Egg Hunt: Chapter One: Is this Love?

Copyright ©️ Anshin B. Kelly, KaleidoShin, All Rights Reserved.

Chapter One: Is this Love?

Riley Voss stood at her apartment window, the soft March, morning light spilling over Flagstaff’s quiet streets. Spring had crept in, coaxing green, new life, even in a desert land, from the earth and a restless hum from the town, but inside her, something else stirred. These past months with Eli Carter had shifted her world—tilted it, really—and she couldn’t pin it down. Was it love? She wasn’t sure, didn’t trust herself to name it. But she cared for him, a pull she couldn’t shake. It scared her spitless, though, the thought he might not feel the same- and then there was the third hand: Eli’s past—petty theft, jail stints, a father lost to shadows, a mother buried under grief and whiskey. She had to admit, she didn’t know much, not really, and that gap was a massive wasp in her proverbial bonnet.

She tugged on her jacket, grabbed her keys, and headed out. They were meeting for breakfast at the same greasy diner where they’d plotted their Winslow trip months back—neutral ground, easy laughs.

In just a few minutes she was parked and heading towards the diner door. The air was crisp, scented with Spring promise, and Riley’s boots crunched on the gravel as she walked, her mind a tangle. Eli was a wildcard, a thief turned partner, and she’d let him in—bat and all. But what if she was just a story to him, a chase like Jed Carlton’s loot? Her stomach twisted. She’d faced down robbers and riddles, but this—this was uncharted.

The diner’s bell jingled as she pushed through the door, and there he was, sprawled in their usual booth, nursing a coffee. That grin hit her first—crooked, warm, trouble—and the gold cross glinted at his neck, a quiet anchor to his past. He looked up, hazel eyes catching hers, and waved her over. “Morning, Voss. You’re late—dreaming up headlines again?”

“Morning, Carter,” she shot back, sliding in across from him, her smirk automatic. “Just plotting how to ditch you for someone less annoying.” A lie, and he knew it, but it settled her nerves. She ordered coffee, black, and leaned back, watching him. Spring might’ve softened Flagstaff, but it hadn’t dulled the edge between them—or the questions she wasn’t ready to ask.

The diner hummed with morning clatter as Riley and Eli settled into their booth, the air thick with coffee and grease. They ordered the usual—eggs sunny-side, home fries, toast—and Tina, the chatty, pretty waitress with a blonde ponytail and a megawatt smile, sashayed over with their plates. She set Eli’s down first, leaning in just a hair too close, her fingers brushing the edge of his coffee mug. “Lookin’ good today, hon,”

Eli grinned back, easy and amiable, leaning into it. Tina’s flirting wasn’t new—Riley had seen it before, the way waitresses and barflies alike gravitated to Eli’s charm—but today it hit differently. She kept her face neutral, spearing a home fry, but the knot tightened.

“You a prayin’ man?” Tina pressed, nodding at the gold cross glinting at his neck, her smile all tease.

“Only when he’s misplaced his lock picks,” Riley cut in sarcastically before Eli could answer. She didn’t look up, just popped the home fry in her mouth, chewing with purpose.

Tina blinked, caught off guard, then flashed an awkward smile. “Uh, right. Enjoy, y’all,” she mumbled, trotting off with a sway that didn’t quite recover her swagger.

Eli’s laughter was all over his face, and Riley felt his eyes on her. She glanced up, catching the gleam in his hazel stare—he was very amused. “Lock picks, huh?” he said, grinning wide.

She shrugged, dropping her gaze back to her eggs, hiding the flush creeping up her neck. “Had to save Tina from your sermon. She’s not ready.” But inside, the sting lingered—his easy flirt, her own unease. They’d had long kisses, stolen in quiet moments over these months, their heat promised more. She’d pulled back every time, though, her hands firm on his chest. “Not yet,” she’d told him once, voice steady but eyes unsure. She needed certainty—about him, about them—before she’d let it go further.

Her mind flicked to a past conversation, weeks back, sprawled on her couch after a late-night case talk. “I know you’ve gone through girls like paper napkins,” she’d said, half-teasing, half-probing, her tone light but her gaze sharp.

“Me?!” Eli had shot back, hand on his chest in mock offense. “How could you say such a thing? I’ve kept my body like a temple.”

“Yeah, if a dive bar were a temple, that would be you,” she’d fired back, smirking, and he’d laughed so hard he’d nearly spilled his beer.

Now, at the diner, he watched her over his coffee, the memory hanging unspoken between them. “You’re quiet today,” he said, softer, testing the waters. “Something up?”

“Just eating,” she lied, forking a bite of toast. But her mind churned—jealousy, trust, the messy pull of him. She cared too much, and it felt good- and awful. If this is love, then I’m totally over it,” she thought darkly.

Eli took a sip of his coffee, the steam curling up as he leaned back in the booth, his grin fading into something more curious. “How’s the research on Lila Martin goin’?” he asked, voice casual but laced with that spark that always flared when their shared chase came up.

Riley paused, her fork hovering over her home fries, grateful for the shift away from Tina’s flirtfest. “Slow,” she admitted, setting the fork down. “Hit a wall with the archives—Lila’s a ghost after ‘44. But I’ve got a lead on a jazz singer who gigged around Winslow back then. Might be her. You digging anything up with your shady pals?”

“Working on it,” he said. “Tommy’s asking around—says there’s an old-timer who might’ve known her. We’ll see.” He popped a piece of toast in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully, and Riley felt that familiar pull—their rhythm, born from a wild start she still couldn’t quite believe.

They’d met months back, in the thick of her hunt for Jed Carlton’s 1950s heist loot near the Grand Canyon. Riley, a freelance journalist with a nose for buried stories, had been chasing rumors of the cash when Eli—then just a scrappy ex-thief with a tip—broke into her Flagstaff apartment, hunting her notes. She’d caught him mid-rifle, clocked him square in the temple with her baseball bat, and left him sprawled on her kitchen floor, out cold.

What started as a standoff turned into a partnership when Eli’s hunch about a second stash panned out. He’d tailed the same trail, driven by a personal stake—his mom’s cryptic note linking his family to Jed’s bloody ‘43 heist. Riley’s sleuthing cracked the first cache, tied to a murder over the money, and Eli’s street smarts kept them alive through a modern-day robbery that echoed the past. From there, they’d stuck—her brains, his grit, a duo forged in dust and danger, chasing ghosts like Jed and Lila across Arizona.

Now, as Tina clattered plates somewhere behind the counter, and swore in her charming way, Riley glanced at Eli, his cross necklace glinting in the diner light. That bat-swinging night felt like a lifetime ago, but it’d sparked something—trust, tension, and whatever this was brewing between them. “We’re getting closer,” she said, picking up her coffee. “Lila’s the key—I can feel it.”

“Always trust your bones, Voss,” he replied, winking. “They haven’t steered us wrong yet.”

Eli Carter had scored a trailer a few blocks from Riley’s Flagstaff apartment—a squat, weathered thing parked on a scrappy lot. It wasn’t a dump, not quite, but it didn’t scream class either. “Better than a cell,” he’d said with a shrug when he showed it to her, and Riley, for once, kept her snarky comeback locked down. Truth was, she liked seeing him settle, even if it was rough around the edges. These past months, they’d fallen into a rhythm—regular meetups, shared hunts, a tether she hadn’t expected to feel so steady.

Today, though, they had bigger plans. They were piling into Eli’s beat-up Ford to head back to The Eagle’s Roost Lounge in Winslow. One of Eli’s shady connections—Tommy, probably—had gotten word from the current owner, a grizzled guy named Ray, who’d hinted he might have something tied to the murder from the 1943 heist. Riley’s pulse ticked up at the thought. The Roost wasn’t just a jazz joint—it was ground zero for the mystery they’d been chasing since the start.

It all traced back to Jed Carlton and Lila Martin, a duo of outlaws whose shadows stretched across decades. Readers might recall how Riley first stumbled into this mess while tracking Jed’s 1950s heist—a stash of cash buried near the Grand Canyon, uncovered after a local guide’s murder. Eli revealed his own stake: His mom’s note hinting his missing father might be Jed himself. Their digging led them to a second clue—a ledger marked “J.C. 1943”—and Riley’s library sleuthing pinned it to Lila Martin, a jazz-singing femme fatale who’d partially run The Eagle’s Roost. Turned out, in ‘43, a robbery under the lounge’s iconic eagle sign—left a man dead, Eli’s grandfather, and the cash gone. The ledger, hidden in a canyon cave, pointed them to “the eagle’s watch,” and a trip to the still-operating Roost confirmed its role as the heist’s nerve center.

The two sleuthing misfits finished their breakfast, and now, as Riley climbed into the Ford, Eli at the wheel, she adjusted her bag, the weight of that history pressing in. “Ray better have something good,” she said not pessimistically. “I’m not driving an hour for bar stories and bad beer.”

Eli chuckled, firing up the engine. “He’s got a nose for trouble—sounds like our kind of guy. Let’s see what he’s dug up.”

Riley left her Jeep parked on the street by the diner. She’d left the keys with Tina, who needed it to get home that night. She and Tina weren’t bad friends- and Tina was sweet, just compulsively flirtatious.

The Ford rumbled out of Flagstaff, spring sun glinting off the hood, and Riley settled in. She pulled her favorite Bob Marley album out of her bag, opened the case and slipped the CD into the slot. Immediately, “Is this Love?” began bumping out of the speakers.

“Never thought I’d get into Reggae,” Eli said.

“Bob’s not just ‘reggae,’ Bob’s the Soul of the World,” Riley said grooving in her seat.

Eli grinned from ear to ear.