by Cara Malone
Marigold watched Cyn’s truck fly out of the parking lot and turn the corner around the building. As the clock finished its twelve bells announcing the hour, Mari laughed to herself and put her fingers to her lips. Ever since Cyn pulled her into that very welcome kiss in the library, she felt like she was floating a few inches above the ground. She glanced down and that’s when she noticed a single, carefully polished loafer laying in the gravel at her feet.
Cyn must have dropped it as she was changing into her boots and it made Marigold smile because it meant Cyn had been just as flustered about the whole evening as she was. Mari picked up the shoe and carried it back into the house, placing it in a woven basket beneath the console table in the foyer for safekeeping.
This just means I'll have to see her again, she though, and that was an idea she liked very much, even as she admitted to herself that the timing was terrible.
Her whole life, Marigold had never given much thought to her love life. She dated a little in college, but as soon as her feelings for someone started to interfere with her work at Grimm House, she had no problem cutting ties and getting back to work. Running this place was all she ever wanted and she didn’t mind making sacrifices in the name of that goal.
Now, on the eve of her father’s retirement, her head was dizzy with thoughts of Cyn’s lips on hers.
Marigold stood in the hall outside the grand ballroom, carefully smoothing the tulle of her dress to erase any evidence of her library tryst. Marigold planned to have a wife and family someday, but now was the worst possible time to fall in love.
She stepped into the ballroom and her father called from across the room, "Ah, there's my beautiful princess."
He waved her over. He was standing with Emily and Ryan, as well as the mayor of Grimm Falls. Marigold’s cheeks burned with a sudden swell of shame – how could she have taken time out of such an important event to make out with a woman who, for all intents and purposes, she’d just met this morning?
How could I not? the more carnal parts of her brain fired back.
Emily weaved her way through the crowd to retrieve Mari. She took her hand, then asked with a wry smile, “What happened to your gloves?"
Mari looked down at her bare hands, noticing their absence for the first time. They were probably still draped over the arm of her favorite leather chair in the library, where Cyn had left them after she slowly, sensuously peeled them from Marigold’s hands.
“They were too difficult to eat with,” Marigold fibbed. “I took them off.”
“It wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain attractive firefighter, would it?” Emily asked, leaning her head in close to talk confidentially to Mari. “I saw you two leave almost an hour ago.”
"No, of course not," Marigold objected. She brushed down the tulle one more time just to be sure it was in place, then adjusted her wristwatch so the face was perfectly centered. “I was dealing with the caterers.”
“Liar,” Emily said, grinning. They were almost to Mari’s father and the mayor, and she added quickly, “I think the two of you would be a good match. Don’t shut her out.”
Mari had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. They’d been working together so long, Emily thought she knew her better than Marigold knew herself. That included making attempts at mind-reading, which were particularly annoying when they were accurate.
“Hi, how’s everyone doing?” Marigold asked as she approached the group, putting on her best, pearly smile.
"We were beginning to wonder if you were ever coming back," Ryan said as Mari reached out to shake the mayor’s hand. He was an older gentleman with pure white hair, known for playing Santa Claus in the city’s annual Christmas play.
Mari gave Ryan a toothy smile and said, “You know how these big events go. Someone always needs something.”
"Well, it’s getting late,” her father said. “I was just about to thank everyone for being here. Perhaps you’d like to sit at the mayor’s table?"
Marigold shot a charming smile at the mayor and said, “It would be an honor."
He escorted her to a table near the front of the room with an excellent view of the podium, and pulled out her chair. She sat, and Ryan claimed the empty seat on the other side of the mayor. He sat ramrod straight and kept his eyes fixed on the podium, and Marigold adopted a similar posture.
Game on.
Emily and Marigold’s father went to the front of the room. Emily took the podium first, moving the potted bluebell gently to the side to gain access to the microphone. She got everyone’s attention and waited patiently for the room to settle down. People returned from the bar and the dance floor, taking their seats, and then Emily turned the microphone over to Marigold’s dad. He buttoned his tuxedo jacket and stepped behind the podium, closing his large fists around the edge of the lectern and clearing his throat.
"I hope everyone has had a wonderful evening tonight,” he said. “I want to thank each and every one of you for being here to celebrate the work I've done at Grimm House. I also want to give a special thanks to my lovely daughter, Marigold, for putting this whole event together. I know what a burden party planning can be."
He paused for a polite round of applause and a lot of eyes turned to Marigold sitting beside the mayor. She nodded and gave a modest wave, and it didn’t escape her notice that Ryan’s name was conspicuously absent from her father’s thanks. He’d noticed how hard she worked, and how she’d done it all on her own.
"As you all know, I’m due to retire soon," her father went on. He grinned and said, "I am what you would call an old fart.” Everyone laughed and he paused again to bask in his joke. Then his demeanor became serious and Marigold’s heart began to beat a little faster. This is it. “My work here is nearly done, but Grimm House will continue to be a source of culture and history in our community. That’s in no small part thanks to the generosity and support of everyone here, as well as my own brilliant daughter, Marigold. She works tirelessly on the many events that Grimm House hosts every year, and I am sure that as I prepare to step down, the services we provide will continue to be integral to the community thanks to Marigold’s ingenuity.”
A hot flash rippled through her body as she prepared for the moment she’d been craving over the last ten years. Would he call her up to the podium to stand beside him as he passed her the reins? She wondered briefly if she might pass out from the anticipation alone.
No, that is absolutely not on the table, she thought. I am not going to pass out, I'm going to stand up and smile proudly because I deserve this moment.
Her father opened his mouth to speak again, drawing a deep breath, and then he said, "We've got a delicious dessert planned, I believe it’s a black forest cake from the Sweet Tooth Fairy bakery. Is that right, princess?”
Two hundred heads turned toward Marigold and she was working harder on maintaining her plastic smile than ever before as it dawned on her that her father was wrapping up his speech. Not a single word said about his retirement plans or the new management structure of the estate. All she could do was nod, so Ryan answered for her.
"That's right, black forest cake. I tasted it this morning and it's amazing."
Another ripple of laughter went through the room and then Mari’s father ended his speech with a round of applause. Mari felt stuck to her chair. She didn’t even clap – she was too stunned – and Ryan put his hand on her shoulder.
He didn't say anything - he didn't have to. Marigold wondered if he was going to wait until he got home to jump for joy, or excuse himself to the little boy's room and do it now.
Her father left the podium and the room began to stir with activity again. Some people headed back to the bar while others were aiming for her father to give him their congratulations personally. The army of waiters brought out dessert plates with the decadent black forest cake, and someone set one in front of Marigold, saying, "Here you go, miss.”
"Thank you," she said, trying not to feel too heartbroken. She’d lost the battle f
or some reason she couldn’t understand, but the war wasn’t over. As she watched her father work the room, accepting accolades from all his past business associates and his friends, she picked up her fork and stabbed her piece of cake.
It was covered in a thick layer of whipped cream and sprinkled with dark chocolate shavings. She closed her eyes as she slipped the bite into her mouth and the chocolate melted against her tongue. It really was amazing, and not a half-bad salve for the disappointment she was feeling.
"Marigold Grimm?" she heard someone ask behind her chair when she was several bites deep in the rich cake.
She’d given up on decorum, indulging in the moment, and there was cake and whipped cream stuffed into her cheeks. All she managed was, “Hmm?”
She turned around and saw a man in the dress blues of a police officer. He asked, "May I join you?"
Marigold swallowed, then sat up straight and set down her fork. She pointed to the empty chair beside her and said, “Please.”
"I'm not sure if we've met," the man said, extending his hand to her. "I’m Detective Steven Holt. I’m the fire investigator and I’m looking into the attack on your garden.”
“Oh, good,” Mari said, shaking his hand. "It’s nice to meet you. Is there anything I can do to help, Detective?"
"Yes, actually,” he said. He glanced down at the piece of cake on the table in front of him, left for the mayor, and asked, “Can I eat this?”
Mari reached across him and picked up the cake someone had left in front of Ryan’s chair, saying, “Here, this one’s all yours.”
“Thanks,” Detective Holt said, picking up a fork. “Anyway, I read the statement you gave the firefighters this morning. It was very helpful, and I noticed that it said you saw the perpetrator. It would be very helpful if you could come down to the police station so we can create a police sketch based on what you saw.”
“I’d be happy to,” Marigold said, “but it was dark, and I only got a glimpse of him. I’m not sure how much help I’d be.”
“Our sketch artists are very good at teasing out details," Detective Holt said, stuffing a large bite of Ryan's cake into his mouth. "Could you come to the station tomorrow and give it a try?"
"Of course," Marigold said. "I’m happy to be of assistance, and I want to thank you for looking into it."
"Just doing my job, miss," he said. He took another big bite, then held out his hand and said, "Thank you for your time, and for this lovely event."
He excused himself and Marigold went back to picking at her cake. She watched her father moving around the room, collecting congratulations on his as-yet undisclosed retirement. The sense of disappointment had been dulled a little by the sugar rushing through her veins, and by Detective Holt’s visit. It brought her mind right back around to Cyn again, and the impossibility of taking the chemistry between them further while also trying to balance brand new duties at the estate.
Of course, that didn’t mean she wanted to sit here in uncertainty, wondering when and how her father would pass the torch.
The next time she had a chance to talk to her father was about an hour later, when the first of the guests had begun to trickle out and they formed a receiving line in the foyer to see them out. She stood with her father, thanking people for attending and wishing them a good night, and when they had a moment alone, he said, "I know you were looking forward to me announcing something about my retirement tonight, princess, but the timing wasn’t right."
“I’m not trying to push you out,” she said. “You can stay as long as you like. I was just hoping to hear something concrete.”
“I’m still planning to retire, and soon,” he said, trying to reassure her. “I’m just not sure now is the right time to be making those decisions.”
Marigold knit her brow. Before tonight, it hadn't even occurred to her that this outcome was possible. The worst-case scenario had always been that she’d be saddled with Ryan.
"Why not?" she asked.
"I just want to make sure that we’re making the right move for all involved,” her father said. “I'll make my decision soon - you have my word on that. And I really did mean what I said in my speech – you did an incredible job with the party and you should feel proud of yourself for that. I know I do."
"Thank you,” Marigold said.
She knew he was proud of her, but she also knew she wouldn't be getting the restful sleep tonight that she had been craving – and her father's announcement, or lack thereof, wasn't the only reason.
As they stood in the foyer saying goodbye to their guests, her eyes kept going to the loafer sitting in the basket beneath the console table beside her.
Fifteen
Leveling Up
The empty swimming pool turned out to be the best stroke of luck he’d had in a long time.
It was in the side yard of a house with a sad, beat up real estate sign in the front yard. All the grass was dead from years of neglect, choked with weeds and killed off from draught. The house itself looked just as ready to be torched as the barn had been, with pieces of its clapboard siding split and rotting, and a hole in the roof that seemed to grow bigger every time he looked at it.
He’d get around to doing that job eventually, satisfying the itch to bring another dangerous structure down. But not now. Not with a perfect vessel like that pool just lying around, begging him to use it.
The house was in the middle of nowhere, on another county road several miles outside the city, where people rarely ever went. This used to be farm country, but people had long since moved into the hustle and bustle of Grimm Falls proper, and all the farmers had dried up just like their land.
He’d found this house one night when he couldn’t sleep and he just started walking – a full pack of Winstons in his pocket, one tucked between his lips. His feet led him here, and when he caught sight of the pool, he knew it was on purpose.
As good as it felt to strike the wheel of his lighter, to hear the crackle of flames biting into wood, and to send a message to Grimm Falls, the truth was that what happened at Grimm House was a little too close for comfort.
Marigold Grimm had seen him. She was three stories up and it was dark so he couldn’t say how well, but he ran out of there like his life depended on it, and then he spent the rest of the day waiting for someone from the police department to pound on his door.
He stuffed his favorite pair of work boots with the singed toes into the back of his closet. He thought about the alibi he’d give – he could say he picked up a late shift at work and no one would be the wiser. His boss never knew what half the guys were up to and as long as he filled out his time card to say he was working, then that was the truth. Then he thought about all the hasty mistakes he’d made in the garden, and imagined the questions the cops would have.
Marigold Grimm says she recognized you.
Is this your cigarette butt?
Are these your fingerprints on this gas can?
He should have wiped everything down, or at least worn gloves. He should have been smarter, but the itch had been too great and he gave in to the urge when the opportunity presented itself. If he wanted to torch the garden before the old man’s retirement, he had no choice but to work fast.
But no one ever came around and the more time he spent terrified of getting caught, jumping every time the elevator dinged in the hall outside his apartment, the more determined he was to avoid that panic in the future.
He still had a message to send, and he wanted to do that without ending up in the slammer. That meant taking it slow, planning his next moves, and being very deliberate in his actions. He already had his next target in mind, and he was beginning to think it should be his last. That was the lesson all those cop dramas taught you on TV – the longer you carried on and the cockier you got, the higher the chances were that you’d screw up somehow and end up in handcuffs.
It didn’t sound like the police department was having any luck pinning the first two fires on Braden Fox, and that meant he
had to be doubly careful not to leave any clues about his real identity.
That was why the pool was perfect - isolated, quiet, and contained.
He hated lugging those two heavy gas cans all the way to Grimm House, and the smell was nothing to write home about. The cans themselves were problematic, forcing him to either leave them at the scene or make an awkward escape with them thumping against his sides. He fully intended to learn from his mistakes, and the next fire was going to be his masterpiece.
That’s why he came out here with a half-dozen empty beer bottles, an old t-shirt, a funnel, a single gallon of gasoline in a repurposed milk jug, and a cheap bottle of vodka.
He crouched in the deep end of the empty swimming pool and pulled all the ingredients for a set of Molotov cocktails out of the duffel bag he’d slung across his chest.
He’d looked up the directions that afternoon – on a public library computer terminal because he wasn’t a blithering idiot. He put the funnel into the first bottle, filling it halfway with gasoline. He assembled the Molotov according to the instructions he’d found online, then stood up and took the lighter out of his pocket. He wasn’t feeling particularly itchy now – just excited, with a nervous quiver in his stomach.
He flicked the lighter and touched the little orange flame to the damp tip of the rag. It ignited quickly, and when he felt the heat on his hand, he chucked the bottle toward the shallow end of the pool. It exploded in a spray of gasoline and glass that scattered across the concrete floor and created a puddle of fire.
It burned for a pleasingly long time, sending black plumes of smoke into the sky. When the flames finally went out, he bent down to prepare another one.
Sixteen
Marigold
Mari hardly slept after the party was over, just like she predicted. It was well past midnight by the time the last guest left and she dismissed the staff, and then she lingered downstairs.
