by Sarah Kelly
Luis’ eyes softened under his wooly hat as they regarded each other in the rear view mirror. “No can do, mami. Sorry. I don’t have that much power. All I can say is have faith in the energy. It brought you here, to each other. It helped you build your investigator business. Ain’t your lives much better since magic came into them?”
India reflected for a moment. “Yes, very much so. Things haven’t always been easy. Like, all these different murder cases. But I feel much happier in myself. More grounded. Like I’m where I’m meant to be. At least, I feel that most of the time. Not right now, though.”
“You’ve gotta let go of this perfection thing,” Luis said. “You know, my mother wasn’t a witch, but she was a pretty wise woman. Do you know what she said?”
He left such a long gap that India had to say, “No. What did she say?”
“Looking for perfect is the fastest way to kill a darn good thing. Is your life perfect, India, Xavier?”
“No,” they both answered.
“But is it darn good?”
India looked at Xavier and him at her. Then she reached out her hand and slotted it into his. “Yes,” they said in unison.
Luis finished off his last fry and swiped his hands together. “Aha. Well, guys, it’s been a pleasure. Later.” And like that, he was gone and the back of the car was empty, except for his cheeseburger wrapper and half full drink cup.
“I’m here, In,” Xavier said. “You’re not alone.”
India smiled. “I know.”
CHAPTER 4
The next morning India sent a text to her dad, thanking him for the ride back to Sarah’s Bakery. By the time she and Xavier had returned from Fond du Lac the night before they were both already exhausted. She’d fallen asleep as her father had driven them to Abingdon Fork, and had wandered up the stairs to bed in a sleepy haze.
It was six in the morning, but the warm, comforting smell of doughnuts and cake and bread already wafted through the hallway when she opened her bedroom door. She guessed Sarah got up early everyday to have her wares ready for those who dropped in before their morning commute into Fond du Lac.
“Xavier?” India said through the honey colored wooden door.
“It’s open,” he replied from inside.
She took the black iron handle and found him sitting on the bed, fully dressed in a plaid shirt and jeans, writing in a notebook. “What’s that you’re doing, babe?” she asked, interested.
“Aha,” he said, swiping it away from her as she came to sit down next to him on the bed. “That’s for me to know, and for you to find out when you’re Mrs Bradford.”
India loved to hear that – Mrs Bradford. She leant forward and kissed him. “I can’t wait to be Mrs Bradford,” she whispered.
“And I can’t wait for you to be,” he said, and traced his finger gently along the curve of her ear.
They shared a quiet moment just sitting there. A bird chirped outside, sounding happy and optimistic about the future. India smiled. “Let’s go get some of Sarah’s delicious food for breakfast. What do you say?”
“I say that sounds like a plan. And some coffee,” Xavier said, getting off the bed.
“Yes, absolutely. Today, I think I’m going to refuse to even think before I get my caffeine fix.” She giggled, savoring the moment. She knew exactly what happened to a community when someone was murdered in their midst. Because she and Xavier were becoming rather more experienced in this area than either of them would ever have guessed, they could take it in their stride. But the shock reverberating through Abingdon Fork was just outside the door, India knew. If only she could keep it closed a few more moments.
As soon as they got downstairs and India saw Sarah’s face staring down at the dough she kneaded, it was obvious she knew already.
“Good morning,” India said, trying to sound cheerful.
Sarah started, then looked up and plastered on a smile. “Good morning. India. Xavier.” She couldn’t meet their eyes for long and soon was back frowning at her dough ball. “Please choose whatever you’d like for breakfast.” She kept casting glances up out the large front window at the street, like a murderer could be lurking outside at that very moment, peering into the bakery through the snow-frosted glass.
India wondered whether to say something, but decided it would perhaps be best to keep quiet. She looked at Xavier and he shook his head. It was much easier to gaze down at the pastries and breads and avoid the subject entirely.
“I’ll have that apple turnover, please,” India said. “And a mocha.”
Xavier gave Sarah a kind smile, though her eyes flickered all over the place and she barely glanced at him. “A croissant for me, please, with a black coffee.”
“All right.” She smiled, but her wave toward the corner was a little rough. India guessed she probably wanted to curl up in her bed and have a good cry, not face a twelve hour day of kneading and pouring and serving. India wondered how well she knew Mariette. The town seemed pretty close knit. “I’ll bring them over.”
“Thank you.”
India and Xavier took the same table, but that morning it wasn’t the same. There certainly was no comfort to bask in. Though the same Christmas lights flashed and the same sweet aroma permeated the place, the feeling of being wrapped up in a warm hug by invisible arms had seeped away.
A short and very slim man in a long black woolen coat, open to show the tight black suit underneath it, pushed the door open and clipped his way up to the counter in his shining brogues. “Good morning, Sarah,” he said briskly.
“The usual, mayor?”
“Yes, please.” As Sarah busied herself putting together his order, he turned to look at India and Xavier. His white face looked dry and somewhat tight, like he spent a great deal of time stressing about things, and not nearly enough time playing card games or watching comedies with his family or heading out for a drink and chat with friends. His black hair had a slick, straight part that increased the severity of his look. India had assumed Yasmin’s jet black hair was dyed, but given this was her father she wasn’t so sure. His eyes were startlingly blue and cold as ice.
“Hello,” India said.
“Hello,” he replied, standoffish.
Xavier, ever the Southern gentleman, stood up and offered his hand. “Hello, mayor. I’m Xavier Bradford. This is my fiancée India Kirby. We’re marrying in your church here on Christmas Eve.”
The mayor still looked wary, but took Xavier’s hand. “Kirby?” he said to India, though he kept his spot by the counter. “Any relation to Rose Kirby who helps at the church?”
“Yes, that’s my mother,” India said with a smile.
“Well, forgive me if I don’t stay and chat,” he said, in quite a nasty tone, “but I’m on my way to the sheriff’s office.”
India and her mother had met the sheriff, Ford Rhodes, the previous night at the crime scene. He’d come alone, had taken a couple of pictures and a quick statement from India. Other than being exceptionally tall and quite handsome, like an ageing war movie star, there was nothing particularly notable about him. India was impressed by his quiet, calm demeanor. It put her at ease that the case was in good hands, but that didn’t stop her brain from ticking away, making all kinds of guesses about what could have transpired and why.
Sarah slid a brown bag across the counter and a paper coffee cup. “Goodness, mayor. You’re not going to get mixed up in this, are you?”
She had obviously meant her comment in a good natured way, but he sniffed disapprovingly. “I’m the mayor of this town. I think it’s my duty to get involved. Besides, I have some pertinent information.” He took his brown bag and coffee in hand, and tipped his chin up in a haughty way, but did not leave. India smiled to herself, knowing he wanted to be asked what he knew.
Sarah, an obliging sort of person, quickly obliged. “Pertinent information?” Her eyes were as wide as saucers. “Did you see something? Oh yes, your house overlooks the parking lot in back, doesn’t it?”
Sarah had gone pale. “You mean to tell me… you might have laid your very eyes on the killer?”
“Indeed,” the mayor said, looking rather pleased with himself. Then he gave Sarah a scolding, teasing look. “Now, I can see you’re gagging to know. I won’t name any names, Sarah. And you did not hear this from me. But let us say that if people want to have their weddings planned in the future, they might have to do so the good old fashioned way, and do out with the ridiculous notion of wedding planners.”
India and Xavier stared at each other in alarm.
“It was Elise you saw?” India said, panicked.
The mayor practically waltzed out of the bakery. “Oh, is that her name? A pleasure to meet you.” Then he was gone.
“Oh my gosh,” India said.
Xavier shook his head. “No way. She was in there picking up our lapel pins, surely?”
“There’s no way she killed Mariette,” India said firmly. “No way.” Apart from anything else, she couldn’t believe the magic would be so cruel as to thrust that upon them. “I’m sure she didn’t.”
Sarah coughed. “I don’t think she did, either.” She got back to kneading. “But working in a bakery, you learn a lot about human nature. You hear a lot of things. See a lot of things. Marriages, divorces. New babies, people who used to come who pass away. Children growing up and having families of their own. People changing. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that as soon as you get sure about someone, they surprise you.”
***
“This is so surreal,” India said, clutching the basket Sarah had given them to her chest and wondering just how long it took cakes to freeze. The icy wind stung her face but the rest of her body was bundled up in so many layers the cold had no hope of penetrating through.
“I know.” Xavier shook his head. “I’m just trying to keep telling myself that the energy knows what it’s doing, like Luis said. And it’ll all work out for the greater good in the end.”
India sighed as they trudged along toward the sheriff’s office. “Why is it so hard to remember that, though? Like I can look back at my life and think of times where things were going really bad for me, but in the end they turned out good. Like before I came to Florida, I was going stir crazy up here and I felt like nothing would ever be good in my life again. But then things came good. And like when we were in Grenada, and we had that big argument because you knew I was hiding something. It was horrible, just horrible, but it was the best thing in the end, because I could tell you about my powers.” She took his gloved hand in hers. “So I know that good things do come out of sucky things. I know that. But somehow when some new sucky thing comes along, I totally forget, and I feel like things are always gonna be bad.”
“I know. I can think of my own example. Remember when I was in the police force and I had that horrible detective over me. Kimble?”
India laughed. “Oh my gosh, I haven’t thought about him for ages! He was so awful to you.”
“Right?” Xavier said. “And he knew just how bad I wanted to be a detective, and he blocked me from promotion. But that turned out to be the best thing ever, because it gave me the push I needed to start the business with you. And being a private investigator is the best thing I’ve ever done. Well, second to proposing to you.”
India leant over to kiss his cold face. “I think our mantra should be, good things can come out of bad things. If I don’t keep saying that over and over, I think I’ll go crazy.”
“Good things can come out of bad things,” Xavier repeated as they approached the sheriff’s office, a wide, flat stone building with snow heaped up on the roof. “I like that.” Then he held the door open for her and they went inside.
A man in his late twenties or early thirties sat at the front desk in a stone colored uniform, slouched over on one hand and watching what looked like a Christmas parade on an iPad. India noticed his coloring – ice blue eyes and jet black hair – and immediately knew which family he belonged to. “Jeffrey?” she said.
“Yes,” he said, tapping the iPad screen hurriedly to shut off the parade, but fumbling about and taking a while to do so. “It’s livestreaming,” he explained apologetically. “It reminds us of our childhoods, doesn’t it, all this nostalgic holiday stuff?” Before they could answer, he was pushing his hand through his black hair and looking up with an awkward expression. “Anyways, how can I help?”
“We were wondering if we could see Elise, please, sir,” Xavier said. “Miss Sarah from the bakery has sent us down with some food for her.”
Jeffrey looked doubtful, and was already glancing toward a back room. India guessed he was going to look for permission, and didn’t want him to. Ford Rhodes looked like the kind of guy who would whisper a quiet ‘no’ and no one would question it. “Besides,” she hurried to add, “she’s our wedding planner. We’re getting married at St Andrew’s on Christmas Eve, and we need to talk to her about everything. Our wedding might have to be canceled if we can’t get some instructions from her.”
Jeffrey looked toward the closed door, then back at them. “Well, all right. You can talk to her for five minutes. But I’m listening in. No funny business, right? And I’m going to have to look through your basket.”
India grinned and handed it over. “Careful. There’s a couple of AK47s in there. And a stolen sports car.”
“It’s not a laughing matter,” Jeffrey said, though the way he pulled his cheeks together as he looked down in the basket made it obvious he was trying not to smile.
“It’s just cakes and bread rolls from Sarah’s Bakery,” Xavier said. “In fact, why don’t you take one? There’s plenty in there.”
“Ooh, thanks,” Jeffrey said, picking out a cinnamon roll and placing it direct on the desk. “Sarah is a great baker.”
“That she is,” India said with a grin. “So, found any weapons of mass destruction, or can I have the basket back?”
Jeffrey rolled his eyes and fumbled with the keys on his belt, making a jangling sound. “You can take your basket, Miss Bo Peep. Let’s go.”
He came out from behind the counter, then unlocked a metal gate that stood in the way of a corridor. Then they headed down the corridor past a couple of empty cells. Elise was in the third, and when she saw them practically leapt to her feet, her eyes shining. “India! Xavier! I thought it was you I heard.”
“Hey, Elise,” India said. “I’m so sorry you’re in here.”
“I swear I didn’t do anything. I mean, no one really likes Mariette but you know I had no reason to kill her. And like, even if I did, I wouldn’t ever kill anyone. I’m more of a go home and cry it out sort of girl, I’ll be honest.”
“We know you didn’t do anything,” Xavier said soothingly. “We believe you.”
“But what about your wedding! I’ve asked and asked these people when they’re going to let me out, but Sheriff Rhodes hasn’t even got me in for questioning yet, and this one says they could keep me 72 hours without charge.”
“That’s Deputy Sheriff Snape to you,” Jeffrey said, puffing his chest out. He didn’t look like he meant it, only that he was obliged to establish some kind of authority.
Elise put her hand over her mouth. “Oh, sorry.”
Jeffrey looked relieved, like he wouldn’t have known what to do if she’d made a confrontation out of it. “It’s all right.” He gave a loose shrug, then turned to look out the barred window, slouching.
“Basical
ly, it would be your wedding by then,” Elise said. “Ugh. This is about the worst thing that could happen for my business right now. And for you, my clients, of course.”
India shook her head. “It’s not your fault. Why don’t you give us instructions and we’ll finish off the rest of the preparations?”
“Great minds think alike,” Elise said, her eyes lighting up again. She really did have the most expressive, dancing eyes. “I have a list all ready in my head. I was going to get my sister to do it, but if you’d rather do it yourselves…”
“We’re not scared of a little work,” Xavier said with a laugh. “We’ll do it.”
Elise looked over at Jeffrey. “Can I get a pad and pen in here. Please?”
“I already told you, you can’t have a pen or pencil,” he said, bored. “It’s a safety risk.”
“Or one of us can write it down?” India said.
“Ooh.” Xavier reached into his pocket and drew out the notebook India had seen his with before. He hurriedly flicked through some pages with writing on until he got to a blank one. Then he pulled a pen out after it. “Shoot.”
“Okay, first you need to get some replacement flowers. You’ll go to Julian Sawyer’s. He’s very capable, don’t you worry. Second only to… well, you know.”
“We know,” India said. “All right. We’ll go there first.”
“Perfect. For the red color scheme, you’ll want poinsettias, amaryllis…”
CHAPTER 5
“Yes, it is tragic,” Julian Sawyer said as he nibbled on a flower stem, frowning at the arrangement in front of him. He tried it in one position, sliding it into the green foam block, then sighing and pulling it out again. “Or perhaps poetic justice.”
His experimental floristry was evidently of an entirely different brand to Mariette’s ordered perfection, as was the place itself. It was vivid with color, with textured orange walls, dark wood beams, and color splashes of turquoise and teal, making India think of Mexico for some reason. Buckets, crates, boxes and containers of all kinds were in every which place, either blooming with flowers or ferns or cacti, or slotted together in teetering stacks. The whole place was vibrant with life, the crowding plants owning the place, and deigning mere humans a few inches of walkway between them.
