Page 13 of A Spot of Trouble
“He’s right,” Joe said. “It’s a matter of honor. We beat them last year, and we can do it again. This just means we have to work harder to crush them.”
“No,” Dad said tersely. Sprinkles’s tail drooped between her legs at the sudden hardness in his tone. “This meanswar.”
Violet sighed. So much for trying to defuse the situation. She’d have a better chance of teaching Sprinkles to make her bed in the morning than she would getting the TBPD to forget about softball.
Her dad grunted, pushed away from the table, and stormed inside the beach house. Josh clomped after him.
Ugh, men.
Joe was the only human who stayed, staring quietly out at the water rushing gently ashore beneath the pink morning sky. Sprinkles stayed by Violet’s side too, of course. Until a pelican glided by overhead, and she scrambled after its shadow moving across the deck’s worn wooden slats.
Joe shook his head at Sprinkles and then turned his attention back to Violet. “Can I ask you a question?”
“No, I haven’t accidentally bathed any random dogs lately. Let it go, already.” She was never telling him about the one cat. Ever.
“My question isn’t pet-related.”
Violet shrugged. “Okay, then. Ask away.”
Her brother’s gaze narrowed, and all of a sudden, he seemed to be looking at her with his Resting Interrogator Face, which Violet swore he must have learned from binge-watchingCriminal Mindson Netflix. The only real-life interrogating he ever did on Turtle Beach involved benign things like misappropriated beach chairs and missing towels—most of which had been swept away by the tide rather than legitimately stolen.
The look didn’t have anything to do with misplaced terry cloth, though. Not by a long shot.
“How exactly do you know what the inside of the new fire marshal’s office looks like?”
Chapter 4
“He didn’t ask you that!” Ethel Banks, owner of the corgi who’d recently taken a bite out of Violet’s lululemons, gasped, eyes wide behind her purple-framed trifocals. “What did you say?”
Violet had forgiven Max the corgi for chomping on her yoga leggings. In an effort to reclaim her dignity, she’d chosen to forget most of what had gone on yesterday morning at the dog beach—other than the bits involving Sam’s smug attitude and the TBFD logo stitched onto his T-shirt. Those things were important to hang onto, lest she become tempted to bake for him again. She had no reason to hold a grudge against an innocent dog, though—especially when the stout little pup belonged to one of her oldest and closest friends.
Ethel was one of a trio of residents at Turtle Beach Senior Living Center who were near and dear to Violet’s heart. A volunteer yoga teacher probably wasn’t supposed to have class favorites, but Violet couldn’t help it. Her affection for the three older ladies was quiteinvoluntary. Violet had been drawn to Ethel Banks, Mavis Hubbard, and Opal Lewinsky from her very first day as their instructor. She loved the neon spandex they always wore to yoga class and the way they frequently tied colorful balloons to the other residents’ walkers when they weren’t looking.
The three women also remembered Adeline March in perfect detail and often told Violet stories about her mother—stories she’d never heard from her father before. Getting her dad to share anything about her mom was like pulling teeth. Ethel, Mavis, and Opal were convinced his stoic silence was because Violet reminded him of Adeline. According to her friends, Violet and her mother had much in common—the same strawberry-blonde hair, the same delicate features, and, most notably, the same sense of chaotic whimsy. Violet was never sure if the older women were telling her the absolute truth or exaggerating for the sake of sentimentality, but it didn’t really matter. She hung on their every word, rapt.
The feeling was quite mutual. Ethel, Mavis, and Opal were Violet’s closest confidantes, and she unburdened herself to them often. Like now, when Ethel, Mavis, and Opal stood in a cluster around Violet’s cupcake truck as she prepared for Tuesday night bingo, the busiest night on Turtle Beach’s weekly social calendar.
“You didn’t tell Joe that you’d actually been inside Sam’s office, did you?” Mavis held onto her aluminum walker with one hand and pressed the other hand to her heart. Nibbles, her tiny teacup Chihuahua, sat trembling on a blanket in the walker’s wire basket.
“No, are you kidding?” Violet carefully piped icing onto a vanilla cupcake. “I told him I’d heard about the framed article in Sam’s office from Griff Martin.”
She paused to examine her handiwork. So far, she’d decorated three dozen cupcakes with bingo letter and number combinations. B4, I19, N33 and the like. She’d pretty much covered B, I, and N. Now to start on G and O.
Bingo night was scheduled to begin in less than fifteen minutes. The first half hour was always reserved for early birds. But by seven o’clock, just about everyone on the island would pack into the lobby of the senior center, tourists and locals alike. Tuesday night bingo had been a Turtle Beach summer tradition since Violet was a little girl. She could still remember sitting between Josh and Joe, stamping her bingo cards with her hot-pink sponge-tipped dauber, holding her breath when she only had one square left. Bingo nights meant RC Colas and MoonPies. Breezy dresses and sunburned shoulders. The whole town cheering every time someone yelledBingo!at the top of their lungs.
The only things about bingo night that had changed over the years were the snacks. A few years ago, Violet had volunteered to run the concessions stand for her senior friends. She’d replaced the MoonPies with homemade cupcakes, changing the flavors from week to week and giving them silly names likeLucky Streak Strawberry Shortcake,Gimme a Bingo Brown Butter Fudge,and the ever popularI Never Win this Game Gooey Gumdrop. And now, two years later, she was running her own cupcake truck business, all thanks to bingo night.
Violet still ran the concession stand every Tuesday, which meant she needed to get started carrying her cupcakes inside. Tonight’s featured flavor wasBeach Blanket Bingo Bavarian Cream. Sure to be a big hit with the over-seventy crowd.
“Did Joe believe you?” Opal shook her head. “His Interrogator Face is so good. I don’t know how you didn’t crack.”
“I managed,” Violet said. She’d seen Josh and Joe play police officers enough times as kids not to be intimidated by Joe’s most commanding facial expression. All she had to do was think about the time he’d accidentally handcuffed himself to the railing on the outdoor deck when he was nine years old, wearing nothing but his Star Wars underpants.
Note to self: remind Joe of Star Wars underpants episode the next time he pokes fun at me for repetitively falling for faux lost dog scenario.
“I think he bought it, but I’m not totally sure. I told him I couldn’t stick around to discuss it because I had cupcakes to bake.” She held up G51 and I18. “Can I offer you ladies a freebie before the crowds descend?”
“Oh, we couldn’t possibly,” Mavis said.
