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“I am very good at what I do. What can I say?” I pulled out the bowls and dishes needed to start on the second batch. Muffins came together quickly, luckily for me. We needed to get them done if we were going to deliver them to our new neighbor while it was still morning.
“I still think it’s weird that they moved here in the dead of night,” Danielle said, trying for no less than the tenth time to swipe a muffin for herself. The new batch was now in the oven and I was cleaning up the mess we had made. Rather, that I had made. Danielle was good at many things — baking was not one of them. The woman could not make those take-and-break cookies from the grocery store. She called it her black thumb of baking.
“I’m sure they had their reasons.” My attempt at reassurance fell on deaf ears as Danielle finally managed to grab a muffin while I had my back turned, biting into the warm goodness with a groan.
“If you ask me, the only reason someone moves in the middle of the night like that — all stealth mode and all — is because they are hiding something.”
“Danielle, that imagination of yours has gotten the best of you. They could work at night. Or maybe they got in later than expected in the middle of the night and wanted to get it done. You don’t know,” I said.
“Hey, I’m a beloved author. It’s my job to have an active imagination, so don’t go ragging on it.”
“You write romance, not crime thrillers, love.”
“Listen, those fuckers in my book get up to some crazy shit. All I’m saying is that there’s something going on there. Mark my words.”
“You’re ridiculous.” The timer on the oven dinged, and I pulled the new batch of muffins out of the oven, placing them on a cooling rack. “Now, to find my basket. They will need to cool for a little while and then we will be ready to greet our new neighbor properly.”
I eyed myself in the double oven’s glass reflections, smoothing my dress down gently.
“Stop fretting. You look perfect,” Danielle mumbled through a mouthful of muffin.
“You, on the other hand, look like you just rolled out of bed.” My words were teasing, though there was a tinge of truth to them. Her mouth was covered in streusel crumb topping, a few errant crumbles having fallen over her shirt.
“Nothing a little dusting won’t fix.” She smiled around her mouth full of food. Danielle was a character, full of wit and sass and smart ass remarks, and I loved every inch of her for it. Even when she looked a mess. I, myself, had an image to uphold.
Finally, with the basket lined in a blue gingham fabric and muffins piled up and covered neatly, Danielle and I head out of the front door, across the cul-de-sac, and towards the newly inhabited home of our new neighbor.
“Okay, so seriously, take my bet. Twenty dollars says they are mercenaries, living the nightlife, killing off bad guys for hire,” Danielle said quietly beside me.
“Good morning, Mrs. Easton,” I said, greeting another of our neighbors jogging by us in a pink designer tracksuit. “Seriously, Danielle. Your mind is in overdrive. Are you working on a new book?”
“No, between books right now,” she answered with a shrug.
“It’s obviously time for you to dive back in. You have too much creative energy running around in that brain of yours. It’s spilling out at the most inappropriate times.” She paid no heed to my chiding words, however.
“So, are you taking my bet or not?” Danielle whispered loudly. I stopped in my tracks, tugging at her arm until she, too, stopped and turned to face me.
“Danielle, I adore you, but not everything in this town is full of mystery, secrets, and lies. It’s not a romance novel. Its real life. Real life, where the neighbor next door is just a hardworking man who manages a bank, or a busybody of a woman who heads up the homeowner’s association.”
“Ugh, do not bring Lousy Lisa into this.” Her disgruntled words had the corners of my mouth twitching towards a smile, but I resisted.
“I’m serious. Outline your next novel and dig in, but life here in Apple Grove is perfect and normal. There is nothing untoward going on. Nothing sinister or secret,” I said a little harshly, and rang the doorbell.
And there was no answer. None at all.
“Mercenaries, I’m telling you,” Danielle whispered, although it came out as more of a hiss.
“Knock it off,” I said through clenched teeth, my smile plastered in place, ready to welcome the newcomers. I waited a moment more, then rang the bell a second time.
Still no answer.
“Perhaps they aren’t at home.” My murmured words only spurned her on further.
“Or they are out tracking down their next kill.”
“Jesus, Danielle. Are they mercenaries or vigilantes?” I rolled my eyes dramatically.
“Oh, that’s a fun twist. Vigilantes with a sordid past. Perhaps military men turned into a life of crime after some horrible traumatic past during deployment. Or —”
