by Amy Boyles
An awkward laugh escaped my lips. "Oh. Ha-ha. I hope it's all good."
She shook her head. "That little article that came out about you? The one that was supposed to help your business? Well, you just did the opposite. You stirred up a bed of fire ants." She leaned forward and gave me a stern look. "And in case you need remindin', the sting from a fire ant lasts a long time. Take this as your warnin'."
I was so confused. "What do you mean, a warning?"
"Watch your back."
With that she left, her cloud of hair billowing behind her. I stood stone still. Numb shock tingled over my body, filtering down into my fingers and toes.
What the heck just happened?
CHAPTER TWO
That was just plain weird. Who walks into a shop and tells the owner they just stirred up a fire-ant bed? I mean, what does that even mean? I had to tell Sera.
"I'm going next door," I shouted.
"All right," Carrie said. "I'll watch the front."
"Be right back!"
I stepped outside. The bright June sun warmed my arms. I smiled, letting the rays kiss my face. Shielding my eyes, I looked around Main Street. Shops lined both sides of the road, from the upscale children's boutique Butterfly Days, to Gus's, the local fried burger joint. Yes, fried hamburgers. Patties floured and dropped into hot peanut oil. Yum. Seriously. Don't knock it till you've tried it. The line at Gus's threaded out the door, spilling onto the sidewalk. My stomach growled. The beast would be fed later. But now I had some sister business to attend to.
I stepped inside Sinless Confections, expecting the scents of roasted coffee beans and vanilla to seduce me, but instead, noxious fumes filled the air. Gray smoke puffed from the kitchen. Not being one to stand on ceremony, I charged into the back and found Sera and Reid, a mop bucket of smoking liquid sitting on the floor between them.
"What did you do?" Sera said, edging back from the fumes.
"What are you talking about?" Reid said. "I'm cleaning, like you asked."
"With what?" Sera said. "What's in that bucket?"
Reid coughed. "Bleach and ammonia."
"What? Are you trying to kill us?"
"What are you talking about?" Reid said.
Through racking coughs, Sera picked up the bucket, signaled for Reid to open the back door and then flung the stuff into the alley. She tossed the bucket in the sink.
"Reid, get the fans going."
"Why?"
"Because ammonia and bleach make a poison when mixed together. I don't want the next person who walks into my store to die a violent death because my little sister isn't smart enough to know not to mix those two chemicals!"
Reid grumbled as she plugged in a small circulating fan. "If this is how I'm going to be thanked for doing what I'm asked, I'm going to work for Dylan."
"Oh no you're not," I said. "I've got Carrie, and she's all I need right now. Besides, the way things go with you, you'll have my shop burned down within a week."
"I was only trying to clean," Reid whined.
"Yes, and just narrowly managed to avoid suffocating yourself," I said.
"And me," Sera added.
Reid shot us both a scathing look. "I have no talent!"
"That's not true," I said. It was, though. Totally true. But I couldn't let my sister feel bad, now could I?
"It is true! You make amazing clothes, and Sera bakes pure heaven into her food. What can I do? Kill people by combining poisonous chemicals."
Sera wrapped an arm around Reid's shoulders. "One day, Reid, you'll find your gift."
"And when she does, it'll probably kill us."
"And the entire town," Sera added.
Reid pouted out her lips and huffed. "Ingrates. Both of you." She untied her apron and pulled it over her head. Her burgundy curls, restrained by the marmiest of school-lunch-lady hairnets, tumbled out onto her shoulders. The net itself clung to her head by a stubborn hairpin. Yanking out the pin, she threw it to the floor and stomped on it.
Sera giggled. "Ah. Teenage angst. Isn't it cute?"
Reid threw her head back in defeat. "I can't do anything right!"
Restraining my own laughter, I took my sister by the shoulders and guided her to one of the slick red bar stools in the dining room. "Want some hot chocolate?"
Reid sniffled. "Maybe."
"Chocolate always makes things better," Sera said, moving to heat a pot. After she'd melted shards of dark chocolate and added milk, she served it to a sniffling Reid with a dollop of whipped cream on top. Sera and I rolled our eyes as Reid took a couple of pathetic sips.
"Better?" I asked.
Reid wiped a dramatic teenage tear from under her eye. "Better."
I stole a sip from her cup. As soon as the chocolate hit my tongue, I felt my bones melt. Warmth and happiness washed over me, and I knew I had a dreamy-eyed look on my face.
"Oh, to be eighteen and stupid again," I said.
"I'm not stupid," Reid said.
"I know that. But you can get away with things at your age that I can't at mine."
"Yeah, old woman." Sera rolled her eyes. "Twenty-eight is so old."
Reid fisted her hands on her hips and glared at me and Sera as if she wanted to burn us alive. "Look, y'all, I'm an adult." I threw her a steely glance. Biting her lower lip, Reid backpedaled. "Legally, that is."
"Right," I quipped. "And when you stop trying to accidentally kill people, I will treat you as such. Until then…"
"Until then?" she asked.
I patted her on the head. "Until then, you will be my little teenage sister." I gave her a warm smile and ruffled her hair.
She swatted my hand away. "Stop."
"Never," I said in my most Vincent Price–like voice. "But anyhoo." I slid onto the swivel bar stool beside her. "Something crazy weird happened to me a few minutes ago."
Sera brushed flour off one bronzed arm. Oh, I was so jealous of those toned limbs of perfection. "You mean other than our sister trying to kill us?"
"Well, yes indeed."
Sera leaned her elbows on the counter. Her eyes lit with amusement. "Do tell."
So I filled them in. "And then she basically said that because of that interview in the Birmingham News, we'd stirred up a bed of fire ants."
Sera quirked an eyebrow. "That makes no sense."
"Yeah. That's stupid," Reid added. She sipped her cocoa. "Doing that should increase business, not make a mess of things."
I tapped the Formica counter. "I know. It's weird. Totally weird."
Sera wove her fingers through her chin-length bob. She glanced up. A vacant, whimsical expression sequestered her face. "You don't say."
I turned. A man with a shock of sandy hair strolled down Main. He wore indoor soccer shoes and green pants that weren't fit for anyone except an old man playing golf.
I pinched my nose. "Ugh. Don't look and maybe he won't notice us."
Too late. Tim Harper looked up at us.
"Sera," I said, my voice sharp. "Don't even think about—"
She lifted her hand and waved.
"—waving at him." My sister beamed at the man who, six months ago, had broken her heart.
Tim waved back. He smiled at me. I shot imaginary darts from my eyes, silently warning him not to ravage her heart again. He walked right on by. Either he took my hint, or he had someone else to meet. From the recent rumor mill, my bets were placed on Tim having a girl to see.
"Sera, you've really got to focus on other guys," I said. "Tim's not the only man out there."
She scrubbed her fingers through her hair. "I know. I'm just not over him. He's really great, you know?"
I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, really great. He broke off your engagement and now flirts with you from the sidewalk. Classy guy."
She stuck her tongue out at me.
Reid dropped her cocoa spoon to the counter with a clank. "Speaking of other guys out there—who is that?"
I turned my head. Standing across the street and blatantly staring into the store, stood a
man wearing black from head to foot as if that were a totally normal thing to do in June in Alabama. His jaw looked like it had been carved with a straight razor, and his blond hair was tied back. Dark shades masked his eyes, and his cool expression looked almost too cool. Like, I'm too cool for school, dude.
Loser.
"Why's he wearing that coat?" Reid said. "It's like a thousand degrees outside."
"It's not a coat. It's a duster," I corrected.
"Whatever. Who wears that sort of thing?" Reid said.
"Assassins," Sera said.
Reid and I scowled at her.
Sera shrugged. "What? That is what assassins wear. I've seen enough movies to know. Besides, who other than an assassin would wear that this time of year?"
She wasn't kidding. Temperatures easily topped ninety degrees in early June in Alabama. Most everyone wore shorts during the summer.
"A homeless person would wear a duster," I said.
Sera flipped the ends of her hair. "We don't have homeless people in Silver Springs. Besides, he's too hot to be homeless."
"Yeah," Reid said, leaning over to see him better. "He's way too hot to be homeless."
I pulled her hair. "Don't even think about it, Reid. That guy is trouble. T-R-O-U-B-L-E."
She jerked her head away. "Ow."
"Good. I'm glad it hurt. He's too old for you and clearly mentally off to be wearing such a ridiculous outfit." I clicked my tongue. "Well then, never mind about my news. That guy takes the meaning of weird to a whole new level."
He crossed the street, heading straight for the bakery. Was he coming in? Why would he do that? Assassins didn't eat muffins or croissants or brownies. They ate people—everyone knew that.
My insides jumped and jittered. There was no reason to be nervous, but I was. As the clutches of fear gripped me, I moved to my best defense—I chewed my fingernails.
"Oh my God. Do you think he wants to eat us?" Reid said. "Should I offer myself first?"
I smacked the back of her head. "Reid! Shut it."
He extended his hand, grabbed the door and swung it open. The three of us held a collective breath as the stranger filled the door frame. Up close it was obvious that this was no ruffian. Well, not that obvious. His black shirt hugged his chest, revealing the outline of pectorals cut from marble. He could have lifted the entire building on those broad shoulders of his, and that jawline—the one I thought was carved with a straight razor? Well, good God almighty, I could have slit my wrists on it. Not that I wanted to. I didn't want to. Really.
Sera leaned over. "Stop drooling."
I closed my mouth.
A woman's voice broke the spell. Imagine rocks being pressed through a cheese grater while your first-grade teacher runs her nails over a chalkboard, and you'll almost—and I mean almost—come close to understanding the exact timbre of Jenny Butts's voice.
"Um, thank you," Jenny said to the assassin as he held the door open for her. Okay, so her voice didn't really sound that bad, but just wait. Her personality totally made up for what her voice lacked.
The man nodded, released the door and disappeared down the street. I shivered.
"Bye," Reid said faintly.
Sera turned to the newcomer. "What can I do for you today, Jenny?" she asked brightly.
I slid off the stool and crept toward the front door. I was not, I repeat, not in the mood to deal with Jenny Butts.
Jenny pumped her hands to emphasize each word. "Y'all. Y'all. Y'all." She stopped as if expecting us to bow down. Not going to happen. When we didn't, she continued. "I cannot believe I'm standing in one of the most famous stores in Silver Springs. Y'all. Seriously. I mean, I can't deny that I wasn't disappointed that they didn't interview me for my home decor shop, but they did y'all right by that article."
"Thanks," Sera said.
Jenny smiled, walked over to the counter and snatched a brownie out from under a glass dome. She took a bite. "Oh, Sera, these are phenom. I mean it. Best ever."
"Thanks again," Sera said.
"Y'all’s stuff is amazing, but my shop probably does twice the business you do. I don't understand why I wasn't featured as well."
See what I mean? Totes annoying.
"Bless your heart, Jenny. I don't know why you weren't interviewed. Do you know why, Dylan?" Sera said.
Crap. Jenny whirled to look at me. She traced a finger over the brownie. "It's not that my feelings are hurt. But I've been here longer than the two of you, and I just don't understand it. People love my store. I mean love it. They like y'all’s stuff, too, but I sell things hand over fist. I mean, folks come from Birmingham just for my homemade decorations, so I really don't understand it."
Dear Lord, once Jenny got on a roll, she never shut up.
She laughed. "One of the girls suggested that perhaps Dylan slept with the interviewer, but I said that was ridiculous. Dylan would never do that. First of all, the article was written by a woman. Secondly, the whole town knows she hasn't slept with anyone since high school, since Colten Blacklock stood her up at prom. Besides, Olivia Helm was in my shop the other day—you know she just got engaged—"
"That's great, Jenny. Thanks for stopping by. Next time the News asks us for an interview, we'll be sure to mention you." I grabbed her by the shoulders and scooted her toward the door. "You can pay for the brownie later."
"Oh," Jenny whispered. "Sera doesn't know, does she?" She lifted a hand to her face, her eyes wide with concern.
"No, she doesn't, and I want to keep it that way," I whispered back. With your big mouth, I'm surprised she doesn't, I wanted to add, but I stayed quiet. I would not have put it past Jenny to spread doom and gloom on Sera just to make herself feel better since her store was overlooked for that interview. Well, not on my watch.
Jenny twisted back to look at Sera. "Don't forget you're doing the confections for the solstice dance. And," she said, locking her legs, "the dance committee wants to make both of you guests of honor for the solstice party. Will you do it?"
I yanked her by the arm. "Sure. Of course. We'll do anything the committee wants. Now, time to go." And with that, I shoved her out the front door.
When I turned back, Sera smirked. "What was that all about?"
I wiped my hands on my jeans. "Oh, nothing. I just thought it was time for Jenny to spout her big mouth off somewhere else."
"Good riddance," Sera said. "Though it will be fun to be the guests of honor at the dance, even though I'm not looking forward to all the baking."
"You volunteered weeks ago," I said.
She shrugged. "I know."
"Guests of honor," Reid said. "That should be cool. Hey, is it true what she said?"
"About what?" I asked.
"About that Colten guy?"
Dang that Jenny and her Mouth of the South. "Of course not. I don't know what she's talking about."
Reid picked up her empty mug and rose. "Seemed pretty true. So is that why you hate men?"
I gave her a good, long look. "I don't hate men."
"You never date any."
"That doesn't mean I hate them."
Reid shrugged. "Okay. Whatever. But it seemed true. You got your panties in a wad pretty quickly after she said that."
I did get my panties in a wad, but not because of that part of the monologue of vomit. I stopped Jenny because she was about to spill the beans that Sera's ex-boyfriend, the worthless Tim Harper, whom she'd waved at only moments before, was now engaged to Olivia Helm. I didn't need that drama. Not right now.
I sliced the air with my hand. "What she said is absolutely not true about me."
Sera patted me on the shoulder. "Of course it isn't. We believe you."
I needed a glass of wine. To heck with it, I needed the whole box.
"And with that, I'll see you both later." I pushed out the door, flipping them off as I left.
***
As soon as six o'clock hit, I put the CLOSED sign up on the shop. "Good night, Carrie. See you tomorrow."
The blue gown beckoned me. Mostly finished, I really only needed to add a few sequins here and there and finish the hem. I'd taken it home several nights in a row but didn't feel up to it tonight.
"Nah. I'll work on it tomorrow."
"See you then," she said.
I locked up and met Sera and Reid out front. "Think Grandma and Nan will want pizza?" I asked.
Reid shrugged. "If they don't, I do."
"Okay," Sera said, pushing Reid into the backseat. "We'll just give you their slices, not even feed them."
"I was only saying," Reid grumbled.
"Great! Pizza it is," I said, trying to force a truce between the two. Though after the near fatal ammonia-and-bleach episode, I had the feeling it would be a long time before Sera fully trusted Reid in the back of the store. Or the front. Or anywhere, for that matter.
We jetted off through town. Let me be honest here, my ten-year-old Nissan is not going to "jet" anywhere. If you consider "jetting" burping and sputtering, then it does that. But if you're thinking it goes from zero to sixty in eight seconds, I laugh at you.
We passed Gus's, home of the fried burger, the train depot, and Jenny Butts as she locked up Rustic Touch and Travel. You heard correctly. There was also a travel agency in her store. No comment.
We wound our way up the hill toward First Baptist. The squat building sat stoic with its Roman columns and red brick. It quietly guarded our sleepy town. A lone summer breeze wafted over its face, lazily blowing the dwarf gardenias set in front of it. A couple of minutes later we entered our neighborhood of one-hundred-year-old craftsman homes.
"Nan! You want pizza?" Reid called out as we entered.
Sera wrung her finger in her ear. "Way to make me deaf, Reid."
She glanced back and grinned. "You're welcome."
Nan came out of the kitchen. "Sure thing."
"How is she today?" I asked, bending over and kissing the papery cheek of Hazel Horton, my grandmother, who was, unfortunately, frozen in a state of mutism. That meant she didn't talk and she barely moved.
Nan tilted her head back and forth. "The same. She ate a full lunch, though."
