Live and Let Chai

by Bree Baker

  “Yeah, like a fool,” the other added.

  My hands slid off my hips to hang loosely at my sides. “You did?”

  “Yeah, dude. We remember because we were digging your hair, you know? We were on the beach getting sand.”

  “You were?” I touched one hand to my silky headband. “I remember seeing two boys on the beach that night.”

  “Us,” they said in unison, patting their narrow chests.

  I turned my face toward the surf, bringing the memory of their silhouettes to the forefront of my mind. I’d hoped then that they wouldn’t have seen what had happened, much less recognize me, but now I wanted to hug them. They must have seen my attacker! And if they recognized me from that distance, maybe they recognized the other party too. I was ready to make a trade—their anonymity in exchange for my assailant’s name and a good faith promise never to mess with Amelia’s libraries again. I spun back to them. “Can you describe the person who pushed me?”

  Their footfalls beat a rhythm in the distance, already several yards away.

  “Hey!” I took off after them. “Stop! Don’t run!” I sprinted for at least ten seconds, then jog-walked until spots danced in my peripheral vision and one calf cramped up.

  “Jeez,” I panted, bending forward to brace sweaty hands on shaky knees. I gulped air through a tight, painful windpipe, bending my knees and lowering myself to the ground, trying to convince myself not to roll onto my back and die.

  I am in terrible shape.

  No wonder my Git Fit was usually so disappointed in me.

  I shifted to one hip and worked my phone free from my pocket, dialing Amelia. In between raspy pants, I provided her with the description of her vandals and regaled her with the story of my grand, heroic attempt to capture them. We laughed until I was in tears, and she agreed to pick me up because there was no way I could walk or bike home. Plus, she said she’d join me at the police station. Thanks to my partial success tonight, she now had a report of her own to file.

  Chapter Twenty

  I met Amelia on Ocean Drive, across the marsh from the boardwalk. I’d collected my abandoned bike and walked it to the road. She stuck the Schwinn in the backseat of her convertible and headed for the police station.

  “Thanks,” I told her, checking my face in the visor mirror. I’d laughed my mascara down to my teeth and my lipstick was smudged all over my hands from trying to shut myself up as I’d snorted in hysterics.

  Amelia turned onto Sand Street at the light. She slid a mischievous gaze in my direction while I wiped the lipstick onto a tissue from her glove box. “You really asked for their names so you could turn them in?”

  “Yes!” I started laughing again. “I don’t know what comes over me sometimes. I don’t think, I just act, and it gets me into so much trouble. You’d think I’d learn.”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I like that you can just do things.” She sounded as if she thought impulsivity was a goal and not a curse. “I get all paralyzed with fear and anxiety until I can’t decide what to do, so I usually just go read a book.”

  “Reading is good.”

  “I guess. What do you do when you get upset? Probably charge into battle.”

  “Ha. I cook. Then I eat.” I gave her a sad smile. “We all have our things.”

  We passed Charming Reads, and Amelia slowed. “The light’s still on at my shop. Do you care if we stop? Sometimes Dad falls asleep and people just keep coming in.”

  “Not at all.”

  A familiar SUV was parked at the curb outside Blessed Bee.

  My aunts closed up at five most days, so the curbside parking was mostly for Sandy’s Seaside Sweet Shack at this hour: Grady was getting ice cream.

  He’d stood me up at Sun, Sand, and Tea, and hadn’t returned my key. And now that I was on my way to find him, he was out having fun.

  When Amelia climbed out of the car, I joined her. “Hey,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

  She shrugged. “Meet you back here in ten?”

  “Perfect.” I marched along the sidewalk, propelled by purpose and partially carried on the scent of fresh-baked waffle cones and homemade hot fudge. I stood at the patio’s edge, scanning faces and preparing what I wanted to say.

  A thin hand popped into the air and waved. I followed the arm down to a pretty young blond I recognized as Denise, the au pair. “Everly!” she waved. “Come! Sit!”

  I suddenly understood what Amelia had been talking about when she said she got too nervous to speak. Grady wasn’t there, and I had no idea what to say to Denise.

  I peeked behind me, hoping Amelia was done already and waiting at the car, giving me an excuse to turn around and leave. No such luck.

  “Everly!” Denise called again. This time she stood, in case someone on the block hadn’t noticed her. Soft blond hair tumbled over her shoulders and covered the top portion of her flimsy tank top. It was cornflower blue, an exact match to the color of her perfect eyes. Her white skirt was pleated and her long, tan legs led the way down to little designer tennis shoes.

  I felt four hundred years old.

  Forcing a big smile, I pretended to finally see her.

  She sighed in relief, then pushed the empty seat beside her away from the table so I could sit.

  As I crossed the crowded patio, I spotted Denver sitting beside Denise, his big gray eyes fixed on a pile of sprinkles sliding down a strawberry river. Vanilla iced cream puddled in the bowl around his melting sundae.

  I couldn’t bring myself to sit. “How’s that ice cream?” I asked Denver. I would’ve asked Denise, but all she had was a bottle of water.

  “Good.” He positioned his face over the cup and lapped at it like a dog.

  “Oh.” Denise leaned over the table. “Careful now. It’s good to eat, but you probably don’t want to wear it.”

  Denver froze, his expression full of wonder. “You can wear ice cream?”

  “No!” Denise laughed. She crumpled a napkin and tossed it at his sticky face. “Silly.” The love she had for him was written in her gentle smile.

  “You’re really good with him,” I said. “It’s nice.”

  She beamed. “Well, Denny and I’ve been pretty tight since he started preschool. We go way back.”

  Denver threw the napkin back at her, a little more chocolatey than it had arrived. “Don’t call me that. I hate Denny.” He made a face. “It’s a restaurant. I’m a man.”

  Denise leaned away and crossed her arms. “Well, that’s true, but I wish we could find you a nickname. Every sweet, adorable boy needs a cool nickname.”

  “How about Bruce?”

  I laughed and squatted beside him, immediately drawn in. “I like it. Just like Bruce Banner.”

  His mouth fell open. “Yeah,” he said. “No one knows Hulk’s real name.”

  I didn’t argue, because I liked the awestruck look on his face too much. “I know a lot of his secrets.”

  Denver quirked a sun-lightened eyebrow. “You’re Daddy’s friend.”

  I glanced at Denise. “I think so.” Though Grady could have at least called me today, knowing it was after eight and I still hadn’t given my statement at the station. What if something else had happened to me? I mean, wasn’t he just going on about how keeping me safe was a huge distraction? “I’m Everly.”

  “I remember,” he said. “Where’d you get a name like that?”

  “It’s a family name,” I said. “Where’d you get a name like Denver?”

  “It’s my Grandma’s name, and she’s a giant big deal.”

  “Your Grandma’s name is Denver?” That seemed unusual, but kind of quirky and interesting.

  Denise sat forward, wiping his face with sudden gusto. “Look at this. You’ve got a little something.”

  He spat at the napkin roving around his mouth. “Stop!” He wi
ggled and fussed until she relented. “Yuck!”

  Denise gave him a pointed look, then turned a smile on me. “Are you going to get something? You’re welcome to sit with us if you are. We could talk about horses,” she suggested. “Denver loves horses.”

  “Me too,” I said. “I really can’t stay. I’m headed to the police station with a friend, and I’m supposed to meet her in a minute.” I checked the street again, in case Amelia was already waiting.

  Mr. Metz came into view, strolling casually along the sidewalk with a rolled blueprint in his hand, waving it at a man I knew from his construction crew at the colonial on Bay View. Thankfully, he wasn’t yelling as loudly as he had been earlier. Then again, the white noise of fifty sugar-buzzed people helped cover most sounds.

  He turned and looked in my direction, so I dropped into the previously rejected seat. “Maybe I could sit for a minute,” I said, smiling brightly at Denise.

  “Great.” Her brows tented as she scanned the area to see what had changed my mind. “Grady’s supposed to meet us here soon.”

  “What?” I asked. “When?” I couldn’t be caught having ice cream with Denise and Denver. It’d look like I was stalking Grady, or prodding them for information. Grady was sure to have an opinion about me running into them, and his opinion was guaranteed to be negative.

  I stood up again.

  Denver stopped his spoon halfway to his mouth. “Where are you going now?”

  I glanced in Metz’s direction. I still hadn’t had a chance to tell Grady about the injury Metz had from all that head-busting.

  Metz was gone, but Grady was making his way through the crowd on the patio.

  “I’d better get back to my friend.” Hunching down, I hoped Grady wouldn’t see me and squeezed past a table of teenagers. “Talk to you soon,” I called. I fled the crowded patio by way of an access gate, landing gracelessly in the alley the shop shared with Blessed Bee.

  I watched as Grady greeted Denise with a smile and Denver with a giant hug. The boy stood on his chair and leapt into Grady’s arms. My heart did a nonsensical flip. A moment later, Grady looked in my direction and so did Denver and Denise.

  Someone had tattled.

  I ducked and crouch-jogged back to the road where I’d left Amelia and her car and rounded the corner to safety—only to come face-to-face with Mr. Metz, climbing into his car.

  His thick brows bunched together.

  I waved. “Hello again.”

  “What were you doing in that alley?” he asked.

  I forced myself to look natural. “Nothing.” I moved past him, turning my back to Blessed Bee in an attempt to put a few more inches between the irritable giant and myself.

  “Were you eavesdropping?” His voice was low and thick, an unspoken threat slicing through the words. He slammed his door shut, then took a step away from the car. “Are you following me?”

  “I was just getting ice cream,” I told him over one shoulder as I picked up my pace. “I’m meeting a friend. I have to go.” I turned and ran for Amelia’s car at the end of the block.

  Thankfully, she was already behind the wheel. “Go!” I yelled, jumping into the car and yanking the door shut behind me.

  She looked up from the book she was reading. “Why are you all sweaty again?”

  “Fear.” I swallowed hard. “I saw Mr. Metz yelling at some of his men and waving a blueprint. Then he saw me sneaking out of an alley, and now he thinks I’m stalking him. What if he’s the killer and I just made him really mad?”

  Amelia dropped her book on the console, jamming her car into drive. She headed back down Main Street to Middletown, breaking the posted speed limit all the way to the police station.

  The officer behind the desk put us in separate rooms to complete our reports. I asked for more paper twice and stuffed the sheets I’d scribbled on into my purse, thankful they couldn’t see every version I’d written.

  I’d had no idea how hard it was to state only the facts, especially when I didn’t have any. Mostly, I wrote three pages of personal observations, things like what I’d taken from the curb outside Lucinda’s house, and how it felt like someone followed me home, but I couldn’t substantiate that. I admitted the feeling might’ve been because I’d seen someone in the upstairs window when I left the party, but I couldn’t say who they were or if they could identify me from that distance.

  Mine was a useless report, more or less. I got home. Got a text from Grady. Thought he was at the door, but instead I blacked out. Maybe Grady could at least use the time frame I gave; it was the only thing I was certain of. Once he had a suspect, the information might at least help pin them with my assault.

  Amelia was in the waiting room with a book when I got there. “Finished already?” she asked.

  “I’ve been more than an hour.”

  She looked at the clock on the wall in confusion, then back to her book. “Wow. Okay. Let’s go.” She tucked a slip of paper between the pages and hopped to her feet. “I am really loving this book.”

  I felt lighter when I climbed into her convertible. We’d made our reports. The police would do the rest, and soon our troubles would be solved.

  Amelia reversed out of the lot, humming along to a country song playing softly on the radio. I watched her cheerful expression. She made life look easy. “I know it’s shameless,” she said, “but I love this car so much.”

  I laughed. “Who wouldn’t? It’s adorable, and it fits you perfectly. Every beach babe needs an open-air ride.”

  Amelia’s eyes went wide and her smile became jubilant. “When you get your golf cart, we should paint it to match your wagon and bike.”

  I loved this woman. “That sounds perfect. I was thinking of making delivery an option so folks who can’t get away from their desks could still have something good for lunch.”

  “Better get two carts, then,” she added matter-of-factly. “You’ll need one for emergencies and another for your driver.”

  Right. I’d have to hire a driver.

  I didn’t have the money for one golf cart yet, let alone a second and an employee. “I’ll have to put a pin in this until business picks up.”

  “It’s fine,” she said, motoring carefully through town. “Business goals are supposed to challenge you. They seem like impossibilities until suddenly they aren’t. It’s then that you’ll realize how awesome you really are by seeing how far you’ve come. Trust me, I’ve been there a couple of times.” She turned onto Middletown Street, and my attention drifted out the passenger window.

  Lucinda’s home, the one I’d fled from less than twenty-four hours ago, was silent and dark now, no evidence the big shindig had ever happened. “Were you at Lucinda’s last night?” I hadn’t seen her, but it had been crowded.

  “No. I wanted to finish my book.”

  “No luck?” I asked. The book riding between us was only about three-quarters of the way read.

  She gave me a puzzled look. “No, I finished.”

  I lifted the book up. “Are you rereading the end?”

  She laughed. “Yeah, right. I started this book at breakfast.”

  “No way.” I dropped it back on the console. “I’m only on chapter seven of the book I borrowed from one of your libraries two days ago.”

  “Well, reading is practically my job, and you’ve been busy. Speaking of that, where are you on the investigation? I meant to ask earlier when you jumped into the car, but I thought we were being chased to the police station.”

  I heaved a sigh. “I’m nowhere, and I promised Grady I’d leave it alone.” I filled her in on every theory I had before we made it to my place.

  We rocked to a stop in the grassy area beside my house. “Jeez Louise,” she gasped. “You could write a novel with all this crazy! You can’t make this kind of stuff up. You’ve been home three months and this town has seen more action th
an it has in a decade.” She unlatched her seat belt and swiveled to face me.

  I frowned. “I just hope no one thinks any of the recent chaos has anything to do with me.”

  It would be interesting to look up local articles from the months following Grandma’s return from Hollywood and see if she’d also triggered a crime spree. If so, I might be inclined to think harder about my aunts’ theories.

  “Some of it is a little your fault,” Amelia said. “Not Mr. Paine’s murder, but the threats against you. No one else would’ve gotten involved, but you’ve been deep in this from the start.” Amelia dug into her purse and produced a pink stun gun.

  I nearly rolled out my door. “What are you doing?” I stumbled back in the grass, putting several feet between myself and the weapon. How could Amelia be the murderer? It wasn’t possible! “Don’t do this!”

  Amelia looked as if I’d slapped her. “I’m going to walk you upstairs,” she said. “It’s dark, except for your porch light. Do you seriously think I planned to hurt you?”

  I pursed my lips and rocked my head side to side.

  She raised her hands, palms out, then put the stun gun into her glove box. “Sorry. I should’ve told you what I was doing first, and I should’ve known you’d freak out. You’ve been through a lot.”

  I waited, unsure of whether I could trust her.

  “You should probably leave a television and some lights on when you go out so people will always think someone’s home. At least, that’s what all the cops in my novels tell women.”

  “Is that what you do?” I asked, regaining my nerve slightly.

  She shrugged. “I live over a bookshop, so I’m not in any real risk of a break-in. Readers are generally pretty honest people.” She turned her phone over and dialed 911, then hovered her thumb over the call button. “There. Now we can at least call for help if there’s trouble.”

  I followed her to my door in body, but my mind was back at her car—specifically in her glove box. “How long have you had a stun gun?”

  “Since college. I upgraded from pepper spray after a girl was assaulted outside the campus gym.”