Page 47 of A Spot of Trouble
They didn’t cross paths anywhere—not at the senior center, not at the dog beach, not at any of the local businesses lined up on either side of Seashell Drive. The only thing more irritating than his constant judgmental presence was his sudden absence. Where on earth was he hiding?
Violet didn’t have a clue, nor did she care…except that she was still waiting for a proper thank you. She had, after all, saved the man’s life. There’d been two firefighters in the room—three if you counted Cinder, which seemed legit since she was an official working dog and all—and Violet had been the one who‘d extinguished Sam’s flaming shirt sleeve.
No one seemed to care about that, though—probably because she’d also been the one who’d set the fire in the first place. But that had been a smooch-related accident, and it would never happen again.Ever.
Violet couldn’t even think about the kiss without wanting to put a paper bag over her head and hide for the rest of her life.Hot…so hot.She’d actually thought Sam had been referring to her when he’d said those things when in fact the man had been on fire. How could she have been so foolish?
“No more kissing,” she said as she piped frosting onto a tray of cherry vanilla cupcakes.
The second game of the Guns and Hoses softball tournament was set to start in half an hour, and Violet was ready. She’d decorated dozens of cupcakes to look like softballs, complete with tiny red “stitching” she’d meticulously piped with her most delicate pastry tip. She’d also created a completely new blueberry–lemon cake recipe for her Team Blue cupcakes in support of the TBPD. She’d even gone to the blueberry farm just over the bridge yesterday and picked all the berries herself, because that was the sort of thing that serious bakers did.
Violet didn’t need a cranky-pants fireman in her life, no matter how great a kisser he was or how much he loved Dalmatians. She was a career woman. A lady boss. Wherever Sam had been and whatever he’d been doing the past four days, ten hours, and thirty-five minutes was none of her concern.
“No. More. Kissing,” she said again. It was her new mantra. Violet might never kiss another living soul for as long as she lived.
Except for Sprinkles, obviously. That was a given.
Violet glanced at her Dalmatian, sulking from the confines of her new dog crate at the far end of the cupcake truck. Poor thing. She missed lounging in her window seat, but Violet wasn’t taking a chance on her dog making another wild run around the bases. Sprinkles was just going to have to take one for the team, so to speak.
“Don’t worry.” Violet wiggled her fingers through the bars of the crate. Sprinkles gave them a mournful lick. “This is only temporary, I promise.”
“Mercy me, why is Sprinkles in jail?” Mavis’s voice drifted through the open window of the cupcake truck as Violet washed her hands.
Violet smoothed down her best frilly apron and headed toward the order counter.
“She’s not in jail,” Violet countered, although actually, it sort of looked like a doggy jail cell. At least it was pink and therefore totally on-brand for Sweetness on Wheels. “Sprinkles is just taking a little break in her new den until the game is over in case Sam tries to lure her out of the food truck with his magic clicking sounds.”
“Magic clicking?” Mavis snorted. “Is that the secret to Sam’s popularity?”
Violet wasn’t taking the bait, not this time. She was tired of talking about Sam Nash—almost as much as she was tired of thinking about him.
“No more kissing,” she muttered under her breath.
Mavis’s eyes narrowed. “What was that, dear?”
“Nothing.” Violet dusted a fine layer of sugar from her hands.Nothing at all.“Where are Opal and Ethel? They’re coming to the game, aren’t they?”
Violet hoped so. She wanted everyone in town to witness the crushing defeat of the fire department.
“Of course. They wouldn’t miss it. They’re in the bleachers, snagging seats in the front row.” Mavis waved a hand toward the grandstands. From his perch in the basket of Mavis’s walker, Nibbles the Chihuahua shivered in agreement. “I was hoping to chat with you in private for a minute.”
“Oh.” Violet looked up from her buttercream. “What’s up?”
She wondered if Mavis wanted advice on the little flirtation she had going with Larry Sims,Jeopardy!enthusiast extraordinaire. Then again, why would anyone come to Violet for dating advice?
The memory of Sam’s voice rose from her consciousness.So hot…
A messy blob of frosting came flying from her pastry bag and sailed straight through the pink bars of Sprinkles’s prison/crate and landed on the tip of Sprinkles’s nose. The Dalmatian’s tail beat against the inside of the crate in stunned surprise as she licked it away.
“Oops.”Focus!Violet set the pastry bag down and tried her best to concentrate on her friend. “What were you saying, again?”
“I started volunteering at the senior center’s library,” Mavis said. “We’re organizing all of the old issues of theTurtle Beach Gazetteinto binders for easy reading, and I came across something I thought you might like to see.”
Mavis reached into her handbag, nestled beside Nibbles in her walker basket. She pulled out a neatly folded bundle of newsprint and slid it across the counter of the food truck’s order window toward Violet.
The paper was yellowed with age, but otherwise in pristine condition. Violet wasn’t surprised. The residents of the senior center had enormous respect for the history of Turtle Beach. In so many ways, they were the glue that held their little oceanside community together.
Violet unfolded the paper, and the first thing she noticed was the date printed in the upper right-hand corner—December 25, 1982. Christmas Day, ten years before Violet had been born. A border of holly leaves surrounded the wordsLocal Newsjust below the banner, followed by a headline.Scenes from Christmas Eve in Turtle Beach.
