Fourteen #2
Oscar made a whole lot more noise about me sleeping in the sheriff’s station.
I didn’t want to do that. But I didn’t want to stay at Koi, either, because if the Canceled Killer were staking it out, then I was putting Mom, Dad, and Olivia in danger by even being here.
I already felt terrible that I could’ve lured the killer right to their backyard.
“You can stay at my place,” Jude offered, out of the blue.
“No!” Oscar said, a little too forcefully, then glared at me. I wanted to tell him that I could keep my hands to myself, even if I wasn’t 100 percent sure I could.
“Why not?” Mom asked. “That sounds like a decent idea. Plus, Jude’s house is two doors down from the sheriff’s station.”
“It’s not a good idea,” Oscar said, still glaring at me.
“It’ll be fine,” I grumbled back to Oscar.
“Will it?” Oscar demanded.
“I’ve got a state-of-the-art security system,” Jude offered.
Oscar’s shoulders sagged. “He does, actually,” Oscar admitted.
“Why so much security?”
Jude glanced at Oscar. “Because some people thought it was fun to prank my house,” he said.
Oscar cleared his throat. “There were a couple of dairy farmers mad at Jude because he didn’t recommend their facilities as suppliers for Gordon’s Frozen Custard.”
“They did not follow proper safety protocols for pasteurization,” Jude said. “And one of them didn’t pasteurize at all. It was an outbreak waiting to happen. And it did, as it happens, because eventually Gordon overruled me and went with them anyway because they were cheap.”
“But when it looked like Gordon was going to pass them over, a couple of them were really mad about it,” Oscar said. “One stalked Jude for a time.”
I glanced at Jude, horrified. “You were being stalked by a dairy farmer?”
“Yeah. They aren’t very nice when they’re mad.”
That was one more reason Jude should definitely move to Chicago. The dairy farm contingent there was small.
“I think it’s a good idea,” Mom put in. “Ella’s closer to the sheriff’s station. Jude can look after her.”
“She should come stay at the station,” Oscar insisted.
“With Can’t-Touch-This Wes? No thanks. Isn’t he in the cell with the bed, anyway?”
Oscar thought about this. He knew it was true. Wes was probably already passed out on the only thin mattress. “This isn’t a good idea,” Oscar reiterated.
“But it’s the best we’ve got,” Jude pointed out.
Jude’s adorable yellow Victorian farmhouse sat squeezed between an antique store and a hair salon, just a half block from city hall and the sheriff’s station.
I was impressed on multiple levels, because even Oscar didn’t own his own home yet—he rented a place deep in the forest—and because the second Jude parked in the driveway under the large oak tree and we walked by the well-trimmed shrubs lining the walkway, I realized he hadn’t just hung around Lake Sanguis; he’d made it truly his home, complete with a white picket fence at the property line and an adorable red tin mailbox at the curb.
“You drive like a grandma and you live in a grandma’s house?” I said as I glanced at the Victorian, which was definitely giving Hansel and Gretel in the witch’s gumdrop house.
“Don’t yuck my yum,” Jude chided as he opened the big red door and shooed me inside a house that smelled like vanilla and gingerbread.
He flicked on the switch in the foyer, and I expected a shrine to all things nerd bachelor—like flashing neon lights, gaming chairs, and a room filled with a Frankenstein PC cobbled together from eBay parts—but instead I was faced with a sitting room with plush white love seats and a cozy fireplace with framed pictures on the mantel, and an adorable eat-in kitchen with a retro 1950s aesthetic, including a red fridge and matching red stove and, even more surprising, matching red-and-white-checked potholders.
I tried to imagine sexy nerd Jude in an apron baking cookies, and my mind short-circuited.
“You live here,” I said, still shocked by the hominess of it all. Where were the test tubes and beakers? Where were the books on cheese? I marveled at the wooden staircase with the wrought-iron railing leading up to the second floor and, I assumed, the bedrooms.
“Yes, and as promised, it’s fully wired with a top-of-the-line security system,” Jude said, nodding to the small camera in the corner of the foyer and the keypad near the door with the bright red panic button at the bottom.
Jude pulled out his phone and showed me the camera apps.
He had cameras facing out on the front porch, one in the backyard, one in the foyer, and one in the basement.
“What did the dairy farmers do?” I asked him.
“They left threatening messages on the stoop. They didn’t even cover their faces, either.” Jude shook his head. “Oscar had enough to file charges against them. They pled out and got community service. They haven’t bothered me since.”
“I wouldn’t guess so since Gordon paid them anyway. Though, would they be back with the listeria issues?”
“I don’t think so,” Jude said. “They’ll probably have their hands full with all the civil litigation.”
“Gordon should’ve listened to you,” I said, feeling angry on Jude’s behalf.
Jude knew his stuff and was just trying to be a good consultant.
Plus, Jude wouldn’t hurt a fly, and the idea of someone bullying him made my blood boil.
I trailed Jude as he flicked the lights on in the kitchen, illuminating the foyer and the base of the staircase leading up to the second floor.
“There’s a full basement with a bathroom,” he boasted, nodding to the white paneled door next to the wooden banister. “I’ve got a foosball table down there. And a bar, too.”
“You… what?” None of this computed. I couldn’t imagine Jude kicking back playing foosball and drinking a beer after a long day of gazing at cheese curds through a microscope. Maybe I didn’t know him as well as I thought. “Why?”
“I like foosball. Besides, I thought if there was a family room, my house would be easier to rent during the high season.”
“You rent out your place?” I glanced around the cozy white kitchen cabinets of his vintage kitchen and thought this place would be a hot property during the high season.
“Only in the summer, and only sometimes. Those weeks, Oscar lets me crash on his couch.”
“It’s a brilliant idea,” I said. “I bet you make a pretty penny.”
Jude nodded.
“But… where’s your lab?” I asked.
“At work,” he said. “I don’t have a home lab.”
I still couldn’t believe it.
“What? Did you think I just peered through microscopes all day and night?” Jude scoffed.
I laughed a little. “Uh, yeah. I did, Dr. Cheese.”
“Want a beer?” he asked.
“Desperately.” I hesitated. “But only if it’s not an IPA.”
“Lagers only. Come on.”
We headed downstairs to the fully furnished basement with a large-screen TV and a shelf neatly stacked with board games.
On the sleek coffee table sat a brass jack-o’-lantern candle holder.
It almost looked like a grown-up’s basement, except for the Fortune Fated replica laser gun hanging on the wall and the Fortune Fated helmet on top of the neat stack of board games on the shelf.
“Operation?” I asked him, nodding at the stack. “Really?”
“We can play if you really want to,” he offered with a waggle of his eyebrows. “But I always win. Just ask my nephew.”
“Oh.” I forgot that Jude was an uncle. A niece and a nephew, I thought, from his younger sister, who lived in Chicagoland, one of the western burbs? “And the laser gun? Does it work?”
Jude laughed. “No. But it makes some cool sounds. It’s a limited edition gun. Oscar and I won it in a tournament.”
“Tournament?” I scoffed.
“We came in third place,” Jude protested as he crossed the room toward the countertop bar lined with stools that seemed to be a staple in every Wisconsin basement, as well as a full-sized fridge in the corner.
“Careful, your blerd is showing,” I teased as I pulled it down from the wall. “Hey, this is heavy.”
“Made of actual steel,” he said proudly as I pulled the trigger. The end of the barrel lit up in a flash of red and blue, and the thing made a woo-woo sound that any four-year-old would love.
“Spotted Cow?” he asked me, holding up a lager from his fridge behind the granite countertop bar.
“Yes,” I said, grateful for no bitter IPAs. We clinked bottle necks, and I took a swig. I glanced at the Halloween-themed candle holder on his coffee table. “Did you pick out all this? Or did Kenzie?” I asked.
“Are you saying I’m not a grown man who can pick out his own furnishings?” Jude raised an eyebrow.
I laughed a little. “Oh, I forgot we’re talking about you. Did you make a spreadsheet to analyze the best knickknacks for the money?”
Jude laughed a little. “Something like that,” he said. “Also, I might have had help from my mom.”
“How is Phylicia?” I asked him.
“Happily selling real estate,” he said, taking a sip of his beer. He eyed me. “Dad is trying to tell her to slow down since he’d like to retire soon, but you know there’s no doing that with Phylicia.”
I took another sip of my beer and eyed Jude.
He definitely looked like a flavor of ice cream I wanted to try.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t admire the way his tight-fitting tee showed off those delts.
Maybe Oscar was right. Maybe I couldn’t be trusted around good-looking men.
Maybe I did want Jude. That little tease of a kiss told me that Sexy Nerd might be my new favorite flavor.
Jude cleared his throat. “Well, there is one problem,” he said. “Someone will have to sleep on the couch, I think.” He nodded to the dark leather love seat, which probably not even a kindergartner could fully stretch out on.
“Why?”
“I’ll show you.”