Samantha opened it and read the letter. There was a gasp. “This is too much. I can’t.”

  “You can. It’s a gift. Someone gave me that gift. I’m passing it on.”

  Samantha clutched it. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Just say you’ll take it. Say you’ll grab that fresh start by the horns and follow your dreams whatever they may be.” Belle furiously blinked back tears.

  Samantha looked down at the letter, head bowed. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “That’s not all.” Belle handed over another envelope with keys. “I’ve taken care of the paperwork. You can have my car. I know it’s not much at all. It might break down in the next town, but maybe it will get you where you want to go.”

  Samantha broke. She choked down the sobs, then the two were hugging. Belle felt light, a surge of warmth and well-being; it flooded through her. Belle understood why Eliza wanted her to do this. Why Eliza spent her life doing this.

  They said their goodbyes on the porch and she watched Samantha drive away. At the same time Lucas pulled up. She could have this conversation, and she would, like a mature adult. He might be ten years older than her, but she wasn’t a teenager.

  He approached slowly. “Can we talk? Do you mind?”

  “If you still want to talk to me,” she said, hesitantly, but the closer he got to the porch, the more her plans to be stoic disintegrated. Then it was like a dam broke, and her words came pouring out. “I know, I know. It’s all my fault. I never should have convinced you to let Lexie be there…there was always the potential for something to happen and it did and I don’t know what I would have done if…” Then she felt the sorrow change to anger and she wanted to beat on his chest. “What were you thinking—running in front of the van like that? You could have been killed, and that was what Lexie saw, and I know you were just doing your job, and I have no right to be mad about that”—the anger dwindled, the sorrow returned—“but you need to talk to her. I never should have followed you when you ran out, and I should have stayed with Lexie at home, but I couldn’t, because I was about lose it, and I don’t cry in front of people.” She took a big breath, then several more. “I understand if you don’t want to be my friend anymore. I understand if you don’t want my influence on Lexie.”

  “Are you done?” he asked, but the words didn’t hold the spike of fury she expected.

  “Not really but I would just be repeating myself.”

  “Belle, your slate is clean.”

  She heard the words, but she didn’t understand; she searched his eyes, for surely this was a joke, and the compassion and care she saw in his eyes was an illusion.

  He made up the gap between them in two steps and he hugged her. He pulled her into himself, wrapping his big arms around her. She had to use all her willpower not to cry.

  Then he spoke the words right by her ear. “It’s not on you. It’s on me. I’m the one responsible for Lexie. I’m responsible for her safety. I should have seen the potential for this to happen and made her stay home. I’m the one who failed, not you.”

  “That’s not true. There’s no way you could have known what was about to happen. It should have been a night of fun and magic, not a dramatic arrest.”

  He pulled away and led her to the front steps. They sat down together “Then why do you feel responsible?”

  She shrugged, unable to answer. “You still want to be my friend?”

  “Of course. We’re the lucky ones to have you in our lives. Lexie would miss you terribly.”

  They sat in silence. Belle tucked his words away in the corner of her mind, to pull out and process later, when she was alone, but there was a warmth stealing over her. She thought back on the night. “Why did you step in front of the van? She could have killed you.”

  He sighed. “It happened fast. We have to make decisions like that. I didn’t think she would hit me. I had already shot out the tires. But I know…it was a risk. I shouldn’t have done it.” He grabbed her hand. “I’m sorry for the way I looked at you. What I said. The tone I used. When I found all of you behind the stage. I didn’t mean to hurt you like that.”

  “You had a right to be mad.”

  “Maybe, but not a right to take it out on you like that. It wasn’t the time or the place.”

  “Thanks.” Unable to stand the emotional intensity and knowing she couldn’t run away, she said, “That was genius, arresting all of them.”

  “I certainly didn’t expect each one of them to confess. That’s why I let it play out. Obviously, at least one of them was lying.”

  “I guess he really did just swallow too many pills, possibly forgetting he’d already taken one, or in the sluggishness of sleep, he didn’t care.”

  “Yes,” he said, “that is one explanation, but unless someone confesses, we’ll never know.”

  “I assume Shana is alive and well,” Belle said.

  Lucas nodded. “How did you know?”

  “I couldn’t imagine anyone would take on a poisonous snake. Magic is all about illusion, of making it look dangerous and life-threatening when it’s not. Of course, there was a chance,” she said, slyly. “That’s why I looked up videos on the coral snake and the scarlet kingsnake. Though similar, there are differences. The coral snake has more of a black band on its head, and the red has spots of black. While the scarlet kingsnake has more of a red snout. There is no black mixed with the red bands.”

  “Genius,” he whispered.

  “When I saw the snake, I could tell there was no danger.” She laughed and it felt good. “Though we can thank Betty for Shana’s impromptu confession while she thought she was dying.”

  “I think she might have confessed anyway.”

  The night was growing late, but something still lay heavy on her chest. “I know it’s too late and Lexie’s in bed, but I left so fast and I didn’t explain. Maybe we just need to go talk to her and give her a hug. Tomorrow morning, let’s meet Bixby at The Beanery for breakfast. We can have a big long murder talk, break it all down. He’d love it.”

  “Agreed. Let’s go.”

  When they left, while they were in the car, and in the quiet, Belle felt thankful for everything. Almost like she wanted to pray, like there was someone bigger than all this, who knew her heart, knew what she needed. Maybe the next Sunday, she’d make her way to the beautiful church with the stained-glass windows.

  She felt like there was still a lot to talk about, but she enjoyed the quiet of friendship, the time to think. She couldn’t wait to see Lexie.

  Thankful for her friends in Everly.

  ***

  Belle and Lucas’s sleuthing days aren’t over yet!

  Millions at stake. A murder. Lucas’ dad is a main suspect.

  Pumpkin Spice Murder!

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  Pumpkin Spice Murder Sneak Peek

  Secrets. What was it about the unknown, the hidden?

  Belle hoped that Sir Jack, her newly inherited blue-fronted Amazon Parrot would know secrets about Aunt Eliza. It was a shot in the dark, more like a shot in the blackest of nights while blindfolded. Worth a try. Time for an interrogation session.

  But first, the coffee.

  She opened the canister, an old-fashioned glass jar and wondered how Aunt Eliza took her coffee. Oh, the talks they could have had if she hadn’t been brutally taken from this world.

  It had become a habit to breathe in the scent, eyes closed, then measure it out, pour the water, and press Start. It was the small moments. While the coffee burbled in the kitchen, filling the room with its rich scent, she placed Sir Jack’s breakfast in a bowl and placed it in his cage. “Here you go. Eat up.”

  “Breakfast time,” Sir Jack said.

  “At least he didn’t say murder,” Belle mumbled, heading back to the kitchen, back to the delicious scent of hazelnut.

  “Murder!” he squawked.

  Living with her aunt and uncle, she could never take the time, just to sit in the morning with a hot drink, appreciate the quiet while thinking or dreaming about the future. No, it was go, go, go. Do this. Do that. Now, she took those moments.

  She’d worked it out with Bixby after a long conversation. She enjoyed helping out at The Beanery, even though she knew he could manage it. They were a small operation. She would work several days a week, but there was no need to arrive too early before the rush.

  She poured the coffee, then the creamer, watching it swirl into a blooming cloud of creamy white. Again, it was the small things. “Okay, time to do this.”

  Back in the parlor, Belle had placed an armchair by Sir Jack’s cage. He had become a companion of sorts, though she still had a lot to learn about caring for him. Where to start? She’d created a list of questions. “Does the term Calypso mean anything to you?”

  “Calypso. Calypso gone.”

  He was right. Madeleine Calypso was gone from this world. Could he understand the concept of death? Maybe she needed to simplify her sentences. “What does Calypso mean?”

  “Secrets.”

  “You can say that again.”

  “Secrets.”

  A laugh slipped out, then she sipped more coffee. Getting information from Sir Jack was a puzzle, a mystery in and of itself. Maybe she should try just one word. “Calypso.”

  “Goodwin.”

  Hmm. That was getting somewhere. Charles Goodwin had been a mentor to Madeleine Calypso and had died, leaving Sir Jack to Madeleine, then Madeleine left him to her.

  With a squawk, Sir Jack started singing. “I’m singing in the rain.” He repeated it several times.

  “Wow. Such talent,” she said.

  “No kidding.”

  “Do you know any secrets?” she asked.

  “Secrets. Do you know secrets?” he parroted back.

  Belle scoffed. “Sadly, I don’t. Now, it’s time for me to go.”

  “Sad goodbye,” he said.

  Her cup was empty. She wanted to linger a bit longer but old habits die hard. Even though she was forcing herself to take these extended moments in the morning, she still felt guilty about them. Like she was lazy. She shrugged it off.

  She dressed, left a few lettuce leaves in the bottom of Sir Jack’s cage, then said, “See you later, alligator.”

  “Watch out!” he squawked. “Watch out!”

  ***

  It was thirty minutes later when she arrived at The Beanery. Fresh air and walking—it was all good for you, she convinced herself. She had no regrets about giving her car to someone who needed it.

  She would have arrived earlier, but she liked to pause and admire the trees, bursting with vibrant colors of fall—bold reds, oranges, yellows and even a few with leaves tinged purple. The chill in the air had a bite to it, warning of cold weather yet to come. She pulled her coat tighter around her body as a gust of wind blew through the trees, signaling that winter was just around the corner.

  The cold would come, whether she wanted it to or not.

  Winter. She shivered, flashing back to nights sleeping in the attic where she could feel the frigid air wafting through the attic window like there was no glass. Well, if nothing else, this coming winter she’d be warm. She’d see to that. Even if it meant sleeping under ten blankets. She’d sleep on the floor right next to the heating vent if it meant being toasty warm.

  She opened the door to the shop, closed it, opened it, closed it, then entered. It had become habit. She loved the jingle of the bell. It was bright and cheery. It was her way of letting Bixby know she’d arrived.

  He burst from the back kitchen, his smile big and broad, her favorite kind. “I had a feeling it was you. Glad you’re here. I want your opinion on—” He studied her, eyes narrowing. “You look like you walked here.”

  “I might have.” She shrugged.

  “You still haven’t looked into a car?”

  “Soon. I’m getting there. Sir Jack has kept me busy. I’m supposed to spend fifteen minutes with him, one-on-one, twice a day. Then, there needs to be shared time, too. Where I’m just with him.”

  “You’re not under a leash and chain with this inheritance thing, you know. Eliza would be appalled.” He flashed her another smile. “That’s okay. I’ve been busy, too. To be completely honest, I’d forgotten about something.” He wiped his hands on his apron. “Follow me.”

  “Give me a clue,” she said, following Bixby back through the kitchen, then through the back exit door into the back parking lot where they usually parked. There were two spots for customers in front of their shop.

  He pushed on the door, allowing the rush of cool air inside. Belle shivered. Now that she was cooling off from her walk, the air felt colder than before. They stood in the parking lot. There was Bixby’s small Civic. Next to it, was a huge station wagon. It was ugly. It was a robin’s egg blue; it reminded Belle of the BEST Candy Company uniforms. It had atrocious brown paneling on the sides.

  “How old is this thing?” she asked.

  “Old.” Bixby patted the hood like it was an old friend. “It was Eliza’s. She had placed it in storage a few weeks before…”

  Belle sighed. “You can say it. Before she was murdered.” She still had nightmares about it. She still missed her aunt. In a way, she was still processing, but not talking about it was not going to change what happened.

  “Yes, before that.” He tapped his fingers on the hood, then ran them over the rearview mirror. “You still don’t get it, do you?”

  “What?”

  “This beautiful beast of a car is yours!” He pulled the keys from his pocket, letting them dangle from his fingers. “Congrats. You are the new owner. You can give her a name if you want. Like Behemoth. ”

  “Great.” She forced a smile.

  It wasn’t that she was ungrateful or that she didn’t appreciate the new set of wheels, but the car was gigantic. The only car she’d driven was on the smaller side. Belle could imagine the vehicles she’d rear end or the massacred parking jobs in her future. Forget about parking between the lines or parallel parking, not that she ever attempted the second anyway.

  “Take it for a test drive.” He opened the driver’s side door.

  “Maybe later?” She let out an uncontrolled shiver.

  “You’re cold. No wonder after walking here.” He handed her the keys. “I know what you need. A taste of my new flavor. That’s where I want your opinion.”

  “What do you mean?” She followed him back inside, rubbing her arms. Though, she hardly ever worked in the back kitchen, it was a happy place. Just enough room for Bixby to work his magic.

  “You’ll see. Take a seat and I’ll bring it out. Then, you’ll understand.”

  She made her way to the front and found her favorite table by the window. It was where she worked with Lexie. A nice spot, with good memories, and a view of the town, of the people

  Bixby poured her coffee and added the newest flavor of creamer. She watched the steam curl into the air in disappearing wisps, itching to feel the warmth on her hands.

  He placed the mug on the table. “Here you go. Just like you like it.”

  “Like it? You mean love it.” She cradled it, then sipped. “Yum. Just the right amounts, a hint of pumpkin, the taste of cinnamon. It’s perfect.” Images flashed in her mind, not of anything she’d done, but fantasies of what normal people do in the fall. Like carving pumpkins and roasting the seeds. All seemed like something you would do with friends. Maybe she should throw a pumpkin carving party. Make the fantasies into reality.

  “I tweaked the recipe last night. Thought it might be too bland, in need of more spice. I’ll be in the kitchen. You savor the coffee, then let me know.”

  “I’ll cover any customers who enter.”

  “Got it.”

  Belle relished the quiet before the crowds, though she loved the rush of customers just as much. She took Bixby’s advice, sipped the coffee, closing her eyes to block any distractions. The scent of cinnamon, the taste of cream. Was that ginger? It was delicious. The tweaks were perfect.

  The bell jingled.

  She didn’t move right away, still savoring, still lost in the moment.

  “Do you work here?”

  Belle startled from the moment of savoring. She straightened. “Yes, I do.”

  The woman was average height, average in appearance. Almost nerdy, with black hair pulled back, a few strands loose about her face, the thick, square glasses with orange frames that almost hid the freckles. Maybe in her thirties? It was hard to tell. She peered at Belle, not judging, but discerning, taking in everything. Her clothing didn’t reveal much, plain, dark, almost like a uniform, like she was on the job.

  “If you work here and have the time to sit drinking coffee that tells me the business is not doing well. I should go somewhere else.” Her words, her tone, weren’t angry, just matter-of-fact, like she studied the situation, analyzed it, and came to a conclusion. She turned to go.

  Belle gasped. That certainly was not the situation, but how did she explain the walk to work, then cooling off, then going back outside to see the car, then the attack of the shivers. Bixby wanting her to try out his tweaks to the recipe.

  “Wait!” she cried.

  The woman stopped in the doorway. “This might be where you use a developed sales slogan to lure me back inside. It probably won’t work, but I’ll let you try.”

  Was the woman trying to be sarcastic? Belle didn’t think so. What this woman said seemed to be what she meant, emotion not playing a role. “We don’t use sales slogan to lure people inside.” It sounded like they were poisonous spiders trying to catch their prey.

  “You should. A catchy, bold slogan has been proven to work, but if you don’t have one, I’ll leave.”