Of Spice and Men

by Sarah Fox

  “You don’t like her?”

  “I never did.” She thought about that for a second. “Well, that’s not really true. She seemed nice the first couple of times I met her in Seattle, but then Brett brought her to Wildwood Cove for a visit and she was so…I don’t know. Condescending might be the word I’m looking for. She kept making fun of the town for being small, even though she knew this place was important to Brett. I couldn’t bring myself to like her after that, but Brett stayed with her for another couple of years, until she decided to trample his heart.”

  “She did? What happened?”

  “Brett didn’t tell you about that?” She fidgeted with her coffee mug. “I should probably leave that story for him to tell.”

  I knew that was the right thing for her to do, but it was almost painful for me to give up on the thought of getting the details right then and there. I couldn’t help but feel outraged that Alyssa had broken Brett’s heart, but it also made me wonder if he’d ever truly managed to get over his feelings for her. Part of me was tempted to ask if she knew what Brett thought of Alyssa now, if he still had any residual feelings for her, but a bigger part of me was far too frightened to pose the question.

  “I’ve heard that they’re trying to salvage the production, now that Alyssa is unavailable,” Chloe said. “If she’s released soon, they might still get the movie finished on time, or not too far behind schedule. That’s a big if, though. It turns out her scarf was used to strangle Christine.”

  “So I heard.”

  Chloe finally took a sip of her coffee. “I bet there’s one person who’s laughing about all of this.”

  “Really?” I said with surprise. “Who?”

  “Ella Cardozo.”

  “The actress who was originally cast for Alyssa’s role?”

  Chloe nodded. “Have you heard about the things she’s been saying on social media?”

  “No.”

  “She seems bitter about the fact that Alyssa has her role, even though there’s no way she could have managed the scenes with her injuries from the car accident. But she’s basically been ridiculing Alyssa’s acting ability and suggesting that the film will be a flop without the great Ella Cardozo in it. She’s over the moon about the arrest.”

  “She sounds about as charming as Alyssa.”

  Chloe cracked a slight smile. “Right?” She took a drink of her coffee. “Anyway, I won’t keep you any longer. Thanks for the coffee and the chat.”

  “Anytime.” I took the scarcely touched mug from her and set it on the desk before giving Chloe a hug. “I’m glad you stopped by.”

  “Me, too.”

  I saw her off and returned to the front of the house to give Leigh a hand with the customers. Chloe’s observation about her brother’s feelings for me remained on my mind as I poured coffee, delivered meals to tables, and carried dirty dishes to the kitchen. She knew him better than anyone, except perhaps their parents, and that gave me a spark of hope that she was right about how much I meant to Brett.

  Our conversation had also left me with a new sense of determination. Whatever Brett’s feelings about our relationship might be, I knew what mine were. What we had was far too important to me to let it slip through my fingers without putting up a good fight. My fears hadn’t disappeared, but they wouldn’t until I knew exactly how things stood.

  I’d get in touch with Brett after work, I decided, and there would be no backing out. In the meantime, I had the lunch rush to focus on. As I delivered two plates of strawberry vanilla pancakes to a young couple, I overheard the diners at the neighboring table talking about the abandoned house on Maple Lane.

  “I told you it was haunted,” Marjorie Wells, one of The Flip Side’s regular customers, told her companion before she took a bite of her mocha mascarpone crêpes.

  Although a senior citizen, Marjorie was never short on energy. She kept her gray hair cropped close and her wiry frame rarely stayed still for long. At the moment her blue eyes were bright with excitement.

  Marjorie’s lunch companion, Eleanor Crosby, shook her head. “Nonsense. There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

  “Then how do you explain the lights I saw?”

  “You saw lights there, too?” I said, stopping on my way back toward the kitchen. “I saw one a couple of nights ago.”

  “See?” Marjorie beamed at me and Eleanor. “Marley saw them, too. You can’t say my old eyes were playing tricks on me now.”

  “Do you think the lights were the result of paranormal activity?” Eleanor asked me, her dark eyes shrewd.

  I sent a hesitant glance Marjorie’s way. “Actually, I figured there were probably kids inside with a flashlight.”

  Eleanor gave an approving nod. “That’s because you’re sensible, Marley.”

  “Oh, tosh,” Marjorie said, but I could tell she was enjoying the minor argument.

  I smiled and headed for another table where a customer was signaling for my attention.

  Leigh and I were kept busy until a few minutes before closing, by which time only three customers remained. Once they’d left and Leigh had gone for the day, I went through my routine of cleaning up the dining area. When the place was ready for the next day of business, I retrieved a box from the office filled with recently purchased fall decorations. I wanted to bring some extra seasonal cheer to the pancake house, so I’d shopped around for artificial leaves in autumn colors and I’d picked out a few pumpkins and decorative gourds from a pumpkin patch down the highway.

  I was in the midst of arranging some of the smallest pumpkins and gourds on the rough-hewn fireplace mantel when someone knocked on one of the front windows. Smiling when I saw who was there, I quickly unlocked and opened the door.

  “Hi, Sienna,” I said as I let her into the restaurant. “What brings you here?”

  “I remembered you’d mentioned last week that you were planning to do some decorating today. I thought I’d come by and lend a hand. As a volunteer, not for pay,” she added quickly.

  “You didn’t have to do that, but thank you.”

  I showed her what I’d already done, and soon she was helping me arrange the artificial leaves around the pumpkins and gourds on the mantel. Once we’d finished that job, we set the remaining pumpkins around the dining area.

  I’d just placed the last one at the end of the cash counter when Tommy came out of the kitchen.

  “Hey, it looks great in here!”

  I surveyed the work Sienna and I had done and had to concur.

  “The pumpkins are awesome,” Tommy went on. “I love Halloween.”

  “Same,” Sienna said, and I added my own agreement.

  “I haven’t decided on a costume yet,” Sienna said with a thoughtful frown.

  “You’ve still got plenty of time,” I pointed out.

  “True.”

  “You know,” Tommy said, “I bet Halloween would be the perfect time to take some ghost photos at the haunted house.”

  “You mean the house on Maple Lane?” Sienna asked.

  “Yeah. I hear there’s been increased activity there lately.”

  “I’ve heard reports of people seeing lights in the house,” I said, “and I saw one there the other night, but don’t you think it’s more likely people?”

  “You never know,” Tommy said.

  “Ghost photos?” Sienna said with interest. “Have you taken any before?”

  “No, I’ve never tried. But I love paranormal stuff and photography, so I figure why not?”

  “If things are so active there right now, you probably don’t need to wait until Halloween.”

  “Good point. Maybe I’ll give it a try sometime soon.”

  “I hate to sound like a wet blanket here,” I broke in, “but the place is derelict. It could be dangerous to go in there.”

  Tommy waved off my concern. “I’ll be careful.”

  “And you’d be trespassing,” I added.

  He remained unfazed. “I hear the owner lives on Grand Cayman now an
d hasn’t been back here in years. It’s not like he’ll care.”

  “Trespassing?” The booming word came from the window to the kitchen, where Ivan was looming. “Where?”

  “Tommy wants to go to the abandoned house on Maple Lane to get some ghost photos,” I explained.

  The chef turned his glower on his assistant. “You shouldn’t mess with ghosts.”

  I stared at him in surprise. “You believe in ghosts?” I hadn’t expected that.

  “ ‘There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy,’ ” Ivan grumbled before disappearing deeper into the kitchen.

  Now he was quoting Shakespeare? The man was full of surprises.

  Tommy shrugged off Ivan’s warning and left The Flip Side with a wave, Sienna at his side, asking him questions about paranormal photography. I didn’t linger much longer myself, soon saying goodbye to Ivan and switching off the lights in the dining area. I headed into town, rather than taking the beach route home. Although I was pleased with the display of decorations on The Flip Side’s mantel, I thought some nice LED candles would make it look even better, and I knew I could find some at the general store.

  It wasn’t raining at present, but judging by the ominous clouds overhead, that could change at any moment. The blustery wind swirled around me and I zipped up my jacket to ward off as much of the damp chill as possible. When I passed Main Street, I paused, realizing that the cast and crew were filming a scene in that part of town. They didn’t appear to be in the middle of a take, but a barricade blocked off the street, and cameras and other equipment were in place.

  From where I stood, I could see that some of the shop signs and display windows had been temporarily changed for the production. A man in jeans, a black hoodie, and a baseball cap walked slowly along the street, carrying a black garbage bag, pulling out handfuls of dry leaves and scattering them here and there. The leaves swirled and danced in the wind, creating an effect that would probably look great if captured on camera.

  I waited around for a minute or two, wondering if I’d get a chance to see some filming in progress, but nothing much seemed to be happening and I was getting too cold to stand around any longer. Giving up, I continued on to Pacific Street and into the general store. I kept my stop there brief—no gossip on offer this time—and within minutes I was out on the street again, a bag of LED candles in hand.

  Instead of heading straight for Wildwood Road, I walked in the opposite direction, turning left and following a side street past Shady Lane to Maple Lane. I had trouble believing that the abandoned house was truly haunted, but something was going on there. Reports of flickering lights had increased lately and I wondered if a group of kids had designated the dilapidated Victorian as a regular hangout. I thought I’d pass by and see if I could spot any signs of activity in the house. If I did, I’d have to consider letting Ray know about it. I didn’t want anyone getting hurt because they were goofing around in a dangerous place.

  I doubted that I’d see anything in the middle of the afternoon, though, so I was surprised when the house came into view and I caught a glimpse of someone disappearing around the side of the Victorian, someone I recognized. I paused on the sidewalk.

  What was Jamal Harris doing there?

  My curiosity propelled me across the lawn—evidently tended by someone, since it wasn’t overly long—and then toward the corner of the house. Right away I noticed that the care someone had put into the front yard didn’t extend beyond the broken gate into the yards at the side or back of the house. The grass there reached up past my knees and was thick with weeds.

  I also noticed that Jamal was nowhere in sight.

  I moved quickly but quietly along the side of the house. When I peered around the next corner, I still didn’t catch sight of Jamal, but I heard the low murmur of a male voice nearby. Sticking close to the weathered siding, I inched my way to the nearest window. A ragged crack ran diagonally down the pane, and a shard of glass was missing in one of the lower corners. With my shoulder pressed against the peeling paint of the exterior wall, I peeked in through the window.

  At first all I saw were shadows, but then one of the shadows moved and took on more definition as my eyes adjusted to the gloomy light of the house’s interior. Jamal was pacing up and down the otherwise empty room, a cellphone to his ear.

  “It has to stop,” he said into the phone, his tone adamant. “If the production comes to a halt, people will lose their jobs. I’ll lose my job.” He paused, listening as he paced, before speaking again. “You can’t keep this up, and I have to tell the police that Alyssa is innocent.”

  He jerked the phone away from his ear, as if the person on the other end had yelled at him. I thought I caught the squawk of a female voice, but it was too faint to be sure.

  “But she didn’t kill Christine,” Jamal said once he had the phone back to his ear. “I can’t stand by and let an innocent person go to jail.”

  He stopped pacing and turned toward the window. I ducked out of sight and held my breath, hoping he hadn’t spotted me. He was talking again now, but his voice was growing more distant. Concerned he might be heading for the back door, I dashed around the corner of the house and out to the street, heading for home.

  As tree branches swayed and creaked overhead and the damp wind cut through my clothes, I thought over everything I’d just heard. As much as I didn’t like Alyssa, I now had to consider that maybe Brett had been right all along and the actress was indeed innocent.

  Chapter 16

  Instead of following Wildwood Road home, I headed toward the ocean, deciding to take the beach route. It added a couple of minutes to my journey, but I longed for a few moments of peace by the water before I met my fears head-on and got in touch with Brett.

  The beach was deserted, even the hardiest of souls having taken shelter from the worsening weather, and I welcomed the solitude. The tide was almost at its highest point, the waves crashing onto shore, wild and frothy white. The buffeting wind blew my hair and ocean spray into my face, and I had to wipe my sleeve across my eyes several times before I reached home.

  When I arrived at my Victorian, I let myself in through the back door and sighed with relief as I shut it behind me, blocking out the rising storm. After the roaring of the wind and ocean, the house seemed to ring with silence. Flapjack had been snoozing on the couch, but now he stood up and stretched before hopping down to wind figure eights around my legs.

  “Hey, buddy.” I kicked off my sneakers and lifted Flapjack into my arms. “I think this is a good day for you to stay indoors.”

  He purred and bumped his head against my chin. I smiled, but then pressed my face into his fur, nervous flutters in my stomach reminding me of what I was about to do. As curious as I was about Jamal’s phone conversation and its possible implications, Brett was my priority and I wasn’t going to let anything—not even a murder investigation—stop me from reaching out to him.

  Once I had a cup of tea in hand, I snatched a paperback mystery off the coffee table and headed upstairs to my bedroom, Flapjack following me. As I climbed the stairs, I tried not to dwell on any what-ifs. Thinking about worst-case scenarios for the future of my relationship with Brett wouldn’t do anything except make me sick with anxiety. Still, butterflies fluttered nervously in my stomach as I curled up on the cozy window seat in my bedroom.

  Flapjack hopped up to join me, sprawling out at my feet and washing his front paws, with not a care in the world. If only I felt the same.

  From the window seat I had a perfect view of the stormy ocean, but once I’d set down my book and cup of tea, I focused on my phone rather than the world beyond the window. I hesitated for only a second before quickly typing out a text message to Brett.

  I’m ready to talk. Whenever you’re free.

  With another flutter of nerves, I sent the message.

  I set down my phone and picked up my book, hoping I’d be able to keep myself distracted until I heard back from Brett. The st
ory was a good one, but it didn’t hold my attention. When I realized that I’d read the same paragraph three times, I gave up and set the book down. As I took a sip of tea, my gaze wandered to the window and the stormy view beyond it. Down below me on the beach, movement caught my eye.

  I peered through the gray light of the afternoon. A figure was standing near the water’s edge, and I would have recognized him anywhere. Abandoning my tea and phone next to my book, I hurried downstairs. I grabbed my jacket from the closet and paused only briefly to stuff my feet into my sneakers.

  The storm had intensified since I’d arrived home and I shrank back when I stepped outside and a fierce gust of cold, damp wind hit me. I wasn’t going to let the weather deter me, though, so I headed for the beach. It wasn’t until I’d jumped down from the log behind him that Brett heard me coming and turned around.

  “Marley.”

  I saw more than heard him say my name, his voice getting whipped away by the wind.

  I tried to smile at him, but I didn’t think I was very successful. I couldn’t tell if I was seeing happiness, relief, or fear on his face as I approached. Maybe it was a mixture of all of the above, the same things I was feeling. But since I couldn’t pinpoint his reaction, my stomach somersaulted.

  “What are you doing out here?” I asked when I reached him, raising my voice over the wind and crashing waves. “It’s not exactly beach weather.”

  Mist from the frothy ocean had plastered his blond curls to his head. He gave me an adorable, sheepish smile, and this time when my stomach flip-flopped, it wasn’t from anxiety.

  “Trying to work up the courage to knock on your door,” he replied. “I didn’t want to upset you more by showing up uninvited, but I couldn’t let things stay as they are any longer.”

  I took one of his hands, cold from the damp wind, and gave it a squeeze. “I texted you a few minutes ago to say I was ready to talk.”

  “You did?” He put his free hand to the pocket of his jeans but didn’t pull out his phone.

  “I don’t want to let things stay as they are any longer, either.”