by Asha King
She was nine. And she didn’t ask to have another sleepover party after that.
Gina slipped past her stepmother’s closed bedroom door, careful to avoid the creaky part of the floor just a foot to the left of it. She didn’t bother worrying about her stepsisters—they slept through anything, and even if they didn’t, they wouldn’t care enough to say anything about her being up. Not unless she gave them a reason to want to get back at her, and she avoided that at all costs.
At the end of the moonlit hall was the main staircase; she could take the back ones, the old servants’ stairs from centuries past when the house was an elegant manor, that led to the kitchen. The main stairs would take her nearest to her destination, however. The other ones would remain her backup plan, in case someone came looking for her this way.
The lower floor was just as silent as the upper, and besides the moonlight, a neon green glow came from beside the front door, the security panel with an alarm engaged. Across the tile, near the front of the house, waited the closed door to Maureen’s office.
It was locked, as usual, but it had also once been Gina’s father’s office, and Maureen had never changed the locks. Gina slipped the old worn house skeleton key from her pocket and gently slid it in the lock, her gaze pinned to the top of the stairs to her left just in case someone appeared on them. When no sound or sight indicated anyone had followed her, she gave the key a careful twist and then eased open the office door.
Not much had changed about the house over the years, not like the bakery, but Maureen’s stamp was everywhere. The paintings on the walls, the arrangement of the desk. The art deco lamp sitting atop a small table by the window next to a photo of her two daughters. Tamara and Tatum didn’t even make a pretense of smiling at the camera, and both of them looked almost identical to their mother in the image.
There was no photo of Gina’s father, and the old picture of her mother—once tucked in the cabinet at the back of the room as when he married Maureen, she made it clear she didn’t like the dead woman’s face around—was hidden up in Gina’s room where it couldn’t be thrown out. The air smelled faintly of Maureen’s perfume, mixed with the pine cleaner scent. That was the only time Gina was technically allowed in there—to clean.
And that had been Maureen’s mistake.
She moved toward the picture on the far wall and carefully removed it, leaning it between the armchair and the wall to her right before she pulled out the flashlight. A heavy dark safe waited, one with a number panel. Five digit combination. Thousands of possibilities, but while dusting in the room once a few years back, it occurred to her that her stepmother’s prints would be over the numbers she used. That was how she found the three, six, seven, and zero. That left one more digit, which meant one of those numbers was repeated.
When she was a small child, she had a vague memory of Maureen hitting the seven before moving her body in the way of the other numbers. That at least gave Gina a place to start. And so every few nights, when she didn’t believe she’d be caught, she came down and started trying combinations.
Gina couldn’t risk writing the numbers down, so she was never random. Last time she’d finally finished all the combinations starting with seven-six. Today she tried seven-zero.
Seven-zero-three-six-six. Seven-zero-three-six-zero. Seven-zero-three-six-three. Seven-zero-three-six-seven.
On and on she went until her eyes grew heavy and she had trouble focusing on her task. When she knew she needed to sleep, before another day began in just a few hours, she returned the painting to the wall, snapped off the flashlight, and crept out of the room again.
Eventually she had to get lucky. There was a finite number of combinations, after all.
Then she’d finally get to see her father’s will and old documents with her own eyes and figure out what Maureen was hiding.
Chapter Three
Most people enjoyed Fridays—it meant the end of the work week. But the bakery was open every day but Sunday, so Gina dreaded it. More people took long lunch breaks on Fridays, rules were more casual, and so more people showed up to purchase things. Usually small items, like tarts, cupcakes, and brownies. It also meant a variety had to be present, more so than usual, so Gina spent the morning making dozens and dozens of different baked goods.
I hate Fridays.
The deliveries had also been greater than usual, like her stepmother was accepting anything and everything that came through, regardless of the timing. Gina carried a box of two dozen cookies in three varieties, the box lid displaying Sweet Haven in a scrawling font that matched Maureen’s sign over the shop, down the street toward the address in question. It was, at least, a standard Friday delivery to Lady in Red, the small boutique clothing shop a few blocks from the bakery, but Gina was later than usual as Maureen had kept her busy baking all morning.
The sky was overcast but thankfully rain hadn’t fallen yet. She made it to the familiar storefront, glancing at the mannequins in the window—one in a dressy suit, the other in a cocktail dress. Lady in Red had been around since well before Sweet Haven was Bella’s.
A friendly bell jangled when Gina stepped inside the quiet shop. She moved past the racks of ladies’ wear and wound toward the counter. “Mrs. Lowe? I’m sorry I’m late.” She could just leave the cookies and leave, but the elderly woman had always been kind to her, and Gina wanted to at least say hello.
She set the cookies on the countertop and then turned, admiring the nearest dresses on display. This was where teen girls got their prom gowns, and bridesmaids picked out their dresses. She’d never been in to buy but often admired; though Gina didn’t consider herself the girly type—didn’t have time to worry about such things—she enjoyed admiring them, like pieces of art. She eyed a deep turquoise gown nearest to her, gently running her fingertips along the smooth satin bodice and where it expanded into a full ballgown.
“That would look lovely with your hair.”
Gina turned to see the elderly Mrs. Lowe ambling from the back room, smiling broadly. She was a petite woman, with nicely coiffed salt-and-pepper curls, always smartly dressed in a skirt and suit jacket no matter Midsummer’s heat.
“It’s beautiful.” Gina gave the dress a wistful look and then turned away from it, facing Mrs. Lowe. She gestured to the counter. “The cookies are on the counter for this afternoon’s bridge session.” For as long as Gina could remember, Lady in Red closed a bit early on Friday so Mrs. Lowe and her friends could meet in her garden for tea, cookies, and cards.
“Thank you, dear. You’re such a good girl. Just like your mother.”
The mention of her mother always squeezed at Gina’s heart but she kept up her smile and nodded.
She was about to turn to go but paused, watching Mrs. Lowe move slowly around the counter, her weathered hand reaching out to grip the edge. She was moving with less ease than usual, something that gave Gina pause.
“Are you feeling okay, Mrs. Lowe?”
“Bit of a...” She waved her off unsteadily. “My head.”
Gina stepped forward cautiously, moving to see the elderly woman’s face. “Sudden headache?”
Mrs. Lowe blinked, lips parted, but said nothing, her dark eyes glassy with confusion.
Warning bells rang in Gina’s head. A stool waited behind the counter and she helped the shop proprietor sit. “Is your granddaughter around?”
The woman didn’t answer, so Gina swiftly left the counter for the backroom. Since she’d returned from college, Mrs. Lowe’s granddaughter was normally around. “Raina? Raina!” She found the phone, swiftly dialed 911, and seconds later steps hit the back stairs coming from the apartment above, and Gina recognized Raina.
The slightly older girl paused, eyes wide, her curly black hair swept up in a ponytail and clothing suggesting she’d just come from yoga or some other workout. “What is it?”
“I don’t think your grandmother’s well—”
Raina bolted past her for the front room and Gina followed, the phone stil
l against her ear while the 911 operator asked her questions she couldn’t answer.
Raina crouched in front of her grandmother who attempted to smile but the left of her face sagged. When she gestured for the phone, Gina handed it to her, knowing Raina would better be able to give the operator the information required.
“It looks like a stroke,” Raina whispered, panic edging her voice.
****
While Raina stayed by her grandmother’s side, Gina waited by the shop front and directed the ambulance when they arrived. Raina swiftly took over explaining her grandmother’s medical history, with Gina offering just a few words here and there describing what she’d seen, and then the shop was locked up and the ambulance was on its way down the street with Raina and her grandmother.
Gina watched for a moment and let out a heavy breath. Mrs. Lowe was a kind woman and she sincerely hoped everything would be okay.
She walked back to Sweet Haven, her steps gaining speed the farther she went. She hadn’t looked at the clock, had no idea what time it was, but hopefully no one noticed the extra-long absence.
Gina slipped in the backdoor, found the kitchen silent and still. Nothing, at least, had been in the oven while she slipped out, and the front door had been locked so she didn’t worry about anyone slipping inside. She grabbed a cloth from the sink and began wiping down the counter and tidying things before she unlocked the front door again.
Despite the approaching rain, heat rose in the small kitchen. She swiped the back of her hand over her forehead. Gina didn’t want the back door or window open, despite the screens, in case bugs got in, which turned the entire back kitchen area into an oven of its own. Sweat beaded on her forehead and she gulped down bottled water at every opportunity.
The white curtain to the public area of the bakery parted abruptly and Maureen stepped in.
Gina stiffened when she saw her stepmother and waited, scanning her memory. Had she forgotten to do something? Did she notice how long she’d been gone while delivering to Mrs. Lowe? What the hell would that woman be doing there in the middle of the day? Her gaze fell to the stack of papers in Maureen’s hands. Good God, another order?
“A delivery was called in to the Rosings residence,” Maureen said sharply as she set the papers down on the butcher’s block in the center of the kitchen. “The girls have the car today so you’ll have to walk.”
They never used to do deliveries that far but Maureen, ever eager for the cash, had started offering it the past eighteen months, more and more frequently. Usually to local coffee shops and restaurants, but Rosings was a private residence, a cottage just outside of Midsummer.
“We have everything in stock, just take the order up there as quickly as possible.”
“Yes ma’am.” Gina hesitated as Maureen turned back to exit the kitchen then thought the better of asking. No matter how the woman hated working the cash register, apparently it was better than a delivery.
She carefully packed up the order—cupcakes, two dozen of them, which ended up going in two smaller boxes as to not squish any of the frosting—stacked them in a plastic bag, and then ventured outside.
As muggy as the day was, the gray sky threatened rain. Gina almost hoped it arrived, as it might cool the air off considerably, but not until she was done with the damn delivery.
She swung around the front of the building and frowned at the sleek black Town Car parked just outside the bakery. It wasn’t Maureen’s but it looked like something she’d drive.
Maybe that’s why she wanted me out of the shop—can’t be seen by special customers. She rolled her eyes and started the long trek out of town.
Just a few blocks north of Main Street, the distance between buildings grew and lush green fields and woods stretched out in all directions. Gina kept to the side of the road as it shifted from paved to gravel, her steps quick to hopefully shorten her trip and avoid the rain.
The Rosings lived nearly three miles from the shop, an odd family she didn’t know well. There was a girl about Gina’s age, Bryar, but she’d been homeschooled while they were in high school and wasn’t allowed out in town much. There were rumors she was a bit on the wild side but Gina hadn’t talked to her before to know for sure.
Forty minutes outside town, thunder rumbled.
Dismayed, Gina turned her gaze upward and increased her pace. In warm weather like this, it wasn’t uncommon for rain to be delayed while a storm threatened—she could only hope this was one of those cases. Trekking back soaked to the bone and up to her ankles in mud would just tack more time onto her busy day. She’d have to change and run back to the bakery and—
Then Rosings’ cottage came into view. A small white bungalow with teal-painted window boxes housing brightly colored flowers, as eager for the rain as she was not. A wild garden bloomed around the front of the house, massive sunflowers and tall foliage with a winding path between it to the front door. Even the drab gray day around her didn’t dull the garden’s cheery brightness. Thick green trees backed the house, the rest of the property a dense forest.
Gina didn’t see a car parked up front but hustled toward the cottage, praying someone was home and the trip up there wasn’t for nothing. The closer she got, she heard the thrum of rock music playing from somewhere within, which surely had to be a sign of someone around.
Thunder growled again. Gina swore inwardly and knocked on the door.
Moments later it opened, the girl she presumed was Bryar standing before her. Tall with curly black hair around her shoulders, a stripe of teal on her eyelids roughly the color of the window boxes, dressed in tiny jean shorts and an old T-shirt. Bryar sized her up. “Yeah?”
“Um...your cupcakes?” Gina held out the bag. At least the rain had held off long enough that the boxes didn’t get wet.
Bryar blinked slowly and then her dark eyes widened. “Oh! The aunts probably got them for my birthday. Hey, thanks.” She accepted the bag and her body language relaxed, the rough exterior fading slightly when she smiled brightly. She peered past Gina to the yard out front. “Did you walk from town?”
“Yes—”
“You should come in. Have some water. Eat some of my cupcakes. They’re probably really good, right?”
“No—I mean, yes, they are, but I have to get back to the shop before the rain hits. Sorry.”
Bryar’s shoulders deflated but she said nothing of her disappointment. Instead she glanced over Gina once more and then at the darkening sky. “Good luck with that. Thanks for the delivery.”
Gina shook her head as she turned and headed back down the stone path toward the road. Odd girl, maybe, but not worth the whispering people had done about her over the years. She was just isolated. Gina could identify with that. If she hadn’t been in a rush to get back, she might’ve even stayed for a few minutes.
She turned onto the gravel road back toward town and walked at a brisk pace. When the first drops of rain began, she denied it, but the faint sprinkle rapidly turned into a downpour and slammed down hard, water soaking her springy curls and drenching her T-shirt and cropped pants. Though the air was warm, the water was cool; she crossed her arms at her torso and bowed her head, shivering against the onslaught.
The odd car turned up the road, forcing her to the shoulder where her feet splashed through puddles. She should’ve asked Bryar to call a cab. Gina had very, very little spending money—literally the tips she gathered on the days she worked cash, or the odd fiver Maureen had tossed at her over the years—but she would’ve parted with all of it in that moment for the dry safety of a vehicle.
A dark car did a U-turn just beside her, swung around, and slowed at her side. She squinted past the rain as the window rolled down.
It was Brennen in his Mustang.
He leaned over the seat. “Gina?”
She stopped walking and faced him, shivering.
“Jesus...” He popped open the passenger door and gave it a push. “Come on.”
If it hadn’t been raining, she woul
d’ve objected. But screw it—she still had nearly two miles to go. She’d take the ride.
Gina climbed in the Mustang, feeling bad about getting the interior wet but then he wouldn’t have offered if he cared about that, she supposed. She huddled in the seat while he put the window back up and adjusted the heat.
“I wish I had a towel or something,” Brennan said as he stripped off the button down shirt he wore over a T-shirt and handed it to her, watching while she briefly pressed it to her face, and then wrapped it around her shoulders.
Rain hammered on the Mustang’s roof and Gina closed her eyes, drinking in the warmth from the heaters. “Just being out of the rain is nice. Thank you. Delivery at the Rosings and I was hoping to miss the rain.”
“Shouldn’t you have a car for deliveries?”
“We should, yes.”
Perhaps sensing she didn’t want to talk about it, he said nothing more, but kept the car idling there a moment while she settled. “Home or the shop?”
Neither. She glanced out the window at the rain-drenched land and thick clouds above. It was one of those times she wished she could just say drive. Drive and don’t look back. Wished she could run away from her life, from the heavy choking trappings that had kept her confined for years.
“Home, I guess, to get changed,” she said, mentally reminding herself that she’d have to get him to stop a few blocks away. Maureen would be at the bakery, but still. She didn’t need more trouble.
Brennen watched her a moment longer, his gaze heavy and sending tension shivering through her. Why he had to look at her like that, like he saw through everything she said, she didn’t know, but it worried her. Like her mouth could open and words would come out and she wouldn’t be able to stop any of them.