It had been fifteen days since Georgia last heard from her dad. Douglas A. Wight was a portrait of what a dad ought to be: fun, good at providing, and sweet. Something was wrong; Georgia was certain.
“Dad’s probably run off with some woman,” said her brother, Hayden, when the subject was broached on a crisp autumn Saturday. He didn’t bother looking up from his screen, its glow reflecting in his glass lenses.
“He wouldn’t do something like that to us. Something bad’s happened to him, and you and me are going to find out what.” When her brother continued scrolling, Georgia seized his phone from him and flung it across the room.
That had Hayden’s attention. “What was that for?” He stared forlornly where his iPhone had landed in the cat’s water bowl.
“We need to look for him.”
“Aren’t the police doing that?”
Georgia made a face. “The police are lazy and overworked. They’re going to screw this up.”
“Can they be lazy and overworked at the same time?” Hayden shifted his weight on the couch, no doubt pondering his own question.
Idiot. “I’ve looked up his phone records.”
“How?” Hayden sounded seriously impressed.
She ignored him. “There were five outgoing calls from his phone on the day he disappeared. One was to Mom, one was to work, and three were to town hall. The strange thing is that no one picked up on any of these calls.”
Hayden frowned. “That is weird.”
“Why did he call town hall?” She stared at her brother, hoping his slow mind might churn something up that hadn’t already occurred to her.
Instead, Hayden reached for another cheesy puff and stuffed it in his mouth. No words were forthcoming for the next thirty seconds, driving Georgia to snatch the bag away from him. “Hey!”
“Phone records are a dead end…for now.” She wrinkled up her nose at the bag of snacks, which she tossed onto the side table. “I managed to hack into his emails.” Georgia produced her own phone and brought up Dad’s Gmail account, one he used for his shadier dealings. She’d found out about it quite by accident when borrowing Dad’s laptop once for homework. “He keeps ranting to some guy named Johnny about a café called The Coffee Cottage.” Again she waited, hoping her brother would suddenly prove to be a genius.
Hayden belched. “Sounds cozy.”
“Dad said something about a tower and ‘better signal for everyone’. I won’t bore you with the details.” She rolled her eyes as Hayden tapped his chin, leaving an orange cheese dust print in his finger’s wake. “I think we need to talk to Johnny, whoever he is, and we need to find this ‘Coffee Cottage’.”
* * *
It took some research—on Georgia’s part—but they eventually found themselves walking to the other side of town, which meant traveling to the ‘bad’ side of the tracks, as Mom had always called it. The neighborhood just wasn’t as ‘posh’…whatever that meant. There were many businesses, most of them needing a new paint job and some major work done to the landscaping.
“Strange they had no website,” Hayden mused. “Or phone number. Everyone has them these days.”
“Hayden, that sounded almost intelligent.”
He flushed. “I have my moments.”
The Coffee Cottage, as it turned out, was even farther on the bad side of the tracks than they’d anticipated. Their large town of Warwick should have ended by now. There were fewer businesses, and the homes that were there had a different look.
Georgia groaned. “I think we’re entering the country, Hayden.”
Hayden had stopped walking. “Do you think that’s it?”
“Where?” Georgia’s head whipped this way and that, until she noticed the little cottage that sat between two ramshackle houses. The building was gingerbread-brown with pink icing-like trim and decorative circles that looked like peppermint disks. A great shiver crept its way down Georgia’s spine, and when Hayden stepped toward the cottage, she grabbed him by the arm. “I don’t know if we should go in there.”
“You’re the one who wants to find Dad,” he protested, pulling his arm out of her grasp. “I’m going in.” The door let out a tinny whistle as he entered.
His sister hesitated. What business had bushes of candy-apple green that were neatly trimmed to look like lollipops? Even the mulch surrounding them looked like edible. Georgia shuddered and hurried inside before she could change her mind.
As soon as she crossed the threshold, she was met with a breeze of warm, cinnamon-scented air. The floor beneath her was sticky, something that didn’t bode well for any diner’s experience, and she made a face at the pastry-shaped stools sitting in front of an imitation gingerbread counter.
A man with a ponytail sipped from a fine china cup as he read a paperback book while seated on an over-sized croissant. He held up his cup after taking a sip, and a pretty barista was right there, providing a refill.
“Wow!” Hayden called out, upsetting the calm of the room. “Georgia, you gotta see this.”
“Keep your voice down,” she murmured upon finding him standing in front of a cream stick donut table. The table in question was piled high with board games she’d never heard of and didn’t care about. “Did you find a clue?”
“No, but I’ve always wondered what it would be like to play chess.” He nodded at the board. All the pieces were different candies, and the board looked like it was made of gingerbread.
Georgia let out a tsk and ushered him away. “There might be time for that later. First, we need to talk to people. You take the man at the bar. I’ll talk to that woman over there.” She pointed to a corner booth that sat underneath a chandelier. “Someone’s got to know what happened to Dad. And twenty bucks says the man at the counter either is or knows Johnny.”
The woman in the corner booth, a petite brunette with her nose buried in a newspaper wasn’t keen on talking to Georgia. “Shouldn’t you be in school?” she asked with a dismissive flick of her hand.
“It’s Saturday.”
The look she received in return wasn’t intelligent. “Playing hooky?”
“Sure,” Georgia replied. “My dad said I should meet him here for lunch.”
“Oh, they don’t serve anything but sweet stuff here. You’d have better luck getting something healthy down the road. There’s a MacRatty’s on Bucklin.” The woman went back to her newspaper.
Georgia looked over at her brother, who surprisingly seemed to be having more success than she was. Determined to get some answers, she cleared her throat. “My dad is late. Do you know him?” She pulled out her phone and tried waking the screen, but it wouldn’t turn on. “Huh. That’s weird.”
“What? Oh, those aren’t allowed in here,” newspaper lady confided. “The last person to ask where they could plug in their technology was banned for life.” She said it as if it was some awful fate, like having to repeat high school.
“Well, okay, then. Do you know Douglas Wight?”
That had the woman’s attention. She set down her paper and stared all bug-eyed at Georgia. “Y-you mean the real estate mogul?”
“That would be him.” Georgia waited for the lady to say how she knew Dad.
When no admission was forthcoming, and the woman turned a bright shade of pink, Georgia began to suspect something was going on. “Did Minnie send you?” the woman asked.
“My mom?”
The woman cringed. “Yeah, her.” She took a long sip from the cup in front of her, apparently buying herself some time. “So. You’re Doug’s little girl?”
There was no use arguing against such an insult. Fifteen years old and old enough to walk around town by herself—with or without her dimwitted brother—meant she was no one’s ‘little girl’. But some adults were just clueless and had to be humored, especially if you needed something from them. “Right, I’m Doug’s daughter. And you are…?”
“Diane Blakely, but you can just call me Miss Diane.” She tapped her fake crimson nails on the tabletop, making a soft clicking noise.
“When was the last time you saw my dad?” Again Georgia looked at her phone and tried waking it up, but it remained dead. So much for taking notes.
The brunette frowned slightly. “He actually stood me up the other week.”
Ah, so Diane Blakely was one of his girlfriends. Good to note. “Was it three weeks ago or…?”
“Two weeks ago yesterday, actually.”
Dad had gone missing two weeks ago today, so he had stood her up the day before he disappeared. Good to know. “And where were you supposed to meet?”
“Some dinky little French restaurant. Said he had a question to ask me.” Diane scoffed. “I dressed nice and showed up at the restaurant, and Doug was a no-show. They gave away our table to some young love birds. It really was disgraceful.”
“And how did that make you feel exactly?”
The woman looked at Georgia like she hadn’t been listening. “I was a tad upset. Picked up some Chinese take-out, went home, watched reruns of Matlock.” She straightened her black blouse. “Which reminds me, the next time you see your old man, tell him he’s never going to weasel his way in to Elizabeth’s good graces. She, unlike some people he and I both know, is not for sale.” With that said, she picked up her newspaper once more and ignored all of Georgia’s further attempts to engage her.
Well, that was a pretty good motive for wanting to make Dad disappear. If she did do something, however, why admit being angry with Doug to his daughter? ‘Miss’ Diane must not know Dad was missing. But maybe this ‘Elizabeth’ character had a clue. And they still had to find whoever ‘Johnny’ was.
Georgia returned to her brother, who was back by the games table. The man at the counter was gone and had been replaced by another one. “Any luck?” she asked Hayden.
“No, it’s too sticky to play with,” he replied, setting down one of the chess pieces. Hayden took one look at Georgia and flushed. “Oh, you meant about the interview I just did.” He cleared his throat and wiped his hands down the sides of his pants. “He didn’t know Dad, but he knew some guy named John who wants to buy this place.”
“Did he give you a last name?”
“No.”
She smacked her forehead. “Hayden, can’t you do anything right? Why didn’t you ask him? Now we’ll never find this guy…if he’s even the right John…I mean Johnny.”
“Couldn’t we just email him, the right Johnny?” he asked.
“I don’t have his address!” Really, the boy was thick sometimes.
It wasn’t often that Hayden gave out superior smirks—that was Georgia’s forte—but now he wore a big fat one on his face. “You said you hacked into Dad’s email, right? So just send one from Dad’s account and ask him what he knows.”
Once Georgia had finished being embarrassed for not thinking of it herself, she made a mental note to do so once they had left this dump. “Fine. Learn anything else?”
“They’re hiring here. It’s part-time work busing tables and washing dishes.” Hayden beamed. “The pay’s really good, so I’m thinking of applying.”
“Not what I meant, but okay. Are you getting any signal in here?”
Hayden gave her a pointed look. “You tossed my phone into the cat’s water, remember? I put it in a box of rice, but I think it might be a goner.”
“Don’t you mean a bag of rice?” She stared at him as he blinked owlishly. “You know, the stuff the maid keeps in our pantry?”
“Oh, it was supposed to be raw rice?”
Georgia threw up her hands. “Unbelievable.” This was another problem for another time. Right now, they had to get a hold of Johnny and see what he knew.
* * *
A block away from The Coffee Cottage, Georgia’s phone signal returned and she brought up her dad’s emails. “It sounds like Dad and Johnny were working together. They wanted the owner to sell the café. Something about a dead zone for phones and putting in a tower? Apparently, they were going to buy the land and resell it for a ton of money to a mobile company.” She glanced up from her screen to find her brother scowling.
“That doesn’t sound right.”
“It sounds exactly like Dad, Hayden.”
But Hayden was shaking his head. “It does sound like Dad, but that doesn’t make it right. What if they don’t want to sell?”
“It looks like they bribed a health inspector to shut the place down.”
You’d have thought they’d plotted cold-blooded murder, judging by the look on Hayden’s face. “They can’t do that!”
Honestly, Hayden and his moral high grounds. Being in a rich family should’ve disabused him of them. Georgia scrolled through more emails until she got to the latest one. “Whoa.”
“What?”
“Looks like the inspector’s gone missing. Let me get into Dad’s sent messages to see what’s…oh.”
Now Hayden was practically vibrating with agitation. “Tell me, Georgia. Did you find something else?”
“Dad sent a bunch of emails to Johnny, asking what his progress was with their plan. That was three weeks ago.” She moved back to his inbox. “All the emails he received from Johnny were over a month ago. I think that guy’s missing as well.”
“Should we call the police?” Hayden asked.
Georgia glared at him. “If this is one of Dad’s illegal jobs, then we can’t bring them into it.”
“We could tell Mom.”
“Mom wouldn’t understand. She’s…too much like you.” What should they do? It really sounded like someone at The Coffee Cottage was behind the health inspector’s, Johnny’s, and now Dad’s disappearances.
* * *
Back at home, Georgia did more searching on the internet. When that yielded nothing, she picked up Dad’s phone. In case of an emergency, Dad had told her his passcode. If ever there was an emergency, this was it. Georgia compiled a list of all Dad’s outgoing calls and then attempted to crack his four-digit code so she could listen to his voicemail. No luck there. His phone showed angry texts from the CEO of his company, asking where he was and why hadn’t he responded? The last text from his boss simply said, ‘You’re fired’.
Well, at least she could cross the boss off the list of suspects. So far, Diane, Elizabeth, and The Coffee Cottage’s owner were at the top. If she could find out who Elizabeth was, then she could track her down and ask some leading questions.
Pleased with the idea, Georgia went in search of Hayden, who had been suspiciously quiet for the last hour. He wasn’t in the kitchen getting a snack, not watching TV in the den, in his bedroom gaming, or in the backyard swimming. Georgia swallowed. Hard. “Hayden!” She waited five seconds before calling his name again. When there was no response, she left the house in a hurry. Had whoever disappeared Dad done the same to Hayden?
Her steps carried her right back to The Coffee Cottage, where her brother’s blue skateboard sat parked next to the bike rack. Georgia let out a deep breath and ran inside. He must have gone on ahead of her to do some investigating of his own.
As before, a sense of foreboding came over Georgia as she hesitated outside the café. “Don’t be stupid,” she told herself and then entered.
The Coffee Cottage was empty, which was no surprise, given the time of day. Hayden must be in the bathroom.
Absently, Georgia wondered what the toilets looked like—donuts? Pudding cups? “Hello?” she called out.
No one answered. This was the perfect opportunity to nose around a little. She might not get another chance like this.
After taking a quick look around to make certain no one was watching, Georgia slipped behind the counter and searched for a phone or computer, anything that she could hack into and find more information. All she found, besides food prep stuff, food, and the ancient cash register, was a spiral-bound notebook with a gingerbread cottage printed on its front.
She threw open the cover and glanced at a long list of names, starting with ‘Andrews, Craig – game table’ and working her way through the alphabet. Georgia flipped to the back of the book to the ‘Ws’. Wallace, Wendy was the first name she spied. After that… “Wight, Douglas A. – portrait,” she read aloud. There was a flicker of light in the corner of her right eye, and Georgia noted the text was changing. But how? Notebooks didn’t edit themselves…unless this was some elaborate technology that mimicked paper.
There was the tinkling of bells from out front, and Georgia closed the book, replaced it, and went to the customer side of the counter before she could be caught. Why would dad donate a portrait to a business he was trying to shut down? It didn’t make any sense.
“May I help you?” The pretty barista with raven hair appeared suddenly from the back and smiled at Georgia.
“Yeah, I was wondering if you’d seen my dad. He’s missing, and I’m just trying to put together a timeline.”
The woman nodded. Georgia’s eyes darted to the name tag pinned to her frosting-pink apron; it read ‘Betsy’. “Is he a regular?” Betsy asked, concern written on her face.
“I don’t know. I think he wanted to buy this place or something.”
The woman’s expression flickered. “Oh, did he? I’m afraid it’s not for sale. It’s been in my family for centuries.” Betsy straightened a stack of china saucers and then gave Georgia her full attention. “What is your father’s name, dear?”
“Douglas Wight. I think he made a donation to you guys?”
That wrinkled up the woman’s brow. “We don’t accept donations, I’m afraid. We’re a for-profit business and taking donations would go against our policy. Do you remember what he was supposed to have donated?”
Georgia’s eyes flitted unwittingly to the gingerbread house notebook on the counter, but Betsy didn’t seem to notice. “A portrait.”
The woman gave her a startled look that faded at once into amusement. “Oh, the one over the fireplace. Yes, I remember now. He was so good as to pose for it.” Betsy stepped out from behind the counter and led the way to the large fireplace on the far side of the room, opposite the counter. “There. Is that him?” She gestured to the large, vibrant picture over the roaring flames.
Upon closer inspection, the portrait seemed to be made entirely of pieces of candy. It was Dad, all right. But instead of smiling for the artist taking his likeness, Dad appeared to be absolutely terrified. “That’s so strange,” Georgia said below her breath. “When was this painting made?”
“Oh, about two weeks ago. Your father had insisted on coming in here with some goons to tear this place to shreds.”
Georgia flinched. That did sound a little bit like something Dad was capable of doing. “I’m sorry.”
“Worst of all, he tried installing Wi-Fi.” Betsy shuddered as though reliving the horrors she’d experienced. “I told Douglas a dozen times to leave his technology out of this, but he insisted that Big Tech always wins.” She laughed, sending a chill zinging down Georgia’s spine.
“Do you know where my dad is?”
Betsy gestured to picture over the fireplace, her eyes wide and innocent. “Why, he’s just there.” She took a step toward Georgia, who reached into her pocket and produced her phone.
“What did you do to my dad? And where is my brother?”
The woman stared down at the phone with disdain. “We have certain rules here, sweetie. One of them is a strict no modern technology policy. I’m afraid you’ll have to put your phone away or leave.”
But Georgia was already attempting to turn her phone on so she could call the police. There was a flash of frosting-pink light, and Georgia’s body went stiff as a board.
* * *
Hayden emerged from cleaning the men’s bathroom—an almost normal-looking toilet with an old-fashioned sink, complete with hand pump and barrel—and walked right into a candy-striped coatrack. “Oh!” he exclaimed as the piece of furniture wobbled. “I’m sorry, Miss Elizabeth.”
The woman smiled at him, straightened her name tag—she had explained that Elizabeth is the absolute best name, as you can make so many other names from it, such as Betsy, which she used today—and nodded at the coatrack. “Would you mind moving that closer to the fireplace? I think it’s just the spot for it, don’t you?”
“Right on it!” Hayden exclaimed. He muscled the piece of furniture into place and they both stood admiring it for a moment. “What should I do now?” As a reflex, he reached for his phone, which he’d left to dry at home, and blushed.
Elizabeth gave him a knowing look. “Remember, Hayden: work first, play second, and…” She waited for him to finish.
“Technology stays at home.”
Beth Overmyer 