by Bree Baker
Grady shook his head. “It’s circumstantial. You can wipe something off, then pick it up again.”
I frowned. “Do you have any other possible suspects yet?” I asked. “Did you find the cell phone? Have you spoken with Mary Grace? I’d really like to know why she decided to run with the mayor as his deputy instead of against him.”
Grady lifted a finger. “No to the phone, and I’m working on the rest.” He reached for me with the hand he’d lifted between us, and I stilled to let him. “I’ve got this, Swan. I’ll figure it out.”
My breath caught at the rush of electricity coursing between our joined hands. Unfortunately, his blatant emphasis on the word I’ll felt uncomfortably pointed and a little like butt out. I wriggled free of his grasp and refocused on the eggs. “Did you know Mayor Dunfree was a misogynist?” I asked. “Lanita told me and my aunts confirmed it.”
Grady frowned. “His wife indicated as much. She didn’t seem to mind.”
I tried and failed to understand how a woman married to a misogynist wouldn’t mind. Lanita minded and she didn’t even know the mayor personally. Her mom minded and she hadn’t spoken to him, presumably, in years. “What do you think of it?” I asked, setting a lid on the skillet and jamming four slices of homemade bread into the toaster with unnecessary oomph.
“What do I think of misogyny?” Grady laughed. “I think it’s antiquated bull that has been proven fallible at every turn and seems to be on the decline, thankfully.”
I laughed approvingly. “I hadn’t expected such a thorough answer, but I’ll take it.”
Grady’s smile turned sad. “Amy,” he said by way of explanation. “She was strong. Someone I aspired to be like. And you’ve met her mother.”
I nodded.
“As for this investigation,” he said, “you’ve got to let it go this time. Trust me to handle it. Alone. Okay?”
“Mm-hmm,” I hummed, noncommittally. I hated to lie, but it was unfair of him to put me on the spot.
“Everly,” he challenged, his voice turning me to face him. His shoulders were square as he pinned me in place with his cool, gray eyes.
“She’s my family,” I said, hating the whine in my voice. “I can’t stand by and do nothing.”
“You can,” he said, “and you will.”
I bristled. “You’re only one person,” I grouched, plating the finished eggs and setting the plates on the counter between us. “You’re Charm’s only detective, and you can’t do this on your own.”
“I absolutely can, and I will,” he said. “And for the record, Charm has a fully trained and capable police force to back me if I need them.”
“Ha!” I barked, reaching for the toast as it popped up. “I went to school with half those guys. They’re all well-meaning, and I’m sure they make lovely upholders of the peace, but they aren’t detectives. I’m honestly surprised they can find their uniforms to get dressed every morning. You need help. Just admit it.” I stacked the toast on a plate for us to share.
“I don’t need help,” he argued, aggressively forking up the eggs, “and while we’re being so honest, it’s irritating that you constantly think I do. You have to know by now that every time you get involved, it only serves to divide my attention, slow my process, and delay the arrest. Plus, you put yourself in danger.”
“But the killer gets caught,” I said, smugly digging a fork into the eggs on my plate.
Grady glared at me.
“Why didn’t you come in last night?” I asked. “After you finished looking in the garden.”
He released a sigh and went back to his food, more calmly. “Denise called. Olivia was making her nuts, and she needed my intervention, so I headed home from here. I thought about coming in to let you know, but Denise seemed pretty upset, and I can’t afford to let Olivia scare her away. We need her.”
I bit my tongue against the words piling on it. I highly doubted Denise would be fired since she’d been so carefully chosen for Denver…and Grady. I felt my mouth pull down at the sides. “You want to talk about it?” I asked, turning for the toast as it popped up.
“Not really.” He cast me a self-deprecating smile. “Same old. Olivia thinks Denver should have a bigger home, more things, live in the city. Arlington, specifically. She thinks I’ve moved him to Timbuktu, and she can’t even see how great this place has been for a hurting kid.” Emotion flashed in his eyes, and for a moment I thought he might’ve been talking about himself too.
I puzzled over the notion that his mother-in-law thought he needed a bigger house and more things. In my experience, stuff always complicated life. I had a huge house, for example, and I loved it, but the house didn’t return my love. Happiness required family and friends, a sense of purpose and belonging. Those were the things that mattered most. “What kind of house does she think will make him happy? A big manor like Northrop? How does she expect you to pay for something like that on a Charm detective’s salary?”
Grady snagged a slice of toast off the stack and chewed it slowly. “She wants me back with the Marshals service, to assist on a personal agenda. As for the money, I have it. Amy’s life insurance police was…substantial.”
“Oh.” My eyes widened. Grady was opening up to me. He trusted me, and I had so many questions. I held back a moment, giving him time to tell me more if he wanted. I hoped he did.
Grady offered a bitter smile. “Her mother took out a policy on each of us the moment she learned Amy was pregnant. I was named as the beneficiary, but Olivia maintains a constant and ongoing opinion about how I spend the money, or don’t,” he added, lips curving slightly. “The insurance was meant to support Denver and Amy or I in the event one of us passed away, but my policy has always felt more like a bounty on my head than insurance.”
Suddenly, some things about Grady made more sense. For starters, I’d wondered how he’d afforded to build a stable so soon after he’d moved to Charm. The finished structure was easily worth as much as the simple home he’d chosen for himself, Denise, and Denver. The three horses that had come to live there had baffled me as well. Now, I understood. Grady had money, he just didn’t want to spend it. I couldn’t blame him. He’d received it under unthinkable circumstances, and he didn’t need it to live happily. He’d alluded to as much at the summer arts festival. He’d told me he’d spent his whole life saving instead of spending, and it was a hard habit to break. I’d assumed he’d meant being a poor young man verses an established older one. The comment had gone directly over my head, but he’d been trying to tell me more about himself even then.
I smiled for a moment, enjoying the weight of that truth. The heroic and secretive Grady Hays wanted me to know him. The pleasure was squashed when my thoughts jerked into another direction. Life insurance.
“Grady?” I asked, hating to ruin the moment, if that’s what we were having. “Do you think Mrs. Dunfree had an insurance policy on her husband? It could be a possible motive, and if Mrs. Dunfree killed him or had him killed, it would explain why she’s pushing you to arrest Aunt Fran. People get crazy about money.”
Grady bobbed his head slowly as he stole one of my slices of toast and bit into it with a scowl. “You’re not kidding.”
Chapter Ten
By seven, the café had been empty for more than an hour, so I didn’t feel guilty for closing up a few minutes early. I grabbed my coat, purse, and the cheery red holiday book Amelia had given me, then headed outside for some fresh air. I’d return the book to the Little Library so another reader could take a crack at it before Christmas. I hadn’t opened it, but I was on chapter twelve of my personal copy of Wuthering Heights.
It took a little extra patience and coaxing to get Blue’s engine humming in the cold, but she rolled out of the carriage house like a champ a few moments later. We stopped at the little metal box on a sturdy wooden post at the end of my driveway. I swapped the small stack of outgoing
holiday cards in my purse for the pile of newly delivered ones in my mailbox and smiled. Today had been a good day.
I guided Blue onto the boardwalk and trundled along with Amelia’s copy of The Greatest Gift on my lap. It was a picture-perfect night with snow lingering on the beach and over the tall grasses. The crisp snap of winter was in the air. Moonlight glittered on the dark water and about a million visible stars flashed and winked overhead. The simple rush and pull of the tide were enough to settle my worried mind. I used the peaceful moments to pretend my great-aunt wasn’t going to be arrested for murder.
I brushed snow off the Little Library’s roof when I arrived. A note taped to the plexiglass window caught my eye before I set the little book inside. According to the flyer, tonight was the book club’s holiday party at Charming Reads. I climbed back behind the wheel, book in hand, and changed trajectory. I’d return the book to Amelia herself instead, and maybe have a snack and visit with my fellow bookish Charmers while I was there.
I hummed a cheery Christmas melody all the way through town. I breathed in the moments, committing our town’s snow-covered streets to memory, then stole the last available parking spot outside the string of adorable little shops. With the book and my purse in tow, I left Blue behind and made my way onto the sidewalk teeming with shoppers. I admired each festive window display as I passed, enjoyed the warm scents of hot chocolates in passersby’s hands and the mouthwatering aromas wafting from nearby vendor carts selling kettle corn and warm candied nuts.
I arrived at my destination several minutes later, after making a pit stop at one of those carts and stashing the roasted pecans in my coat pocket. Charming Reads was packed with shoppers and adorable with a capital A. Amelia had chosen the store’s name as a nod to our town, but inside, she’d taken the charm to a whole new level, liberally applying her lifelong love of fairy tales to every nook and cranny. The walls were lined in ornate cherry bookshelves and topped with custom wooden arches. Each arch showcased a different detail from a beloved childhood story. An enchanted rose caught beneath a glass dome, a pair of blue birds taking flight with a ribbon stretched between their beaks, a wand that hovered above a bucket and mop. The children’s section had hand-carved tables and chairs, all shaped as toadstools. Their brightly colored tops were polka dotted and rarely without a book. The whole place was delightful, and tonight it was doused in clever holiday decor to rival Disneyland at Christmas.
I scanned the semicircle of chairs, horseshoed before a speaker’s stand and mic. A sign on the podium proclaimed Holiday Book Club Tonight! along with the event time and other details in slightly smaller print. Several women had already made a trip to the refreshments table and chosen their spots among the crescent of fold-out seating. I went to mix a cup of coffee and peppermint mocha creamer to go with my nuts.
Amelia beamed at the sight of me. “Everly!” She hurried in my direction with a distinctly false smile.
I looked over my shoulder for signs of trouble and found none. Apparently, the distressed look was about me.
She pulled up short a few inches away and handed me a stack of bookmarks. “Look at these,” she whispered.
The bookmarks were simple, black and white with large red initials down the center. C.F.C. And beneath those, Charmers for Change.
Amelia’s expression was caught somewhere between awe and panic. “The CFC has made their way into my store,” she said, still whispering. “I don’t know who left these, so I still have no idea who belongs to this group, but obviously someone made them. They just appeared near the register out of thin air about ten minutes ago.”
I lifted them into the light for a better look.
Amelia grabbed my hand and pushed the bookmarks back down between us. Her tight smile was back. “It’s not that I have a problem with change, or Charm, or anything at all, but my store is neutral ground. I can’t be associated with any one group or appear to be taking a stand like this. I’m Switzerland.”
“Got it,” I said, handing them back to her. “Care if I keep one?”
She looked around before slipping one into my hand. “Put it in your pocket,” she whispered.
I obeyed with a smile. “It’s just a bookmark.”
Amelia raised her brows beneath her bangs. “They aren’t just anything. Revolutions always start small.”
I laughed.
She hurried back to the register, where a trio of customers had formed a line, and tossed the rest of the bookmarks into the trash.
I stirred my coffee and went to find a seat.
Janie came into view, sloughing off her coat at one of the folding chairs. I took the seat beside hers. “I didn’t know you were part of the book club.”
She startled. “Oh.” One hand pressed to her chest, she smiled. “I try to get involved everywhere I can. I’m hoping to stop being the ‘new girl’ at some point this year. I figure if people start seeing me everywhere, I won’t seem so novel.”
“Good plan,” I said, “but I have to warn you, I’ve heard folks refer to the mailman as being a newcomer, and he arrived when I was in high school.”
“Great.” She chuckled. “It’s like trying to join a private club or a really large clan.”
I laughed and sipped my coffee.
“It’s one of the reasons I spend so much time with your aunts,” she said softly.
I turned on my brightest smile and hoped she hadn’t noticed how unreasonably childish I was when it came to sharing Aunt Clara and Aunt Fran. “They enjoy having you, and you aren’t just spending time with them, you’ve been helping Aunt Fran with her campaign plans. We all appreciate that more than you know.”
Janie wrinkled her nose. “Thanks. Is it weird that I still feel like an interloper most of the time?” She gave a soft smile and lowered her gaze to her fingertips, curved around a small disposable cup. “My parents split up when I was young. Their marriage just kind of imploded after a family tragedy, and my childhood became the collateral damage.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said on instinct, unsure why she’d chosen to open up to me. Was she that lonely? How had I never noticed? Maybe the fact she tried so hard to fit in should’ve been a tip-off.
“You came here to start over,” I said. “You get to build your own family.”
“Yeah.” She blinked slightly unfocused eyes, lost in thoughts that were clearly breaking her heart.
“We’re all about family here,” I said. “Blood related or not. Move here, and you get a great seaside town with awesome views and food, plus a fantastic group of friends and neighbors.” I tried to imagine Senator Denver in the equation but couldn’t. She felt more like the force adjusted to, not the one who did the adjusting. Janie was different, softer, willing. She’d be happy here in time.
She stole a look at me. “I came here once as a child. Have I ever told you?”
She hadn’t. Honestly, aside from dodging questions about Grady’s romantic availability, I’d only exchanged general small talk and details about Aunt Fran’s future campaign with Janie before now.
“It was the last trip my family made together,” she said, a bit wistfully. “I’ve always imagined coming back here. So, when I got the notice that I’d been downsized, I packed my bags and headed this way.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re here,” I said, surprised to mean it.
Janie’s eyebrows rose. “You are?”
“Absolutely.”
A smile spread over her lips. “Thanks.”
I sipped my coffee as Amelia began to corral the readers toward the empty seats around me. “I wish I could do more to help with the campaign plans,” I admitted, “but running the café takes a lot out of me.”
“Well, yeah,” Janie said. “You’re a one-woman show over there. Get some help, why don’t you?”
I laughed. “I’m thinking about it.”
“Good.” She set her cup
on the floor and crossed her legs smoothly, folding her hands over her knee. “You know, I heard my first story about Mayor Dunfree and the council on the day I moved in. My landlord told me all about the hoopla I’d missed following a beach wedding this summer.” She paused, waiting for a reaction, perhaps.
I felt my stomach rock with the onslaught of related memories. “Dunfree denied the paper lanterns,” I said.
“He was more concerned with upholding some stupid rules than uplifting a hurting woman.” She looked heartbroken at the thought. “That was crazy, right?”
“Yeah.” But that was Mayor Dunfree. I wasn’t sure how beloved he had ever really been, but the paper lantern decision had been his fall from grace. The ruling had somewhat divided the island. It had given Aunt Fran the motivation she needed to stop complaining about local politics and do something about them. I suspected it had also been the catalyst for the creation of the allusive CFC, which had seemed to come out of nowhere shortly afterward.
Janie swiveled suddenly to face me, her cunning expression bright with enthusiasm. “When rumors started about a woman on the council who’d turned against the pack, one who planned to run against Mayor Dunfree, I knew I had to try to help her.”
“Well, you are definitely making a difference,” I said. “Thank you.”
She nodded. “How about you? Have you learned any more about Dunfree’s death?” Her eyebrows were up again, and I hesitated to answer.
“Not really,” I said. “How’s your PR intervention going?”
“I’m glad you asked.” Janie pulled her bag onto her lap and fished out a handful of tiny discs. “I made some fun buttons,” she said, hooking one onto the strap of my purse hanging across the back of my chair.
I twisted for a better look at the little thing. “No more ugly ducklings,” I read. “It’s time to vote for a Swan.” I debated over explaining the obvious problem. In that story, the duckling was actually a swan. In the end, I let it go. “Cute,” I said.
