Live and Let Chai

by Bree Baker

  I stared at the rushing waves, white and frothy from the fading storm. Rain had streamed over the glass as we cleaned, but now it seemed we were both done.

  “I’ll bring a new chalkboard by in the morning. I know your big party’s tomorrow.”

  Surprise turned me in his direction. “You do? Are you coming?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it.” He pulled the screen shut behind him on his way inside.

  I turned back to the water and let my head rest against the chair back. My eyes drifted shut and tears rolled down my cheeks. The day seemed to slowly slip away.

  “Everly?” The detective’s voice roused me.

  “Hmm?” The sweet, zesty scent of lemons and sugar assaulted my senses. I shot upright in my seat, suddenly aware I’d fallen asleep.

  He handed me a plate with a fat slice of my lemon cake at its center. “Hungry?”

  “Famished.” I accepted the offering as my brain sloughed off the fog of sleep. “How long was I out?”

  “Not long. Maybe twenty minutes. I didn’t mean to wake you or leave you out here so long,” he said, “but your chalkboard is officially on its way to evidence. Bad news is that the lab wasn’t able to pull a decent print from that busted oar. Good news is that Denise swung by with a replacement chalkboard. We hung it before she left.”

  I sank the tines of my fork into soft lemony bliss. “She runs errands too?”

  “Sometimes, under special circumstances,” he said around a mouthful of cake. “This cake is unreal. I think I’m having an out-of-body experience.”

  I laughed, savoring the first bite, knowing it was always the best, before my mouth and brain became desensitized to the magic. “I made this for tomorrow. It’s an old family recipe.” I pushed another bite between my lips, trying not to dwell on the number of things I’d have to remake for tomorrow’s grand opening party.

  He pointed his fork at the tiny remains of his slice. “I’m trying to feel bad for stealing it, but I can’t. This is too good. I’m not sure you should share it. I think maybe it would be a great secret just between us.” He moaned as he finished it off. “Phenomenal.”

  I smiled wider. “It’s another one of Grandma’s secret recipes. Though it probably originated with another Swan woman from even further back.”

  He held my stare. “You were raised by your grandma.”

  “Correct. And her sisters, Clara and Fran.”

  “Why?”

  I hated answering this question, it made everyone uncomfortable, and I suspected, given his situation, he wouldn’t be any different. “My parents died when I was young.”

  The expectant look fell from his face. “Both?”

  “Both.”

  A pained expression bled over his features, and he shifted his gaze into the distance.

  I couldn’t help wondering if he was thinking of his son and what it might be like for Denver to grow up without a mother. It’s what I would have been wondering in his situation. “Denver’s going to be okay,” I said.

  Detective Hays turned questioning eyes on me.

  “All he needs is unconditional love and acceptance. It doesn’t matter if he has a mom and a dad, just one of those, or three old ladies.”

  “How can you be so sure?” he asked. “You only met him once.”

  “You’re forgetting—I know his daddy.”

  His sudden, thankful smile lit my heart. A moment later, he dislodged his phone from one pocket. “Sorry. Give me just a minute.” He checked the screen with a frown. “I’ve got to get going. I want you to lock your doors behind me. Don’t leave this place unlocked for a while. Okay?” He set the plate aside.

  “Okay.”

  Maggie appeared at the closed screen door.

  “There you are,” I said. “Where have you been? No cats in the café.”

  Detective Hays reached back to open the door and set her free. “I wasn’t sure if the cat was yours, but I managed to get the birds out.”

  “She’s mine now,” I said. “I think she used to live here.” I polished off another bite of cake, then set my crumb-strewn plate on top of his. “Thanks for helping me tonight. Sorry I fell asleep. I haven’t been sleeping well. The fact that I conked out sitting up is a testimony to your reassuring presence.”

  He rubbed a palm over his stubbled cheek. “You’ll always be safe with me. You can count on that.”

  I nodded, a knot forming in my throat.

  “I want you to be careful, though,” he said. “Drop your amateur investigation, and let me do my job. I’m excellent at my job.” He got to his feet and carried our plates to the sink.

  “Lock up behind me. I’ll add your place to the nightly patrol list. Be safe.” His eyes turned soft and pleading. “I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.”

  My heart picked up speed. “Oh yeah?”

  “Sure. I can’t go through life without another slice of that lemon cake.” He flashed a cheeky smile and his dimple caved in.

  I smiled back, and he winked before disappearing into the night.

  Flipping the dead bolt behind him, I tried not to think about that flirty wink or his blasted dimple.

  I marched across the room and opened the refrigerator in search of my lemon cake. “You’re coming with me,” I said and carried the rest of it to bed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I didn’t sleep well after Detective Hays left, and it turned out that I wasn’t hungry for the cake without him. Instead, I tossed and turned, rehashing the day and making mental lists of all I had to accomplish before my grand opening party, an event that was beginning to feel more like a please-believe-I’m-not-a-killer party.

  I gave up on sleep at five thirty and went to make coffee and watch the sunrise. Lou met me on the deck, perched at the far corner of my railing.

  “I’ve got a big day today,” I told him. “There’s too much to do, and I’m not in the right mind-set, but there’s no going back now.” Lou’s tiny gray eyelids slid shut.

  I sipped my coffee and basked in the soft amber and tangerine light creeping over the horizon. Maybe if I got to the market when it opened and Mr. Waters had everything I needed, I could run home, drop off my packages, start brewing the tea, and head out again. I could call an order in to Hana while I was prepping the tea, then make a quick trip to pick up the meat, cheese, and produce before coming home to make the food.

  My heart sank at the complete impossibility of getting everything done. I’d still need time to shower and get myself ready for the shindig, not to mention mop and decorate the cafe. “I need a clone.”

  Lou cocked his head and eyeballed me. He puffed the feathers of his great white chest and ruffled his sleek gray wings.

  “I don’t suppose you can transform into a footman until midnight. I could really use the help.”

  He bent his sturdy legs and plunged into the air, as if to give an emphatic no.

  “Figured.”

  I finished my coffee and enacted my usual plan for handling the impossible. Just get started. I set several teas to brew, mopped and scrubbed everything in sight, then made inventory replacement lists and an order for Hana. Two hours later, I broke down and called my aunts.

  They assumed my anxiety stemmed only from the pressure of holding a grand opening party in nine short hours, and I let them. If I told them about what had happened to the café last night, I’d wind up crying again, and there was no time for that. I couldn’t put it off for long, though—I needed to tell them before someone else did, or I would be in big trouble. On the up side, very few people knew what had happened and you would think you could trust the police to keep quiet. On the down side, I still had no idea who the mystery blogger was or how the writer seemed to know so much about the things going on in Charm.

  Aunt Clara agreed to take my list to Hana and deliver my ingredients befo
re lunch. She also promised more flowers and extra plates from the family collection and said she’d decorate for the party while I showered and prepared for guests. All I had to do was hit up Molly’s Market to replace what had been ruined in the break-in.

  I stacked my thick brown curls on top of my head and dropped a shapeless floral sundress over bike shorts, heading for the market. My big canvas shopping bag was secured cross-body-style, and my favorite pink sneakers were laced up tight.

  I was halfway down the boardwalk to town before I remembered I had a bike and a wagon, and either one would make this easier and faster. My continued lack of sleep was killing brain cells.

  The day was humid but beautiful, and it felt good to get out and walk. I admired the beach in all its glory. The evening storm had pushed boatloads of seaweed and shells ashore, the receding tide displaying it all. Sandpipers raced the outgoing waves for a quick snack of bugs and biofilm before barreling back over the water-packed sand, outrunning the next blue wave.

  Low tide had always been my favorite as a child: so many fascinating things washed ashore. I’d found everything from unusual marine life to the occasional flip-flop, spending hours examining it with wonder. Where had each item come from? How far had it traveled? The fantasy of sailing around the world was one I still dreamed of.

  The familiar sound of Amelia’s voice pulled me from my reverie, echoing through the thick, salty air. I strained to listen, but the words were muffled by wind and waves. I couldn’t see her, but she was likely visiting her Little Library just around the bend out of sight.

  I hustled to the library over the aged wooden planks. A deep, guttural sound rattled through the air, and I faltered. “Amelia?”

  She came into view as I rounded the curve. Seated on the boardwalk, back against her small wooden structure, Amelia looked as forlorn as anyone I’d ever encountered.

  “What happened?” I asked, breaking into a jog. Amelia pulled her knees to her chest and rested her forehead on them.

  I gave the structure behind her a closer look. This Little Library was my favorite and the prettiest by far, but I couldn’t see the books through the small window this morning: someone had filled the entire structure with sand. “Oh no.”

  The library had once been a stout curio cabinet, four feet high and two feet wide. It was painted sky blue with white trim and covered in an adorable seashell motif. Amelia had swapped the glass face for a more durable clear plastic and repurposed it with love. Words like “Free Books” and “Take One or Leave One” were stenciled down the sides. Little Libraries of Charm stretched across the bottom, with her store’s address beneath.

  I circled the library. “How did they do this?”

  “There’s a little hole in the back,” she mumbled into her legs. “It’s where the wire for the display light used to go. They must have just poured it right in.”

  I took a seat at her side. “I’m sorry this is happening to you.”

  She turned her face toward mine. “Thanks.” Her eyes were glossy with unshed tears. “I keep telling myself this isn’t about me, but someone certainly seems determined to make me crazy, or at least ruin what I’m trying to do here.”

  I rubbed her back. “We’ll catch them,” I promised. “I can start tomorrow. My grand opening party is tonight, but tomorrow I have nothing on my evening schedule except busting the terrible person who did this.” I offered her a crooked pinky. “Deal?”

  She hooked her tiny digit with mine. “Deal.”

  I stretched upright and hoisted her up with me. “Let’s get this cleaned up.”

  We opened the door to let the sand run out, shook off all the books, cleared the shelves, and restacked them before I waved goodbye.

  With Amelia looking hopeful again, I took a direct turn onto Sand Street, skipping the longer, more scenic boardwalk route. I had no time left to dally. One block later, an unexpected face appeared at the corner: Lucinda Paine was collecting letters from a residential mailbox on Dune Street. She stiffened when she saw me. My feet carried me to her on autopilot.

  “What do you want now?” she moaned. “Crashing my husband’s funeral wasn’t enough? Harassing me at my shop?” She closed the mailbox with unnecessary roughness. Her black blouse fluttered in the sticky breeze.

  “I wasn’t crashing the funeral. I was paying my respects,” I said. “I’m so sorry about what happened to Mr. Paine. I told you that, and I never meant to make you feel harassed.”

  She matched my body language, crossing her arms and dangling the mail from her fingertips. “Well, I know who you are now, Everly Swan.” She narrowed her milky blue eyes on me. “You didn’t want to tell me earlier, but my nephew Martin filled me in on your one-woman crusade to find Benny’s killer.”

  I rolled my eyes. “It’s not a secret.”

  “Martin thinks you’re innocent.”

  “I am.”

  We traded silent stares until I couldn’t take it anymore. “What are you doing here, anyway?” I asked. “Don’t you live in Duck? Whose mail is that?”

  Lucinda tipped her nose in the air. “Not that it’s any of your business, but this is Benedict’s mail, and my house.” She gave the small bungalow a loving smile. “We shared those walls for many years, and it was in his will that I should have it.”

  My jaw sank open. “Are you moving into Mr. Paine’s old house?”

  “Our old house,” she corrected, “and yes. I prefer it here to Duck. I only wish it were under different circumstances. Benedict and I were trying to reconcile, you know. Before you poisoned him.”

  I furrowed my brow and bit my tongue so I wouldn’t start a round of Did not!—Did too!

  She glared back. “I know you’re the tea-maker the cops are investigating, and I have faith you’ll get what you deserve. Enjoy your freedom while it lasts, Miss Swan. My nephew may be a sucker for a pretty face, but I’m not. And don’t come back here again, or I’ll file a restraining order.” She strode up the walk to her new home like it was a Fashion Week runway and disappeared through the front door.

  I lifted my arms and looked for witnesses so I could project my astonishment: Can you believe her?

  No one saw me, so I put my arms down. I was so rattled I couldn’t even appreciate the fact that she thought I had a pretty face.

  A big truck rattled up the road and pulled into her driveway before I could get my head together and walk away. A man in white coveralls and a matching ball cap jumped out and marched in my direction, wielding a clipboard. The patch on his chest said Modern Elegance and it coordinated with the logo on the side of his truck, painted above a picture of a fancy candlelight dinner. “Mrs. Paine? I need you to sign here.”

  I pointed to the house. “She’s inside.”

  He grunted and turned away. I watched, dumbfounded, as he headed for her front porch. She’d just moved back in and was already changing the furniture? So much for nostalgia or just enjoying the sentimentality of living there again.

  Slowly, I pointed myself back toward Middletown Street. I had to keep moving. There was too much to do today, and I kept getting distracted. I’d have to replay our conversation and compose my theories while I shopped. The whole exchange had transpired so quickly, I’d barely had time to analyze her body language, even though I’d read to chapter three in body language book.

  Currently, the only thing I could think of was more questions for Lucinda Paine. Had she really threatened me with a restraining order? Seriously? Did I look dangerous to her? Crazy? Homicidal? I looked at my outfit. It wasn’t my best ensemble, but it certainly didn’t make me look like someone who would hurt an old lady.

  A restraining order! As if I were the criminal instead of the one constantly in danger. Hopefully, the mystery blogger wouldn’t get wind of that threat.

  I tried desperately to turn my thoughts back to the tasks at hand. Somehow I’d completely skipped the
turn onto Vine Street and arrived instead at Blessed Bee on Main. I wandered inside, fixating on the way Lucinda had mimicked my stance. According to chapter two of that book, mirroring another person’s posture or facial expression was a way to connect, build a bond, or create understanding. Lucinda didn’t seem interested in doing any of those things.

  Soft scents of honey, lavender, and vanilla slowly enveloped me as I drifted through my aunts’ empty store. Sounds of distant birds and rustling wind played on hidden speakers tucked in columns and corners overhead. For the first time I could recall, there were no customers’ voices to break up the recorded nature sounds. I dragged my fingertips across colorful displays of lip balms, soaps, and face masks, getting angrier with each step. My aunts had a great store, and they loved what they did—they shouldn’t suffer because of me.

  Racks of Bee Aware T-shirts and accessories lined the walls. If the American honeybee population could be saved from the environmental threats facing them, I’d expect that ninety percent of the success could be linked back to my great-aunts. They loved bees like I loved iced tea. I hated knowing I was the reason their shop was empty.

  “Everly?” Aunt Clara stepped out from the back room. Her fair hair was parted in the center and braided down both sides of her head. “What’s wrong? Why the frown, darling?” The bell sleeves of her shimmery blue top slid up her arms as she pulled me into a hug.

  “Any chance you’ve gotten wind of another suspect in Mr. Paine’s death?” I asked, stepping out of her embrace. “I’m running low on resources.”

  Aunt Clara let her fingers trail over my face and shook her head. “No, sweetie. We’ve been too busy with your PR campaign. We’re your personal cheer squad. Setting folks straight. Reminding them how special you are. And after that awful sunscreen incident, we thought it was best not to draw more attention by asking troublesome questions. There’s no good reason to provoke another round of something as scary as that.”

  I rolled my head back and looked at the ceiling. “I have something else to tell you.”