Annette: I was experimenting with recipes last night.
Brooke: Is that something kinky? Because we can be friends and we can talk about sex but I'm going to need you to warn me if we're blowing past vanilla and discussing all the flavors.
Annette: No, dearie, it's not kinky. I made lemon, orange, and key lime curds and then made different pastries with each one. I had a lot of assorted citrus squares left over when I was done. Jackson took the orange squares to the station this morning and I dropped the key lime off with the Mulcahey's house but now I have leftover lemon squares in my kitchen. I could probably bring them to the town council meeting.
Brooke: I hope these assholes appreciate you and your squares.
Annette: They do.
Brooke: All right, then. Put on something cute. Pack up your squares. Go distract that man.
Brooke: And tell me all the dirty details tomorrow.
Annette: I always do.
Brooke: I know. It's the only thing keeping me sane at this point.
Brooke: That and the dragon blood I drink for breakfast every morning.
Annette: That's beet juice, honey.
I settledinto an empty spot in the last row, my lemon squares on my lap and my tote bag still slung over my shoulder, and scanned the station's meeting room. This was the oldest portion of the station by hundreds of years and had once served as the town's courtroom. The wide plank floors creaked, thick beams bisected the ceiling, and it was said these benches were older than the state of Maine.
The room held no more than twenty-five or thirty people and about that many were gathered together in small groups or bent over their phones or newspapers. Owen Bartlett and the other members of the town council were huddled together beside a long table at the front of the room. I knew from past experience they were reviewing tonight's agenda and the list of residents signed up to speak during the public comment portion of the meeting.
From the hallway, I heard Jackson's voice. "There's something going on out there. I don't know what it is but I don't like it."
"I hear you, sheriff," someone replied. "But we might be fighting the wind. The fence coming down, the noises. Probably nothing more than some strong breezes that they're hearing now because the windows are open. They're anxious folks, ya know?"
I leaned back against the bench, turning my head in the direction of the hallway to catch more of their conversation.
"It's not the wind," Jackson argued, his tone firm. "They have every reason to be anxious. Something isn't right at the inn and I want eyes on that property every hour until I tell you otherwise."
"Understood, sir," the other man said.
"I have to step into this meeting now," Jackson said. "Update me in an hour."
Still staring in the direction of the hall, I smiled when Jackson walked through the door, his hands fisted at his waist and a scowl on his face. "I'm here and I brought lemon squares," I whispered, holding up the container.
"You're amazing," he replied, dropping beside me on the bench. He motioned for me to lift the lid. "You didn't tell me you were coming. I would've walked you over if I'd known."
Jackson helped himself to a lemon square as I shrugged. "I didn't decide until just now," I said. "Is everything all right? I heard you in the hall."
He licked the lemon curd from his fingers, his head bobbing from side to side. "Just keeping watch on a few things," he replied. "Did you lock your doors when you left?" I nodded. "That's what I like to hear."
I crossed my legs. His gaze followed the movement. "Aren't you supposed to sit up front?"
"Even if I am," he started, his attention on my strappy sandals, "I'm staying right here." He leaned forward, tucking a curl over my ear. "You know we're giving them something to talk about. Right?"
"Mmhmm." I shot quick glimpses around me, taking stock. JJ Harniczek was in the front row, his hat on backward and his arms crossed. The Fitzsimmonses were on the far left, the Lincolns a few rows away. Neither family spoke to anyone else. The DiLorenzos were showing off pictures of their new grandson. I was surprised I didn't find Owen's boyfriend Cole among the people gathered for this meeting. Perhaps they reserved their public snuggling for bookstores. "They haven't stopped looking since you sat down and shoved your hand into my dish."
His shoulders brushed mine as he laughed. "You love it when I do that," he murmured.
"You're right," I said, grinning. "I do."
Jackson tipped his head toward the people seated in front of us. "You're all right with this?" he asked. "You're good with everyone and their auntie showing up at your shop tomorrow, digging for dirt?"
Still smiling, I nodded. They'd come. I'd smile but say nothing substantial. The Cove would light up with speculation. It would be a lot of chatter but it would also be fine. "I'm great. How are you?"
