Vanilla Vengeance

by Molly Maple

  Marianne has tears in her eyes. She looks equal parts terrified and livid as she holds the shovel in her hands. Marianne is trembling but still ready to repeat the punishment, should Robert rouse before the police get here.

  I grab up the steak knife and crawl to Helen’s side. She has a long gash on her forearm that has bled onto her pants and shirt.

  “Oh, honey,” I coo, my body quaking but still focused. I sit beside her and gather the woman into my arms, holding onto her with the knife clutched in my fist.

  “He said he just wanted to talk,” Helen blubbers, holding her arm. “I shouldn’t have opened the door.”

  I shush her and hold her tighter. “You’re safe now. We won’t let him hurt you. He’s going to jail, and you won’t ever have to see his face again.”

  Marianne looks like a warrior, shovel at the ready. The only thing that startles her is when a cavalcade of footsteps rain down overhead. She calls up to retrieve the help that came just a little too late to get in on the action.

  My arms are stiff around Helen, tensed so tightly that I cannot move them, even when Sheriff Flowers barrels down the steps toward us. He races to the scene, cuffing Robert, even though the man is still unconscious.

  Marianne spills the details of the rescue in rushed, high-pitched sentences that smash together. Though she makes it through the entire explanation, I am not sure she has taken a single breath.

  Two other officers are here, but I cannot tear my gaze from Robert. Though he is cuffed, my body will not believe it’s over until he is dragged out of here and driven to the police station.

  “Charlotte,” comes a voice that nearly sends me into cardiac arrest.

  Yet, even though the sound of Logan saying my name is distraction enough for most situations, I can’t bring myself to look away from Robert. I can’t unlock my arm from around Helen. I can’t let go of the knife. My entire body is locked down, frozen as I struggle to compute how my time in Sweetwater Falls has led me here.

  I don’t answer Logan. I’m not sure I’m capable of speech just yet.

  It’s a struggle for Helen to wriggle out of my grip. The third officer has to help extract her from my tight hug. He is careful with Helen’s trembling form as he guides her up the steps.

  Robert rouses, as if sensing his prey has left the room.

  I did not think it possible for me to reach a level of anxiety this acute. “Marianne! Hit him with the shovel again!” I cry.

  Sheriff Flowers deftly arrests the shovel from Marianne. “I think I prefer my criminals alive. Makes them easier to get into the squad car so they can go to jail.” When Marianne’s chin firms in defiance, the sheriff cups her shoulder in a paternal manner. “I’ve got it from here. You did a great job, Marianne.”

  Marianne’s lower lip quivers but she doesn’t break down completely. Not yet. “I’ll help you get him up the stairs.”

  Though Marianne is a slight thing, the sheriff doesn’t turn down the help.

  My body is still tucked into the corner of the basement, my knees pressed to my chest.

  When Logan squats before me, my vision is filled with a sight too perfect to belong on the backdrop of such a horrid day. My mouth pops open but no sound comes out when he strokes my cheek. The warmth of his touch lights my face with a blush that I am fairly certain will never go away.

  Logan pulls his hand away and displays a finger streaked with red. “You’re bleeding, Miss Charlotte. I’m guessing this knife thought you were a juicy steak?”

  I know Logan is trying to be friendly and make a joke, but I can’t understand it. Or I can’t remember how normal people react to small niceties like that.

  “I wrestled a knife away from Robert,” I whisper.

  Logan’s expression turns grim. “That must have been frightening. Can you tell me where else you’re hurt? I don’t know which stains are your blood and which patches of red belong to Helen.”

  I am unable to feel much of my extremities. The terror is still coursing through me. “He had Helen cornered, so I tackled him.”

  Logan’s lips press together. “That was so dangerous. I’m sorry we didn’t get here sooner. You did the right thing, calling the station.” His head dips down and he leans in. “Though, I would have preferred you wait for us, rather than break the window and have to wrestle a madman to the ground. Robert was armed and clearly ready to kill.”

  I blink at him, unable to formulate an intelligent response.

  Logan seems to understand that I have hit my limit today. “How about I take this knife and put it somewhere safe. Would that be okay?”

  I nod, but I can’t relax my grip.

  Again, Logan doesn’t miss a beat. His touch is tender as he takes my hand between his, massaging my fingers. Finally, my fist unfurls, presenting him with the weapon used to assault poor Helen.

  When the third officer comes back down, Logan hands him the knife to bag for evidence. Then he turns back to me, still squatting in my eyeline. “I think we should probably get you out of here. Can you stand?”

  I blink at him, unsure if my legs possess the coordination or the strength to support my weight.

  The compassion Logan fixes on me shows me a glimpse of why this man is so much more than a pretty face.

  Logan rocks forward onto his knees and takes my wrists in his capable hands. “Let me help you up the stairs.” He drapes my arms around his neck and then fixes his hands to my waist. In one deft motion, Logan lifts me until I am standing before him, though it’s clear when I wobble that I am unsteady on my feet.

  Logan glues my side to his, moving us both slowly toward the stairs. We take each step together while he treats me to the perfection of his cologne.

  He doesn’t stop when we reach the top of the stairs, but rather he helps me through the house. He sets a slow pace as we move past the wreckage that is Helen’s front window, and out into the afternoon sun.

  Neighbors are gathered around, watching from across the street as Marianne folds her arms and glares into the backseat of the cop car. She is fierce and unapologetic.

  I love it.

  I, however, am on the verge of a total and complete breakdown.

  My presence diverts Marianne’s focus. She goes from tough woman to tender mother bear, dashing toward me. “She’s cut up pretty bad,” Logan informs her, though I wonder if he is exaggerating. I can’t feel much, other than my acute anxiety.

  “I’ll get her to the doctor right now. Help me get her into my car?”

  Marianne scampers to her beige sedan, starting up the spluttering engine while Logan lowers me into the passenger’s seat. He even goes so far as to lean my seat back and buckle me in. “Expect the sheriff will be calling you both for a statement.”

  Marianne nods succinctly. “No problem.”

  Logan thumbs at my cheek, turning my head to face him more fully. His eyes are filled with concern, making him all the more breathtaking. “I’ll check on you after we process Robert. No more solving crimes without me, got it?”

  I manage a wan smile. “No promises.”

  Logan answers with an airy laugh before he backs away and shuts the door.

  Marianne wastes no time putting distance between us and the scene of the crime, but my heart is still racing.

  23

  Twinkle Light Memories

  News of Robert’s arrest and subsequent confession spread quickly through Sweetwater Falls. I have spent most days since his arrest waiting tables. Lately, the townspeople only frequent the diner to garner juicy details about Robert’s culpability from me.

  Bill, the owner, could not be happier to have my clumsy and unenthusiastic waitressing skills at his sub-par establishment, because the diner has never been busier.

  By the end of each shift, my plastered “Can I help you?” smile is cracked and broken beyond repair, peppered with exhaustion. It’s a good thing I am booked for my one day off, helping hang twinkle lights for the festival tonight. I need a good distraction.

 
; Time with Marianne is good for the soul. Not only is she incredibly organized (which, when you are in charge of hanging millions of tiny lights, is a must), but she also has a passion for the event. She has a clear vision of what she wants the night to feel like, and how each corner and crevice of the event should look.

  My girl even has schematics.

  The entire town square has been taken over by booths, a stage, an open area for dancing, and enough fair-like items that make it clear this town is no slouch at putting together events that spoil and celebrate its residents. The grassy field in the center of the city has a permanent stage set up with an awning overtop, which makes me think they have live music here on occasion.

  Marianne put me in charge of lighting the area that has the photo booth, a pie stand, the punch booth, and a few other novelties that I cannot wait to experience.

  It’s a bad idea to perch atop a ladder that has been placed on uneven grass, but at this point, it’s my only option. Marianne wants the photo booth to look just so, and darn it, that girl should have whatever she wants. I’m glad I’m not wearing my heels today. Jean shorts and a fitted pink t-shirt paired with purple gym shoes are the way to go when the day is spent hauling heavy boxes of twinkle lights and hanging them at odd (yet perfect) angles.

  “It’s amazing,” Marianne comments from behind me. I nearly lose my balance, but manage to steady myself before I topple off the ladder.

  I make quick work of hanging the last strand of lights for my area. I want Marianne to be able to inspect the finished product without having to imagine the rest into being.

  “You’re happy with it?” I ask, climbing down the ladder. When I turn to face her, I’m startled to find moisture sparkling on the apple of her cheek. “What’s wrong?”

  Marianne shakes her head and swipes at her cheek. “I knew you would get it just right. I wasn’t expecting to feel all this, though.” She motions to the photo booth. “That’s where Jeremy proposed.”

  All tasks fly out of my head as I gather her in my arms. “I’m so sorry he hurt you. He’s a fool.”

  Marianne lets a few soundless sobs loose on my shoulder but manages composure after half a minute. “It’s all fine. Just stings sometimes when I see something like this. It’s exactly how it was that night.”

  “Did you mean for that to happen?”

  “I meant to follow the instructions set out. It’s the same setup every year.”

  My mouth screws to the side. “Well, I can fix that. You get out of here. Go check on the other sections. When you come back, I will make sure this corner doesn’t look like a bad memory.”

  Marianne draws back in hesitation. “But we have to follow the instructions. It looks the same every year.”

  I smirk at her. “I guess that crazy city girl blew into town and mixed everything up.”

  Marianne giggles, rolls back her shoulders the second her tears dry, and then migrates to the next area.

  Instead of horizontal lines, I unhook a few strands and layer them diagonal across the remaining parallel strings of lights. Then I beeline to the box of miscellaneous bows that have no assigned purpose, but were to be used to fill in missing or broken lights if needed. Instead of sporadic placement, I tie them to the edges of the photo booth, and up and down each corner. When I’m finished, the corner has been spattered with lines of bows instead of just the traditional twinkle lights. The whole thing look like a gigantic cake.

  Or maybe everything looks like desserts to me.

  Marianne blows her whistle, gathering all the volunteers to her. “Alright, everyone. Great work. People should be arriving in the next ten minutes, so let’s get the boxes back on the flatbed. Paul is going to drive them to the town barn for storage. Any questions?”

  One person with a raspy voice shouts out, “Did you really stab Robert to get him off of Helen?”

  Another says, “I heard you and the new girl beat him almost to death to avenge Gerald.”

  Yet another chimes in with a helpful, “I heard Robert has a collection of knives that he uses to cook with and to kill with. Is that true?”

  Marianne gapes at the volunteers, who clearly do not have the festival on their minds. “I don’t think I want to talk about that right now. Does anyone have any questions about the festival?”

  If there were crickets nearby, they would be chirping. It is clear that all anyone wants to talk about is the murder and the arrest.

  Twilight is nearing, so it’s almost showtime.

  Marianne clicks her pen. “Alright, then. Thank you for your help. The vendors are ready, the teardown team has a healthy amount of volunteers, so your only job now is to enjoy the festival.” She dons a cheery grin, which communicates to the team that she will not tolerate talk about her propensity to beat people over the head with a shovel to save her friend.

  Some things get to stay between us.

  When the townspeople begin to filter in, I am enamored of their excitement and curiosity. Though it’s clear this event never changes from year to year, the whole thing is new to me.

  It seems the residents of Sweetwater Falls have not lost their knack for viewing the world with childlike wonder. As people filter in, they gape at the beauty, marveling with their mouths dropped open as they point at various displays.

  My eyes search until I find Winifred, Karen and Agnes. Karen is arguing with Amos Vandermuth, both of them using wild hand gestures and sarcastic head swivels.

  I will never keep up with these three.

  “You’re a cheapskate, Amos!” Karen doesn’t bother to keep their conversation private by invoking a respectable volume. She clutches her knitting bag to her chest as she yells at him.

  “I’m a taxpayer!” His angled finger rises sanctimoniously. “I’ve already paid for this event by paying my taxes. I shouldn’t have to pay an entrance fee when my money went into helping create this whole thing!” He motions wildly to the festival at large.

  Winifred snarls at him, arms akimbo. “Every single year we have this same stinking argument. Who did you swindle into letting you in for free this year?”

  Amos lifts his long nose. “I pay every year with the money they take from my taxes!”

  Agnes throws up her hands and stomps off. “I can’t with you. I just can’t.” Her eyes land on me and her entire expression changes. “Hi, honey. This festival is spectacular. Best one yet. Well done!” She wraps her arms around me and kisses my cheek with her soft lips.

  “It’s kind of amazing, isn’t it? Marianne is a visionary.”

  “She sure is. I…” Agnes’ sentence falls when her gaze lights on the photo booth across the way. “Oh, she changed it! Thank goodness.” She calls over her shoulder. “Karen, stand down. We don’t need your knitting bag.”

  I raise my brow. “You were planning on knitting in the photo booth? I can take a picture of you doing that now, if you like.”

  Agnes waves off my confusion. “No, no. That booth has been breaking Marianne’s heart for the past few years. We were going to take care of it. But maybe now that it looks so different, she’ll be okay.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “I redecorated that corner, so it doesn’t look like it did when she got her photo taken when Jeremy proposed. Marianne seemed relieved, so hopefully she’s not too wounded tonight.” My brain catches on Agnes’ phrasing. “What do you mean, you were going to ‘take care of it?’”

  Karen comes over and opens her knitting bag. Instead of yarn, I gasp when inside her bag are matches, a bottle of liquor and an old newspaper. “Guess we don’t need these, then.”

  Winifred sighs. “Shame. The one thing missing from this festival is fireworks.”

  I draw myself up and fix them with the best scold I can muster, hoping it hides my shock. “Give me that. You three don’t need to go committing more crimes.”

  “What’s that about committing crimes?” comes a voice I truly cannot handle right now.

  Or ever, come to think of it.

  “Loga
n,” I say, breathless at the sight of him. Jeans and a green button up over a t-shirt make him look like a model for, well, just about everything. Whatever he’s selling, I’m sure I would buy it.

  “How are you feeling, Miss Charlotte?” His gaze drifts to the cut on my cheek. It didn’t require stitches, but the two-inch scab is still visible.

  Though, if he can even see the mark beneath my blush, I will be quite surprised.

  I touch the nape of my neck, noting the sudden heat that floods my body. “Oh, fine.” I dip my head and turn my body partly from Karen, Agnes and Winifred, who are smirking at me knowingly. “Hey, thank you for helping me to the car the other day.”

  “You shouldn’t thank me,” Logan says, the corner of his mouth lifting with a tender tease. “You should be angry that I didn’t take you to get medical attention myself. Marianne was so ferocious that she take care of you that I didn’t step in. But I should have.” He points to a booth where you can try your luck throwing rings around milk bottle tops in hopes of winning a live goldfish. “Let me make it up to you?”

  I freeze up, my brows shooting skyward. “What?”

  “She would love to,” Winifred offers, while Karen nudges me toward him.

  Agnes points to his side. “A gentleman would offer his arm to escort her.”

  If I could be more embarrassed, I would disintegrate into the grass, I’m sure. “That’s really not necessary.”

  Logan trains his beautiful, bright green orbs on me, rendering me helpless. “Please?”

  I dip my chin and lean toward him, hoping to keep my chagrin private. “You know how I get around you. Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  Logan’s self-satisfied smirk tells me he loves teasing me very much. “I think we’re safe. It would be another thing if I was taking you to throw darts. That could turn hazardous.” He taps the toe of his shoe to mine, looking on the verge of shy as he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Let me win you a goldfish?”

  Before I can say “Yes,” “Are you sure?” pops out.

  Logan proffers his arm to me, his chest swelling like a man on a mission. “Very.”