Cinnamon Girl

by S. J. MacIver

  Mike grimaced as he took in the sight of four pumpkin-shaped snack cakes. He glanced up at Lacey, preparing to turn down her generous offer, but saw that she was standing there in anticipation. Thinking that he might actually be falling in love—he must be since he already knew that this surprise would taste like cardboard dipped in wax—Mike peeled the wrapper off of one of the cakes and shoved the entire thing into his mouth.

  * * *

  The following morning after showering and dressing for work, Lacy tiptoed into the living room and found Mike fast asleep. His neck was cocked at an impossible angle and her Minnesota Vikings sports blanket was twisted around his body. She figured he'd probably stayed up half the night.

  She gently shook his shoulder. "Mike? Time to wake up."

  He bolted upright. "Huh?"

  "Time to get up," she repeated. "I have to leave for work in a few minutes. How'd it go last night?"

  He rubbed his face. "Fine. I didn't see or hear a thing. Let's hope whoever broke your window got it out of his system."

  "Thanks for staying and keeping an eye out. I have coffee made. Would you like a cup to go?"

  He shook his head and then dragged his fingers through his hair. "No, thanks. All I really want is a shower and about two hours in my own bed. I'll just be on my way."

  She glanced at the coffee table and saw there were still three snack cakes left. "Why don't you take the rest of the pumpkins with you? I've got a stash at the office."

  "Ah, sure," he said, getting to his feet. "Thanks."

  Mike scooped up the treats, stuffed them into his jacket pocket, and then headed toward the door.

  Lacy was right on his heels, so close in fact, when he turned to say goodbye, she bumped into his chest. Mike bent his head and lightly kissed her lips.

  "See you tonight?" he asked.

  She shrugged. "Maybe. Why don't you give me a call?"

  With a wink and a grin, he turned on his heel and went out the door.

  Her heart doing a little dance, Lacy cleaned up the items on the coffee table, folded the bedding, and was on her way to the storage closet when she heard a knock at the door.

  She peeked out the side window that hadn't been broken and saw Mike standing there.

  "Forget something?" she asked as she opened the door.

  "No, but as I was leaving I noticed some damage to the left rear taillight on your Jeep. Do you think that happened last night when your house was vandalized?"

  Lacy felt herself color. "Ah, no. I was attacked by a dumpster at work yesterday as I was backing out of my parking spot."

  "Attacked?"

  "That's my story and I'm sticking to it."

  * * *

  Over the next few days, Mike made several nocturnal visits to Lacy's neighborhood, usually parking several houses away from hers and watching for any furtive activity. He never spotted a soul and Lacy hadn't been vandalized again. With any luck, he figured the perp had grown tired of his stupid games and moved onto to other mischief in other places.

  When Saturday rolled around, Mike was full of anticipation for a special evening at Lacy's place. As a way of thanking him for his time, she'd promised to make him a home-cooked supper, something he hadn't been privy to for months. To make sure she wouldn't end the meal by forcing even more of those vile snack cakes down his gullet, he insisted on coming to her place early and bringing the dessert.

  Lacy spent most of that afternoon in the kitchen preparing a sure man-pleaser, meatloaf and home-baked bread. She had just taken the bread out of the oven and set it on a cooling rack when her doorbell rang. Before she could even make it into the living room, the door opened and Mike strode into the house carrying two grocery bags.

  "Hope you don't mind me letting myself in," he explained as he headed toward the kitchen. "One of these bags has a hole in it and I've got some breakables in there."

  She followed him into the kitchen and helped arrange the bags on a clear counter. The room was tiled in white set off by soft blue walls, and while small, was surrounded by countertops, more than enough for the busiest cook. As Mike unpacked the bags, he explained what he intended to whip up for dessert.

  He shoved a box of graham crackers and a couple of Hershey bars off to the side and said, "Ever had S'mores, the old-fashioned kind?"

  She shook her head. "I don't think so."

  "That's what we're having after supper." He sniffed the air and closed his eyes. "And I have to say, if that's what we're having for supper, the aroma is mouth-watering."

  "That's the bread you smell," she said with a soft laugh. "I just took it out of the oven and put in the meatloaf."

  "Meatloaf?"

  Mike turned away from his chores, his dark eyes huge. He was wearing a black sweater with a black dress shirt beneath. The look reminded Lacy of Zorro, the one made famous by Antonio Banderas.

  She licked her lips and somehow found her voice. "I hope you like my version. There are as many recipes for meatloaf as there are women."

  "I love meatloaf, any kind. I'm sure I'll love your version as much as you're going to love my dessert."

  Mike finished unpacking the bags then, lining up four boxes of gelatin, a bag of sugar, a jar of white corn syrup, a small bottle of vanilla, and a box of confectioner's sugar. Then he said, "First, we have to make the marshmallows."

  Lacy gasped. "You're going to show me the recipe?"

  He grinned and nodded. "It takes a couple of hours for them to set-up, so we'd better get going. I'll need a long glass baking dish, a medium saucepan, and your stand mixer."

  Lacy dashed out of the room without another word, grabbed her reporter's notebook, and ran back to the kitchen. By then Mike had helped himself to the mixer she kept under wraps on the counter.

  "I forgot to bring measuring cups. You do have some, don't you?"

  "Sure."

  Lacy dug them out along with the other supplies he'd requested. Mike measured, then stirred the sugar, corn syrup and water together in the pan and took it over to the stove. As he brought the mixture to a boil, he said, "Say, I chased down an insurance claim yesterday that is sure to be fodder for your Crime Beat column."

  Notepad in hand, Lacy kept an eye on the syrupy mixture in the pan as she said, "Oh? Is it funny?"

  "Hilarious as long as you don't happen to be the idiots who thought it up." He reached into his shirt pocket, took out the candy thermometer he'd brought along, and inserted it into the bubbling mixture. Then he backed away from the stove and said, "Where's that glass pan? You've got nine minutes to grease it and cut a piece of parchment to fit the bottom. I have to get busy with the gelatin."

  "But I don't have any parchment."

  "There's some in that bag I brought."

  As Lacy prepared the pan, Mike dumped some cold water into the bowl of her mixer and then sprinkled the gelatin on top. As he waited for it to soften, he said, "So back to the insurance scam. This genius and his girlfriend saved up and put a down-payment on the Harley motorcycle they just had to have. I don't know how they got it home, but once it was in their possession, they decided they should take it out to the countryside where they could learn to ride it in a relatively traffic-free area. So far, so good."

  Lacy pressed the parchment against the glass, and then raised the pan and showed it to Mike. "Is this how it's supposed to look?"

  "Perfect. Set it on the counter by the mixer."

  After taking a peek at the still-boiling sugar mixture, Mike continued. "Not so good was the way they loaded the bike into the back of the guy's pickup truck, which by the way, did not have a tailgate."

  "Uh, oh."

  "Uh, oh is right. They put blankets all around the bike so it wouldn't get scratched, but neglected to tie it down properly. The genius gunned the truck at the first incline they came to, and the Harley was history."

  "Oh, no," Lacy said with a grimace. "Was it totaled?"

  "Pretty much. Now for the good part."

  "There's more?"

  "O
h, yeah. I investigate insurance fraud, remember? So far, they aren't guilty of anything except poor judgment." He leaned over the saucepan and checked the candy thermometer. "The rest of the story will have to wait. Right now, we've got marshmallows to make."

  That said, he turned off the heat and took the pan from the stove. Then Mike turned the mixer on low, lowered the whisk attachment, and slowly beat the hot syrup into the gelatin. After gradually raising the speed to high, he glanced at the clock and turned back to Lacy.

  "This has to whip for about twelve minutes. Where was I with the genius?"

  Lacy scribbled a few more notes regarding the marshmallow recipe on her pad, and then said, "The motorcycle was totaled, but no fraud yet."

  "Right. They pick up what's left of the bike, go home, and try to figure out what to do next. The genius is convinced that the insurance won't cover the damage because it was caused by 'stupid', and his girlfriend agrees, so they figure they have to come up with a good story."

  "Ah. And that's where you come in."

  Mike laughed. "I wouldn't have if they'd stayed together, but the genius decided to go see his buddy, who is apparently a mental giant when it comes to conning law enforcement."

  He shook his head as he thought about it and laughed again. "While the boyfriend is gone, the girl decides to take it upon herself to fix things. After all, taking the bike to the country was her idea. So she calls the insurance company and reports an accident, claiming that she was riding the bike when it went over a rock or something and threw her off."

  "How could you possibly prove that her story wasn't true?"

  "I probably couldn't have and would have no reason to doubt her except for one small problem—the boyfriend. While she's filing a claim, he's out concocting his own wild tale about crashing while riding the bike."

  "And he called the insurance company, too?"

  "That would have been the smarter dumb thing to do, but he didn't." Mike grinned. "The buddy thought to make it look authentic, the genius needed to have a few scrapes and bruises. Somehow they both thought it was a good idea to tie one end of a rope around his waist and the other end to the trailer hitch on the truck. Then the buddy dragged him up and down the street a time or two."

  "Ouch."

  "Exactly. Putting both their brains together and with the genius scraped and bleeding, they actually drove to the police station to file an accident report."

  Even though a lot of things about this story weren't funny, Lacy couldn't help but laugh. "And that's finally where you came in, right?"

  "To the rescue, of the insurance company, that is. So what do you think? Is it printable?"

  "Oh, yes. In fact, it's a Crime Beat column all by itself."

  Mike glanced at the clock. "Time's up."

  He went to the mixer, checked the contents, and then beat in a teaspoon of vanilla. Satisfied with the results, he poured the mixture into the prepared pan and set it aside.

  "Now what?" Lacy asked.

  "Now we let it set up for around two or three hours. After that, I'll dust some confectioners' sugar onto your breadboard, dump the really big marshmallow onto it, and cut it up into little squares. Then we'll roll each square in powered sugar and we're ready to make S'mores."

  It all sounded so good, Lacy wanted to dig into dessert immediately. Since that wasn't possible, she checked her meatloaf, settled Mike into his place at the dining table, and served up the first course, a tossed green salad.

  Hours later, both of them so full they could hardly move, Lacy steered Mike into the living room and they collapsed on the couch.

  "My tummy hurts," she moaned. "Why did I ever think I needed two of those S'mores?"

  "Probably the same reason I decided to have another helping of meatloaf." He patted his stomach and groaned. "I hope you won't mind if I spend the night on your couch again. I'm not sure I can get up."

  "I couldn't stop you if I wanted to. I may wind up here myself."

  Mike cocked his head her way and raised his eyebrows.

  Lacy lowered her gaze and tried to hide a shy smile. Then, not-so-deftly changing the subject, she said, "Did you hear that the police found Candee Hankins' car late last night?"

  "No. Where was it?"

  "Parked at an abandoned manufacturing plant at the eastern edge of Bismarck. Candee's purse was there along with her wallet, cash, and credit cards."

  "Have they got any leads?"

  She shook her head. "Only if someone was fool enough to leave prints, which they seriously doubt. I wish something would happen, and soon. It seems like all I can think about is that poor baby. Is he alive? If so, where is he? Is he all right?"

  Mike scooted closer to where Lacy sat and patted her knee. "If, as the police suspect, the perp is one of those crazy people who want a baby so badly they're willing to sacrifice a pregnant woman to get it, I'm sure the Hankins baby is alive and thriving."

  "Thriving? You consider being raised by a murdering whacko thriving?"

  Mike lowered his head and heaved a sigh. "No, not exactly. Maybe what I should have said is that it does no good to worry about something over which you have no control. Why don't you come to church with me tomorrow morning and see if we can't get a better perspective on this?"

  She reared back as if struck. This came out of nowhere, and at first Lacy couldn't think what to say. Then she remembered she already had a built-in excuse. "I drive to Napoleon every Sunday morning to visit my mother. She's expecting me."

  "But last week—"

  "Last week I owed Brian so I saw my mother on Saturday instead."

  He nodded thoughtfully. "Maybe next week you can switch days again. I'd really like you to come to church with me."

  She shook her head. "Sorry, but I don't think so. Besides, don't think I didn't notice that you already have quite a few young ladies willing to sit with you. You don't need me in the mix."

  He laughed. "I need you to hold the others at bay."

  Again she shook her head, this time resolutely. "Sorry, but the truth is, I'm not all that religious. I don't mind if you are, but please don't expect me to join up."

  "I'm not asking you to do that. If tomorrow morning is out, then maybe you can come by tomorrow evening when the youth group meets. I think I've convinced Jeremy's mother to let him come to that. You might even get an interview out of the boy."

  The idea of talking to Jeremy interested Lacy enough that she didn't out and out turn him down. "I'll think about it, okay?"

  "Sure."

  That's all Mike said, but Lacy felt a sudden chill in the air, a sense that she'd somehow hurt his feelings. It was easy to imagine that his silence could go on and on if she didn't come up with something clever to say. Not funny necessarily, but important, thoughtful.

  She smiled at him and inexplicably said, "So, have you been doing this religious thing long?"

  Mike gave her a long look. Then, to her relief, he said, "Not really. I've gone to church off and on my entire life. The thing is, I never seemed to get much out of it until I moved here and started attending services with Brian."

  Her tongue again flying off the handle, Lacy said, "So Brian showed you the way, so to speak?"

  Another long look. "No. He showed me his church. I took it from there, and even came up with a personal mantra of sorts. It's gotten me through some rough spots."

  "Is this mantra too personal to share?"

  He shrugged. "It's just a sentence I say to myself every time I'm tempted to do something my gut knows is wrong. I say, if I do this, will I be doing myself proud? To me that means, will I be doing myself proud in the eyes of the Lord?"

  Lacy had no idea what to say to this. The best she could manage was, "That's nice."

  Mike looked at her sideways and rubbed his chin. Then he said, "You seem really uncomfortable with this topic. Do you come from a non-religious family?"

  Lacy did not like the turn this conversation was taking, but since she'd asked him such personal, outrageous questions,
she really had no choice but to go down this road. "My family is very religious. As a child I attended services every Sunday."

  "If you don't mind my asking, what changed that?"

  The question was like a lance in her heart. She minded him asking very much, but blurted out, "I'll tell you what changed that. All this nonsense about Jesus saves, that's what."

  Mike's expression suggested she'd slapped him. "That's quite a thing to say. Why are you under the impression that Jesus saves is nonsense?"

  "Because it isn't true." Lacy could feel herself edging toward hysteria, but couldn't seem to stop herself. "If Jesus saves, why didn't he save Danny?"

  Mike slowly shook his head. "Oh, Lacy, is that what this is all about? You think The Lord caused your husband's death?"

  She didn't answer, but did make a slight nod.

  "It's not God's fault," he said gently. "A distraction, a moment's carelessness, an accident caused the crash."

  Tears sprang into Lacy's eyes and she knew they would soon be rolling down her cheeks, but she was powerless to stop them. "Maybe that's true," she said, her voice cracking. "Maybe it isn't, but how do you explain what happened after that?"

  Mike turned his palms up. "I don't know what you mean."

  "If Jesus saves, how come he didn't save the last little scrap I had of Danny? How come he didn't save our baby?"

  "Oh, Lacy." Mike reached out to her, but she pushed away from his reach. "I had no idea you had a baby."

  "I didn't," she said bitterly. "I was just a few weeks along when Danny had the accident. Twelve days and four hours later I lost the baby."

  "Ah, geeze, I'm so sorry," he said softly. "I can see how much this hurt you, but you do know that miscarriage is nature's way of fixing its own mistakes, don't you? Nature took your baby from you, not God."

  She did not want to hear this, any of it. For the past two years, Lacy had been blaming God, needed to blame someone or something for the two lives she'd lost. Now here sat Mike making perfect sense, and yet no sense at all.

  "I'm not sure what I think about any of it anymore." She wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm not even sure there is a God."