Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
“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?”
Beau bit into the chocolate bar in his hand and shook his head.
“Ge yer own,” he said around a mouthful. Beau swallowed and added, “In the mill. Dex is there.”
“Again.”
It was a statement. Not a question.
“Yeah, so what? They’re donuts. And he didn’t bring any weird ones, either. No jalapeño, sour cream, essence of rose bullshit.” Beau snorted. “Better hurry.”
I refused to hurry.
I had a stalker, and it made no sense. Fourteen days in a row…everywhere I went, I ran into the donut man. The market, the coffee shop, the raw lumber section of Mill Depot. Wood Hollow was a small town and statistically, it wasn’t odd to bump into the same people over and over. But it was odd for me.
I went out of my way to avoid small talk and situations that involved false chumminess. I went to the market once a week on Sunday mornings before the crowds and on days I didn’t feel like making my own coffee, I made sure I arrived at Rise and Grind at the crack of dawn. And if Davey happened to be behind the counter, I skipped a latte and settled for coffee at the mill.
Nothing against Davey. He was a nice person, but relentlessly cheerful personalities alarmed me. The same way aggressively charming men with perfect teeth and dimples made me sweat.
From my first glance at Dexter the donut guy, I’d known he was someone to avoid. I’d only set foot in his store once out of sheer curiosity and a chronic sweet tooth…and because I hadn’t spotted him at the register when I’d peeked through the window. I hadn’t been able to resist the smell of fresh donuts.