Jude glanced at Oscar. “Because some people thought it was fun to prank my house,” he said.
Oscar cleared his throat. “There were a couple of dairy farmers mad at Jude because he didn’t recommend their facilities as suppliers for Gordon’s Frozen Custard.”
“They did not follow proper safety protocols for pasteurization,” Jude said. “And one of them didn’t pasteurize at all. It was an outbreak waiting to happen. And it did, as it happens, because eventually Gordon overruled me and went with them anyway because they were cheap.”
“But when it looked like Gordon was going to pass them over, a couple of them were really mad about it,” Oscar said. “One stalked Jude for a time.”
I glanced at Jude, horrified. “You were being stalked by a dairy farmer?”
“Yeah. They aren’t very nice when they’re mad.”
That was one more reason Jude should definitely move to Chicago. The dairy farm contingent there was small.
“I think it’s a good idea,” Mom put in. “Ella’s closer to the sheriff’s station. Jude can look after her.”
“She should come stay at the station,” Oscar insisted.
“With Can’t-Touch-This Wes? No thanks. Isn’t he in the cell with the bed, anyway?”
Oscar thought about this. He knew it was true. Wes was probably already passed out on the only thin mattress. “This isn’t a good idea,” Oscar reiterated.
“But it’s the best we’ve got,” Jude pointed out.
Jude’s adorable yellow Victorian farmhouse sat squeezed between an antique store and a hair salon, just a half block from city hall and the sheriff’s station. I was impressed on multiple levels, because even Oscar didn’t own his own home yet—he rented a place deep in the forest—and because the second Jude parked in the driveway under the large oak tree and we walked by the well-trimmed shrubs lining the walkway, I realized he hadn’t just hung around Lake Sanguis; he’d made it truly his home, complete with a white picket fence at the property line and an adorable red tin mailbox at the curb.
“You drive like a grandmaandyou live in a grandma’s house?” I said as I glanced at the Victorian, which was definitely giving Hansel and Gretel in the witch’s gumdrop house.
“Don’t yuck my yum,” Jude chided as he opened the big red door and shooed me inside a house that smelled like vanilla and gingerbread. He flicked on the switch in the foyer, and I expected a shrine to all things nerd bachelor—like flashing neon lights, gaming chairs, and a room filled with a Frankenstein PC cobbled together from eBay parts—but instead I was faced with a sitting room with plush white love seats and a cozy fireplace with framedpictures on the mantel, and an adorable eat-in kitchen with a retro 1950s aesthetic, including a red fridge and matching red stove and, even more surprising, matching red-and-white-checked potholders. I tried to imagine sexy nerd Jude in an apron baking cookies, and my mind short-circuited.
“You live here,” I said, still shocked by the hominess of it all. Where were the test tubes and beakers? Where were the books on cheese? I marveled at the wooden staircase with the wrought-iron railing leading up to the second floor and, I assumed, the bedrooms.
“Yes, and as promised, it’s fully wired with a top-of-the-line security system,” Jude said, nodding to the small camera in the corner of the foyer and the keypad near the door with the bright red panic button at the bottom. Jude pulled out his phone and showed me the camera apps. He had cameras facing out on the front porch, one in the backyard, one in the foyer, and one in the basement.
“What did the dairy farmers do?” I asked him.
“They left threatening messages on the stoop. They didn’t even cover their faces, either.” Jude shook his head. “Oscar had enough to file charges against them. They pled out and got community service. They haven’t bothered me since.”
“I wouldn’t guess so since Gordon paid them anyway. Though, would they be back with the listeria issues?”
“I don’t think so,” Jude said. “They’ll probably have their hands full with all the civil litigation.”
“Gordon should’ve listened to you,” I said, feeling angry on Jude’s behalf. Jude knew his stuff and was just trying to be a good consultant. Plus, Jude wouldn’t hurt a fly, and the idea of someone bullying him made my blood boil. I trailed Jude as he flicked thelights on in the kitchen, illuminating the foyer and the base of the staircase leading up to the second floor.
“There’s a full basement with a bathroom,” he boasted, nodding to the white paneled door next to the wooden banister. “I’ve got a foosball table down there. And a bar, too.”
“You… what?” None of this computed. I couldn’t imagine Jude kicking back playing foosball and drinking a beer after a long day of gazing at cheese curds through a microscope. Maybe I didn’t know him as well as I thought. “Why?”
“I like foosball. Besides, I thought if there was a family room, my house would be easier to rent during the high season.”
“You rent out your place?” I glanced around the cozy white kitchen cabinets of his vintage kitchen and thought this place would be a hot property during the high season.
“Only in the summer, and only sometimes. Those weeks, Oscar lets me crash on his couch.”
“It’s a brilliant idea,” I said. “I bet you make a pretty penny.”
Jude nodded.
“But… where’s your lab?” I asked.
