by Beth Byers
Henna pressed her hand to her chest and sat down. “Lacey?”
Scarlett nodded.
“Lacey Monroe?”
Scarlett nodded.
She took a deep breath, pressing her baby closer, rubbing her hand down Luna’s little spine. She was only four. Far too little to have seen whatever she saw. Far too little to…damn. Far too little to be at risk and she must be. Because someone had hexed Scarlett’s daughter. The amount of fury that flooded her cut through the numbness of the last few weeks, it cut through the anxiety of returning to Mystic Cove as a failure. It cut through everything and left only the she-wolf, mama bear, dangerous version of Scarlett. Someone was going to be regretting their life choices as soon as Scarlett dug her claws into them.
“Lacey Monroe? The mayor? Lacey? Can it be?”
“Yes,” snapped Scarlett. And then she shouted, “Ella!”
“What?” The amount of disdain a seven-year-old could put into the tone in her voice was a lesson that Ella was still teaching Scarlett, but she didn't think the lesson was anywhere close to finished.
“Sit,” Scarlett ordered her daughter. “Hold Max’s collar and don’t let go.”
“Why?” Ella asked, curling her lip. She flicked her long bark-brown hair back and shrugged a single shoulder.
“You listen to me,” Scarlett said, leaning down to look her daughter in the matching green eyes of Luna—and for that matter—herself. “I know you’re angry. That’s fine. Be angry. But right now, BIG things are happening, so you’re going to shove all that anger into a box, do as I say, and lash out at me later.”
Ella rolled her eyes, but she didn’t pull her usual move of crossing her arms over her chest. Instead, she dropped her hand down to Max’s collar, wrapped her fingers around the leather, and took a firm hold.
“Thank you,” Scarlett said.
“He can get away from me if he wants.” Ah, the disdain was back. Perfect. Exactly what Scarlett needed.
“Your job,” Scarlett told Ella, dropping a kiss into her hair, “Is to protect him from everyone who is coming.”
Ella paused. She wasn’t stupid, so she was realizing that something was wrong, and all of them adored their Max. He was a shaggy teddy bear of tongue-lolling love. She took a better glance at Luna in Scarlett’s arms and the way Henna was holding her chest and asked in a shaky voice, “Is everything all right? Is it Daddy?”
Scarlett took in a long slow breath, wanted desperately to lie, and instead said, “No, baby. No. Everything is not ok. But your Daddy is fine.”
The door to the bakery jangled and the lone police officer in Mystic Cove shambled through the door, belly bursting through the buttons of his uniform shirt, circles of sweat under his arms, and with a wiry red and gray beard on a face that proclaimed complete and utter irritation.
* * * * *
“Now,” Wally said, scowling around the bakery. “Now, what’s going on here…why…is that you Scarlett Oaken?”
Scarlett’s eye twitched as she answered, “Yes, sir. There’s…” Scarlett glanced over at Ella and down at Luna. Every mother’s part of her told her not to leave them alone, and yet…she knew she’d not get away with that—not with a dead body.
“Why I just saw Harper on my way over here, and she didn’t say nothing about you coming back. Now, now, who’d a thunk it?”
Scarlett’s eye twitched again. The pressure was mounting right between her eyes and it was making it hard for her not to feel the need to slam something on the counter until it disintegrated.
“What’s so important that you needed to interrupt my breakfast, now? It’s meatloaf omelet day.” There was a bit of whine to his voice and Scarlett grit her teeth to keep back the screech.
“Henna, will you take Ella, Luna, and Max to Harper?”
Henna looked at the girls, back at Scarlett’s face, then silently nodded.
“Tell her not to leave them alone no matter what.”
Henna nodded wordlessly and held out her arms for Luna whose crying had intensified. She shook her head and called for Scarlett, but Scarlett snapped at Luna, and her tears subsided to horrible shudders.
“Well now,” Wally said. “What’s this all about then?”
“There’s a body in the alley,” Scarlett said the moment the door closed behind her daughters, rubbing her finger between her brows and then darting into the kitchen to start turning off the ovens and the mixer. She glanced around, turned off the burner and thought she’d probably turned off everything that could burn down the building.
“What now?” Wally said, sniffing. “Like someone hurt? Someone passed out?”
“Lacey Monroe is dead,” Scarlett said flatly. “Dead, dead. Murdered dead.”
“Now, that can’t be right.”
“And yet,” Scarlett said, rubbing her forehead again, trying to ignore the growing pain. “Someone clearly bashed her on the head.”
“Bashed?”
“On the head.”
“You check for a pulse?”
“That was unnecessary,” Scarlett said, pushing away the flash of a memory. “There was no question.”
“But you didn’t check?”
“My daughter, Luna, found the body. My priority was getting my daughter away from there. And there was no question that Lacey was dead. Maybe you’d like to see for yourself.”
Scarlett’s eye twitched again, and she wondered if she’d made a terrible, terrible mistake coming home. It certainly felt like it.
Chapter 3
Lacey Monroe was very, very dead.
As evidenced by the way some kid barely out of high school was puking into the bushes of Scarlett’s brand new garden. He wore an oversized police uniform and had a bad case of acne. If she had to guess, he was the meter-maid. She took a long breath, trying to ignore that he was holding crime scene tape. He was going to wrap it around the alley and along the building she was going to buy.
Mystic Cove was chronically understaffed as far as police officers went, but it had never mattered before. During tourist season, they hired a few more cops, but in the offseason—it was only the sheriff, a meter-maid, and some part-time traffic cops. Which made something like a murder a happening they were unprepared for.
She wrapped her arms around her torso, leaned against the brick back of the bakery, and kept her gaze fixed above the height of anyone in the alley. She didn’t want to see them load Lacey up. Scarlett didn’t want to watch them take pictures of the woman Scarlett had fantasized tripping every single day of high school. She didn’t want to accidentally see Lacey’s lifeless arm slide off of the edge of the stretcher and hang limp.
“Scarlett?”
That voice. She squeezed herself tighter and turned. Gus. Oh, beautiful! Gus!
“Gus?” Her voice was uncertain only because he looked so different, and it had been such a long time. His scrawny frame, albino white skin, red eyes, and fragile, bruised gaze were all gone. But his smile, the shape of his eyes, the sound of his voice, it was the same. The feel of him in the air had entirely changed—there was an almost crackle of electricity around him.
He nodded and the spell was broken. A moment later, he opened his arms, letting her jump into them. He was tall now—inches and inches taller, and he had the same muscled build of all the other vampires she’d ever known. His eyes were the piercing black of his kind, his hair was shaggy, thick, and dark. His jaw was covered in several days of growth. Her childhood best friend may be the most attractive man she had ever seen. She pretended that she didn’t feel a frisson of awareness highlight just how attractive he was.
“Gus! Buddy! I am so happy to see you.”
He squeezed her close, slightly nuzzling her hair, taking in her scent—but she wasn’t bothered. That’s what vampires did and they’d been best friends since kindergarten. They might be all grown up now, but he was a piece of her soul.
“You got your fangs,” she exclaimed, noting the differences in him once again. Vampires were nothing lik
e fiction. They could go into the sun, though they were stronger and faster. But, they didn’t live forever, and they didn’t have to have blood. It was blood that fueled their magic and their strength. Just little sips, here and there, and somehow it wasn’t any nastier than eating meat when you’d been raised around them and grown up loving one—as best friend and constant companion.
“I can’t believe you’re here.”
“I just moved back.”
“When?”
“Last night. Late. Our stuff isn’t here yet.”
“Our?”
Their conversation was bullets flying, so fast, so speedy, they didn’t have to complete full thoughts. Histories were conveyed in mere handfuls of syllables.
“Me and the girls.”
“Ah,” he said. Nothing more was needed. But his next question was infused with sympathy, “Are you all right?”
She nodded and hugged him again for asking it so simply.
“And your girls?”
She hesitated. And then said, “No. Not about their dad, and not about this.”
Scarlett’s head jerked towards the alley. “I am pretty sure that Luna saw something. Certain she did, in fact. She was out here, and she’s been hexed. She’s forgot everything. Harper is distracting Luna, but…damn it, Gus, I have to tell her that her dad left us. Again. She’s only four, and I can’t keep watching her heart break.”
“What?” His eyes flared to glowing and she cupped his cheek, his beloved, best friend cheek for the way he went into protective overdrive of little girls he’d never met. “Where are they?”
“I’ll take care of it,” she said, trying to cut off the tide of his vampire possessiveness despite how it touched her heart. She knew he’d feel that way about her, but she wasn’t sure her girls could deal with him trying to step into their lives. Not now. Not even as a best friend. “It’s ok. Harper has them. No one can get past Harper.”
He examined Scarlett’s face with his night-colored eyes and the predator inside of him glowed from his gaze. He read her so easily, knew her so well.
“I’m not a delicate flower anymore, Scarlett. Let me help you.”
“I can tell, look at those fangs. They’re fantastic.” She grinned up at him even though the smile, at a time like this, was a lie. “And what 120 pounds more? It’s been a long time.”
Goodness, she saw him flinch a bit. It was her fault. She took off and left him behind. He’d have gone with her, but that hadn’t felt right--even if Grant hadn’t been involved. Gus would have visited all the groves, he’d have swum in the oceans with her. He’d have hiked mountains, and he’d have withered. He was no delicate flower now, but he had been. She’d left him and cut their friendship off, so he didn’t show up and fade in front of her.
“Augustus, finally,” Wally said from the alley.
“Augustus,” she whispered wickedly, grinning.
He winced and then said, “I’ll check on you later. Don’t leave.”
She stepped back, pressing hard against the wall of her home. “This is where I live now.”
He nodded, picked up the cases she hadn’t noticed and headed towards the alley where Lacey Monroe’s body lay cooling. And Scarlett had nearly forgotten the murder when Gus was with her.
Wally moseyed over with his notebook out and said, “Now, tell me everything.”
Her eye twitched, but she kept control of her voice. “My daughter Luna screamed. I came running and found Luna crying and Max, our dog, barking at the fence. I didn’t see Lacey right away—the plants and fence hid her. But once I realized, I picked Luna up and ran inside for Henna. You know the rest.”
He harrumphed at that statement and asked, “When’d you get back?”
She took a deep breath and said, “Last night.”
“And you’re staying with Henna instead of your mom?”
Now that was gossip and not case related. Her eye twitched again, the pressure behind her eyes increased, and she grabbed her temper to hold it close. She was supposed to be a druid after all. Her voice was smooth when she said, “I’m moving back, Wally. I’m buying the bakery and living over it. This is where we live now.”
“Not like most druids.” He sniffled in a way that made it clear his airways were clogged with something. She tried and failed not to gag.
“I think we’ve already established that I’m not like most druids.”
Her gaze was fixed on the place where Lacey’s body was hidden by daffodils and a short fence. Would Scarlett ever look into the alley again and not see visions of Lacey’s body?
“Doesn’t seem like she’s been dead too long.” Such a casual statement for something so insidious. It was clear he meant that Lacey died after Scarlett had arrived.
Scarlett’s nasty expression was all the answer she gave.
“You guys weren’t too fond of each other were you?”
Scarlett paused, grit her teeth to control her mouth, and gave Wally yet another withering look.
“Now, now, you got to answer Scarlett.”
“I never liked her,” Scarlett snapped. “If you were looking for the person who put gum in her hair or egged her house, I’d be a real suspect. But I’d never kill her in front of my daughter. I wouldn’t kill anyone.”
Maybe Grant. But Wally didn’t need to know how tempted she was to commit murder. Not now. Obviously, not ever.
“Maybe she threatened your daughter,” Wally said. He raised his brows and rubbed his belly seemingly not noticing his gaping buttons.
Scarlett opened her mouth, closed it, breathed in deeply, and let the air out in a slow whoosh. It wasn’t working. Puffy cloud thoughts, Scarlett. Wind in the leaves thoughts. But she was feeling all the fury of the east wind.
“That is enough of that,” Scarlett’s mother, Maye said. She’d appeared out of nowhere and Scarlett had to wonder how long her mom had been eavesdropping. “Scarlett’s taking over the bakery. Of course, she was helping Henna since before sunrise like every baker. It's not even midmorning. Don’t be stupid Scarlett. Tell the man.”
Oh. Damn. She had been. Obediently she said, “I was with Henna all morning.”
It took a mother to make you feel quite this stupid, Scarlett thought. She pushed her finger into the place where it hurt right between her eyes as if she could somehow shove the pain down. The way her mom was watching didn’t seem to make it better. In fact, it had switched from a low ache to a rising, pulsating thing. Scarlett wasn’t too sure that something wasn’t going to explode from her head, the goddess Athena style.
“No breaks, now?” Wally cleared his throat then spit into the bushes.
Scarlett barely prevented herself from gagging again and answered clearly, “I used the bathroom off the kitchen. My girls came down and ate in the bakery. I never left the kitchen.”
“How old are your girls?”
Scarlett choked on instant fury—he sounded like he was insinuating…but he couldn’t be…could he? Before she could ask her mother, Maye, snidely answered. “They’re four and seven, fool.”
“Have to do my due diligence, Maye. Now, now, no need to be like that.”
“Then do basic math. Scarlett hasn’t been gone long enough to have a kid capable of knocking someone down let alone murdering them.”
“Well now,” Wally said, scratching his belly again, and said, “I guess that’s true. How’d you know she’d been hit?”
“Wally,” Gus called, “We’re ready to move her.”
But Wally waited until Maye answered, “Henna Rowen.”
Wally’s curse was muttered and low. Scarlett took his distraction to escape. She needed to get out of here before they moved Lacey. She didn’t want to see, didn’t want to know, didn’t want another image in her head that she’d never forget.
“I’m going inside.”
* * * * *
“When were you going to tell me you were coming home?”
Maye’s bark-brown hair was laced with gray. Her moss green eyes were
as vibrant as ever as they examined her wayward daughter. Scarlett felt the need to shuffle and duck her head. But she reminded herself that she was an adult, in addition to being a mother in her own right, so she somehow resisted.
“Before the bakery opened,” Scarlett answered without flinching. She did, however, turn immediately away, going into the bakery kitchen, and grabbing the broom as she went. She started with the cupcakes she’d dropped, hoping that she’d be able to get things to rights and catch her breath. And, of course, avoid her mother’s gaze.
“Did you consider, at all, calling me before you moved? Or bought the bakery? Or left Grant?”
“He left me,” Scarlett said flatly, dumping the half-cooked contents of the first oven into the trash.
“Excuse me?” Maye’s voice had a dangerous snap of anger. But Scarlett didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t want to rehash everything. Maybe if they’d been close. But, of course, if they’d been close, Maye would have known long ago what had been happening with Scarlett and Grant. And, of course, they had once been close. Things had changed when Scarlett left—when she decided to pursue her heart and it hurt Maye.
“He’s having a baby boy with his assistant.”
“What did you say?” The danger in Maye’s voice escalated.
“He wants normal kids,” Scarlett answered flatly as she started a sink of hot water, dumping the pans from the burned cookies and cakes inside.
“What?” Slithered words of anger. How nice it was to hear the rage in her mother’s voice. It made the backs of Scarlett’s eyes burn with tears—they came so easily with the feel of her mother’s rage on her behalf.
Scarlett fought until the need to cry was under control and then explained, “Luna talks to the dog. Ella has a real natural affinity to commune with trees. Freaks him out. Puffy cloud thoughts, Mom.”
Scarlett glanced around the kitchen and chose a counter to focus on. Clear the counter, soak the dishes, wipe it down. One section done. Keep moving. Focus on what needs to be done. Don’t cry.
Maye started to scrub the pots as Scarlett moved. Maye scrubbed and whooshed. They were both fast—like a lot of moms, cleaning was both second nature and a way to vent sheer fury. Scarlett had been cleaning a lot lately.
