I should have left it alone, but I was on a roll.
I popped into Fox’s Drug Store, one of the original establishments on Main Street. Mr. Fox was a quirky octogenarian and a relic from a bygone era. He hadn’t changed his prices in at least ten years, and unfortunately, he hadn’t raised wages for his employees and couldn’t figure out why no one was happy working for minimum wage. It was his favorite gripe.
“Ah, it’s the donut man. How’s business, Dexter?” He barreled on before I could respond, bracing a gnarled hand on the glass-case display featuring comic books and bubble gum. “Busy here. Those darned plastic Easter eggs are selling like hotcakes. I had to reorder the pastel candies the kids all like, too. The marshmallow ones.”
“Peeps?” I suggested, scanning the claustrophobic shelves loaded with everything from toothbrushes and birdfeeders to M&M’s and charcoal lighter fluid.
“That’s right. Not to my taste, but what do I know? Things were different in my day. I’ll tell you one thing, the cost of living was nothing like it is today. I heard you’re charging five dollarsfor a donut. That’s highway robbery, Dexter. High. Way. Robbery!”
“I—no. I sell two for five dollars, and they’re specialty donuts.” I also gave discounts for large orders, but I hadn’t come by for a lecture.
“Two donuts! Oh, ho, ho! In my day, five dollars would get you two dozen of the works—maple bars, chocolate sprinkles, glazed. I’ve always been partial to jelly-filled, but I heard fruit flavors aren’t your strong point.”
Thanks, Mrs. Galbraith.
“You’ll have to come by and see for yourself sometime.”
“At those prices?” he scoffed.
Okay. Enough chitter-chatter.
“I’ll cut you a deal.” I turned as if to leave, then tapped the counter and blurted, “Hey, do you know anyone named Viggo Gustafsson, Mr. Fox?”
So much for stealth mode.
The direct approach might be best with Mr. Fox. Like Davey, the old man knew everyone in town. Literally everyone. His son, daughter, and five of his grandkids all worked at the mill, which meant that the Fox family demographic covered an age group between twenty-two and eighty-five, and Mr. Fox knew their friends, coworkers, and neighbors. If there was a Viggo here, he’d know where to find him.
Mr. Fox rubbed the white fuzz on his chin. “Viggo? No. But I know a Gustafsson. He’s a logger. Works with my grandsons, Lyle and Casey. I think they call him Thor or Big V ’cause he’s huge. Maybe the V is for Viggo. I don’t know if anyone’s brave enough to ask. Quiet as a church mouse, but he looks meaner than a junkyard dog.”
“Really? Is he violent or unstable or something?”
“Seems nice enough. But I wouldn’t mess with him, I’ll tell ya that much.” The old man narrowed his rheumy blue eyes. “Why do you ask? Did he stiff you for a donut? If so, I’d let it go, son. In a tussle, Thor would win with both hands tied behind his back.”
“Right.” I held my eye roll. I was a former college quarterback. I’d kept in shape and could hold my own, thank you very much.
“Did you want me to ask the boys to pass along a message or?—”
“No, no. Thanks, though.” I waved and headed for the exit. “Probably not the same guy anyway.”
It was definitely the same guy. Had to be.
My heart sank. I didn’t want my surrogate to be associated with a mean-spirited, testosterone-jacked-up logger. Of course, he might not be mean at all. I wouldn’t know unless I reached out, and the timing wasn’t right.
Not yet.
There was nothing to do but wait it out and observe Viggo a.k.a. Thor from afar. No problem. I had donuts on my side.
CHAPTER 3
VIGGO
The sawmill buzzed lengthwise through the bark of the fallen maple tree, spitting out dust and debris. The machine did the hard work of debarking, edging, and trimming. It was just a matter of making sure the measurements were in line so there were no wasted bits. As soon as this one was cleared, it could be passed through a metal detector to remove any hazards and then…it would be ready for breakdown.
I adjusted my gloves, my gaze trained on the blade shaving the rough outer bark. This was good-looking wood. Beautiful hardwood, perfect for making furniture, toys, or flooring. My mind drifted to the unfinished project in my workshop. I had some sanding to do and?—
“Yo, Big V! Donuts.”
I tapped a code on the computerized tablet and scowled. “Is that one for me?”
