Little Fox Cottage Read online

  She glanced at Helena, who was holding onto the table as if she might faint. Please don't fall over, she prayed. Don't set her off.

  "I wanted her to lose everything the way I lost everything. Every chance at happiness wasted taking care of that old man."

  "And Bill Madrigal?"

  "He said no, too. When they moved back next door I went to him. I said, of course you came back for me. And he laughed at me. He said he loved Helena. 'I feel sorry for you, Sophie,' he said. 'How can my wife and I help you?' His wife and he! I was the pretty one!"

  "And your sister Emma married Jonathan Madrigal," Bree said.

  "They got the Madrigals. The rich boys. The big family. They got it all. And then Nathan went and married someone else. They were all married and happy and their lives were perfect."

  "Perfect? Emma and Jonathan died in a fire. Your brother Tom was an alcoholic. Bill Madrigal got cancer."

  "He married Helena." She glared at Helena, whose breathing was getting labored as she stared at the gun.

  "And so he rejected you. And you killed Henry because he would have found out."

  She looked sad for a minute. "That was too bad. He was nice."

  "Yes, he was. But why would you poison Mel? He hadn't rejected you. He loved you."

  "I didn't poison him. I wouldn't."

  "So you didn't put poison in his sopaipillas?"

  "No. Once the last one was gone, I was free. He didn't matter. He was the clown. He never mattered. He wasn't handsome, or rich. Not like the others."

  "But Helena couldn't just die. She had to suffer," Bree said.

  "She was never as pretty as me. She had freckles. She was chubby. She wasn't beautiful. So why did a Madrigal want her? And Emma wasn't pretty. She wore glasses. She was shy. Everyone said I was the pretty one. So why didn't I get the man? Why didn't I get to live in the pretty cottage and have all the nice things? Why not me?"

  "But their lives were hard, too. Everyone suffers sometimes."

  "None of them suffered like I did."

  "But Emma and Jonathan died in a fire."

  "They abandoned me! Before they died they helped. They helped me with that awful old man. Even Tom helped. But after the fire he was useless. He didn't help. So it was all on me."

  Bree pictured her alone with the mean, crazy father. Sophie's personal hell had been so much like her own. But so different. "These people had their own problems. They had their ups and downs, just like you."

  Sophie shook her head. "Not like me."

  "But Henry didn't hurt you."

  "He was innocent for a long time. So I left him alone. But he was getting too close at the end. He was asking questions, about why Helena was sick, about why the others had died."

  "But he hadn't figured out it was you. Or he wouldn't have eaten the sopaipillas."

  "That's right. I went up there to see him. I had to stop him before he moved Helena and found out she wasn't sick at all. So I told him I was scared of Mel. That Mel put things in our food to make us sick. I described the way Helena was acting, said it was how I felt. Made him think both of us were victims of mean old Mel. Henry was going to call the police, but I gave him the sopaipillas first. And he ate them. And then he realized. He figured it out."

  Bree shivered. "But he figured it out too late." She thought of the fox fetish in his hand. His attempt to be heard, to make someone understand. She had heard him, but hadn't understood his message. Until now.

  "Just like you're too late," Sophie said. "Nothing you can do."

  "I am too late. Even the prescriptions. That was another diversion."

  "I had been poisoning them from my stash. But I was running low. I needed more to keep Helena drugged. And I thought I'd blame the doctors. No one would guess it was me."

  "No one did. I thought I was a good judge, but you fooled me. I never understood. Until now. All the men who rejected you had to die, and the woman had to suffer."

  "Of course," she said, as if that made perfect sense.

  "And Mel could live because he didn't matter. And Tom? Your brother?"

  "Not worth it," she said shortly. "Old drunk wouldn't know if he died or lived. So not worth it."

  "And now what? Now that you've gotten everyone who ever hurt you. What's next? You'll never get away now."

  "I don't need to. It's over. It's all done now. They're all gone now. Everyone who abandoned me. Everyone who left me alone with that mean old man. All of them are gone now."

  "But you let Mel live," Bree said, the glimmer of an idea forming.

  "He never hurt me. He was innocent."

  "Like Maisy is innocent," Bree said, thinking of all those pretty watercolors, all that love of animals channeled into those pictures. Thinking of Maisy cutting her foot in the tileworks, and Sophie rushing to try and help. She's innocent, Sophie had cried out, in tears.

  "Of course," Sophie said shortly. "I'm not going to hurt Maisy. I would never. They'll find her after this is over."

  "But it will be too late," Bree said, putting a tremor into her voice. "How long does it take for the poison to kill someone?" she asked frantically. She turned to Maisy, looking as wide-eyed and shocked as possible.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I gave her a sopaipilla! Oh, no. I gave her two, when they spilled. I was trying to keep her quiet. She ate them, and I didn't think!" Bree knelt down by the dog, praying as hard as she could for Maisy to put on her impassive act. "How long before she dies, Sophie?" she shouted frantically.

  "She can't die! She's innocent!" Sophie said. "Innocent ones shouldn't die! I wouldn't kill a dog! You have to save her!"

  "We have to get her to the vet before she dies!" Bree said. "Help me!" She crouched over the dog, silently apologizing for what she was going to do. "I think she's starting to have a seizure!" She pinched Maisy's sore foot and the dog cried out in pain.

  Sophie set the gun down on the table and came to crouch down by the dog.

  Helena grabbed the gun and put it in her lap.

  Bree picked Maisy up and headed for the door. "Open the door quick, Sophie! I've got to get her help!"

  Sophie opened the door wide.

  Captain Ryan stood there, Nico right behind him.

  Sophie looked back toward the dining table, but the gun wasn't there. She started to run toward the back door, but the deputy was standing in the doorway.

  Then Captain Ryan had Sophie down on the floor of the little cottage.

  Bree set Maisy back down on her own feet, and hugged her.

  Nico reached down and helped Bree up on her feet.

  "Are you all right? Are you safe?" he shouted.

  "You don't have to yell. I can hear you," she said. She looked over at Helena. The deputy was helping her to stand.

  She put her hands on Nico's chest. "We're okay."

  "But Maisy!" Sophie yelled. She kept squirming as Captain Ryan handcuffed her. "You've got to save Maisy! She's innocent!"

  "She's fine," Bree said. "I wouldn't give her a sopaipilla. It's too rich for her."

  "You are amazing," Nico said. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, long and hard.

  When they came up for air, he said, "You are the most resourceful, brilliant, observant—"

  "Forgiving," she said. "Don't forget forgiving. Remember, I told you not to kiss me?"

  "Oh," he said, pulling away from her. "Oh, yeah. I guess I forgot that."

  She pulled him closer. "Just this one time, I think we'll make an exception."

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  "AREN'T YOU SUPPOSED TO LEAVE?" Wade asked her when he arrived at the senior center and found her in the kitchen.

  She kept on furiously writing in the little notebook she'd bought at Santos' market. "I just have a few more things to put down." she flipped through the cards one more time to make sure she'd included everything.

  Helena Madrigal can't have garlic. Mr. Anderson's favorite meal is fried chicken, mashed potatoes with sausage gravy, and pie. Mrs. Castro is diabeti
c, but loves cookies, so use this recipe for dulce de leche bars made with stevia instead of sugar.

  "Bree," Wade said gently. "You know the job is going back to the school cook, right? She won't have time to do any of that. She's already working full-time on her regular job."

  Bree set the notebook down. She had hand-lettered the cover with the title: PAJARO BAY ELDERS. She supposed the heart she'd drawn in the corner was a bit juvenile, but somehow, she was trying to convey how important this was, how much it meant to see the 47 clients of the Senior Meals Program as individuals with their own likes and dislikes.

  "I guess it's stupid, my little cookbook."

  "Not stupid."

  "But not practical."

  "No one else cares as much as you do," Wade said. "I'm sorry."

  "No," Bree said. "I am." She set the notebook down and turned to shake Wade's hand. "You keep working," she admonished him. "You'll get your tattoo parlor if you don't give up. One day at a time. Just like I'll get my restaurant someday. We can both do it, right?"

  He nodded, sniffing a bit like he had a cold. Then he suddenly hugged her. "Thanks, Man."

  She nodded, holding back the tears. She put the notebook up on a shelf, just in case somebody, someday was around to notice it, shoved her scribbled cards into her purse, grabbed her coat, and walked out.

  MEL RUBBED AT HIS EYES.

  "Something bothering your eyes, Mel?" Bree asked.

  "It's that glare from the stupid amusement park across the way," he said, staring out into the darkness.

  "Of course." She kept wiping down the tables. There were only three customers left, and it was close to closing time. Her final shift.

  "I never figured you'd stay, Bree. I knew this was just a stop along the way."

  She went over and hugged him.

  He hugged back, and then abruptly pushed her away. "You think I like you? I've been just putting up with you."

  "Right," she said. "Of course you have." She bumped him with her shoulder. "We can't stand each other."

  "Yup," he said. "I'll be glad to have you out of my hair. You've been nothing but trouble." Then he grinned. "Nothing but trouble. But you could come back every once in a while, if you happen to be in town."

  "To give you a hard time?"

  "Something like that. I think you need somebody to keep you in line."

  Nico came in the door.

  "But maybe you've got somebody to do that," Mel said.

  "Maybe." But Bree herself wasn't so sure.

  She nodded to Nico and they went out onto the restaurant's deck. The boats in the marina below bobbed gently, hardly stirred by the breeze. The smell of ocean and the bark of the sea lions made her very aware that she was standing somewhere very special. Somewhere she could now leave behind, and go forward toward the dream of owning her own restaurant.

  "It's a great offer," Nico said, breaking the silence.

  "You bet it is. I can't believe Jacques offered it to me. I've been holding my breath for a week waiting for him to call and say it was all a mistake. It'll get me one step closer to my goal of owning—"

  "—your own restaurant, where you can serve arugula and portobello pasta and stuff like that."

  "Yeah," she said softly. "And what about you? Are you heading back to Los Angeles when your purgatory here is done?"

  "I was talking to my dad on the phone a few days ago," Nico said. "I told him about how it is here. The fresh air and sunshine. And the community. A small town where everyone knows you and you can make a difference in people's lives."

  "And?"

  "And he said—" His voice broke. "He said he was proud of me. That it was what he'd dreamed of for his children. That they'd do something that mattered."

  "You've always done things that mattered."

  "I thought it had to be something big, you know? Saving lives in a battlefield hospital, or an emergency department. Not taking care of a tourist with a fever. But it all matters. All of it."

  "Maybe this isn't purgatory after all."

  "Maybe not. You know, I was at work today, and I was helping a man who broke his little finger playing vollyball. It was just a hairline fracture on a little finger, you know? Not the kind of thing you think about doing in medical school. But there I was, and the relief on his face when I fixed it for him. I was just standing there, and I thought, I'm happy."

  "Happy?"

  "Yeah. Happy. It's nothing earth shattering. It's not saving the world. But it's something. At that moment, I was the most important person in the world to him," he said, unconsciously echoing Dr. Lil's words. "Sounds stupid, I know."

  "Not stupid. I've been thinking about things, too. You know when I was happiest?"

  "In the kitchen with Henry," he said without hesitation.

  "Yes. Exactly. We'd be working like dogs to pull a meal together, and he'd be telling his stories about Pajaro Bay, and about all his adventures, and I was happy."

  "It wasn't the restaurant with all the fancy stars."

  "No. It wasn't. You're a pretty smart man, Mr. Silva."

  "I try, Ms. Taylor. So you think you can find that same happiness at this Petit Roman place?"

  "Maybe." She thought about how it had felt to cook for Helena and Sophie and Mr. Anderson. The looks on their faces when she'd shown up with just the flavors that took them back to a time when they'd felt special, and cared for. Listened to. Loved.

  Food is more than nourishment, Kid. It's pleasure, and sharing, and meditation. But above all else, it's love. To feed someone is a most basic way of showing them love. Never lose sight of that. It's why we're here. She realized she finally understood what Henry had meant.

  She felt the tears on her cheeks and angrily brushed them away.

  Nico noticed them. "Why…?"

  She shook her head, not ready to speak.

  He put his arm around her. "You know I can't ask you to stay. I can't even go on a date with you. Not yet. I know they're right—the padre and Dr. Lil, and everyone at the sobriety meetings. I need to wait. Need to get my own life together before I start anything new. I need to deal honestly with my own problems before I move on." Then he took his arm from around her and straightened up. "But I'm not giving you up."

  She saw the stubborn line of his jaw. "Give me up?"

  The onshore breeze ruffled his hair and he ran a hand through it. "You can move away. Of course you can. You have to do what you want with your life. But in a year, I'll be back. Actually, in eight months, seventeen days, and however many hours, I'm going to come knocking on your door. I'm going to track you down and get down on my knees and beg you to give me a chance to prove that I'm the right man for you. I'm just warning you now. That's going to happen. So when you get settled in San Francisco, you can just tell me where you're going to be living. Or I can hunt for you. But I'm going to see you again. And I'm going to beg you for a chance to prove I'm the one."

  She smiled through her tears. "I think you'll be able to find me. You're pretty good at figuring things out even if I don't give you directions."

  "Doesn't matter. I'll hunt."

  "Okay. I'll save you the trouble. Write this down."

  He pulled out his phone and poised a finger to type out the address.

  "Ready?" she asked.

  "Ready," he said.

  "Go down Calle Principal, heading toward the ocean, but don't go so far that you drive off the cliff and crash into the sea. Pass Santos' Market with the three old men on the front bench. Be sure to wave to them. Turn at Hector's Garage and head down Tejas Street until you get to a faded sign nailed to an old tree. It'll say Vixen & K— because the tree grew over the Kits part of the sign. Go through the gate and under the trees until you see a little terracotta cottage that looks like the cutest toadstool in the world. You'll find me there."

  He put the phone in his pocket. Stood and stared at her. "Um," he said articulately.

  "I'm taking the job."

  "I know. But it's in San Francisco."

&n
bsp; "Not that job. The minimum wage one cooking for the seniors. And I'll probably stay on here at Mel's to make ends meet as well."

  "But, the other job—it's your dream."

  "No. It isn't. My dream is to cook for people. To make them happy. To show them love. Not to impress people, but to share a meal with them. Cooking for the seniors in Pajaro Bay is the job Henry trained me for, not showing off for food critics. This is what he was teaching me. Not how to cook, but how to live a full life. Not to devote myself to impressing others, but to live somewhere where the scent of the Cécile Brünner rose wafts in on the sea breezes, and I can listen out the window on a summer night and hear the kids playing baseball under the Friday night lights, and hope that someday my own kids will be out there playing. Where I can walk through the village and know the names of everyone I meet. And where I can wait for eight months, seventeen days, and however many hours it takes for you to be ready to show up on my doorstep, because I already know what I want. I want this life. And I want you."

  SOME TOURISTS WERE HEADED toward the deck, but Mel shooed them away.

  "But we want to eat here," they protested.

  "Too bad," he said in his usual gruff way. "Outdoor dining's closed."

  He glanced at the couple kissing at the railing. "Might not be open for another hour. You better eat inside."

  EPILOGUE

  EIGHTEEN MONTHS LATER.

  * * *

  "ARE YOU READY?" Nico asked her.

  Bree nodded. She smoothed down the oversized shirt she was wearing, patted her hair straight, and then walked up the little rutted driveway that led to Vixen & Kits.

  Helena was on her back patio at Kits, with Maisy sitting by her feet as she worked. The Cécile Brünner rose was decked out in its full riot of scented pink blooms, and Helena was clipping off the spent flowers. "So it will bloom again," she said with a smile when they got close. "Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?" she asked, and Nico nodded.

  Bree couldn't bring herself to talk. Helena went into Kits, Maisy at her heels, and then Nico stepped aside so Bree could enter after them.