by Morgana Best
I then noticed Thyme standing in the doorway. She was holding open the door that separated the back kitchen and the showroom floor with her hip. “I knew it,” she said.
“Knew what?”
Thyme came forward, swinging her hips as she did so, dancing around me. “He loves you! He loves you!” she sang in the most irritating fashion.
I laughed and shook my head. “Settle down! Stop that!”
That only seemed to spur her on. “He loves you!” she sang, more loudly this time.
“Shut up!” I said, pushing her away. “He doesn’t!”
“Maybe you’ll get your chance today,” Thyme snickered. “All I’m saying, is you and this guy, are in love.”
“Shut it. Get back to work,” I said in a fake stern voice.
Thyme giggled and returned to the kitchen.
I rolled my eyes. “What, are we back at school now?” I said to the empty shop.
The morning seemed to drag on, and it was as if all the irritating customers had come at once. There was a woman with three children under five, three of the most undisciplined, wild children I had ever seen. They had put their sticky fingers all over the glass display fronts. Their mother hadn’t noticed–or perhaps she had, and simply didn’t care. As they were leaving, the three children had a cupcake fight right in my store.
I was on my hands and knees, scrubbing globs of frosting and half-chewed cupcake off the floor, when the next customer had come in. This one was irate, and had demanded her money back on a sponge cake. I excused myself to wash my hands, and when I returned to the counter, saw that she had removed the cake from its box. It had a large mouthful out of one side. “It’s vanilla!” she had screeched at me. “I asked for caramel! I want my money back!”
I checked the order book, and sure enough, there were the words, ‘Mrs. Hall: vanilla sponge cake’ right next to her signature. Still, the customer is always right, so I gave her back her money. She stormed out of the shop.
I had been examining the bite mark, wondering if the woman had a werewolf in her family—who would know? It was Bayberry Creek after all—when the next customer had come in. This one had demanded a refund because her cake was stale. She had bought it the previous week.
Okay, I admit I’d lost it by the next customer. I was standing behind the counter, and a red-faced man rushed in. “Do you work here, love?” he asked.
“No,” said. “I’m a supermodel just doing a photo shoot.”
He called me a few fancy names and then left even faster than he’d come in.
By then, I was wondering what job I could do if I sold the cake shop. I thought of some options, and none of them included retail.
Thankfully, there were no more customers for a while, and so there was time for my nerves to turn to jelly. The last half hour before Craig arrived seemed to drag on forever.
And, finally, there he was. Craig had always been cute. Well, more than cute actually—he was handsome. For once, he wasn’t in his firefighter uniform, and he looked just as good in his street clothes.
“Ready?” he asked. He was holding a bunch of flowers. They looked like wildflowers, as though he had picked them straight from a beautiful meadow of which only he knew the location, because as he frequently proved, he was the perfect man. Or at least it seemed like he might be to me, but in fairness, I hadn’t exactly spent much time with him. But still, in my fantasy life in my head, he was perfect. I felt like I was in a cheesy romance movie. “These are for you,” he said, stating the obvious.
“Oh, wow,” I said. “I don’t think anyone has ever brought me flowers before.”
Craig grinned. “Well, now someone has.”
I reached forward and took the flowers. “Just give me a minute to put them in something.” I turned and hurried into the kitchen, but Thyme immediately snatched the flowers from me and pushed me back out the swinging doors. “Have fun!” she said. “I’ll put these in water.”
Craig was waiting at the front door, and he held it open for me. He led me to his SUV, a big black thing that suited him perfectly. He even held the door open for me as I climbed into the large car. He closed the door and hurried around to the driver’s side. The engine roared to life, and Craig floored it. I was all but flung back in my seat. He drove two blocks, and then we pulled over.
I had the urge to say, “Why didn’t we walk?” but I thought the better of it. I had a bad track record with dating, so perhaps I should do the opposite of what I had done in the past—at least to some degree.
He had stopped outside Rewards Café, a place I usually avoided. For a start, the name was ironic. Also, they were so slow that once I’d had to wait over half an hour for a take out soy latte and a tomato toastie, and I was the only customer there at the time. To add insult to injury, the latte was so weak that I’d thrown it out. I don’t like strong coffee, but I do like to be able to taste it.
I also had an uncomfortable thought. Rewards Café was by far the cheapest place to eat, probably because none of the locals frequented the place. I thought back to the wildflowers. Was Craig a cheapskate? No, surely not. I shook my head and silently scolded myself. I was just looking for faults.
Craig led the way to the seating area in the garden. I sat in the only available shady spot, under a spreading lilac tree. It dropped bits of blossom on me every time a breeze came up, but I didn’t mind. That was preferable to sitting out in the sun.
Craig handed me the menu with a flourish. There were burgers, sandwiches, salads, and quiches to choose from. I chose a soy latte and a big garden salad with no onion. I stressed that part to Craig. I still wasn’t sure who was paying, so I reached for my purse.
Craig patted my hand. “My treat,” he said, before disappearing inside to order and leaving me to contend with the blowflies.
I would have preferred to sit inside. It was cool in there, and the surroundings were pleasant, nicely polished floorboards and charming chalk-painted tables. However, the outside eating area featured mismatched iron tables and uncomfortable wooden chairs scattered randomly over what looked like an old parking area.
Stop being so critical, I scolded myself, as I shooed a particularly large blowfly with the plastic menu.
Finally, Craig returned, and we had the chance to talk. I had been looking forward to this since I had arrived in town. Yet it did not quite meet my expectations. Craig talked the whole time about himself, and never once asked me anything about myself.
During a particularly long dissertation about Craig’s childhood, I wiped a lilac blossom out of my hair and looked around aimlessly at the other patrons. To my shock, I saw Alder Vervain sitting at a table across from us. He was close enough to hear what we said. When had he arrived?
“Are you all right?” Craig asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I realized I must have gasped. “Oh, it’s just the time, I said. “I should be getting back to the shop so Thyme can go to lunch.” I stood up, and at that moment, Alder and I locked eyes.
Fortunately, Craig stood up too, blocking my view of Alder. I followed Craig out of the café after shooting a glare at Alder on my way. I was cross. It was taking it too far to follow me when I was on a date. And how dare he sit so close that he could hear what we said! I shook my head. The nerve of the man!
“How about tomorrow?”
“Oh, sorry?” Craig had pulled to a stop outside my store. In my anger with Alder, I hadn’t realized that Craig had been speaking. “Tomorrow?”
Craig smiled at me and cut the engine. “I asked if you would like to come to dinner with me tomorrow night.”
I nodded. “I’d love to,” I said, “and thanks for lunch.”
I was about to get out of the car when Craig leaned over and pressed his lips to mine. I pulled away before he had much of a chance to do anything. I didn’t want to kiss him for the first time on a first date, and certainly not in a car.
Craig pulled away with a roar of the engine, waving out the window and blasti
ng the horn.
Chapter 16
As soon as I returned from lunch with Craig, I was busy tackling customers, cleaning, and doing paperwork. Oh, the joys of owning your own store, I thought.
“Here are the cakes that Mr. Sanders ordered,” Thyme said, emerging from the kitchen with several boxes in her arms. She placed them in a neat pile on top of the counter. “We’ve been so busy that you haven’t told me how it was.”
I was puzzled. “How what was?”
“Don’t you what was me!” she shot back. “Are you going to stand there and act like nothing happened between you and Craig today?”
“Oh!” I said with a laugh. “For a minute I didn’t know what on earth you were talking about.”
Thyme walked over to me and put her hands on her hips. “Well, now that you do, spill it!”
“It’s not that big of a deal,” I said, my cheeks warming with embarrassment.
“So, did he ask you out again?”
I nodded. “We’re just going out to dinner, that’s all.”
“That’s all? Do you at least know where he’s taking you? Or what you’re going to wear?” Thyme seemed more excited than I was.
“I love your enthusiasm, but calm down,” I said. I would have said more, but the jingle of the front door opening interrupted us.
Dianne walked in. “Hi, you two,” she said.
“How have you been?” Thyme asked her.
Dianne crouched in front of the display case and slowly pointed to each pastry in turn. “Madam Dianne has been okay, but it would be much better if the police would stop snooping around my shop.”
“Are they still bothering you?” I asked with dismay.
“From time to time,” she said. “They treat me like a suspect and it’s rather annoying. I mean, seriously, why would I want to hurt that man?”
“Why would anyone?” Thyme asked. “That’s the million dollar question.” Just then, the oven timer sounded and she hurried back to the kitchen.
I sighed. “I’m sure this will all blow over soon enough. They’ve even taken me in for questioning.”
Dianne looked up from the pastries with interest. “They did? Why? What did they say?”
I rubbed my temples. “Someone anonymously sent them some photographs of me with the victim. Luckily, the police found out they were faked.”
“They were faked?” she parroted. She looked thoughtful for a moment, and then turned her attention to the muffins. “Are those red velvet cupcakes muffins low-fat?”
“Sure are,” I said. “All the muffins in that display case there are low-fat, but the double chocolate muffins aren’t.”
Dianne nodded. “I’ll have two double chocolate muffins, then.”
I leaned down behind the display case to retrieve the cupcakes. As I stood up and placed the box on the countertop, the two detectives walked in.
There were staring at Dianne, which annoyed me. “Is there something I can help you with?” I asked.
“We’d like to speak to you in private, Ms. Spelled,” Detective Sassafras said, looking directly at Dianne.
“You can speak in front of Dianne,” I said. “She’s a friend.”
“Is that so?” Harrison said. He and Sassafras exchanged glances. “All right, as you wish.” He held up a sealed plastic bag. It had a large, white label on it and inside the bag was an old, weathered wallet. “Have you seen this wallet before?”
I stared at the wallet. “I don’t believe so,” I said. “Should it look familiar or something?”
“That’s what I am asking you,” he replied. “We found it in your trash, after all.”
“You found what in the trash?” Thyme asked, appearing from the kitchen. “What’s going on? And don’t you need a warrant for that?”
“No, because the trash was on public property,” Sassafras said. “Once you put out the trash for the garbage trucks to collect, it becomes the property of the town, giving us full jurisdiction over its contents.”
“Okay, but how is an old wallet relevant to anything? Perhaps a customer left it here in the shop and somehow it found its way into the bin. These things happen,” I said.
“It’s not just any wallet,” Harrison explained. “It belonged to the victim. It wasn’t on his body, and it wasn’t near your porch. It was in your trashcan, your home trashcan, that is, not your shop’s. We’d like you to come back to the station to answer a few questions.”
“I can’t see why that matters,” I said. “The poor man was murdered at my house! Whoever murdered him obviously threw his wallet into my trash.”
“I’m afraid it’s not quite that simple, Ms. Spelled,” Harrison said solemnly. “If you will accompany us down to the station, we can discuss the matter further.”
Once more, I followed the police out of my store. From the back seat of their vehicle, I watched my store slowly disappear.
After a short drive, we arrived at the Bayberry Creek Police Station and parked close to the building. The officers got out of the car and then opened the back door for me. “Please follow us,” Sassafras said sternly.
I walked behind the two cops as they went through a back door with a sign declaring it was off-limits to non-employee personnel. We headed down a long, dark corridor.
Harrison looked over at me. “We usually only bring detainees in this way, but the cells are empty right now.”
“The cells?” I asked. I looked around, wondering if they had brought me past the jail cells just to frighten me.
This time, they showed me into a different interview room. It had a large metal table with a metal chair on one side and two comfortable looking, upholstered chairs opposite it. The walls were a faded shade of beige.
“Have a seat,” Sassafras barked, pointing to the lone metal chair.
The three of us sat down. Harrison, as usual, had a folder. He pushed the folder toward me and then opened it up, revealing a photo of me sitting by the local creek.
“How did you get that photo?” I asked.
“Don’t you want to know what the murder victim was doing with it?” Sassafras asked.
“What?” My heart sank to my stomach. “Someone planted photos of me in his wallet, too?”
“I’m sure that’s what you’d like us to believe,” he said, glaring at me.
Harrison leaned forward. “If you’re not being honest with us, that makes it so much more difficult—for us, and for you.”
“But I’m not lying,” I insisted. “You already know that someone faked photos of me with the victim and sent them to you. It’s obvious that someone’s trying to frame me. Can’t you see that?” I just wanted to scream. This was just ridiculous.
The cops appeared unmoved. “We have an anonymous tip that you and the victim were having an affair.”
“What? That’s nonsense! I didn’t even know him!”
“We’ll need to take a statement,” Harrison said.
I spent the rest of the afternoon telling them the same thing over and over again, while Sassafras wrote it down. After an hour or two of doing that, both cops left, leaving me alone in the room to stare at the walls for over thirty minutes. They returned with my statement, now printed out, for me to sign.
I had never been so upset and frustrated in my entire life.
Chapter 17
I was in two minds about the date with Craig. Sure, I had developed a crush on him when I arrived in town, but I had just moved to town after all, and had only recently been through a nasty breakup—hardly the best time to think about a new relationship for both reasons.
Thankfully, I hadn’t heard from the police since the previous day, so my mood had improved. I was checking my makeup in the bathroom mirror, when there was a knock on the door. I looked at the time on my iPhone. He was five minutes early. Men! I hurried down the hallway and opened the door.
Craig held out another bunch of wildflowers. “I know, flowers last time, but a girl can’t have too many flowers, right?”
“They
’re lovely,” I lied, eyeing off the wilted flowers. They looked as if they had been picked at the same time as the others the previous day, and had not been put in water. “Thank you. Come in while I put them in a vase.”
Craig smiled and stepped in. I showed him into the living room. When I returned with the vase of dead flowers, Craig was hunched over on the sofa.
“Are you okay?” I asked, setting down the vase on the coffee table. Willow appeared and chewed on one of the stems.
“I feel dizzy,” Craig said.
“Let’s go, then!” I said in an animated fashion. I had not suspected that the house wouldn’t like Craig. If his dizziness was due to the house, then I had to get him out of there as soon as possible. I wondered how many women had to worry about their sentient houses liking their dates. I figured the answer was none.
Craig stood up and clutched at his head. “I don’t feel well!” he exclaimed. “My eyes have gone funny. It looks like the walls are closing in on me.”
“You need some fresh air.” I grabbed his arm and all but dragged him out of the house. When we reached the front gate, I released his arm. “How are you feeling now?”
Craig stood still for a moment and then took a deep breath. “I feel fine now. That was weird. I hope I’m not coming down with the flu or something. Anyway, let’s go. I have reservations.”
The short drive to town passed uneventfully. I saw with mixed emotions that we were heading for the Middle Pub. I did like their food, but part of me had hoped that Craig would take me to one of the nice restaurants in the next town. It just seemed as if he wasn’t going to any trouble over me.
We walked in the door, and Craig soon found a table with his name on it. Every table was adorned with masses of lilies that overpowered the room with their scent. I picked up the huge vase of lilies in the middle of our table and moved it to the next table. If it had remained, I wouldn’t have been able to see Craig sitting across from me. That only left a tealight candle in small glass bowl and a menu on our table.
“I was scared to ask you out yesterday,” Craig said. “I had been wanting to ask you out for a while, but I just chickened out or something each time I was close.”
