by Maria Geraci
He pulls out his phone and studies the picture of the fake J.W., then starts typing in a few notes. “And the guy in the line who tried to get you to buy into this scheme said his name was Hoyt Daniels?” I nod. “Okay. I’ll run that name through a few programs and see what I can come up with.”
“Really?”
“Sure. But only because, like you said, the whole thing sounds like a con. That is the kind of evidence I can work with, Lucy.”
Right. As opposed to the “woo-woo” stuff.
“Are you still going to Betty Jean’s book club meeting tomorrow night?” he asks.
“Oh, you better believe it.”
“Why are you smiling? And why am I suddenly nervous as hell?”
I’m smiling because tomorrow night, not only is this faker going to be exposed, Will is going to tell everyone that he’s the real J.W. Quicksilver. I can’t wait to see the look on everyone’s faces when they find out, especially Betty Jean’s. Not that I plan to gloat or anything. But, yeah, I plan to gloat. Heavily, as a matter of fact.
“No reason to be nervous,” I say.
“Now I’m terrified. Promise me you’re going to let me handle this.”
“I promise.” And I mean it too. Now that I’ve alerted the police about the con and Will has promised to tell everyone the truth, I can rest easy. “Sorry to kick you out, but I need to go to bed. Tomorrow’s going to get here before you know it, and I have muffins to bake.”
Travis nods toward my kitchen door. “Don’t forget to—”
“Lock up,” I finish for him.
But instead of leaving like I thought he would, we stand there, staring at one another. The room feels overly warm. Did I leave the oven on by mistake? Travis leans in close, like he’s about to kiss me.
His mouth is just a few inches away when I blurt, “You need to delete that photo of me.”
He stops cold. “The one you sent me tonight?”
“The one I accidentally sent you tonight.”
“Why would I delete it?”
“Because it’s awful. And … What if it ends up on the Internet? Or in some chat group?”
He looks like he’s about to laugh but wisely refrains. “First off, it’s not awful. It’s sexy … in a cute way. Secondly, I don’t plan to share it with anyone.”
“Then what’s the big deal about deleting it?”
“Lucy,” he says, his lips hovering dangerously close to mine. “Don’t you trust me?”
Oh boy. Yep. He’s going to kiss me. Only I can’t let that happen on account of I’m in love with Will. Before he can make a move, I shove him out the door, slamming it firmly behind him. “Drive safe!”
He chuckles from the other side. “Good night, Lucy.”
I lean against the wooden door, listening to the sound of his footsteps crunching against the gravel parking lot. Despite all his irritating qualities, Travis is a good guy. And yeah, not so hard to look at either. He’s going to make some girl deliriously happy. It’s just not going to be me.
The thought of Travis and some anonymous “other girl” makes me frown. Then I mentally shake my head. I can’t have my cake and eat it too. I’ll be in a relationship with Will, which is what I’ve always wanted. I should be doing cartwheels. Correction: I will be doing cartwheels. Just as soon as this whole J.W. Quicksilver mess is over with.
I call Will to tell him about the fake publishing scam.
“That bastard,” Will seethes. “So that’s what he’s up to.”
“Yeah. Good thing Travis is on the case.”
“You told Fontaine?”
I’m not sure why Will’s attitude bothers me, but it does. If he had just told everyone the truth tonight, Hoyt Daniels and the fake J.W. would already be behind bars.
“I didn’t tell him that you were J.W. Quicksilver, if that’s what you mean. But yeah, I told him all about the scam. I even got a picture of the guy impersonating you on my cell phone. Travis is going to see if he can find out who this joker really is.”
“Good idea,” he says grudgingly.
“So, I’ve been ordered to be at Betty Jean’s house by six. What time are you going to get there?”
“Why? What does it matter?”
“Because this is what I think you should do. Book club starts at seven. You should show up around twenty minutes later, that way we’ll make sure to have a full house. And just when everyone is lapping up all the BS this faker is spilling, you stand up and announce that you’re the real J.W. Want me to tape it with my new cell phone?”
“Tape it?” he croaks.
“Sure! Think about it. It could be awesome publicity for your books. Not that you need publicity, but it could definitely be useful in court.”
“I don’t know, Lucy. Isn’t it enough that I’m going to expose the guy? Do we have to have it on tape?”
Yes. But I suppose after all this time hiding his real identity, it’s hard for Will to fathom going so public.
“Okay, no tape,” I concede, “but I definitely think we need a police presence. What if this guy gets violent? Or tries to escape? I’ll let Travis know that he needs to be at the book club meeting. He might already have the guy’s ID by then. I bet he’s wanted all over the place for a bunch of different scams.”
Will doesn’t say anything. I wonder if this is a good time to tell him that yes, we’re together now. Nah. That’s something we should talk about in person.
We say our goodbyes, then Paco and I head up the stairs to bed. I wiggle my way out of the black dress and carefully hang it back up in my closet when my cell phone pings. Probably Will with something he forgot to tell me about tomorrow night.
Only when I swipe open my screen, it’s not Will. It’s Travis. But instead of a text, he’s sent a photo of himself wearing a woman’s dress, high heels, and a red wig. He looks … awful.
I burst out laughing. What?? I text, then add a smiley face for good measure.
His response: This was taken at a Halloween party a few years back.
I want to know more about this Halloween party where Travis dressed in drag. And I should definitely let him know that tonight was our first and last “date.” But that also seems like more of a face-to-face conversation.
I love it, I text back.
Good, cause now we’re even. You don’t show anyone mine and I won’t show anyone yours.
I can’t help but go to bed with a smile on my face.
7
I wake up at 3 a.m., too wound up to go back to sleep. Not only do I need to bake fresh muffins for The Bistro’s regular breakfast crowd, I have to come up with a special batch for the big book club meeting. And these can’t be just any old muffins. They must be spectacular because the events of tonight will be talked about for years to come. Tonight, Whispering Bay will find out that the real J.W. Quicksilver has been living among us all this time, and a con man will be hauled off to jail.
I can see everyone now, giddy with excitement over the news, getting the real J.W. to sign their books, sipping wine, and munching on my muffins, which will be forever linked to one of the greatest nights in Whispering Bay history. Ha! Take that, Heidi.
I spend the next couple of hours baking myself into a tizzy. At exactly five, Jill, who works for us, arrives and starts prepping for breakfast. Sarah comes flying through the back door fifteen minutes later. “Sorry! I overslept.” Which is unusual, because Sarah never oversleeps, as opposed to myself, who’s been known to hit my snooze button more than a couple of times.
“No big deal,” I say. “Everything’s good to go.”
Her gaze sweeps over the mountain of baked goods on the kitchen counter. “Looks like someone didn’t get much sleep last night.” She gives me a sly look. “So how was your date with Travis? Did you pull off the dress? Never mind, of course you pulled it off.”
“It wasn’t a date. And … I think I looked okay.”
“I’m sure you looked way better than okay,” says Sarah.
Jill pic
ks up a muffin and studies it. “Is this a new flavor?”
“Kind of. I was waiting to unveil it next month, but I couldn’t wait. It’s a raspberry white chocolate muffin.”
Jill takes a bite and makes an I-just-died-and-went-to-heaven face. “Oh, Lucy, this is fabulous.”
This is exactly the reaction I’m looking for. “Thanks. They’re for Betty Jean’s book club tonight.”
Jill finishes off the muffin in three bites. “So, what was J.W. Quicksilver like?”
“He’s something else.” I wish I could tell them the truth, but they’ll find out soon enough.
We finish prepping, and the café opens at exactly six. Paco takes his place by my feet as I stand behind the counter and take orders. The first couple of hours go by quickly. The early morning crowd is mostly people on their way to work. Once it hits eight, we cater to an older crowd sprinkled with younger stay-at-home mom and dad types or people who work from home but need to get away from their desk. Since we provide excellent coffee, free Wi-Fi, and a killer view of the gulf, I don’t blame them.
Viola Pantini and Gus Pappas, Whispering Bay’s cutest over-sixty couple, walk through the door. “Lucy,” says Viola, “I didn’t get a chance to speak to you last night, but I wanted to tell you how wonderful you looked.”
“What a night, huh?” says Gus. “I can’t believe we’re lucky enough to see J.W. Quicksilver two nights in a row.”
“It’s one of the perks of being in Betty Jean’s book club,” Viola muses. “You’ll be there tonight, right?”
“Believe me, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’ll be introducing a new muffin. Raspberry white chocolate.”
“Sounds yummy,” says Viola. They order their breakfast, and I hand them their coffees.
My parents are the next in line, followed by more of the Gray Flamingos. No one can stop talking about last night and how awesome this fake J.W. was. Bleh. It’s killing me to keep Will’s secret. I glance at my watch. Not too much longer now.
I’m standing behind the counter minding my own business when the unthinkable happens. Heidi Burrows walks into my café. She’s been here before but never without a good reason. Even though I just checked the time, I check it again. What on earth is Heidi doing in The Bistro in the middle of a workday? Shouldn’t she be at her bakery selling overpriced donuts laden with cholesterol to unsuspecting potential heart attack victims?
“Good morning, Lucy.” Heidi is just a few years older than me and, like her famous literary namesake, blonde. She inherited the bakery from her mother, who inherited it from her mother. Don’t get me wrong. I love the idea of a business that’s been passed down through three generations, especially when that business is a bakery, but Heidi thinks that because her recipes are ancient that she’s better than everyone else. Or at least, her donuts are.
“Hello, Heidi.”
She glances around the café. “Business looks good.”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I know the last time we talked I was a bit brusque, but you’ll be happy to know that I’ve forgiven you.”
“You’ve forgiven me?
“Lucy,” she says, deadpan, “you stood in this very room and practically accused me of murder.”
Well, she has a point. “It was nothing personal. I was trying to catch a killer.”
“And you succeeded. Eventually.”
Leave it to Heidi to compliment me, then follow up with a dig. “I hear you’re providing donuts for the diocesan lecture series. Jesus and Donuts? That’s generous of you.”
“We all have to do our part for the community. Don’t you agree?”
“Of course. We’re just one big, happy family, aren’t we?”
“I like to think so. You’ll be happy to know I’ve decided to take your advice about reducing the fat content in my donuts. Today’s consumer wants healthier options. To run a successful business, you have to stay flexible so you can react to the marketplace.”
I grit my teeth and smile. Now Heidi is lecturing me straight out of a marketing 101 course. As if I don’t know how to run a business!
Sarah comes out from the kitchen looking uncharacteristically flustered. “I just realized you were here,” she says to Heidi.
“I hope I’m not too early,” Heidi says.
Sarah gives me a quick sideways look. “Just a little, but it’s okay.”
“Too early for what?” I ask, confused.
“You didn’t tell her?” Heidi asks Sarah.
“Tell me what?”
“Heidi wanted to take a look around our kitchen,” Sarah explains. “And I thought another time we’d go over and take a look at her kitchen. You know, to compare notes on efficiency, that kind of thing.”
The hair on my neck tingles. I don’t think I’ve ever caught Sarah in a lie before. And if I have, it’s been something so benign it didn’t matter, but this lie about Heidi feels like a slap in the face.
First Will, then Sebastian, and now Sarah.
This is one of those times when my gift feels like the worst curse in the world. If I was like everyone else, I’d be blissfully unaware that my good friend and business partner, a woman I admire, has just lied to me.
I swallow hard. “Oh. Sure. That makes sense.”
Sarah smiles at me, but it’s the same kind of smile that you’d give to your dog before you take him to the vet to get neutered. Trust me, I’m only doing this for your own good. She leads Heidi back to the kitchen area, leaving me with a brain full of disturbing images, most of them centering around Heidi either sabotaging my oven or stealing my recipe box. It’s like we’ve let the fox inside the henhouse. What’s Sarah thinking?
The door to The Bistro opens, and in walks Victor Marino. “Good morning, Lucy!” At the sound of Victor’s voice, Paco slinks down, trying to make himself smaller. I really hope Victor isn’t going to pester me this morning about involving Paco in a séance. I’m mentally preparing to turn him down again when Victor says, “Glorious day, isn’t it? I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to be alive.”
Okay. Something is definitely not right here. Victor is one of the more upbeat members of the Sunshine Ghost Society, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so downright cheerful. But it’s that last statement that feels off. Happy to be alive? Victor lives for the day he passes over to the other side and becomes one with the spirit world (his words, not mine).
I look out the window facing the gulf. “It’s actually a bit overcast, but yeah, not too bad.”
He chuckles. “I’m in such a good mood, I didn’t even notice.”
“Really? Been communing with the spirits?” I ask, fully expecting to be regaled with a story about his latest ghostly encounter.
“Not exactly.” He glances around like he doesn’t want to be overheard. “Can you keep a secret?”
Uh-oh. I’ve heard this before. “Sure.”
“I’m not supposed to tell anyone yet, but I think I’ll burst if I can’t share my good news. I’m going to be published! I’ve secretly been working on my autobiography for the past two years. Oh, I know that face,” he says at my expression. “Autobiographies can be so dull. Never fear. It’s the story of my life, yes, but it’s hidden in a very intricate fictionalized plot not unlike the … The Da Vinci Code. Not that I would ever compare my writing to an author as famous as Dan Brown.”
“Don’t tell me J.W. Quicksilver is going to help you?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.” He frowns. “How did you know?”
“Lucky guess.” I wave him over to the edge of the counter, where we won’t be overheard. “I’m sorry to be indiscreet, but did you give him money?” Victor retired from a forty-year career at the post office. I hate to think of even a dime of Victor’s hard-earned pension in the hands of that smooth-talking fraud.
Victor’s cheeks go red. “I really can’t discuss the fine points of our contract.”
“You signed a contract? Did you have an attorney look it over?”
“Hoyt? As in Hoyt Daniels?”
Victor looks pleased. “You’ve heard of him too? He was at the signing last night. Mr. Quicksilver is one of his clients. He only represents big authors.”
“I’ve heard of him all right.”
“Please don’t tell anyone, Lucy. Hoyt says that these contracts can fall through for anything.”
I nod, too angry to think about anything other than how many more Victors are out there this morning. I wonder if Travis has had any luck with the photo I sent him?
I take Victor’s order, then head into the kitchen, where Jill is by herself, assembling a sandwich. “Where’s Sarah? And Heidi?” I ask.
“They’re in the pantry going over inventory.”
Sarah is showing Heidi our inventory?
Something Sarah said to me yesterday reruns through my brain. When Sarah offered me the money I borrowed from Will, she said she had a few ideas about how I could pay her back, only I didn’t get a chance to ask her what she meant by that.
“Everything okay?” Jill asks.
I shake away the bad juju from my brain. I’ll deal with this after tonight.
“Sure. Everything’s peachy. Do you mind if I cut out early? We close in twenty minutes, and there’s no one at the counter. I need to see Travis.”
Jill smirks. “Yesterday it was Will, and today it’s Travis. You sure do have an interesting life.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” I mutter.
8
Cindy, the receptionist for the Whispering Bay Police Department, is on a perpetual quest to lose the universally elusive last five pounds, but she has a weakness for my cranberry muffins, and I’m more than happy to cater to it. “These are low-fat.” I set a bag of muffins on her desk.
Her eyes go rounder than a blueberry. “Thanks!” She opens a drawer and pulls out a dog bone. “I got these just in case you ever brought Paco back for a visit.” She holds the bone in the air above Paco’s head. “Sit,” she instructs.
