“I’m at home.” There was a pause from her mother. “Why? Is something wrong?”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes. Why? Darling, you’re scaring me.”
“I need you to promise me you’ll stay away from Jonah.”
“Polly—”
“Promise me, Mom! Another woman went missing. A woman who’s connected to Jonah went missing just when he got out on bail.”
“What?”
“They go to church together, and I saw them hugging.”
There was a pause. “That doesn’t mean?—”
“Mom. Please! This is important.”
There was a small pause from her mother. “Okay. I won’t see him.”
Air rushed from her lungs. Thank God. “Good. Do you want to come over here?”
“Oh, no, I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“Mom—”
“I’ll be fine, Polly. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, just…worried. Will you at least call if you need anything?”
“Okay.”
She hung up and turned to Joel. “I’m worried about her. I wish we’d just find this person and the women in this town would be safe.”
He pulled her into his chest. “Me too, Sunshine. Me too.”
25
Polly stopped at the counter of The Pancake Bar. She did not like coming here. But that had nothing to do with the food and everything to do with Basil.
The café owner stopped on the other side of the counter and crossed his arms. “Well, well, look who decided to venture into the competition’s territory.”
“We are not competition, Basil. You sell pancakes. I sell coffee and flowers and books and things of substance.”
He scoffed. “I have never seen a single person buy a book from your café. And I, too, sell coffee.Bettercoffee, might I add.”
She rolled her eyes. People thought it wasPollywho created the tension between her and Basil. And sure, she didn’t help things. But Basil had always been the instigator. “Can I order or not?”
“Depends. Are you after the world’s greatest pancakes?”
She bit her tongue to stop from reminding him that title was over thirty years old and had well and truly expired. But the last time she’d done that, he’d kicked her out…and she really needed those pancakes.
“Yes.” God, that was hard to say. “I’d like two of your original stacks, please.”
He smiled like he’d won some sort of game. “Two stacks of the best pancakes in the world, coming right up. And you enjoy trying to pretend they’re not your death row meal.”
Again, he was right. His pancakes were buttery drops of heaven on her tongue, but she couldn’t very well go and tell him that, not when just last week, he’d said her wildflower honey scones tasted like a bee’s apology letter. The insult hadn’t even made sense, yet he’d thrown his head back and laughed like he was God’s gift to comedy.
