by Libby Klein
She tossed her head, and her ponytail did a three-sixty. “What would you do if the situation were reversed and you needed my help?”
“The situation was reversed, and you arrested me.”
“I was doing my job.”
“You had a chip on your shoulder, and you enjoyed it.”
“Then how about helping me for old times’ sake?”
“What old time? When did we have this time?”
“How about for that sleepover we had where Aunt Ginny tried to kill me. Can you do it for that?”
I reached back into my mind to find the playback on that memory. “You mean my Halloween sleepover in fourth grade?”
“She made me touch eyeballs, McAllister. I had nightmares for weeks.”
“They were peeled grapes in a bowl of spaghetti and we were nine.”
“I haven’t eaten a grape since.”
I gave her a look of mock pity.
Amber’s cocky mask slipped for a moment. Her eyes were tense and darted away like a wounded bird. “I can’t just sit back and let someone frame me for murder. Please.”
I didn’t want to get involved in this. The pain and hopelessness I went through when I was accused of murder was very traumatic. I still got nervous whenever I had to drive past the high school. But Amber was desperate if she was coming to me. Saying no to her would bring me a moment of relief followed by a lifetime of guilt and shame that I let her hang and didn’t try to help. And once upon a time we were friends. “I’ll do whatever I can. But I don’t want to be put in a situation where I’m arrested, or shot at, or have to use that little toilet in the holding cell.”
Amber stood and let out a tense sigh. “I’ll call when I’m ready.”
Amber was halfway through the door when she looked back, her eyes glistening. “His name was Temarius Jackson and he was just a kid.”
CHAPTER 15
Figaro was lying on my chest, examining me. I’d been awake half the night thinking about Amber’s request. I thought she might be making a big deal about nothing. She had her cell phone to prove Temarius had texted her. And isn’t there some kind of ballistics the police can run to prove Amber’s gun didn’t fire the bullet that killed him? If I could pick up that much from watching CSI, she surely knew about it. This whole thing would probably blow over before the weekend. Unless the April Fools’ joke was on me and she was at the police station laughing with Officers Birkwell and Consuelos right now.
I gave Figaro a couple of strokes and a head bonk, then moved him to the bed. A little yoga would help get the bricks of stress off my shoulders. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get my breathing to calm. I blamed the cold lamb chop I ate over the sink at midnight for my insomnia. I had to eat something more than keto cookies and meat. I’d already had enough cheese to be concerned about my near future. People loved this keto diet, but after a month of it I would wrestle a bear for a blueberry. There was a protein powder booth at the Expo. I should try to visit it this morning to see if they had anything that could keep me from skipping lunch again. I was too stressed to eat.
I made it to the kitchen alive after several attempts by Fig to trip me going down the back stairs. We each had our morning routine and his started with snuggling, then moved to assassination.
Victory was at the table eating scrambled eggs and sausage.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better today after your bout with the stayed-out-late flu.”
She waved a fork at me and grinned. She had large pink splotches on her work pants from a Kool-Aid accident. Still, she was wearing pants and not booty shorts, so I kept my observation to myself.
I pointed to another plate of scrambled eggs on the island. “Good morning, Joanne. Are these for me?” I was also relieved that Joanne was less distracting today. She was wearing green sweatpants and a black T-shirt with an outline of a neon-pink pig.
Joanne snatched up the plate and dumped the contents into Figaro’s crystal goblet. “That’s for the cat. You can have a breakfast enchilada like everyone else.”
I looked at Victory’s plate and she tried to cover it with her arm. “Why does she get scrambled eggs?”
Joanne threw her hand to her hip. “Because she was here before I used all the eggs in the enchiladas.”
Victory and Figaro both started eating faster, as if I would take their food away from them. Silent fat-shaming.
“When will the enchiladas be ready?”
Joanne’s eyes glinted like steel. “Soon. There is juice, coffee, and some of those pineapple muffins you made in the dining room.”
I gave her my best peeved expression. “Okay. Thank you.” You don’t have to be so snotty.
“Did you roll your eyes at me?”
“No-wah.” Geez. “Where’s Aunt Ginny?”
Victory looked up from her plate. “She ees swatting squirrels ein front yard.”
Oh, well, this I have to see. Sure enough, Aunt Ginny was marching back and forth under her new bird feeder, brandishing a Swiffer.
“Get back, you beady-eyed rats! I’m not feeding the neighborhood!”
“What’s going on?”
Aunt Ginny poked the Swiffer head at the empty feeders. “I just filled those up yesterday. Do you know how expensive bird seed is?”
“Yes, of course.” No idea. I examined the setup. Two bird feeders hung on either side of the T-shaped pole Smitty had sunk into the ground.
Aunt Ginny smacked the pole with the handle. “What I can’t figure out is how they’re getting up there.”
I pointed. “Probably jumping off the mailbox three feet away.”
Aunt Ginny blew her hair out of her eyes.
A little red car came rumbling down the street going way too fast. Then we heard a loud pop! And Rabbitzilla was going down with a wheeze.
Aunt Ginny turned puce and waved the Swiffer over her head. “YAAAAAA!”
I took her by the shoulders. “Okay, let’s get you inside. I’ll call Smitty to repair Benjamin Bunny again, and we’ll let the police know we have vandals who keep driving by shooting at the house.” I led her into the foyer, and we ran into Rita and Faelynn coming down the stairs to breakfast. “Good morning, ladies.”
Faelynn smiled at Aunt Ginny. “What was that exercise you were doing outside? It looked like fun.”
Aunt Ginny’s eyebrows flattened to a straight line. “Rage Chi.”
Faelynn looked at Rita. “Ooh, I haven’t heard of that, have you?”
I gave an uncomfortable laugh and pushed Aunt Ginny down the hall. “Why don’t you go get a breakfast enchilada, Aunt Ginny? They smell like they’re done.”
I returned to the dining room and poured myself a cup of coffee while Rita and Faelynn got settled with muffins and juice. “So, where are you ladies from?”
Rita slathered soft butter on her pineapple muffin, and my mouth started to water. Why didn’t I make those low carb? “I live in Manhattan. My husband and I have an apartment in Chelsea.”
“That sounds amazing.”
“It is. I’ve been there a long time.” She was making that buttered muffin into a piece of art. “Lots of great restaurants and shopping, and I can walk everywhere. And, of course, Broadway is always fun.”
“Do you go to the theater often?”
“I do. My husband is rarely home. He travels a lot for business, but Fae comes and stays with me sometimes when he’s out of town. We make a girls’ weekend of it.”
I need a girls’ weekend. I wonder if Sawyer can get her assistant manager to cover the bookstore so we can go to a spa or something.
Joanne brought out the enchilada casserole with Aunt Ginny hot on her heels. She announced that it was sausage and eggs with chiles and cheese wrapped up in corn tortillas, then smothered in her homemade enchilada sauce with avocado cream. Her presentation needed some panache—she pretty much dropped it on the table and ran—but the smells coming from that casserole dish were amazing.
Aunt Ginny offered the avocado cre
am to the ladies, but I noticed she kept her eyes on the enchiladas.
I sipped my coffee and tried not to feel sorry for myself that enchiladas weren’t keto approved. “What about you, Faelynn? Do you live in the city?”
She dumped a hefty scoop of enchiladas on her plate and topped it with a dollop of Joanne’s avocado cream. “Good lord no. I am not a city girl. I live in Connecticut. I keep myself busy restoring my eighteenth-century farmhouse.”
“I bet that’s gorgeous. Is that what you do for a living? Restore homes?”
“No.” Faelynn made a face at Rita, like she was asking permission for something. Rita cocked her head a little and Faelynn’s eyes bulged. “My husband makes a very good living, so I don’t have to work. It’s just a hobby.”
Aunt Ginny was no slouch at catching furtive looks. She was eyeing both women warily. “Too bad your husbands couldn’t come down with you. Cape May is beautiful in the spring.”
Faelynn shoved a forkful of casserole in her mouth.
Rita daintily chewed and made mm-hmm noises.
A chime echoed through the house. It was a sound we heard so rarely that it took me a minute to figure out it was the doorbell. Figaro galloped down the hall to beat me to the front door. When I opened it there stood a man dressed in a snappy, blue-and-white, broad-striped suit and a straw, flat-topped boat hat. Next to him was a woman in a lilac dress and white kid gloves. Is the local theater doing a revival of Easter Parade?
“Hi, we’re the Parkers. I’m Patsy, and this is my husband, Dale.” She held up a cat carrier, and a smooshed white face pressed against the door and hissed. “And this here is our fur baby, Portia.” Portia hissed again. Somewhere at my feet, I heard a thud reverberate off the wood floor.
Dale held out a card for me to take. “We have a reservation, but we’re a skosh early. I hope that won’t be a problem.”
I looked at the card, expecting to see Dale’s name, but it was a business card for Portia’s Fancy, with a picture of the green-eyed, white Persian. How long have I been working on this Expo? Have I lost complete control of the B&B?
Patsy held up the carrier again. “Portia’s a champion show cat. You may have seen her on the cover of Cat Fancy magazine. We’re in town for the big show.”
“The Beauty Expo?”
They stared at me blankly. “The what? Hmm?”
Joanne bustled down the hall all smiles. I looked behind her for the real Joanne, who would stab me with a shard of dry spaghetti for a nickel. “Hi, I’m sorry. You must be the Parkers. I made your reservation yesterday. Come on in.”
“We’re a bit early,” Dale apologized again.
“Oh nonsense. We have the room. We’ve upgraded you to the Monarch Suite so Portia can have ample room to relax and prepare for the Pretty Kitty Cat Show at Congress Hall.” That last bit was said for my benefit. I could tell, because it had a subtle bite to it.
Aunt Ginny had helped herself to the enchiladas and was sitting at the dining-room table, chowing down. She mouthed to me, Swallowtail, and I realized this was the couple whose Swallowtail Suite she’d given to Rita Bagshaw because of the tub.
Patsy grinned. “That’s wonderful, isn’t it, bay-bee? You’ll have a suite.”
I gave Figaro a look to warn him not to expect the kind of pampering he’d seen today, but he was too busy showing Portia how he could lie still and hang his tongue out the side of his mouth without blinking.
Portia hissed. She was not impressed.
The white Elite Imports van pulled up to the curb. “Well, welcome. I hope you and Portia have a wonderful stay. Joanne will get you settled. I’m just going to pop out for a bit.” Since I have no idea what’s going on here.
I was trying to reclaim some control of my dignity, but Aunt Ginny snatched it out of the air. “Don’t forget, we have seats for that seminar tonight on butt lifts.”
I gave her a double thumbs-up and ran out the door.
CHAPTER 16
I pushed the first cart of goodies down the aisle to the La Dolce Vita booth. I’d brought a different selection today to highlight some of the best items we carried in the coffee shop. I had the pineapple macadamia muffins we’d served at breakfast, along with pistachio almond and cranberry orange.
Gigi was passing out free samples again. And, apparently, giving an impromptu lecture that she may or may not have known was just to cornered vendors since the Expo didn’t open for another half an hour. “The real benefits of the Paleo diet are what it does for your complexion and physique. I know ‘Paleo’ is a buzz word right now, and you may think it’s just a fad, but you can tell who is passionate about clean eating and who is dabbling by what shape they’re in. Here, Poppy, try a Paleo banana muffin. If someone says they eat Paleo, but they look like they live on Pizza Hut, chances are they aren’t faithful.” Gigi turned to look right at me.
I wanted to crush her muffin to powder and drop it at her feet, but I took the not entirely high road—but higher than Gigi road. “Your muffin is rubbery. A common problem when you overmix your batter and use too much xanthan gum.” I handed her sample back and kept moving toward La Dolce Vita.
Before I crossed the threshold I saw Shayla Rose pacing in front of her booth, grimacing into her cell phone. I was going to check on her to see what was wrong, but she caught my eye and turned away from me.
I unloaded my cart and Kevin returned it. There was a line forming while I loaded the case with today’s baking.
The smoothie guy, already in his bright yellow apron, pointed at my new, chocolaty, coconutty caramel bar cookie. “What in heaven is that, and how is it healthy?”
I grinned and took two of the bars out and cut them into sample pieces. “This is a Paleo version of a cookie my grandmother used to make called Hello Dollys. The caramel is made with coconut milk, the cookie crumbs are coconut flour and ground almonds, and I used dairy-free chocolate chips. They make a nice once-in-a-while treat.”
The organic bath salts lady put her hand out. “I want my once-in-a-while treat for breakfast. I’ll take two.”
The samples disappeared, and I sold fifteen bars before I was able to load them into the case. People were shoving cash in my hands because I wasn’t ready to run their cards. I looked across the room to see if Gigi happened to be catching the commotion at my booth. No reason other than professional curiosity. But I didn’t catch Gigi watching me. I caught Tim looking my way. Standing in the middle of the aisle, hands shoved in his pockets, expressionless. The hemp jewelry lady walked between us carrying a box of bracelets, and when she had passed Tim was gone.
“What are you looking at so hard?”
Gia was standing at the threshold of the booth holding a case of milk, watching me, and for a minute I felt like I was caught doing something wrong. “What? Nothing . . . I thought Tim was just looking this way.”
“Is he giving you a hard time?”
“No. He wouldn’t. He’s . . . moved on anyway.” Why is that so painful? He wasn’t right for me, and it was my idea.
Gia put the box down and put his hands on my shoulders. “I wish I could make Alex disappear. I wish I had never met her, but Zio Alfio is working on something that will take care of everything. Please give me some time.”
“What do you mean, make her disappear?”
He popped his hands in the air. “Out of our lives.”
“Are we talking like—make-it-look-like-an-accident kind of disappear?”
“Oh, it will be no accident. She will not bother us anymore.”
“And . . . no one will ever find her again?”
He touched his forehead to mine. “I only know I will never find her again.”
I wanted to beg him not to do anything that would be illegal, but Shayla slapped a brochure down on my counter. “I need a quad shot cinnamon latte with whip as fast as you can make it. Honey, I’m having a day to end all days.”
“What’s going on?”
She tossed her pink hair with her fingers. “It’s a d
isaster. First, someone steals all the sample bags of Immortality, and then, last night, someone stole my laptop. I’m so disgusted I could pitch a fit right here.” She threw her hands up. “Uhhh! Come on!”
Gia looked around the bar, his face full of concern. “You were robbed last night? Here?”
“Yeah. Now all I have to hand out at my big presentation are these brochures about my age-reversal concentrate, and my freakin’ PowerPoint is gone because it was on my laptop.” She pointed through the bakery case to the double fudge brownie. “I want that.” I took it out of the case and went to slip it in a bag, but she took it out of my hands and shoved the corner in her mouth. “Oh, that’s so good.”
“So, they took all your gift bags?”
She nodded with her mouth full. “Of my new Immortality cream.”
“Who knew what was in the bags?”
“Everybody. At least everyone who read the program. The schedule’s been posted online for weeks. It says right there for today at eleven, ‘Shayla Rose unveils a new breakthrough in anti-aging blah blah blah lifetime of research. Free samples for the first one hundred to sign up.’ And there’s a link to my website and the press release about my formula.”
Gia handed her the latte. “On the house.”
“You’re too kind, thank you.” She blew a hole in the whipped cream and took a loud slurp.
He put his hands on the counter. “Why did you leave your laptop here? You know we were vandalized a couple nights ago. Why wouldn’t you take that with you?”
She closed her eyes and shook her head from side to side very slowly. “I feel like such an idiot. I walked from the bed and breakfast yesterday. Then I bought so much stuff at the Expo and had to carry back that I didn’t want to take the laptop with me. I thought it would be okay. After my fit with convention security yesterday, they assured me they had everything under control. Besides, what are the odds we’d be vandalized two nights in a row? I didn’t realize Cape May would turn into the crime capital of the Shore!”
The opening bell rang, and I grabbed my apron. “I can get you a laptop to use if you can get the file somehow.”