He scoffed. “Darling, you know me better than that. Gotta go. The Brie does not sell itself,” he declared, looping his arm through his husband’s and wandering toward their booth.
No more than twenty feet from us, Louisa stood. She was impeccably dressed in white linen and heels that managed to not sink into the grass while she chatted with Simon Hatch, who ran the chamber of commerce.
“What is she doing here?” Nora sneered as she plopped down next to me.
“Sugar Moon is a major sponsor of this event,” I explained, trying to keep the irritation from my voice.
I felt for Louisa. Maplewood had adopted me the moment I’d moved here. No matter how hard I tried, I hadn’t been able to escape the warm embrace of this town. Louisa had not been so lucky.
“Maybe she’s trying to look innocent,” Frankie scoffed.
Standing, I shot her a glare.
Wincing, she mouthed, “Sorry.”
With a shake of my head, I wandered toward my boss.
Although she looked out of place among the sticky-fingered kids and men in beer logo tees, Louisa’s face lit up when she saw me. “Evie,” she said as I approached, her tone measured but friendly. “I didn’t expect to find you amid the chaos.”
I bounced Vincent on my hip. “Baby’s first festival.”
“He’s beautiful,” she gushed, squeezing his little foot. “Congratulations.” Her face softened as she took him in, the cool detachment gone.
She took a step to the side, closer to another table, and picked up a paper plate weighed down by a hunk of powdered sugar–covered fried dough. The kind that left greasy fingerprints on everything it touched. “Don’t tell anyone,” she teased, “but I’ve waited all year for this.”
“You eat fried dough?” The question came out a little too loud and a little too disbelieving.
“Once a year,” she replied dryly. “I consider it character building.”
I chuckled. “I think that makes you an honorary local.”
She shook her head. “Hardly. But it’s a beautiful day to indulge. Enjoy the festival.”
At her parting words, I headed back toward our table. Jasper had returned with lemonades and the group was talking about the events planned for the day.
“The Maple Street Mafia is in charge of the dunk tank this year,” Nora explained, “I took a photo of the posted schedule.” She slid her phone across the table, and Frankie jumped to her feet.
“Gotta go.” She reached into the pocket of her jean shorts and pulled out a wad of cash. “I’ve been waiting for this moment.”
As she stalked off, Nora shook her head. “I hope she doesn’t get arrested.”
We followed along, Jasper joining us, to enjoy the show over at the dunk tank. The elderly ladies had taken this from an afterthought to the highlight of the Founder’s Festival, and all the money raised went toward funding after-school programs. They had filed a motion at a town meeting last winter to include it in the Maple Festival, but the hypothermia risk was too high in April around here.
Every major town figure took a turn, and as we approached we discovered why Frankie was so excited.
Sitting on the platform, in full uniform and a pair of aviator sunglasses that were frankly a little too sexy, was Police Chief Nolan Foster.
Jasper squeezed my hand as Frankie rolled her shoulders, a dangerous glint in her eye.
“Does she have a good arm?” he asked.
“She has a good everything when hurting Nolan is involved,” Nora said, navigating to her phone’s camera so she could capture this on video.
Her hatred of our police chief was legendary. And that sentiment was mutual. Straitlaced Nolan, who was nothing but kind and helpful to the rest of us, could barely tolerate her. No one spoke of how this happened or why, but the whole town understood how dangerous it was for the two to be in the same room.
“Sure you can see the target from down there, Dunne?” he taunted, crossing his muscular arms.
Nolan was the size of an oak tree, and Frankie was tiny. Not that her size had ever stopped her from doing what she wanted.
