages to right the container before it spills. Laughing, he lifts me off my feet and twirls me around. “We did it!”
Fortunately, the coffee shop is still empty, because we make a spectacle as I wrap my arms around his neck and hold on. He kisses me like there’s no tomorrow and I kiss him back. Our jubilant celebration lasts until a group of customers come through the door and Violet clears her throat loudly. Luke sets me down and a blush stains my cheeks. How much did she witness?
“I’m impressed! Great detective work, Kaylee,” Violet enthuses.
Luke plants a final kiss on my lips, then murmurs. “You were so impressive, Kaylee.”
I giggle. “Even with the spilled condiments?”
Luke and Violet exchange glances before Luke says, “That was a stroke of genius! You didn’t do that intentionally?”
I shrug. “No.”
Chuckling at my admission, he says, “Your bumbling act was a masterpiece of interrogation work, Columbo. Very effective.”
My eyes widen. “Don’t you remember who I am? Kaylee the Klutz.”
“That’s your superpower,” he says, gazing into my eyes .
My superpower? Mom would disagree with that, but a warm feeling flows through me knowing Luke accepts me exactly the way I am. Maybe I’ve finally found a job I can excel at.
I leap back into his arms, knocking the condiments container over again in the process. Ignoring the mess, I wrap my arms around his neck and say, “We caught the bad guys, Hottie Mountain Man!”
He laughs and we share another kiss. I block out my worries about him leaving now that the mission is over. I’ll enjoy whatever time we have left together and then let him go.
I’ll be able to do that, right?