Live and Let Chai

by Bree Baker

  “Me?”

  “Yes. You and Aunt Fran.”

  “Oh.” She frowned. “Well, Fran’s in the back with Hana. Why don’t we go find her?” Clara slid one arm behind my back and escorted me around the checkout desk, then through a door painted to look like a giant hive.

  “Fran?” Clara called.

  Aunt Fran and Hana were seated at a table chatting over hot tea, goat cheese, and pita chips. The spread on the table was magazine-worthy: The teapot was yellow like the sun, set upon a blue braided trivet. Triangular chips were arranged around a mound of white cheese, like a pita chip sunflower with a marvelous and tasty center.

  “Look who’s here,” Aunt Clara said, successfully interrupting the chitchat.

  Hana beamed at me, a loaded chip caught between her fingers. “Hello. How is your day?”

  “Super.” I delivered hugs to her and Aunt Fran. “I thought I’d stop in and thank you for all your help with the party tonight.”

  “Anytime,” Hana said. “We were just saying Everly wouldn’t ask for this much help unless there was a problem. What is the problem?”

  My aunts moved into position on both sides of me. I was trapped.

  I gnawed the inside of my cheek. “After you left yesterday”—I swung my face toward Aunt Clara, then Aunt Fran—“someone went into my shop and tore it apart.”

  Their collective gasp pulled the oxygen from my lungs.

  “It’s fine now,” I rasped. “The police dusted for prints and added my house to the nightly patrol. Detective Hays stayed to help me clean up, but a lot of things were broken, which is why I asked for the extra jars, flowers, and plates today. Plus, whoever made the mess threw most of my food on the floor, so I have a lot of cooking to do if I don’t want to cancel the party.”

  Aunt Clara wrapped me in her thin arms and rested her head on my shoulder. “You poor dear. I’m so sorry this happened to you.” She pulled back to shoot a pointed look at her sister. “What kind of monster would do this?”

  Aunt Fran turned fuming eyes on me. “I don’t know, but I’d like to. What did Detective Hays say?”

  “He took the menu board in as evidence. The vandal left a message on it—‘you were warned.’” I shivered just thinking about it.

  “Mercy!” Clara squeaked and pulled me tighter against her side. “Was anything stolen?”

  “No. And whoever wrecked the café kept the damage downstairs. My place was fine. No signs of any unwanted guests there.”

  “Well.” She released me with a sigh. “At least there’s that. You weren’t hurt?”

  Physically, no. “I wasn’t even home.” Emotionally? I planned to install an alarm system and twenty-seven dead bolts the minute I could afford them. “It’s fine,” I promised. “Detective Hays is on it.”

  Aunt Fran didn’t look convinced. “And he helped you clean up?”

  “Yeah, last night. I gave everything another scrub this morning, but it still feels icky, like I can’t get the bad vibes off.”

  “It should feel icky,” Clara said. “You were violated.”

  I didn’t like the way that sounded. “I hate the way it feels in there now. A seaside café should be full of peaceful energy.”

  Fran nodded. “Just like the town’s old slogan: Relax. You’re on island time now.”

  “Exactly.” I liked that one so much better than the new one: Carolina’s buried treasure. “I wish the new mayor would’ve left it alone.”

  “Well, there’s good news on that topic,” Fran said. “Looks like Mayor Dummy’s retiring this fall. Thank goodness.”

  “Really?” I asked. “Mayor Dunfree is leaving office?” I guessed he was getting older, but was he already old enough for retirement? “Any idea who’ll take his place?”

  Fran lifted a narrow shoulder. “Maybe me.”

  “You?” Hana and I blurted in unison. A look of amusement bloomed on Hana’s face.

  Fran frowned. “Why not me? Henry says I have a commanding presence. As a four-star general, he would know. Maybe it’s high time I put it to use.”

  I looked to Clara for guidance. She gave a wistful sigh. “Better Fran than that Mary Grace what’s-her-name from your Outdoor Girl troop. She’s such a goodie.”

  A bubble of laughter burst from my lips. Aunt Clara calling someone a goodie was a serious pot and kettle situation. “I don’t remember anyone named Mary Grace what’s-her-name.” I did, however, remember every hike, campout, and Outdoor Girl adventure Grandma had taken our troop on. “Who is she?”

  Clara groaned. “I think everyone called her Gracie.”

  “No.” I slapped the table, my wide smile slipping into obnoxious territory. “Bracie Gracie? The one who wore Princess Leia buns and headgear all through middle school? Impossible. Her family moved away in ninth grade.”

  “Yeah, well, she’s back, and she’s not Bracie Gracie anymore,” Clara said. “She’s Mary Grace Chatsworth, and for the record, I still don’t like you calling people names. It’s mean.”

  “She was mean,” I argued. “That’s why no one liked her. It’s why we called her names. She threw sand on us when Grandma wasn’t looking. She kicked in our sand castles, and she told everyone that you and Grandma raised me because my real mom was a circus clown.” I’d loathed Mary Grace. Learning she was moving away had been like an anvil off my shoulders. “Bracie Gracie for mayor,” I whispered. “Wow. Whoever runs against her will have their hands full.”

  Fran made a face. “I just told you I’m running.” Her pointed gaze lingered on each of our faces. “I hope you’ll all get on board, because I’m going to need a campaign staff.”

  “Oof,” I muttered. Her little sister, an accused murderer, and the Goat Lady. What a staff.

  I kissed Aunt Fran’s cheek and laughed. “Oh, why not? Whatever you need. Just let me know. Meanwhile, I’ve got to go make about one hundred mini quiches, finger sandwiches, and assorted desserts, then prepare ten gallons of sweet tea.”

  Hana launched to her feet. “All right. Let’s go.” She opened her arms to herd us toward the door. “We clean. We cook. We decorate. Teamwork. Let’s go.”

  Hopefully the house would still be standing when we got there. The way my week was going, anything was possible.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I told my aunts and Hana I’d meet them at my place. I had to make a pit stop at Molly’s Market for a few things first. We parted ways at Middletown and Main. They headed east toward the boardwalk and I turned west to Vine Street.

  There was a line at the counter when I walked inside, and I waved at Mr. Waters. My canvas bag was heavy with flour, yeast, and sugar before I left the baking aisle; by the time I added a box of canning jars, my arm was nearly dragging the ground. I should’ve brought the wagon.

  I stacked shrink-wrapped decorative bowls of sand and shells on top of the box of canning jars, wincing at the prices on things that were free in Charm and literally lying in piles outside my back door. If I had time, I could comb the beach for real shells that hadn’t been whitewashed and shipped from China.

  I piled dried starfish and sand dollars into one palm, careful not to crack them, then plucked a floppy hat from the wall and dropped it on my head. With a little luck, tonight’s event would put me back on the path to owning a successful iced tea shop and squash the island hysteria surrounding it. It might even bring a little faith and goodwill my way.

  I rushed to unload my booty at the checkout counter before I dropped the starfish—or my arm holding the heavy bag fell off. “I think that’s everything.” I rolled my aching shoulder, trying to restore circulation.

  “What’s with the shells?” Mr. Waters asked. “We got tons on the beach out there.” He pointed in the wrong direction, toward the center of the island.

  “No time.” I shrugged. “My big party is tonight. I want to jazz the place up with
an authentic beach vibe.”

  He squinted at the barcode on my hat. “All those flyers, pfft.” He blew air against his teeth and wiggled one hand in the air. “Gone. Just like that.”

  “Someone stole them?” Was there no end to the personal sabotage?

  My tummy knotted. What if I was spending all my money on a big party that no one would attend? I’d be further in debt and eating soggy finger sandwiches for the next two weeks.

  “Nah.” Mr. Waters pushed the keys on his ancient cash register. “The people took them.”

  “People?” I parroted, hope rising in my voice. “Locals? Do you think some will come?”

  “Yeah, they’ll come.” He worked his way through another item’s price code, then dropped it in my bag. “They’re all coming. You’re the talk of the town. That secret blogger can’t stop going on about this event. Now everyone wants to see what you’ve got going on over there.” He winked at me and his pink face lit up with a smile. “My wife bought a new dress.”

  My heart skipped and danced against my ribs. The Town Charmer had told people to come to my party? “Really?”

  “Uh huh.”

  I rocked onto my tiptoes and bounced with enthusiasm. Whoever that blogger was, I could kiss them!

  He finished ringing up my items and reached beneath the counter. “Here. It’s for your beach décor. Part of my history in Charm. I want it back, though.” He placed a clamming shovel in front of me. “The missus and I used to go clamming on our dates. We’d get all muddy, then take our time cleaning up.” He wiggled his bushy caterpillar eyebrows and expelled a hearty laugh.

  I shook my head at him. “Well, thank you for that visual,” I teased. “I think it’s great that you’d trust me with this. I’ll set it out tonight.” I pulled the shovel across the counter and paid my bill. “You’re the best, Mr. Waters. See you tonight!”

  I started home with my head in the clouds and the giant sun hat bouncing on my head. Its brim flipped and flopped with each step. I’d be a hit at the Kentucky Derby.

  I can do this, I thought, a jaunty spring popping into my step. The town blogger might have encouraged folks to come to my party, but locals weren’t lemmings. They thought for themselves, and maybe they’d needed a little push, but they were coming. A naysayer or two had made me erroneously believe Charm had turned against me, but the whole island hadn’t assumed the worst. The larger, quieter, and more polite majority were keeping their thoughts to themselves. Thoughts like Everly Swan isn’t a killer.

  I shimmied my aching shoulders with glee. People were coming! My neighbors, old acquaintances, and friends were giving me a chance, and I was going to make them glad they did. I swung my hips and imagined twirling, if I could see past my hat and lift my bag far enough off the ground. I’d delight them tonight! Dazzle them! Awe them!

  A figure in a fisherman’s hat and trench coat at Amelia’s little library took the wind out of my sails. He reached for the door. A metal pail sat at his feet.

  “Hey!” I hollered. “What are you doing?”

  The man turned toward me with a start and his mouth fell open. The wide brim of his hat shaded his eyes.

  “Hold it right there,” I said, picking up my pace, giant hat flopping.

  He grabbed his bucket with both hands and hoisted it off the ground.

  My stomach clenched. I couldn’t let him trash the library while I stood and watched. “Stop!” I screamed, panic flooding through me. I refused to let Amelia down. She didn’t deserve to be bullied and upset every day. “Don’t you dare!”

  I hoisted my shopping bag higher off the ground and broke into a run, waving my clam digger overhead. “Put that down!”

  The man spun in place and speed-walked away, metal pail in his grip. He vanished around a neighboring home in the distance.

  I was out of breath before I reached the Little Library. I bent forward and puffed for air. “Yes.” I pumped the shovel overhead in victory, then wrenched myself upright. “Take that, vandal.”

  I shuffled the rest of the way home, good mood restored. I only wished I’d recognized the vandal—wearing a disguise had been a smart move on his part. By the time I reached my front porch, my heart rate had settled, but I was in desperate need of a shower.

  The aunts were busy decorating when I arrived, and Hana was bopping around the room to Bobby Day’s “Rockin’ Robin.” My broom doubled as her dance partner and microphone.

  I stopped to watch and smiled.

  Aunt Fran noticed me first. “Well, don’t just stand there, get over here and tell us what you think.”

  I hefted my bag onto the counter and gave the whole room an appreciative whistle. “It looks amazing and smells like heaven.”

  “I’m baking you an almond pound cake,” Aunt Fran said. “A gift to go with the rhubarb jam Hana made.”

  “Thank you.” I pressed a hand to my heart. “That’s perfect.”

  Aunt Clara dug into the canvas tote and examined my purchases. “This is nice,” she said, holding up a bowl of shells. She noticed the clam digger in my grip. “Oh, a shovel.”

  “Mr. Waters loaned it to me for the night.” I handed it over, then drifted to a wall of new photos. My aunts had hung an array of dramatic black and white prints in coordinating mattes and frames, images of Charm over the years. Parades past, hot air balloons, and street parties. I should make sure Detective Hays and his makeshift family knew about this weekend’s street party; Denver would love all the food and hoopla.

  Aunt Fran adjusted the bottom row of photos, aligning them all perfectly. “We’ve been meaning to put these up all week. What do you think?”

  I drew closer to a row of frames with my grandmother as a young woman, cradling my infant mother in her arms, carrying her through the waves and along the same boardwalk I navigated today. “These are amazing.” I stretched a finger toward them slowly, afraid they might disappear. It was rare for my aunts to bring out any photos of my mother. I think they assumed it might make me sad, but I’d never really known her, so the loss I felt was a phantom pain. Missing something I never had was hard to explain. Fortunately, Grandma stepped in as my mother, father, best friend, and confidante until the day she passed.

  I hadn’t been there. I was at a rodeo.

  I rubbed the tears from under my eyes. “Thank you,” I told Aunt Fran before enveloping her in a hug. “For everything.”

  “Of course,” she said. Her gentle hand patted my head. “What is this monstrosity?” She peeled off the enormous hat I’d forgotten I was wearing.

  I laughed through a sniffle. “I thought it would be pretty in a beach display with the sand and shells. It’s a little much, huh?”

  Fran made a droll face. “Not at all. It’s the perfect size for an elephant.” She carried the hat to the corner and staged it with the shovel and a pair of my flip-flops.

  Clara hummed behind the counter. “The pasta is almost ready.”

  I hurried to my stove. “You’re cooking?” Clara and the kitchen were a dangerous combination, and I couldn’t afford another insurance claim.

  “Heavens, no.” She raised her brows. “I saw your menu on the fridge and thought I could save you some time by boiling the noodles. I’ve also organized the ingredients for each recipe on the counter and placed the corresponding recipe card on top. Hana washed, sliced, and chopped all the veggies before she started dancing.”

  Hana dipped the broom, then took a bow. “Thank you,” she said, swiveling her hips as though she was an Elvis impersonator. “Thank you very much.”

  I clapped, and my aunts joined in with enthusiastic hoots and whistles.

  Tonight would be perfect.

  I worked steadily through the afternoon, prepping everything I could in advance and storing it inside the fridge for later, while my aunts set the counter buffet-style with empty bowls and trays as placeholders until I
filled them with food.

  “Did you know the Town Charmer encouraged people to come tonight?” I asked.

  Aunt Clara nodded. “Well, yes. An anonymous source said you’d been eliminated from the suspects list. We even had a customer this afternoon.”

  “What?” My eyes bulged. “Why didn’t you tell me there’s finally some helpful news going around about me?”

  She shrugged. “I already knew you didn’t kill Mr. Paine. I figured you knew that too.”

  I rolled my eyes and wiped sweat from my brow, gagging at the whiff of body odor I got by raising my arm. “Lord have mercy.” I caught sight of the time on my wristwatch. “Oh no!” I had one hour to transform my hot mess self into something resembling a human, preferably one who smelled good.

  I stripped off my apron and made a run for the door to the upstairs. “I’ve got to hurry!”

  “Take your time,” Aunt Clara called after me.

  “We’ve got this,” Aunt Fran said.

  And I knew it was true.

  Thankfully, a hot shower did wonders for my appearance, untangling my hair and easing the tension in the muscles along my neck and shoulders. Afterward, I lathered my clean skin with peach lotion and doused my hair with Curl Keeper, the only thing that had any impact on my Medusa-esque mop, as long as I didn’t venture outside for long.

  I unloaded a tackle-box of makeup and pulled out every trick I knew for making it look as if I wasn’t wearing any. Then I slicked red lipstick on and coated my lashes in mascara for pop.

  My outfit was another issue all together. The only decent dress on a hanger was the one I’d worn to sign papers at the realty office and on the day after Detective Hays had announced that my tea might have killed Mr. Paine. Other than the dress I’d worn to Mr. Paine’s funeral, I hadn’t bothered unpacking anything less comfortable than T-shirts and sundresses.

  I ripped into a stack of boxes in my closet marked Work Clothes and Special Occasion. The whole idea of buying a beach house and opening an iced tea shop was to kick back and dress down. The joke was on me as I ravaged the boxes in search of something perfect for a fancy party at the aforementioned tea shop.