Page 7 of Taken from Her
"Figured people might need an early start," Lavender replied, stepping aside to let her in.
Georgia's sharp gaze swept the memorial corner, taking in the photos and flowers and untouched drinks. "Any word yet?"
"No, nothing yet."
"Hmm." Georgia settled into her usual armchair, the one with the best view of both the door and the harbor. "The police chief was here yesterday. Interesting woman."
Lavender busied herself with final preparations, not ready to fully acknowledge the weight of that observation. "Coffee?"
"Please. And Lavender?" Georgia's voice carried the authority of someone who'd watched communities weather storms for seven decades. "Whatever's coming, we'll face it together. Like we always have."
The promise hung in the air as more people showed up at the purple door, familiar faces ready to transform fear into the fiercelove that would hold their community together when everything else fell apart.
By eight thirty, the café buzzed with subdued energy. Conversations happened in clusters—three women at the corner table comparing notes about changed routines and two others by the window discussing which streets felt safer for evening walks. Cups clinked against saucers with unusual care, as if the normal sounds of morning might shatter something fragile.
Lavender moved between tables, coffee pot in hand, reading the room like she'd learned to do over fifteen years of hosting community space. Hazel Skadson sat alone at table four, laptop open but untouched, staring at her phone. Elle Kearsley had claimed the booth by the back wall, positioned where she could see everyone who entered. Regular customers who usually spread throughout the café had gravitated toward each other, seeking comfort in proximity.
"Any updates from the police?" asked Sam Moscroft, looking up from her tablet where she'd been scrolling through local news coverage.
"Nothing official," Lavender said, topping off Sam's coffee. "But they're working on the case."
"Working on it how?" Priya Sharma, who taught at the same school as Tara, said. "Because three weeks feels like a long time for no leads."
Lavender set the coffee pot on the nearest table. Around the café, conversations quieted as they focused their attention on her. This was how information moved through their community—not through official channels but through coffee shop discussions where people felt safe asking questions that mattered.
"Chief Marten seems thorough," Lavender said carefully. "She’s using a different approach than we've seen before."
"Thorough how?" Elle's voice carried an edge that hadn't been there a month ago. "Because they’ve been gone three weeks, and all we're getting is 'the investigation is ongoing.'"
Corinne entered through the threshold, hair still damp from her morning shower, dark circles under eyes betraying sleepless nights. The café's energy shifted as people noticed her—Joanna's partner, the one living the nightmare they all feared.
Lavender intercepted her before she could claim a table. "Coffee's on me today."
"Thanks." Corinne's voice sounded scraped raw. "Any chance you have something stronger?"
"Irish coffee coming up."
While Lavender prepared the drink, conversations resumed in hushed tones. She caught fragments: plans for buddy systems, discussions about self-defense classes, debates over whether increased police presence helped or made things worse. Fear was practical here, translated into changed behaviors and safety protocols rather than helpless anxiety.
Georgia Darricott held court around her armchair, dispensing wisdom to a small group that included two women Lavender didn't recognize—friends of friends, drawn by the need for community during the crisis.
"Happened in '89 too," Georgia was saying, her voice carrying the authority of lived experience. "Different perpetrator, same kind of targeting. The community came together then, and we'll do it again now."
"What stopped it in '89?" asked one of the newcomers.
"A combination of things: good police work and community vigilance, mostly. And the bastard made a mistake. Point is, we didn't let fear scatter us. It made us stronger instead."
Lavender delivered Corinne's Irish coffee and settled into the empty chair beside her. Around them, the café hummed withpurposeful energy—not the relaxed morning rhythm of better times, but the focused attention of people organizing.
"How are you holding up?" Lavender asked quietly.
Corinne wrapped both hands around her mug. "Some days are better than others. Yesterday was shit. The police wanted to go through Joanna's things again, looking for…I don't know what."
"Did they find anything useful?"
"Not that they told me. But your police chief, she's different. She asked me about Joanna's routines, who she trusted, and what made her feel safe. It went deeper than just facts and timelines."
Lavender filed that information away. Diana Marten was adapting her approach, trying to understand the women as people rather than case files. Whether that would be enough remained to be seen.
