by Bree Baker
Janie growled and pounded her palms against the steering wheel. “She was going to drop out of the campaign! I was mad. I had to teach her a lesson after everything I’d done for her. She couldn’t just drop out before we got started.” Her knuckles turned white as she repositioned her fingers on the wheel. “She needed a night in jail to make her reconsider the decision and choose to stay the course. Don’t forget she’d still be in there if it wasn’t for me. I’m the one who got her that lawyer.”
“After you had her thrown in jail,” I yelled. My head and gut retaliated, and I tipped forward to retch.
“My car!” she screamed. “Ugh. I am so tired of cleaning up after you people!”
I rested my forearms on my thighs and dropped my head between my knees. “You tried to burn down the building she was in.”
Janie smashed her foot against the brake and the car spun out, tail end overcoming the front again and again before rocking to an abrupt stop.
I cried out in misery.
“Stop doing that!” she said. “Stop twisting things around. I wanted to prove Fran’s innocence. To show the authorities that she wasn’t the killer. The killer was still on the loose. I needed them to stop investigating her so she could keep working toward our goal. And I wanted the council to know their actions have consequences.”
Even with a head injury, I saw the irony.
“Is that why you killed Mayor Dunfree?” I asked. “To punish him for his actions? Or inactions?” I added to cover the bases.
She didn’t answer.
I lifted my head slowly until I was upright once more, my back pressed against the warm leather seat. I peered through the windshield at the barren land. We’d passed the maritime forest and stopped at a set of massive cliffs overlooking the sea. I needed to get out of the car before it started moving again. I needed to get help or at least hide until someone found me. Would someone find me?
I racked my addled mind and drudged up a faint memory of Wyatt’s voice. Wyatt called. He knew I was with Janie, and he knew who she really was. Surely he would contact the police. Surely my aunts would realize we hadn’t returned to the hospital as planned.
Janie stared into the distance. “When I confronted Mayor Dunfree about the need for warning signs at the cliffs, he said he knew who I was. He said he was sorry about what had happened to Tony.” She released a sad round of laughter.
I squirmed in search of the door handle, trying not to draw her attention.
“He was sorry?” she growled. “Sorry won’t bring Tony back. Sorry doesn’t un-ruin my life. Sorry doesn’t put signs up where they can save others. And Charm is not a historic town!” she screamed. “That’s just some lame excuse for your complete lack of concern for public safety! And my true identity wasn’t his to tell. I hate him!”
“So you killed him,” I said, finally finding and curling my fingers around the narrow handle. “Then, today, you tried to kill twenty more people,” I said. “You’re mad that there weren’t signs to warn your teenage brother away from an obvious cliff, so you’re on a murder spree in his name.”
“Shut. Up,” she warned, her eyes wild with rage.
I clamped my lips together to keep from telling her everything else I wanted to say.
I was mad, my thoughts were fuzzy, and I was in excruciating pain, but Janie Boyles was on the wrong side of cuckoo. And I wanted to make sure I stayed on top of the cliffs.
She released her seat belt and flung it away from her. “I didn’t want to burn the people trying to make this a historic town,” she said. “I wanted to make them go out the window.”
A rock of fear lodged in my throat. She’d tried to make them fall like her brother.
“This town took my brother’s life, drove my parents to divorce, gave my dad severe depression, and made my mother an alcoholic. You want to know what that did to me?”
I had a pretty good idea, but I kept it to myself.
My head swam and sickness glued me to the seat. I released the door handle in favor of covering my mouth before I was sick on the floorboards again.
Janie threw her door open. A gust of icy wind whipped inside and stole my breath. When she slammed the door, I whacked the armrest in search of the power locks while I heaved.
“Hey!” she screamed, slamming a palm against my window when the door didn’t open.
I pulled myself up again, desperate for my next move. I couldn’t call for help. She’d thrown my phone out the window. Could I drive in my condition?
The door locks popped up, and Janie wiggled her car keys outside my window.
I hit the lock button again and swiveled on the seat in search of a weapon. If I couldn’t flee, I had to fight. A red-and-white-striped miracle peeked out at me from the bag I’d settled between our seats.
Janie unlocked the door again. This time, she jerked it open before I could stop her.
I swung the giant peppermint stick at her head.
The hard candy connected with her face in a hellacious thwack. Shards of candy burst into the air. The formerly tight plastic wrapper ripped around the center and scattered its smashed contents across the snow outside my door.
Janie screamed and doubled over, one hand pressed against her cheek.
My stomach flopped and my vision blurred, but I slid onto my feet beside her, then I ran.
The earth slanted beneath me with every step until I fell onto my hands and knees, sinking elbow-deep in the frigid snow. Drops of crimson dotted the ground before me, dripping from the wound on my forehead.
“Stop!” Janie yelled, storming to my side. She grabbed me under one arm and pulled me onto my feet, then glared at me with one perfectly made-up eye and one horribly swollen one. “That’s it. I think it’s time you go the way Tony did. Maybe that will get this town’s attention.”
I scanned the area. To my horror, the cliffs were only a few yards away. She’d driven me to the bluffs, and I’d run straight for the edge. A hard tremor wracked my limbs.
“This is where everything changed,” she said, shaking me by my arm.
I jerked free and fumbled away, careful not to get too close to the edge, now masked by tiny hills of snow.
“Tony was seventeen,” Janie said. “I was eleven. He was smart and funny, the hero of my little world. We were here for our last family vacation before he started college, and I was soaking up every minute with him before he left. When I wanted to go exploring, he asked Mom and Dad for the car keys and drove me around the island.” A wistful expression crept over her pale features and tears glistened in her eyes. “When we got to the cliffs, he asked me to take his picture. He did crazy poses and pretended he was going to fall.” She pressed a hand to her mouth and shook her head.
“Janie,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
“I was eleven!” she screamed. “And I watched it happen. At first, I thought he was faking, but his expression changed, and I knew.” She choked back a sob. “I raced after him, but it was too late. I watched him go all the way down.”
I stepped toward her, arms extended, unsure what to do or say.
Her knees buckled, and she fell into the snow. “I couldn’t drive. I didn’t know where we were or how to get back. I didn’t want to leave him. I didn’t know what to do. Eventually, I just started walking in the direction we’d come. Someone saw me and stopped.” She lifted her chin to stare blindly past me, the horrific memories playing clearly over her tear-stained face. “I tried to explain what had happened and where we’d been. They found the car a mile away, and I was able to lead them from there. Tony was still down there. The tide hadn’t taken him yet. He was just looking up at me. Wondering why I’d let him fall.”
I crawled to her side. “That’s not true. You can’t think that. He wouldn’t blame you. He was your big brother. He’d protect you. He wouldn’t want to know you’ve blamed yourself for his
recklessness. It was an accident.”
Janie blinked long and slow, her porcelain face regaining its wrath. “I don’t blame myself. I blame this place! It’s been almost twenty years, and I still dream about him every night. I see the fear on his face as he loses his balance. I watch in helplessness as he falls. Then that dead-eyed stare when he lands.” She forced herself upright and yanked me up with her. “You’ll see.”
I cringed at the punch of pain and nausea from the sudden movement.
Janie shoved me toward the cliff’s edge. “Your mayor should have done the right thing,” she snarled. “He didn’t and another person fell! That birder you told me about was from Pasadena. I’ll bet you didn’t know that. Pasadena is just twenty minutes from LA. We’re practically neighbors. When I saw what happened to her on the news, I knew it was a sign. I had to come back here and make sure nothing like this ever happened again.” Janie’s wild eyes went feral. “I won’t let you stop me.”
“You don’t have to do this,” I pleaded, struggling to stay away from the jagged, snow-covered edge. “Aunt Fran can still help you. I can help you.”
“Oh, you’re going to help me,” she said, giving me another push. “Maybe after one of Charm’s beloved Swan women falls from this place someone will do something about it.”
Her gaze suddenly jumped to something over my shoulder. Considering we were at the edge of a giant cliff, there couldn’t have been anything but snow, clouds, and ghosts of her past out there. Still, her expression grew fearful and her eyes widened with shock. “No,” she whispered. “It can’t be. Not again.”
Before I could turn to assess the sky behind me, a large shadow darkened the snow. Two wide gray wings sliced through the air only inches above our heads. I jumped away as the wings began to flap and beat at her head.
Janie stumbled, hands in the air, swearing and blocking the bird’s attack.
I bumbled further on unsteady legs, begging my vision to clear, willing the unyielding pain in my head to ease so I could find a place to hide.
“Stop!” A deep tenor boomed through the silence. The distant crunch of snow drew our attention toward the place where we’d left the car. Wyatt jogged into view, palms out, arms wide. “Janie Boyles!” he called, as I nearly collapsed in the snow.
The attacking bird lifted into the air. As if responding to Wyatt’s voice or accepting his intervention, the gull swept away, sailing gracefully toward the sea.
Janie frowned, fear and frustration swirled in her harried expression. She raked wildly at her hair and patted her face, as if in search of injury. “What are you doing here? Go. Away! You aren’t supposed to be here!”
I turned to watch the gull as it circled overhead. It might have been the head injury, but there seemed to be something red on its wing.
Wyatt marched forward. “I had to come. I finally realized where I knew you from.”
“Go away,” she repeated, but the heat had slipped from her voice.
Wyatt slowed his pace and chuckled. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. Everly is important to me, and it looks like you might mean her harm. I swore a long time ago I’d never let anyone hurt her,” he said. “A cowboy has to keep his promise.”
I lunged forward, throwing myself in Wyatt’s direction. Hot tears streamed over my frozen cheeks.
Wyatt reached for me and dragged me against him in one easy motion. He kept his eyes on her as he opened a palm in retreat. “We’re going to go now.”
A heavy sob racked my chest. Janie was unarmed and no match for Wyatt. I was safe.
“I don’t think so,” she said, stalking forward, regaining herself. Her shoulders squared and her jaw set.
A large silhouette rose behind her. “Janie Boyles,” Grady said, moving into clear view. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Dudley Dunfree, one count of arson, the attempted murder of our entire town council, the receptionist, and a few folks from the mainland, multiple counts of vandalism, postal threats, and the abduction of Everly Swan.”
Wyatt curled a familiar and protective arm around my back, then swept me off my feet with the other. “I’ve got you, E,” he whispered, turning away from my captor as Grady snapped handcuffs onto her wrists.
I closed my eyes and gave in to the tears.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I welcomed Christmas Eve with a mild headache and the blessed ability to move around without wanting to die. As it turned out, concussions were worse than they sounded, and two hearty rams of my head into the passenger-side window had given me a mild one. Aesthetically, things were grim. While the unattractive swelling on my head had gone down, the multi-hued pallet of a healing goose egg was sprawling and evident. My minimal makeup skills were no match for the awful greens, golds, and grays surrounding my right eye and stretching across my forehead. Plus, the skin was still tender to touch. I’d attempted to remedy the situation with bangs which I’d hastily hacked into existence around lunchtime.
The front door chimes and jingles bells had barely stopped ringing since then.
Thanks to the moment of inspiration I’d had at the Giving Tree, a steady stream of locals, neighbors, and friends had made their way to my place all afternoon. Now, at nearly dinnertime, the countertops and work spaces at Sun, Sand, and Tea overflowed with casseroles, side dishes, and helping hands.
I was up spinning like a top through the remaining space, another Christmas miracle just four days after my abduction.
Outside, golf carts and other personal vehicles were lined up in front of the house, delivering supplies and picking up finished meals for delivery to island nursing homes, shut-ins, and any family suspected to be struggling financially. We were also delivering to anyone who might be alone. Sweetly, many of those people had returned to the café with their delivery driver, eager to help. Wyatt and his band of wild horse trackers from the nature center had taken the first hot, homemade meals of the evening to on-call crews throughout the island. Policemen at the station, firefighters at the firehouse, EMTs waiting for a call. The way I saw it, whether folks needed food, family, a sense of community, or just to be remembered at Christmas, what we were doing tonight covered it all.
The multitude of women helping behind the counter made my work possible. They pulled hot pans out of the oven and slid waiting ones in. They kept the baking dishes clean, greased, and ready to be filled. Their efforts had streamlined mine, and the result was a nearly unbelievable amount of hot homemade meals entering our community.
Aunt Fran and Aunt Clara moved finished products into throwaway containers, then packed the completed meals into boxes. They wrote holiday greetings and the delivery addresses across the tops before tying them with a bow. The boxes weren’t nearly as beautiful as the gesture itself, but they would help keep the foods from spilling or losing too much heat while they travelled.
Amelia hummed along with the festive tune on my radio. She hadn’t stopped smiling since she’d arrived hours before. She ran a sleeve across her forehead, hands covered in cartoon lobster oven mitts, before pulling the next round of baked hams and scalloped potatoes from the oven. “I love that we’re all here doing this together,” she said. “It’s a perfectly magical show of town spirit and love. I think we all needed this after everything we’ve been through these last two weeks.”
I slowed my wooden spoon, midstir in a massive batch of pasta salad, and smiled. “I was hit with the inspiration bug after visiting your book club.”
Her blue eyes widened with a brilliant gleam. “Really?”
I nodded with a joyful smile. “All those amazing holiday reads had a common thread. Hope. Standing in front of the Giving Tree, I thought of those books and how the characters aren’t so different from us. They always get a happy ending at Christmas. Why couldn’t every name on the tree get one too?” I cast a loving gaze around the bustling room, admiring the unthinkable volume of food and volunteers, all singing,
smiling, chatting. All glad to be there, doing their part to make another person’s holiday brighter. “I knew I couldn’t make a difference to everyone, but together we can accomplish anything. So I put out a call for help. This is so much more than I’d even dared to hope for.”
Amelia batted tear-filled eyes, then threw her arms around me.
I’d written my name on the outside of the envelope before hanging it on the tree. I hoped seeing my name there would get at least a few people’s attention, and it had. Inside, I’d explained that though I had so much, there was still something I wanted but couldn’t get without help. I wanted to know that no Charmer would go without a warm Christmas dinner and the knowledge that they were loved. I didn’t want anyone on my island to think for a second, like the man in the story had, that he or she wasn’t seen, had been forgotten, or just didn’t matter.
I promised to turn all groceries brought to my place on Christmas Eve into holiday meals for the other names on the Giving Tree. I vowed to cook until the supplies were used up and deliver the results until they were gone. Emotion itched the backs of my eyes and tickled my nose as I released Amelia and gave the overflowing café another prideful look.
Folks had done more than drop off groceries. They’d brought finished dishes and some complete meals. They’d rolled up their sleeves and dug in to help cook, clean, prep, and pack. They’d driven all around the island delivering food, acknowledgment, and love to their neighbors and friends.
I ended my request at the Giving Tree by asking that each reader consider my request, then put the note back on the tree for someone else to see.
And word had spread like wildfire.
Amelia sniffled. “I’m so glad Wyatt and Grady saved you from that lunatic. It was a whole other Christmas miracle that they made it in time.”
My gaze jumped to the wall of windows facing the sea. Lou sat on the railing, puffed up to twice his normal size and keeping watch over his portion of the world. I considered telling Amelia the strapping male heroes in her story had a little aviary help on the cliffs that day, but decided to keep it to myself. The incredible generosity and compassion of our community deserved top billing for now.
