Copyright © 2024 by Laura Pauling

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, except for brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, blog or broadcast.

  This is a work of fiction, and is produced from the author’s imagination. People, places and things mentioned in this novel are used in a fictional manner.

  Edited by Cindy Davis

  Cover by Lou Harper, Cover Affairs

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  A Caramel Macchiato Short Story

  Holly Hart Cozy Mysteries

  Also by Laura

  About Laura

  Chapter One

  Valerie Barnes turned out to be nothing like Belle expected.

  This strange and mysterious woman, who Belle had finally found—thanks to Jasmine from the BEST Candy Company—worked as a life coach of the best kind. Part therapist, part friend, and part truth-teller.

  The kind of truth Belle knew deep down but had ignored up until now. Like her aunt and uncle weren’t nice people, and someday Belle should bring closure by talking to them—if and when she was comfortable with it.

  Valerie was a tall woman who made a striking appearance with her long, thick silver hair, yet she was anything but old. She dressed fashionably, always in olive greens, greys, and mauves, with something, usually a scarf, that added a splash of color. Every session, Belle admired her large, almost clunky jewelry, which on Belle, wouldn’t look right, but on Valerie, fit perfectly.

  The older woman’s eyes were kind and seemed even brighter when she smiled, but it was more in the way she could be challenging and empathetic at the same time. Valerie never made Belle feel guilty for not standing up to her aunt and uncle years ago. She only praised the courage Belle mustered up to leave their home when she did.

  Belle had been seeing Valerie on a weekly basis since Christmas. It was now May and they were about to move to monthly sessions.

  “You’ve been doing wonderfully, Belle.” Valerie leaned back in her large circular chair. She didn’t sit behind a desk or anything like that; it was just the two of them, across from one another, like friends.

  Belle sensed a but coming.

  “No worries. I just had a thought. I wonder”—now Valerie sat up and leaned forward, her gaze intent on Belle—“given how far you’ve come, how much progress you’ve made, if we should consider a bit of old-fashioned closure.”

  “Closure?” Belle thought meeting with a life coach was closure, but she would be more than happy to write one final letter to her aunt and uncle and then send it…or burn it and watch the ashes drift into the night sky as she whispered goodbye. She could find a photograph, tear it up into tiny pieces and bury it six feet under. If she didn’t have a photo, which was most likely the case, she could pull out some markers and draw a picture of them. There were lots of ways Belle could find closure.

  “Now, hear me out. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” Valerie fiddled with the edges of the red scarf, then stopped, as if becoming aware of the habit. “What would you think about a face-to-face visit with them? I know you’re working on forgiveness and letting go.”

  Yes, Belle worked on that every day. She spoke the words. She wrote the words. She whispered the words into the night, like a prayer, hoping she would feel the forgiveness, but she knew there was a hard rock of something still in her soul. Maybe it was unforgiveness, the remnants of a long-lasting grudge.

  “Holding on to lingering bitterness hurts you more than it hurts them. You would talk to them, not for their sake but for yours. State clearly how you feel about your experience living with them. Point out the neglect and the abuse. You can say you forgive them but you don’t want a relationship with them. That’s it. Then you walk away.”

  Belle opened her mouth to say No way, but the reaction inside her chest was instantaneous, the skyrocketing anxiety at even the thought of seeing them.

  “Yes, it would be hard. It would take courage. But then”—Valerie’s eyes gleamed with knowledge and inspiration—“whenever you thought about them, you would know you had closure. During times where their cruel words still haunt you, you simply say, ‘Enough. Goodbye. Peace be with you.’ Then actively think about something else.”

  The idea of seeing her aunt and uncle didn’t sit well with Belle. She didn’t want to see them; her uncle with his pig nose and squinty eyes, the demeaning way he looked at her, if he even looked at her. Her aunt, that high cackle. She was a coward and went along with her husband. Belle liked to think that somewhere in there was a decent person, just forgotten.

  “Belle…” Valerie’s voice was like a whisper jarring Belle from her thoughts. “Belle, the power is in your hands. Maybe closure for you will be writing a letter that you send in the mail, or just write with no intent of mailing. Maybe you go for a walk in the woods and when you’re by yourself, you shout all the things you wanted to say to them but never did.”

  Belle felt the relief flood through her like a giant whoosh. Yes, that sounded much better. She’d write a letter. It was one she’d started multiple times in her head anyway.

  “What about your Aunt Eliza?” Valerie asked.

  “What?” They often touched on the subject of Aunt Eliza and the shock Belle experienced when she found the body. “What about her?”

  Valerie’s words came out soft. “Have you forgiven her?”

  The words tumbled about in Belle’s head, bumping up against one another. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, it might be helpful to let her know how you feel, too. That she didn’t fight harder for you.”

  “But she tried,” Belle burst out, thinking back on her shock when she learned from the lawyer that Aunt Eliza had tried. She fought for her. She drove by to check on her. She stopped because she didn’t want to make it worse for Belle.

  “Yes, she did. But for years you didn’t know that. Maybe you need last words for Aunt Eliza, too. Are you mad at her for dying?”

  “Someone killed her,” Belle said, flat-toned.

  “True, but the heart isn’t always logical.” Valerie shifted in her chair, signaling she was also shifting the conversation. “What about the people in your life today, in Everly?”

  Valerie had brought this up before. Questions and more questions. Was Belle allowing herself to be vulnerable? Was she letting them get to know her—the real her—warts and all? Was she putting up any defenses?

  Looking back, and it was a few months short of a year since she’d arrived, Belle felt she had broken down many barriers. She couldn’t do without Bixby’s friendship. He was like a big ball of sunshine that brightened every day when she walked into The Beanery, his smile, his positive outlook about the coffee shop and life in general. The energy he put toward the things he cared about, including people. He was a best friend she never had.

  Then, of course, there was Lexie, who stole Belle’s heart from the very first day. After working with her once, sometimes twice, a week on homework, Belle wasn’t sure she could ever say goodbye to her—forever. All the meals they’d had together, the games of backgammon. Ice skating this past winter. Belle had experienced a lot of firsts, and she had experienced family in a way she hadn’t for a long time. Then there was Lucas.

  “What are you thinking about?” Valerie asked, softly.

  “My friends here.” Belle could barely get out the words as her heart squeezed in her chest at the affection she felt toward all of them. How could she ever leave them? She wasn’t sure she could.

  “As we end today, I want you to consider the best way to find closure with your aunt and uncle, and your Aunt Eliza.” She paused, pursing her lips together as if she wasn’t sure she should say anything else.

  “What? Obviously, you want to add more to that.”

  Valerie brushed a lock of hair from her face. She smiled, her eyes were nothing but kind, her expression filled with compassion. This woman could say so much without saying anything at all. “Maybe consider telling your close friends here how you feel about them. Have you done that at all?”

  “Well…I mean…not in so many words, but I’ve shown them.” Belle always tried to show them how much they meant to her.

  “Maybe there will be a good time soon to tell them how much they mean to you.”

  Belle left the session that day with a lot on her mind. So much to think about. A part of her couldn’t wait to write a letter to her aunt and uncle; yet, at the same time, she felt the desire to procrastinate, put it off for another day, because who knew what ugly words might come out.

  Valerie’s suggestion about being honest with Aunt Eliza, even though she was no longer here—Belle could do that. Talking to Aunt Eliza was like interacting with an old friend. The words would come fas
t and easy.

  “Aunt Eliza…” She stopped talking. The words were there, floating and tumbling through her mind, but they were harder to say than she thought. She’d have to think about what she would say if she could see Aunt Eliza again face-to-face.

  Of course, it would be easy to tell her friends how much she cared about them and how much they meant to her. Easy peasy. She’d see Bixby later today and tell him first thing how she felt.

  She finished the drive through town, suddenly exhausted. She’d learned to take power naps after seeing Valerie, and it was hitting hard as the challenges lay like a heavy weight on her shoulders.

  Minutes later, she pulled into her driveway.

  A strange, but not strange, car, an old Buick, sat in the driveway. Panic hit Belle hard, a vice in her chest, a tightening, a strangling.

  No way.

  It wasn’t possible.

  Just the sight of the car made her feel sick. Afternoons spent washing and waxing it came immediately. It was a punch in the gut. Her uncle’s demanding voice. You missed a spot. Stop being lazy and put some elbow grease into it. Followed by her aunt. What do you expect from my sister’s daughter? Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

  What were they doing here?

  Where were they? Had they gone inside her house? It appeared so as the door was slightly ajar.

  Looked like she couldn’t put off Valerie’s challenges.

  At least not this one.

  She could do this. She’d go inside, see what they wanted, and then they’d leave. No, she’d demand they leave.

  Simple as that.

  Chapter Two

  For another minute, she sat in the car and stared at her rundown, slanting home. Yes, it was a home. No longer a house. She had memories of sitting with Sir Jack and feeding him tiny pieces of pears, cooking with Bixby, eating dinner and playing games with Lucas and Lexie. Recent memories of plunging her hands into the guts of a pumpkin. Laughter echoed in her head. Lucas’ deep chuckle and Lexie’s girlish giggle.

  It all faded.

  Replaced by the grinding boom of her uncle’s voice as he ordered her to get going with dinner, then the whiny voice of her aunt as she agreed with him in all things. Never once sticking up for her niece, her sister’s daughter.

  Belle found herself gripping the steering wheel while her upper teeth practically ground her bottom teeth into dust. It was a tightening of her entire body that started at the top and spread to the toes of her feet as they curled in her shoes.

  It seemed like all of her work with Valerie dissipated into thin air. “No!” Belle spoke the word out loud. “No,” she whispered.

  It was like a dream as she opened the car door and walked toward her house.

  She noticed the rotting front step, and the fact that now, it was completely punched through, probably by the heavy tread of her uncle. Her footsteps were light across the porch and the door barely squeaked as she slipped inside.

  “Intruders! Intruders!” cried Sir Jack.

  Usually, he spoke to her as soon as she entered and she would rush over, cooing and talking to him. It was a routine, but now, she stood frozen just beyond the door. Paralyzed by the sounds of familiar voices from the kitchen.

  “What a dumb bird,” her uncle said in that demeaning tone he used with just about everyone. Unless he was trying to impress them, then he transformed into a version of an almost likable person. A lot of people saw through it. Eventually.

  “Why in the world would she get a bird? Unclean and messy. We’ll probably catch a disease,” her aunt said. “It shouldn’t be a surprise. Look at the state of this house.”

  “Yes, but it’s property. We have to see beyond the peeling paint to the structure of it. Is it sound? Then there’s the land.”

  Their voices dropped to more of a mumble, but the vibrations reached into her skull, bringing her back to the years of living with them. A shudder rippled through her body.

  What were they doing here?

  Was that an underlying hint of greed in her uncle’s tone? It was a slippery kind of feel to the words one can’t quite describe but they didn’t feel right. Mentioning her house and the land.

  Why would he care?

  The answer came immediately. Of course, he cared, because he probably saw it as something that belonged to them. Or should belong to them. Like they should be the heirs. Not her.

  The floor squeaked under her feet.

  There was a pause, a quiet, that fell over the house. An eerie silence, pregnant with the fact she couldn’t hide. No backing out now. Not that she wanted to. She knew what she needed to do. Call the police and mention intruders broke into her house. Belle didn’t want a fuss. She just wanted them gone. Yes, she’d had thoughts of revenge, but it was better to let them go.

  Then the dream-like quality of the situation continued, like she was in a parallel universe, and if she left and came back again, they would be gone.

  Her aunt appeared. Aunt Rose. She entered the living room. More like waddled.

  “Intruder!” squawked Sir Jack.

  Aunt Rose was stubby, more roly-poly, and the most striking aspect of her was that Belle could see a reflection of herself and her mother, but in a funhouse mirror type of way. The features were misaligned and out of proportion giving her Aunt Rose a permanent odd, confused look about her.

  She was heading right toward her, arms stretched wide, her smile growing bigger and faker with every step.

  Certainly, she didn’t mean to… Yes, she did.

  Belle was squashed against her aunt’s chest, the scent of cheap perfume and a recent perm lingering in her nostrils. Not a pleasant memory. Belle stiffened, cringing, eyes closed. Then Aunt Rose released her.

  Aunt Rose was talking but the words weren’t registering for Belle. She heard something about her parrot, then about the house. “We worry about you in this house, Belle. It doesn’t feel safe, dear.”

  It was the voice her aunt used when she wanted something from Belle.

  At first, years ago, Belle didn’t realize that it was a form of manipulation. It was a pretend act of kindness that she cared for Belle, a tender tone, that back then, Belle craved. It was her way of getting her to accept a situation or do something.

  “There’s my favorite niece,” boomed her Uncle Rupert.

  Belle stepped back, wishing for this nightmare to end. No! No! No! She wanted to scream. Uncle Rupert stood just behind her aunt. A stubby man with stubby arms and stubby legs. His nose, a large beak, made her think of Sir Jack. It made her want to laugh…or cry. His hairline had crept further back on his head. His eyes were small, beady, and black, and they zeroed in on her now.

  “You worried us when you left so suddenly,” he said, then nudged Aunt Rose from behind.

  “Oh yes,” she gushed. “We’ve been worried about you. It’s good to see you safe and sound.” She reached out and pinched Belle’s cheek. “Though, have you been taking care of yourself?”

  Belle thought about the few years right after she left their home. They were hard years of living in a crappy apartment and barely making ends meet. But they were also wonderful, because she’d been free to make her own decisions. The entire time, she hadn’t heard once from her aunt and uncle. This past year in Everly was like a happy dream. She looked again at her aunt’s smiling face. Now Belle knew she was in an alternate reality. They were never this nice…unless they wanted something. Panic hit her. She imagined them wheedling their way into her life, moving into the house, sitting at her table, eating her food, sleeping in the bedrooms.

  Her uncle, sitting in her favorite chair every morning, barking out orders for more coffee. Her uncle, giving commands and demanding his favorite meal of canned peas and tuna on toast, then complaining Belle didn’t make it right.

  Her aunt, napping mid-morning, snoring over a crossword puzzle. Her aunt, asking Belle to tweeze the black hairs from her chin since her eyesight had grown worse.

  “How have you been?” Uncle Rupert asked.

  “Um…fine.” She needed something to do with her hands, so, drifting over to the table, she tried to appear calm. A stack of mail lay on the table. Several pieces had been opened, the bank statements, of course. How could anyone walk into someone’s house, uninvited, and open their private mail?