One Hundred Humbugs (Aspen Cove #25)

Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Ruby’s rental car crawled along the winding mountain road, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. The GPS had given up miles ago, leaving her with nothing but the crumpled letter from the lawyer and her uncle’s cryptic directions. This was nothing like navigating Chicago’s grid system, where even the most directionally challenged could find their way.

“Take a left at the big oak that looks like it’s giving the finger to everyone who enters,” Ruby muttered, reading aloud from Uncle Peter’s note that was included in the letter. “Then right at the rock shaped like Nixon’s nose. What the hell?”

She squinted at the passing landscape, feeling more lost by the second. “Great. I’ve gone from the Magnificent Mile to a scavenger hunt designed by a stoned park ranger.”

Just as she was about to give up and turn around, Ruby spotted it—an ancient oak tree with one gnarled branch reaching skyward in what could be described as a wooden middle finger.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” she said with a shake of her head, taking the left. “Uncle Peter, your sense of humor is ... something else.”

A few minutes later, a lumpy boulder appeared on the roadside, its profile bearing an uncanny resemblance to the 37th president.

“Nixon’s nose. Check,” Ruby said, shaking her head as she turned right.

As she rounded the next bend, a wooden sign appeared: “Welcome to Aspen Cove—Population: Growing!”

Ruby snorted. “Charming.”

She passed a small green space with a gazebo—Hope Park, according to a quaint little sign—before Main Street came into view. And boy, was that a generous name for it. The whole town center was essentially one block. It made Ruby’s trendy Wicker Park neighborhood back in Chicago look positively metropolitan.

“Alright, Uncle Peter,” Ruby sighed, “let’s see what kind of time capsule you’ve dropped me into.”

She crawled down Main Street, taking in the sights. On one side: a corner store that wore its history on its sleeve, its faded sign hinting at decades of stories. Next to it, a pharmacy with a blinking sign declaring “The Doctor Is In,” a veterinary clinic, and a diner proudly proclaiming itself as “Maisey’s.”

Across the street, she spotted a sheriff’s office, Bishop’s Brewhouse—a place that, given the size of the town, was likely just some guy named Bishop brewing hooch in his bathtub—along with Bishop’s Bait and Tackle and a bakery simply labeled “B’s Bakery.” Ruby decided “B’s” must stand for “Bewildering,” given its strange proximity to a bait shop.

“This town has more B’s than a spelling bee,” Ruby muttered, pulling into a parking spot in front of the pharmacy where she was supposed to find a Doc Parker.

She sat, gathering her courage. “Okay, Rubes. You’ve dealt with Lake Shore Drive during rush hour. You can handle a small-town pharmacist.”

The bell above the door rang as she entered, the sound cheerful despite the sterile smell of rubbing alcohol that hit her as soon as she stepped inside. The interior was an odd blend of modern pharmacy essentials and small-town general store clutter. It was nothing like the sleek, efficient CVS on every Chicago corner.

Behind the counter sat a man who looked to be in his seventies or eighties, his nose buried in a newspaper. His thick, white mustache, which could easily rival Tom Selleck’s, twitched as he glanced up at her entrance.

“Excuse me,” Ruby said as she approached the counter. “I’m Ruby Whitaker, and I’m supposed to meet someone named Doc Parker?”

The old man’s eyebrows shot up, a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. “Well, well. I’ve been wondering when you’d show up. Peter’s niece, gracing us with her presence.”

“You’ve been expecting me?” Ruby asked, surprised.

Doc’s mustache twitched in what might have been a smirk. “In a town this size, honey, we expect the sun to rise, the corn to grow, and Peter Larkin’s niece to eventually turn up. I’m Doc Parker.”

“Oh,” Ruby said, taken aback. “Well, nice to meet you. The lawyer said you’d have the keys to Uncle Peter’s place?”

“That I do,” Doc replied, rummaging under the counter. “Peter also made me promise to give you the grand tour of Aspen Cove. God help me.” He let out a long-suffering sigh. “The things I do for that old coot, even after he’s gone.”

Despite his grumbling, Doc heaved himself up from his chair and flipped the “Back in 5 minutes” sign on the door. “ Come on then, let’s get this over with. And don’t say I never did anything for you.”

As they walked outside, Doc’s commentary blended snarky observations with fatherly advice. “That there’s Cove Cuts,” he said, gesturing to a hair salon. “Marina runs it. She gives cuts so good they ought to be illegal—but lucky for her, she’s married to the sheriff. Word of advice: don’t mention Chicago pizza around her unless you want an hour-long lecture on why New York-style is superior.”

Ruby tried to hold on to her big-city skepticism, but there was something about Doc’s gruff humor and the absurdity of it all that—dare she say it—was undeniably endearing. This world was far removed from the fast-paced, often impersonal interactions she was used to in Chicago.

“And if you’re hungry, B’s Bakery has the best muffins in town, thanks to Katie. But for the best meal ever, head over to Maisey’s for the blue plate special. Just don’t tell my Lovey I said that—I’d hate to hurt her feelings.”

Doc pointed to a cozy-looking establishment across the street. “That there is Bishop’s Brewhouse. You can find me there every afternoon at four for my daily beer. Can’t get a figure like this drinking Diet Coke,” he added, patting his belly.

As they headed back to her car, Ruby took in the town’s holiday display—twinkling lights strung across storefronts and wreaths hanging on every door. Doc handed her a set of keys that looked like they could have been forged in the days of the Gold Rush.

“And for heaven’s sake,” Doc added, his tone softening, “if you need anything—and I mean anything—you come see me. Peter would haunt me till my dying day if I didn’t look out for you. Not that I’m volunteering to be your surrogate father or anything, mind you. I’ve got enough on my plate keeping this town from falling apart.”

Ruby was oddly touched by the gruff offer. “Thanks, Doc. Can you point me in the right direction to Uncle Peter’s place?”

“It’s just up Pansy Lane,” he said, pointing down a side street. “Can’t miss it. It’s the one that looks like Mother Nature is trying to reclaim it for the forest.”

Ruby raised an eyebrow. “Sounds ... delightful. I’m guessing there’s no HOA here like back in Lincoln Park.”

“Peter always said he was just ‘cultivating wilderness,’” Doc said, amused. “You might want to bring a machete.”

As Ruby climbed back into her car, Doc leaned in, his expression softening. “Listen, I know this isn’t what you expected. It must feel like you’ve landed on another planet after Chicago. But give it a chance, will you? Aspen Cove has a way of growing on you.”

“Like mold?” Ruby quipped.

“More like a persistent ivy,” Doc winked. “But in a good way.”

As she drove down Pansy Lane, each house looking more Norman Rockwell than the last, Ruby had the distinct impression that she’d stepped into another world. Finally, she spotted it—a house that looked like it had seen better days, sometime around the Lincoln administration. The porch sagged like it was tired of standing, and the paint peeled like it was trying to escape. But the yard ... the yard was a riot of green, plants of all kinds growing in a chaotic tangle that seemed to defy the drought-stricken landscape around it.

“Well,” Ruby sighed, killing the engine, “home sweet home. Or at least, somebody’s idea of it.” She glanced at her phone, relieved to see one bar of signal. “Thank God. At least I’m not cut off from civilization.”

She walked up to the porch, each step creaking ominously. As she fitted the key into the lock, a strange feeling washed over her. It wasn’t quite excitement, wasn’t quite dread. It was ... possibility.

The door swung open with a groan, revealing a dim interior cluttered with shapes Ruby couldn’t quite make out. She fumbled for a light switch, her fingers brushing against what seemed to be stacks of paper. She found the switch and flicked it on.

Light flooded the room, and Ruby’s jaw dropped. Every surface, from floor to ceiling, was covered in ... stuff. Boxes upon boxes stacked precariously high, creating narrow pathways through the chaos. Old magazines, antique furniture, gadgets she couldn’t even begin to identify—it was like stepping into the world’s most claustrophobic antique shop.

“Oh, Uncle Peter,” she muttered, eyeing a tower of hatboxes that looked ready to topple at any moment, “what in the world have you been collecting all these years?”

Ruby picked her way through the clutter, managing to clear a small space on what she assumed was once a couch. Sinking down onto the dusty cushions, she pulled out her phone and dialed her mother’s number.

“Mom? Yeah, I’m here. It’s ... well, it’s something else.”

Her mother’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Oh, honey. I was afraid of that. Peter always was a bit of a pack rat. You should call a real estate agent right away. And maybe someone with a dumpster.”

Ruby’s eyes scanned the room as her mother spoke. Each pile of junk looked less like trash and more like snippets of Uncle Peter’s life. Memories. Stories. Adventures. There was a reason he had been estranged from the family. He was strange.

“I don’t know, Mom,” Ruby said. “I mean, yes, it’s a mess, but ... this was Uncle Peter’s life. It deserves a little respect, doesn’t it?”

Her mother sighed. “Well, it’s your inheritance. Just don’t let sentiment cloud your judgment. You can’t live in a museum of old junk.”

After saying goodbye, Ruby stood up, determined to at least get a full tour of her new ... home? Museum? Obstacle course? As she made her way to the kitchen, she spotted something that made her do a double-take.

There, on a cluttered counter, sat an actual, honest-to-god landline phone. And beneath it, a thick book that Ruby recognized from the depths of her childhood memories.

“Is that ... a phone book?” she marveled, picking up the relic with a mixture of amusement and awe. “I didn’t think these even existed anymore.”

Chuckling to herself, Ruby began to flip through the yellowed pages. Her eyes scanned the listings, looking for real estate agents. There were no options but Doc in the area.

Ruby’s eyebrows shot up as she read Doc’s ad: “Doc Parker: Your One-Stop Shop for What Ails Ya (And Your House)!

Medicine dispensed with a smile

Real estate sold with a wink

Free lollipop with every transaction (house or prescription)

Special discount if you need both at once!”

Ruby snorted, shaking her head. “Right, because what this town needs is a man wearing even more hats. I think I’ll let the good doctor stick to saving lives and enjoying his afternoon beer.”

She continued flipping through the pages, muttering to herself, “Come on, there’s got to be a real professional around here somewhere.”

Her eyes landed on an ad that stood out from the rest. It was larger than the others, with a bold headline: “Silver Springs Realty—We Turn Houses into Homes and Hoarders’ Dens into Gold Mines!”

Her finger traced down to the contact information: Gunderson, Marge—Silver Springs Realty, serving Silver Springs and surrounding areas.

“Huh,” Ruby said. “Not even a local agency. I guess beggars can’t be choosers when it comes to unloading houses full of junk.”

Ruby hesitated, her hand hovering over her cell phone. This was it—the moment of truth. One call, and she’d set in motion the process of selling Uncle Peter’s house. Of erasing this small piece of him from the world.

But as her eyes drifted over the piles of memories surrounding her, a twinge of ... something tugged at Ruby. Curiosity? Responsibility? Or maybe just the nagging feeling that there was more to this inheritance than met the eye.

“Oh, what the hell,” she muttered, setting her phone down without dialing. “One night won’t hurt. I can always call Marge in the morning.”

As if in agreement, a stack of books chose that moment to lose its battle with gravity, toppling to the floor with a resounding crash. Ruby jumped, then burst out laughing.

“Alright, Uncle Peter,” she said to the cluttered room. “I hear you. Let’s see what kind of adventure you’ve left for me.”