I thought you said your death would be caused by my double-chocolate brownies
I said that I thought that would be an ideal way to go.
But I’m currently in my own personal hell, being yelled at by Ms. Johnson. And yet again, it’s over you.
Liv
That woman will never let my high school prank go. She needs a boyfriend! Let’s try to set her up with Felix!
I slip my phone back into my pocket as Ms. Johnson re-enters the room, her gray hair pulled into a tight bun, glasses perched on the edge of her nose, and a look that says she’s seen it all and isn’t impressed by most of it.
“Ms. Johnson, I?—”
“I know what you're doing. You’re trying to protect your girlfriend. For all I know, you were in on her schemes,” she says without missing a beat.
The word‘girlfriend’ sends an electrical shock throughout my body. If only I could be so lucky.
The truth is that I’m about as lucky as a black cat on Friday the thirteenth, which is why I’m stuck dealing with bored townsfolk with nothing better to do than blame people for stealing a recipe she definitely has memorized by now rather than chasing down real criminals.
“Ms. Johnson, Olivia is not my girlfriend,” I state, trying to nix the rumor before it spreads across this small town like wildfire. “And you need to understand that she isn’t your rival. She’s chasing her own dreams and has no need to steal recipes from you.”
She scoffs, waving a hand in the air for effect, then deepens her frown, as if that were even possible. I open my mouth to continue defending Olivia, but the crackling sound of my radio interrupts us. “County three six, we have a break-in at The Groovy Bean.”
“Ten-four, this is Beckett, on my way.”
Ms. Johnson’s frown shifts into something gentler—concern, maybe. The deep-set lines on her face seem to soften for just a second. She’s gruff, sure, but I’ve lived here long enough to know she cares more than she lets on. She gives me a nod.
“Go.”
“I will look into your concerns, Ms. Johnson. Have a good day.”
I don’t look back. Instead, I rush out of her house, jump into my cruiser, and flick on my lights. I arrive at The Groovy Bean within minutes, thankful that Ms. Johnson only lives a few blocks away. The Groovy Bean is one of my happy places. The small coffee shop brings a sense of comfort with its delicious coffee beverages and late-60’s theme. The workers are friends of mine, and Olivia sells a lot of her baked goods to the business. I pray silently that everyone is safe before I get out of my car. Leaving my coat behind, I rush to the glass doors and open them cautiously. There’s no broken glass, which is a good sign.
Instead of seeing Grayson, the owner, distressed from the reported break-in, she greets me with a bright smile. “Good morning, Luke.” Her smile falls slightly once she studies me. “Is everything okay?”
My eyes roam around the room, over the antique-styled furniture and warm earthy colors, searching for any sign of danger among the crowd. I sense nothing wrong with the scene. So why did I get a report about a break-in? Maybe Grayson is trying to keep things on the down-low?
I walk over to the front counter, the faint sound of Buffalo Springfield in the background, and inhale the scent of freshly ground coffee beans. Grayson walks toward me, her brown eyes wide as she leans in close so we can have a more private conversation.
“I got a call about a break-in,” I say in a hushed tone, my eyes scanning behind the counter.
“Break-in? There’s been none,” she replies, her brows furrowing together.
“Hey, Luke,” a familiar voice says from behind Grayson. I peer over her shoulder and see Wren, Olivia’s sister, carrying a box while offering me a nod. Her red hair touches her shoulders, swaying as she places the box onto the countertop.
Grayson whispers, “Was there a break-in I didn’t know about?”
Wren’s mouth turns into an ‘O’ as recognition hits her. She holds up a finger, turns toward the kitchen, and shouts, “Livie! Get your butt out here!” She returns her attention back to me, giving me a knowing look. “Please don’t arrest my sister. I can’t afford another bail.”
I’d laugh if I weren’t so confused. A flash of red appears from behind the glass windows of the kitchen doors, and out struts Olivia. The same force that pulls my brows to meet in the middle tugs her pink lips up into a grin.
“There you are!”
“Care to explain what’s going on?” I ask, looking down at her joyful expression.
She shrugs her shoulders, like it’s no big deal. “You said Ms. Johnson was going to kill you, so I called in a favor with Rick.”
“You asked my partner to call in a false break-in just to get me away from Ms. Johnson?”
