Small Town Secrets

by Allie Harrison

  “You are never to see my daughter again. Do you understand? You are never to date her. You are never to speak to her.”

  There had been an unspoken message in Mr. Signorino’s eyes and a sound in his heavy Italian accent that said Mac would regret it if he didn’t understand. Chief’s son or not, there had been no doubt he’d better listen to this father.

  He also remembered the way Lizzy had gazed at him as her father held her by one arm and dragged her out of the police station. It didn’t matter that both he and Lizzy had pleaded that nothing happened between them, only kissing.

  I’m sorry, her expression said.

  He’d wanted more than anything to talk to her throughout the months that followed, but he held back, her father’s voice ringing in his head like a bell. He couldn’t help but notice she had no classes with him. She avoided him.

  He never ventured into the bakery again. Ever. He knew, through others, that her father made her work every minute that wasn’t necessary to complete her homework.

  Damn, if he had known how much crap either of them would have to endure for doing nothing, he’d have sure well done something more than enjoy her kiss. He’d spent many nights the rest of that senior year wondering if she felt the same.

  After that, he’d poured himself into college, then his job with the Bureau.

  Then medical professionals worked over his bleeding body, and his hometown and the life he’d left there came crashing back.

  It amazed him how his town could be different but the same. The Mossy Point Pharmacy was exactly the same as it had been eleven years ago. The Quick Step Gas Stop was now The Quicker Liquor store. Mac guessed they’d discovered more money could be made selling booze than gas. The library had expanded in size; he remembered his mother saying she’d helped get the new children’s addition. The Streetside Bar was one of those smoky, dusty places that never changed. He passed the high school and swore he could smell the wood floor of the gymnasium.

  As he slowed for the in-town speed limit, he rolled down the driver’s side window and discovered the town smelled the same: fresh and earthy, like home mixed with a crisp scent of burning leaves. He passed the house where he’d lived when he was little boy before his folks purchased the orchard. The house was now owned by a young couple with little kids as his mother had told him. He wondered if the wall where his mother had marked his and his brother’s growth charts had been painted over.

  He drove into the crowded parking lot of Signorino’s Bakery, stopped, and killed the engine. Yes, he planned to say unsaid words to Lizzy, though he wasn’t certain what those words were. She was an open file that he needed to close. He hadn’t really planned to start here, but he knew of no other place better.

  The bakery was familiar and new at the same time. He knew without a doubt that Lizzy was behind the new sign and probably behind any and all changes. Signorino’s Bakery and Brew. The building still held its quaint appeal, but there was new paint and a welcoming display of wooden chairs and teacups on a small table in the window.

  A fancy chalkboard sign stood beside the door. Today’s Special Vanilla Latte and Apple Pie. Come in and choose a book to borrow from our library.

  Yes, Lizzy would be behind the changes in the place. He could almost touch the memory of her holding a book and reading as she advanced to her next class through the hall of high school, trying to get a few words in as she made her way to her next class.

  He didn’t know about a vanilla latte. To him, coffee was coffee. He liked it strong and hot and black. Apple pie was his favorite. His leg ached as he climbed out of his truck. Would it ever heal? Would it ever be the same? He would never have guessed such a small thing as a bullet could cause so much pain.

  Or make him question his career choices.

  Or give him nightmares.

  Or be enough to send him back to his hometown. At least he didn’t feel like a dog with his tail tucked between his legs.

  He sucked in a deep breath and worked to ignore the burn in his thigh. It was strange, he thought as he headed to the door, that the second bullet, the one that entered his left mid-section and required longer surgery and longer healing given the vital organs in that vicinity, didn’t hurt at all anymore.

  A musical tinkling of bells over the door announced his arrival. Everyone in the place paused in sipping their coffee and stared. Back in the days of his football career, when he’d lived for the attention and loved every minute of it, he’d have waved like a king in a parade.

  He was no longer that jock who figured he had the world by a string. Now, as he did his best not to let the limp show, he felt like a traitor. The guy who’d escaped the town and the dark cloud hanging over it. He forced a glad-to-be-here-again smile on his lips and gave everyone a wave.

  Some faces he recognized. Mr. Witherbee, known as the cafeteria police at the high school. Mac had thought he was ancient a decade ago. He hadn’t changed a bit. He sat at a table with the principal Jack Hitchcock, who appeared older with white hair and a gaunt hollowness to his face. Mrs. Hamilton, who grew the prettiest roses in a greenhouse for the florist, sat at the next table. There was a family he didn’t recognize—husband, wife, baby, and little kid too young to be in school. A group of four people took up recliners at the far end of the room, sat with books in their hands and steaming cups of drinks on small tables beside them.

  The counter looked new and had six anchored stools spaced in front of it. A colorful, decorative menu, painted with chalkboard paint complete with prices and flowers and smiley faces and pictures of mugs of steaming brew, filled the entire back wall behind the counter. Stan Gresden, one of his best friends from high school, captain for the football team, the only person who was probably a bigger jock than him back in the day wore a gray uniform shirt and sat on one of the stools with a coffee cup poised, ready to drink. “Damn, look what the cat dragged in! Mac, is that you?”

  “Hey, Stan,” Mac said as if he’d been gone a few days instead of a decade. Relaxed—or at least trying to be—he extended his hand. Stan shook it with a great deal of enthusiasm. Stan’s brother, Elliot, sat on the stool on his other side. Mac shook his hand, too. “Elliot.”

  “M-m-maac,” Elliot let out. He pumped Mac’s hand vigorously. “I-it’s g-g-good to see you. I’ve missed you.”

  “It’s good to see you, too, buddy.” Elliot was a year older but had needed special education classes. Stan had always acted more like the big brother. And Mac remembered how all the guys on the football team accepted Elliot and allowed him to be the water boy, making him part of the team.

  “You’ve hardly aged a day,” Stan commented.

  “You look pretty good yourself.”

  “And to think we were supposed to go to State together. We didn’t make it, did we?”

  Mac gave a nonchalant shrug. “Sometimes plans fall through.” He climbed onto a stool, wondering just how much more his damned leg would ache if he’d played a couple more years of football and gained painful knees on top of the injury he now suffered.

  It was the woman behind the counter who grabbed his attention. Perhaps grabbed wasn’t the complete sensation. More like grabbed, held, and squeezed until he could barely take a breath.

  Lizzy Signorino, wearing a white blouse with the sleeves rolled up, a pair of sweet jeans that hugged her curves and a white apron that failed to hide those curves, stared at him as if she’d seen a ghost. The braces from high school were gone. Her teeth were straight and white. The waves of her strawberry blond hair were held up by some kind of clip. Tiny wisps escaped to dangle around both ear lobes. And those glorious emerald eyes. Wide and…wary?

  Fighting off feelings that threatened emotional overload, he worked to relax. “Hi, Lizzy.”

  “Mac…”

  He smiled but his face felt tight, uncomfortable, his jaw as painful as his leg. At least he could breathe. “Would you mind if I had a cup of coffee from the pot you’ve got in your hand?”

  She blinked as if in
a trance. Then she grabbed a nearby cup and poured the coffee. He noticed her hand was shaking. He sure as hell hoped he sounded calmer than he felt, and he had the feeling his hand would shake if he tried to pour coffee. He studied the picturesque menu beyond her, but nothing connected. This was not what he planned. The return of any feelings for Lizzy was a surprise. He was over her. There was no reason for her to be shaking. There was no reason for him to think he’d be shaking either.

  Get over it, Mac. There has been a lot of water to pass under that bridge. Don’t even try to go back. That’d be like making a touchdown for the wrong team.

  He cleared his throat, telling himself football for him was over, too. “What’s good here?”

  “It’s all good here,” Stan said. “Have a piece of Lizzy’s apple pie. It’s the best.” He leaned closer. “It’s even better than my mom’s, but don’t tell her.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me. I’ll have a piece of pie.”

  He noticed Lizzy, although free of her frozen stance, still stared at him. He was certain he could smell her perfume under the heavy scent of pastry flour and yeast. How strange, he thought. The scent of her took him back in an instant as nothing else. He’d spent the last ten years doing his job, falling into roles and pretending to be something—or someone—else, and he’d done it well, putting the bad guys where they belonged.

  Now, he stepped into the bakery and managed to enter a place where time had stopped. For a moment, he concentrated on taking a breath as he tucked aside the feeling he was once again that quarterback on the football team instead of the man he was. Those days were over, and he had no desire to ever return.

  Not that he could anyway. That life was miles of water under the bridge. Lizzy, the young girl of his high school days, was gone. But she’d been replaced by something better.

  Even if he hadn’t known her ten years ago, he’d still be staring at her as he was now.

  “So where have you been all this time?” Stan asked.

  “Here and there, no place special. My mom mentioned there was a ten-year reunion coinciding with the Mossy Point Days Picnic this coming weekend, so I’d thought I’d check out the old stomping grounds for a week or two.”

  The lie slid easily from his lips. It would be more than a week or two if he couldn’t get his head back in the game. And if he couldn’t run a few yards without his leg being on fire.

  “Are you staying with them—your mom and dad?”

  “They’ve got an apartment over the barn. It’s got a comfortable bed, plumbing, and a hot shower. I thought I’d spend my time there so I don’t have to be in their way.” Mac didn’t add that they had all but begged him to stay in the house, but he knew he was going to need some space. At least he thought he needed space. Right now, sitting in the bakery, trying to ignore memories he thought he was over, he didn’t know what he needed.

  He’d never left a job undone, and he wasn’t starting now. He’d figure out what to say to Lizzy to close that door that had opened as he thought he might die. He’d study the Kelly Mattis case, he’d spend some time with his family and see some old friends at a reunion, and then he’d get out of Dodge.

  The reunion was a good excuse and a great change of subject. He took a sip of coffee and nodded to Lizzy. “Good coffee.”

  She nodded but her smile didn’t quite meet her eyes. She set the coffee pot back on the coffee maker and took a few steps to the pie case where she removed an apple pie with a couple of slices gone. As she sliced a piece, she asked, “Whipped cream or ice cream?”

  “Neither, thank you.”

  Good God, the formality was so thick in the room he could have cut it with the knife she held in her hand.

  “Do you think while you’re here, Mac, we could climb to the top and sit on the water tower for a while like we used to?” Elliot asked, only stuttering a few words. “I don’t think we’ve done that since you left.”

  Mac paused in taking another sip of coffee and thought thank God for Elliot. “I think we can fit that in, Elliot. We can even get a few other guys to go with us, whoever’s in town for the picnic or reunion. Do you think you can make it all the way to the top?” He wasn’t certain his leg could handle the ladder, but maybe what he needed was to start forcing it to do what he wanted it to do.

  “Sure,” Elliot replied.

  “I’m in,” Stan said.

  “Me, too.” Lizzy’s brother, Tony, approached from somewhere near the back of the bakery. He reached out to shake Mac’s hand. “Nice to see you.”

  The conversation turned relaxed, filled with memories.

  “Remember that last game before I hurt my knee,” Stan said. “That was the best. We whipped the pants off those Hornets.”

  “That we did,” said Mac.

  “You guys drank all my water. I had to go back and refill my jug two times,” Elliot added. He only stuttered on the G and J sounds.

  “Good thing you were there to have it for us, Elliot,” Mac put in, making Elliot beam with pride.

  Stan put down his mug with a thud. “We gotta get back to the shop.”

  “What?” Jason Oglesvie called out from a few tables away. “You gotta go back and put out some cat food?”

  Most of the people in the place chuckled. Elliot laughed and then answered, “We put out food for all of them, but they still do a great job catching mice. I like that gray tabby cat. I call her Tiger even though she’s a girl. She lets me pet her.”

  Stan folded his napkin, set his coffee cup on it, and placed his spoon inside before he clapped his hand on Elliot’s shoulder. Mac remembered Stan used to place his football equipment in his locker in a certain order, too.

  “Come on, Elliot. We need to get back to work. Nice to see you again, Mac. I’m sure we’ll see more of you during the week. Stop in at the body shop if you want. You know I’m still running it, ever since my dad left town.”

  “And I help,” Elliot added.

  “And Elliot helps,” Stan chimed.

  “I know.” Mac took a sip of his coffee.

  “We’ll have to share a beer or two up at the Streetside Bar before you head out again.”

  “Streetside’s still up and running?” Mac asked, even though he’d seen it driving in.

  “Stronger than ever,” Stan said.

  Elliot giggled. “We used to get beer there before we were legal,” he said as if it were a big secret, and he only stuttered on the L in legal.

  “That we did,” Mac said. “And now we can go there and everything’s on the up and up. So I’ll meet you there some night this week.” Mac more or less saluted with his mug of coffee and winked at Elliot. “We won’t have to sneak around.”

  “Okay,” Elliot agreed loudly.

  Stan leaned across the counter and took Lizzy’s hand. Then he leaned in closer and attempted to kiss her. Mac blinked as the idea touched down inside him like a burning ember. Lizzy and Stan? He shouldn’t be surprised. They were both still in town, both ran businesses, had things in common. But damn, it rattled him and seemed to suck the breath right out of him. And he didn’t like that he reacted to it. He planned to just be happy for them, his two old friends, together.

  However, he couldn’t help but notice at the last moment, Lizzy avoided his kiss, and Stan’s lips landed on her cheek. Her smile was still phony and forced. The cop in him took notice. Something wasn’t right, and whatever it was caused the coffee in his stomach to churn.

  Mac didn’t breathe normally until Stan was out the door and the bells were no longer jingling. “So Stan has lots of cats?” he asked, hoping he sounded normal and casual.

  Tony topped off his coffee. “Everyone in town is starting to call him the crazy cat man. It seems like every stray in town congregates at his shop. He just feeds them all.”

  Working not to stare, he watched Lizzy between bites of his delicious pie and sips of coffee. She was no longer the young girl he’d kissed in his truck, no longer his date for the dance. She was a business-minded wo
man. She could kiss whomever she wanted.

  It was odd the way she didn’t want to kiss Stan.

  Cold case or no cold case, injured leg or pain-free leg, he probably shouldn’t care. He didn’t care who she kissed. It had been a lifetime ago since she’d kissed him. She’d been a young girl. He’d been a reckless sports jock.

  Neither of them were kids anymore. And he hadn’t thought about kissing Lizzy since he graduated from college. He hadn’t thought about Lizzy at all until he believed he was dying and thought about what he needed to say to her. But the cop in him took notice of things that didn’t add up. Taking those small details and putting together the puzzle to solve the crime was an ability that made him a good agent.

  Forget about kissing anyone. It was a small off-kilter detail he could put on the back burner right now. He had other things to think about. And whatever he knew he needed to say to her to close the door on her, he wouldn’t say it now in the middle of her shop with others around to hear it.

  As soon as he did, and as soon as he healed and knew where he stood with his job, and as soon as he found out all he could about the unsolved murder of Kelly Mattis, he could drive out of Mossy Point for good. Leave Lizzy to Stan’s cheek kisses that shouldn’t bother him. But did.

  Yes, the sooner he could finish what he hoped to do and get out of town, the better.

  It was probably the best thing, since he doubted after he was finished he’d be welcomed by anyone. Least of all Lizzy.

  Chapter Three

  Lizzy stepped into the kitchen and put her back against the door that led out to the dining area. After her parents retired to Florida and left the bakery to her, she’d had no regrets. At least she told herself she didn’t. She had finished her MBA at the local university where she could commute from home and still work in the bakery when she wasn’t in class. She loved the bakery. She really did.

  She leaned over the huge work counter, rested her chin in her palms, closed her eyes, and breathed in a deep breath of the heavenly scent of yeast and flour. “I really do love the bakery.” Her whispered words were met with only silence. “I really do love the bakery,” she repeated.