Vanilla Vengeance

by Molly Maple

  Helen shrugs. “It’s possible he had his gloves off and some sauce spilled on his hands. You can ask Robert. He closed up with his dad that night.”

  My reply comes out slow. “I don’t think that’s true. Robert didn’t see his father the day Gerald died.”

  As if summoned by the sound of his own name, Robert walks out of his office and stands in the kitchen. His eyes narrow, taking in my frozen body language. “What are we talking about, ladies?” He wears the tone of a teacher who caught me whispering in class.

  Helen is too busy tending to the tomatoes to take in the shifting tenor of the room. “The girls were saying that Gerald didn’t see you the night before his body was found, but that’s not true. You were with him. Did he spill sauce on his hands when you two were here? They’re saying he was found with orange on his hands. Probably from the sauce.”

  Robert doesn’t take his eyes off me. It’s like he is trying to sift through my brain, picking out accusations I might hurl at him before they can birth from my lips. “Is that so? I couldn’t say.”

  Be brave. Be brave. Be brave.

  “Couldn’t say if Gerald had sauce on his hands, or couldn’t say that you were here the night of his murder?”

  Robert draws himself up, claiming every inch of his superior height. “I have a business to run. You can see yourselves out.”

  “Sure thing.” I force my voice to sound chipper. “I need to check on my cupcake shipment before I go. They were looking a little frosty. Maybe they should go on a lower shelf in the cooler.” I motion for Helen to show me where she stores the cupcakes I sent in, but Robert steps toward me, his mouth firm with displeasure.

  Marianne beelines toward him. “Robert, quick question. What makes the sauce stain? Charlotte got some on her hands, and we can’t get it out.”

  It’s an innocuous question, but it derails him just long enough for me to steal a few seconds with Helen in the cooler.

  My voice is surprisingly calm and quiet as I pretend to inspect my cupcakes. “Robert told the police that he didn’t see his dad the day of Gerald’s death.”

  Helen takes a step back, clearly afraid of her own words. “But I saw them together. They were bickering, as usual. They were getting on my nerves, so Gerald told me he would clean up the kitchen for me with Robert.” Her lower lip quivers. “I never saw Gerald again.”

  Though I can tell Marianne is running out of chatter, I steal a few seconds and gather up Helen in a hearty hug. I take the opportunity to whisper a warning in her ear. “Careful. Don’t bring any of this up with him again. I’ll take care of it.” I kiss Helen’s plump cheek. “You may not be able to see Gerald again, but you are helping solve his murder. That’s a great gift to give a friend.”

  Helen stiffens. “What?”

  I whirl around and grab Marianne by the hand, practically tugging her out the door. “The cupcakes look great! See you when I bring in the next shipment.”

  Now I am positive I know who did it.

  I only have to prove it to someone who can actually do something about it.

  19

  Officer Flowers

  I have never been to the Sweetwater Falls Police Station in the daylight before. Then again, I haven’t visited most of the places this town has to offer.

  I study every angle of the building, impatient because apparently, the sheriff’s office around here is an answering machine when the sun sets.

  I sat on this information all night, which didn’t exactly make for a pleasant sleep. Aunt Winifred made me a cup of chamomile tea, but it did nothing to settle my nerves. When dawn hit, I showered and dressed in my most responsible outfit: a navy pencil skirt and fitted sage blouse with my most formidable heels.

  Now I’m sitting in Winifred’s golf cart, waiting with my aunt for the precinct to finally open.

  I mean business today. I am not about to shirk away from this mission of solving the mystery of Gerald’s death. It has to come full circle, or I will never be able to shake the image of his dead body from when I found it atop that pile of compost.

  “You’re sure about this?” Winifred worries. She hardly ever voices concern, so I know I have pushed her to her limit.

  “Sure as I’ll ever be.”

  “You’re accusing someone of Gerald’s murder. That’s not a thing a person can bounce back from if they’re wrong.”

  “I don’t know about you, but I don’t want a murderer walking free around Sweetwater Falls. We deserve to be safe.” I fiddle with my blouse as the warm wind touches my cheeks. “And I’m not wrong.”

  Her mouth screws to the side. “I still don’t believe it.”

  “That’s because I didn’t tell you how I got there.” I tap my temple. “It makes sense in my head.” I hold her gaze with a steadiness I am learning to conjure when I need it. “Charlotte the Brave, right?”

  Winifred draws herself up with dignity befitting a queen. “Indeed. Onward, then.” We move out of her golf cart and into the precinct, making our way to the intake desk. Aunt Winnie’s hand on my back serves to steady my nerves.

  Marianne rushes in through the front door, sidestepping the tall fichus in the corner and making a straight line to us. “Nearly missed it. Whew!”

  Agnes and Karen are hot on her heels, entering in seconds after my favorite librarian. Each of them greets us with hugs, which is just about the best feeling in the world. If I wasn’t on my way to accuse someone of murder, I would think life can’t get better than this.

  When a figure comes around the corner and stops on the other side of the visitor’s desk, my mouth drops open in horror. “You!”

  My face flushes red while my body heats up in a way I cannot quell. My feet take several steps back until I bump into Marianne, who is surprisingly unmovable, despite her petite frame.

  “Hi, Logan,” Marianne says in a chipper yet somehow also serious tone.

  If I thought Logan was devastatingly handsome before, it is nothing to how starstruck I am now, standing on the other side of the desk from him.

  “I… um… see I… and then… and he…” My words are stuck in my throat, coming out in weird spurts at a higher pitch than I normally can achieve. I cast around for a diversion to get his gaze off of me. “Have to go!” I screech, startling Winifred and Karen.

  Agnes, I notice, is sniggering, just like Marianne.

  I guess Marianne doesn’t keep anything from her big sister—not even my embarrassing crush.

  “Oh, no,” Agnes insists. “This bright, beautiful, talented, single young lady needs to speak with the sheriff.”

  Would that I could melt into the floor to escape this moment.

  Logan’s smile is fixed on me. He is so stunning; it’s like staring into the sun. My chin tilts to the side, my whole body flinching away from the charm he emanates. His poise clashes horribly with my awkward nature.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask in a whisper, as if the act of Logan being in the police station is some sort of scandal.

  He points to the badge on his chest. “I think the question is, what are you doing here? I work here. Can I help you ladies with anything this morning?”

  My eyes zero in on his nametag.

  L. Flowers.

  “You’re Sheriff Flowers’ son?” Everything I say comes out as an accusation.

  He tilts his head to the side. “Sure am. Going on thirty-five years.”

  His sandy blond hair takes on a honeyed hue under the fluorescent glow. Only he would still find a way to look appealing in this lighting.

  Logan leans forward, his hands pressed to the table. “Can I help you ladies?”

  Marianne jerks me forward, countering my instinct to run away. “Charlotte thinks she might know who murdered Gerald.”

  “Is that so?” comes the sheriff’s voice from a few feet behind Logan. “You here to confess, Winifred?”

  My aunt stiffens beside me. “Fine. I did it.”

  Both Flowers men, a woman filing papers toward the back,
and all four of us go still.

  My heart pounds as the world ceases to make sense. “What?” I ask Winifred.

  My aunt throws her hands in the air. “I confess. I did it. I told the entire town that you were a bedwetter, Louis. I know I shouldn’t have done it, but you were really getting on my nerves, accusing me of Gerald’s death. So I told Delia, and she told everyone.”

  Karen shakes her head while Agnes starts to giggle. “Well, Delia is the town gossip. No better way to spread the word than to tell her a secret.”

  Sheriff Flowers lowers his shoulders. “Hilarious. Get in here if you have something useful to add. See yourselves out if you plan on wasting more of my time.”

  Marianne holds up her hand. “Charlotte has information.”

  Though, at this point, I’m not sure I can string two sentences together. “Why didn’t you tell me Logan worked here?” I whisper to her.

  Marianne grins in reply. “Because this is better entertainment for me. Come on, now. I’ll go with you.”

  Heels were the wrong choice. I am no more graceful than a giraffe on stilts as Logan waves us toward the hallway. “Let’s go in here and have a chat.”

  I can’t make my feet work. My brain is foggy the nearer Logan is. I came here to have an intelligent discussion, but I am not sure I can work out simple arithmetic at this point.

  His physique combined with the uniform is a sight my brain cannot comprehend. I am either going to faint or throw up if he doesn’t go away.

  Winifred fans me. “Goodness, Charlotte! You’re all flushed.”

  Karen looks Logan up and down as he opens an interrogation room and escorts us inside. “You really think he’s that good looking?”

  I keel over. “I’m going to be sick.”

  Logan touches my elbow, and I swear, my vision tunnels. “Are you alright?”

  Heat ricochets through my body. My heart hammers so hard and fast; I am certain he can hear the affect he has on my most vital organ.

  I shoot away from him. “Oh! You can’t touch me like that. It’s too much!”

  “I’m sorry?” Logan looks truly at a loss.

  I put up my hand to block out the sight of his beautiful face, my chin turned to the side. “You’re too pretty. We’ve been over this. If you don’t want me to throw up all over this table, send your dad in while you wait outside or something. I’m telling you, I can’t, and this is important.”

  Karen’s laughter rings in my ears while Winifred chortles slowly.

  Logan’s voice is gentle with a heavy tease to it. “You’re not serious. I’m not… No one has ever…” He takes a step toward me.

  I dash to the corner like a criminal trying to escape the law. “I’m telling you, if you come near me, I will barf on your table!”

  It’s a strange threat, but oddly effective.

  Logan backs up, his hands raised as if I have a gun aimed at his chest. “Okay. Sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

  Have this face?

  Be dressed in a uniform that fits far too perfectly?

  Be this gorgeous?

  There is no possible way he can finish that sentence.

  He makes it to the doorway and pauses, turning back around to face me. “Miss Charlotte, I’m really not…”

  The teasing tone he uses to say my name is not helping matters. At this point, I will never get over my crush.

  Marianne bursts into high-pitched laughter. “You heard the lady, Logan! Your face makes her want to vomit.”

  Winifred pinches his cheek for good measure. “Out you go.”

  Logan dips his head toward me, his hand over his heart. “I’ll send in the sheriff.” His voice lowers before he exits. It is laced with a tease that heats my cheeks all over again. “Though, if you develop a crush on my father, I’ll be sorely gutted.”

  I cover my face and tuck my body back into the corner, wishing this whole ordeal could just be over.

  When the door opens again, I relax immediately when Sheriff Flowers enters, notebook in hand. “Morning, ladies. Any new crimes I should be aware of?”

  Winifred mimes a laugh in his direction and slaps his cheek twice. “My niece thought she would come by and solve Gerald’s murder for you. I hope that doesn’t throw a wrench in your plans for the day. I know you were hoping to stop by and harass me later.”

  Sheriff Flowers narrows his eyes at Winifred. “Still might.” He sits down at the table, motioning for me to take the only other seat in the small room. “What have you got for me, city girl?”

  My knees are wobbly, otherwise I wouldn’t take him up on his offer to sit, especially when there are three elderly women who could probably use a rest.

  “I know who killed Gerald, Sheriff Flowers. It wasn’t my aunt.”

  He snorts derisively. “Of course it wasn’t. She’s innocent as a nun, isn’t she.”

  That hardly describes Winifred.

  “It wasn’t her because someone else was with him the day after Winnie and Gerald broke up.”

  My declaration straightens the spines of all three members of the Live Forever Club.

  I grip the edge of the table, gearing up to clear my aunt’s name, once and for all.

  20

  The Last One to See Gerald Alive

  Winifred turns toward me, giving my verdict her full attention. “I don’t understand, Charlotte. Someone saw Gerald alive after I ended things with him?”

  The interrogation room is cold and unfriendly. There aren’t any cheery pictures on the wall, only warnings to make sure you are apprised of the suicide hotline, the proper child car seat weight limits, and the name and number of a lawyer, who apparently can get you the best rates in town.

  I shake my head, tugging on my fingers as I begin to lay out the evidence. “We all thought you were the last person to see Gerald, but when I discovered Gerald’s body, I noticed one detail that didn’t make it into your report.”

  The sheriff rears back. “And how would you know what’s in my report?”

  I search rapidly for any explanation that doesn’t involve breaking and entering into the police station. “Um…”

  Winifred straightens, her hand on my shoulder. “Give her a minute. She’s nervous. Your son got her all riled up.”

  Another look of disbelief from the sheriff. No doubt he is thinking that we are accusing Logan of being a troublemaker, which could not be further from the truth.

  After a deep breath, my mind clears. “When you came to our home to interrogate Winifred, you said there was nothing unusual about the body, but there was. Gerald’s hands were orange.”

  The sheriff shrugs, but I can tell my observation makes him uncomfortable. “What of it? Have you ever eaten at the Spaghetti Scarf? You touch your fork, and your fingers are orange for days.”

  I bite my tongue to keep from telling him that I have, in fact, eaten at the Spaghetti Scarf. His son saved my life there just yesterday.

  “Gerald wears gloves,” Marianne points out, stepping forward to stand on my other side. Her arms cross over her chest, and in this moment, it is clear to me she does have a streak of wildness to her. “We interviewed Helen yesterday in the kitchen.”

  Sheriff Flowers shakes his head at us, clearly exasperated that we have taken matters into our own hands. “Of course you did. I assume you have even a smidgen of police training, right?”

  I fidget in my seat but refuse to be derailed. “Helen told us that Robert and Gerald were arguing, so she clocked out early. Helen is on her way.” I pull out my phone and glance at the time. “She should be here soon to give you her statement. She can confirm that Robert lied about being home that day.”

  “I’m on the very edge of my seat,” the sheriff drones. Though, he does begin writing down notes, so at least there’s that.

  Agnes’ frown takes over her face. “Don’t you take that tone with her. And sit up straight, young man. You’re at work, not at a back alley for beatniks. You’ll end up stooped before your time.”

  He
glowers at Agnes but obeys.

  I’ll admit, I love the sight of a grown authority figure being bossed by a sweet old woman who knits tea cozies.

  Marianne smirks at the phrase “back alley for beatniks,” which is objectively hilarious.

  I need to stop tugging on my fingers. I know it projects weakness and nerves, but the truth of the matter is that I am filled with both of those things.

  Still, I know there is a streak of bravery in me. When I reach for it, my fingers steady.

  I press on to make sure there is no doubt in the sheriff’s mind who the killer is. “Helen left work early the night before Gerald’s body was found on the compost pile. Gerald was wearing gloves when he was helping her in the kitchen, because he is well aware of how badly the sauce stains. Robert stayed late with Gerald.” I draw myself up in my seat, squaring my shoulders to deliver the truth. “Robert lied to you. He is the last person to have seen Gerald alive.”

  It’s a rush to get it all out, and for that span of several seconds, I am proud of myself.

  Of course, that confidence leaves me completely when the door opens and Logan Flowers steps inside.

  Then I revert back to my nervous self, readying myself to vomit.

  21

  Helen’s Help

  Logan Flowers is captivating in his uniform. I want to tell him to please leave so I can finish my talk with the sheriff, but all intelligent speech leaves me when his clear, bright green eyes settle on my angst-riddled expression.

  Though he addresses the room at large, the corner of his mouth drags up, fixing his half-smile on me. “I have Helen here, ready to see you, Sheriff. She would like to give a statement about Gerald’s whereabouts the day before his body was discovered.”

  Logan is no less beautiful than he was mere minutes ago, and I am no less affected by his stunning features. My entire body flushes pink. My chin lowers, my hand shielding my forehead because his beauty is as potent as staring into the sun.