“Your brothers got a big mouth.”
“Do you know the driver?”
“It was my renter; she’s new in town and has no one.”
“She okay?” he asked.
“She will be.”
“That’s it? That’s all you’ll give me? What’s her story?”
It was clear he wasn’t buying what I was selling.
“She was pretty banged up, but fortunately, nothing that won’t heal with some rest. As for her story . . . wish I knew.”
From the little snippets I’d pieced together, I knew her story was a delicate one that cut her deep, leaving her guarded, and because of that knowledge, I wasn’t about to break Lakelyn’s trust even if Jaxon was someone I could confide in.
“Listen, I’m not saying it’s related, but a woman with a white Explorer was assaulted the night before your neighbors’ accident, same vehicle description, similar height and build. The only difference was she was a blonde from what I’d read in the reports.”
“Shit, is she okay?”
“She sustained minor physical injuries, bruising from being grabbed from behind and forced to the side of the bakery over on Cleaver. Thankfully, for her sake, the guy was sloppy, impatient, and wasn’t exactly discreet, so there were witnesses who came to the rescue.”
“And the assailant, I’m assuming, got away?”
“You’d be correct.”
“Description?”
“Five-eleven, give or take, two forty pounds, bulky build, possible buzz cut, and was wearing a black ball cap, so facials weren’t clear.
Chapter12
Lakelyn
“Is she for real?” I slapped my hands against the side of my forehead. “No, no, no, don’t do it.” I sighed, ran my fingers into my hair, and dropped my chin to my chest.
She did it.
The woman dropped a cold stick of butter from the fridge into the dry ingredients mixture, thinking the KitchenAid mixer had magical powers and would blend it into a work of art. The contestant turned and ran over to the oven to check on her cupcakes. She peeked in the oven, seemed satisfied, and ran back to her counter, only to be defeated when she realized what she had done.
“What did you think would happen?” I muttered out loud.
I watched, feeling the anxiousness the girl must have felt at that moment as she struggled with the mixing blade under the unrealistic time constraints they were given as the premise of the show.
Clearly frazzled, she ran to her neighboring contestant and asked if he was done with his mixer and then proceeded to run back to her station with the clean blade just as the host announced, “Five minutes left.”
“Has that ever happened before? I feel like I would have remembered if it had,” the hosts bantered. “Not to my knowledge, but she’s really going to be cutting it close. I’m nervous for her.”
The cameraman panned between the two contestants who had already moved their cupcake confections over to the display area and the hurricane swirling around the last remaining contestant struggling to whip up her buttercream.
Ding, ding, ding.
“Time is officially up. Please step away from your workstations.” Everyone’s eyes went wide with hesitation as the hosts stepped away from their seats. “I don’t know about you, Francois, but I’m ready to get my sugar on.” Eloise rubbed her hands together and pursed her lips with excitement.
I paused the show—gotta love streaming on Netflix—topped up my wine in the kitchen and was just about to get comfy again when there was a knock at my door.
“Seriously!”
