“There hasn’t been rosemary in the kitchen since November. It was fresh, too. Three sprigs on the floor under my prep counter.”
Charlotte set down the muffin. Her hair was up in a bun she’d done in the rear-view mirror of her car, which Grace knew because she’d seen Charlotte do it through the front window.
“How fresh was it?”
“Just-picked. It was bright green. The leaves were soft, and the stem where it had been cut was still moist.”
Charlotte’s expression became thoughtful. “Anything else weird happen in here recently?”
“This morning? No.”
“How about in the last week?”
Grace thought about it. There had been a strange email last week, from someone who said they’d found a fly in a hot chocolate they ordered to go from her store. The person was considering reporting it to the health department.
The email address had been random letters with a number on the end. No name. Grace had answered it politely and apologized. Offered to give the person a free hot chocolate the next time they came in if they would identify themselves to her so she’d know who to gift the free drink to.
Later that day, though, she’d still been chewing on how a fly got into a drink without her or Mary noticing it. She ended up looking at the date the complainer cited in the email and going back through her store receipts for that day. She’d sold exactly fourteen hot chocolates, and she knew every single customer who’d bought one.
She also knew most of their email addresses, and it only took a few minutes on her laptop to find email addresses for the rest. None of them used a randomized, anonymous email handle.
She’d received no response to her email, and the accuser never did identify himself or herself to claim their free drink.
She told Charlotte about it, now.
“Sounds like somebody was bored and just trying to get a rise out of you,” Charlotte said.
“Maybe.” Grace shrugged. She was generally calm and unflappable, and she was pretty sure everyone in Cobbler Cove thought the same of her. None of them would bother trying to get a rise out of her, would they?
She got very few customers who weren’t locals, and she knew almost every one of her customers by face and name. Had a stranger come through the day of the alleged fly incident? She didn’t remember one coming in.
Charlotte interrupted her train of thought with, “Let me know if any more weirdness happens.”
“I will.”
“And Grace, if somebody plants something bigger in your kitchen — bugs, expired food, mouse droppings, call Sheriff Wheeler. Take pictures. Don’t touch it.”
Grace stared. “You think someone’s going to plant bugs or poop in my kitchen?”
“I think someone put that rosemary in your bakery, which is weird. And I think it would be even weirder if that’s the only thing they do. I’m just telling you how to react when something else happens. That’s all.”
“Charlotte, this isn’t one of your true crime shows. Eat your muffin.”
By ten the rush was over. Mary was feeling better and showed up at ten-thirty. Grace put her to work prepping sandwiches for the lunch customers.
Grace had taken off her apron and was sitting on the stool behind the counter writing out the order list for next week’s deliveries. The shop was quiet until the little bell mounted over the front door rang, announcing a customer.
She looked up.
Did a double take.
The man was tall. Athletic. Had brown hair so dark it almost looked black. His complexion had the dark tan that came from spending a lot of time outdoors and wouldn’t fade in a hurry.
He was handsome. Really handsome. As in hard to take her eyes off of him handsome. He wore a black t-shirt and charcoal gray jeans, and the dark colors made his tanned forearms look darker still.
He had . . . presence. A quiet confidence about him that invited her closer, drew her in. She supposed other women would call it sex appeal. Females must fall over like bowling pins in his wake. Good thing she was immune to men in general.
She’d only dated, loved, and married one man in her entire life. After he died, she had no desire to do any of it again. She’d found and lost her one great love and that part of her life was over.
