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There were two things that my Abyssinian cat, Lucky, loved more than anything. One was playing fetch with his little, red, fuzzy ball and the other was chasing red string and mincing it with his razor kitty claws. Unfortunately for Brittany Westerheide, my high school nemesis and Clover Creek’s resident mean girl, the red ribbons she so elaborately incorporated into her hair very closely resembled the red shoelaces he so loved attacking. Letting out a loud shriek, she started shaking her head, as if he would simply fall off but the extra movement only made Lucky dig in deeper.
“Get this flea-infested rat off me!” she screamed, her once perfectly coiffed blond curls now a miserable mess of tangles.
“Will you take over the line?” I asked my best friend, Ruby, who was working inside the Frosted cupcake truck and helping me out. She gave me the thumbs-up as she made her way from the frosting table in the back to the window up front.
I jumped out of the truck and ran over to Brittany. She was fifth in line for a stuffed cupcake from my truck at the Blueberry Bay County Fair and fairly close.
“Come here, little guy,” I said, pulling out a red shoelace from my pocket and dangling it alluringly in front of Lucky. The only thing he loved more than stationary red string was moving red string. I picked up some of the ribbon strands that fell out of Brittany’s hair and waved them in front of Lucky. Taking the bait, he leapt into my arms.
Brittany did her best to recover from Lucky’s unintended efforts to sabotage her hair but it looked pretty hopeless. Her braids were no longer braided, her curls were no longer curly and the glittery, red ribbons looked like they would never be untangled.
“He shouldn’t even be here. What is a food vendor’s cat doing inside her food truck?” asked Brittany. “That violates so many health codes.”
“What are red glitter ribbons doing in a grown woman’s hair?” I asked, trying to shake off the glitter that now covered my arms. “That violates so many fashion rules.”
Brittany Westerheide and I were the same age. We graduated from Clover Creek High School together over ten years ago where she ceaselessly endeavored to make my life miserable. Until just recently, I was safely hidden from her mean girl clutches on the other side of the country in San Diego, California. I’d almost forgotten how unpleasant it was to be around her. I didn’t mean to be rude but she somehow managed to bring out the snark in me.
“Do you know nothing? They’re the Clover Creek High School colors. They asked the beauty pageant contestant finalists to include something red in their ensemble for the photos,” she said, pulling up her phone and showing me an Instagram post of her and other women wearing red and white clothes and accessories.
“I guess not. I didn’t even know Clover Creek was big enough to hold beauty pageants,” I said, throwing my hands up in defense of further insults.
“It wasn’t. Not until Marcus Palmer decided to sponsor one this year,” said Brittany.
“Who’s that?” I asked.
Was he the mayor? A full three months had passed since I returned to Clover Creek but I’d been too busy with first trying to prove my innocence as a murder suspect and then staging a grand reopening of the Frosted bakery that I hardly had a chance to watch the news. I also avoided social media like the plague.
Brittany held up a fancy smartwatch gadget and said, “Hello, Palmer Tech SmartWatches?”
Still no clue. Like I wanted a watch I had to charge every night. My watch should work for me, not the other way around. I shrugged my shoulders and threw my palms up in defeat yet again.
“Ohmigosh, you really do know nothing. Marcus Palmer is only the biggest tech billionaire in the entire world,” she said, flashing me her phone. The picture she pulled up was of an incredibly hot guy that looked more like a supermodel than a boring business man. For some reason, I assumed everyone who made billions had to be boring. Clearly, I was wrong.
“Wow, is he single?” I blurted out.
“Right. Because a man sponsoring a beauty pageant wants to date an out-of-shape woman who bakes desserts and serves them from the back of a truck for a living,” said Brittany, satirically emphasizing the word beauty. “I heard your own fiancé turned out to be a no-show at your wedding.”
I deserved that after I pretty much asked her to insult me with my last outburst. If I bothered to worry that people might have stopped talking about my prior wedding humiliation in San Diego, I was now assured that it was still very much alive. That was in January. It was now April. Surely, it had to eventually become old news.
Restraining my first impulse to let Lucky loose on her again, I smiled instead and offered her a free cupcake to compensate for her run-in with the cat. I had no idea where the kill them with kindness advice originated but that seemed to do the trick. Brittany immediately perked up and picked out a dozen cupcakes more than the single free one I initially offered. I didn’t bother charging her for the extras. The lost revenue was well worth being free of her negative aura. I quickly boxed them up for her, eager for her to leave as soon as humanly possible.
She picked up her cupcake box to go but turned around to add one more insult. “You know, Ava, the best revenge after a man dumps you is to look good. You might want to try a little harder to improve your body shape, makeup, hair and those awful clothes.”
Was this friendly gal pal advice? “I thought the best revenge was living a happy life?” I asked.
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s all in the looks. That’s all men care about. You need to stop listening to Ruby. She’ll only bring you down to her loser level,” she said, throwing a snide look towards my best friend. Ruby was busy manning the ever-growing cupcake line so I hoped she hadn’t heard Brittany’s comment.
I might have gotten annoyed if I hadn’t known Brittany since kindergarten. That was the reason she had no friends. She really thought her words of wisdom were helpful.
“Thank you for your sage advice,” I said mockingly although Brittany misinterpreted my jest as a real compliment. Her entire demeanor changed.
“Do you really think so? I’ve been practicing so I can take over as head pageant coach next year when Katarina quits and moves back to Russia. I could work here in Clover Creek or possibly somewhere altogether new. The pageant committee flies coaches all over the world,” she said, looking up at the sky and possibly envisioning herself going first class or in a private jet to a new pageant location.
“What does being a pageant coach entail?” I asked, trying harder to be nice.
“My pageant coach always says you need to eliminate the competition by any means necessary so that’s what you help contestants do. You point out all of their flaws with laser-like precision so they can start eliminating them. Like instead of saying you’re annoying, I would explain that you lack the art of small talk, have nothing of interest to share with others, and are of little consequence because your best friend, Ruby is just as boring as you are. You know, things that you could try to work on and fix.”
“Oh, I see. Well, thank you for that helpful list of flaws I need to correct,” I said with as much sincerity as I could muster.
“You’re very welcome. I’m a total shoo-in for the Miss Congeniality award in this pageant,” she said, smiling to herself. I guessed delusion came in all forms.
“Maybe when you deliver your helpful advice, you could sandwich it between compliments and say something nice, then deliver your words of wisdom and finish it off with something positive or hopeful?” I suggested, even though getting advice from me was probably the last thing she wanted. People like Brittany wanted to hear compliments exclusively. But she sounded really sincere and excited about becoming a pageant coach.
“Bored now,” she said, making a fake and exaggerated yawning noise which, despite knowing better, I allowed to annoy me. On the plus side, this time, she actually did leave.
Just when I thought Brittany couldn’t outdo herself in the mean girl department, she did. She managed to insult both me and my best friend, and did it completely unprovoked. It was like high school all over again. Maybe after another decade she’d finally grow up.
As if on cue, my loyal BFF, Ruby, jumped over and gave me one of her famous Hardison family bear hugs. The kind that makes you feel truly loved and suffocated both at the same time. A huge lungful of air helped carry me through, another trick I learned.
“Thought you might need one of those after having to talk to Brittany Westerheide,” Ruby said. “What did she say?”
“Not much. Mostly chastised me for the Lucky attack on her hair,” I said. Nothing good could come out of relaying my Brittany conversation back to Ruby. Brittany was mean to me all through high school but especially cruel when it came to Ruby. She never admitted it, but I think Brittany was the source of the bulk of Ruby’s conversations with her therapist.
“But she didn’t mention anything about me? I thought I saw her looking over at me in the truck?” she asked.
Before I had to think of another evasive tactic, I was saved by a loudspeaker announcing that the fireworks show would be starting soon down by the wharf.
“I just need a few minutes to clean up the truck after I make it through this last batch of customers walking over from the Ferris wheel and then we can head out to watch the fireworks,” I said, ignoring her last Brittany question.
“Okay, sure,” she said.
I grabbed a towel to wipe off the glitter but it stuck to me like glue. Switching to a dishwashing brush, I tried to scrub it off, which kind of helped but not really. It looked like I would be glittered up the rest of the night. Lucky came to the same conclusion. He was still attempting to clean himself but remained a glittery, red kitty despite his persistent licking.
“Did you know that Clover Creek now hosts beauty pageants?” I asked Ruby while a couple decided what cupcakes to buy.
“Yes, I’ve been working closely with its founder, Marcus Palmer, on insuring the event and the contestants,” she said. “He’s actually waiting in line right now for a cupcake.”
Ruby pointed to a tall man at the back of the line with broad shoulders who was wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses. He had on a pair of khakis, a heather grey tee shirt and tennis shoes. Nice guy was written all over him. He looked more like the boy next door than a super billionaire genius. Not that I could possibly know what a super billionaire genius might look like but I imagined something more aligned with silk cravats, a mahogany walking cane and an English butler standing next to him as an accessory.
By the time he got to the front of the line, we were pretty much out of everything. My County Fair cupcakes sales quadrupled what they normally were on any given weekend back at the bakery in Town Square. Once word spread that I stuffed them with pudding, vanilla, candy, caramel and Nutella, I was pretty much sold out by early afternoon each day. I hired extra bakers to make a double batch since today was the last day and unnecessarily worried they wouldn’t all sell. Marcus was the last customer and I was down to two cupcakes.
Ruby ran out of the truck and hugged Marcus before she introduced me. “This is my super talented bestie, Ava Decker. She’s the one that makes those amazing stuffed cupcakes I was telling you about.”
“Hi, I’m Marcus and I’ve heard so much about your cupcakes. Not just from Ruby but pretty much everyone in town raves about them. I can’t wait to try one,” he said, shaking my hand.
I wasn’t sure if it was because he was a billionaire or the Hollywood smile that flashed across his face but I felt a little spark go through me when our hands touched. It was like the perfect handshake, friendly but confident. Firm and strong but not overpowering and painful. Why was I overanalyzing a friendly handshake?
Ruby cleared her throat when I said nothing. “I think he’s waiting for you to sell him a cupcake?” she said, suddenly looking down at her phone and pretending she needed to take a call before she walked away.
“Right. I was actually just about to close so Ruby and I could go watch the fireworks. I only have two cupcakes left, a Salted Caramel Stuffed Vanilla Cupcake or a Molten Chocolate Lava Cupcake. Which one will it be?” I asked.
He looked over his shoulder and saw there was no one else waiting in line. Everyone had already headed for the wharf area to get a good spot to watch the fireworks. “Obviously both,” he said.
“Great,” I said, packaging them up in a cream-colored Frosted box with some napkins. I’m not sure what came over me but I took one of Lucky’s red satin ribbons and tied it around the box with a big bow like one of those old-timey parcels. I wanted it to look prettier for him. Or maybe I wanted me to look prettier.
After he took the box, he started to hand me a twenty-dollar bill but I deflected.
“It’s on the house,” I said. I felt silly treating someone so rich to something as trivial as two cupcakes but he seemed to appreciate it and graciously thanked me. “What brought you to Clover Creek?”
“I was born here,” he said.
“Me, too. I don’t remember going to school with a Marcus Palmer and there’s only one school district in all of Clover Creek,” I replied. I thought I knew everyone in Clover Creek. All right, maybe not everyone, but anyone as good looking as Marcus would definitely have been someone I wouldn’t forget.
“My parents died in a car accident when my sister and I were pretty young and we moved to live with my aunt in Silicon Valley,” he said. “I’ve always wanted to move back here.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. That must’ve been really tough. How do you like Clover Creek so far?” I asked. I’d been to Silicon Valley once for a wedding. It seemed way more modern and hip than Clover Creek.
“I love it. Everyone has been so nice and welcoming. I’m excited about small-town living,” he said.
That was new. The only reason I could imagine for relocation from somewhere as fancy as Silicon Valley to Clover Creek was because you wanted to run away from something, like the ultimate bridal rejection and subsequent humiliation. The concept of moving here for the fun of it seemed unfathomable.
“I heard you’re sponsoring the beauty pageant,” I said, hoping he would clarify his motivation. Most billionaires bought sports teams when they became rich instead of sponsoring small town beauty pageants.
“It’s for my little sister. She’s on a mission to become the next Miss America, like our mother, who was born and raised here in Clover Creek so here is where my little sister wants to be crowned,” he explained.
Of all the things he could’ve said, I was definitely not expecting that answer. Having a former Miss America as a mom justified his supermodel good looks. It also elucidated why following in her mother’s footsteps would be so important to his sister. They both sounded like genuinely nice people who just wanted to reach out to their parents in spirit. I really needed to reassess my billionaire stereotypes. But I guessed this was what happened when you knew no real-life billionaires to shatter them.
“That’s cool. Is she here now?” I asked, looking around.
“My sister’s pageant coach is pretty strict and insists she do pageant prep stuff all night. Do you care if I tag along with you and Ruby to watch the fireworks?” he asked, gesturing widely with his cupcake box from the truck to the wharf, where the fireworks show was already starting.
“Of course not, that would be great,” I said, hoping I wasn’t beaming with the world’s dorkiest, schoolgirl crush smile. He barely knew me. Maybe he was only here to see Ruby and I should have let the two of them attend the fireworks show alone.
While I was pondering whether or not Marcus’s invitation was a sign of flirting with me, or Ruby, or neither of us, Lucky interpreted Marcus’s ribbon waving gesture as a sign that Marcus wanted to play with him. Using my shoulder as a launching pad, Lucky pounced on Marcus with all four pounds of his little kitty body, which you’d think wasn’t a whole lot. But he left a huge slash across Marcus’s tee shirt where he landed before relaunching himself to snag the box ribbon.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, running out of the truck to retrieve Lucky and save Marcus’s tee shirt and shoulders from further kitty damage. “Lucky, get back here right now!”
Completely ignoring me, Lucky dug his claws into Marcus’s forearm, using it as his new base of operations and gnawing on the red ribbon.
“Aww, the little guy just wants the string,” he said, untying it and flinging it around for the cat. That was the total opposite of what I thought he would say or how he’d react. Most of the local townspeople tolerated Lucky and his crazy, puppy-like antics but a huge Beware Of Cat sign was dutifully posted on the front door of Frosted, warning anyone who entered. Newcomers were a little put off to discover that Frosted doubled as a cat café where Lucky and other four-legged furry friends were allowed to roam freely. But most were definitely annoyed when Lucky tipped over one of their lattes or stepped into a cupcake mid-bite. None were happy when he ruined their clothes. I set a separate fund aside for Lucky mishaps.
“Your shirt,” I said, pointing to the gaping rip that revealed some pretty muscular deltoids. The decimated tee shirt was made from a super thin material, probably by some expensive designer that I’d now have to reimburse him for. “I will totally replace that. Lucky goes crazy over playing fetch.”
“I have about ten thousand more of these back in our warehouse,” he said, pointing to his company logo on the sleeve. It was a watch with a techy looking gadget drawn around it.
“Oh, gotcha,” I said, nodding my head yes, although in reality, I had no idea what his company did. The first time I saw his logo was on the watch Brittany showed me. But pretending I did recognize it seemed like the polite thing to do. Brittany reacted like I was an alien when I told her I never heard of Marcus Palmer. Not that he seemed to have such a huge ego that he’d be offended to learn I never heard of him or his company. But I also didn’t want to appear like I was pretending not to know he was rich. That might make it seem like I was trying too hard to be his pal.
Wow. I was way beyond overthinking this whole thing. I made a mental note to research Marcus Palmer and his company later.
“Plus, I love cats. Especially the ones that play fetch,” he said, throwing the ribbon out into the field for Lucky to retrieve.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
This was actually good. Hopefully, Lucky would get so tired out from playing fetch, he’d sit quietly for the fireworks show. I forgot to bring his leash but he’d been pretty good about learning how to heel lately. Kind of.
“Positive,” he smiled back, throwing the string again a few times.
“I like the matching red glitter on you and Lucky. I didn’t know you were in the pageant,” he said, pointing to my arms.
“Oh, that was an accident. Hopefully, some heavy duty exfoliating scrub can remove it later tonight,” I said, trying to wipe my arms on my jeans.
Ha, take that, Brittany Westerheide! Marcus Palmer thought I was a beauty pageant contestant. I held my head a little higher, pulled my shoulders back and put on my most dazzling smile. “I’m going to lock up and then we can go. Could you watch Lucky for me? I’ll be really fast.”
He gave me the thumbs-up and resumed playing fetch with the cat.
I checked the back of the cupcake truck for Ruby but she was nowhere to be seen. Was she really on the phone? Since we were clearly sold out, it didn’t take me long to clean up the truck and lock it down for the night. Ten minutes later, still no Ruby so I texted her to hurry up and come back stat.
Ruby finally reappeared but she came from a totally new direction. I guessed she really wanted to make sure Marcus and I had plenty of time to get to know each other.
“Are we ready?” she asked.
“Yes, and Marcus is going to join us,” I said, my voice involuntarily rising a couple octaves.
“Great!” Ruby replied, acting surprised even though I knew that was her master plan all along.
It was an unusually warm day for April in Clover Creek, Maine. Ruby was wearing a bright blue sundress with a fuzzy cardigan on top. It matched her dazzling blue eyes and black hair perfectly. I suddenly felt underdressed. Choosing function over fashion, I had on my most comfortable pair of jeans, sneakers and a cream-colored Frosted company tee shirt. Since Ruby volunteered to help me out in the cupcake truck, I told her she could wear whatever she wanted.
“Come on, Lucky,” I said, giving the heel command. It was dark out but I assumed his night time cat vision allowed him to see my hand.
Lucky fell into line and we headed off towards the wharf. By the time we arrived, it was pretty tightly packed and there were no open spots.
“I don’t see any spots in the main area, do you?” asked Marcus.
I leapt up onto the railing separating the boardwalk from the wharf area to get a better look.
“Careful,” said Marcus, coming behind me.
“It’s fine. Ruby and I used to be cheerleaders. We’re used to perching on top of human pyramids all the time,” I said, throwing my leg out into a small stag leap to demonstrate.
Unfortunately, a bicyclist chose that very moment to roll by at warp speed, knocking me off balance. I let out a small scream, my arms flailing like a windmill. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the worst. But a strong pair of arms cradled me just when I thought I was going to eat it on the concrete below.
“Oh, no!” said Ruby. “Lucky, come back!”
Apparently, Brittany wasn’t the only one with red ribbon school spirit. The bicycle that zoomed past had a long string of red tassels trailing behind it. As trained, Lucky took off like a cheetah after it.
Before I had a chance to thank Marcus for saving me from a million broken bones, he set me down and we all took off after Lucky.
“Lucky, heel!” I screamed, but to no avail. The cat was on a mission. We tried yelling for the cyclist to stop but when he looked back and saw three people and a cat chasing him, he doubled down and went faster instead. I couldn’t really fault him, I would’ve done the same.
Thankfully, one of the red bike tassels got caught on a tree branch as he turned a corner and Lucky paused to attack it. Out of breath, we were all sucking in air and holding our sides when we finally caught up to the cat. As if on cue, Lucky ran up to Marcus and brought him the red tassel, which he dropped at his feet.
“Good kitty,” he said, kneeling down and patting his head.
“On the plus side, this looks like a great spot for watching the fireworks,” I said, still out of breath. I looked up at the sky where we now had a clear view and plenty of space.
“Great,” said Ruby. “Marcus and I will go back and get the blankets we dropped when we ran after Lucky and meet you back here.”
“Sounds good,” I said as they took off, giving them a thumbs-up. Unlike Ruby and her daily morning jogs, that was my cardio for the week. I gave her a silent thank you for doing the extra cardio by offering to get the blankets.
Little kitty claws scratched my ankle but I ignored him. I was checking the grass for any rocks before we spread our blanket out. Upon not getting instant recognition, Lucky dug in and crawled up my legs to my chest with yet another red ribbon. I was about to throw it for him until it sparkled under the moonlight, and I stopped. This one had glitter like the ones Brittany was wearing before.
“Oh, Lucky, not more glitter,” I said, pocketing the culprit before it left more glitter on my already shimmering arms.
Annoyed, he jumped off, ran behind the tree and came back with another red glitter ribbon.
“Where are you getting these?” I asked, retracing Lucky’s steps behind the tree.
I only saw her from behind but it was obviously Brittany. She was sitting down and leaning against the tree. Her hair still hadn’t recovered from her last run-in with Lucky and she apparently unceremoniously dumped all twelve of the cupcakes I’d given her onto the ground. Such a waste! I could’ve sold those to someone much more deserving. I stalked my way over to confront her. No more Miss Nice Girl Pushover.
“Did you take all the cupcakes out of sheer spite?” I asked, seeing only one bite gone from one cupcake. “You didn’t even try the other eleven flavors you insisted on taking.”
When she didn’t respond, I could feel myself getting angrier as I clomped my way closer to her.
“Hey, I’m talking to you,” I said, giving her shoulder a good shove.
Her body fell over like a sack of potatoes.
No, please don’t be dead, I urgently begged the universe in my mind.
I dreaded my need to know the answer but I still walked around and pulled out my phone flashlight. When the light shone on her face, it was obvious. Staring back at me were Brittany’s lifeless eyes. One of her beloved, red glitter ribbons was tied around her neck but not like a cute necklace. More like a murder by strangulation way. I was totally freaking out but I somehow still managed to check for her pulse just in case. Nothing.
End of Excerpt
