She looked me square in the eyes, her expression steady. “Anna, you might want to give it a thought. I know you adore her, but sometimes you have to face facts. Maybe she did it. She does like to stir things up.”
I paused, latte halfway to my mouth. Nana did like to stir things up once in a while. But poison a pie? “She’s too proud of her baking,” I said slowly. “She wouldn’t want to win by default.”
“Maybe,” Gloria said with a shrug. “But there’s nobody else.”
I exhaled through my nose, letting the moment sit between us. “All right. I’ll find out who actually did it.”
She smiled and shook her head like I was missing something. She really did believe Nana did it.
I turned and started walking again, my boots crunching on stray gravel and bits of fallen leaves. The air was crisp enough to make my cheeks tingle. Vendors were still setting up, some testing microphones, others flipping sausages on griddles. The smell of frying onions, sugar, and damp pavement clung to the air. I told myself I wasn’t bothered, but Gloria’s words followed me anyway.
I bought a few more things I didn’t need like a hand-painted mug, a scarf dyed the color of moss, and a tiny wooden carving of a fox. Retail therapy. I wandered around for more than an hour until I tucked everything into my pack. The parade would soon begin, and I wanted to be close to Nana’s shop when the procession rolled by.
Eventually, I wound up near the floats, where Aiden stood beside my dad, helping to secure a massive elk statue to the top of a truck for the Elks Lodge float. His jeans were dusty, his T-shirt clung to his shoulders, and even from a distance I could tell his mind was already halfway gone to wherever his next mission would take him.
When he caught my eye, he gave me that small, private nod that said everything and nothing. I smiled back, pretending I didn’t feel the ache that came with it. They didn’t need my help, and I could use a little distance from him for an hour or so. At least until after the parade.
I turned away and walked down the street, finally reaching Nana’s shop. The sight of it made me grin despite everything. After months of chaos, the early opening had been a success. The sign gleamed, the windows sparkled, and even the air smelled like fresh paint and vanilla candles. We had worked so hard.
The shop looked like it had been dropped out of a fairy tale and decided to stay. The brick was weathered but solid, the kind of red that deepened after a rain. Green curtains hung in the front windows, heavy and velvet-looking, drawn just enough to tease the soft golden light inside. The displays were careful but a little wild with bottles in shades of amber and emerald, bundles of dried herbs tied with twine, maybe a few crystals that caught the light even through the older windows. The front door was painted the same deep green as the curtains, with a brass handle that had been polished by me just the other day. The sign above it, hand-carved by my cousin Rory, read Celtic Moon Herbals, and I swear it looked magical somehow.
I still wished we’d found those missing boxes, but at least the shop looked beautiful.
A vendor on the corner was selling pretzels, the kind that glistened with butter and coarse salt. My stomach growled, so I reached into my purse for cash and found nothing but receipts and a stray pen. “I’ll be right back,” I said to the vendor, then jogged down the side of Nana’s shop toward the bank on the street behind hers.
The sound of laughter carried from families already lining the street with folding chairs and thermoses. Someone was tuning a trumpet, and a group of kids were tossing candy at each other like it was already parade time.
I hit the ATM, waving at people who waved back.
Cash in hand, I turned back toward the shop, my purse slung over my shoulder. The sun was brighter now and the clouds parted just wide enough to give the world a soft glow. The parade had started, and music filled the air.
Then I froze.
A flash of green, right at the street, caught my eye. It was Nana’s leprechaun outfit…or one just like hers. “Hey.”
The leprechaun—a small figure in a leprechaun costume, hat and all, face completely covered by a mask was bending over by Nana’s back door. What was he doing? He froze, staring at me.
I looked at the vest to see just gold sparkles. No O’Shea crest. Darting closer, I could see worn fabric, like a patch had been torn off. That was the person who’d set the dynamite.
Probably.
“Hey,” I bellowed.
The leprechaun zipped upright, tossed his knapsack over his shoulder, glanced back once, and then bolted down the alley.
“Stop,” I shouted again, breaking into a run.
The green knapsack jostling over his shoulder, he bolted around the side of the building to the front and barreled right into Iron Street and the melee of floats, kids on bikes, and other leprechauns dancing. I skidded to a stop at the curb, flashes of green and gold zipping by me. Did he steal something? It didn’t look like he’d been in Nana’s shop, but he’d been close. What was in the bag?
Was it even possible he still had the silver boxes?
Where was he? I dodged a kid on a trike with ribbons and tassels tied all around her getting sopped by the rain. She didn’t seem to mind.
Too much bright green met my eyes. I skirted the Elks float with their Bugle Team playing their instruments behind it, songs of Ireland blasting out.
Frantically, I looked each way, jumping out of the way of a leprechaun on a motorcycle. Not the one I wanted.
I reached the other side of the street and shoved wet hair out of my eyes, sucking in air. People lined the street sitting in lawn chairs with wide umbrellas covering them. All green. All gold.
