by Harper Lin
“Why are you both shouting?” Aunt Astrid called from the dining area, but I couldn’t answer her.
My voice went up about five octaves as I shouted to Bea. “Get it off me! Get it off me!”
“Hold still and close your eyes!” Bea said. I squeezed my eyes shut while still dancing on my toes, my arms held out straight as if I was doing an impersonation of Frankenstein’s monster. Finally, I felt the brush of the broom across the left side of my chest and down my arm. I didn’t dare open my eyes but instead opened my mouth to cry out like a toddler who didn’t want to go to sleep.
“Okay! I got it!” Bea shouted.
I opened my eyes just in time to see the brown thing fall to the ground, its legs—which were as long as my fingers—splayed out around it. It froze there, and I knew it was looking at me.
“Ew! Ew! Ew! Ew!” I hopped, shivered, and ran to my Aunt Astrid. I tore at the duct tape that, thankfully, secured my rubber gloves tightly to the plastic bag Bea had fashioned around my arms and head. I tore at my homemade hazmat suit, paying no attention to the customers who were filling some of the tables and staring at me with amusement. I tried to catch my breath.
“Did you get my decorations?” Aunt Astrid asked, staring at me.
“Yes,” I sobbed. “I almost died back there, Aunt Astrid. You don’t know. That thing was huge. I mean really huge.”
“What thing?”
“The spider.” I swallowed hard and tried to tear the tape with my teeth.
“Cath, you’ve always been known to exaggerate.” She stood up and walked to the back of the café, where I’d just come from. “But that’s one of the things I love about you.”
I watched her go to Bea, who had put the brooms away. I had no idea if she killed the spider, and I wasn’t about to go back there and check. Instead, I turned to the customers and smiled sheepishly. “I’m afraid of spiders,” I said, finally freeing one hand and pulling the plastic from my head and shoulders.
It could have been during my life-threatening encounter with the arachnid that a striking lady had slipped in. I was positive I would have noticed her. She was wearing a bright-pink shirt with ruffles around the collar and sleeves. Her hair was very blond, almost white, and her eyes were so icy blue that they were almost perfectly clear. At first, she had her back to me, but then she stood, turned around, and took half a step in my direction.
“Spiders aren’t bad. They just keep getting judged by the way they look,” she said before stepping around me and walking out the door. I didn’t see a cup in her hand or a mug left on the table. Had she ordered something? Had she come in with anyone?
I was about to ask Aunt Astrid about it when the bells over the door jingled again, and the sweet smell of barbeque filled the air. Ahh. Lunch was served.
Jake walked in carrying a big white sack. Behind him was Blake Samberg. My hero.
“You didn’t get all prettied up for me, did you?” Blake asked, looking down at me with that devastatingly handsome smirk, smelling like cloves and orange spice.
I rolled my eyes at him, trying to smooth out my hair and straighten out my T-shirt. Then I put my hands on my hips.
“There was a spider,” I huffed as I continued to try and flatten my hair, which was now standing at attention due to static from my plastic hood. “Where were you ten minutes ago when I was fighting for my life?”
“Picking up your lunch,” he replied.
“You’re forgiven,” I chirped.
He took my hand and pulled me to our usual table for two in the corner by the window, where we shared a lunch of ribs and cheeseburgers.
3
Loose Ends
Blake Samberg was my boyfriend. There. I said it. He’d been Jake’s partner at the Wonder Falls Police Department for quite some time. As much as I tried to deny it, I had been crazy about him since day one. But I’m not going to get into all those gory details, because no one wants to know how my knees turned to mush every time I saw him, even when he was being nothing more than a thorn in my side.
As we ate lunch together, he was, as usual, quiet while I prattled on about my near-death experience with the spider that had touched my skin.
“Sounds like your aunt is trying to help you face your fears,” Blake said as he wiped his mouth after taking a bite of hamburger.
“Very funny. If that was her goal, it didn’t work. In fact, it made it worse,” I said with a mouth full of barbeque.
I looked over at Bea, who was helping herself to the ribs on Jake’s plate while he sat across from her at the counter, smiling. Quickly, I took out my camera and snapped Bea’s picture. After chuckling with Blake, I wrapped up the ribs, unable to eat any more, and told Blake to take them to work in case he got hungry later.
“So, you want to meet me after work?” Blake asked. “Maybe we could take a walk through the park and share an ice cream before I escort you home.”
“That sounds nice.” I wiped my mouth.
“We’ve got to work late tonight. That murder-suicide has a couple of loose ends I’m not happy with,” Blake said while wiping his hands on a paper napkin.
“Like what?” I asked, not even trying to hide my nosiness.
“Well, how about I save it until I see you later? I think we need to save something to talk about.” He smirked.
“What? If you think so. It’s okay if we don’t have anything to talk about. Quiet is nice sometimes,” I added.
“I suppose. But that can be dangerous,” he said, his face serious, but his eyes twinkled mischievously. “When you aren’t talking, I’m always hoping to kiss you.”
My cheeks flashed and ignited, and I just hoped no one was looking at me. Blake gently tucked a few strands of my hair over my ear. He smelled so good. But I was struck dumb and couldn’t think of any sarcastic retort. Instead, I giggled like a schoolgirl.
The guys left after lunch, and we got slammed almost immediately afterward with our regular lunch-hour crowd.
That afternoon, on my break, I decided to check out the arts and crafts festival just to stretch my legs.
Silver Valley Park was alive with people at long tables and beneath portable tents, where vendors sold everything from homemade jewelry to pickled beets to recycled paper and any other craft that could be imagined. Local artists featured their paintings, sculptures, carvings, and home décor. It was nice to see so many creative people out there.
The sun was shining, and a pleasant breeze was carrying not just the fresh scent of clean air but also a mixture of the essential oils, perfumes, and lotions some of the folks were selling. It was very relaxing as I strolled with my hands in my pockets, not thinking of anything in particular except seeing Blake and what I was going to make myself for dinner that night. That was the last pleasant thought I had as I suddenly saw the same strange blond woman who had been in the café standing there staring at me. Her icy blue eyes were wide with recognition.
“Hello,” she said.
I tried to act casual but was sure I came across looking more as if I’d just walked out of a dark cave, blinking and shrugging and shielding my eyes when no bright light was even shining on me. “Oh, hi,” I said.
She was standing behind a long table that was beautifully decorated with lacy doilies and crocheted table runners, with vintage dishes and saucers holding the most wonderful-smelling homemade soaps.
“I hope you haven’t encountered any more spiders.” The woman was smiling as she stared at me.
I shivered and wasn’t sure if it was because of the memory of the spider incident at the café or because of how this loo-loo was looking at me.
“Nope. Forecast for today calls for no spiders.” I chuckled and started to walk away.
“We just moved into the neighborhood. Just a few days ago,” the woman said. “My name is Cedar Lott.”
“We?” I asked hesitantly, not immediately seeing anyone with Cedar. Just then, a long, hairy leg pushed past her blond hair, followed by another and another. I took a
step back and bumped into a lady with a stroller.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, looking into the woman’s annoyed face as she pinched her lips together and nodded at me. When I looked back at Cedar, she was still smiling, not like a crazy jackal or a clown but as if she was watching someone balancing a stack of cups and saucers. There were no hairy legs coming from her hair.
“I have to go,” I said. “Your soaps smell wonderful.”
“Please, take a business card.” She swiped one off the table and handed it to me.
There was nothing out of the ordinary about her fingers. They were pale, the nails unpolished but neat. She wore a large ring on her left ring finger, but I couldn’t make out the symbol on it.
Quickly, I snatched the card from her and waved with it as I backed up and walked away. A shiver raced across my shoulders. The sun no longer felt so warm, and I wasn’t sure if it was because the canopy of leaves overhead covered me in shadow or if something was following me. Looking quickly over my shoulder, I saw Cedar gazing at me. There was someone behind her, but I didn’t want to stare, so all I saw was a shadow of a person. That must have been the “we” she had referred to. How I missed the person I didn’t know, but it was a busy festival, and there were lots of people milling around. I must not have kept a good eye on all of them.
Finally, when I was out of view of Cedar’s table, I looked down at the business card and stopped in my tracks. It was an image of the pretty Gingerbread House. I cocked my head. This was weird.
“Soap Scents,” I muttered as I studied the business card. “Why would they have the Gingerbread House on their business card? They weren’t the people who lived there.”
I decided to hold on to this information until I saw Blake later in the evening. Maybe it was just a house that looked similar to the Gingerbread House. I tried to think that, but I’d looked at every detail of that place. The dainty shutters and window boxes were all in the same places. The cobblestone sidewalk. The scallops on the roof. Nope, this was the same house. Why was it on Cedar’s business card when just this morning, it had still belonged to that newlywed couple? I stuffed the card into my pocket and headed back to work. I’d ask Aunt Astrid what she thought about it.
But as with so many thoughts I had, this one slipped my mind after Blake called and had to cancel our date due to paperwork. Of course, I knew that usually meant there was more to a case than he was ready to admit. And he knew I’d start snooping around if he gave me all the details at once. With his promise to make it up to me, we hung up, and I went back to the café, thinking of him and not Cedar and her strange business card.
4
Creepy Girl
With the baby coming in a couple more months, Aunt Astrid was more than happy to close the café a little early a couple of times a week in order for Bea to rest and for all of us to help at her house. Today was my day to help in the nursery. Peanut Butter, Bea’s cat, bounced all around the room, playing with a Styrofoam peanut that had escaped from a package somewhere.
“Are you looking forward to the new baby?” I asked the kitty as he tossed it up in the air, his tail whipping furiously back and forth.
“Yes, and as soon as I catch this thing, I’m going to curl up against Mom’s side and keep him warm in her belly,” Peanut Butter replied while knocking the curlicue underneath the changing table only to dart after it.
“Him? Did you say him?” I asked, feeling giddy inside as I ran my hand from Peanut Butter’s head all the way down his back to the end of his tail. He purred but didn’t take his eyes off the Styrofoam peanut, which was temporarily out of reach.
“So, what do you think of this color?” Bea asked while munching on a stalk of celery. There was an entire buffet of crudité on the box that held her new changing table.
“That’s really pretty,” I said as she popped open a can of a lovely soft-yellow paint. “It looks like tapioca pudding.”
“That sounds delicious,” Bea muttered. “And look at this. Jake is going to paint this all around the trim.” She popped open another can of a deep, rich brown.
“This baby is going to be so calm and tranquil in this room. And so is his mama,” I said, smiling as I unwrapped a package of tiny bedsheets perfectly sized for the mattress in the crib.
“We don’t know if it’s a he,” Bea said.
“Come on. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t like a little boy running around and screaming mama, mama all over the house, tracking in mud and bringing you grasshoppers.” I chuckled at the thought.
“As long as the baby is healthy, we’re happy,” Bea assured me as she rubbed her belly.
“Yeah, yeah. I know.” I covered the little mattress as Bea helped herself to a handful of carrot sticks. “Where would you like this?” I asked, pointing to the little bed.
“There might be a draft by the window. Don’t you think it would look nice between the bookshelves?” Bea asked. Jake had purchased two tall bookshelves, because this baby was going to be smart and have tons of books. Coloring books. Comic books. Story books. And I wouldn’t have been surprised if Bea had a special spell book for babies to add to the collection.
“I think that will look nice. You just stay where you are, Wide Load,” I teased. “I’ll move it.” As I pulled the crib gently across the room, I looked out the window. Before I could take another step, I froze and then, a split second later, crouched.
“What’s the matter?” Bea asked.
“It’s that creepy girl from the arts and crafts festival,” I hissed, gesturing for Bea to lower herself. Asking a woman who was almost as wide as she was tall to crouch was not a kind or even realistic request.
Instead of crouching, Bea stood on tiptoes from the back of the room to get a look at who I was talking about.
“What are you so scared of? She’s probably handing out copies of The Watchtower.” Bea clicked her tongue and shrugged. “Besides, it looks like she and her travelling companion are moving on. My house looks empty from the sidewalk.”
I crawled over to the window and carefully peeked over the sill. Not wanting to take any chances that they’d see me and know we were home, I inched my way up until I saw the tops of their heads. I couldn’t miss Cedar’s unnaturally natural blond hair. But her friend’s had more of a normal hue: a plain brown not much different from mine. It was too risky to get a glimpse of her face.
“Cath, you don’t have to hide,” Bea said.
“How do you know? If they see us up here, they might come to the door,” I hissed.
“So what? It doesn’t mean we have to answer.” Bea shrugged and took a step toward the window.
“No! Trust me when I tell you there is something strange about that girl and anyone who associates with her.” I peeked again. “What the heck? What are they doing?”
“What?” Bea asked and froze before she would have appeared in the window.
Just then, Peanut Butter hopped up onto the windowsill and paced back and forth. “What are we looking at?” he asked.
“They are scribbling on the sidewalk,” I replied, peeking between Peanut Butter’s legs.
Both women outside were hunched over, each with a piece of white chalk in her hand. I couldn’t see what they were writing, but they were definitely putting something down. I was about to call out to them to knock it off, but before I could, they stood, looked approvingly at each other, and then headed off down the sidewalk.
“They’re leaving?” Bea asked.
“Yeah. They’re going that way.” I pointed to the left.
“Well, I want to see what they wrote on my sidewalk. What if it’s a threat or some kind of racial slur?”
“What kind of racial slur could they attribute to us when we’re all whiter than white?” I scratched my head.
“I don’t know. You know how crazy people are today. Maybe we aren’t white enough or we’re too white. I don’t know. All I do know is that anyone who takes the time to write on the sidewalk in front of a person’s house has somethi
ng serious to say.” Bea popped a floret of broccoli into her mouth.
I was on the tips of my toes as we went down the stairs to the front door. Bea, managing her weight as best she could, clomped like an elephant. I motioned for her to stay back as I inched up to the door. There were no suspicious shadows across the beveled glass or hovering back and forth behind the curtains. Still, I wasn’t going to take any chances with my pregnant cousin. I held my finger up in front of my lips, went to the door, and in one swift movement turned the knob and yanked the heavy front door open. A bird chirped from the neighbor’s maple tree.
Still, not trusting my own eyes, I leaned out onto the porch and looked to my left and right. “Okay, the coast is clear,” I said, waving Bea to my side. I took her hand, and we walked carefully out onto the porch.
“Should we go and look at what they wrote?” she asked.
“Yeah. I guess we better. I’d hate to think there were vulgarities on the sidewalk that the neighbors would be reading,” I said, making Bea’s eyes widen.
“Who would do that? You don’t think they wrote vulgarities, do you?” She put her hand to her lips.
“I don’t know.”
“That would really be out of line. Jake and I don’t do anything vulgar. You and Blake haven’t been vulgar, have you?” she asked seriously.
“Well, even if we were, they should be writing in front of my house and not yours,” I replied coolly.
Bea looked at me with her mouth hanging open. I squeezed her hand, and we walked out of the house together like we used to when we were kids. It was as natural to hold Bea’s hand now as it had been when we were eight years old and heading off to the park with Aunt Astrid just a couple of paces behind us, allowing us our freedom even if it was just pretend freedom. This time, instead of Aunt Astrid, it was Peanut Butter following, his tail high as his eyes spied everything that moved.
“I don’t know if I want to see what it is,” Bea said, hanging back for a second but never letting go of my hand.
