Vanilla Vengeance

by Molly Maple

  I glance down at my black skirt and pink blouse. “Like I’m ready for a job interview?”

  “Are you thinking we need someone to do our taxes? Because I do those on my own just fine.”

  I’m starting to feel more and more foolish as I shift my weight from one foot to the other. I hold my to-go box and pray I don’t drop it. “I was hoping to work in the kitchen. Possibly as your baker.”

  His brows furrow, making one hairy line across his forehead, instead of the traditional two. “This is a diner, not a bakery. You got waitressing experience?”

  “No, but I’m a fast learner.”

  Why? Why did I add that in? I don’t want to be a waitress here. I want to bake. Why am I agreeing to a job I don’t want?

  Probably because I’m broke, I remind myself none too kindly.

  “Fine. You can start as soon as you change out of that getup. My customers won’t take well to your uppity attire.”

  My mouth draws to the side to hem in my stubborn rebuttal. My aim was to come in here and offer him a cupcake to audition for the role of a baker, but I keep the box closed. Clearly he has no interest or need for what I actually came here to do.

  Why did I come here? I need a job, sure, but I want to come alive when I go to work, or at least not feel like I am slowly dying because I am so divided from my passion.

  I want what Winifred has—friends she loves so much, she busts them out of jail. She has an active social life filled with intrigue. She has a home dotted with her passions.

  I guess waiting tables will have to suffice for now, since this town lacks the one establishment I crave.

  I lower my head. “Thank you, sir. Bill. I can start tomorrow.” We hammer out a schedule and a pathetic hourly wage. Each detail makes my heart sink into my stomach.

  This is not why I came here.

  6

  My Favorite Librarian

  Instead of heading home, I take my dismal mood to the library, grateful to see Marianne’s smile when I locate the help desk.

  The building is beautiful—breathtaking, even. It looks like it was once a cathedral, complete with a steeple and vaulted ceilings. The stained-glass windows cast colorful designs on the polished floors. There is a dated look about the place, but that only adds to its charm.

  Her posture straightens as she fixes me with her bright disposition. “Hey there, Charlotte. What brings you in today? Anything I can help you find?” She is wearing her brown hair in two long braids today.

  I tap on the lid of my to-go box. “I actually came to find you. I finished the cupcakes I started last night and thought you might like some.”

  Her eyes light up, growing impossibly rounder. “Oh, thank you! I knew this would be a good day, I just didn’t know how. Now I know.”

  There isn’t anyone around in the library, and she doesn’t appear to be working on anything other than her worn copy of Wuthering Heights, so I don’t feel terribly guilty taking up her time. “I got the job at Bill’s Diner.”

  “Oh, that’s great! You love baking.” She pauses to lean forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. “And their pies are terrible.”

  “Not in the kitchen. I’ll be waiting tables.” It is clear by my glum demeanor that this is not how I was hoping my interview would go.

  Marianne tilts her head to the side, looking up at me with empathy. “I’m sorry. It’s a job, though, and that’s good. Get your feet wet in Sweetwater Falls.”

  “Yeah. I was hoping I could do the only thing I’m good at.”

  “The only thing?” Marianne asks dubiously. “I think you’re pretty good at sizing up a crime scene.”

  “More like disturbing a crime scene.” I double check to make sure no one is within earshot, but it seems like we might be the only two people in the building. “Do you have a minute? Something has been tugging at my brain.”

  Marianne’s eyebrows dance with intrigue. “I have all the minutes.” She motions around to the empty bookstacks. “Not everyone thinks the library is as amazing as I do.”

  “Shortsighted, the lot of them,” I say with my nose in the air.

  She waves for me to join her behind the circular desk in the area for employees only.

  My shoulders bounce with importance. “I feel so special, getting to go behind the desk. People are going to think I’m all smart, sitting next to you back here.”

  Marianne snickers, setting her book to the side. “What’s been on your mind?”

  I can’t believe how easy it is to talk to Marianne, to pour out my musings and expect her to make sense of them before I have.

  “The sheriff stopped by the house this morning. He wanted to talk to Winifred about the last time she saw Gerald. Apparently, they’d had a fight and broke up two nights before his body was found. Someone saw it, so the finger has been pointed at Winifred as the most likely suspect.”

  Marianne’s hand over her heart is the cutest thing, and echoes my own woe over my aunt’s plight. I take my time explaining the interrogation the sheriff gave my aunt, and then bring up the one point that’s got me stuck. “He said there was nothing abnormal about Gerald when he was found, but Marianne, look at the picture.”

  I feel a little bad that I shove my cell phone under her nose, displaying the photo of the dead body with little warning.

  Marianne cringes at the sight. “Oh! Poor Gerald.”

  “Look at his hands.”

  Through her grimace, she peers closer, her fingers tugging at her brown braids. “Huh.” She squints. “Why would Sheriff Flowers not make a note of his hands? They’re orange.” She looks at me. “Why are they orange?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

  Marianne shrugs. “Maybe he was painting?”

  “Painting what? That’s not exactly a shade you would paint your house.”

  She purses her lips. “I thought we suspected Amos Vandermuth, on account of the two of them having a fight over money before Gerald died.”

  “Well, I do suspect him, but I’m more worried about the how than the who, which perhaps is backwards.” I blow out a long breath. “I want to meet Amos.”

  Marianne’s neck lengthens as her eyes brighten. “I know how we can get him in here. He rarely leaves the house unless it involves the Live Forever Club’s events, though he complains the entire time.”

  “How are you going to get him to come to the library, then?”

  Marianne’s dark eyebrows dance with mischief. “I have more power than most realize. Funny how late fees can sneak up on a person.” She taps her computer, which looks to be seriously outdated. With a flourish of triumph, she points to his information and picks up the phone on the desk.

  “Such a scoundrel,” I tease her with a giddy grin. “What would the upstanding Agnes, Winifred and Karen say about such devious behavior?”

  Marianne chews on her lower lip. I can see she is torn, unsure if breaking the rules is worth it, even when murder is on the line. “Maybe I shouldn’t…” But it’s too late. “Hello, Amos. This is Marianne.” She sits straighter when a grousing grumble comes back as the reply. “Yes, well, I thought you should know that you have a copy of…” She casts around, clearly inexperienced with lying. “‘Suzy Rides a Bike’ was checked out to you, and it’s overdue.”

  I can hear his outrage as clear as if the man were standing before me. “What? I never checked out a book with that title, and I never return anything late. What fee?”

  “It’s a dime a day, and it says here it’s three days late.”

  “What?” The thunder in Amos’ voice makes it sound like he thinks he has been told he owes a thousand dollars. “But I never checked that book out from the library!”

  “Oh, really? Well, there’s a form you need to fill out to stop the charges while we look into it.” She grimaces at what I can tell is a thorough dressing down. “Yes, Amos. I’m here until six, when we close.”

  She ends the call far paler than she was when she initially picked up the phone. />
  I let out a loud “Wooh-hoo!” and high-five her for her stellar subterfuge. “That was amazing! Look at you, being all sneaky.”

  She casts me a wan smile. “Fair warning: if he yells at me in person, I might pee myself.”

  “I consider myself warned.” I glance around at the stacks of books that all look as if they have gone untouched for years. “Amos sure seemed sore about owing thirty cents.”

  “That’s Amos for you. He doesn’t believe in tipping, never goes a week without balancing his checkbook, and remembers every person who ever stiffed him. He’s got a list.”

  I snort my disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

  “I’ve seen it. He carries it in his breast pocket wherever he goes.”

  I cover my giggle of astonishment. “That is obnoxious.”

  “That’s Amos.” Then Marianne slaps her hand over her mouth. “Oh, I’m being mean. I actually do like him. His knack for penny pinching is why I trust him to look over the books for the library’s financials whenever I get stuck. Most people can’t stand him, but I don’t mind it. We all bring something to the table.” She pauses, pursing her lips. I can tell she’s not satisfied with the amount of praise she’s heaped on his name after dressing it down. “He’s probably got a reason for being that way. I’m sure I do things that are irritating, too.”

  “Name one,” I challenge her. “Did you forget to thank the birds that braid your hair? Did you sing off-key to the woodland creatures who tuck you in at night?”

  “No.” We share a chuckle and then switch topics.

  She fills me in on the details of the Twinkle Lights Festival, and the various tasks with which she will need my help. Marianne talks with her hands when she is excited, which I find endearing. Anyone who gets this geeked about twinkling lights should have whatever they want, including a second cupcake, which she dives into without hesitation.

  I’m starting to like Sweetwater Falls, mostly because of the quirky Live Forever Club, and my new favorite librarian. I see myself staying here longer than the few months I anticipated needing to spend with Aunt Winifred when I thought she needed me to help her get around.

  Maybe I could put down roots in this town.

  If not for the murder, Sweetwater Falls would be perfect.

  7

  Seven Dollars and Fifty Cents

  Marianne talks about the Twinkle Lights Festival with such joy that I feel like I’ve been there in happy dreams or goofy old Christmas specials. Sitting in the empty library together, we are enjoying our time so much that it takes us both by surprise when an old man walks in. His cane sends shuddering clacks through the otherwise silent library.

  Marianne stands, as if he is a veteran or someone who has earned her utmost respect. In reality, she is nervous. This must be Amos Vandermuth, whom she lured here with a lie so I could see him and get a feel for how murder-prone this man seems.

  “Amos, so glad you could come here. I’ve got a form for you to fill out to stop the charges of the…”

  Amos looks to be in his seventies. He shakes a knobby finger at her, his face sagging with a scowl. He looks as if he must have been born wearing the sour expression. “I haven’t ever checked out a book called Suzy Gets a Whatever. I read the classics and nothing less. I have never turned a book in late, so I want a full report of whoever you find that’s stolen my account information. If they are taking out books under my name, that’s a problem I won’t forgive.”

  I stand and fix Amos with my cheeriest grin. “Hello. I’m Charlotte, Winifred’s grand-niece. I’m new in town.”

  He eyes my extended hand as if I have picked up dog poop and then tried to shake his palm. “What of it?” His brown cardigan is frayed at the sleeves. I wonder how many decades he has owned it.

  “It’s nice to meet you.” I try my best to be congenial, which is usually a surefire way to coax information out of a person. “I made cupcakes. Do you want one?”

  He sniffs the box. “How much?”

  “It’s free. A gift. A way for me to meet new people.”

  “Hm.” Amos takes his time peering into the box of four cupcakes, and selects the one with the most frosting. “There. Fine.”

  I push myself into extrovert mode, determined to figure out who killed Gerald so I can clear my aunt’s name off the sheriff’s list of suspects. “Shame about the man who passed. What was his name?”

  Amos grunts in my direction. Though he is mildly stooped, he still seems towering and formidable. “Yeah, well, Gerald wasn’t exactly a peach.”

  “Oh? I don’t know much about him. Did you know him well?”

  “You could say that. I was his best friend.” Amos speaks with indignation, as if I should have been handed a brochure upon my arrival to Sweetwater Falls with a list of everyone’s lifelong pals.

  My hand flutters over my heart. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. You must be devastated. Was it sudden?”

  Amos scrunches his nose at me, wrinkling his face impossibly more. “He was murdered, so yeah, I’d say it was sudden.”

  I do my very best acting, widening my eyes and popping open my mouth in shock. “Murdered! I don’t believe it! Are you sure?”

  Marianne’s head keeps turning from me to him and back again as she twists the skin on her knuckles, anxious to even be in the presence of a lie.

  “Well, unless he climbed on top of a pile of compose and stabbed himself in the heart, I’d say I’m pretty sure.” He sniffs the cupcake but doesn’t eat it, depriving me of the joy of watching someone take their first bite.

  Marianne picks up the slack when I get distracted. “Gerald was stabbed? How did you hear that?”

  Amos pauses, as if he slipped up and revealed too much information. “I, um, I just heard it around town. Small town. People talk.”

  “Who told you that?” Marianne asks, digging deeper.

  Amos waves us off, making it clear he thinks of us as pests. “Oh, never you mind. Gossips, the whole town. Now, where’s that form I’m supposed to sign? I’m not paying you for a book I’ve never even seen.” Then he starts grumbling under his breath about who on earth would check out a book with such an insipid title.

  “Certainly. Right here.” She pulls out a sheet of paper and directs him where to sign.

  Amos squints at the page. He takes his glasses out of his pocket and puts them on to examine the print. “Make sure you’re not trying to swindle me out of my home. You never know with some people.”

  “Amos,” Marianne scolds him. “You know I would never cheat you.”

  “Yes, well.”

  I dial up my new girl anxiety. “Is it really that dangerous in Sweetwater Falls? Should I be worried someone is going to steal from me?”

  Amos signs his name and shoves his finger in my face. “My own best friend tried to cheat me out of seven dollars and fifty cents. You never know a person’s true colors until they up and swindle you out of your hard-earned money. Keep your wits about you, and you’ll land on your feet, young lady. Whatever your name is.”

  “Charlotte McKay,” I remind him. “Winifred’s great-niece.”

  “So you say.” Then he waves us off as if we are nothing more than peppy cheerleaders trying to sell him subpar lemonade. “Crazy girls.”

  When he makes his slow exit, I give Marianne a sidelong glance. “Well, he’s sure a bucket full of sunshine.”

  “That’s Amos for you.”

  I cross my arms over my chest, watching him through one of the few translucent windows as he ambles to his golf cart. “He knew how Gerald died, Marianne. Plus, he had a motive. Maybe seven dollars and fifty cents isn’t enough for most people to go nuts over, but that might be the threshold for Amos.”

  Marianne swallows hard, playing with her left braid, fretting while she worries the ends and twirls them around her finger. “Do you really think Amos Vandermuth could have murdered his best friend?”

  “I think he could.” I watch Amos drive away in his golf cart with my untouched cupcake
on his dashboard. “And I think he did.”

  8

  Charlotte the Brave

  My feet are killing me. Waiting tables is not my calling. Also, I am fairly certain I’m wearing the wrong shoes for the job.

  When I make it home and toe off my two-inch modest heels, my ankles scream at me that tennis shoes would have been a better choice.

  Aunt Winifred sings to me from the kitchen. “Welcome home, honey cake.”

  “I’m glad to be home.”

  And that’s when it hits me that I actually am home. As new as this town is to me, it is slowly becoming mine.

  I migrate to the kitchen, inhaling the fragrance of savory meat and what I hope are buttery rolls. “Marianne! I didn’t know you would be here tonight. That’s a nice surprise. Hi, Agnes.”

  The women take turns hugging me, and suddenly my feet aren’t bothering me at all. I love the warmth they emanate, and the sweet glow they all have from being together and enjoying the evening.

  I have friends and family to come home to now.

  I really like this.

  Winifred takes out a sheet pan of fragrant rolls that look homemade, twisted into knots. “The girls come over every Sunday night. Otherwise we miss out on too much, and it takes forever to catch up. Karen is on her way.”

  “How is our little jailbird?” I ask as I set down my black waitress apron and sit down at the round table.

  Agnes presses a glass of water into my hand and kisses the top of my head before she takes the chair beside me. “She drives by the police station once a day at least and catcalls Sheriff Flowers just to goad him. She’s living her best life.”

  I snicker at the scandal. “I can’t believe he just let her go. I expected a chase and a recapture or something.”

  Winifred waves off my worry. “Oh, the sheriff is always trying to pull a power play with us, but he knows we hold all the cards. Most of us babysat him when he was little, so he knows better than to lock us up for something silly like shoplifting.”