Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 158829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
“...he didn’t answer my call.”
“Aren’t billionaires pretty busy? When we stayed with him before Mexico, I got the impression he works a lot. Like it’s pretty much all he does, right?”
I nod. “But he doesn’t keep his work phone off.”
“Maybe he’s in a meeting,” she says flippantly.
“No. His personal phone is off, too.”
“If his phones are off, how would he know you even called?”
I bite my lip. “I called his home phone too.”
“What, like a landline? That’s so 1995.” She sweeps stray hair out of her face. “I dunno, Pippy. I don’t think he’s ignoring you.”
“I wouldn’t care. I just wanted to help.”
I sink down at the end of her bed, face in my hands, the entire world spinning.
God, I don’t know what to do.
How can I help with anything when he won’t even talk to me?
“Girls? Piper?” Dad calls sometime later. “I’ve got something for you.”
“What’s he talking about?” Maisy asks.
“Nothing.” I shake my head and open her door, stepping into the living room.
Maisy follows.
“What did you find out?” I ask almost breathlessly.
“The guys who brought in the oysters were from a ship I know. Captain Pike and I go way back. They were able to tell me quite a bit, actually,” he says proudly.
“How do you know it was the same batch?” I ask.
“It was the largest haul that day—the only one sold in a single batch. Special order from Bellingham. There were two other semi-large batches that day but they were sold off piecemeal. And this ship is known for damn good quality. They sell direct to market right off the pier whenever they don’t sell out up north. A lot of restaurants in town rush over to buy from Captain Pike daily. One of the guys remembered something weird about this batch.”
“Weird?”
Dad nods. “The whole batch was bought up by a big client with a caterer who booked a local shipping company to pick it up. But they sent some kids in a van to pick it up. And the van was sporting a bike shop logo.”
Oh my God.
I feel like the floor just dropped out, confirming my worst suspicions.
I swallow hard. “What shop? Any idea?”
“The van had a red logo that said Seattle’s Best Wheels. The oysters were packed on ice, but even then they can’t be out for more than a couple hours in the summer heat. They’ll go bad in no time, and with some bike shop punks handling them in a vehicle that isn’t even refrigerated right—”
“Holy crap!” I shake my head. “Yeah, no. No. Nobody from Winthrope or any company they’d hire ever would’ve sent random kids to pick up oysters for an event this big. I worked there long enough and visited enough properties to know. It just didn’t happen,” I say, my voice quivering with conviction.
“Well, only one thing to do now. Let’s scope out that bike shop,” Dad says firmly.
I nod.
“Let me get my shoes on!” Maisy squeals, always game for any drama.
It’s a quick ride over to Seattle’s Best Wheels, thankfully.
By the time we’re pulling into the parking lot, I’m a nervous wreck, this seething mix of anger and fear and outright disgust curdling my belly.
Dad kills the engine and looks at me, waiting for my input.
“...I’m not sure what to say when I go in, honestly. It’s not like they’ll just admit to mishandling a bunch of oysters and making over a hundred people sick. This place doesn’t look like it could handle a single lawsuit.”
“Let me do it,” he growls.
“Dad, no. It’s my job. But you can come with for moral support,” I say, finding my courage.
He nods and we all go inside.
A short, grey-haired man works behind the counter. “Can I help you folks find anything?”
“Yeah, one of my buddies told me some kids with a red van work here and they do deliveries,” Dad says.
“Oh, yes. We mostly use the van for bike drops or repair pickups, but sometimes Zack makes extra deliveries for cash. He’s a good kid. He’s right out back if you need help with anything.”
Dad smiles.
“It’s a curio cabinet. Real big. I can’t lift it because of my busted back,” he says, wincing as he hunches over.
The man nods. “Well, you’re in the right place. He has a couple friends who help with big jobs like that, and their prices are pretty reasonable. Just walk around the building. You’ll see his van out back. If he’s not outside, knock on the window. Sometimes he’s playing with his phone or catching a quick catnap inside.” The man shrugs. “We were all eighteen once.”
Dad chuckles. “I understand.”
Once we’re out the door, I say, “Now what?”
“I’ve got this,” Maisy says.
I look at her incredulously. “What are you going to do?”
“He’s eighteen. I’m seventeen. I’ll look way more chill than some old people getting in his face.”