Sins & Needles by Reagan Davis

Author:Reagan Davis [Davis, Reagan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781777235970
Publisher: Carpe Filum Press
Published: 2021-01-10T16:00:00+00:00

April: Dina Langley has been here all morning.

Me: At the bakery?

April: Yup. Working on her laptop. She really likes lemon meringue tarts.

Me: Who doesn’t? T’s lemon meringue tarts are the best! Has Dina said anything?

April: She says lots of things. She’s chatty and outgoing. Nothing about Claire’s murder, though.

The Familia-inspired needle-felt display was popular this morning. We sold at least half of the figures. I’m rearranging the leftover items so the display looks less sparse when my phone dings again.

April: Dina just left. She’s meeting Brooks Wiley for lunch. Can you talk?

I scan the store, even though I know I’m the only person here.

Me: Yes! The store is empty.

Moments later, my phone rings. I put April on speaker while I dig out my AirPods from the bottom of my purse.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Megapop! Not that it’s a surprise, but T and I are bringing dessert to the potluck tonight.”

“I figured,” I say, popping my AirPods into my ears. “What are you bringing?”

“Nanaimo bars and toffee pecan shortbread.”

“Mmm…” Just hearing the words make my tummy rumble.

“Dina just left,” April informs me. “She got here just after we opened. She said she gets lonely in her hotel room by herself, and Eric asked her not to leave town, so she’s trying to make the best of it.”

“You and I are the only people she knows in Harmony Lake,” I remind April. “It must be hard for her being stuck in a strange town by herself.”

“He’s not local, but she also knows Brooks Wiley. When she packed up to leave, she said she was meeting him for lunch.”

“Interesting,” I think out loud.

“What’s interesting?”

“I got the sense they don’t like each other.”

“I guess things change when you’re both stuck in the same small town,” April suggests.

“You’re right,” I agree, wondering if Brooks and Dina could be closer than they let on. I’ve caught him sneaking around with Jules, maybe sneaky relationships are his thing.

“She typed frantically for twenty-five minutes, then rewarded herself with a lemon meringue tart,” April reports. “Then she typed frantically for twenty-five minutes again, then ate another tart. All morning.”

“My dad does that when he’s writing,” I respond. “He says it’s part of his process.”

“Eats a lot of lemon meringue tarts?”

“No, the frantic typing-thing,” I clarify. “He writes uninterrupted for twenty minutes, then takes a five-minute break and does something he likes. He calls the frantic typing sessions, sprints.”

“I guess non-writers do sprints too,” April surmises.

“What was she doing?” I ask.

“She said she was replying to social media posts and condolence emails from fans who reached out about Claire’s death,” April mumbles with her mouth full.

“What are you eating?” I regret skipping breakfast.

“Chocolate croissant,” she replies, swallowing. Then takes another bite. “Why? You want some?” she garbles.

“Yes. I’m starving. This morning was a fiasco, and I missed breakfast.”

“I’ll be there in two minutes. I want to know everything.”

Before I can respond, April ends the call.

True to her word, two minutes later, the bell over the door jingles, and April swoops in carrying my favourite box: a white confectionery box with the Artsy Tartsy logo on the lid.

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