by Destiny Ford
“Okay,” she shrugged like it was no big deal.
“You’re not even concerned that you destroyed your computer?”
She waved a hand in the air like she was pushing the worry away. “All the files are on my little color-coded sticks. I’ll just make sure to keep the magnets away from them.” Unlike every other person in the world who called them flash or thumb drives, my mom called them “sticks.” She had her own language for a lot of things. It was hard to follow sometimes.
I pinched my nose and closed my eyes. “Great. Glad I could help. Now get me your “sticks” so I can show you how to transfer the files onto your laptop.”
Thirty minutes later, we were sitting in the kitchen with a plate of fresh chocolate chip cookies on the table, two glasses of milk, and the clothespin magnet that had done all the damage. I thumbed through the coupons the magnet had been holding, stopping on an ad for carpet cleaning. It had a very happy couple in white clothes, sitting on their white carpet, playing with a baby and a dog. Something about the ad seemed off, but it was probably the fact that the couple had a kid and a dog, but were sitting on a bright white carpet. Sane people chose carpet colors that covered stains.
I picked up a cookie. “Mmm,” I said, closing my eyes to enjoy the rich flavors of chocolate, and the nutty taste of the browned butter she’d used to make them. “These are so much better than the Saints and Sinners Cookies.”
I froze, realizing I’d said that part out loud. I squeezed open one eye to gage my mom’s reaction. She didn’t seem murderous—which was a surprise. But she didn’t seem giddy, either.
“I never did figure out what was in the darn cookies. Your dad made me stop trying after the Mustang died.” I liked how she said “Mustang died” as if she had nothing to do with the process of killing it. And my dad had made her stop trying because I told him to keep the cookies away from her no matter what. Who knew what other hallucinations she would have conjured up.
“Well, I have some news about that,” I said after taking a drink of cold milk.
Her eyes widened in anticipation. “What?”
“The judging wasn’t really fair. The cookies are laced with THC.”
Her brows pinched together in confusion. “Is that a new flavoring? Do I have to get it from a bakery supply store?”
I sighed at my mom’s innocence, and shook my head. “No, Mom. It’s marijuana.”
She gasped and almost fell right off her chair. She righted herself, but couldn’t stop shaking her head. “Those lying little cookie monsters! I knew they were hiding something. I knew it! No one’s treats are better than mine, especially those stupid Saints and Sinners Cookies. They weren’t even moist!”
I wasn’t sure what the proper moist ratio was for cookies, but apparently it was important. “Well, now you know.”
A vindicated look crossed her face. “Yes. Now I know. And I’ll be talking to the County Fair board as soon as possible to rectify the situation. That grand prize ribbon is mine!”
Her eyes were getting a little crazy and I thought the opportunity for vengeance might be going to her head. “You should wait until the story comes out about it in the paper tonight. That will be all the leverage you’ll need.”
“Oh,” she said, nodding her head. “I’ll wait. I’ll wait.”
She was scaring me a little, and I wasn’t completely convinced that my joke about a demon living in her computer had been off. I thought it might have jumped straight from the computer to her. The dancing must not have scared it. I heard the garage door go up and knew my dad was home. I could safely leave my mom—demon harboring or no—in his hands.
“In the meantime,” I said, putting my glass in the sink, “don’t eat any more of those Saints and Sinners Cookies.”
I don’t think she even heard me. She was still staring out the window, a wicked, pleased little smile on her face as I left the house.
I had no doubt a plan was forming in her head—and that I’d probably be hearing about it at some point on the police scanner.
I was walking into the office when I heard a loud rumble on the street. The engine sounded expensive. I turned my head to see a bright red Ferrari convertible. My eyes almost glazed over in envy. As the car passed, I recognized the driver. Kory Greer. He waved as he went by, and I tried to keep my mouth off the ground as I waved back.
Kory’s sugar factory had been in financial trouble less than four months ago, and now he was driving a brand new Ferrari? That must have been one hell of a contract he got to absolve all of his debts, and buy him that kind of car. I only knew of one other person in town who could afford a car like that—Hawke—and there was a good chance he killed people for a living. I made a mental note to check in with Bobby about the body, and see if I could find out more about Kory Greer.
When I went inside the office, Ella was sitting in the chair in front of my desk, eating a doughnut. “Heya, Katie!”
“Hey, Ella. Are you feeling better?”
She looked like she’d lost a little weight, but her eyes were bright, and she seemed like her normal, spritely senior citizen self.
“She looks a lot better than she did a few days ago, that’s for sure,” Spence said, coming out of his office to get a doughnut too. He’d gotten a few salted caramel flavors today. They were my second favorite next to the chocolate frosted with salty peanuts on top. I grabbed one too.
“Yep! All better,” Ella said as we sat around and ate our food.
“How did you get sick?” I asked.
“Not sure. It was the flu, I think. Didn’t want to eat for a couple of days,” she said around her bite of doughnut. Her appetite seemed to be back, at least. “I’m okay now, though.”
Knowing what Hawke had said about the symptoms of consuming too much pot, and my own research, I wondered if her diagnosis was actually the flu, or if she’d been eating too many cookies like most of the people in town. She was definitely a good Saints and Sinners customer. “Did you go to the doctor?”
“For the dang flu?” Her face scrunched up, making her look twenty years older than she was as she made a psshh noise. “Heavens no! Who goes to the doctor for somethin’ that can be taken care of with a little home remedy?”
Ella was a bit eccentric in general, so I wondered what her version of “home remedy” consisted of. “What do you make to get rid of the flu?”
“Hot toddy,” she said, taking another bite of doughnut. “My neighbor told me about ‘em and made me some. Calmed me right down. I’ve been drinkin’ ‘em all day for three days. Had a few before I came in.”
My eyes widened at the same time as Spence’s. If she’d been eating the cookies—and based on the huge bag that my mom had destroyed at the fair, I guessed that she had—mixing marijuana and alcohol wasn’t a good idea. Granted, she didn’t know about the pot, but given that she was Mormon, I was surprised she’d been willing to try a hot toddy as a remedy. “You know what’s in a hot toddy, right?”
She wrinkled her nose. “ ‘Course I do. Honey and lemon.”
Spence winged a brow. “And rum.”
Her mouth dropped and she made a noise that sounded distinctly like an engine trying to start. “Rrrrruuuuum?”
I nodded.
“That’s not possible,” she said, shaking her head.
“Yeah. It is. Though it could have also been brandy or whiskey, depending on your neighbor’s alcohol preference.”
Ella kept shaking her head like it was on a motor. “No. I would’ve tasted the alcohol.”
“Because you’re an expert on what alcohol tastes like?” I said mildly.
She narrowed her eyes. “I’ve lived an excitin’ life, Katie. There’s a lot a things I’ve tried.”
I raised a brow. “Still, the drink is designed so you don’t taste the alcohol. Who gave it to you?”
Her expression immediately shifted from aghast to angry. “That wicked little Thelma Bart.” Her eyes narrowed. “Oh, I’ll get her for this. She better watch ou
t. Good thing it was medicinal alcohol, or I’d have to tell my bishop.”
Ella turned and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Home. To plan my revenge.”
I shook my head and made it to the door in front of her. Which wasn’t hard since she was practically eighty, and was swaying from the toddy. “You’re not driving like this.”
She stared at me like she couldn’t believe I had the nerve to tell her what to do. “I’ll do whatever I darn well please!”
“You’re a hazard to society when you’re driving sober, Ella. I’m not letting you drive drunk.”
“I’m not drunk,” she said as she stumbled into the wall and pretended she was rearranging the pictures. “Okay. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to get a ride home.”
I smiled and took her keys.
After I made sure Ella was safe at home—and threw away the bags of Saints and Sinners Cookies I found all over her kitchen—I went back to work. I’d finished editing all of the stories I had so far for next week’s paper, and started the layout. I was enjoying the calm before the storm. I knew as soon as the article came out tonight and people realized they’d been duped into being doped, they’d go nuts.
My phone buzzed with a text message. I looked at the number. Drake. Great. The Ladies had probably informed everyone of Hawke’s overnight at my house, and now more rumors would be spreading like crazy. I was surprised my mom hadn’t mentioned it when I stopped by earlier. Surely, someone had called to tell her of her daughter’s evil ways, and berate her parenting skills.
I opened the text, fully expecting to get Drake’s rage. Instead, it said:
I can’t stop thinking about how beautiful you are.
My mouth fell open and my stomach started a little fluttering that wasn’t authorized at all. What the hell was wrong with him? This wasn’t our normal interaction. Usually there was banter, some innuendo, and we each left with a heightened state of awareness of each other and both mostly unsatisfied. This? This was…nice. What had possessed him to send something non-antagonizing? I could deal with snarky, arrogant, asshat Drake. Nice Drake was a lot harder to handle. Nice Drake made me melty.
Maybe he hadn’t heard about Hawke staying the night yet, and that’s why he wasn’t fuming. I wasn’t sure how to proceed. I sat staring at the text for a good ten minutes before finally texting back.
Thanks. That was…nice.
My phone buzzed again.
LOL! That sounded suspicious.
I smiled.
I’m always suspicious when you’re charming.
I’ll have to be charming more often.
I didn’t like that thought at all. If he was charming more often, my hormones couldn’t handle it.
I got dinner—a sandwich from the deli down the street—then went home and watched TV while I ate. Copies of the Tribune would be at the grocery store any minute, so I expected cookies were about to hit the fan.
I didn’t have to wait long.
“Forever in Blue Jeans” started blaring from my phone. “Hey, Spence.”
“The paper was delivered ten minutes ago and there are already fights breaking out at the grocery store.”
“Fights?” I didn’t expect people to fight over the newspaper. There were plenty of copies available.
“Over the cookies.”
I blinked. I wasn’t prepared for that reaction at all. “I thought people would be upset that they’d been eating cookies laced with drugs!”
“Some of them are, but I think a lot of people are upset with you for exposing the problem. People really liked those cookies.”
Sheesh! “I thought I was doing a good deed!”
“You know what they say about that.”
I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ve seen Wicked. I know how it goes.”
I picked up my keys and bag, and checked to make sure my camera was inside. “Okay, I’m going to the store now. I’ll let you know what happens.”
“Hopefully they won’t try to melt you.”
“Funny,” I muttered, and drove to the store.
I could barely find a parking place. I hadn’t seen the store this crowded since Twinkies died. Oddly, there wasn’t nearly as much interest when the Twinkies were resurrected. People just wanted to stock up once they realized there was a chance they might not be able to get them again. I expected that was the case now as well.
I walked into the store, noticing the mostly deserted aisles until I came to the one the Saints and Sinners Cookies were usually stocked on. It was utter mayhem. There were so many people crammed in the aisle yelling and shoving each other that I couldn’t distinguish one person from the next.
I stood on my tip-toes, trying to get a better vantage point. Shelves of the cookie aisle were completely bare, and cookies of all kinds were scattered all over the floor—cookie collateral damage. People were pushing and shoving each other, ripping bags of Saints and Sinners Cookies out of each other’s hands. One bag broke apart, and an entire group of people scrambled to grab them off the floor. They looked like wild animals descending on their prey.
Police officers were trying to quell the cookie riot with little success. They were being pushed around as much as everyone else, and I saw Bobby get slapped in the face with a macaroon. A bag sailed through the air, and frosted animal cookies rained down on the crowd. I stared as one woman used her purse to slap a guy upside the head. He staggered, but held onto his Saints and Sinners Cookies. She hit him again and he finally dropped the bag. She immediately grabbed the bag and ran out of the crowd to the check-out line. It said something that her moral compass didn’t seem to have a problem with treat-beatings, but running out of the store during a riot without paying was unacceptable.
I couldn’t believe my eyes as I watched the mayhem. This wasn’t a scuffle. This was snack-pocalypse.
I stepped back and started snapping photos, then taking notes. I wanted to talk to the police, but they were a little busy.
“There she is!” someone screamed.
I looked around for who they might be yelling at, and realized they were pointing in my direction. About two seconds later, I realized their target seemed to be me. Like zombies that had just found dinner, the crowd paused, then started moving toward me at a rapid rate of speed, moving as one. Unfortunately for me, the crowd seemed to move at World War Z zombie speed, not The Walking Dead.
“Oh shit,” I muttered under my breath. I started backing up toward the door as I reached into my purse, searching for my keys and phone.
Within seconds, I was surrounded. Some people were hitting me, others were pulling my hair, arms, and everything else. I was screaming for them to stop, and trying—unsuccessfully—to fight back. I remembered some of the self-defense moves Hawke had taught me, but those moves were typically only useful with one or two opponents, not an entire town.
I became vaguely aware of a roar coming from somewhere in the group around me. Then people started getting pushed and pulled away from me. Suddenly the whole wave of people stopped and everyone quieted. It was like the world had calmed. Either that, or I was dead…a distinct possibility. I couldn’t figure out why there’d been a decibel change until I saw Hawke step up behind me. He wrapped me in his arms.
“Let’s go, Kitty Kate.”
I nodded absently, and let him pick me up, and carry me out of the store.
“Are you okay to drive?” he asked, still holding me as he took me to my car.
I nodded again.
He put me down and took my keys from my purse, handing them to me, and then helped me into my Jeep. “I’ll follow you to your house.” I looked in the rearview mirror and saw him waiting for me to pull out of the parking lot before he got on his bike. Several people stood behind him staring at me with angry looks on their faces.
I shook my head as I drove away. The attack had been unexpected, and I knew I’d be sore tomorrow, but really, I was more stunned than hurt. I ca
lled Spence and told him he’d have to go cover the story because everyone in town seemed to want me dead. I suggested he wear body armor.
Hawke followed me into my house and went into the kitchen. I sat on the couch, still completely stunned. “I can’t believe they were mad at me,” I mumbled. “I really thought I was doing a good thing by exposing the pot cookies.”
Hawke came back and handed me a tall glass of orange juice and a pill. “You were. People will realize that eventually. They’re just upset they know about the problem now. Ignorance is bliss.”
I took the pill without really thinking about it, the sweet and tangy flavor of the orange juice rolling over my tongue. It was good, and I needed the sugar. “Now I’m going to be threatened by the entire town.”
Hawke winced. “I would have taken you to my house, but I thought it would be better if we were here so people would know you’re home—and I’m home with you—so they shouldn’t do anything stupid.”
“Yeah, you being home with me is going to cause problems. It’s probably already been posted on the Ladies Facebook page.”
He grinned. “It has. Along with speculation.”
“Maybe we should make some of those things a reality.” I wiggled my brows.
“If I thought you were in your right mind, and you weren’t covered in bruises, I wouldn’t hesitate.”
“Hey!” I said, defensive. “I’m not crazy.” I couldn’t argue about the bruises. I could feel them welling under my skin on my arms, legs, and face.
“No, but you’ve just been through a traumatic experience. I’d like to get that resolved before we deal with the matter of you wearing too many clothes.”
I smiled at his flirting and thought back to the fight at the store. “You stopped that situation pretty fast.”
He lifted a shoulder. “People fear what they don’t know.”
