Live and Let Chai

by Bree Baker

  There was no one at my door.

  I poked my head carefully past the threshold, one hand on the doorknob, ready to slam it in the face of anyone who came near. Except Grady. “Grady?” I asked the air, hoping he’d stepped into the shadows along my porch.

  I listened hard to the whipping wind and ocean waves, refusing to step foot into the darkness again without a Louisville Slugger or pepper spray.

  Maggie trotted back into view and took a seat on my bottom step, tracking something with her shiny green eyes.

  My phone buzzed, pulling my eyes down: a new message from Grady.

  I probably misunderstood that, but I’ll be right over.

  As I read his words and smiled, a blast of blinding light flashed in my eyes, and my knees wobbled. Searing pain short-circuited my brain, and my legs gave out as the world went dark.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Everly!” The sound of my name rattled painfully in my head. “Everly!”

  Warm fingers pressed the tender flesh of my throat, and I struggled through the thickness of unconsciousness.

  I groaned, wishing to be left alone. My body ached, and my eyes rolled helplessly behind sealed lids.

  “You’re going to be okay. Thank God,” the voice said. Strong arms ran beneath my hips and shoulders, hoisting me in the air.

  “Grady?” The word came from my mouth, but I wasn’t sure how I knew it.

  His chest bounced with a humorless chuckle. “You’re easily the most danger-prone person I’ve ever met. The good news here is that it looks like you’ll survive this time. You want to fill me in on what happened?”

  I rocked and floated in his arms. The intoxicating scents of cologne and night air clung to his shirt and skin. I locked my arms around his neck in appreciation. “I don’t know.”

  He set me upright on the couch, prodding my head, neck, and arms. “I don’t understand what happened. It hasn’t been ten minutes since your last text, and you were laid out on the floor at the bottom of your steps like you were dead. There’s a goose egg the size of Texas on your head, but no other injuries that I can see. Did you fall?”

  I pried my eyelids open. “Ow.”

  Grady rested his hand on my arm. “What hurts? Is it just your head?”

  “I feel like I was struck by lightning.” I did a quick inventory of my body. Nothing hurt specifically, aside from my forehead. I just felt achy all over.

  He lifted his hand. “Is your vision blurry? How many fingers am I holding up?”

  “Two.” I pushed his hand down.

  His hand popped back up, one digit pointed at the ceiling and he moved it slowly back and forth. “Can you follow my finger?”

  “Stop it,” I said, swatting his hand away once more. “I’m fine.”

  He stared back, lips downturned. “You could have a concussion. I’m a trained medic, now stop fussing and start cooperating, or I’ll take you to the hospital.”

  “A medic?” What was this, World War II? I piped down and let him check me over. I’d been a regular patron of emergency rooms while following Wyatt and his friends with the rodeo, and I’d taken several first aid courses to prepare myself for assisting injured cowboys, so I knew Grady was right. I also knew what a concussion looked like, and I was pretty sure I didn’t have one.

  When he finished his exam, he relinquished his too-close stance by an inch. “Then tell me what you remember.”

  I rubbed my forehead. “I remember you were at the door.”

  “Wrong.”

  I dropped my hand. “You weren’t at the door? Someone was.”

  “No. When I got here, the door was open and you were on the ground. I thought you fell down the steps and broke your neck.” He rubbed a heavy hand over his face. “It wasn’t me at the door. What else can you remember?”

  I forced my addled mind to recall something else, any detail that might be useful. “There was a bright light. And pain.” I wrinkled my nose. “A ton of pain, and it still hurts.” A tear slid down my cheek.

  Grady’s face went from red to eggplant-colored. “So you didn’t fall. Someone did this to you.” He reached for me again, running his broad hands over my head, face, and neck. He moved a palm to my torso and I winced. “Did that hurt? Can you take a deep breath? You might’ve bruised your ribs in the fall. Can I take a look?”

  I chewed my lip. “This feels like a game of doctor I played once in middle school.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Just let me see.”

  “That’s exactly what he said.” I took a deep breath to clear my head, wincing from the pain. “Okay, but don’t look.”

  Grady made a face. “What? How can I see but not look?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t think straight.”

  Grady dialed his phone and stood up, pacing the floor.

  I watched him until a tidal wave of anxiety hit, and I tipped forward to place my head between my knees. This was the worst day ever. Bad. Bad. Bad.

  “She was attacked,” Grady barked into the phone. “Right inside her front door. Where the hell was that patrol I asked for?”

  Attacked. The word brought everything together. “I was attacked?”

  Grady shot me a look.

  “Someone attacked me,” I said, covering the goose egg with both hands.

  Grady finished his call and returned to the couch. “Stop saying that. I get madder every time I hear it. Try to remember what happened, because I sent you a text when I was leaving Lucinda’s to make sure you got home safely. Then I got a response saying you had something you thought I’d like to see. Ten minutes later you were out cold.”

  “I remember that,” I said. I hadn’t until he said it, but I knew it was right. “I don’t know what it was that I wanted to show you, though.”

  “I didn’t see any signs of a break-in downstairs,” he said. “This place is as neat and tidy as mine ever is, and I’ve got someone tending to it. Your door wasn’t damaged. Your television and computer are here. I don’t think it was a robbery. I suppose that even you don’t have that bad of luck.”

  I stared at his boots resting on my soft carpeting, and a fuzzy memory took shape. “My maps!”

  I jolted to my feet, then sat immediately back down, palm on forehead.

  “Sit still.” Grady went to my kitchen and filled a glass with ice water. He set it near the fridge and took a bag of frozen peas from the freezer, handing it to me. “What were you playing doctor for in middle school? Didn’t you know better by then?”

  I put the peas against my forehead. “I was a late bloomer.”

  He pushed the glass of water in my direction with a lazy half smile. “Drink up. Hydrate.”

  I sipped gingerly at first, then gulped the glass dry.

  Grady’s expression turned sad. “I can’t believe I let this happen to you.”

  I set my hand on his arm to comfort him. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  He searched my face with keen cop eyes. “Let’s start again.”

  “Okay,” I agreed, pulling my thoughts back together.

  “This doesn’t look like the scene of a robbery, but you said something is missing? Your maps?”

  Oh, right. I moved my hand away. Being knocked over the head was rough on a brain. “There was a box of blueprints and a few maps of Charm outside Mr. Paine’s house, so I brought them home. I swear they were with the other trash and donations. A totally legal find.”

  Grady pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “I knew that was your lemon cake at the party. That’s why I texted you. When I couldn’t find you, I assumed you’d left. Just marched out into the night like some lunatic hasn’t been tearing up your café and making threats on your life all week.” He dropped his hand and leveled me with a pleading stare. “Why would you even go over there? Lucinda told me she wanted a restraining
order against you. I told her she had insufficient grounds, so now I’m on her blacklist too.”

  A flimsy wave of guilt swept through me—mostly for crashing her party. It was just bad manners.

  I wasn’t even sure where to begin explaining why I’d gone to Lucinda’s. I had about a dozen reasons in my head and heart. “For starters,” I said, sighing, “I wanted folks to know I hadn’t done anything wrong, and I wasn’t afraid to show my face at Mr. Paine’s life celebration. I even brought the cake as a show of goodwill. And if I’m being honest, I was angry that Lucinda would have the nerve to threaten me when I haven’t given her reason. I’ve never given anyone reason to threaten me. I hate bullies. So what if I found her ex-husband on the night he died? That’s all I did. It wasn’t wrong, it was happenstance. Also, I tend to do things without thinking. Sometimes. I’m working on it.”

  Grady moved his head in slow deliberate nods. “So going to Lucinda’s had nothing to do with snooping or eavesdropping?”

  “I listened a little,” I admitted.

  He circled a wrist in the universal symbol for move it along. “Keep talking. Tell me the part where you stole out of the trash.”

  I gave him a grade-A stink eye. “You can’t steal trash. I brought that stuff home and unrolled all the maps and blueprints on my floor.” I gave the expanse of empty carpeting a long look. All that remained of my elaborate setup were the romance novels scattered across the floor. “I used those books to hold down the corners.”

  I took a few cleansing breaths to clear my mind and moved the bag of peas from my pounding head to my aching side. “Everything feels like it happened in a dream.” I caught Grady’s eye. “This was my fault, not yours. I’m stubborn, and impulsive, and I can’t listen to a proper warning, apparently. It has nothing to do with you.”

  His eyes bulged. “I’m the town’s only detective. This is the town’s only homicide investigation. In what twist of reality is this not about me?”

  “First of all”—I flicked a finger in his direction—“stop yelling at me.”

  He ground his teeth.

  “I had no way of knowing any of these awful things were going to happen, okay? I started out trying to do the right thing. I wanted to clear my name because you implied that my tea was poisoned on the night Mr. Paine died, and I wanted to get him justice because he didn’t deserve what happened to him, so I started asking my own questions. You”—I paused for dramatic effect—“were only looking at me as a suspect. How could you find the real killer like that? Within twenty-four hours I was getting shoved into marshes and threatened with cryptic messages written in sunscreen. I couldn’t quit then. If the killer already knew what I was up to, it was only a matter of time before I would end up like Mr. Paine. So I pushed harder, figuring once I knew who the killer was and had them put in jail, I’d be safe. That part isn’t going as fast as I’d hoped. Trust me. I’d like to let this go, but I’m already in past my knees.”

  Grady looked at my knees. “I’ve already told you you’re off my suspects list, so you can strike that one from your excuse arsenal. As for the marsh, the sunscreen, and the break-in at your café, I’d say being attacked at your front door is a clear escalation and continuing to pursue this is going to land you in the hospital, or worse. So, you need to back off.” He rolled his shoulders and massaged the muscles there with a grimace. “I don’t even know why you mentioned your knees.”

  “In past your knees,” I repeated the phrase more slowly, waiting for him to get it. “You know.” I patted them for clarity.

  “I know what knees are.” He lowered himself onto my couch and dropped his head over the back.

  “It’s a water thing.” I folded my legs beneath me and twisted to face him. “At first you just want to get your feet wet. Test the temperature. No big deal, but it feels good, so you take a few steps and the waves get the bottom of your dress or your rolled-up pants wet, so you figure, oh well. And you stand there while the waves pull the sand from beneath your feet until the next thing you know, you’re wet up to your knees, and at that point, you’re already halfway in. So, you might as well dive headlong through the next wave and just enjoy it.”

  He turned his tired face in my direction. “That was very descriptive.”

  “Thanks.” I considered my situation. “Are you any closer to knowing who did it than you were when we met?”

  “Yes.” He answered without hesitation, and there was no doubt in his tone. He locked his gaze on mine. “I can get this case wrapped up if you’ll let it go. What I can’t do is solve a murder and look after you at the same time. After an attack like this, I’m going to have a hard time not looking in on you as much as I can. You have no idea what it was like to see you lying there at the bottom of the steps like that.” Emotion flashed in his eyes.

  “How about we strike a deal?” I offered. “I’ll do my very best to stay out of this from now on, but I just remembered I have something you’ll want to see.”

  “How can I know you’ll keep your word?” he asked.

  I drew an X over my heart.

  “Not good enough.”

  “I came back to Charm for a new start, and I’ve got stuff I want to do with my life. I won’t do anything to mess it up.”

  “What kind of stuff?”

  “I’d like to make Sun, Sand, and Tea a success,” I said. “I want it to be one of those places that tourists tell other people about. Like, ‘Oh, if you’re anywhere near Charm, you’ve got to stop for some sweet tea at this little shop on the boardwalk.’”

  He smiled.

  “I’d also like to find my soul mate and get married on the beach, surrounded by wild horses.”

  His gaze darted to the array of cowboy-covered books on my floor.

  I kept going, lifting one hand to tick off my list with my fingers. “I want to host my own cooking show and teach people how to make authentic Southern sweet tea. Maybe have a couple of daughters. And a dog. Maybe a cat.” Where was Maggie, anyway? And why was I telling Grady such personal things? My mouth opened again before I could stop it. “I want to grow old rocking my grandkids on that porch and telling them crazy stories about how I met their grandpa and how wild their mother was as a child.”

  Grady furrowed his brow. “You don’t want a son?”

  “Swan women usually have girls,” I said. It was an unintentional, unrehearsed, knee-jerk response that had been drilled into my head for nearly thirty years. I shrugged through a blush. “That’s silly. I know. My family has all these crazy ideas. Legends. Unusual history. And I say I don’t believe it, but you ask me something simple like that, and I tell you exactly what I’ve always been told.” I groaned, moving the peas back to my head. “I’ve never considered having a son because I’ve always assumed I won’t. Swan women have daughters. We’re also cursed in love, so my dreams of growing old with my husband are just that—dreams. I guess I’ll have to be content with a successful business and a cooking show.”

  Grady stretched long legs out in front of him. “Don’t most people have nice family stories? Tall tales of amazing feats designed to teach younger generations something like perseverance or morality?”

  I smiled, realizing for the first time that all the Swan stories were new to him. “It gets worse. We aren’t cursed to never find love. That would be too easy. No, we always find it, and we’re blissful for a while, until the unlucky man succumbs to an untimely and occasionally gruesome death, or leaves us forever.” I pulled my phone from my pocket and opened up the photos.

  Grady pulled his chin back. “Wow.”

  I shot him an I-told-you-so look and changed the depressing subject. “Here.” I pushed my phone in his direction with a picture of an unrolled map center-screen. “The blueprints were all stamped with Sam Smart’s company logo, and I just learned that he’s a fraud and embezzler. I think he might have been working with Mr. Metz on something and
Mr. Paine got involved.”

  Grady didn’t respond to my revelations. He swiped through the collection of photos I’d taken, enlarging some, bypassing others. “I need copies of these.” He accessed my Share feature without asking and emailed the files to himself. “So, what happened to your dad?” he asked, daring a glance in my direction as he worked. “Was he a victim of the Swan curse?”

  “Sudden, massive heart failure. Age thirty-six.”

  Grady cringed. “I’m sorry.”

  “I wasn’t born yet.”

  “Your mom?”

  I’d nearly forgotten I’d already told him about my parents. “The doctors said it was postpartum depression. My great-aunts say it was a broken heart.”

  His expression crumbled further.

  I clamped a hand over my mouth. Why couldn’t I stop talking?

  Grady returned the phone to my lap and gave my other palm a squeeze. “It’s like I always say. We can’t choose our families.” The thick, gravelly tone in his voice made me think there was a heavy meaning behind those words. What was wrong with his family?

  The defrosting peas began to drip down the front of my pretty dress. “Do you mind if I shower and change before you leave? I’m not ready to be alone.”

  “Take your time.” He drew his phone from his pocket and tapped the screen to life. “I’ve got plenty I can do from right here.”

  “Thanks.” I returned the peas to the freezer, then headed for my room. I stood under the steaming hot shower until my skin was pruney. Afterward, I dabbed a little lip gloss on and gave the mascara wand a couple swings before leaving the bathroom. I stepped into my comfiest pajamas and went to find Grady.

  He was already on his feet when I reemerged. He did a double take and smiled. “There are ponies on your pants.”

  “I like ponies.”

  His smile grew wider. “You’ll have to come by the house after we get the stables built.”

  “The what?” I stammered.

  “Stables. It’s where we keep the horses. Stop me if it starts to sound familiar.” He broke into a gentle laugh.