Chapter 3 Hazel
THREE
Hazel
My brakes squealed in protest as I came to an abrupt stop in the nearly empty parking lot.
Neon lights from the diner were the only things cutting through the dim morning.
The sun had technically risen, but it clearly had no plans to make an appearance today.
Gray clouds hung low overhead, and a few miserably frigid raindrops had already started to fall.
I unbuckled my seat belt and leaned over to pick up the folder next to me.
“Shit,” I muttered, as papers and photographs spilled out and onto the floor of my passenger seat. My side dug into the center console as I stretched out my fingertips to collect them before stuffing the papers back inside.
I didn’t bother to grab an umbrella as I dashed through the rain toward the front door.
The bells overhead jingled sharply as I stepped inside the nearly deserted diner.
A pair of rough-looking men who might’ve been truck drivers occupied a booth in the far corner, their heavy jackets still damp from the storm.
At a table near the center, a man in his fifties sat alone, a newspaper stretched wide in his hands as he sipped slowly from a steaming cup of coffee.
Finally, my eyes landed on him.
Reid was exactly as Ruby had described: serious-looking, with a long face, strong jaw, and glasses perched on a straight nose.
His hair was cropped to perfection, meticulous, with not even a strand out of place.
He was dressed casually in a long-sleeve t-shirt that looked like it might have been ironed.
He lifted a hesitant hand, offering me a wave as I bulldozed in his direction, falling into the booth opposite him, nearly dropping my folder again in the process.
Warmth reflected in his golden eyes. I’d noticed it the moment I entered his vicinity.
I held out my hand. “Hazel Jacobs.”
“Uh, Reid Mitchell.” He gave my hand a shake. A quick surge of electricity—a small spark—passed between us. Or at least it had in my imagination. “Are you always so formal with your introductions?”
I shrugged. “Is a last name formal?”
He opened his mouth as if to answer before pausing to think a second. “I would say so, yes.”
“I would argue it’s more informative than formal.”
He scrunched his face before it distorted into a smile. “Okay…”
“Thank you so much for meeting me,” I said, changing the subject. “Ruby mentioned you might be able to help, and I’m beyond desperate at this point. Seriously, thank you so much for even taking the time. I know you must be busy.”
A waitress stopped by, interrupting my rambling. “Coffee?” she asked.
“Please.” I flipped over my chipped ceramic mug and gave her a grateful smile, the smell of the dark liquid already perking up my senses. I dumped in two creams before taking a sip.
When she was gone, Reid leaned forward, the booth making an unflattering squishing noise in the process.
“Look, I’m not sure what Ruby said—”
“She said that you were a bit of an investigator. That you and your friends have even solved a few cold cases.”
“One cold case,” he corrected.
“That’s one more than anyone else I know,” I said, my heart skittering a little faster. His whole demeanor screamed of someone who was trying to let me down easy. I knew that look. It had happened to me enough times.
“One cold case with thousands of online clues that just hadn’t been put together in the right order yet,” he continued. “Honestly, it was more luck than anything. We were able to track down camera footage the police never bothered to look into before.”
“Ruby said it’s your hobby—looking into mysteries and stuff.”
“It is, but I’m essentially an armchair detective who loves true crime podcasts and spending way too many hours on forums.” His words were careful. He seemed like the kind of person who did everything with care.
“Please, Reid. I-I’m not sure what else to do.” This felt less like a conversation and more like an interview I was failing. But even with the hesitation rolling off him, sympathy still shone in his eyes. His entire face was soft with it.
“I’ve never dealt with a catnapping before.”
Despite my misery over the situation, a clipped laugh escaped my lips. “Neither have I. I’d be willing to bet that most sane people have never had to deal with a catnapping in their entire lives.”
His lip quirked up. “Fair point.”
“But it’s the unfortunate card I’ve been dealt,” I said, sliding my coffee to the end of the table by the window to present my folder.
“Here, let me just show you all the facts and then you can decide if you can help me or not. This person is obviously an amateur, I bet they left tons of clues and mistakes behind—shit.” I stopped mid-sentence as the folder tumbled off the table, knocked loose by my over-eager slide.
I bent forward to collect the papers that had scattered across the floor. Reid got out from the booth and crouched down, grabbing the ones that had drifted too far out of reach. He held up a particularly cute shot of Vermont, staring at it as he righted himself.
“Why did you bring a folder?” he asked, studying the papers I’d brought—a mix of pictures as well as a print-out of the text thread with the assailant. Yes, I was choosing to call them an assailant. They were, after all, assailing my life.
“Oh, I don’t know. It felt very private investigator.”
He handed me back the papers, and I spread them out on the table between us.
“Did you go to a store specifically to buy it?” he asked.
“I mean…yes.” Maybe I should feel silly that I had, in fact, gone to the dollar store the night prior with the intention of purchasing this folder—and the candy that had practically fallen into my basket.
But the trip had given me a purpose in an otherwise out-of-control period in my life.
Errands didn’t always have to be necessary to be useful; like buying a candle just for the vibes, or stopping at a library to see the new releases.
“Why didn’t you get one with pockets? This is for a filing cabinet.” Damn. Ruby wasn’t kidding when she said Reid had an attention for detail.
“This one looked the most official,” I said.
The embarrassment that sat lightly on my chest lifted a little when I saw the corner of his mouth twitch up.
“You’re right, it does look official. But I have to tell you, it’s called internet sleuthing for a reason. Most everything is done online nowadays.”
“I know, I know. I’m aware of the current century. I just wanted to bring anything that could be helpful.”
“This is the cat?” Reid asked, holding up another picture, one of Vermont splayed out on my grandmother’s lap. I’d felt a pang of guilt when I realized that almost every picture I had of Vermont was either taken by Gran or sent to me by her. But in my defense, I’d only gotten him a few weeks ago.
“Vermont,” I confirmed, shoving another picture in his direction.
“Why Vermont?”
“I don’t know? It’s cute? My Grandma loved Ben & Jerry’s? Does a pet’s name have to be that deep?”
He chuckled. “I like it.”
“He’s honestly an overly friendly cat—like, literally loves everyone—so I’m not even surprised he just waltzed up to some stranger.”
Reid nodded and picked up another picture. “This your grandma?” he asked.
“Yep.” I froze, hoping there wouldn’t be any follow-up questions. Not because I hated talking about her. The opposite, in fact. I just didn’t want to start crying in front of a virtual stranger at seven a.m. in some random diner.
“And here are the texts.” I handed him the printout of the exchange.
He took the paper in his long fingers. He lifted his glasses up to scan the thread, a line creasing his forehead as he read. I could tell the moment he absorbed it because his eyebrows shot up.
“Forty thousand dollars? Holy shit.”
“I know.”
“Can’t you just tell them you don’t have that? Why did you say you’d need thirty days?” he asked, poking my response to the threatening message.
“Because that’s how long the lottery winnings will take to process.”
Now his eyebrows dropped and drew together as he analyzed my words.
I groaned and slid down in the booth. “Trust me, I know this sounds like the most ridiculous far-fetched situation imaginable, but unfortunately it’s my life right now.” I drew in a breath and soldiered on. “I won the lottery, and now I’m being blackmailed.”
“Blackmailed,” he repeated looking from me back to the message.
“Yes.”
“It sounds more like extortion to me.”
A scoff escaped my lips as I lifted my wrist to circle it in the air. “I don’t really see the need to get hung up on semantics. Either way, I’m screwed!”
Reid’s expression softened. “So the lottery, huh?” he asked, disbelief dancing in his tone.
“Yes, I won it.”
He looked at me like my head wasn’t screwed on straight.
“Not, like, billions or millions or anything like that. I mean, I wish, right? But still a lot of money. Well, a lot for me. Tens of thousands. More than I could ever dream of winning.”
“Okayyy,” he said slowly, looking from me to the text thread and back to me, trying to process it all.
“So someone stole my cat, and now I have to pay up or I’ll never see him again.”
Reid opened his mouth to say something, closed it, squinted his eyes, and then took a small sip of coffee. I could practically see the calculations happening behind his glasses.
“I think I’m following,” he finally said. “But how did someone know to extort you?”
“Well, I posted about it—”
“You posted that you won?”
“Yes, just a quick story.”
“On social media?” Judgement flickered in his stare.
I sighed. “Yep.”
“What did the post say, exactly?”
I winced, and pulled out my phone, scrolling for a minute before finding the post and showing him. He brought the phone to his face, pulling down his glasses and assessing it.
He let out a small laugh of disbelief. “You put the exact amount you won and everything.”
“I know,” I said.
“This is simply way too much information.”
“I know.”
“Keeping it to yourself is, like, the first rule of winning the lottery.”