Chapter 8
The next day, I told the dog to be good and not to annoy the cat, and left the two of them behind when I went to the bakery. I got there on time, wearing comfortable sneakers instead of yesterday’s kitten heels, and a practical T-shirt and jeans, ready for my third day of work.
The bakery was busy with lots of customers all morning, as I was coming to expect. Amber and I worked on the counter, while Joy and the other bakers were busy out back. There was often a line of customers waiting to be served that stretched all the way out the door.
When I worked in the fashion boutique, customers didn’t usually introduce themselves. Here, lots of them did, especially the ones who came in every day. It was weird, but kind of nice to keep seeing the same faces. I tried to remember everyone’s name and what they liked to order. They seemed to enjoy it when I greeted them as though I’d known them for longer than a few days.
We had a short lull just after lunchtime, and Amber grabbed the chance to take a break out the back. She’d only just left me alone when a short older woman with gray curls and pronounced laugh lines around her eyes came into the bakery. She introduced herself as Mary Malone, the mother of Carla’s fiancé, Noah. I’d never actually met her, though Carla had raved to me about how nice she was.
“Oh my goodness, look at you,” she gushed, her smile bright. “You’re just as lovely as your sister!”
“Thank you, Mrs. Malone.” I smiled back at her, liking the woman immediately. And not just because of the compliment. She had a warm, open manner, as though we were instantly friends. Maybe it was a small-town trait, because I’d gotten a similar feeling when I’d met Joy and Amber.
“How are you enjoying yourself here in Green Valley?” she asked.
“Well, I’ve only been here a few days, but...” Just in time, I stopped myself from telling her it wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d expected. “It’s nicer than I thought it’d be,” I said instead, framing the thought more positively.
“And you’re staying at the farmhouse all alone? You’re not lonely?”
“I’m doing okay, thank you.”
“You must come and visit me often, you hear?” She shot me a wink. “And we’ll see if we can find you a nice romantic partner so you can have some company.”
I wrinkled my nose. “No, thanks. I don’t want any more men in my life. They’re nothing but trouble.”
“Not my Noah. I wish I had another one just like him for you.”
“I have to admit, Noah is sweet,” I told her, smiling at her enthusiastic nod of agreement. “He’s perfect for my sister.”
“He sure is! Now, Magdalena, I’ll take a slice of banana cake, if you please.”
I was putting a slice in a bag for her when the door opened and two more women came into the bakery. They were both around Mrs. Malone’s age, and greeted her with hellos. But neither woman had the same instantly likeable warmth that she did. One of them was the unpleasant, sharp-tongued woman who’d come into the bakery while Cy was buying chocolate cake.
“Oh, hello.” Mrs. Malone’s tone got noticeably cooler, but she turned and introduced me. “This is Magdalena, Carla’s sister. Magdalena, this is Karen Smith and Bonnie Linton.”
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Linton.” I said politely. “I met Mrs. Smith the other day.”
“Cy Baxter was in the bakery when I was here last,” announced Mrs. Smith.
“Ike Baxter’s son?” Mrs. Linton’s eyes sharpened on me. “You be careful of that Baxter boy. The whole family’s rotten.”
“That’s what I told her,” Mrs. Smith said. “But she seemed like she didn’t want to listen.”
“Why do you call him a boy?” I asked Mrs. Linton, keeping my tone pleasant. “He must be in his early thirties, right?”
“Come now, ladies,” Noah’s mother said to the other two women. “Let’s not gossip.”
I was pretty sure that was like telling water not to be wet. And sure enough, the two of them kept right on talking.
“I heard not a single soul turned up to Ike Baxter’s funeral,” Mrs. Linton said. “None of his children went. Of course, one of them is dead, and one’s in prison. But the other two simply didn’t bother. So why is Cy Baxter back in town now, up in that old house of his daddy’s?”
Mrs. Smith leaned in. “He’s back to sell his daddy’s drugs, of course.”
“Why would you say something like that when you don’t know it for a fact?” chided Noah’s mother.
“Well, why else would he be holed up there? That old house is little more than bare boards, termites, and marijuana plants. How is he earning a living if he’s not selling drugs?”
I’d already heard Karen Smith’s theories about Cy. His unkempt look made those theories easy to believe, though Cy had acted offended when I’d said the dog could guard his crop. If the rumors weren’t true, I could only feel bad about the way she was slandering him. Especially seeing as I had some idea of how much it sucked to have a bad reputation.
“Don’t jump to conclusions.” Mrs. Malone echoed my thoughts. “Could be any number of ways he might be getting by.”
Mrs. Linton sniffed. “Those Baxters have always been bad, and the apple doesn’t fall far, does it? We all know Cy’s mother didn’t take an accidental tumble down any stairs. Cy covered up her killing, and it wouldn’t surprise me if he played a part in murdering her, too.”
I froze, stunned by the turn the conversation had taken. Bonnie Linton thought Cy was a murderer?
Noah’s mother tsked. “That’s enough of that kind of talk.” She turned back to me, murmuring under her breath so quietly that only I could hear. “If gossip were gravy, that woman’s biscuits would never be dry.”
I gave her a secret eye roll, silently agreeing, and we shared a smile like co-conspirators.
Still, as awful as the town gossips were, it was safest to keep well away from Cy in future. It was hard to believe he was a murderer, but his involvement in drugs was bad enough. I already had one scary drug dealer in my life. And it wasn’t like I was Cy’s biggest fan, though I had to admit he’d been kind enough to help with the dog. And with my oven. He’d been nicer than I’d probably deserved after our terrible introduction, and some of his comebacks had been funny. Biting the inside of my cheek had been the only way to keep from laughing at his “Hansel and Gretel” crack.
“Here’s your cake, Mrs. Malone.” I slid it across the counter to her. “It really was a pleasure to meet you.”
“You too, Magdalena.”
“Please call me Mags. Everyone does.”
“Mags, I’d like you to come to lunch with me sometime soon. Maybe next weekend, if you have some time off work?”
“I’d love to,” I said honestly. With a mother like his, no wonder Noah was so sweet.
As she was leaving, and the other two women were mulling over the items in the cabinet, Amber emerged from the kitchen into the service area.
“Are you ready to take a break?” Amber asked, smoothing her apron. “You must be hungry.”
“I’m starving. Thanks.”
I left her with Mrs. Linton and Mrs. Smith, and went to the breakroom to enjoy some delicious baked goods. After eating, I tried calling Eric. It was around three o’clock in the morning in Japan, which meant I might catch him before he crashed for the night, seeing as he was usually awake late after performing.
Sure enough, he picked up on the third ring.
“Hey, babe.” There was hip-hop music in the background, and I could hear the murmur of other voices. “We played so well tonight. Wish you were here to celebrate with me.” His voice was a little slurred as though he was either drunk or high, and my heart sank. Now clearly wasn’t the best time to talk sense into him. Still, I had to try.
“Eric, have you spoken to Spike about the money yet?”
“Is that all you’re calling for?” He sounded disappointed, as though he’d been expecting me to congratulate him. Did he care so little about the mess he’d left me in?
“I told you Spike’s been threatening me, didn’t I? I’ve had to go to Carla’s place to get away from him.”
“Oh yeah? She lives in Green Hills, right?”
“Green Valley.”
“Right. Yeah, I remember. It’s in . . . Alabama?”
“Tennessee.”
“Right, that’s it. Green Hills, Tennessee. When I get back, let’s visit your sister together. Would you like that, babe?”
I let out a long, slow breath through my nose. I felt like a pot of water coming to a boil and starting to leak steam.
“The money, Eric.” I snapped the words. “When are you sending it to Spike? Focus on what I’m saying and give me an answer. This is important!”
“Yeah, okay. The money, right? You’re giving it to him?” There was a shout of laughter in the background that almost drowned Eric out. Wherever he was, at least four or five other people were in the room with him. Probably more.
“No, I’m not. I can’t! Eric, that bonus you said you were going to get at the end of the tour. Can you ask Sullivan for it now, and?—”
Another burst of shouting and laughter came over the line, so loud it cut me off. Someone was calling Eric’s name. It sounded like the other people in the room had surrounded him.
“Listen, babe, I need to go,” Eric shouted over the noise. “Jonesy has poured shots. Let’s talk later, okay?”
The line went dead.
I drew the phone from my ear so I could check the screen, not quite able to believe the call had ended so abruptly. But it was true. Eric had hung up on me.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to wring his selfish neck.
Jumping up, I paced up and down the length of the breakroom for a few minutes, clenching and unclenching my fists while I took several deep breaths.
Then I sent a text message to Eric.
Mags: Spike is threatening me and I’m afraid. Please call him NOW. Tell him to leave me alone. Promise you’ll send him the money. Then ask Sullivan if you can have your bonus, and give it to Spike.
The plan was simple. It was clear. Surely the message would get through to Eric and he’d realize how badly his actions were hurting me. We’d been dating for two whole years, and though the better his band had been doing, the more self-absorbed and thoughtless he’d seemed to get, he’d never been cruel. Not until recently.
Throwing my phone back onto the table, I tried taking more deep breaths. My anger was still red hot. I wanted to scream or punch something, and I couldn’t go back out to do my job when I was in danger of snarling at the bakery’s customers. In New York, I’d been the best salesperson in the boutique. And even though I was now selling baked goods instead of thousand-dollar outfits, I was still a professional. Nobody wanted to buy anything from a grouch.
Fetching myself a plate piled high with banana cake, I sat back at the table and put my earbuds in. For starters, I chose the song ‘Bite Me’ by Avril Lavigne. Next was ‘The Best Thing’ by We Are The In Crowd. Then ‘Stronger’ by Kelly Clarkson. By the time the last note faded, I’d power-eaten the entire plate.
Hey, whatever worked, right? I needed the sugar high and the empowerment songs to counteract Eric’s toxicity. Besides, it was by far the best banana cake I’d ever eaten, and it’d be a crime not to finish it.
Once my plate was clean, I switched the soundtrack to something softer to recalibrate my mood. ‘Watch Me While I Bloom’ by Hayley Williams did the trick. When the song finished, I felt in control again and ready to get back to work.
The bakery was busy all afternoon, and Amber and I worked together serving customers. I kept my manner friendly and my smile switched on, and by the end of the day, I was exhausted and looking forward to getting home and flopping onto the couch. When we switched the sign on the door from Open to Closed, I wanted to cheer.
Amber had to rush to an appointment, so Joy helped me clear the leftover food out of the cabinet, getting it ready for the cleaning staff who’d come in overnight. She started chatting about some of the customers, and I took the opportunity to ask, “Do you know Cy Baxter?”
“I haven’t spoken a handful of words to him, but I know who he is.” Joy straightened, holding a plate full of crumbs. “His daddy was notorious. And when I was just a kid, I saw Cy’s brother getting arrested in the Piggly Wiggly. He was yelling and breaking things. He was only around fourteen or fifteen, but it took two grown men to hold him down while they called the sheriff.”
“Bonnie Linton said Cy’s a drug dealer who killed his own mother.”
She snorted. “Bonnie Linton likes to sweeten her tea with scandal.”
“So you don’t think there’s any truth to it?”
Joy wrinkled her freckled nose, her eyes thoughtful. “I’m not sure what to think about Cy.”
She was usually so kind and positive, hearing her sound doubtful about him hit hard. And I felt strangely disappointed. Some part of me had been hoping Mrs. Linton and Mrs. Smith were wrong about Cy.
I’d been ready to admit I’d made some unfair assumptions based on his scruffy appearance. But maybe my first negative impression of him had been the right one.
“How likely is it that he’s a drug dealer?” I asked, stacking the dirty food trays to carry out back.
Joy shrugged. “Folks say his daddy grew marijuana behind his house. Cy’s moved in there, and Flo McClure saw him at the hardware store buying a lot of straw. Why would he need straw if he wasn’t growing something?”
I picked up some of the trays, and she grabbed the others. “He doesn’t seem like a bad person,” I mused as we carried them into the kitchen. “At least he didn’t last night.”
“Last night?” She raised her eyebrows, putting the trays by the sink.
“I gave him a dog and he insisted on bringing it back.”
Her surprise turned into a puzzled frown. “I don’t know what that means.”
“It doesn’t matter.” I put my trays next to hers. “I’ll tell you tomorrow. Right now, I’m beat.”
“Me too.” She took off her apron. “Hey, if you want to know more about the people here, why don’t you come to the jam session on Friday night? It’s at the community center, and lots of folks go. There’ll be some good bluegrass. It’s fun!”
Bluegrass?I considered myself pretty open-minded when it came to music. I mean, I liked indie rock, alternative rock, punk rock, and pop rock. But there was no bluegrass on my playlist.
I shook my head, pulling my own apron off with relief. “My first week at a new job, and I’m exhausted. Thanks anyway, but I don’t think I’m up for a party.”
“Next week, then.” Her smile reassured me that she wasn’t hurt by my refusal.
“Sure.” It was easier to agree to that, seeing as anything could happen in the meantime.
After saying goodbye, I drove Noah’s pickup back to the farmhouse. By the time I parked out front, I was looking forward to putting my feet up and watching some TV while I ate pizza. And when I opened the door, I was greeted by an excited dog, tail wagging, body wriggling, tongue lolling, clearly overjoyed to see me.
Behind the dog was a scene of devastation.
The couch cushions had been dragged from the living room into the hallway and ripped open. Their stuffing was spread everywhere, white clumps scattered over the floor. The empty cushions were limp, drained carcasses with nothing left to give.
I let out a horrified wail. “What did you do, Dog?”
He sat, gazing up at me with a smile. His tail wagged across the floor, sending tufts of cushion stuffing flying.
“Right.” Tugging my phone out of my pocket, I gave him a stern look. “Let’s see if your owner’s seen my lost-and-found post. Then you can go to your real home and stop destroying my sister’s place.”
Standing in the hallway with white puffs at my feet, I scrolled to the post. The dog watched, surrounded by the evidence of his crime.
There was no response to my post. Nobody was claiming ownership of the dog.
Weirdly, I found myself letting out a relieved breath, as though a deep part of me was happy about that. But no, it wasn’t that weird, seeing as a goofy, cushion-killing guard dog was better than no guard dog at all. And he was good company. It was more reassuring to have him with me at night than the cute-but-lazy cat who slept all the time and would be useless in an emergency.
“You can stick around a little longer,” I told the dog. “Just don’t kill any more cushions, okay? Tomorrow, I’ll need to put everything you can destroy out of reach.”
He barked and bounded past me, disappearing out of the front door before I could stop him.
“Dog!” I yelled after him. “Don’t get into any more trouble!”
I was still holding my phone, so when it rang, I jumped and let out a little squeak of surprise.
The screen said Scary Drug Dealer.
Heart thumping, I pressed the Reject button to send the call to voicemail. More threats were the last thing I needed.
Moments later, a text message flashed onto my screen.
Scary Drug Dealer: Spoke to your boyfriend. Call me.
I stared at the message, a rush of relief flooding through me. But confusion was hot on its heels. If Eric had finally called Spike, did that mean he’d sorted everything out? In that case, why would Spike still need to talk to me?
With a muttered curse, I dialed Spike’s number.
“You spoke to Eric?” I asked when the scary drug dealer answered.
“Yeah, the rock star finally answered his phone.” Spike sounded as surly as ever.
“And he arranged to pay you the money he owes you?”
“He said you’d pay.”
“What?” I gasped the word. “No! He can’t have! It’s Eric’s bill, and I had nothing to do with it. I don’t take drugs! I’m not the one who borrowed the money.”
“Yeah, but you’re the one who’s still in the country. You’re in Green Hills, right?”
Green Hills? That’s what Eric always called it instead of Green Valley. A bitter surge of bile rose from my gut, threatening to choke me. Eric may have been getting progressively more insufferable, but this was unforgivable.
“Tennessee isn’t so far away that I couldn’t pay you a visit,” Spike added. “You’re staying at your sister’s place, and you have another sister who lives right here in the city. Her name’s Josephina.” His tone grew smug. “Your boyfriend likes to talk when he’s stoned. He can be real chatty.”
Fucking Eric! I was going to kill him.
“Eric’s tour finishes in three weeks, then he’ll be back with your money.” I tried hard to keep my cool. “I don’t have any money to give you, so you need to wait for him.”
“I’ve waited long enough. If you don’t pay up, I’ll visit your sister. See if she’ll give me my money.”
My heart launched itself into my throat. I strode out to the porch. “Don’t you dare! Leave her out of it!”
“Then pay me.”
“Okay, yes. I will. I’ll go to the bank and see if I can borrow the money. It might take me a day or two, but I’ll get it to you as fast as I can.” My heart was beating out of my chest. There was no way I could raise ten thousand dollars in a day or two, but all I needed was enough time to get Josephina to safety.
“You do that.” He hung up.
Sinking onto the steps that led from the porch to the driveway, I called Josephina. My hand was sweating, and my legs felt weak. “Pick up,” I muttered while it rang. “Pick up, Josie. Please pick up.”
“Hi, Mags.” My sister’s voice filled me with relief. I couldn’t see her, as unlike Carla, Josie was a technophobe who preferred regular phone calls instead of video calls. But she sounded just as cheerful as ever.
“Josie, listen. Could you leave town for a few days? Is that possible?”
“What?” she asked. “What’s wrong? You’re not in trouble again?” She chuckled as she asked the question, her tone affectionate rather than accusing. But even in my frantic state, the “again” she tacked on to the end of her question had a barb that stung a little.
“Eric’s the one in trouble. He owes money to a drug dealer called Spike.” I didn’t try to sugarcoat it. “Problem is, Spike thinks I’m going to pay Eric’s debt. I’m staying at Carla’s place for a few weeks, but Eric told Spike about you.”
I still couldn’t believe he’d done that, stoned or not. The Eric I’d started dating two years ago had been charismatic and driven, more focused on his music career than partying. Back then, he’d been a whole lot nicer.
“Eric can’t pay what he owes?” asked my sister.
“No, and he’s gone to Japan.”
“You’re telling me that Eric left you to pay his bill?” Josie was usually a ray of walking sunshine, and this was the sharpest I’d ever heard her tone go. “Why would he do that?”
“He’s let the rock-star thing go to his head. Lately, he only thinks of himself.”
“Is the drug dealer dangerous? He won’t try to hurt you, will he?”
“I think I’m safe, but I’m worried about you. Would you be willing to leave town for a few days, while I sort this out? Come to Tennessee if you want. Stay at Carla’s with me.”
She let out a sigh. “I’d love to hang out with you, only I’m going to New Haven for a yoga retreat this weekend. It’s already arranged.”
“At least you’ll be out of town. Could you leave early? Maybe tomorrow?” I held my breath, hoping she’d be her normal easygoing self and agree.
“Sure.”
The breath rushed from my lungs in a relieved whoosh. That had been even easier than I’d hoped.
Thank goodness it was Josie and not Carla I’d had to convince. Josie was laid back, while Carla would have asked more questions. Though I loved both my sisters fiercely, sometimes Carla could be intimidating. Josie’s impulsive, free-spirited nature was working in my favor.
“Will you go first thing?” I asked.
“If you want. I love the New Haven countryside. Fresh air and birdsong. I could take a tent and find somewhere to pitch it.”
“Thanks, Josie. I’m really glad I won’t have to worry about you.”
We chatted for a while longer, and when I hung up, I was filled with fresh determination. Time to stop expecting Eric to do the right thing, and time to fix his mess myself. After all, I’d been helping Eric’s band out for so long that his manager and I had become friends. Sullivan’s number was right there in my phone, so why not call him? It would be close to eight o’clock in the morning in Japan. Eric would be fast asleep, but Sullivan wasn’t the partying type. He’d probably be up, ready to start work.
Leaning my shoulder against the porch railing with the last rays of the setting sun on my arms, I dialed Sullivan’s number. Sure enough, he answered.
“Hi, Mags.” His voice was bright. “It’s nice to hear from you.”
“Hey, Sullivan. How are you enjoying Japan?”
“It’s very different. A great experience. Shame you couldn’t make it.”
What?
“Um. We’ve got a bad line,” I said, thinking fast. “Would you repeat what you just said?”
“I said it’s a shame you couldn’t get enough time off work to come on tour. Setting up for our shows isn’t the same without you.”
“Such a shame.” I tried to sound casual, as though his words hadn’t been a punch in the gut.
Eric hadn’t asked me to go on tour with him. He’d never suggested it as a possibility. And as for taking time off work, I’d had plenty of leave accrued. Besides, Eric knew I’d decided to leave my job and look for something else. We’d talked about how I wanted a change at least a dozen times. I could easily have gone with him.
Though I was breathless at the extent of his betrayal, I managed to keep talking. “Anyway, the reason I’m calling is because Eric wanted me to ask you about putting some of his bonus into my account, so I can pay a bill that he?—”
“Bonus? What bonus?” Sullivan’s confused tone made my stomach turn over. Could Eric have been lying about that, too?
“Eric said he was getting a bonus at the end of the tour.”
“Not at the end of the tour, at the beginning. He was paid a signing bonus a few weeks ago. That’s the only one, I’m afraid.”
“Oh right. That must have been it. My mistake.” My voice was getting croaky and tears pricked at my eyes.
“Mags, are you okay?”
“Thanks, I’m fine.” I stared down at the porch step I was sitting on and did my best to sound normal.
“Hey, I’m sorry.” Sullivan’s voice had gone soft and regretful. “If it’s Eric who’s upset you, please understand that sudden fame can be hard to deal with. He doesn’t seem to be handling it all that well, but he’ll have to come back down to earth soon. I really do wish you were here, you know. We all do. He’s a better person when you’re around. And whatever he’s done wrong, he’s a fool who’s bound to regret it.”
I fought for composure. “Thanks, Sullivan.”
“We miss you. Next tour, you have to come. No excuses.”
“Sure. Hey, I need to run. I’ll catch you later, okay?”
“See you in a few weeks, Mags.”
Hanging up, I dragged a hand over my eyes. “It’s okay,” I said aloud. “Maybe I blew all my savings, but Spike wouldn’t really hurt Josie or come all the way to Tennessee to collect his money. He’s just trying to scare me. And even if he wants to come here, there’s no such place as Green Hills. So his threats are empty. Josie’s going to be fine. She’ll leave town, and nothing will go wrong. Everything’s...”
I couldn’t keep talking. My throat was closing up and tears were springing free, rolling fatly down my cheeks. But as I sunk my face into my hands, I heard a familiar sound: the roar of a poorly maintained engine, punctuated by the rattling of parts that were threatening to fall off it.
It was the distinctive racket of Cy’s pickup truck.