Zoey tugged his shirt down, then grabbed Linc’s arm and steered him a few feet away from the counter. “I’m with customers.”
“I’m a customer. A loyal one, at that.” He scowled again. “Who you tried to kill.”
“You are notdeathlyallergic to almonds. I told you there was the possibility of cross contamination—along with that sign in bright red letters.” Zoey pointed to the counter by the cash register.
Linc lifted his chin. “You never warned me.”
“Maybe if you hadn’t been complaining about my prices, you could have heard me. Besides, this could be from anything—like laundry detergent or soap.” She planted her hands on her hips. “Do you have any Benadryl?”
He growled. “I don’t take medicine.”
“Then be itchy. Preferably somewhere other than my store.” She attempted to turn his broad shoulders toward the exit.
Linc, unfazed, didn’t budge. He lowered his voice, ducking his head. “What kind of medicine did you say it was, again?”
“Benadryl. Oh my word, Linc. Look, I’ll swing by Magnolia Grocery and bring it to you as soon as the part-timer gets here to relieve me.”
“Okay.” Linc, still scowling, reluctantly moved toward the door. Then he called over his shoulder to the couple still standing wide-eyed by the display case, “Don’t get the lemon tarts.” He lifted his shirt again in warning.
“Out!” Zoey shoved him through the door, shutting it behind her with a clang of the chime.
Elisa caught Zoey’s eye and raised one brow, her spirits suddenly lifted. “Speaking oftogether...”
“Speaking ofdon’t even go there…” Zoey pointed in warning, then adjusted her logo T-shirt and smiled at the stricken couple. “Now, where were we?”
“Harold likes strawberry.” The woman, who sported a fanny pack, gestured to the display. “I wanted to try a chocolate, but I was afraid it might melt in the car.”
“Too messy on the seats.” Harold nodded, his straw hat askew. “We’re not used to hot spring temps like this up in Michigan.”
“Our traditional beignets probably handle the heat best.” Zoey moved behind the counter and grabbed a pair of tongs. “Or maybe you’d prefer caramel?”
As their conversation droned on, Elisa pulled out her phone and sent Trish a text letting her know she’d be back soon. She still needed to figure out the best way to break the news to Delia, if someone hadn’t beaten her to it.
The chit-chat continued from the serving counter.
“Where are you two headed next?” Zoey tucked the cardboard flaps inside the bakery box.
Harold pulled his wallet from his shorts. “We have a tradition—every new town we visit, we see a lighthouse if we can.”
“It’s silly. But it’s our thing. Isn’t that right, dear?” The woman hooked her arm through Harold’s. “Every year for thirty years.”
Harold handed over his payment. “She likes the lights in those big ol’ structures. Finds it romantic, somehow.”
“How can you not?” The lady sighed. “Lighthouses are pure poetry.”
Elisa frowned. The wordpoetryniggled her brain, sparking an idea just out of reach. Paul Revere. The poem. Clue #1.
And I on the opposite shore will be…
Her eyes widened.
Hang a lantern aloft…as a signal light…
“That’s it!” She shoved her chair backward. Her heart thudded a frenetic rhythm in her chest as she grabbed her purse. “Zoey, I’ll call you later.”
She’d solved the first clue.
* * *
