Yellow linen curtains billowed gently against the open windows of the little frame house. It was too early in the summer to turn on the air conditioner, and her fixed income appreciated the cool, breezy evenings that allowed her to stay comfortable during the night.
As far as safety was concerned, no one worried much about locking their doors or shutting their windows in Bloody Mary. The town was almost as safe as it had been sixty years before, when she’d moved there as a young bride.
Oh, how she missed her sweet Henry. He’d been gone now longer than they’d been married, and her memories of him were as a young man with an easy smile and lines at the corners of his eyes when he laughed. He was always laughing. They’d had twenty-two years together before his heart had given out.
They’d never been blessed with children, and she’d never had the heart to marry another, though she’d barely been forty when she’d found herself in widow’s black. But she’d had a good life—a full life—filled with friends and community. And she’d been content to stay in the little house she and Henry had shared.
She’d filled the days since his death tending the bakery that she’d opened with his insurance money, providing sweets and baked goods to the whole county. She was proud to say that Rosie’s Sweet Shop had become quite a hangout for Virginians through the years. She’d run it as long as she could before arthritis and age had caught up with her.
But age had only stopped her business, not her passion, and she still baked daily, handing out treats to anyone who looked like they could use a pick-me-up. The children on the street especially liked to come by after school for lemonade and cookies.
Yes, her life had been long and full, but there were days she ached to see her Henry again.
She sighed and reached down to pet the soft fur of the cat twining between her legs.
“Isn’t that right, Andromeda?” she said, smiling as the cat purred back at her. “I only hope these wrinkles go away before he sees me again. I doubt he’d recognize me otherwise.”
Jealous of the attention Andromeda was getting, Nicodemus and Juliet jumped down from the couch where they’d been watching a rerun of Entertainment Tonight, since television programming was rather limited at five in the morning, and they fought for the space between her feet.
The timer dinged from the kitchen and she pushed back the chair at the little desk she’d been sitting at and closed the lid on her laptop. All her best work was done in the early morning hours, and she hadn’t been able to break the habit of waking early to start her day with the sweet scents coming from her kitchen.
She pushed open the swinging door that led into the kitchen, the cats weaving around her feet, and took the yellow oven mitts from the counter. Her kitchen had always been cheerful and sunny—the bright yellow splashes of color making it seem more like daylight while the sky was still dark.
A cat meowed, and she glanced toward the ancient white Persian that was curled on the bench seat next to the big square window that looked out over her flowers. The only light came from the moon. She’d meant to replace the bulb on her back porch light, but it kept slipping her mind.
The fluffy white cat meowed again, but didn’t move from his place on the bench.
“You always wake up when it’s time to eat, right Charlemagne? Age hasn’t affected your nose. Don’t worry, you lazy boy. I’ll bring you a plate.” At fifteen, Charlemagne deserved a little pampering.
The cinnamon rolls had risen beautifully, and she set them on top of the stove so she could ice them. People always asked what made her icing taste so good, but she’d never told a soul. The recipe was her secret. She could always keep a secret.
She hummed Billie Holliday while she iced the cinnamon rolls and smiled at the scratches that came from the other side of the door. It swung back and forth a couple of times before there was enough room for Silas and Seamus—gray tabby brothers she’d found abandoned behind the Dollar Store dumpster—to slip through.
“Just in time, boys,” she said. “Like clockwork. But you know they need to cool for a few minutes. Don’t get greedy thinking you’re going to jump up here and get a head start.”
She covered the tray with a dish towel and put the empty icing bowl in the sink. The days of having someone wash her dishes while she did nothing but bake were long gone, and she filled the bowl with hot water and decided to let it wait a bit. She still had some work to do.
Her apron was tied around her dressing gown. She shucked it off and hung it on the hook on the back of the door as she pushed her way through to the living room, this time with only Juliet at her feet. Poor girl had never been the sharpest knife in the drawer.
The laptop was gone from the desk, and she stared at the empty space blankly for a minute or two, trying to remember what she’d done with the thing. She’d gotten quite good with computers over the years, doing her books and recipes, among other things, with ease. She was sure she’d left it right there on the desk. But maybe…
A crash came from the bedroom, glass shattered, and she gasped and spun toward the bedroom door, a hand to her heaving chest. And then she let out a twinkle of a laugh as a streak of orange slithered around the doorjamb and hid under the couch.
“Heavens, Lucille,” she said. “You near scared me to death. And what have you broken? I told you to stay off my dresser, you naughty thing.”
She shuffled into the bedroom, her house slippers scraping against the hardwood floors, and made her way to the lamp on her nightstand. The moonlight cast a triangle of silvery light on the floor and the corner of her bed.
Her hand searched for the dangling chain of the lamp, and she’d just gotten hold of it when she saw a shadow pass across the triangle of light and rush straight toward her.
There was no time to do more than whimper as something crashed against the side of her head. Then there was nothing but blackness.