Tide and Punishment

by Bree Baker

  Maggie meowed. She slunk into the café, bright green eyes flashing.

  I released the candy in favor of digging my fingers into her soft fur as she came near. “Where have you been?” I asked. “And why can’t you talk?”

  She rubbed her cheek against my palm and purred. It wasn’t an answer, but I softened at the sound of her contentment.

  “Fine, you win,” I said, heading for the fridge. “I boiled some chicken last night in case you came to see me while I was making all those hors d’oeuvres. I’ll reheat it for you.”

  She waited patiently on my vacated chair while I prepared her meal, then horked it down as if she hadn’t eaten in days, which I knew was untrue. I felt guilty anyway. What kind of cat mother was I when I didn’t know where she was ninety percent of the time? I cleaned the counter and dropped the empty container into the dishwasher. When I turned back, Maggie was gone.

  I sighed onto my chair and dragged the laptop close again.

  There wasn’t any new gossip about Mayor Dunfree’s death on the Town Charmer, but the list of progressive dinner stops was up with finalized menus and printable maps for anyone unfamiliar with the best routes from place to place. I reviewed the web page, but my night’s itinerary hadn’t changed. I’d hit the busiest stops by way of the busiest sidewalks…assuming the ice had melted by then.

  First stop was my place. Sun, Sand, and Tea for hors d’oeuvres and predinner cocktails. The cocktails were mostly composed of my favorite and most popular iced teas, but I’d allowed for one hot option: an apple cinnamon tea I’d blended with nutmeg and pumpkin pie spice. From here, I’d head over to Blessed Bee for soups and salads with my aunts. Theirs was always a popular spot. People loved their store and their stories. Aunt Clara couldn’t host a crowd without regaling everyone with tales of unwritten history that could raise doubts about the afterlife in even the most cynical Charmer: me.

  Much as I wanted to protest Senator Denver’s attempt to lure the town into her good graces, I’d be there for the main course. Along with the rest of the island, no doubt. If I wanted to hear what folks were saying, I was guaranteed to hear the most people at her place. So, I couldn’t miss it. From there, I’d head back to Main Street for desserts and nightcaps with Amelia at Charming Reads. By then, I imagined, I might be ready for a cocktail.

  The day had dragged by as expected, long and lonely inside the café. I’d mentally rehashed my chats with Mayor Dunfree’s neighbor and Chairman Vanders, plus Maven and relative discussions with my aunts, Amelia, and Grady. I’d replayed the moments after finding Aunt Fran with Dunfree’s body, and I’d relived each gnome threat to no avail. I was practically dizzy from running in mental circles by the time my first guests of the evening arrived.

  I was fizzing with excitement at the sight of other humans and had to restrain myself from hugging them and dragging them inside. Lou had shown up at lunchtime with something red on his wings, gobbled up his crustaceans, then puffed up and flew away before I could ask him what he’d gotten into, and I hadn’t seen Maggie since breakfast. After eight hours alone with my thoughts, I was desperate to get out of my head.

  Folks piled inside as if they’d been waiting on the porch for five o’clock to roll around. I took their coats and shook their hands greedily. “Merry Christmas! Welcome to Sun, Sand, and Tea,” I sang. “Come inside. Make yourselves at home. Plates are on the counter and everything’s waiting for you to dig in.”

  A long buffet stretched across the service counter, now lined in greenery to hide the bases of the warming dishes and add a festive effect. The soft sounds of holiday classics played through the speakers of my old boom box on the bookshelf, and everything smelled like homespun magic.

  Amelia arrived with her dad after the initial crowd had swept in. I gave both Butters a hearty squeeze. “Thank you so much for coming. I know you have a million things to do by the end of the night.”

  Mr. Butters chuckled. “Please. We wouldn’t miss your piece of the spotlight. Besides, we have the easy part, desserts and cocktails. Everyone loves desserts, plus they’ll all be stuffed by the time they get to us, and it’s hard to make a bad cocktail.”

  I wanted to argue with that, but it was Christmas, so I smiled.

  “Amelia made all the sweets last night,” he continued. “They’re waiting in the fridge. All that’s left to do is open the doors and dish out the goods.”

  “And bartend,” I said.

  Mr. Butters beamed. “I was a bartender in Kokomo one summer.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Quite an experience.”

  I laughed. “Prove it. Impress me with your skills tonight.”

  He kneaded his hands in anticipation. “Challenge accepted.”

  Amelia shook her head. “Don’t get him started. I beg you.” She wrapped one arm around her dad’s back and shoved a book in my direction with the opposite hand. “I found The Greatest Gift in the return bin at Charming Reads and figured you must be ready for another holiday classic.”

  I turned the new offering over in my hands. “A Christmas Carol?”

  Her smile widened. “It’s my favorite Christmas read.”

  I laughed. “They’re all your favorite Christmas reads,” I said. “Thanks.”

  “You’ll read it?” she asked.

  I sighed. “Why not?”

  Amelia bounced and clapped silently.

  Her dad crept out of her reach, then turned for the buffet with a grin.

  Amelia fell into line behind him.

  I’d arranged the tea dispensers at the end of the food line. The silver thermal unit kept my hot apple cinnamon warm while three glass dispensers showcased my favorite sweet teas of the season: Iced Blackberry Vanilla and Iced Cranberry Mint. The adult selection was a combination of sweet wines from the cellar, plus brandy, lemonade, sugar, and a healthy amount of orange juice, which seemed counterintuitive to all the other not-so-healthy ingredients, but made for a killer sangria. I’d mixed in several chopped apples and sliced oranges for good measure. Considering the amount of ice still on the ground, anyone having a refill from the adult dispenser might want to call Lanita for a ride to their next stop.

  Amelia returned with a small sampler plate of everything and an extra-large smile. “I almost forgot to say how much I enjoyed your how-to video. It was delightful. When will the next one go up?”

  My stomach knotted and my smile fell. Grady had seen the video. Denise and Denver too. “You watched it?”

  “Yes,” she said slowly, dragging the little word into several syllables. “I was watching for it. Remember? And I loved it, like I knew I would. Everyone’s talking about it.”

  Everyone.

  My mouth went dry. “People are talking about it?” I struggled to repeat her words with my sticky tongue. “Who?” And what were they saying? I scanned the cheerful faces throughout my café. Had any of them seen my video? Was it too late to take it down? “Define everyone.”

  My fingers itched to grab the laptop and remove the link. I curled my hands into fists at my sides and reminded myself to be still and look calm. For the next thirty-five minutes, I was a happy hostess who wanted all her current guests to return again as customers, hopefully with friends.

  Amelia pulled her lips to one side in a smug expression. “As if you haven’t been checking hourly to see how many times the tutorial was viewed and read every comment.”

  “There are comments?” I ducked behind the counter and nabbed the laptop.

  Amelia followed, peeking over my shoulder as I brought up my website. “See,” she said. “More than one hundred views and over half as many comments.”

  Breath caught in my throat. My eyes stung with emotion and my fingertips froze on the keyboard before I could scroll down to see what people were saying. What if they all hated it? What if the commenters were cruel?

  Amelia reached around me and hit the down arrow on my
keyboard until the comments came into view.

  I smashed my eyes shut for a long beat. I gave myself the world’s lamest pep talk, then pulled one lid open.

  What a fun video! Will there be more?

  —Shelia in Charlotte

  That wasn’t bad at all. I opened the other eye.

  So glad I found this site! The cookies were a hit at my office party! When will the next video go up?

  —Manny in San Diego

  Fantastic tutorial. I’m a mess in the kitchen, but this helped me get it right. I even impressed my mother-in-law!

  —Anita in Los Alamos

  I speed-read through the comments with plans to return to them later and savor the kind words. Everyone was gracious and happy, and they weren’t only from Charm. Folks all over the country had watched and tried the recipe. And they’d liked it.

  My heart soared.

  “So?” Amelia asked. “When are you posting the next video? You only have six days until Christmas. You’d better get moving. With a response like this, you should make videos a weekly thing after the holidays. Give it a snazzy name like Tutorial Tuesdays to draw attention. Then, your subscribers can anticipate their next lesson and plan accordingly. Oh!” She rocked onto her toes. “You should make a newsletter. Provide baking tips or kitchen hacks and a recipe of the month. I can help with the setup. I took an entire course on newsletter writing in business school, and I have a great one I use for Charming Reads that we can modify for Sun, Sand, and Tea.”

  My head lightened. Words piled on my tongue with a hundred offerings of gratitude and appreciation my brain couldn’t sort into sounds. So, I hugged her instead.

  Thirty minutes later, my time was up, and the crowd moved on. I rushed through the café, cleaning up and putting away the leftovers before locking up on my way out.

  It was officially my great-aunts’ turn to steal the show. Aunt Clara and Aunt Fran had chosen to hostess the soups and salads portion of the evening, and they were guaranteed to wow the crowd with dishes made wholly from the produce and herbs grown in their gardens. They’d toiled over the cinnamon and butternut squash soup all afternoon. Aunt Clara had called twice to ask me for advice while Aunt Fran had cussed the concoction in the background. Ultimately, they’d been satisfied with their results and texted to wish me luck just before the dinner started. Now, it was my turn to support them and make sure they knew they’d outdone themselves.

  I hurried onto the boardwalk, careful to make each step count and planting my boots in the snow as often as possible. Snow offered a little grip on an otherwise iced-over world. I slipped and skidded several times before reaching the section of frozen planks that drew nearest to Ocean Drive, then I crunched across a narrow patch of icy grass to the street.

  The streets were gritty beneath my boots, heavy with sand and road salt to melt the ice. I caught up to a slow-moving clutch of people on the corner of Main and Middletown, then adjusted my pace to theirs and listened. Mostly, they were discussing their strategies to stay upright and the likelihood of getting a cab home if they had a couple of nightcaps later.

  I excused myself from behind them and hurried to catch the next group. They were discussing the hors d’oeuvres at their previous stop. I tried not to take offense that they’d chosen another location over mine.

  We passed a man leaning against a pillar at the edge of the walk. He turned as we passed, and I smiled, ready to welcome him into our fold.

  His face was grim, eyes hard on me, and my breaths faltered. The man was Gene Birkhouse, and he made no move to join us. He just watched as I hurried along.

  “Whoop!” someone called several yards ahead. Her arms pinwheeled and one leg shot forward.

  I sucked in a breath, hoping she wouldn’t fall. The man at her side caught her under the arms with a chuckle and set her upright before she hit the ground. He held her closer as they began to move again.

  Something tugged in my heart as I slowed to take the couple in. My gaze travelled to the other folks out for a walk in my hometown. Braving the ice to participate in a Charm tradition. Choosing to be part of something greater and sweeter than just one family could ever be. Everywhere I looked, folks were laughing, smiling, and holding onto one another a little tighter thanks to the unfavorable weather conditions. The ice hadn’t stopped them, it had only added to the memories being made before my eyes.

  Behind me, Gene Birkhouse was gone.

  I breathed easier, concentrating on the muffled sound of distant rolling waves despite the snow-globe-worthy scene around me. Overhead, stars twinkled in an inky, moonless sky while the entire earth seemed to be encased in crystal. Each tree branch and power line, street sign and roof glistened with the reflection of holiday lights. The view was beautiful in the extreme, surreal and almost otherworldly. In reality, however, people were struggling to stay upright, and they were cracking up about it. Joyful tingles worked their way across my skin, engulfing me in the sensation of a warm hug, despite the freezing temperatures. Suddenly it seemed as if anything was possible.

  I blended in with the next group that passed, then proceeded in the direction of Blessed Bee feeling light enough to float away. My portion of the dinner had been well attended and the selections well received. My video had been a hit, and the viewers wanted more. My smile grew impossibly wide as I stepped across the threshold to my aunts’ shop.

  Merry chattering and lively music filled the space, punctuated regularly with an abrupt round of laughter. I followed a line of new arrivals toward Aunt Clara at the buffet, cheeks rosy and expressions giddy with delight.

  Blessed Bee’s interior smelled like warm vanilla and honey. Happiness seemed to drape over each guest and fill the room from floor to rafters. I helped myself to a cup of cinnamon squash soup and an arugula salad Aunt Fran had tossed with candied pecans, feta cheese, and a homemade honey dressing.

  Aunt Clara was dazzling in head-to-toe white, an extreme version of her usual angelic attire. Tonight’s flowing dress was fancy with gold accents, bell sleeves, and a scoop neck lined in rhinestones. The look coordinated seamlessly with her blond and silver hair. “Everything we’re serving tonight came from our gardens,” she explained. “We harvest fruits, produce, herbs, and honey, then can, freeze, and preserve them to make condiments, dressings, and products for Blessed Bee all year long.”

  “It’s all marvelous,” an older woman replied. Her comment was supported with multiple other accolades rising up from the crowd.

  My heart warmed further still at the group’s kindness. People could’ve chosen to be mean or even boycott this stop on the dinner tour if they truly believed Aunt Fran was a killer. The significant turnout and positive enthusiasm proved that most Charmers were smart and loyal, or at least still ran on an innocent until proven guilty mentality, and I appreciated that.

  I turned in a small circle, seeking Aunt Fran in the crowd.

  She sat in the back of the store with a mug in her hands. Her gaze was distant, her smile weak and manufactured. Janie sat at her side, gently stroking her arm.

  I made my way through the crowd with my food and took a seat on the opposite side of Aunt Fran. “What’s up?” I asked, casting my gaze from my aunt to Janie.

  Janie’s eyes met mine first. “Fran’s thinking of dropping out of the mayoral race,” she said. “I’ve been trying to talk her out of it, but she won’t listen to me.”

  “Aunt Fran?” I asked, shocked at the suddenness of the announcement and a little offended it hadn’t come from her.

  She nodded slowly, absently. “Everything’s just gotten out of hand,” she said softly. “Maybe it’s time to face the fact that a stint as mayor was never in the cards for me.” The quiet despair in her eyes was enough to break my heart. Fran wanted to be mayor. She had for years, and it was beyond unfair that a murderer had dragged her into his crime spree and taken the hope from her.

 
“Hey,” I said softly, lifting her hand in mine. “I know it’s been a tough few days, but don’t forget how long you’ve wanted to do this. You can’t let one horrible person’s actions steer you off the path. Stay the course,” I told her. “Isn’t that what you always told me?”

  Aunt Fran raised weary brown eyes to mine. “You can’t fight fate, chickadee.”

  I grimaced at the word. Fate. The nonsensical idea of family curses flashed into my mind. Though that wasn’t what Aunt Fran had been referring to, it was the question of fate I struggled with almost daily, and everything inside me rejected it. All of it. “Fight,” I said. The strength of the word reverberated through me like a gong had been struck. “I believe in fate,” I assured her, “but I also believe in free will. The will to challenge things we don’t agree with and fight for things we do. Nothing can be set in stone so long as we have the will to change it. So, if you truly want to leave the race, I’ll help with your withdrawal any way I can. But, if you want to stay and fight…” I let the sentence hang as I squeezed her hand.

  Janie pumped her fists in silent approval of my awesome speech.

  Aunt Fran’s lips curled slowly at the sides. She reached for my cheek and gave it a gentle pat. “You’ve always been the fighter in this family.”

  “And who do you think I learned it from?” I asked, pressing my hand against hers on my cheek.

  “Everly?” Grady’s voice cut through the white noise around us. He closed the remaining distance in three long strides. Deep lines had gathered across his forehead, and a mix of fear and concern battled in his eyes. “Are you okay?”

  “Sure.” I glanced at Aunt Fran and Janie. We’d been having a moment before he’d interrupted, but we weren’t in any danger, if that was what he’d meant. I gave his grim expression another moment of consideration, then checked behind him for Denise and Denver. Wasn’t he supposed to be enjoying the progressive dinner with them tonight? And why hadn’t they stopped at my place?

  Suddenly his expression and his son’s absence sent a jolt of alarm up my spine. “What’s wrong? Is it Denver?”