“That’s really great work you and Alex did,” Arsen said as they stepped into his kitchen.
Quinn smiled. “I felt like I should be doing something. Everyone had a job, except me, and I felt like a leach. It came out better than I expected. When it started coming together, and I could see what Alex was doing…”
“That was four or five days ago, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. How’d you know?”
“Elementary, Doctor Quinn,” Arsen replied in a passible British accent. “Or should it be Dr. Quinn, Website Wizard? It doesn’t matter. That’s when you started seeming excited about something. I’m surprised you didn’t have your picture up there somewhere.”
She looked down. “No. I’m not pretty enough and I wanted it to be the old ladies of the club.” He watched her a moment until she met his eyes. “What?”
“I can understand you wanting it to be members of the club, but that not pretty enough excuse is just bullshit.”
She looked down. “I don’t know. I don’t feel very pretty anymore.”
He tipped her head back up. “All the scars you have are on the inside. On the outside you are as lovely as you ever were. It’s only been a month. Give it time, and even those scars will fade.” He continued to hold her chin, not letting her look down, forcing her to meet his eyes so she could see the truth in his words. After a moment he turned her loose. “I have an idea. Let’s go out and celebrate your success as a web designer.”
She smiled. “Okay, but can we take the car? It’s so damn hot down here compared to Flagstaff. The heat just saps me.”
“We can if you want, but the sun will be down soon and then it’ll cool off.”
“Yeah, to ninety-five.”
He laughed. “Do you think you can stand another ride on the Indian? After dinner we’ll run up to Mount Lemmon. It can be as much as thirty degrees cooler up there, and it’s only an hour away.”
“God, that sounds amazing! Can we do that? If I could get out of the heat for just a little while.”
He grinned, delighting in her continued enthusiasm. He glanced at his watch. “If we leave now, we can run up there and have dinner in Summerhaven before the Sawmill closes.”
“The what?”
“The Sawmill Run Restaurant. If we leave now we can be there before they close.”
She grinned. “What are we waiting for?”
The ride started out as hot as ever in the one hundred plus degree afternoon heat. When the bike was moving it was tolerable, but the moment the bike stopped for traffic she felt like she was melting. She wondered how those who lived here ever adjusted to the heat. As they began the climb up Mount Lemmon Highway, she could feel the temperature dropping with every mile.
Arsen was a skilled rider, carving the bike along the twisting road, riding fast but not reckless. She had long been comfortable on the back of a motorcycle, and he gave her no cause for concern.
As they neared the summit, she threw her arms out wide, embracing the cool air rushing over her, and she realized how fitting the name of the small town was. It truly was a haven from the blazing heat of the Tucson and Sonora Desert seven thousand feet below.
The Sawmill was one of the first businesses on the road into Summerhaven, and he wheeled the bike into the parking lot. It was just after seven, and the restaurant closed at eight, so there were plenty of spaces available. She dismounted the bike and stretched, then removed her helmet and breathed deep, enjoying the smell of pine and the cool air. It was in the low eighties, hardly cool, but compared to the heat they left an hour ago, it was blissful.
“Thank you so much,” she gushed as they walked toward the building. “I may never leave.”
They went inside and were immediately seated. The menu was limited, so she selected the smoked chicken, while he picked the meatloaf.
“This is where your cabin is?” she asked softly as they waited for their meal.
“Yeah, at the end of Fern Ridge.”
“Have you been back since that day?”
“No.”
She nodded in understanding. She would never willingly return to the Chrome Horsemen clubhouse either. “I’m sorry I brought it up.”
He gave her a soft smile. “No, it’s okay. I haven’t been back, but it’s not all because of what happened. Some is that, but part of it is…I just haven’t had a reason. Part of the reason Holly and I used to come up here was to get away from the club and all the stuff going on there. To have some ‘us’ time. Now the club is my life.”
“That’s not healthy, you know, working all the time.”
He shrugged. “You’ve seen it. It’s not like I’m killing myself. I can come and go pretty much as I want. Zane runs the day to day stuff. I’m there, primarily, to design new products and do quality testing. We haven’t introduced anything new in a while, so…”
She chewed her lower lip. “About your product. I have another idea that I want to run past you.”
He grinned. “You’re just full of ideas. Sure, what?”
“It’s really just a continuation of the website redesign. It’s about the packing of the products.”
“What about it?” he asked as their dinners arrived. He nodded his thanks to the waitress, then turned his attention back to Quinn.
“I think you need to upgrade that as well.”
“Why? I thought it was clever that bit you put in about the plain packaging.”
“I did that trying to cover the fact you ship your stuff in plastic bags and plain boxes. But this is a luxury product. Nobody needs bath beads or fancy soap.”
“So?” he asked.
The Blades had started B3 as a cover for their purchase of chemicals that were used in the manufacturing of the MDMA, in particular the sassafras oil. They purchased it, along with other natural aromatic oils, for the making of their bath products, and no one was the wiser. The rest of the items they used to manufacture MDMA, like p-benzoquinone, methanol, methylene chloride, or sodium bicarbonate were also used in the manufacturing of the legal products, and one of the plastics that held their bath salts was also the same bag they used to ship their MDMA. Nothing was used exclusively for their MDMA production and if they were ever inspected, they had the records to show they were operating a legal and legitimate business.
What they hadn’t counted on, however, was the products selling, and no one was more shocked than him. What had started out as a cover had developed into a nice revenue stream, but it was still just a cover and he really didn’t care what the packaging looked like.
“So, you upgrade the packaging to match the market,” she explained. “It doesn’t have to cost a lot. I’m thinking printed boxes with the new B3 logo on it and some leaves or something to match the website. But more than that, the beads and salts should ship in clear containers. People display these things in their bathrooms, you know?”
He frowned. “That will be a major change to our manufacturing process. Right now our autoloader is designed for bags.”
“But it could be changed, right?”
“It could be, but it’ll cost money.”
“Okay, but the club seems like it can afford it. If you did this, you could either charge more, if you like, or if you keep your prices low like you have them now, and sell a lot more. Maybe do both.”
He finished scraping up his meal and popped it into his mouth. “I don’t understand why the packaging matters if the stuff inside is the same.”
“That’s because you’re not a woman. If I bought your bath salts and they came in a fancy looking jar I could put out beside my tub, I would be much happier than if the same salts were in plastic bag like I freeze my leftover spaghetti sauce in. I would probably use more of them too because they would be where I could see them. I’m certain you could raise your price enough to cover the increased cost of packaging, and maybe a little more, plus increase your sales.”
He chuckled. “We don’t use Ziploc bags.”
“No, but you might as well.”
“You’re sure about this?”
“Sure, no, but if you look at your competitors, they all sell their product just like I’m proposing. There must be a reason for it. The bags really cheapen the experience when you open the box.”
He thought about it a moment. “Okay. When we get back, give me some ideas on the cost of the packaging. Once you have that, I’ll find out what it’ll take to change the process over. Then you can make the pitch to the club. If the club approves, we’ll do it.”
She quickly drummed her fingers on the edge of the table in excitement as her face broke into a huge smile. “I have some ideas already. I was thinking about this as I was working on the website. You won’t be disappointed, I promise!”
He grinned as he picked up the check. “If you do half as good a job on this as you did the website, it’ll be great.”
The sun had disappeared and the temperature was noticeably cooler when they stepped out of the restaurant. “I can’t believe how much cooler it is up here than in Tucson,” Quinn said as she pulled on her helmet.
“It snows here in the winter.”
“Snows?” she asked, her eyes narrowing, watching to see if he was yanking her chain.
“Yeah. There’s a ski resort just up the road.”
“You’re kidding me!”
“Want to see?”
“Sure!”
They rode up to the lodge at Mt. Lemmon Ski Valley and Quinn was amazed that just an hour from the broiling heat of Tucson, there was skiing available, even in the winter. “I didn’t know, and I sure as hell would have never guessed,” she said, the Indian thrumming between their legs as she stared at the lodge.
He chuckled. “You ski?”
She laughed. “I’m from Arizona! Of course I don’t ski.”
He grinned, then his smile faded. Maybe it was time for him to face his demons too. “I have something else to show you.”