Fortunately, Britt applied her powers of compulsion to ordering the press to leave and destroy their own footage. They’d still have a story, no doubt, but it’d be a lot more vague with the details and that was a good thing for the three of us.
I had to admit vampire powers were handy to have at our disposal.
Though if I ever found myself unclear on what I’d been doing the last five minute and feeling inexplicably giddy, I was gonna be mad.
The three of us were in the police station till 2 AM because Gantry kept us in separate rooms and kept going back to check our stories a million times before he reluctantly released us to go home. From the slant of the questions, it was clear they were trying to pin down the time of death and whether Ashlee had been murdered at Java Kitty, or if her body had just been dumped there. So to speak.
Bryson had texted me this morning to say he too had been called in for further questioning, and I knew Gantry took an extra-long time grilling Kade as well. No arrests had been made, but Max was fearful that the axe would soon come down on her brother.
I was just as fearful about Bryson, though I had no doubt he was innocent.
Now that the pressure was on Gantry to find the killer, time was running out for our investigation to bear fruit.
After the craziest night of my life—vampires, naked shifters, corpses, mediocre brownies—I’d expected to be too tired to make it in to work on time. But to my surprise I bounded out of bed, straight from a pleasant dream about an orange tea cake with thick cream cheese icing (I jotted down the recipe in eyeliner pen on my steamy bathroom mirror).
Of course, when I did show up to work all Gran did was pester me about if I was ok after the “traumatic experience” of seeing Ashlee’s dead legs.
It turned out Cindra had promptly jump on the gossip horn to inform the rest of the family that Ashlee had been killed, and I’d found the body. Between her and Java Kitty’s other evening customers, who needed TV news?
I was nearly at the door when it struck me that I probably shouldn’t have assumed The Help were still gathering tonight for beers. Given that the family they staffed for was in mourning, they were unlikely to be, collectively, in a fun, social mood. I’d been so focused on taming my social anxiety and getting my butt out to this event that it didn’t occur to me the event might be off.
Well, I’d just have to walk in and hope they’d be there.
As soon as I swung open the door to The Drunken Barrel, fiddle notes rang out sharp and sweet over the warm buzz of conversation that enveloped me.
Right, it was Thursday night.
And Thursdays were busier than Tuesdays. I vaguely remembered that detail, from having once vaguely had a life. Tonight the scrappy fiddler chick playing her reels in the corner had more of an audience, and some were spry enough to dance. Their nimble feet crushed peanut shells, while older folks sitting on barstools clapped to the beat. I stood mesmerized by the idyllic scene.
Gran could side-eye the tourists all she liked. Without their passion, Blue Moon Bay wouldn’t be half as magical. Come to think of it, maybe I should come out more often on a Thursday night to appreciate the awesomeness of my hometown. Lately I’d been spending so much time lying inert on my living room couch that I was starting to see its faded paisley pattern when I closed my eyes.
A camera’s flash made me blink. David knelt ten feet away, snapping photo after photo of the fiddler and her dancers.
“Cake baker?” he called to me. “I was hoping you’d come out tonight.”
I rushed over to say hi, telling myself that the little flutter in my heart was from nerves about my recon assignment. Not a reaction to his tight navy polo shirt that showed off his muscular arms and set off his blond hair.
“So are these photos art for art’s sake?” I asked, genuinely curious after our conversation at Ashlee’s wedding. “Or is someone paying you to take them?”
“Neither, I’m just having fun.” He dropped to a lunge to take another flurry of shots of the fiddler and her thralls. “Can’t resist a sight like this. Call it hometown pride.”
“No way, you did not grow up here.” My voice was coming out flirty, high and teasing. “I would remember you from high school.”
“Got a couple of years on you, cake baker.” He winked and showed off his greying temples, the only physical sign that made me guess his age at midthirties, instead of late twenties like me. “But yep, born and bred in the Bay. Blue Moon, True Moon, vic-to-ree!”
I laughed at David’s spontaneous, off-key chant of our school fight song. “I’m going to guess you played football.” It wasn’t just his physique, either. He had a rough enthusiasm about him that I associated with jocks.
David laughed. “Nah, no time for sports. I had to go home and milk cows after school.”
“Wow, your parents run a dairy farm?”
“Ran one, past tense.” He smiled ruefully. “It’s no longer in operation. Just another hundred-year-old family farm that got shut down by Big Milk.”
Big Milk? Not wanting to be caught out again asking basic questions, I nodded like I knew what the heck he was talking about. “I’m sorry to hear that. Still, a hundred years is a pretty good run. That’s how long my family’s bakery has been a thing.” And I wasn’t sure we’d survive much longer either. This topic felt far too personal . . . how had we drifted here? Time to nudge the conversation back to generalities. “How funny that our families have been local for so long and we never knew each other!” In fact, Gran would probably want me to dump Bryson immediately and get with David.
“The Kensingtons have a way of bringing people together,” he said. “As a matter of fact, my great-grandmother Maude worked for the Kensingtons as a kitchen maid.”
“For real? That’s so . . . Downton Abbey!”
“You’d be amazed how many people in our little crew have a similar family history.”
“Hold on, you’re saying you all had family members who worked for the Kensingtons, going back generations?” What were the odds?
He nodded gleefully. “Everyone but Marina. She’s the only fresh blood. Things around here don’t change as much as some people like to imagine.”
Something about this turn to the conversation creeped me out, but before I could think about it too closely the fiddler wiped her brow and announced she was taking a break.
“That about does it for my spontaneous photo series,” David said smiling. “Come with me, cake baker. I’ll escort you to our booth.”
I beamed and headed toward the big table in the back where Landon the chef was presiding over what looked to be a rollicking good time. He was doing an impression of someone, chortling and wearing a baseball cap so it covered half his head. Marina the clothing designer was laughing herself silly, while Leeza, the senior member of the group, was trying valiantly not to crack a smile.
So much for Ashlee’s gruesome death and the family crisis getting them down. It was party central over here.
Leeza saw me and waved, but as David guided me to a seat on the end—sadly not next to him—Britt sauntered over, a glass of rosé in her hand.
“On the house,” she said, then more softly, “Good luck, Apple Butter.”
What was it with her ilk and giving me horrible nicknames? I rolled my shoulders to shake it off, then pulled the Ziploc baggie in my purse that contained my secret weapon: triple-strength toffees.
“Everyone, I want you to help me test these new toffees we’re going to be selling at the bakery. Please take as many as you want. I need feedback.”
I was overjoyed when everyone at the table tucked into them and praised them. Everyone but Leeza, who I couldn’t help but notice had ordered a plain kale salad. Great, she would have to be a health nut.
Hopefully everyone else opening up would make her less guarded, too.
Should I ask them questions or just see where the conversation went naturally?
“Excuse me.” Marina the “emerging fashion designer” tapped me on
the shoulder. “You, Hazel, should never wear high crewneck.” She wrinkled her tiny nose.
I glanced down at my Sage’s Bakery T-shirt. “Um, this is my work uniform.”
“But a woman with your endowment in bosom must have neckline to show off girls, or else looking as if have no neck!”
“Excuse me?” I placed my hand on my neck, partly just to make sure I still had one.
“Sorry if my point is not across, I am in America not long.”
“No,” I huffed, “your point is across.”
She grabbed my hand and broke into a toothy smile. “I like you, Hazel. I want that you go shopping with me. I charge for my time as a personal shopper . . . ” Ah, there we go. The pitch. “Very affordable, don’t worry.”
“Sorry, I don’t think I can handle yet another makeover attempt.” Both my sisters were always trying to give me a makeover—though lately they may have given up on me. “I can never seem to put together the looks like they do at the stores anyway.”
Marina slid me a business card. “You change your mind, call or text.” It was a really cute card, with a shiny, cartoon little back dress on it.
Landon put his arm around Marina. “You’re making her feel pressured, baby. Blue Moon Bay is a casual town, normal people don’t stress their neckline.”
Marina pouted. “I am only trying to help Hazel go from small-town beauty to goddess.”
“Well, geez, if you’d led with that line we’d be at the mall already,” I said, inwardly awwing that the two youngest staff members appeared to be a couple.
Marina and Landon looked almost done with the hummus appetizer plate they were sharing and Leeza had heroically hacked through much of her kale when Britt bounced by with a pitcher of beer and a huge, bone-in ribeye steak. She set the plate at David’s elbow and he dug right in. I had to admire a dude who didn’t fear mixing sweet and savory.
I noticed Britt’s hands were shaking a little as she poured. Was she hungry again? I wondered how often she had to eat but didn’t want to ask more ignorant questions. Max had made it sound like researching vampires online would be easy, but so far my Google searches were all clogged up with Dracula movies and silly Halloween costumes.
“To closure,” Leeza lifted her glass and everyone else followed suit, faces suddenly sobering. “To peace for the family.”
“Here here.” David turned to me. “We joke around a lot, so it may not seem like we care. But we’re all close to the family and feeling their pain right now.”
“Of course,” I said. “I’m sure I’m joining everywhere here in praying that Ashlee’s killer is swiftly brought to justice.”
The whole table burst into peals of laughter.
“You think that’s what we wish for?” Marina said. “No, we all just want to be safely out of the spotlight.”
“Yeah, now that they’ve found that airhead’s body it’s only a matter of time before the story goes national,” Landon added, chewing several toffees at once. “It’ll be a media frenzy, reporters kicking down the doors. One last f-you from that little gold digger.”
Whoa. “You mean . . . none of you were fans of Ashlee?”
I knew I liked this crew for a reason.
Leeza put down her fork in her plate of untouched kale salad and tried to explain. “It’s not that we didn’t like her, exactly.”
“Though of course we didn’t,” Marina cut in. “She was very terrible—”
“We’re a bit concerned is all,” Leeza clarified, fixing Marina with a “zip it” glare. “Concerned about press coverage. We were able to keep her disappearance quiet, but now with the body and especially the way it was found . . . ” She trailed off and I did too, mentally, reliving the sight of Ashlee’s splayed legs and feet sticking up inert from the top of that dumpster. The room spun a little and I was glad Leeza didn’t know I was one of the people present at the discovery. “Let’s just say we’re afraid the Kensington family cannot withstand too much media exposure.”
“Really?” That surprised me since they were always in the papers, albeit normally in the lifestyle section. “Estelle always seems so gracious and composed.”
“She is, but her husband isn’t,” David said, cheerfully unwrapping another toffee even as a platter of chicken wings was set at his elbow. Farmboy’s appetite was insane. “Anyone who interviewed Fred would quickly realize the guy’s not in mourning. He’s frankly delighted that young woman is out of the picture.”
“Mm-hmm!” Leeza shook her head and looked like she was grinding her teeth in addition to her kale salad, but my ears perked up. Who would be happier about Ashlee’s demise than her murderer?
Hmm, was the wrong Kensington on the suspect list?
“I wouldn’t say delighted,” Leeza said as soon as her mouth wasn’t full.
“You mean you wouldn’t say it in public,” David said, grabbing his fourth toffee. “But Hazel isn’t public. She’s basically one of us.”
Leeza still looked a little panicked but at least she didn’t attempt to shut him up again. Just sat there with her mouth in a flat line of disapproval while David went on.
“Fred Kensington believed in prenups. I heard he even made Estelle sign one, all those years ago. But Drew? He let Ashlee talk him out of it, meaning she could divorce him and take half his fortune. Fred must have been livid.”
That stunned me. “But he seemed so happy at the wedding.”
“When you’re in the public eye like they are,” Leeza said gently, “you learn to put on a game face. But they’re a family like any other, with conflicts.”
“Wow, I had no idea Drew had problems getting along with his parents.” I’d never sniffed the slightest amount of drama around the Kensington family.
“Not his mother.” David unwrapped yet another toffee. He was turning out to be a goldmine of information. “She’s as warm and caring a soul as can be. The problem is always with Fred. Let’s just say he’s the kind of person who would kick a little dog,” he added.
I blinked. “Fred Kensington kicked Sammy Boy?”
Leeza looked pained. “By accident. I think. I hope.” She paused. “Actually, I don’t remember if it was Sammy Boy or the one before, Snowball.”
“Oh, yeah, Snowball.” David laughed. “Almost forgot about him.”
“How does a dog lover stay married to a man who kicked her dog?” I wondered.
“How?” Landon laughed. “They’re rich, that’s how. It’s easy. In such a huge mansion they’re able to lead separate lives. They don’t even drive each other crazy.”
“But if they’re already living separate lives,” I began. “Then—"
“Why not get divorced?” Landon anticipated my question. “Pretty sure those two old farts would rather die than split up!”
“Because family values?”
The whole table laughed, again.
“Good one, Hazel,” Landon said, tapping me on the shoulder playfully. “Keeping the family’s wealth and influence consolidated is their biggest value.”
Interesting. If someone would rather be dead than divorced . . . wouldn’t they much rather their estranged spouse be the one to die? “So, uh, does Drew agree with his parents?” I asked, trying to sound conversational and light. “About divorce being the worst possible outcome?”
“No.” Marina smiled, and I remembered how much she looked up to her boss. “He is a modern man. If something is not working, he will be honest and move on. Even the way he grieves Ashlee is modern. Using his work and solitude as meditation.”
“In other words he’s been skipping all the family memorial events,” Landon translated. “And hiding in his rooms or going to the office.”
“I almost forgot.” Leeza snapped her fingers. “Hazel, would you have any availability to cater pastries and desserts for a small family gathering next weekend? It’s not Ashlee’s official memorial, it’s more of a somber event afterward where close friends will be showing support.”
“Sure, I can do that.”
Perfect. I could put ramble juice serum in all the food.
“Excellent, hope you’ll be bringing your A game.” Leeza smiled at me, but her expression looked subtly harder. “My suggestion is to serve your rosemary pie for dessert.” Her tone was still friendly, but a shade more clipped and professional than before. “Landon does a killer cherry ice cream that would go fabulously. Your apple butter, pulled pork, and blue cheese sliders would be perfect as appetizers. Especially if you could please do a Hawaiian taro bread instead of your usual potato rolls? Fred’s crazy about Hawaiian stuff.”
Uh . . . ok. “I must say, you sure know a lot about our bakery’s menu.” Especially for someone who’s never been a customer.
“Oh, Estelle loves Sage’s Bakery. And it’s my job to learn all about the things she loves.” Leeza flicked her kale salad off her fork like she was tired of pretending it was edible. “I’ll email you the details and we’ll provide transportation.”
Driving home, I reflected that we had absolutely no connection to Hawaii and I had no burning desire to master baking taro bread.
And the rosemary pie already had cherries in it, for Pete’s sake. So cherry ice cream was overkill.
More to the point, there was a little piece of me that just didn’t like someone else meddling with my own recipes, dictating to me how to change them.
Was that why the bakery was failing? I just had a giant chip on my shoulder?
Geez, I hoped that wasn’t it.
But maybe that stubborn little piece of me didn’t care. Didn’t think it was worth it to keep the bakery open if it meant changing everything about us and baking on someone else’s terms.
Who knew what the future would bring? But I was glad that for the moment I wasn’t answering to anyone but Gran.
She may be a curmudgeonly old witch—but I was realizing anew how lucky I was to have her as my boss.
Chapter 12
Friday morning, for the first time in months, I rose before my 4 AM alarm began to bleat. Instead of groaning and hitting snooze, I bounded out of bed in the dark and belted out 80s ballads in the shower along with the radio.
Fangs and Frenemies Page 12