by Brea Viragh
“Stranger things have happened,” Shari said flippantly, but I recognized her intent. A desperate effort to keep her cool.
Everything flip-flopped when she helped me to my feet. Gut lurching, the pain eased somewhat when she got me to her car and into the passenger seat. Garbage and all. I was getting trash-juice on her car seats. I wondered if there was a way to get the stain out without bleach.
Shari made calming noises, lowering next to me and taking stock. “Deep breaths. Try to keep breathing.”
Hyperventilating did no one any good. Least of all my screaming lungs. “You should be on a date. I ruined your night.” How long had I been lying there? And why had no one seen me?
Shari scoffed in the face of my concern. “You know you can call me anytime. Even outside of an emergency. Although this definitely qualifies as an emergency.”
“Where’s my mom? Did you see her on the way over?”
“No, I didn’t. I was down the street with my sister. I wasn’t paying much attention. Let me text her and tell her what happened.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be!” she exclaimed, grabbing my phone and sending out a quick message. “I didn’t need another blind date, anyway. He was sure to be a boring windbag.”
I squeezed my eyes shut to stop the spinning. “I appreciate it.” Wincing, I let my forehead droop to Shari’s shoulder. She ran her hand over my arm, those fingers lingering slightly before returning to their rhythmic rub. “I’m dying,” I murmured.
“I can see.”
“Someone knocked me out.”
She looked down at me before setting my phone on the dash. “I see that, too. You’re getting blood on my cardigan.”
Forcing my eyes open and sparing a glance down, I saw the smudge on soft cashmere and grimaced. “Sorry. I’ll pay for dry cleaning.”
“Oh, hush.” She gently pushed my head back down. “Rest for a minute and then we’re going to the police station. Did you get a good look at the guy?”
“I didn’t see a thing. He came up from behind,” I said.
“How do you know it was a he?”
“Intuition.” The thought filled me with unease, my stomach flipping faster than the gymnasts at Cirque du Soleil. “I want to go home, lock the door, and see how much money it’ll take to install bars over all the windows. It can’t cost too much. It would be a worthwhile investment.”
The shivering took hold of me until I could no longer control my own body. Shari hugged me closer, her show of strength faltering for a split second. Long enough for me to see real concern flashing across her face. How horrible did I look? Maybe it was the garbage.
“I’m not taking you home yet. The courthouse is literally down the street.” Shari pointed to emphasize her point. “I’m dragging you over there even if I have to throw you over my shoulder, fireman style.”
She would do it, too.
“I didn’t see what he looked like,” I insisted gruffly.
“You are about as helpful as tits on a bull.” She released a loud sigh, the sound like a popped balloon. “I’m getting to the bottom of this whether you like it or not. I’m done with these crazy attacks.”
A niggling energy screamed for me to open my eyes and focus. I couldn’t seem to get my thoughts assembled fast enough. They were coming at me too slowly. Fractured. In pieces.
Shari rose gracefully and motioned over her shoulder. “We’re going to let the feds figure it out.” I raised my hand to my head again before Shari snatched the appendage, giving it a tug. “Don’t touch your cut. You may do more damage than help, and we want the scene of the crime fresh.”
“My head is the scene of the crime?” Despite the shaking, there was no more fear. No more panic-induced sweats. The fermented adrenaline was gone from my bloodstream and the threat of an anxiety attack had faded. Although the spinning continued. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could take it. The spinning was the worst.
“Be a big girl,” Shari continued. “We’ll get through this. Rest assured, I’ll be with you every step of the way.” She kept her voice upbeat and reassuring. Within minutes we were climbing the limestone steps of the courthouse to file a report.
I struggled to keep my tongue in place and my mouth forming the correct words while Shari and I sat through an hour’s worth of interrogation. Although not un-helpful, the local law enforcement did what they did best: assure me that Heartwood was one of the safest little towns in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Hell, probably the safest this side of the Mason–Dixon line.
Are you sure someone hit you?
Well, yeah, there’s a giant cut and blood on my head. Are you kidding?
How can you be sure? You didn’t see them.
That tends to happen when someone jumps you from behind.
The two men shared a smile dripping with “little lady overreaction.” The best and the brightest they were not. If memory served, the one behind the front desk was a few years in front of me in high school, and I don’t believe he graduated at the top of the class. He’d have been lucky to see the top ninetieth percent. For reasons unknown, he’d tried to poison the principal using a frog. From the creek in his backyard. I’d never figured out why.
I stared down the elder of the duo, the sheriff if I wasn’t mistaken, gaze focused on his muttonchops until he bristled and vowed to look into the incident. Must have been the crazed look in my eyes. Or the way Shari kept tapping her foot and looking over her shoulder like she wasn’t interested. Which she wasn’t, but the younger officer seemed to find her brand of hard-to-get alluring and went out of his way to please her.
Either way, it got me an investigation.
I kept Isaac’s name out of my statement. Despite the temper still sizzling where he was concerned, I didn’t need the police going after him. Not so soon after his release. It was my way of playing fair, of making it up to him. After that, fielding Shari’s desire to take me to the emergency room was a small thing. I was fine, perfect despite the occasional double vision. Dizziness? I became its master.
She drove me home, keeping both hands on the wheel, her white knuckles reflecting the final rays of the setting sun. “I hope they find the bastard responsible,” she told me. “I want to see them pay for what they did to you.”
I tensed, taking a moment to examine the blood under my fingernails, then letting my gaze wander out the window. “I know. You told the young officer you’d get out your carving knife before Halloween. He didn’t seem to like the idea.”
“Which made him choose to investigate, in the end.”
“It was your agreeing to dinner maybe sometime in the near future if you can get your schedule clear which is unlikely,” I said in one long breath. What a night. My knees clacked together and each mile lasted a lifetime.
“Ugh, men. I hope they actually follow through. Sometimes I want nothing more than to run them over.”
Awkward. “Anyway, I told you, the police here are practically useless. They look pretty in their uniforms and keep their boots polished, yet most of the county citizens take care of their own issues.” I mimed cocking a shotgun and staring down the barrel. “You catch my drift?”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Shari asked, her question colored with worry.
“I’m fine. I’ll push through.”
She looked at me over her shoulder. “I would feel much better if you’d agree to come home with me tonight. We could have a slumber party, paint each other’s nails, the works.” She shot me her award-winning smile. “Make a real event out of it.”
“No, thank you. I want to go home. The poor dog is probably frantic.” I glanced out the window, my head sagging to the glass. Heavy, burdened, and aching as if my skull contained a full marching band within its depths.
I was a horrible dog owner. I didn’t deserve Frank, although I was happy for the thought of having someone—or rather something—at the door waiting for me.
In the waning light, I caught my reflection in the car’s s
ide mirror. The woman I saw was a stranger. Her expression was loaded with fear and regret. I couldn’t describe the man who’d attacked me. At least I’d tried. But I couldn’t keep myself safe or protect the people closest to me. I was good for nothing.
“Yeah, I didn’t think about the dog. The rat can come home with us, too, if it means you’ll agree.” Shari spared me a fleeting look, unable to contain her thoughts. “Oh, Essie—”
“I know,” I said, cutting her off before she could say anything. “I look horrible.”
She shook her head. “I wasn’t going to comment on your looks. I was, however, going to comment on the smell. The first thing you need to do is get in the shower and scrub, scrub, scrub. I mean it.”
I grinned at her attempt at humor. “I plan to shower until I have no skin left.” And then I began to tremble.
How much physical torment could a body stand and still bounce back? The question played in my mind and I wondered again why I hadn’t gone to the emergency room after the car accident. After the punch to the skull. Why I didn’t go now while my head throbbed like my mother’s heart whenever she saw a picture of Johnny Depp.
Because I was stubborn. Because I needed to maintain control. I pushed through because, yes, although I had yet to hit my mid-twenties, I was an adult. Adults cleaned up their messes and still made it to work on time. There were cookies to bake and a business to run. No one else was going to do it for me.
We drove the rest of the way up the gravel drive with lighthearted chatter filling the air between us. Some unrecognized tension released the moment my little cottage came into view, white clapboard, black shutters, cheery red door. Home. Order.
Safety.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Three days after reporting my attack to the police, I hustled into a pair of jeans faster than a snail on downers, throwing on sandals and gathering my hair into a braid. Grimacing with a low, pain-filled grunt the moment my fingers touched the lumps near my ear and forehead.
There were too many questions about the attack. Too many concerns I’d rather ignore than address. Someone was out to get me, in a real, dangerous way. I’d spent my whole twenty-two years in relative safety, but the last five days found me in a hit-and-run and nighttime blitz attack.
There was no more acting like I didn’t have a care in the world.
I hadn’t heard from Isaac, and wondered if the cupcakes had been to his satisfaction. He’d probably inspected each one to see if I’d gone the distance as I had promised. At the very least I expected an email from his mother to say whether or not she was pleased with the sweets. Nothing.
My pocket vibrated with enough urgency to have me digging for the cell phone. I glanced down at the screen and the unknown number flashing there.
The dog whined, tugging at my pant leg in a desperate plea to get me to understand dog.
“I know, Frank, and we’re leaving in a minute.” I used my thumb to navigate to the text inbox.
You’ll get what you deserve unless you keep your mouth shut
All bold. All caps. All enough to have me sinking to my knees.
Get what I deserve? Keep my mouth shut? I plastered a hand over said mouth, jaw gaping slightly and a scream strangled behind my tonsils. Clutching the phone so tightly my knuckles were paste-white, I stared into open space, wondering who I’d managed to piss off enough to want me dead. Or maimed at the very least.
If it wasn’t Isaac, then who? Did someone have a vendetta for me? Probably.
Were they insane? Most likely. Dangerous? Oh, you betcha.
Which meant follow-through was a real possibility.
Beneath the quivering terror was something else begging to get out. I capped the bottle on my fear and let loose the second emotion vying for supremacy.
My lips thinned with fury. When I spoke, it was a long, low growl. “I’m not going to let you intimidate me. Do you understand?” I yelled at the phone. Darting a second glance at the screen, I pressed my finger down on the icon of a trash can.
It was nothing more than an empty threat and I wasn’t buying into it.
I managed to keep my calm on the drive to work, the sweet little rental car proving to be a smooth ride. Going so far as to sing tunelessly along with the radio and spare a pat on Frank’s head, my own little co-pilot, I’d no sooner pulled into my parking spot than Leda tapped on the glass.
Swallowing my heart back to its rightful spot, I sighed and rolled down the window. “Well, good morning to you, too.”
“There was someone at the door this morning,” she began, bringing a fingernail to her mouth.
“A customer? That’s great. What did they want?”
“It was someone from the Health Department. You weren’t here, so they talked to me and left a notice on the door. Before you get mad, know that you can’t be cited without any evidence. They’ll be back in a few days to investigate.”
The sliver of fury from before, the one I’d managed to bury on the drive, released once more with a vengeance. The gold watchband dug into my wrist as my fingers curled. “Investigate? Evidence? Of what?”
“Rodents,” Leda said. She managed to keep her voice calm when beneath I could see the upset. “Come on and see.”
She stepped away to let me out my door. With Frank nestled against my hip, I followed Leda around to the front. It took seconds to notice the one item out of place. A piece of paper had been taped to the door with the biggest, boldest header I’d ever seen: Health Department.
I stalked forward and ripped the notice from the glass, quickly scanning down the paragraphs to the heart of the matter. It was impossible to retain much, but a single word stood out to me.
Rodents.
“What in the blue blazes of Hades!”
It took three tries to read the document in its entirety, the tiny scrawled script flashing across the page with pen dots like inked tears.
“Why? Who?” My cry rang across the street and, on the opposite ends of the sidewalk, people stopped to stare.
I flashed them a harried smile and repeated the rest of the words aloud. “Miss Townsend, we regret to inform you of the multiple complaints regarding the cleanliness and sanitation of your establishment. As such, health code violations state...blah blah...Code Compliance Division...blah blah...rodents!”
I was apparently harboring a rat king in my walk-in freezer and someone had noticed.
I shoved the paper into the depths of my purse, fumbling for the keys. Hands shaking. “Rats in my bakery? That’s a travesty! Are you kidding me?” The screech shook a flock of birds from the nearest Bradford pear and had them winging their way to quieter skies.
Leda shuffled from foot to foot. “I knew you wouldn’t like it. I told the woman who dropped by. Said the accusations were ridiculous. There was nothing she could do. Her hands were tied.”
“This has to be a joke.”
“I wish it was.”
Something gave me pause when I wanted to rage. A sense of being watched, like eyes crawling up the back of my neck. I cleared my throat and turned back to Leda, shaking off the feeling. “This is awful!”
She moaned and dropped her head back on her shoulders. “I wish I could make it better.”
“Not only is it a personal insult, but a professional one,” I snarled, pushing inside. With a sigh, I dropped my purse down and slammed the door shut, stringing my fingers through an apron. “Who would have called in a complaint? I haven’t heard a word. From anyone.”
Leda swallowed, and though her voice was soft, there was an edge to it. “How about your friend? The recently released jailbird.”
Razor blades clawed at my insides and all rational thought fled. A flash of pain consumed me, and for a moment I forgot about the Health Department. The damage done. “Isaac? He wouldn’t dare.”
“Are you so sure? I saw his eyes the other day. He might be attracted to you, sure,” Leda said as she turned to face me. “Plenty of attraction there. And he may be a good person, no doubt,
but so am I. His tell was less than a second but I spotted the hostility. He still blames you, and I’m not surprised.”
“Leda...”
“Would he do something like this? Tell me the truth.”
“No,” I said in a terse way. The tone said it all. “He wouldn’t.”
“Whatever you say. It might not have been him. Think about it.”
I could feel my throat closing. Tears clumping around my vocal cords. In the space between seconds there was a lifetime of doubt. Of who could be behind the contact, the attack, the car crash. I thought about who I was and who I wanted to be, the lies I’d told myself for years.
If not Isaac, then who? The more I thought about it, the more my own anger reared its ugly head. Mouth dry, palms soaked, I tried for a game face and failed miserably.
Whatever hateful feelings Isaac had for me must have reached a point where he couldn’t contain them anymore. I refused to let this stand. And after slaving away for those three hundred cupcakes... What a pompous, selfish prick. I had unconsciously accepted the blame for his resentment. Silly or not, I’d wanted to do what I could to help him feel better, considering the part I’d played in his incarceration.
Now, I refused to let this go without a fight.
The scoundrel. As filthy as the rats he must have claimed to see in my shop.
The burp traveled through my gut and up to my esophagus, tasting of last night’s tuna I’d managed to shove down. Bummer.
If he had a problem with the cupcakes for the party, he should have come to me himself instead of calling in a false claim. I was floored by the accusations. More so because someone, somewhere, was stupid enough to believe them without coming to me first. I was twenty-two years old. Twenty-two! If there was a problem, I could handle it. Exclamation point!
The Health Department was scheduled to inspect the premises within the week, at their earliest convenience. Which meant I needed to have the front and back in pristine condition for the next seven days, excluding weekends. Probably longer, according to the bureaucratic red tape timeline.
Exhaustion set in suddenly and I thought I was going to be sick.
