by Chelsea Fine
A large banner strung across the grassy town square reads COPPER SPRINGS 32ND ANNUAL CONFETTI CARNIVAL.
A smile curls up my mouth. I almost forgot about the Confetti Carnival. Once a year, the local vendors put on this merry festivity as an excuse to show off their latest merchandise and promote their businesses. They put on carnival games, petting zoos, and concerts. They also give away free things. Like food.
“You know what’s better than affordable?” I say, finding a parking spot at the end of the street.
“What’s that?”
I grin at him. “Free.”
He looks back at the carnival—where vendors are handing out free bags of popcorn, complimentary soft pretzels, and unlimited candy samples—and brandishes his dimple. “Brilliant idea.”
The first place we head is the pretzel cart followed by the popcorn machine. Daren scarfs two bags of popcorn down before I even finish one. I’m not really one to judge, though, with my mouth stuffed with pretzel and both my fists filled with junk food. Daren washes down his two bags of popcorn with a giant pretzel, which he eats in three big bites. I freeze with a Red Vine halfway to my mouth and stare at him.
Damn. Looks like Daren was just as starving as me.
Next, we head to the cotton candy cart and wait in line. Above hang two confetti cannons, which will go off at midnight to mark the end of the Confetti Carnival. It’s like colorful snow, falling on the town in the midst of summer. I always loved the confetti snow.
Across the park, two girls with ample cleavage on display catch Daren’s eye and smile. They can’t tell he’s handcuffed to me because the cart is blocking our wrists but, based on the come hither looks on both their faces, I doubt a handcuffed third party would be any kind of deterrence.
I glance at Daren and watch as he gives them a little smile and a chin nod. Their faces brighten and one of them licks her lips while the other wiggles her eyebrows.
Wow.
I tilt my head. “More friends of yours?”
Daren looks at me and the cocky smile is quickly replaced with a look of indifference. “It’s a small town. Everybody knows everybody.”
I nod. “Right.”
I bet not everybody “knows” those girls the way Daren Ackwood does.
“Next!” calls the cotton candy man with a smile.
As we step up to the cart, I recognize him as Charles Abernathy, one of my father’s old buddies.
He smiles at us. “Hello, Daren. Good to see you.”
“You too, Mr. Abernathy.” Daren nods.
“It’s a shame about your dad. How’s he doing?” he asks in a serious tone. “Is he still up at county—”
“I haven’t spoken to my dad so I have no idea how he’s doing,” Daren says. The sharpness in his expression is a stark contrast to the smooth cockiness he was wearing just a moment ago. He was like this with the lawyer yesterday, too. Tense and closed off about his dad.
I slide my eyes to him, wondering what the deal is with his father.
Daren slips on another casual grin. “We’ll take two cotton candies, please.”
Mr. Abernathy nods sympathetically. As he reaches for a paper cone, his eyes bounce off me and he looks back.
“Kayla Turner?” His face instantly lights up. “Is that you?”
I smile broadly. “Hi, Mr. Abernathy. How are you?”
“Well I’m doing wonderful now that I’ve seen you. It’s been, what… five years? And now you’re all grown up and just as pretty as your mother.” He sighs and shakes his head sadly. “I’m so sorry about your father. He was a great man and will be deeply missed.”
His words are genuine and laced in mourning. I try not to let that upset me as I nod. But the bitterness seeps through like an oozing wound nonetheless.
Mr. Abernathy twirls two paper cones around inside the cotton candy machine until he’s formed identical balls of fluff.
He hands them to us merrily. “You two take care.”
We walk away with two pink clouds of happy spun around paper cones. Finding a shady spot beneath the tall oak tree in the center of the square, we try not to draw attention to our handcuffed wrists while we eat.
“This is the best lunch I’ve ever had,” he says, shoving the last of his pretzel into his mouth.
“I know,” I say over a mouthful of popcorn.
Two middle-aged women walk past us with looks of confusion. I glance over our appearance and try to see us through their eyes.
We have dirt on our faces, candy in our mouths, and metal restraints around our wrists as we stand in a corner of the park.
We look like two jacked-up toddlers in time-out.
“Okay. Ick. I’m done.” I hand Daren the rest of my cotton candy, my stomach now feeling grossly full. My nutritious lunch consisted of salted butter fluff and colored sugar fluff. I totally wouldn’t blame my heart if it just decided to quit its job.
Daren finishes off the rest of my cotton candy and nods to a nearby bench. “Want to sit?”
We sit down and watch Mr. Abernathy hand out more cotton candy for a moment before I turn to Daren. “So what’s the deal with your dad?”
He lifts an eyebrow. “What?”
I take a Red Vine from his hand and bite into it. “Your dad. Why do you get weird when people bring him up?”
He gives me a crooked smile. “Did Lana not fill you in on all things Luke Ackwood?”
“Apparently not.” I swallow my bite.
He scratches his cheek. “Did she tell you about my dad’s tendency to drink like a fish?”
I hesitate, feeling guilty for listening to gossip about Daren’s family. I never really gave it much thought before, but listening to gossip is an ugly thing to do. “She might have mentioned something about that.”
“She’s a reliable source, that one.”
I shake my head. “You don’t have to tell me. I shouldn’t have asked in the first place. That was nosey of me. God. I’m sorry.”
“No. It actually might be nice to get to tell someone the truth. Everyone in town has just always known what was going on so I rarely have a chance to tell the story.” He looks away and even though his lopsided smile stays in place, his inhale is strained. “My dad is in jail for an aggravated DUI. He got hammered, went driving, and nearly killed a guy named Conner Allen last year. So he’s been doing time at county for the past eight months.”
I sit frozen with the Red Vine in my hand. “Whoa.”
He laughs quietly. “Whoa is a good response.”
“That’s heavy, Daren,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugs and looks up at the Ferris wheel. “No one died so it wasn’t as bad as it could have been.”
“Yeah, but still.” I chew off another bite of the Red Vine and stare out at the townspeople in the park. A couple across the way eye Daren and mumble to each other, which reminds me of the ladies at the cafe this morning. “Is that why people sometimes look at you and whisper?”
He sighs. “That and the fact that my harlot mom lured the good preacher into her bed of sin seven years ago.”
I make a face. “People still whisper about that?”
“You’d be surprised how eternal some gossip can be. What about you?” He turns to me. “Last night, Eddie mentioned that something happened with your mom. Any scandalous gossip there?”
“Oh.” My heart starts to pound as I deliberate on what to say. “My mom, uh…” I shift my weight. “She passed away. A few months ago.”
His lips part. “Oh God. I’m sorry. I—I didn’t know.”
I swallow. “It’s okay. No one did. She was—she was sick for a long time.” I quickly add, “Not sick like my dad, but just… she wasn’t well.”
He inhales deeply and slowly shakes his head. “Wow. You lost both your parents in the span of only a few months.” He leans back and lifts our adjoined wrists. The handcuffs clink together. “Kind of makes all this seem petty.”
I consider. “Not really. Believe it or not this”
—I jangle our restraints—“is the most exciting thing I’ve done in a long time.”
He laughs under his breath. “Then you need a life.”
“God, tell me about it.” I smile. “It’s on my To Do list, trust me. I’ve just been so busy these past few years with my mom that I’ve hardly had time for myself.” I flash back to the bank statements from earlier, and anger simmers in my chest. Those Chicago withdrawals had to have been my mother. No one aside from my parents would have had access to an account opened in my name. I mutter a curse and shake my head. “I still can’t believe my mom knew about the trust fund and didn’t tell me. And then she drained it completely? Ugh.” The simmer becomes a low boil as I think about the money. I know what she did with it and the idea makes me sick to my stomach. Especially since that money could have bought us—bought me—a better life.
Daren frowns. “She probably didn’t tell you about it because she spent all the money.”
“No doubt. But God.” I exhale through my nostrils. “Steal someone’s money and keep it for yourself? What a shitty thing to do to your own daughter.”
“Very shitty and very low.” He flexes his jaw. “You really didn’t know?”
I shake my head again. “We were dirt poor, Daren. I mean, we had a little money when my dad was still sending alimony and child support, but once those payments stopped we were nearly destitute. Meanwhile, he was back here swimming in money.”
He studies me for a long moment then looks away. “Hmm.”
I stare at him. “What?”
He shrugs. “Obviously, your dad knew your mom was dipping into the trust fund, right? So he probably assumed you and Gia were living comfortably. Which means…” He leans in. “He didn’t purposely leave you and your mom broke. He thought he was taking care of his family—or at least taking care of you. So maybe you should cut him some slack on the money front.”
I start to argue but stop when I realize Daren’s right. Mom was making large, consistent withdrawals from the trust fund, so my dad had every reason to believe we were financially secure.
“You’re right,” I say as guilt weighs down on me. “I guess I got so used to blaming my dad for everything tough in my life that I just directed all my financial bitterness toward him. Wow.” I bite my lip. “I’m a brat.”
“No. Your mom is a brat,” he says, shaking his head.
I slowly nod. “Yeah.”
We sit in easy silence for a few moments as I think about my mom and all the trouble her selfishness has caused me. I loved her. Dearly. But she made it hard sometimes. And now this? I wish I could say her stealing from me is a shocking revelation, but it’s not. It pretty much falls in line with her behavior these last few years.
I look up at the statue of the town founder, Lewis Copper, just a few yards in front of us and wonder if he ever had a crazy mom—or a nutty dad, for that matter. Probably not like mine.
I shift on the bench and glance down at our locked wrists. It’s nice sitting beside Daren. Easy. I can’t remember the last time I was so relaxed around a guy. Then again, it’s been a while since I’ve been around a guy at all. But Daren feels different. He’s too pretty for his own good, probably, but he’s not a bad guy. I’d even go as far as to say he might be one of the good ones.
He looks over and smiles at me with a piece of cotton candy stuck to his lip. He’s handcuffed to me on a park bench in public, while we feast on all things unhealthy, and he seems perfectly content. Yeah. He’s definitely one of the good ones.
“Right here.” I brush a finger over my lip to show him where the cotton candy is stuck on his mouth.
“Are you asking for a kiss? Again?” He sighs and leans over. “Okay, fine…”
I laugh and push away his face. “No, you arrogant weirdo. You have cotton candy on your lip.”
He darts his tongue out and swipes the sugary goodness from his mouth. I stare at his lips.
“Did I not get it all?” He licks his lips again.
“What? No. Yes. It’s gone.” I cut my eyes away and stare at anything other than his lips. Or tongue. My eyes settle on the statue. “Why do you think they do that?”
He follows my gaze. “Erect giant stone replicas of old white men who demanded things be named after them? No idea.”
I toss some popcorn in my mouth. “I bet Lewis Copper wasn’t even a cool guy. I bet he was a grumpy old man with a drinking problem.”
“And a wife who hated him,” he says.
“And an irritable bowel.”
“And really bad body odor.”
I shake my head. “But yet he got a friggin’ statue made of himself.”
“With a plaque.” Daren tips his chin at the foot of the statue.
On the plaque is an engraved picture of a steam engine, which brings my thoughts back to the clue at the train station.
“Bust out that clue again,” I say. “Let’s see if we’re any better at deciphering it when we’re hopped up on sugar and carbohydrates.”
He pulls the note from his pocket and we stare at it.
“Are you sure you don’t remember what you liked more than stickers?” he says.
“I don’t even remember liking stickers,” I say. “My dad once bought me a sticker book when I was like six, but instead of decorating the pages with the flower stickers inside, I stole a roll of stamps from his office, licked every last one of them, and stuck them to the pages.” I laugh thinking back to how his eyes bulged when he saw what I’d done. “He was so mad.”
Daren scratches his jaw. “Maybe that’s the clue.” He looks at me. “Stamps.”
I consider for a moment. “Maybe… but what would that mean for your part of the clue? Are there special February stamps that you looked forward to getting in the mail each year?”
He shakes his head. “The only thing I ever looked forward to getting in the mail was the swimsuit issue of Sports Illustrated.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course.”
He pauses. “But it did come out every February.”
“Really?” I say. “Huh. Do you think that’s the clue then? A magazine?”
He shrugs. “I can’t think of anything else it would be. And if the clues are stamps and a magazine then we need to go…”
My mind races. “To a magazine store.”
“A magaz—in Copper Springs? You’re not in the big city anymore, Blondie.” He shakes his head. “Maybe we need to go to a stamp museum or something.”
“Oh sure.” I sneer. “A stamp museum in this tiny town makes total sense, but a magazine store? Preposterous.”
He squints at me. “God, you’re sassy. I’m just trying to draw a connection between stamps and magazines here.”
I gather all our junk food trash and toss it in the garbage can beside the bench as I shrug. “Well, they both come in the mail.”
We whip our heads to face each other and say, “The post office.”
He says, “Turner probably left the money in a postal box for us.”
“Yes!”
Quick as lightning, we dart up from the bench and take off in opposite directions—only to be whipped back into each other by our linked wrists. My chest slams into his rib cage as his knee pushes into my thigh.
“Seriously?” I pull back from him and huff. “Where are you going?”
He points behind him. “The post office is that way.”
“Since when?” I make a face.
He juts his jaw. “Since the old one burned down and got moved from Main Street to Langley Drive.”
“Oh.” I straighten my skirt, which has once again ridden up my thighs. I don’t know why I even bother.
He looks up at the sun hanging low in the sky. “It’s almost closing time. We need to hurry.”
As we speed walk through the park toward my car, people everywhere turn and stare.
Don’t mind us, folks. We’re just a couple of kids bound together with metal on the hunt for what may or may not be a twenty-dollar bill. We’re not despe
rate or anything.
We reach the car and quickly climb in. The drive to the Copper Springs post office takes less time than it takes for us to get our linked bodies out of the car as Daren climbs over the console with the grace of a one-legged chicken, cursing and thwacking his elbows and knees against the dashboard.
“You’re like a bull in a china shop,” I say.
He tries to fold his long legs into the driver’s seat one at a time but ends up kicking the steering wheel and honking the car horn.
“A very noisy bull.” I shake my head.
He climbs out of the car with a scowl. “Well maybe my bullhorns wouldn’t make so much noise if they weren’t being crammed into an Oompa-Loompa-sized car.”
“If you complain about my car one more time,” I say, “I will track down your precious Porsche and draw all over it in lipstick.”
“Easy, tiger,” he says. “There’s no need for violence.”
We walk toward the post office’s entrance, but stop in our tracks when we see the CLOSED sign on the door.
“Shit,” Daren mutters.
“We’re too late?” I say, wanting to scream. This day has been a complete waste. “What now?”
A muscle flexes in his jaw as he shakes his head. “I don’t know. Come back in the morning?”
“And what are we supposed to do until then?” I say, lifting our joined wrists. “Stay locked together all night? I don’t think so. We need to find Eddie.”
“Okay.” Daren pulls out his phone and calls the lawyer. “Hey, Eddie. It’s Daren… Yeah, so Kayla and I haven’t been able to find Turner’s money yet… Oh yeah, it’s been super fun, but we need to get into the post office and the post office is closed. So it looks like we’re going to have to delay this scavenger hunt until morning. Do you mind if Kayla and I swing by your place in a few minutes so you can unlock the handcuffs? Just until tomorrow of course. We’ll put these babies back on first thing…”
Daren listens to Eddie on the other end of the line for a moment. “Uh-huh… uh-huh… I see… Right, well of course… True, but… uh-huh… uh-huh… okay, then.” He smiles at the floor. “Thank you so much. You have a good night too.” He hangs up and purses his lips.