The scruffy man waited for the crowd in the toy booth to thin out, then approached Harper.
“Hardin, I heard you were here,” he said.
Hardin? Julie and Chase exchanged a look.
“Keep your voice down,” Harper whispered. “Get over here if you want to talk.”
The man went around to the other side of the display table. Julie and Chase could no longer hear them. Hardin? Harper? Was the man hiding and using a false name?
“What’s going on with that guy?” Julie asked.
Chase gave a helpless shrug.
The scruffy man left soon after, and children once more flocked to Harper’s.
Whatever the toymaker’s name was, he was good for the Bar None because the children, stopping for the toys, were also attracted to the pretty stripes and good smells next door. Or maybe it was the parents who were drawn in. However it worked, families usually stopped at both booths. Anna, Chase, Jay, and Julie, relieving each other periodically, toiled hard all day long.
That evening as Chase dragged herself, exhausted, to Mike’s office to pick up Quincy, she reviewed what she would say to him on her way.
How exactly do you know Patrice? No, too direct. Have you known Patrice long? That might do. Have you heard about the missing diamond collar? That would be good. Is it the same one that Patrice filched from the exhibit and lost? Maybe not.
When she got there, the door between the reception area and the examining room was wide-open. Patrice and an older man were talking with Mike inside. Betsy was again gone. Mike was certainly giving her nice hours.
“Hi, Chase,” Dr. Ramos said as soon as he saw her. “I’ll go get Quincy.”
That seemed rude to Chase. “Who are your friends?” She entered the room and said to Patrice, “I know you, of course. I’ll be by for my fortune before the fair is over.”
Patrice seemed happy about that.
Then Chase turned to the older gentleman. He had a dignified air about him. His wispy gray hair didn’t take away from his ramrod posture. Although he was beanpole thin, his casual clothing—a pair of khakis, a long-sleeved pullover sweater, and polished loafers—fit well.
“This is Vik, my grandfather,” Patrice said.
“Viktor Youngren.” The man held a careworn hand out to Chase. “I’m so pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Mike finished containing Quincy and handed the crate to Chase. “Meet more of my Youngren relatives.”
“You’re related? To Patrice?”
This man was obviously not a Ramos relative. Mike had a Swedish mother, and Patrice must have a Swedish father.
“Yep, she’s my cousin, the daughter of my aunt Betsy.”
Thank goodness she hadn’t gotten a chance to ask some of her idiotic questions about Patrice and Mike’s possible romance. The three acted like they were going to stay and chat all night, so Chase said her good-byes and stepped into the tiny reception room, closing the door halfway. She waited, still inside the darkened room for a moment, fiddling with Quincy’s carrier and peeking through the opening to see if any fireworks were going to erupt.
“Mikey, I’m so sorry this happened to you.” Patrice wasn’t keeping her voice down. “It’s all my fault you got caught in there.” She waved her hands when she talked. Patrice’s rings glittered in the bright overhead lights.
Chase stared at the turquoise one on her left hand.
She had stolen Chase’s ring when they’d shaken hands in her fortune-telling tent! Chase gaped at the brazen woman.
“At least I could say I was looking for the cat,” Mike said. “It gave me an excuse for being there. If not, I’d look even more guilty.”
When Chase heard Viktor start to berate his granddaughter for hiding “it” in a butter sculpture, she moved on.
Why did Mike need an excuse to be with the dead man? Chase was more puzzled than ever, and beginning to have doubts about Mike.
When she returned home, tired to the bone from standing and selling all day, Inger was still in the shop, packing up last week’s leftovers to take to the homeless shelter. They usually dropped them off on Sunday night. Inger had also done a good bit of baking.
“Can I go with you when you take these?” she asked Chase.
“Sure. Just let me put Quincy upstairs.”
Chase wondered why Inger wanted to go, then remembered she’d been eager to go there last week, too.
“I’ll take them in if you want to wait in the car,” she said as Chase pulled out of the parking lot at the Bar None.
“That’s okay. I’ll help.” They had less than usual this week, since they’d been taking so much product to the fair and selling nearly all of it each day.
On the way, Chase tried to find out why Inger was so eager to visit the shelter.
“You really like going to the shelter, don’t you?” she said.
“It’s a wonderful thing you and Anna do. I like to help out with that.” Her eyes glowed with her bright smile.
“Do you know any of the people who work there?”
Inger looked away, as if they were passing fascinating scenery instead of going down the streets of Minneapolis. “Not really.”
After they parked and went inside, though, and made their way to the kitchen, Inger scanned the dining room with a look of disappointment. They only had to make one trip to cart the two boxes of dessert bars inside.
The burly chief cook greeted them warmly. “Glad to see you again. The folks here always look forward to your desserts.”
He chuckled at Inger. “I think your young man’s luck has turned. They’re not here anymore.”
Chase raised her eyebrows at Inger in question, but the young woman turned away and busied herself unpacking one of the boxes.
When they finished unloading, the cook gave each of them a hug, his apron redolent of sausage, the main course for the night.
They walked out past the tables full of hungry homeless people. About half were single men, some old and some young. The others were couples or families, some with children, and one couple with two toddlers. Chase knew they all had to leave during the day and she wondered what people with babies did in the cold winter weather when they had no place of their own.
Inger inspected the diners one last time on their way out to Chase’s car.
On the way back, Chase had to ask her point-blank. “Were you looking for someone?”
“Where? At the homeless shelter?”
“Yes. That’s the only place we’ve been.”
“Well, sort of. He wasn’t there, though.”
“A young man?”
Inger shrugged.
“I guess it’s good news that he’s not there any longer, that his luck has changed,” Chase said.
“Mmm.”
That’s all Chase could get out of her before she dropped her at Anna’s for the night. Before she pulled away from Anna’s curb, Tanner messaged her that he didn’t have product information and pictures yet. No, he didn’t. At the next red light she messaged back that it might be a few days before she could get that to him. She would have to photograph each product and write a description. The prices wouldn’t be hard; those were already set. How would Tanner set up online ordering for the customers? Or should they all just come to the shop to buy dessert bars, like Anna wanted them to? It might be too complicated right now to set up ordering and shipping procedures. It was a lot to think about. And Tanner had wanted a blog and Twitter and Facebook! No way. At least not in the near future.
Later that evening, she replayed the conversation that had come to her through the vet clinic door. The diamond cat collar again. She looked up the cat food company online and the dazzling collar was featured front and center on their page.
“What do you think?” She addressed the cat in her lap, who had been helpfully batting her arm as she reviewed the online information about Picky Puss. “Do we still want to enter the contest?”
Quincy blinked his large amber eyes.