Tide and Punishment

by Bree Baker

  “You sure about that?” He fastened his seat belt, then turned his cell phone to face me. The speaker function was on, and the device began to ring. The recorded message for my aunts’ store played. He disconnected.

  “She’s probably with a customer,” I said. “Aunt Clara is watching Sun, Sand, and Tea for me, which means Aunt Fran is handling everything, from stocking shelves to ringing up sales, by herself on the busiest week of the year. She can’t answer every call. It would be impossible.”

  Grady sucked his teeth and shifted into gear. “That wasn’t my first call.”

  I fastened my seat belt. “Where are we going?”

  “I’m going to start with Blessed Bee, then head over to her home. If I can find her, I’d like to know if she has any insight into who might’ve painted Chairman Vanders’s Jeep and what it could mean.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You think Aunt Fran did this.”

  “If the paint matches,” he said, setting a hand on the black duffel bag between us. The bag he’d filled with red-paint-splattered gnomes just an hour earlier.

  “Unfair,” I protested, but my heart wasn’t in it. This was just one more link in someone’s chain of false evidence meant to redirect attention from themselves. Surely Grady knew that. I settled against the seat and rested my head on the soft leather back. Grady was following evidence. He has to, I reminded myself. He won’t allow the gossips any room to say I’m impacting his investigation.

  Grady took it slow through snow-lined streets teeming with golf carts in various winter enclosures and frequently with reindeer antlers fixed to the doors and red pom-pom noses attached to the fronts. His black pickup looked big beside normal vehicles. Compared to the golf carts, it was a four-wheeled King Kong.

  I waved at shop owners on the sidewalks dousing the cement with ice melt and shoveling away excess snow. Twinkle lights danced in the windows, and town banners waved from lampposts, encouraging all to Have a Happy Holiday.

  Grady slid into the last open space outside Blessed Bee. The shop was dark, and the Closed sign was still in the window. “Should I knock?” he asked. “Any chance she’s in there setting up for the day and just hasn’t opened yet?”

  “Why don’t I call her?” I asked.

  He twisted to watch me. “Find out where she is and ask her to stay put. Let her know I want to talk to her.”

  I pursed my lips and dialed Aunt Fran’s cell phone number. Several moments later, the call went to voicemail. “No answer,” I whispered. My heart rate kicked up a notch. What if something had happened to her? “I have a key,” I said, digging into my purse. “I’m going to call Aunt Clara before we go storming inside. If she says Aunt Fran’s supposed to be in there, we’re going.”

  “Hello, sweetie,” Aunt Clara cooed. “How’s the cookie delivery going?”

  “Hi,” I said. “Everything’s good.”

  “Excellent. Take as long as you like,” she said. “I have everything under control here.”

  “Okay, but I’m looking for Aunt Fran and Blessed Bee is closed. Do you know what’s going on or where she might be?”

  “Of course,” she said. “Just a minute, dear.”

  I covered the phone with my palm and turned to Grady. “Aunt Clara knows where Aunt Fran is,” I said. “She told me to wait. She might be helping one of my customers.” I held the phone between us and engaged the speaker function.

  Grady leaned closer, listening intently to the shuffling sounds on Aunt Clara’s end of the line.

  “Hello?” Aunt Fran’s voice sounded through my cell phone. “Everly?”

  “Hey!” I perked. “You’re at Sun, Sand, and Tea?”

  “Yes.” The answered sounded tentative, but I beamed at Grady anyway.

  He shifted into gear once more and headed toward my home.

  “Great. Don’t go anywhere. I’m on my way back, and Grady’s with me. He has a few questions for you.”

  “Super,” she said flatly. “Can’t wait.”

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, I’d convinced Grady there was no hurry and he’d taken me to get Blue before following me home.

  The café was busy without being full. Several customers were scattered throughout the space, chatting merrily and enjoying plates of mixed cookies and cups of iced tea.

  Aunt Clara and Aunt Fran had taken over the sitting area near my bookcase. Poster boards and paints covered the low table near my rear deck.

  Aunt Clara hugged me first. “We’re making campaign signs together. Isn’t that great?” she asked. The joy in her tone and on her face was almost enough to make me smile.

  The frown on Aunt Fran’s face was more than enough to keep my enthusiasm in check.

  “What’s this about?” Aunt Fran asked, arms crossed and eyes on Grady.

  He forced a tight smile and shoved his hands into his back pockets. “The signs are looking good,” he said. His gaze lingered on the little jars of red paint. “How long have you two been at it this morning?”

  “Not long,” Aunt Clara said.

  Aunt Fran’s thin arm snaked out. She caught her sister’s elbow in a purposeful grip, effectively shutting her up. “You haven’t told me why you’re asking,” she said, shifting her gaze from Grady to me.

  “Someone painted ‘Charmers for Change’ on Chairman Vanders’s Jeep,” I whispered, checking over both shoulders for eavesdroppers and lookie-loos.

  Grady stepped closer, filling in the small space between Aunt Fran and me. He scanned the room. “Is there somewhere a little more private where we can talk?” he asked. “Maybe there?” He pointed to the archway connecting my café to the empty former ballroom.

  “Of course.” I hurried in that direction, double checking the tea levels in customers’ jars on my way past. Everyone seemed to have enough cookies and drinks to keep them busy a few minutes while my aunts and I set Grady straight.

  Grady hung back until we’d all passed into the room, then he blocked the archway behind him, keeping watch on everything from his position. “What brought you here to make posters?” he asked Fran without wasting any time. “Why not work at Blessed Bee where you can keep your store open and bring in Christmas sales while you work?”

  I frowned. He was supposed to be on our side, but his questions sounded a little too pointed for that.

  Fran squared her shoulders and tipped her chin high. “I came here after I heard about what happened with the gnomes this morning. I didn’t want Clara to be alone, and I wanted to be with her when Everly returned so I could see for myself that she was okay.”

  I swung my head in her direction, shocked. “You know about the gnomes?”

  “What gnomes?” Aunt Clara wondered.

  “Someone broke into Blue and took the box of gnomes we finished last night,” I explained, trying to sound as easy-breezy as possible about a horrible experience. “Whoever did it drew angry faces on the gnomes, then lined them in the snow around Blue.”

  Aunt Clara made a strangled sound.

  “Maven called to let me know,” Aunt Fran explained. “She didn’t want me to worry if I heard the story from someone else. So, I called Clara to see if she could use some company. I figured we could kill two birds if I brought the campaign materials with me, and as a bonus, I’d get to tell Clara in person.”

  Aunt Clara spun on her sister, tears swimming in her wide, sincere eyes. “You didn’t tell me.”

  “You were busy,” Aunt Fran said. “We’ve barely traded ten words, and I didn’t want to upset you in front of everyone.”

  Aunt Clara stepped away from her, the tears beginning to fall. “I don’t need you to protect me. I need you to be my sister.”

  I reached for her. “Aunt Clara, I’m sure she didn’t mean to…”

  “You!” Aunt Clara dodged my hand. “You should have called me. As soon as it happened. Yo
u never call and I worry and it’s not fair. It’s selfish.”

  Grady waved his hands like an umpire across his middle. Frustration mixed with curiosity on his brow. “The mayor’s secretary called you?”

  Fran nodded. “Maven and I have been friends for decades. Her husband was on the council for twenty-five years before his passing. She understands how this island works, and she’s keeping an eye on Vanders for us. Us being the council,” she clarified. “He’s not qualified for the position, and no one elected him, so we have to make sure he doesn’t go rogue.”

  “No chance of that,” I said. “When I talked with Vanders, he assured me he’s just the man to keep everyone in line. He plans to make certain nothing changes on his watch.” I thought of him on the phone and something else flashed into mind. I looked at Grady. “Did you ever find Mayor Dunfree’s cell phone?”

  “No. We’ve searched the area numerous times. It didn’t walk away on its own after the murder, so we think someone took it and powered it off. Probably the killer. Anyone else would’ve powered it up or turned it in by now. The minute it comes on, we’ll be able to track it. Tech services is keeping watch.”

  A set of heavy footfalls moved across the café floor in our direction. Wyatt appeared behind Grady, smiling, hat in hands. “Hey, y’all. Am I interrupting anything?”

  I huffed. I wasn’t sure when he’d moved from brooding cowboy to genial boy next door, but it bugged me. Everything about him bugged me. Especially the history we shared, and the handsome all over his face.

  “Nothing at all,” Aunt Fran said. “I was just explaining to Detective Hays that I’ve been here with Clara for nearly an hour, chatting and visiting with her and several of the lovely café customers, so he’s barking up the wrong tree.”

  Aunt Clara nodded eagerly. “We have several finished signs to show for it.”

  Wyatt shot me a perplexed look. “Has something else happened?”

  I couldn’t answer, or even hold his gaze.

  Grady’s suddenly pursed lips might as well have been screaming that an hour wasn’t long enough to clear Aunt Fran of the vandalism completely. I tried to do the math in my head.

  Grady and I had parted ways when the mayor’s office called him. I checked my watch. That had been nearly two hours ago. I’d been with Grady for the last forty minutes. So, where was Aunt Fran before that?

  “Where were you before you came here?” Grady asked, speaking my thoughts.

  Aunt Fran straightened further. “Home.”

  Wyatt whistled long and low, reminding me of a falling missile. He shouldered his way past Grady to face my aunts directly. “This seems like a bad time, but is there any chance you’re opening your shop soon? I’ve been tracking the wild mustangs before and after work all week and my lips are chapped. I could really use some more of your bee balm.”

  I gave his big bicep a push. “Wyatt. We’re in the middle of something.”

  He made big innocent eyes. “I’m just asking.”

  Grady shifted his annoyed expression to Wyatt. “You’re out and about every day. Talking with folks at the nature center. Tracking the horses. Have you heard of Charmers for Change? Know anything about them?”

  Wyatt looked stumped, something I was beginning to think came naturally. “They’re a group of Charmers who want change?” he asked Aunt Fran.

  “Don’t look at me,” Aunt Fran said. “I don’t know anything about them. I don’t know who they are, where they meet, or even what kind of change they want.”

  Wyatt puckered his brow. “I thought you were their leader or founder or something.”

  I turned Wyatt around by force and shoved him back through the archway. “That’s a rumor and it’s wrong.”

  He stopped letting me move him when we reached the service counter. “How about you and the good detective? Still claiming that rumor’s false too?”

  “That’s none of your business.” I hugged myself to keep from pushing him some more. “I’ll ask my aunts to call you when they get back to Blessed Bee, and I’ll personally buy you a lifetime of bee balm if you never ask about my love life again.”

  “No deal,” he said smoothly. “As much as I like to keep these lips in good working order, I’ll foot my own bill on the bee balm.” He reached for my cheek and brushed a strand of hair away from my mouth. “Who you’re involved with matters to me, so I’m going to keep asking.”

  “Why?” The word was barely a whisper on my tongue, and I hated how easily Wyatt could still pull me into his orbit.

  His mouth hitched into a cocky half smile, and his thumb grazed my cheek. “Because you matter to me.”

  The words old habits are hard to break came to mind, and they’d never felt so personal or so true.

  Grady cleared his throat, and I jumped back from Wyatt’s touch.

  Wyatt grinned as his hand fell away. “Nope. Nothing to that rumor at all,” he murmured.

  I wasn’t sure if it was sarcasm or belligerence in his tone, but I disapproved of both.

  The heat from Grady’s body warmed me as he angled himself at my side. “I’m going to have a talk with Maven. Are you okay here?” He lifted his gaze to Wyatt, who was smiling smugly back at us.

  “I’m good.” My cracking voice probably cast a little doubt, but Grady had the decency to pretend he hadn’t noticed.

  He looked into my eyes for long beat without speaking.

  “Really,” I assured. “I’m fine.”

  He relented, reluctantly, with a tip of his hat, and walked out.

  Wyatt watched from his perch on the barstool he’d retreated to when Grady had appeared. He’d propped an elbow on the counter and rested his stubble-covered cheek in one open palm. “If you want, I can go up to your place and check all the rooms for trouble.” He wagged his brows, then flexed his opposite arm beneath a heavy wool-lined coat.

  A sudden and unexpected belly laugh broke the tension in my mood. Much as I wanted to toss him into the snow, Wyatt had always made me laugh, and currently, I needed it. “I can take care of myself these days,” I said with a wide grin. “I’ve got a peppermint stick.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  I shuffled into the café at insane o’clock the next morning and stripped the next tea bag off my advent calendar. Just six short days until Christmas, and I was no closer to clearing Aunt Fran’s name than I had been the day Mayor Dunfree died.

  Wind howled around the deck doors and window panes, rattling the aged glass and echoing my dreary mood. Thanks to the glorious southern sun, we’d had a beautiful winter day after my aunts had gone to open Blessed Bee. Folks had been thrilled to be out without fear of slipping on icy sidewalks or sliding into a snowbank on Main Street, so Sun, Sand, and Tea had stayed busy until close. I’d been exhausted from the emotional morning and all-day rush, then stayed up late preparing for tonight’s Holiday Shuffle.

  I’d had high hopes for the dinner. Warmer temperatures meant folks would walk stop to stop instead of drive, which meant I’d be able to blend into the masses on the sidewalks and eavesdrop. Surely there would be plenty to overhear with the entire town out and about. I’d mentally selected my walking routes between stops, not by scenery or ease of commute, but according to which paths I expected to be heaviest with foot traffic.

  Sadly, a wicked cold front had moved in while the town had slept and transformed the newly melted snow to ice. Now, the world beyond my windows was encased in crystal. Unprecedented. Beautiful. And a traveler’s nightmare.

  I was doubly thankful for yesterday’s busyness because today was sure to drag. Another blessing, I reasoned, seeking a positive spin. I’d been up late creating enough drinks and hors d’oeuvres to feed an army. I could use today’s downtime to prepare the café. I sipped coffee and examined my night’s work. The refrigerator was stuffed with appetizers ready for the oven and gallon dispensers of tea ready for con
sumption. The volume of product was probably overkill, the result of extreme wishful thinking, but any leftovers could be used as tomorrow’s Sun, Sand, and Tea menu. A win-win in my book.

  I stretched and wandered around the first floor for several minutes, collecting steps for my fitness bracelet before slogging back upstairs to dress for the day. I moved in slow, steady strides, groggy from the late night and discouraged from my lack of progress in Aunt Fran’s case. I wrapped my hair around two sets of giant rollers as I wracked my brain thinking of possible ways to point the proverbial finger away from Aunt Fran. Yes, it looked bad, her standing over the body of her enemy with the murder weapon in hand, but obviously she hadn’t killed him. It was obvious to me, anyway. I just needed to imagine a scenario where evidence appeared to the contrary. What could it be? What was I looking for? And where could I find it? Mayor Dunfree’s cell phone would help, but that was likely with the killer who’d been smart enough to take it.

  I applied a few strokes of mascara, taking in the fact the killer had thought ahead, or at least fast enough to know the victim’s cell phone might reveal their identity. So, it was safe to assume the mayor had spoken with his killer by phone at some point, even if it wasn’t that night. I drove a lip gloss wand around my lips and pressed them tight before blowing a kiss to my reflection. I hadn’t bothered with so much makeup in months. Now I knew I was procrastinating. I chose a festive holiday sweater to go with my comfiest jeans and fur-lined boots, pulled the curlers from my hair, and gave my head a generous shake.

  It was time to start my day.

  I still had no idea how to help Aunt Fran, but I looked good, and that made me feel a little peppier. I bounced back to the café and opened my laptop to bring up the Town Charmer. I hadn’t gotten far with my interviews yesterday. I’d learned the Dunfrees’ fence-building neighbor needed anger management and the stand-in mayor needed a cold shower, but neither had copped to murder.

  Movement caught my eye in the foyer, and I grabbed the hefty peppermint stick from beneath the counter. “Who’s there?” I demanded, my voice shockingly confident.