by Beth Ciotta
She was actually glad that Highlife Publishing had sent their crew to film this weekend. Yes, the focus of their shoot was the Cupcake Lovers, but she hoped with snippets of the Spookytown Spectacular included as well, the documentary would also benefit tourism—a key source of revenue for Sugar Creek businesses. Even the Monroe family store, J.T.’s, benefited from tourism.
Knowing she had a full night ahead of her and knowing Jayce planned on attending the festival, Rocky had left Brewster with Molly. Not trusting him home alone yet and not keen on putting the dog in a crate—even though Jayce had assured her it was a “safe haven”—Rocky had been overjoyed when her new boss had volunteered to pet sit. Mind at rest on that score, Rocky had packed up the cupcakes she’d baked that afternoon and headed into town.
With his obnoxious trophy wife at his side, the mayor of Sugar Creek, Randall Burke, had kicked off the festivities at 5:00 p.m. sharp, reminding those present that most of the shops and boutiques would remain open until 9:00 p.m. and the way to get free goodies at the food and craft booths was by visiting the shops whose employees had decorated their storefronts. Each shop gave out different “goody” tickets, and all you had to do was ask a salesclerk for one. While collecting “goody” tickets for their kids, a lot of adults browsed the shops and bought merchandise. Rocky had always thought the ticket and goody exchange a clever marketing ploy. As always, the “goody” tickets for the Creepy Cupcake booth were available at J.T.’s.
“So all a child has to do,” Tasha said while cheesing it up for the video camera, “is hand a Cupcake Lover one of these numbered orange tickets and they get a free cupcake. This year we’re featuring Sam McCloud’s creation—Monster-Mash Cakes.” She presented a sample to the interviewer—Amber—then passed the cupcake to the kid who’d given her the ticket.
“Where’s Rachel?” the little girl asked.
Tasha retained her fake smile. “Rachel’s not here.”
“But Mommy said she’s a Cupcake Lover.”
“She is,” Tasha said to the girl, then looked to the mom. “But she’s not here.”
“Can I have my ticket back?” the girl asked.
Tasha blinked. “Why?”
“I want Rachel to give me my cupcake.”
“Sorry,” the mom said with a self-conscious glance toward the camera. “Laurie attends Sugar Tots and she misses Rachel. We thought…” She squeezed her daughter’s shoulder. “Just say thank you, baby.”
“Can I have my ticket back?”
Red-faced, Tasha handed the kid a ticket. At least she didn’t ask for the cupcake back, Rocky thought. Points for Tasha.
One of Highlife’s people stepped over for a word with the mother, and Amber motioned for the camera to “cut” before turning back to Tasha. “Did we meet Rachel last night? Was she on the fondant team or cupcake team?”
“The cupcake team,” Tasha said. “Although I don’t think … Wait. I know I saw her.”
Rocky added the last of her Choco PB & Pumpkin Cupcakes to the “Cupcakes for Charity” display, then interceded. Thus far, she’d allowed Tasha free reign with the camera crew. As much as Rocky hated to admit it, her longtime foe had been saying and doing all the right things. But in this instance Rocky worried Tasha would make poor Rachel look bad. “She left early,” Rocky said. “Just after you arrived. She wasn’t feeling well.” Or at least that’s what Rachel had claimed when, head lowered, shoulders hunched, she’d made her apologies to Rocky, Chloe, and Judy and scooted out the back door. Rocky had called to check on Rachel this morning, and she’d been better. Good enough to work at the Sugar Shack tonight. Go figure.
“That’s too bad,” Amber said. “But, she’ll be working the booth at some point this weekend, right? Brett specifically asked for a cameo appearance, at least, of every member.”
“She’ll be here,” Tasha said.
Rocky shot her a look.
“At some point.”
“Hey, Amber!” one of the camera guys called. “That woman wouldn’t sign a release form. Doesn’t want her kid in the film. Said she was impolite.”
“That’s a shocker,” Amber said. “Most parents nowadays wouldn’t care about their kid’s manners if it meant getting them some media exposure.”
Tasha brightened. “We’re going to be an Internet sensation,” she said to Rocky.
“That’s what Highlife’s hoping,” Amber said. “Excuse me. I want to get a shot of the line forming and … check out the Moose!”
“Millie Moose,” Rocky said with a smile. “Official mascot of Moose-a-lotta. Honorary Cupcake Lover.”
“Who’s in there?” Amber asked. “Chloe?”
“Daisy.”
“Your grandma? Oh, this is priceless.”
Amber left the small booth, and Rocky breathed a sigh of relief. “Are they going to be here all night?”
“The film crew? On and off,” Tasha said. “About Rachel—”
“She’s not coming.”
“Everyone’s working the booth at some point. It’s tradition.”
“She has her reasons.”
“Which are?”
“Her own.” A lame snarky-ass reply, but Rocky didn’t know why Rachel was so adverse to participating in the video, or being photographed for that matter. Okay. So she was kind of mousy and shy, but she was also a skilled baker and generous soul. Dedicated to the club and the cause. Or so Rocky thought.
Rocky didn’t give a fig about personal fame, but she was stinking proud of being a Cupcake Lover. She was a team player, and the team was gung ho for this book project and all it entailed. It kind of hurt that Rachel couldn’t or wouldn’t conquer her insecurity (if that was the problem) for friends and the cause.
“You need to talk some sense into her,” Tasha said.
“What? Why me?”
“Because you’re the president,” Tasha whispered in a hushed voice.
Rocky blinked. How could the woman sound so angry and look so calm? Her fake smile bordered on scary.
“Have I told you, by the way, how much I resent that you stole that title from me? My mom hoped … and Randall wanted … Oh, what do you care? You’ll never be alone.”
“Hold on.’”
“Go to hell.”
Rocky stood shell-shocked as Tasha walked, not stormed, off. The seeming epitome of grace, Tasha smiled and chatted amiably with a few people waiting in line for cupcakes before disappearing into the growing crowd. Even though she was seething on the inside, outwardly she seemed fine.
No bickering or backstabbing. No scandal. No freaking drama.
Pretending for the camera. Pretending in order to secure a shot at fame.
You’ll never be alone.
What did Tasha mean by that? Was her marriage in trouble? When they’d appeared on the podium together, Tasha and Randall had looked like a happily married couple. Were they putting up a united front for the sake of appearances? Was Billy the source of strife? Had Tasha screwed up and gotten in over her head? An affair, with her stepson no less, would be a huge freaking scandal. Randall wouldn’t stand for it. Sugar Creek wouldn’t stand for it.
What would it be like to lose everything? Rocky wondered. Your husband, your reputation, your home? Unlike Rocky, Tasha didn’t have a big family. She didn’t have any real friends.
“Snap out of it, Rocky,” Casey said as she stepped into the booth and tied on an apron. “We’ve got cupcakes to give away. What were you thinking about?” she asked as they worked in tandem. “You look weird.”
“I think I feel sorry for Tasha.”
Casey snorted. “Definitely weird.”
* * *
Happy Hour had been chaotic, and the reservations list for dinner was booked full. The Sugar Shack was rocking. Luke should have been on top of the world. Instead, he was distracted.
By Rachel Lacey.
Once again, she’d traded her typical baggy dress for a formfitting shirt and pants. She’d brushed her hair into a high ponytail, a style
that accentuated her face. When she smiled—something she’d been doing a lot of tonight—Luke got a tight feeling in his chest. It had gotten to the point where just thinking about her gave him an erection. He wished to hell the attraction was simply sexual, but she’d gotten under his skin and he wasn’t even sure why.
Luke mixed drinks and chatted up customers just like he always did. Gena worked alongside him at the bar, and a full waitstaff worked the dining area and pub. A hundred things and a dozen people vied for his attention, but his gaze kept drifting to Rachel. He’d been so convinced she’d be a lousy waitress, but she was amazing. Fast and efficient, friendly. He knew without asking that she was focused on impeccable service in order to earn hefty tips.
I need the money.
He sensed a nervous energy beneath her capable façade. He sensed her discomfort when anyone’s gaze lingered too long or when a guy openly flirted. Yeah, Luke was watching that closely. And he just happened to be watching when a guy grabbed her ass. Rachel flinched and backed away. The bastard nabbed her wrist.
Luke was around the bar and at her side in two seconds flat. “Let her go.” He didn’t know the guy. Luke didn’t know a lot of people in the Shack tonight. The town was crowded with tourists.
“Relax, dude.”
“Luke Monroe. This is my place. My rules. No inappropriate touching of the staff. No touching, period.”
The kid raised his hands in mock apology. “Just trying to get her attention.”
“You got it. And mine.”
The kid’s friends shifted in their seats. “Message noted,” one of them said.
Rachel stood tense beside Luke, pencil poised over her pad. “I’m sorry. What was it you wanted? A vodka what?”
The college kid who’d manhandled her leaned forward and stared down Luke. “You can back off now, Monroe. Lighten up, for Christ sake. If she didn’t want the attention she wouldn’t dress like that.”
The only reason Luke didn’t clock the guy was because Rachel placed her hand on his arm just before he snapped.
“Luke, please. Don’t.”
“Let’s blow this place.” The guy and his friends stood. “Uptight asshole.”
Luke let the insult slide. He let the guys go without trying to smooth things over. But he did apologize to the nearby patrons who’d focused on the showdown and motioned to Nell, who was working as hostess tonight, regarding a sudden opening for a table of four. Then he focused on Rachel. “You okay?”
Eyes downcast, cheeks flushed, she gave a stiff nod.
Damn. “Come with me.” He placed his hand at the small of Rachel’s back and guided her through the crowd. He caught Gena’s gaze and she nodded in understanding. He’d be back.
For the moment, he ushered Rachel into his office and shut out the chaos. When he turned, she had her back to him, her hands braced on his desk as if trying to catch her breath or needing to bolster shaky legs.
“I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice.
“What? Don’t apologize, honey. I’m the one who told you tighter clothes might encourage greater tips. I don’t get a lot of gropers in here. I didn’t anticipate—”
“I don’t think I can go back out there.”
Luke moved closer, his stomach in knots. “Sure you can. Don’t let an isolated incident put you off.”
“I don’t like it when people stare. I don’t like standing out. If I walk out there now—”
“Then don’t. Take a break. Hang out here in the office for twenty. Catch your breath.” He put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed. He’d meant to reassure, but her muscles bunched. He let go and she turned, tears shimmering in her eyes. His heart stuttered.
“When you championed me like that…” Her voice cracked and a tear fell.
Had no man ever stood up for her before? Troubled, Luke cradled Rachel’s face and thumbed away tears. He looked into her eyes. Her expressive brown eyes. Affection. Adoration. For him. Why hadn’t he noticed before? Chest tight, he swallowed hard. “Rachel…”
She leaned in.
It was all the invitation he needed. Luke gave over to his curiosity and a burning need. He kissed Rachel Lacey with restrained passion. A gentle kiss meant to soothe, yet when she put her arms around him he took the kiss deeper. His heart blossomed and pounded in his ears.
“Aw, hell.”
Luke tensed, turned. “Sam.”
“I knocked,” his cousin said. “You didn’t answer.” His injured gaze flicked to Rachel. “Now I know why. Sorry.” He turned to leave.
“Goddammit, Sam. Wait!” Luke turned to Rachel, who’d slumped back against the desk, face pale. “Wait here. I’ll be back.” Luke flew out of his office and into a mass of customers. Packed tables, standing room only. Pool balls clacked; music blared. A wash of conversation and laughter battered Luke’s whirling senses as he scanned the crush of people in search of Sam. Nell caught Luke’s attention and jerked a thumb at the front door. Sam had left. Shit.
Luke jammed a hand through his hair, trying to collect his thoughts. Okay. One crisis at a time. He moved back toward his office, but Gena whistled and waved him over to the bar. He squeezed in between two patrons and spoke over the noise. “What is it?”
“Rachel blew out the back door.”
Damn. “Thanks.” He turned and slammed into another one of his waitresses.
“Anna needs you in the kitchen,” she said. “An emergency.”
He glanced at the back door, then blinked back to business. A packed house and an emergency in his kitchen.
He’d give Sam space to cool off and Rachel time to calm down. Yeah, that was it. It had to be it.
One crisis at a time.
* * *
Jayce felt a flutter of panic when he lost hold of Rocky’s hand. He reached out and grasped air. Surrounded by darkness, lost in a maze of creepy antics, he wondered what the hell he’d been thinking when he’d agreed to take Rocky through the Spookytown Haunted Hall. “Dash.”
She didn’t answer.
A group of giggly, skittish teen girls had rushed past them, squeezing through one of the narrower passages and forcing Jayce and Rocky apart. She had to be near. Just ahead. Or behind.
Jayce turned a corner and spied a body hanging from a noose. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. It was a dummy. A fake body. He knew it. The Haunted Hall was rigged with dozens of props and illusions. Occasionally costumed actors—members of a local amateur theater group—hopped out of secret passages or reached out from behind a curtain or dark corner and grabbed an unsuspecting person. Hence the occasional shriek or scream. The element of surprise delivered the best scares.
To think he used to love this place and the anticipation of being spooked out of his gourd.
Where the hell was she?
He pulled out his cell and texted: Where r u?
Someone slammed into him and screamed.
Jayce made out a young girl and boy—twelve maybe.
The girl lapsed into nervous giggles. The boy rolled his eyes. “Jeez, mister. What are you, frozen in fear?” He snorted and they edged around him. The girl shrieked again when she saw the hanging body. “You’re such a wiener, Ellie.”
“Stuff it, Pete.”
Jayce imagined young versions of himself and Rocky and endured a jolting wave of melancholy. The kids disappeared around the next bend. Jayce followed, checked his cell. A text from Rocky.
OUTSIDE. WHERE R U?
ON MY WAY
Jayce booked through the maze, earning curses and grumbles as he shoved his way through the clogged passages. Exiting the maze and gym, he welcomed the brisk night air, scanned the lighted schoolyard … and saw Rocky sitting on a bench under a massive maple. Heart hammering, he joined her.
Rocky frowned and raked his hair from his face. “Are you okay? You’re sweating.”
“It was tight in there. Hot.”
“Not that hot.”
He sleeved his brow. “What happened to you? Where did you g
o?”
“When those kids broke us apart, I got shoved through a curtain and ended up in another passage. It was so dark in there. I got turned around. Then one of those actors grabbed me—”
“Are you sure it was an actor?”
“Of course it was an actor.” Rocky blinked. “You got scared. Seriously scared. You thought someone nabbed me.” She palmed the side of his face. “Or worse. Jesus, Jayce. It’s the Haunted Hall. You know what that place is about. You’ve been through it hundreds of times.”
“I know.” He caressed her hand, then kissed her palm. “Marry me, Dash.”
She gaped and Jayce’s stuttering heart stopped.
“Christ.” He leaned back against the bench. “I can’t seem to get this right. I don’t even have a ring.”
“I’m thinking this was some sort of freaky knee-jerk reaction to the scare,” Rocky said, avoiding his gaze. “Let’s just, you know, forget it.” She leaned back against the bench, too. “Talk to me, Bello.”
Jayce stared at the colorful lights of the carnival rides, breathed in the comforting scents of local foods, and relaxed a little as Rocky leaned in and interlaced her fingers with his. As he knew she wasn’t a fan of PDA, the show of affection meant the world. “I had a friend in Brooklyn, Mrs. Watson. Sofia Watson. She owned the co-op next to mine. My neighbor for nine years.
“She took me under her wing the day I moved in, treated me as an adopted son,” he went on. “She saw my girlfriends come and go. Watched me grow cynical and then almost apathetic about my detective work. One day she told me a story about her deceased husband—a long romantic story about a very short-lived courtship and marriage.”
“Why short?” Rocky asked.
“Because he was killed in Vietnam. He was going off to war just before they married.”
“She knew he might not come back and she married him anyway?”
“She wanted to make the most of their time no matter how long or short. Instead of pitying herself, she pitied people who played it safe. According to her, there was nothing more sad than a missed opportunity.”
“She sounds like a pretty cool lady.”
“She was.”
