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I have seen nothing like it. Community. People coming together when help is needed more than ever.
We pause to sit on the patio and eat. Burgers and fresh fruit and macaroni salad. Quiet conversations about work and summer vacations and what else we should tackle before we call it a day. As I rise to toss our trash in the garbage can, a police cruiser parks in front of the storefront.
“Be right back,” I say, giving Alessandra’s shoulder a quick squeeze.
I jog inside, toss our paper plates in the bin, and dash back out. Two officers stand on the opposite side of the patio rail, talking to Alessandra, her fingers twisting in front of her waist.
“Once we rattled off charges and the length of time they’d spend behind bars, the boys cooperated without resistance,” the female officer says.
“And?” Alessandra wraps her arms around her middle.
“And a woman—Myrtle Payne—paid the boys to do everything. Spray paint the exterior. The mass of unpaying customers. The online reviews. And the destruction that happened last night.”
“What about the outlandish commentary on social media?” I ask.
The second officer meets my gaze. “Now that we have a name and contact information for her, we’ll find out if she’s the one responsible for the comments.” He rests his hand on the butt of his gun. “More than likely, it is her.”
“What happens next?” Anderson pipes up.
“Next, we find this Myrtle Payne and bring her in for questioning. With the boys’ written confessions and a long list of damages—physically and financially—to your business, I imagine she’ll lawyer up and it’ll take time before everything is resolved.”
Alessandra wilts and I wrap an arm around her shoulders. Let her lean on me for support while she takes this all in.
The female officer pulls out her phone and taps on the screen before turning it to face us. “Does this woman look familiar at all? The boys told us they met her in a chatroom. This is her profile image.”
We lean in and look at the image on her phone. Something about her is familiar. I ignore the color of her hair and narrow in on the shape of her face. The lines around her eyes. The plumpness of her cheeks. The dimple in her chin. Beside me, Alessandra shakes her head. I turn my gaze to her as recognition sets in.
“It’s been months, and she doesn’t look the same in this picture, but isn’t that the woman your barista spilled coffee on the day I returned?”
Alessandra inches closer. Scrutinizes the image harder. Then she straightens, her eyes wide as she sees the similarities. She slaps a hand to her mouth.
“Thatisher.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “Oh my god.” A tear falls down her cheek and she wipes it away. “She did all this over an accident?” She turns her gaze down the sidewalk as more tears fall.
I pull her to my chest and wrap her in my arms. The officer stows her phone and gives a sad smile.
“We’ll be in touch, Ms. Everett. In the meantime, let us know if there’s anything we can do to help.”
With that, the officers back away from the patio, get in the cruiser and drive off.
The crowd of helpers goes back inside and continues with the cleanup. Alessandra and I remain on the patio, wrapped up in each other and silent as we digest the truth behind the damage over the past two-plus months. No words could convey the shock I feel after learning who is behind this. All this anger and violence over a barely noticeable drop of coffee on her shirt. Some people must have nothing better to do with their life besides making others miserable.
But Myrtle Payne won’t be causing any more problems. And I hope they throw the book at her for all the hurt and damage she caused.
“So glad you’re here.” Alessandra fists my shirt and rests her head on my shoulder. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”
I kiss her crown and rub a hand up and down her spine. “Nowhere else I’d rather be.” I cup the back of her neck as she tips her head back, her blues on my ambers. “Love you, firecracker.”
She pushes up on her toes and presses her lips to mine. “Love you too, Care Bear.”
EPILOGUE
ALESSANDRA
Six months later
Just as life develops a layer of normalcy, something new pops up. At least this change is a good thing.
Since the night of the break-in and fire at the café, Braydon and I haven’t spent a night apart. His dad had insisted he take two weeks off the help me and the Java and Teas Me family clean up. Get as much of the town’s beloved coffee shop in order so we could open our plywood-covered doors and serve the people of Lake Lavender.
