Mary Ellen, everything always has too much cinnamon for you.”
“Well, I don’t care for a lot of cinnamon.” The two women moved on down the street, discussing the merits of spice versus flavoring.
Enjoying their good-natured squabbling, Cherry didn’t notice the mayor’s eyes had narrowed again until he stepped in front of her.
Her humor disappeared. “Oh, please. You think that was a demonstration? That was nothing, I saw them eating the cobbler. It looked good, so I ordered some. You want a demonstration, talk to your secretary. Did she find the document she was looking for? It had something to do with a city building.” She cocked her head, seeing by the look on his face that his secretary had indeed found the missing papers. “The library, I think.”
Oh yeah, that nailed it. That had him thinking. Emboldened, she invaded his space and lowered her voice to a husky drawl.
“I can do even better than that.”
Careful not to touch him—that would be too daring—she reached for his tie. Savoring the feel of silk warm from the heat of his body, she slid the soft fabric through her fingers. A low-volume buzz tingled through her.
Hmm. That had never happened before.
Her eyes on his, she opened her senses the tiniest bit. It didn’t take much to connect with his energy; to align with his nagging need to find a specific item.
One of the fastest ways to convert nonbelievers was to help them find something. It was personal and almost everyone had something they were looking for at any given time. The nagging factor also helped. Easier to pick up something that was close to the surface of someone’s mind.
In Jason Strong’s mind, she saw a ring. A wedding ring.
The mayor was married. Something inside her flinched at the revelation. But no. He had been married. A widower, then. Because the sorrow she saw in his eyes spoke of death.
Emotions bombarded her: loss, grief, sadness, anger, loneliness. Desire. Guilt. And an absolute resolve to keep her from the fair.
She dropped his tie and stepped back. Too much, too fast, too personal. And way too close for comfort. She’d seen way more than she usually allowed herself. Out of respect for him and self-defense for herself, she put even more distance between them.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said softly.
His head went back in surprise and a frown slammed his eyebrows together. “What?”
She’d blocked his emotions, but hers were all over the place as well. Focusing on compassion, she shook her head and simply repeated, “I’m sorry.” Then, because it would give him peace, she added. “You’ll find what you’re looking for under the nightstand beside your bed. The one on the right, by the back left leg.”
Knowing she’d said more than enough, she turned and walked away.
“I want that woman gone.” Jason slid into the gold-and-brown booth across from Sheriff Trace McCabe inside the BeeHive. Brown-haired, hazel-eyed, Trace had the look of the boy next door with a military edge. He had two traits Jason wanted in his sheriff—calm in a crisis and the perseverance of a bulldog. “What did you find?”
The younger man reached for his coffee, then nodded toward the door Jason had just come through. “That her?”
“Yeah.” Feeling exposed after his run-in with the troublesome gypsy, Jason averted his gaze to the window overlooking City Hall Park. His gaze fell on the gazebo and he made a mental note to check with Parks and Recreations on the search for the fair banner. With the fair due to start in about a week, the banner should have been up a month ago.
“She seemed awfully friendly.”
Focusing on his friend, Jason nodded at the file on the table. “What did you find out about Lady Pandora?”
Trace cocked his head but allowed the evasion. “Well, for starters, her real name is Blossom Ann Cooper. Goes by Cherry. Bet she took some ribbing for that. Here’s the interesting part. She was born twenty-six years ago right here in Blossom City. Her mother died from complications of childbirth. Other than that only a few nuisance offenses in her youth, they didn’t even bother to seal the record. Nothing beyond a speeding ticket in the last ten years.”
Stunned by the revelation she’d been born in Blossom, Jason said, “I saw her arrive on a Harley this morning.”
Trace shrugged. “Nothing against the law in that.”
“I know. I just…She was born in Blossom? That’s a bit of a coincidence, don’t you think?” Jason didn’t like the sound of this, not one bit.
“Too much of one for my comfort, but I couldn’t find anything to indicate she’s up to anything. Her address is a P.O. box in Florida. Besides the Harley, she has a fifth-wheel trailer and a Ford truck in her name and that of Rose Cooper, her grandmother. Cherry was given into Rose’s custody after her mother died. They work the fair routes together.”
“Where’s her grandmother now?”
Trace set down his coffee. “No file on her yet. Nothing of interest, anyway. They usually travel together, so she’s probably at the last fair they worked. I’m pulling the security checks we did. This troupe has the best reputation in the country, but we’ll go back, ask specifically about the fortune-tellers.”
Jason nodded. “In the meantime, keep an eye on her, will you? Let me know if she leaves town.”
“You’ll be the first to know.” Trace cocked his index finger at Jason, a sign they’d developed ages ago indicating Jason owed Trace a beer for his efforts.
“Sheriff, Mayor, just the gentlemen I’ve been looking for.” Bitsy Dupres stopped next to their table. The pale, blond woman wore a dark gray pantsuit, appearing colorless in the cheerful honeybee-themed diner.
Bitsy still mourned her late husband. To fill her days, she’d taken on the self-appointed task of keeping Blossom’s children safe. With a few other overzealous citizens, she’d formed the Committee for Moral Behavior. A worthy cause for certain, except if left up to them, the children of Blossom would be wrapped up in cotton wool and tucked away in their rooms for safe keeping.
“Good afternoon, Bitsy,” Trace returned her greeting. “What can we do for you?”
“I wondered if you had any news for me regarding the CMB’s request to have the carnival banned from the fair this year.”
“Bitsy.” Jason reached down deep for patience. “We’ve explained that it’s too late to ban the carnival.”
“Yes. But I believe the morals of our children are more important than the few dollars involved in breaking a contract.”
“More than a few dollars. The economy can’t absorb another hit.”
“So it’s of no matter that the children will be exposed to a bad element? Everyone knows these carnival people are little better than transients and thieves. Look at what happened with poor Melissa Tolliver.”
Trace fielded that one. “It’s not like
