by Lori Woods
“What do you mean?” Clary asked, looking up from a fascinating historical fiction about Cleopatra. She was reluctant to look up, but she couldn’t listen and read at the same time. Much to her eternal disappointment.
“This is the third day without customers,” Marie said in frustration. “It’s never been this bad before.”
“I don’t know if you’ve seen the weather outside,” Clary pointed out, “but I wouldn’t come out either. It’s freezing. Besides, you haven’t made brownies in days. It’s the only force strong enough to force people out into the snow.”
“I made little pecan pies,” Marie pointed out.
“Yes,” Clary grumbled. “I know, I’m the one who paid for the pecans.”
“When you hired me, you said you’d pay for all my ingredients,” Marie defended. “It’s not my fault pecans are so expensive. These pies are top-notch.”
“They’re good,” Clary agreed, “but people want brownies. Besides, no one knows that the police suspect you. Just make more brownies. In fact, I’m sure once they see that people aren’t dying because of your brownies, they might forget all about you and concentrate on finding the real killer.”
“I don’t think that will happen,” Marie grumbled negatively.
The bell tinkled, and Marie looked up hopefully. Unfortunately, that hope died when the dentist, Dr. Isaac, walked in. Clary quickly sank low behind her book, hiding her face with the cover.
“Hello,” Marie greeted glumly, her mood worsening by the minute. Dr. Isaac was the pride and joy of Valley Springs. Townswomen prayed for cavities and mothers dragged their unwilling, and completely healthy, children into his office for unnecessary checkups. Men avoided him at all costs, and all this was because he looked like he was related to George Clooney.
The man was devastatingly handsome and charming to boot. No woman stood a chance. He was also happily married to the scrapbook loving Jessica Isaac who was well aware of her husband’s charm. Its why she chose to scrapbook with women in the old-age home since there was less chance they’d hang around waiting for her husband to show up.
For all his looks, the man was also obsessed with dental hygiene, which annoyed Marie, who baked sugary treats for a living. The two were mortal enemies. Except when he wanted brownies.
“I’m so happy you’re here,” he said politely, giving her a charming smile. “I’ve been hoping that we could talk about some sugar-free alternatives.”
“This is a coffee shop,” Marie told him sullenly. This was a discussion they had at least once a week. He never bought anything. “People come here for books, brownies and coffee.”
“I think that we could do a lot of good if we worked together.”
“Well,” Marie softened, “it could be good for business. You can send your clients here when they’re done. For non-sugary treats.”
“No,” Clary said resolutely from behind her massive book.
“Clary,” Marie sighed, “we might need the business.”
“It’s fine,” Clary said, not looking up. “He’ll come in next week to send brownies to all his patients.” Dr. Isaac had been doing it for the past three years. It was a brilliant marketing strategy since people tended to ignore the appointment reminders. But if they arrived with a gooey brownie, people were more likely to read the card.
“I’ll buy more if they were sugar-free,” he pointed out.
“How do you make sugar-free brownies?” Clary asked in confusion, lowering her book to give him an incredulous book.
“Marie is the brownie genius,” he shrugged. “I’m sure she can figure something out.”
“Ah,” she scoffed. “I’ll just wave my magic wand then.”
“That would be wonderful, thanks,” he teased.
“The only problem is that I’m not making any more brownies,” she said resolutely, folding her arms over her chest.
“You can’t be serious,” he said with a smirk.
“She is,” Clary lamented. “She made mini pecan pies.”
“Without sugar?” he asked hopefully.
“You’re fighting a losing battle,” Clary informed him before returning to her book.
“What if I special order those brownies?” he asked thoughtfully.
“No,” Marie shook her head. He was about to respond when Ronnie burst through the door with a panicked expression.
“Finn,” she breathed, “Missy Turner’s in with an emergency. It’s her braces.” Dr. Isaac’s eyes widened in alarm, and he scurried out with Ronnie hot on his heels. Marie breathed out in relief and sat down behind the counter.
“He’ll never change,” Marie said tiredly. “I just wish that everything else was still the same.”
“Look, I’d be out there right now searching through Erica’s things, but you know how busy stock days are.” For the past three days, Clary had been sorting through and packing away all her new stock. She could probably get the job done in one day, but she spent a lot of time reading the covers of her new books. It was one of her favorite parts of owning a book store. She wouldn’t dream of rushing through the process.
“You know what? This isn’t what I pictured when I came to America,” Marie complained sadly. She leaned against the counter and stared ahead angrily. Marie pretended to be unbothered by people’s opinions, but she was one of the most sensitive people Clary had ever met. She was also a master of complaining.
“What did you picture?” Clary asked absently, staring dreamily at the yellow-gold cover of her book. The model portraying Cleopatra stared firmly ahead, her features transformed to match the legendary queen’s by the typical ancient Egyptian style of make-up.
“When I left France, people were gossiping about me and Pierre. I came here to become someone else. To escape and become a new person, you know? No one knew my sad story, and I thought it would be better. Now, everyone is gossiping about me because I had a relationship with a man. It’s all the same.”
“I don’t think anyone is gossiping,” Clary comforted her. “Chief Sanchez is very discreet. If anyone asks, we can tell them that they were here to get brownies. By the way, it’s time to make more brownies. We’re out.”
“No,” Marie said firmly. “I’m never making those brownies again.”
“Oh, come on,” Clary scoffed. “You can’t be serious.”
“I can’t make these brownies! They bring death. They’re death brownies.”
“Hey,” Clary realized slowly. “Do you think we should market them as ‘death brownies’? ‘Marie’s brownies’ just doesn’t have the same ring to it, you know?” Marie glared at her and Clary held up her hands in surrender. “Too soon?”
“I can’t talk to you,” Marie grumbled. “You don’t take me seriously.”
“I take you very seriously,” Clary protested. “I’m still mad at you for hiding rat poison in my kitchen. What was that all about?”
“It’s not my fault you never go into your kitchen,” Marie folded her arms defensively and Clary glared at her. “Fine, I’m sorry. I should’ve told you, but I forgot. Besides, it wasn’t even open. It proves nothing.”
“It does. I let the police search through my things while I swore you were innocent. Then they come down with that box and I look stupid. I tell them that you’d never keep a secret from me. How does that make me look?”
“Like a naïve friend who should cook more?” Now it was Clary’s turn to glower sternly at Marie, and she relished the opportunity. It wasn’t often that she got a chance to glower sternly, so she made the most out of it when she could.
“Why did you buy it? Why did you put it in my kitchen?” Marie looked away guiltily, so Clary stood up and crossed her arms menacingly. It wasn’t all that menacing when a pint-sized red-head tried to look intimidating, but she tried her best.
“You’ll be angry when I tell you,” Marie muttered uncomfortably.
“You owe me the truth,” Clary demanded stubbornly.
“Fine,” Marie sighed, “I bought the
rat poison because I don’t have faith in your cat.” Clary gasped and put a hand over her heart. She went over to where Loki was lounging and scooped him up in her arms. The cat blinked blearily and looked at Marie accusingly. It was as if he could sense it was her fault his sleep was being disturbed. Clary cooed over him until he got annoyed and started trying to wriggle out of her grasp.
“You unlovable beast,” Clary scolded affectionately, letting him drop to his feet. The cat walked away with as much dignity as he could muster up. “Okay, but why did you hide it in the kitchen?”
“I wanted to hide it in a place you’d never look,” Marie said honestly. Clary stopped and appraised her friend critically, wondering if she should take offense or not. She decided not to with a shrug. It was true.
Marie nearly jumped out of her seat when the bell rang, and Clary smiled in amusement. She took the opportunity to get back to her book, picking it up with a hungry smile. Before she could blink, she was taken back to the era of pharaohs and glittering thrones. Logan walked in with a sullen look on his face and sat down on a bar stool with a grunt.
“Bad day?” Marie guessed sympathetically. He shrugged and looked at where Clary was sitting. Her eyes were bright with excitement as she eagerly followed the ancient queen on her journey to Rome. “You can forget trying to talk to her,” Marie told him plainly. “Once she’s into a book, she’s gone.”
“Looks like it,” he commented and turned back to face her. “Where are the brownies?”
“I’m not making brownies anymore,” Marie told him with a slight hitch in her voice.
“Are the police on your case too?” he asked sympathetically.
“Yes,” she sighed. “They think I baked the poison into the brownies like some freak. As if I’d tamper with perfection. And waste that much effort on someone like Eddie? You’ve got to be kidding, and now the customers are staying away.”
“To be fair, it’s snowing pretty badly out there,” Logan pointed out.
“Now you sound like my petite boss,” Marie grumbled.
“Don’t worry,” Logan said soothingly. “People are also avoiding me. It’s not easy being the new guy and a murder suspect. It’s not my fault that the guy died in my shop. Is it?”
“Only if you killed him,” Marie shrugged. “Wait, did you?”
“No,” Logan shook his head. “Do you think I’d waste that much effort on someone like Eddie?”
“I thought you liked him.”
“I wasn’t going to pick a fight with my new manager. But no, I didn’t. I had to keep reminding him who owned the store.”
“Oh, so you’re opening a store then?”
“Yes?” Logan said in confusion. “What else would I open?”
“There aren’t any signs,” Marie pointed out. “When we went to look, it was all covered up like it’s some big secret.”
“It is a secret,” Logan said in satisfaction. “I wanted to build excitement before I opened. Now I just look guilty.”
“Hold on,” Marie said slowly, she walked over to Clary and tapped her head. Clary waved her hand away and looked up with an annoyed expression. “We have a guest. Come, socialize.”
“It’s just Logan,” Clary protested.
“How flattering,” he said wryly.
“Buy something or leave,” she shrugged, looking back to her book.
“We’re talking about the murder,” Marie said enticingly. Clary put her book down slowly, contemplating if it was worth getting up or not. Logan was watching her with an amused smile on his face. She was struck by how out of place he looked in Valley Springs. He obviously put care and thought into his appearance, when most men in town forgot what they were wearing most days. His dark hair was carefully styled, but in a way that made it clear that it was also effortless.
When he realized that she was studying him, he smiled, flashing his dimple again. His light brown eyes made it clear that he had already studied her and formed an opinion, it just wasn’t clear what that opinion was. He was handsome, and the perfect suspect. A new man in town, who chose, bought and distributed the offending brownie. Even if he wasn’t the murderer, he was there when it happened, which made him a key witness.
“Okay,” she decided, putting the book down firmly. “What’s new?”
“Nothing,” Marie shrugged. “I just thought that if we’re going to discuss it, you should be part of the conversation.”
“What’s your opinion?” Clary asked him, taking a seat on one of the bar stools too.
“I think Marie should make more brownies,” Logan said with a smile.
“Great idea,” Clary beamed, and they both turned to Marie who frowned. When they wouldn’t give up, she smiled and started getting the ingredients together. “See,” Clary called, “I knew you’d make them again.”
“Is it really a good idea to antagonize her?” Logan wondered.
“Hey,” she smacked his shoulder lightly, “my store, my rules.”
“If you say so,” he held up his hands in surrender.
“So,” Clary said slowly, changing the subject quickly, “what’s a guy like you doing in Valley Springs?”
“I’m opening a store,” he said simply.
“You know, being this secretive isn’t going to help you in Valley Springs,” Clary observed. His smile faded, and she raised an eyebrow at him.
“You really are nosy,” he sighed, shaking his head.
“I never pretended I wasn’t,” Clary shrugged, he frowned, and she waved dismissively. “Look, if you can’t handle me, then you definitely won’t be able to handle this town.”
“My dad lived here,” Logan told her, giving up.
“So, you came to a town where your father lived to open a store?”
“Yeah,” Logan admitted heavily. “He always used to speak about this place. He was an English literature professor. He died last year.”
“Oh,” Clary breathed, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he said with a smile, but Clary could see that he was still deeply grieved by the loss. His eyes glittered slightly when he spoke about his father, and she almost felt bad for prying. It wasn’t her place but getting to know a person meant digging deeper. “He would’ve loved this place.”
“I would’ve liked to meet him,” Clary told him honestly. She always loved meeting a kindred spirit. “I’m sorry you’ve had such a rough welcoming committee.”
“It’s not your fault,” Logan shrugged.
“Tell you what,” Clary said, suddenly realizing something, “we can host a welcome party when all this is over. The locals will like that, and you’ll meet a lot of people.”
“I hope it’s in time,” he chuckled. “If this keeps on going much longer, the police are going to scare away all my potential customers.”
“Then we’re just going to have to find the real killer for them.”
Chapter 6
“See,” Clary said smugly, “these brownies are good for business. It’s only been an hour and they’re half gone already. You should listen to me more. I’m a genius.”
“You used baking soda when you ran out of salt yesterday,” Marie pointed out wryly.
“Hey,” Clary protested defensively, “it’s a common mistake. Stop changing the subject. Admit to my genius.”
“You proved nothing,” Marie grumbled. “Logan ate half of these.”
“I resent that,” Logan intoned, lying on the couch, his eyes closed as he digested the chocolate treats.
“You can resent it all you want,” Clary told him, “it’s true.”
“I took half of them with me when I spoke with Kelly.”
“Look, it’s great that you feel comfortable here, but don’t you have things to do?” Clary asked, leaning against the counter and staring longingly at the spot Logan had stolen from her. Story Tree was her haven, she had several comfortable spots, but Logan was currently sprawled over her favorite nesting place. To add insult to injury, Loki the traitor cat was snuggled up a
gainst him. He seemed to sense her annoyance, because the ghost of a self-satisfied smirk was hiding on his lips.
“Be nice,” Marie chided, wiping down her work station.
“I am nice,” Clary said loudly. “At least I don’t interview grieving girlfriends.”
“She wanted to do the interview,” Logan shrugged. “I was going to anyway, it felt wrong to cancel if she didn’t want to. She said thanks for the brownies, by the way.”
“I heard you’re making brownies,” Erica said loudly, drowning out the bell as she walked into the store. Marie groaned loudly and sat down behind the counter, hiding herself from view. Clary sat up straighter as the woman walked into the shop, staring intently at Logan, who cleverly decided not to look up when he recognized her voice.
“That’s right,” Clary said pleasantly, silently cursing her companions for their cowardice. Although, this did work out well for her since she’d been wanting to interview Erica ever since she found the rat poison in her shop. “We all need some comfort food after losing Eddie like that.”
“I didn’t know you two were so close,” Erica said off-handedly, taking a seat on one of the bar stools. Her face betrayed nothing, and if she didn’t know better, Clary wouldn’t have suspected her of a thing. It seemed like Erica was keen to spill secrets, as long as they weren’t hers.
“How many do you need?” Clary asked, opening a brown paper bag.
“Just two,” Erica nodded. “I’ve got someone coming by later who might need a few of these bad boys.”
“Do you know when they’re going to have the funeral?” Clary asked as she bagged and rang up the purchase. Erica shrugged and checked her make-up in her little bedazzled compact mirror. Clary frowned.
“You’ll never guess what I heard,” Erica said eventually, snapping the mirror shut.
“What?” Clary asked dully. Marie sniggered from her spot behind the counter and Clary nudged her with her foot, trying to get her to stop making noise. The last thing she wanted was for Erica to walk behind the counter.
“The police think it’s a murder,” Erica said in a hushed voice. Logan let out a cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, and Marie lost all control. Erica slapped her money on the counter and walked out, glaring at them angrily.