ChapterOne
To the Residents of Garden Cove,
It is with a sense of great urgency and a faithful duty to our community that I pen this letter. Recent events have brought to light a matter that cannot be ignored, a matter that strikes at the heart of our town’s integrity.
For too long, we have been unaware of the true nature of one of our own. Nora Black, a prominent member of our community and owner of the beloved local shop Scents and Scentsability has a secret—a secret that threatens our privacy and trust.
It has come to my attention that Ms. Black supposedly possesses a gift beyond the ordinary, a gift that allows her to plunder the deepest part of our unconscious and uncover our most intimate memories. If this revelation is true, it crosses the sacred boundaries that define our personal lives.
Without our knowledge or consent, Ms. Black has used her psychic abilities to read the thoughts and memories of unsuspecting citizens. Her ability violates our Fourth Amendment right to privacy.
As a community, we cannot turn a blind eye to such flagrant disregard for our privacy. It is our duty to hold Ms. Black accountable for her actions, regardless of her standing or reputation.
Let us stand together, united in our resolve to uphold the principles of trust and respect that form the foundation of our town.
With the deepest unease, A Concerned Resident
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” My best friend Gilly Martin threw the Garden Cove Gazette, the last printed newspaper still surviving in our area, across the floor of our shop. The pages scattered. Gilly shook a fist at the offending paper. “I demand that the Gazette apologizes for publishing this...”
“Truth,” I supplied.
“It’s trash,” Gilly spat.
The Gazette, established in nineteen seventeen, also had an online presence and was now run by social media influencer wannabes who loved a clickable headline. Ezra had shown me the article in the “Letter to the Editor” section at five-thirty this morning when he’d brought me coffee in bed. The sight of him wearing nothing but his boxer briefs, his hair slightly disheveled in that cute way I like and holding a cup of coffee out for me had been the last bright spot of the day.
“Nora,” Pippa, my other BFF and co-owner of Scents and Scentsability, said. “You can’t be okay with someone outing you to the entire town.”
I shrugged. “They sure picked a lousy weekend,” I muttered as I stacked two boxes of Red, White, and Blue soaps and lotions onto a dolly. Memorial Weekend was in full swing, and Garden Cove had been a hubbub of activity for our annual summer festival. Local restaurants had set up food trucks on Main Street, and most of the shops, including Scents and Scentsability, had rented booths for the street fair.
Initially, the letter had freaked me out, but then Shawn Rafferty, the chief of police and my long-time ex-husband, had called me, having his own freakout. It had actually calmed me down. Dealing with someone else’s crisis, even at my behest, had given me a reason to get out of my head.
“Hey,” I said, trying not to sound as stressed as I felt. I gave them the same speech I’d given Shawn. “It isn’t like folks haven’t been whispering about me for a while now. People are going to talk. And while I can’t control other people’s behavior, I can control my reaction to their behavior.” I gave the scattered newspaper a bland look. “I’m choosing to ignore.”
“You mean shove your head in the sand.” Gilly shook her head. “This isn’t going away because you don’t make a fuss.”
“If I do make a fuss,” I countered, “it’s only going to draw more unwanted attention.”
The door chimed, and three women walked into the store. It was a cool spring morning. One of the women wore a light lemon-yellow jacket, and the other two were wearing sweaters, one pastel purple and the other a periwinkle blue.
“Ladies,” I greeted with a nod. “Good morning.”
They quickly averted eye contact as they headed to the display of body scents.
Gilly leaned over and whispered to me, “And so it begins.”
I gave her a quick jab with my elbow. “As long as they buy something, I don’t care why they’re in here.”
“Can I bag that up for you?” Gilly asked loudly at Periwinkle Sweater as the young woman sidestepped closer to me.
She held a bottle of lavender and sandalwood body mist, one of my signature scents.
“We’re having a buy-one-get-one free,” I informed her while giving Gilly a bland look. “Grab yourself another scent or get two of the same.”
“Uh, thanks,” the woman said nervously. She shuffled back to grab another bottle. Her friends giggled, their glances flicking furtively between their friend and me.
Instead of going to the counter with the products, she brought them to me. “Uhm, I guess I’ll take these,” she said, thrusting them toward me.
“You can take them to Pippa.” I pointed to my thin blonde friend. Even after having a second baby three and a half months earlier, a boy they named Jordan Paul, Jr., Pippa was still skinny as a rail. I privately pondered if it was a good idea to call their daughter JJ and their son JP. It could get confusing. But, hey, I was only the godparent, and no one had asked for my opinion.
