Chapter 12
The sound of the doorbell made Izzy freeze, a forkful of chili verde halfway to her mouth. Through the dark December evening, she could see a figure on their porch, backlit by the streetlight.
"I'll get it." Chantal started to bounce up.
"No, baby. Finish your dinner." Izzy's protective instincts flared.
She peeked through the peephole. Cory Fraser stood on her porch in his perfect uniform, hands in his pockets, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. The porch light caught the sharp angles of his face, making him look younger somehow. Less intimidating.
What could Mr. By-The-Book possibly want at dinnertime?
Her defenses shot up as she opened the door. "If you're here to arrest me—"
"I need to see your Mountain Angel jacket," he said without preamble. "The one with 'Firecracker' on the back."
Her stomach dropped to her knees. Of course. He'd found some evidence, and now he thought she—
His voice cut through her spiraling thoughts, firm and certain. "I don't think you did anything. But someone wearing your jacket did."
She blinked, caught completely off-guard. "What?"
"We need to talk. Can I come in?"
"Mommy, who is it?" Chantal's voice carried from the dining room.
Izzy stepped aside automatically, her mind racing.
As Cory entered, she became hyperaware of her chaotic home through his eyes.
Chantal's artwork plastered the walls—mostly helicopters and jets and unicorns in improbable color combinations.
Dishes cluttered the sink. Her mother's walker stood by the couch next to a basket of unfolded laundry.
The angel wings for the pageant draped over a chair, shedding glitter with every air current.
Not exactly the pristine environment she imagined Chief Perfect Uniform maintained.
"Are you a police?" Chantal appeared in the doorway, still clutching her fork, a smear of green sauce on her chin.
"This is Chief Fraser," Izzy said weakly. "He's... here about work."
Chantal's eyes went wide. "Do you have handcuffs?"
"Chantal."
"I do," Cory said, surprising Izzy with the gentle humor in his voice. "But I only use them on bad guys."
"Cool." Chantal studied him with the intense scrutiny only a six-year-old could manage. "We're having Abuelita’s chili verde. It's the best in the whole world. Do you want some?"
"That's nice, but—"
"Mija, come finish your dinner." Izzy’s mom appeared from the kitchen. She moved carefully with her walker but her sharp eyes missed nothing, taking in Cory's uniform, Izzy's tense posture, the way they stood too far apart like opponents in a ring.
"Mamá, this is Chief Fraser."
Luz's expression shifted to something Izzy recognized with dread—her matchmaking face. "How wonderful. There's plenty of food. You'll join us."
"I don't want to intrude—"
"Nonsense. Izzy, set another place. Chantal, show our guest where to wash his hands."
Before either of them could protest, Chantal had grabbed Cory's hand and dragged him toward the bathroom. "This way. Our soap smells like lemons."
Izzy met Cory's eyes over her daughter's head. He looked as overwhelmed as she felt, but there was something else there too. A softness she hadn't seen before as he let himself be tugged toward their tiny hallway bathroom.
"Muy interesa," Luz murmured in Spanish, watching them go.
"Mamá, don't start."
"I'm not starting anything." Her mother's innocent expression fooled no one. "But a handsome man shows up at dinnertime, looking at my daughter like that..."
"Like what? Like he might arrest me?"
"Like he's worried about you." Luz patted her arm. "Big difference, mija."
When Cory returned, Chantal chattering at his heels about her spelling test, Izzy had added a fourth place setting. Their small table felt smaller with him there, his broad shoulders and perfect posture making their mismatched chairs look even shabbier.
But Chantal was in full hostess mode, explaining the proper way to eat chili verde ("You have to put it on the tortilla but not too much or it falls out"), while her mother kept pushing more food onto his plate.
"This is incredible, Mrs. Reyes," Cory said after his first bite.
"Luz, please. And of course it is. My mother's recipe." She beamed. "Izzy's is almost as good. She'll make someone a lucky husband someday."
"Mamá." Izzy wanted to sink through the floor.
Cory's lips twitched, fighting a smile. Seeing him here, letting Chantal show him her crayon drawing of a "police helicopter," accepting seconds from her mother, was surreal. Like two worlds colliding.
After a few minutes of dinner conversation, Luz's expression grew serious. She glanced between them, reading the tension neither could quite hide.
"Chantal, mi amor, it's time for your bath."
"But Abuelita—"
"No arguments. You can show Chief Fraser your drawings another time." She pushed back from the table carefully. "Izzy, why don't you and the chief talk in the living room? I'll handle bedtime tonight."
Chantal pouted but gave in, stopping to inform Cory, "Next time you can read me a story. Mommy does voices."
"I'll remember that," he said solemnly.
As her family disappeared down the hall, Izzy was left alone with Cory in her cluttered living room, acutely aware of the Goldfish crackers ground into the carpet and the pile of clean laundry she hadn't folded.
"Your daughter's amazing," he said.
"She liked you." Izzy couldn't hide her surprise. "She's usually shy with strangers."
"Kids know when someone's genuine." He grew serious, that chief-of-police mask sliding back into place. "We need to talk about your jacket."
Right. Not a social call. No matter how natural he'd looked at her dinner table, laughing at Chantal's knock knock jokes.
"What's this about my jacket?" she asked, arms crossed defensively.
Cory turned to face her, and she was struck again by how he seemed to fill her small space.
Not just physically, but with his presence, his quiet authority.
"There's surveillance footage from last night at the Mountain Angel hangar.
Eight p.m. Someone in maintenance overalls and your jacket entered the building. "
The words hit like physical blows. "And you think I—"
"I think someone's trying to frame you. The person in that footage made sure to turn directly toward the camera, but hide their face. Made sure the 'Firecracker' embroidery was visible."
"So you came here to arrest me?"
Of course he'd think the worst of her. She was the woman who defended vigilantes, who refused to color inside the lines—
"Izzy." The way he said her name, soft but certain, made her look up. "Hello. You’re an elite operative. If you were going to sabotage an aircraft, you wouldn't be sloppy enough to wear your own jacket and pose for the camera."
The compliment caught her so off-guard she couldn't form words.
"Plus," he continued, a slight smile tugging at his lips, "you were at the church Christmas pageant practice when this happened.
I already verified it. Half the town saw you helping Chantal with her angel wings.
Mrs. Patterson was particularly vocal about how patient you were with the glitter crisis. "
"You checked my alibi?" She didn't know whether to be offended or touched.
"I check everything. It's what I do." His expression turned serious again. "Where do you usually keep that jacket?"
Understanding dawned. "Oh. It's not... I mean, it stays at the Mountain Angel hangar. In the volunteer break room." She stood, pacing to the window. "Martha had it embroidered as a joke when I first started volunteering."
"So anyone with access to the hangar..."
"Could have borrowed it." She turned back to him, the implications sinking in. "We all hang our gear in the break room. No locks, just hooks."
Cory's expression darkened. "Like your ex. I ran a background check on him."
"You investigated Andrew?" Now she was definitely offended. "What gives you the right—"
"He showed up in my town threatening one of my residents.
" The protective edge in his voice sent an unexpected warmth through her.
"That gives me the right. And what I found is interesting.
He's a pilot. Barely. Failed multiple check rides, can barely hold a job, but he knows enough about aircraft to be dangerous. "
Accurate, for sure. But Cory couldn’t believe--- "You think Andrew sabotaged the helicopter?"
"I think someone's paying him to stir up trouble. The lawyer from Florida? The custody filing? Someone's bankrolling him, and it's not because they care about father's rights. His current employer in Florida is a flight school that's a subsidiary of MedFlight."
"MedFlight?" The name hit her like ice water. "You’re sure?"
“A hundred percent. The connection’s not something MedFlight advertises, but it didn’t take much digging.”
Her mind raced, connecting dots she didn't want to see. "They're paying him to come here and keep me distracted while..." She couldn't finish the thought.
"While someone sabotages aircraft to make Mountain Angel look unsafe. Force a sale." Cory leaned back, studying her. "The question is whether Andrew's just here for harassment, or if he's actively involved in the sabotage.”
He paced the floor, rubbing the back of his neck. “I already checked Mountain Angel for it. Not there. I want to swab it for DNA evidence. Not yours," he added quickly. "Whoever wore it might have left traces. Hair, saliva, skin cells."
"You really don't think I did this?" She had to ask again, had to hear it once more.
His eyes met hers, steady and sure. "I know you didn't do it. But someone wants people to think you did." He paused. "This is personal, Izzy. Whoever did this wanted to make absolutely sure the investigators would think it was you in that footage."
For the first time since this nightmare started, Izzy felt like she wasn't alone. "So what do we do?"
"We work together. Figure out who's behind this before—"
His radio crackled to life, shattering the moment. "Chief, we've got another aircraft declaring an in-flight emergency. Five minutes out, Mountain Angel Cessna 182 reporting control problems. Pilot's requesting immediate landing."
They locked eyes, both thinking the same thing: Not again.
Cory was already standing, hand extended to help her up. "Let’s hit it. If this is another sabotage, I want your expertise on scene."
"But you said procedure—"
"Don’t care. I know investigative technique, but you know aircraft. I need someone I can trust."
The word 'trust' from Chief By-The-Book Fraser made her heart do something complicated in her chest.
Thoughts for another time.