by Meg Muldoon
The glass had severed nerves. And in a split second, his promising baseball career went up in smoke.
Eddie never understood what possessed him to break the window like that. And though I wanted to, I never found the strength to tell him what really happened.
I wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his fault. That it was all mine – that I hadn’t meant for my powers to get away from me.
That I hadn’t meant for him to get hurt.
That I hadn’t meant to ruin his future.
But in the end, I didn’t say any of that.
“I’ve never known what happened, Ging,” Eddie said, when I didn’t say anything. “I don’t know why I did what I did. I think it was some form of temporary insanity. Nothing’s happened like that before or since. It was like it wasn’t even me doing it.”
He swallowed hard.
“I’m not a violent person. And if I scared you then, I’m sorry.”
I closed my eyes tightly.
It hurt so bad to hear him apologize. I should have been the one apologizing – it was all my fault.
In the moments after he told me he was leaving for Boston, I felt anger rushing through me. My feelings transferred to him like an airborne virus.
And after that, everything just fell apart.
I looked at Eddie standing near me on the beach, but all I could see was that terrible moment: blood everywhere, a scream, and Eddie crumpling to the floor like a bag of rocks.
After that day, I couldn’t deal with it. And I vowed never to let my emotions get away from me like that ever again.
Especially when it came to love.
I’d rather not feel anything than to have the guilt and shame of that day repeat itself.
I knew we had to talk about this. It’d been a conversation that was now 15 years in the making, and I owed him a real explanation.
But not now.
“I’m sorry, Eddie,” I said. “But I can’t—”
“I get it,” he said. “You’re under a lot of stress right now. And I ask too many questions.”
I let out a long breath.
We stood there in the shadow of the Peter Alexander. All those words not said lingering between us like a thick fog.
“Everything’s going to be okay with Aunt Viv, you know.”
The way he said it, I almost believed him.
“You really think so?”
“I’m 98 percent sure that the so-called avalanche of evidence Chief Logan mentioned is pure BS. I’ve covered a lot of crime, and in my experience, when investigators say things like that they’re mostly just trying to convince themselves that they have an airtight case when they don’t.”
I hoped he was right. But maybe Eddie was just saying that to make me feel better.
“Well, Aunt Viv’s still not doing herself any favors by refusing to get a lawyer and acting like she’s enjoying all of this.”
“No, probably not.”
The mist that had been hovering over the waves all morning was beginning to burn off, and windows of blue sky peeked through.
“Someone broke into our house yesterday,” I said.
“What?”
He looked concerned.
“Somebody came in and made a real mess of the old Victorian. We called the police, but Maddy said that most of these cases are never solved. She thinks it was kids, but I’m not so sure.”
Was it revenge of some sort? Someone who had been close to Penelope and who believed Viv actually killed her? People in the town who were angry at Aunt Viv?
I didn’t know.
He rubbed his chin, silent for a long moment.
“What are you thinking?” I said.
“I was thinking about all those summer weekends when Aunt Viv would drive us to the beach carnival to get ice cream,” he said. “And those times she took us camping up in the foothills, looking for those weird herbs of hers. And I was thinking about the campfire stories she told about the Native Americans who used to live here on the coast.”
He looked off into the distance as if all those memories were dancing on the breakers.
“And I’m thinking that I’m going to call my editor and tell her that I can’t leave Broomfield Bay just yet.”
I bit my lower lip.
It felt good to have Eddie on my side again.
Chapter 32
I should have gone through the back door.
That became immediately clear the second I walked into Ginger’s and suddenly drew the attention of every single patron in the café.
Eddie and I were going to meet back at the house in an hour and a half to get started on a game plan. In the meantime, though, Eddie had to file a story and square things away with his editor, and I had more than a thing or two to take care of at the café. I knew that Héctor, Sapphire, and Rudy could handle the workload while I took some time off to deal with the Aunt Viv situation. But at the same time, I felt that I couldn’t completely abandon them. Not with so many tourists and reporters all needing pastries and sandwiches and coffee.
I had to contribute what I could in the way of baked goods.
Or at least, that was what I intended to do, anyway.
I hadn’t banked on getting the third degree when I walked through the door of my own café.
“That’s her! That’s her!”
A few of the patrons shot up in unison from the dining room tables. They hurried toward me like a pack of zombies, pulling out various notepads and phone recorders.
I froze.
“Why’d she do it, Ginger?”
“Did you see it coming?”
“Have you talked to Vivian since she was booked?”
Leering, hungry eyes gazed at me, waiting for a response.
I swallowed hard.
“No com…”
My voice trembled and gave out.
“No comment—”
“Is your aunt really a witch? Did she really cause the Good Friday Tsunami of ’64?”
I felt my eyes bulge.
I turned to the reporter who asked the last two questions. Her heavy eye makeup screamed television news. Or maybe it was the windbreaker she was wearing that had the Good Morning, USA TV program insignia on it.
“A… a what?” I choked out.
“A witch. You know. Dresses all in black, rides around on a broomstick. Keeps close ties with the devil? Would you say that about sums up your aunt?”
The reporter aggressively leaned in toward me.
“That’s what the locals here say, anyway. They call her the Broomfield Witch, and say that everyone in town knows not to cross her. People say it was only a matter of time before she did something like this. Is that how you see it, too?”
The TV reporter lady smiled a phony smile, waiting for me to respond.
I was shaking.
“No… No comment—”
“Are you a witch, too, Ginger? People say you can cause accidents. They say—”
“Hey! I believe Ginger said no comment,” a deep voice boomed from the cash register.
The crowd hushed, and everyone’s head swiveled around toward Héctor.
He stepped out from behind the counter and came between me and the crowd. He stood there and crossed his arms, his white t-shirt rising up and revealing all the ink and muscles. Even I gasped a little bit.
“Listen up! All of you asking questions, remember that you’re guests here at Ginger’s Café, and as long as you keep on enjoying our coffee and baked goods in a respectful manner, you’re welcome to stay. However, if you continue to harass Ms. Westbrook, I will see to it personally that you are removed from the premises.”
A silence fell on the dining room. Then, shortly after, came the sound of footfalls and chairs being pushed out as the group of reporters scurried back to their tables, grumbling. Others went out the front door in a huff, but remained on the sidewalk.
I let out a sigh of relief as the crowd dispersed. I nodded toward Héctor gratefully.
“Than
ks,” I whispered as he walked by.
The big man hinted at a smile, and then went back to work.
Soon, everyone started talking again. I walked swiftly through the dining room, trying not to make eye contact with anybody.
The place was packed. More packed than I’d ever seen it before. And while it should have been a comfort knowing that money was flowing into the cash register like the waters of the Columbia, it wasn’t. I couldn’t help but think that the money was coming only because Aunt Viv had been arrested. And more than that, if we didn’t figure out who had really cut the brakes of Penelope’s Ashby’s car, then all this money would be going right back into Aunt Viv’s defense at the murder trial.
That was something I would absolutely insist on, I decided. Aunt Viv could play coy with a lawyer before she was charged with murder, but now, I would flat-out refuse any of her protests about not wanting an attorney—
“Ginger, dear?”
I stopped in my tracks just as I was about out of the dining room.
Even in all of this, I still had to act like the owner. And that meant stopping and seeing what the customer wanted.
I turned around, recognizing the woman behind the sharp voice. She was sitting at her usual table.
“Hi, Lilliana,” I said. “How are you today?”
The library administrator narrowed her eyes at me, which went with her narrow nose, and her narrow, angular chin.
“Not good, Ginger. I’ve spoken to your baking assistant, Emerald, but obviously it’s done no good. Things have only gotten worse at the café. First, my lemon scone was so sweet today that it made me gag. And second, once again, this coffee is not up to par. It tastes… well, like mildew to me.”
She took a sip, then like a seasoned barista, swirled it around in her mouth. Her eyes lifted up to the ceiling, as if pulling out the flavors from the sky.
“Bitter, too. It tastes to me like you’ve gone with a sub-quality coffee provider to save money.”
It didn’t matter that Christopher was in love with her.
I still wanted to strangle Lilliana Marsh with my bare hands.
But doing so would only create more of a media circus than was already swirling inside and outside of the café. And I couldn’t afford that right now.
I forced a smile. It came out sour.
“I assure you, Lilliana, it’s the same coffee we’ve always brewed. Bohemian Joe, which is a very high-quality brew. And as for the lemon scone, I apologize it wasn’t up to your standards. I’ll look into it.”
“Well, it probably has something to do with all the stress your little café is under. But still, I don’t see why the regulars have to suffer because of it. I’m not the only one displeased with the direction the café has been headed in lately.”
She let out a sigh.
“But I hope things shape up here soon, Ginger. Otherwise, I may have to start getting my lunch elsewhere.”
No harm, no foul, I thought, gritting my teeth.
I honestly wouldn’t have minded if Lilliana took a little break from the café. She wasn’t adding any cheer here – that was for sure.
But despite the thinly veiled threat, Lilliana didn’t stand up and leave. She just crossed her legs and leaned back from the table – the one she sat at nearly every day, at the window facing Christopher’s flower shop.
I’d never noticed before that she chose this table for the view.
For whatever Christopher saw in Lilliana, maybe she saw something in him, too. Maybe the love elixirs I’d been making for him all this time had really been working. Maybe just at a slower pace than Christopher wanted. Maybe she just wasn’t quite ready to move on from the death of her husband—
Lilliana looked up at me with her eyebrows raised.
“That was all, Ginger. You may go back to work now.”
I felt my cheeks flush.
I hurried to the kitchen before saying or doing something that would make headlines.
Chapter 33
Sapphire stood over a mixing bowl, unaware of my presence. She was stirring cake batter, loudly singing some song I didn’t recognize.
“You got to take your life and make the most of it—”
Her face lit up like a firecracker when she noticed me standing there.
“Oh, hey Ginger!”
The energy in her voice almost knocked me off my feet.
After years of whipping up elixirs and potions and spells, it still occasionally took me by surprise when one worked so well.
“Uh, hi, Sapphire.”
“It’s such a nice day today, isn’t it?” she said, twirling across the room to retrieve some more sugar from the walk-in pantry.
“Uh, I guess so.”
I’d never seen her so happy, and it was obvious that those Magic Marionberry Scones spiked with the happiness tonic were working wonders. Sapphire was even dressed cheerfully today – taking a break from her usual depressing shades of navy and gray and opting instead for a summery floral blouse under her apron.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said, dropping the bag of sugar on the counter. “I didn’t mean… I mean, I’m sorry about what’s happening with your aunt. I know today must be tough for you, but I just know they’ll free her soon. Maybe today! And when I said it was a beautiful day, I was only talking about the weather.”
“It’s okay, Sapphire,” I said, reaching for my apron. “I know what you meant. And it is a pretty day out there.”
“How are you holding up with everything?” she asked, scooping a cup full of sugar and dumping it into the cake batter she was working on.
“Well, I haven’t lost my mind quite yet, though I imagine there will be plenty of time for that in these next few months.”
I thought of the murder trial. The lawyers. The media circus. Aunt Viv winking at the judge.
“I’m going to be in and out of here for the next couple of days,” I said. “But I came in to make up a master list for you guys. Héctor knows mostly what to do, but I thought I would try and help a little bit this morning.”
Sapphire nodded. She looked as if she was trying to stifle the smile that had been on her face, but was having trouble doing so.
I didn’t hold it against her, though. It was nice seeing her so happy.
“I can work whenever you need me to,” she said. “I don’t know what it is, but I feel like I have so much more energy lately. I can take over all the baking duties completely.”
“That means a lot, Sapphire,” I said. “I really appreciate it.”
Now, with permission, she beamed like a blinding summer sun.
I tied the apron around my waist.
“Well how about I take over what you’re doing here for the next few minutes?” I said. “The front of the house looks a little crowded, and I’m sure Héctor could use your help.”
I thought her cheeks might never snap back into place, she was smiling so wide.
She dropped the wooden spoon into the batter.
“Absolutely! I’ll get right on it!” she said. “This is ready for the oven. Oh, and before I forget!”
She went over to her pink jacket hanging up on the coat rack, grabbed it, and pulled a small slip of paper from a pocket.
“My mom wanted me to give this to you,” she said, opening it up flat and handing it to me. “She said you would understand.”
Sapphire didn’t wait around for a response. She rushed out of the kitchen like a small tornado before I even knew what was happening. The mugs hanging from the hooks in the middle of the kitchen island were still shaking after she left.
I looked at the paper. It was a list of names. I recognized all of them as being locals, but it took me a moment to realize what it meant.
Good ol’ Joyce.
She had to be one of the few people in this town who believed in Aunt Viv’s innocence.
I pocketed the paper, and went over, picking up where Sapphire had left off on the cake batter. A pile of peeled and diced apples sat on a cuttin
g board next to the large bowl of batter, and I quickly surmised that she’d been in the middle of making a Ginger Apple Cake, one of our specialties. But in her happiness haste, Sapphire had forgotten to add the apples to the batter.
I must have disrupted her concentration.
I stirred them in, poured the batter into a Bundt cake pan, then popped it into the oven. I got started on a batch of Ginger Peach Crumble Muffins.
“Say, you have a sec, Ginger?”
I looked up to see Héctor peeking his head through the kitchen door, a questioning expression on his face.
“Of course,” I said.
He came in, tossing a wash cloth over his shoulder.
“Thank you so much for throwing me a life jacket out there, Héctor,” I said. “I owe you big time. I mean, without you, those reporters would have eaten me alive.”
“I was happy to do it. I tell you, if that one reporter who was asking those witch questions about your aunt wasn’t a lady, I would have…”
He trailed off and shook his head. His face darkened.
“She was way out of line. That’s all I’ll say about it,” he said.
I was so lucky to have Héctor both as an employee and a friend – he was always looking out for me, and always had my back.
“You’re the best, Héctor.”
The edges of his mouth turned up slightly at that.
I grabbed some fresh peaches and began dicing them.
“I wanted to let you know before I forgot that someone was in here earlier looking for you,” he said.
“A reporter?” I asked.
“She looked too young for that, and I didn’t exactly get a reporter vibe from her. She didn’t seem like all those clowns out there in the dining room to me.”
I furrowed my brow.
Héctor always had a good sense when it came to people, and I trusted his feelings.
“What did she say?”
“Well, she was headed into the kitchen when I caught her. It was early this morning, before we even opened. I don’t know how she got in here. I could have sworn that all the doors were still locked. When I asked what she was doing, she said she was here to talk to you. Then she flashed some ID at me like she was a cop or something, but it was just her driver’s license. She flashed it too fast for me to see her name, but I saw the license was from Louisiana.”