Chapter 19: Better Left Unsaid

Chuck tucked the glass vial of smelling salts into her coat pocket, taking a deep breath as she made her way back to the Turtle Shell Hotel. The last time she surprised her guardians with an impromptu family reunion, they responded by having a fainting fit. She hoped that their emotional shock absorbers would be resilient enough to withstand the appearance of yet another undead loved one, but it was best to prepare for the worst.

The Alive Again Adventurer felt just as anxious as she had the day she showed up on their porch – more so, in fact. For Charles Charles came with baggage that was musty and ugly; crammed with things they would sooner forget. Lily and Vivian seemed to have achieved some sort of détente over it (for Chuck's sake if nothing else), but that would surely shatter like spun glass under the pressure of a man who had been both stepbrother and lover to them…

"Charlotte, dear, you haven't touched your Camembert."

The trio had decided to set up a picnic along the Seine, as they thought it the cheapest and most effective way to get the tourist bug out of their systems. Blocks of cheese and bowls of fruit and hunks of bread were spread out on a blanket thin enough for them to feel the cool brick beneath. It was all quite quaint, but as Chuck watched boats glide swan-like through the water, she wished – for an infinitesimal moment – that she could jump into one of them and sail away from her family…

"Are you all right?"

Chuck came back to reality just in time to smile brightly. "Well, all this cheese is making me feel like a human fondue pot, but other than that I'm perfectly content."

Lily sent a skeptical look over her wine glass. "Why do I get the feeling you're weighed down by more than fromage, kid?"

The girl hesitated for a second, and then shrugged. "I might be coming down with a case of homesickness? Which would suck because I dreamed of being here for so long. It seems a little ungrateful…"

"It's understandable. We're not exactly here under ideal circumstances, what with your friends on another continent and a murdering thieving dead guy on the loose."

Chuck nodded and looked to the river. She was on the verge of admitting that there were other, more pressing matters at hand when Vivian said, "Jimmy Neptune arrives next week", in the same tone of voice as someone announcing it was about to rain. "So he can start promoting the tour."

"So he can start pimping us out to the press more like."

Vivian shuddered at the thought and Chuck found herself backing away from the truth once again.

In that moment she was reminded of how overwhelming the next few weeks would be for her agoraphobic guardians. They had made great strides in going outside, but being thrust into the spotlight after so many years out of it might be too much at once.

Were they ready for this? Were they ready for any of it…?

"Chuck, why are you staring at the river like you wanna drown yourself in it?" Lily inquired. "What's eating you?"

"Nothing!" she protested, a little too vehemently. "Nothing is eating me. I am the one doing the eating." To emphasize her point, she proceeded to stuff her face with bread the way one might stuff a turkey, only easing up when Lily and Vivian turned their attention to the Pont des Arts, hovering in the distance like a three-dimensional postcard…

Sorry, Dad, Chuck thought, with a sinking feeling that was not entirely baguette-related. Timing is everything.

XXX

Olive cast a furtive glance around the kitchen before withdrawing the crumpled piece of paper from her pocket. She tried to iron out the creases with the palm of her hand, but it had been folded and unfolded one too many times, making its chicken scratch writing seem even more scattered than when she first read it.

If you ever need a change of scenery, come find me in Eden Prairie…

She ran a hand through her blonde bob, then let it drift down to the faded bruise on her cheek. A change of scenery sounded good right about now. And it didn't even have to be permanent. Just a visit, a trial run, to see what life might look like outside of Papen County…

But the Pie Maker needed her here. For as long as Chuck was gone he needed someone to stop him going adrift on a sea of his own self-doubt. Emerson had done as much as he could; Eddie had a history of doing the bare minimum...that left Olive as the only option. The last resort, if she were to put it as pessimistically as possible.

She knew Ned did not think of her that way. She knew he appreciated her. She knew her worth went far beyond what she could do for him.

Still…it had been a while since she felt like someone's first choice…

"You're up early!"

Olive nearly leapt out of her skin, startled both by his sudden appearance and by the forceful cheeriness in his voice.

"Yep!" she replied, trying to sound normal and failing as hard as he did. "Just call me the early bird, catching worms and…cleaning countertops."

Ned took his apron off the hook, tying it around his waist as he nodded at the counter.

"What're you reading?"

She promptly crushed the Post-it note in her fist and slid it into her pocket. "Shopping list. We need to pick up some fresh produce, on account of you tossing our recycled stuff."

The Pie Maker grimaced with the air of a patient awaiting their diagnosis. "Yeah…I was pretty hasty when I did away with the…recycling? I didn't give much thought to our budget."

"Well, we're sure as sugar gonna feel the pinch once we start paying for not-rotten fruit. It has an expiry date, see, which means we use it or lose it. Then we have to keep buying more 'cause we can't store it forever."

Ned nodded and stuffed his hands in his pockets, watching their pets wander around the room. He had his broody thinky face on and she dared to hope, for a moment, that he had changed his mind about the whole thing…

"Welp, that's what canning jars are for," he said, and the words were like a pin prick deflating her heart. "We better get going."

The pair put on their winter gear and headed out, wind nipping at their cheeks mercilessly until they ducked into a cab. Garden of Gordon was the nearest (if not the cheapest) greengrocer, stocked with a decent selection of things the Pie Maker would normally rescue from a dumpster.

Olive pushed the clattering cart down glossy white aisles of apples and pears and berries, while Ned picked the best of the lot. They walked in silence, speaking only to comment on quality. She considered asking him about Eddie, about when he would see the man again, but decided against it.

She did not want to broach the subject when he seemed almost peaceful, troubled by nothing but the bruises on a Pink Lady…

"I think the Pie Hole needs a manager."

Olive felt her train of thought leap off the tracks at that. "Huh?"

"I'm thinking it should be you."

It was as if she had walked in on a conversation he was having with someone else. Olive shook her head like it would physically clear the confusion. "Wait a minute. You…you're promoting me?"

"You're surprised?" he asked, as the corners of his mouth twitched up, along with his eyebrows. "You shouldn't be, Olive. You work hard; you're good with people…better than I am. You deserve a bigger role in the Pie Hole going forward."

The waitress began to beam, her face lighting up with the glow of a thousand fairy lights. She figured he valued her; she just didn't know how much until now.

"But…things have been fine the way they are…"

"I don't want fine," he said with a shrug. "Fine is room temperature water and vanilla ice cream and Paul McCartney as a solo artist. I'm done with fine. I want great. And I think we have a chance at great, with you as manager. Maybe even co-owner one day…if you want."

Olive did want, very much. To run a business, to co-own a business, would give her more pride than she had felt in the years since she stopped racing with Pie. More pride than her parents had ever bothered to instill in her.

So why was she taking so long to say yes?

"Ned, this is…" Her voice pitched with emotions that she could not quite identify. "What brought this on?"

He glanced down, his eyes lingering a second too long on the left pocket of her dress. "I just…need you to know how much I appreciate having you here."

And all of a sudden, Itty Bitty felt her sleuthing skills activate, as facts fell into place like Tetris blocks in her brain. He had been hovering around the counter where she first left the pasta. He had ducked down for a moment, she assumed to tie a wayward shoelace. Now he eyed her hip like she had a gun holstered to it…

Did he read the note? Was this him giving her an incentive to stay? Dangling the carrot, not necessarily because she earned it, but because he needed her right now, and he had to offer something to keep her around…?

The thought left an unpleasant aftertaste in her mouth.

"Can I think about it for a while?"

Ned blinked, apparently taken aback by her hesitation. "What's there to think about?"

"Oh, I just like to weigh my options," she said, and immediately regretted it.

The Pie Maker took a second to wrestle his facial expressions into something neutral before he nodded and dropped a bag of apples in the cart. They continued down the aisle, but their silence had lost its ease, and he seemed as troubled as ever.

XXX

Emerson assessed his corkboard for the umpteenth time, making sure all the pertinent information was present and accounted for. He had used the last of his red yarn on a spare tea cosy, forcing him to settle for canary yellow instead. The thread connected various clues and leads, which took the form of newspaper clippings and photographs, death certificates and Post-it notes, all adhered or pinned to the cork.

The PI checked his watch, and was just grumbling under his breath about tardiness when a dainty knock sounded against the door.

"It's open," he announced.

Itty Bitty entered a moment later, shucking off her gloves. "Emerson Cod leaving his door open?" she grinned. "What's next? Not pointing guns at people who dare to visit?"

"Keep talkin' and you'll get the gun pointed at you yet."

Olive raised her hands in preemptive surrender, boot heels click-clacking against the hardwood floor as she strolled over.

"Sorry I'm late. Shopping took longer than expected. You know, for a guy who used to work with trash fruit he is weirdly picky."

"Hm," Emerson hummed in vague amusement. He folded his arms and inclined his head towards the board mounted on a wall. It was illuminated only by streetlight, and the lamp he had left on in the corner.

"What's this?"

"My mystery map," he said, with something like pride. "I only bust this bad boy out for the big cases. The ones that extend over years; miles; victims sometimes."

"Like the Case of the Blue Berets."

"Like the Case of the Blue Berets." Emerson took a few steps back until he could lean on the couch behind them. "At some point - and I think that point is comin' soon - you're gonna have to take over while I get to takin' care of my daughter."

Olive gasped, hands flying to her face. "Did you find her? Did she find you? Did the pop-up book work?!"

"Nah," Emerson exhaled as if pushing off a tangible weight. Olive seemed to deflate as well. "No joy on that one. So I've decided to make a more proactive approach. I called up my ex-brother-in-law. He's an okay kid; liked me more than his sister did most of the time. He has an idea of where they might be, says he'll call her up, try to figure out where they're goin' next."

"Won't she figure out he's asking on your behalf? I remember her being a pretty smart lady."

"Well, I prefer the word diabolical," he remarked. "But yeah. She might figure it out. Still worth a shot, though. She's gonna keep movin' no matter what. All I can do is slow her down long enough to get to my kid."

"So…you're leaving?"

"Soon as I get somethin' to go on."

Olive looked like she might actually cry, but she mercifully spared him the spectacle. Nevertheless, she could not stop herself giving him a hug, wrapping her arms around him like a toddler trying to embrace an oak tree.

"I'm so excited for you," she sighed, releasing him and turning back to the board. "Not so jazzed about the extra responsibility though…"

Emerson scoffed. "Ain't you the one that wanted a spot on Team PI in the first place?"

"I did – I do. It's just, between this and being manager at the Pie Hole…"

"Bein' what now?"

"Oh, didn't I mention?" she said, with a wavering smile. "Ned offered me a promotion."

The PI allowed himself to preen a little. "Well, I'll be. Doughboy finally listened to me."

"…what do you mean?"

He shrugged, mind already wandering off to more interesting things. "Few weeks back I told him that if he wanted you to stick around instead of runnin' off with Randy he'd have to give you a reason to stay. I'm guessin' this is that reason." He glanced her way, then did a double take at her long face. "Most people would recognize this as a good thing, Snook. Shows how much he values you."

"If I get promoted I want it to be because I earned it," she grumbled. "Not because he needs a sidekick. You think he would have offered if Chuck was here? You think he would have noticed how 'valuable' I am?"

Emerson sighed and rolled his eyes. "I think you're overthinkin' yourself into a problem that don't exist. And I've got enough real problems without worryin' about yours."

Olive stared up at him, smiling despite his dismissal of her emotional turmoil. "I'm gonna miss you, Cod."

Emerson harrumphed. He couldn't say the feeling was mutual. Of course, it was...

He just couldn't bring himself to say it.

A/N: I dig hangout chapters, man! But more action to come :) Thanks for reading x