by Winnie Reed
If there was one thing I believed in, it was the restorative power of sugar and chocolate. They had never steered me wrong.
Chapter Thirteen
“We had quite the weekend here.” Mom wiped invisible sweat off her forehead in her usual dramatic manner. “You were in and out so quickly last night, I didn’t get the chance to tell you about it.”
“Was Lola a good girl?” She was curled in a fluffy ball at my feet, under the prep table. “I hope you didn’t have trouble because of her.”
“Oh, no. She’s just as sweet as pie.” Mom crouched next to me, reaching down to pat the dog’s head. “Isn’t that right, Lola? You’re Grandmom’s good girl.”
“You did not just refer to yourself as her grandmom.” I paused in the act of glazing lemon cookies. “Have you lost your marbles a little?”
“Don’t be jealous, just because you aren’t the only person Lola loves.” Sure enough, my puppy licked the daylights out of Mom’s hand. Though that could’ve had something to so with the powdered sugar on it. “No, for the most part, she napped in her little bed. I brought her out to visit with the customers a few times. Mrs. Merriweather tried to steal her away.”
“She could probably have plopped her on top of her latest hat, and nobody would’ve known the difference,” I giggled. “So what happened here that was so stressful?”
“We’re getting busier all the time, with summer coming. It might be the best summer Cape Hope has seen in years. I tell you, the time just flew by. I had the ovens going almost all the time, trying to keep up with demand.”
“I should’ve been here to help you,” I sighed. “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Mom placed a hand on my back.
Which was a mistake on her part, since I flinched at the contact. Which was a mistake on my part.
“What’s the matter?” she gasped, and before I knew it she was lifting the back of my t-shirt.
“Hey, hang on a second,” I grumbled, trying to stop her. “You might buy me dinner before you try taking my clothes off, woman.”
“What happened to you?” she whimpered, hands over her mouth.
“It’s not all that bad, Mom. It looks worse than it is.”
“Which is why you flinched, right?” Darn her powers of perception. She knew how to use them when it suited her.
“I fell.”
“You fell.”
“What do you want me to say? I fell when I was out with Raina.”
“Drinking too much?”
“No, no,” I groaned. “It wasn’t like that. We were walking around the orchard where her friend Nate is building his bed and breakfast, and the backhoes or whatever they’re called had dug a trench. I fell in.”
“Emma! You could’ve broken your neck!”
“I didn’t,” I smiled. “I hurt my pride worse than anything else.”
“It sure doesn’t look that way. You poor thing.” She hugged me as gently as she could. “You should’ve called me.”
“What would you have done?” I asked, knowing full well.
“I would’ve told you to be more careful.”
“Please. You would’ve driven to Maryland and insisted on taking care of me. If not on bringing me home and taking me to the hospital, which I didn’t need. Besides, you were so busy here. I couldn’t take you away from the café.”
“Nothing is more important than you.” She tucked a few errant strands of hair behind my ears, the rest of it still in a clip. “Not the café. Not anything.”
I knew she meant it. Still, “I’m okay. I really am. But thank you.” I broke a cookie in half and handed her a piece. She took it, still eyeing me with suspicion. She knew I was trying to change the subject and for once was wise enough to let it drop.
Instead, she jumped to another topic. “What happened at the orchard or farm or whatever it is? I understand there was some trouble there. They had a little blip about it on the news, but I walked in on the end of it.”
“So, let’s talk about how I bruised my butt, too,” I suggested instead.
She shot me a withering look before opening the oven doors. “The orchard. What happened there?”
“How in the world do you know anything happened at all? They might’ve been talking about what a terrific location they’re using for the business.” I sighed. No use in denying it, since she seemed to know what was up. Somehow.
“You’re not the only one in the family who knows how to do research on the computer,” my mother informed me with an imperious tone. “When you told me the name of Raina’s friend, I looked him up. I don’t approve of my daughter running off to another state to visit a house owned by a man I know nothing about.”
“Are you serious? You googled him because we were visiting him? It’s not like I was planning on eloping.”
“One never knows. What if he’d swept you off your feet?” Mom’s voice took on a wistful note.
I looked at Lola. Lola looked at me. “You see what I’m dealing with here?” I whispered. She lowered her chin to her paws and gazed up with her puppy eyes.
Through the propped-open door between the café and the kitchen, I heard somebody knocking outside. We were still twenty minutes from opening. I glanced at my mother.
“That Mr. Hutchins,” Mom growled. “So impatient. I think his memory might be going, since I have to remind him most mornings that we don’t open until seven.”
I chuckled to myself, finishing up the cookies, while Mom went out to answer the door. When she started giggling out of nowhere—that wasn’t a Mr. Hutchins giggle—I cocked an ear in her direction.
Then, I heard a male voice which certainly did not come from Mr. Hutchins or any older man who frequented the café. But it was a voice I recognized, even when it wasn’t being used to chastise me.
Oh, no. Now she’d think I had another gentleman caller or whatever it was she’d originally called Deke.
What the heck was he doing there? I pulled the clip out of my hair and shook it free, hoping there were no crumbs or rogue bits of frosting in it. A quick swipe over my mouth with my apron took care of any smudges—I hoped. I hadn’t even put on any makeup that morning.
I then reminded myself that the man had discovered me looking a lot like a drowned rat. It could’ve been worse.
“Emma!” Mom trilled like she’d stumbled into a Gilbert and Sullivan operetta. “You have a visitor!”
Once again, I looked down at my puppy. “Save me?” She did not seem impressed. I went out on my own, then, glad she was too small to climb up on the prep table.
Joe Sullivan looked around the café, with Mom as his tour guide. “My other daughter, Darcy, runs the bookstore just next door. Her customers come in with their books all the time. I’ve considered knocking down the wall between the businesses to combine us, since people are always wandering back and forth.”
“That sounds like a smart idea.” Joe nodded. He seemed to be taking her seriously, so that was a mark in his favor.
I cleared my throat. “This isn’t your jurisdiction, Detective Sullivan.”
He smirked, taking me in with a single glance. The upward quirk of one eyebrow left me wishing I’d taken a look at myself in a mirror before leaving the kitchen.
“I’m here as a civilian, Miss Harmon,” he explained. Indeed, he was in regular clothes again.
“Oh? Are you a detective here in Cape Hope?” There was a new tightness in Mom’s voice, and it broke my heart. She assumed he worked in town, which would’ve meant he worked with my Dad. Her ex. The man she still ached over at least a little.
“No, ma’am. I work out of Paradise City.”
Well. That was all he needed to say to help my mother connect the dots.
It was a first, at least for me. Seeing Joe Sullivan completely undone, eyes wide as saucers when Sylvia Harmon of Sweet Nothings threw her arms around his neck and burst into tears.
“You saved my daughter’s life, didn’t you?” she sobbed. “I c
an never thank you enough, not ever. You rescued her from being drowned or shot or otherwise killed, and you’re a member of the family now. You hear me?”
“I think they can hear you down at the beach, Mom.” I grimaced. While it was fun to see Joe lose his tough-guy-in-control persona, she was taking things a little far. A member of the family?
“It was my pleasure,” Joe assured her, patting her back. “Really. Emma’s a good one. I was glad to get there in time.”
Mom sniffled, stepping away. “I’m sorry. My girls are the most important thing in the world to me. She’ll tell you.”
Joe looked at me. I shrugged.
“Why don’t you go back and clean yourself up, Mom?” I suggested, steering her toward the bathroom. “I’ll finish things up out here.”
The woman could turn on a dime. “Oh. Yes. That would be good. You stay out here with Joe and I’ll clean my face up.” If she’d dropped a broad wink and nudged me, it would’ve been perfect.
When we were alone, I turned to Joe and found him struggling to fight back a grin. “You might help me out a little, since you’re here,” I suggested.
“I didn’t come all the way down here to be your lackey.”
“No, but you just made it so my mother has to wash her face and maybe reapply her makeup. The least you can do is pull the chairs down from on top of the tables, the way she would’ve done otherwise.”
“Oh, all right. That’s fair.” He made quick work of it, and I filled the bakery case and in no way admired his backside in those jeans of his. Nope. Not even a little bit.
Okay, a little bit.
“What brings you here, anyway?” I asked, checking the time. We were still a few minutes out, and I’d already noticed Mr. Hutchins and a few other regulars wandering around on the sidewalk.
“Wow. Are you always this popular?” Joe asked, nodding toward the plate glass window.
“Sure. I mean, Mom said it was crazy busy this weekend, which makes sense with Memorial Day coming up. But otherwise, the town’s residents love the café. It’s their meeting place.”
“That’s really nice.”
I glanced up from the cash drawer, where I was in the middle of counting out the money one last time before unlocking the door. “Yeah, okay. I’m sure you think so.”
He leaned over the counter, watching me. “You don’t think highly of me, do you?”
“I think you’re very sarcastic when you’re with me, and you have a bad habit of talking down to me in a way my father can’t even get away with anymore.” I closed the drawer. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
“That doesn’t make me a monster. I’m not a bad guy. I think it’s really impressive and nice that your mom has a place people wait out in front of like this. It’s not easy to bring a community together. She must have a really great product.”
Hmm. He sounded sincere. “You should try the blueberry muffins,” I suggested.
A smile spread slowly. “Well, whaddya know? Blueberry muffins are my favorite.”
I forgot how to breathe and my knees went a little weak. If it wasn’t for Mr. Hutchins tapping on the door with his newspaper and pointing at his watch, I might’ve forgotten how much Joe Sullivan infuriated me.
Chapter Fourteen
“Who’s your new friend?”
I was in the middle of restocking the scones while Mom worked the register. Joe sat at a table in the back corner, reading a paper and enjoying his second blueberry muffin of the morning.
There was no avoiding my Aunt Nell’s knowing look. Especially when my mom encouraged her, like she always did.
“You don’t know?” Mom hissed in a stage whisper. “He’s the dashing detective who saved her from the crazy lady who tried to kill her last month!”
“Mom. Please.”
Joe held the paper in front of his face, so there was no telling whether he’d heard, though he’d have to be deaf not to hear mom’s terrible attempt at whispering. I was pretty sure the paper was shaking, too, like he was laughing.
Meanwhile, Nell held a hand to her chest and sighed. “It’s just like something out of a romance novel.” She then fluffed her newly cut-and-colored red bob and smoothed nonexistent wrinkles out of her gauzy, yellow blouse. “I’m going to talk to him.”
“You will not,” I growled. “I will tear your tongue out.”
“Emma!” Mom gasped.
“You don’t need a tongue to run a library,” I added, dragging a finger across my throat.
“Wait,” Nell giggled. “Are you tearing out my tongue or slitting my throat?”
“Both, if I feel like it.”
“Okay, okay. I won’t bother him,” Nell promised. “Your mother will tell me everything I need to know, anyway.”
“I don’t know why I bother,” I sighed, taking the empty tray to the kitchen and taking my first deep breath since unlocking the front door while I was at it.
Joe still hadn’t told me why he came down. There hadn’t been any time. I knew if I questioned him in the café, around customers and my mom, everybody would want to listen in. I’d barely managed to keep the weekend debacle quiet—Mom had forgotten to interrogate me over Nate once Joe showed up—but my luck was bound to run out eventually.
For once, I was going to get ahead of the rumor mill and avoid being the topic of gossip.
“What do you mean, they found a body in the attic? Was Emma there?” Mom raised her voice, carrying it across the café and into the kitchen. “Emma? Were you there at the time?”
“I’m taking the dog for a quick walk,” I announced. At the sound of the w-word, Lola jumped to her feet and danced in circles. Everything was so simple for her. I was jealous just then, as I ushered her toward the back door. Her leash hung on a hook and I was quick to clasp it to her collar.
But not quick enough. Joe was waiting for me on the sidewalk as I brought the dog around, and the traitorous little fluffball pulled me over to him.
“And who’s this little lady?” he asked, crouching in front of her. Oh, I hated how cute it was, watching him interact with the dog who’d already stolen my heart. His smile was broad and sincere and he looked adorable and I had to stop looking at him.
So what did I do? I looked inside the café and found Aunt Nell and Mom staring out, practically swooning. That didn’t help.
“This is Lola,” I explained, giving them a look that I hoped meant business. Not that it mattered. They were barely stopping short of leaning against each other for support, like this was the most adorable thing they’d ever seen.
Well. Maybe it was a little bit adorable.
“A Maltese,” he murmured, nodding in approval. “Good choice, if you plan on bringing her into the café on the regular.”
“I’m glad you approve.”
He was smirking as he stood. “They don’t shed. That’s what I meant. I was trying to give you a little bit of credit, Miss Harmon. You make it difficult for me to do even that.”
I held a hand to my chest. “You were giving me credit for something? No wonder I didn’t recognize it. You know a lot about dogs, then?”
“Enough to know which dogs are good for people with allergies.”
“Are you allergic?”
A shadow passed over his face. A little bit of tension touched his forehead, his jawline. “I knew somebody who had allergies.”
Hmm. Cryptic. Clearly, he was determined to be a closed book.
He looked back down at the dog, who pranced about and generally basked in the wonderfulness of herself. “Yes, now that I think about it, a Maltese is the perfect sort of dog for you. Frisky, energetic, usually acting without thinking too hard. At least she’s cute.”
I bit my tongue before the natural impulse to ask if he was trying to say I wasn’t cute got the better of me.
He clearly wasn’t about to leave me alone, so I grumbled, “Well, come on. You might as well walk with us.”
“What a treat for me.” But he was laughing genuinely as we started down
the street, not snarkily. A plus.
“You know, you never did tell me why you came down here.” I tried to ignore the fact that having him at my side was actually pretty neat. Sure, I could have done without his pitiful attempts at being funny at my expense, but he was pleasant enough company.
And while it might have made me petty and maybe even childish, I didn’t mind the thought of people in town seeing me with walking around with a hottie. Landon, my traitorous ex, had no problem walking around with his new girlfriend. I had seen them a few times, always in the periphery of my vision.
For once, it wouldn’t break my heart to be the topic of gossip.
Joe heaved an exasperated sigh. “You’re like a bulldog, I swear.”
“Which is it? Am I a bulldog, a Maltese, or maybe a mixture of both?”
He laughed. “Tenacious. All right? You’re tenacious. Frustratingly so.”
“Unless you’re going to tell me you came down here for a mere social call or because you heard my mom’s baking is so good, I’m going to assume this has something to do with Nate. It’s a Monday, after all, and I would imagine you’re supposed to be at work.”
“I’m not supposed to be anywhere. In fact, my CO has been on my back for a while about taking vacation time I have coming to me.”
“You’re not much on vacations?”
“I love the idea of a vacation,” he allowed. “But not when there’s so much work sitting on my desk. And there’s always work sitting on my desk.”
“You sound like my father.”
“It seems like I have a habit of that, doesn’t it?”
I couldn’t help blushing a little, since I did accuse him a lot of talking to me like he thought he was my father. Because he did.
“A workaholic, I mean. Even now, when so many people his age are looking at retirement, it’s the last thing on his mind. So long as there are bad guys out there, he feels like his job is never done. Like it’s up to him to save the world. He takes a lot of responsibility on his shoulders, and he doesn’t deserve it.”