Page 31 of Sex, Lies, & Techy Guys (Love on the Sunshine Coast)

We wish her well as she heads into the garage.

“Sorry, I didn’t go get your mail yet. It hasn’t quit raining. I’ll be sure to bring it in when we get back from our stuff today.”

“It’s okay. It doesn’t matter.”

Such a change of pace from yesterday. We both give her a hug and I say, “If you need to talk to us about whatever’s going on, you can.”

“You have no idea what that means to me but it’s my bullshit legal problems lingering from my ex.”

She heads into the garage and we follow. Watching as she backs out, we stand like lovesick puppies whose owner is leaving for what must amount to days in dog years. Even as the garage door lowers, we take in every last sight of her until she’s gone and it’s closed.

Lance sticks my laptop in his bag to be sure it won’t get wet as we run to the car. Thankfully the rain has let up slightly. The drive and ferry ride are as somber as a death march. We’ve done our best and know the man that hired us won’t be satisfied.

Transitioning from Gibsons, the small town tucked onto a mountainous shore, we make our way through Vancouver, a world apart with its tall buildings and city infrastructure.

The lawyer’s assistant ushers us to a large conference room. Kyle sets his satchel on the table and opens it but I hand him what he’s looking for—his laptop.

“Oh yeah, thanks.”

“Is that your new mouse?” I point to the plastic packaging sticking out of his bag.

“My archaic, wired mouse, yes it is.” He pulls it out and Penny’s mail drags out with it.

I grab the envelopes to keep them from falling on the floor and don’t think anything of looking at the name.

I’m confused, and not just because it’s upside down.

It’s addressed to Penelope, which of course could be our Penny’s real name. But the last name is Fournier. The woman we’re tasked with finding evidence against. How did Kyle get her mail? I right the envelope then stare. It still says Penelope Fournier.

Shuffling the other envelope in front, it’s a different name, but one that I recognize from our searches. Penelope Fournier’s parents. We’d left no stone unturned trying to follow potential paths for the money and her parents had been one of many dead ends.

My brain refuses to let the cogs rotate into place.

Kyle is setting up his laptop, as we’d planned to do in case we need to check something last minute. He glances over. “What’s up?”

“It’s Penelope Fournier’s mail.” I hold up the first piece then the other. “And this is to her parents.”

“From my bag?” He grabs the envelopes. “I don’t understand. I took it out of the mailbox yesterday morning when it was about to rain, before I grabbed breakfast.”

“You took Penelope Fournier and her parents’ mail out of Penny Anderson’s mailbox?” It’s too much to process.

Kyle studies the pieces of mail.

“How much do we know about Penny Anderson?” I ask.

“She’s Zac’s sister. Was starting a bed and breakfast. She was letting us stay before she was officially open, thus no website yet. Nothing official.”

“Did Zac ever say her last name?” I only vaguely recall our conversation.

“If he’d said Fournier, we would have noticed. I just remember him referring to Penny and that they’d lost touch but he wanted to make amends. It was a nice gesture on his part to refer us.”

I scroll through my phone and find the text message where Zac sent me her phone number and email address, with only the name Penny.

“Shit.” My heart aches. The situation settles on us, heavier than the dark clouds over the last day.

The lawyer enters the room, robbing us of a chance to make a plan. Kyle shoves the mail back in his bag.

The lawyer’s pissed off. He reams us for not getting the information. Now is not the time to mention that we may be sleeping with the woman his client is suing.

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