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Ruined.
The single word steals my breath. By the looks of it, this wasn’t done by someone that uses spray paint often. The job is sloppy. Excess paint still drips beneath the letters. Some letters have a wider spray radius than others.
My free arm wraps around my middle. Although the job looks juvenile, a chill rattles me to the bone.
“Lessa?”
“Sorry, Sheila.” I wander toward the sidewalk lining Main Street. “Did you or any of the crew happen to see anyone outside the café before you left?”
When I reach the sidewalk, I look left then right. Shift my gaze to the opposite side of the street and do the same. Everything appears normal. Nothing broken or out of place. No spray-painted words on any of the other businesses, from what I can tell.
“I didn’t, and no one mentioned seeing anyone. Did something happen?”
“Someone vandalized the side of the building.” I turn and head for the back. “Spray-painted what I assume is a message. Not that I know what it means.” I reach the back door, slide my key in the lock, and twist. “Not the way I wanted to start my day, with police surrounding the café.”
“Let me know if I can be of any help. Even if it’s to clean the paint off when the police are done.”
“Thanks, Sheila.”
“Welcome. Sorry I couldn’t be of any more help.”
Disconnecting the call, I look up to see August at the prep table in the middle of the kitchen. His hands still as he looks up from the fruit he’s cutting. Confusion knits his brow as he studies my face.
“Everything okay?”
God, the same question popped up far too often over the past month.
Is something in retrograde? Because every damn thing in my life is off-kilter right now. If it’s not one thing, it is another. Sick employees, car repairs, construction on the café, unhappy customers, not being able to sleep in my own bed, and now vandalism. All of it is taking its toll.
And then there is Braydon. Seeing him again has my mind cloudy, my heart beating harder. Am I happy to see him? Absolutely. The man makes me feel alive in a way nothing else does. But seeing him also stresses me out. I already feel stretched thin. Like no matter how hard I try, I can’t catch my breath. I want to see where things will go with us, but fear I won’t be able to give him one hundred percent. And that isn’t fair to either of us.
“Was anyone hanging around when you got here?”
Metal clangs metal as August drops the knife and rounds the table. Red stains his white apron as he wipes his hands.
“No, why?”
I hang my head and audibly exhale. One breath, then another. I lift my gaze to his and shake my head. “Someone vandalized the building. It’s barely noticeable on the back. Must’ve caught the light just right as I parked.”
“Seriously?” August grabs the towel draped over his shoulder and wrings the cloth with tight fists. “We don’t live in a place where hooligans vandalize buildings.” The muscles in his jaw tighten. “If I learn who did this…”
I pat his arm then give it a squeeze. “Step in line, buddy.” Holding my phone up, I wave it. “Time to start my day with a call to the police department.”
I aim my feet toward the open office while August returns to his spot at the prep station. My purse lands with a thump on my desk as I roll the desk chair back then take a seat. I prop my elbows on the desk, drop my head in my hands, and count to ten.
Please, let there be some sort of evidence. Don’t care how big or small. Just something to give the police a lead.
Waking my phone screen with a tap, I scroll through my contacts once more. When I land on the police department’s nonemergency line, I hit call and bring the phone to my ear.
On the second ring, the call connects. “Lake Lavender Police Department. How may I direct your call?”
Ugh. This is going to be a long day.
No amount of caffeine is too much today. Considering I own the main source of caffeine in Lake Lavender, that says a lot.
For the past three hours, Java and Teas Me has been the center of attention. Officers arrived as the sun started to pink the sky. Sheriff Blackstone arrived with her two best officers and taped off the area. They scoured the lawn, searched the ground beneath the plants, took pictures from several angles, and rummaged through the dumpster. They dusted the non-brick areas nearest the paint but didn’t lift much. The brick is too textured and porous to attempt lifting prints.
Though I love the additional business because gossipers want to see what happened, this isnothow I wanted to garner a crowd. Java and Teas Me will be the talk of the town for months to come unless the culprit is apprehended or another shop is vandalized. And gossip talk is not the type of word I want to spread about my business. From one ear to the next, the story will change. Before long, it won’t resemble what really happened. Unless they figure out who pressed the nozzle on the can.
