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“Oh, you’re a lifesaver,” she said, quickly peeling the lid off. She inhaled deeply and took a sip, the warm sweetness of the caramel macchiato coating her tongue.

“Am I? What am I saving you from?” He took the chair in front of her desk without waiting for an invitation.

“My own lack of initiative. I’ve gotten exactly nothing done this morning.”

“Well, while you sit there like a shoe, I’ll pass along the latest gossip on this Halloween in Lake Henry.” At Cassie’s raised eyebrows, he said, “Guess who talked to the Burgermeister-Meisterburger about selling The Lakeshore Inn?”

“No!” Cassie’s eyes went wide. “Already?”

“First thing this morning.”

“Is your source reliable?”

Jonathan feigned insult. “How dare you?”

Cassie chuckled. “I know. I just…it seems so soon. I wonder if she’s said anything to Mary.” She thought about how hard it had been for Caroline to sell off the big house, and she grimaced. “Ugh. I don’t like that guy.” Then she smiled and shook her head at the nickname Jonathan had given Arnold Cross the first time he’d seen him. “The Burgermeister-Meisterburger.”

“He looks just like him,” Jonathan insisted, not for the first time, referring to the villain in one of the Christmas television specials from the seventies. “That hair? His size? Come on. You see it, too. Don’t deny it.”

Cassie laughed. “I don’t deny it.” They were quiet for a beat or two before Cassie added softly, “Poor Mary.”

“I know.” Jonathan looked around the floor. “Hey, where’s Gordie?”

“Downstairs with Mom. My idle nothingness got too boring for him, and he ditched me.”

“Can’t say as I blame him. Hey, are you coming over tonight?” Jonathan and Patrick always threw a small gathering on Halloween for their friends, complete with fancy Halloween cocktails and munchies, the required games such as bobbing for apples, and a ridiculously elaborate haunted house.

“I may stop by later. I promised Zack and Izzy I’d go trick-or-treating with them.”

Jonathan waved a dismissive hand. “Kids. They take all the fun out of this holiday.”

“Dare I ask about your costumes this year?” Jonathan and Patrick always dressed up together in some matching theme. One year, they were The Lone Ranger and Tonto. Another year, Bonnie and Clyde (Jonathan was Bonnie). Last year they outdid themselves in the categories of shiny and glittery by dressing as Liberace and his candelabra.

“We’re keeping it simple this year. Simple, yet sexy. In keeping with the latest trend of superhero popularity, we’re going as Batman and Robin.”

Cassie grinned. “Perfect. Who’s who?”

“Patrick will be Batman, of course. The strong, silent one. Robin is much more fun. And cuter. You know I’ll rock the spandex.” He lowered his head and batted his eyelashes at Cassie. “Now if you would just dress up as Wonder Woman, we’d have almost an entire Justice League.”

Cassie held up a hand, traffic cop style. “No way. Not happening. I’ve told you a million times, I don’t dress up.”

Jonathan scoffed. “You lesbians are no fun. I still say you and Vanessa would’ve made a fabulous Rizzoli and Isles last year.”

“Yeah, well.” She shrugged.

Jonathan reached across the desk and patted her hand as he stood. “It’s okay,
cheri
. You come by tonight, and I’ll give you a cocktail that’ll wipe all your worries and cares right out of your head. It’s called a jack-o’-weenie. I invented it myself.”

“A jack-o’-weenie? Really? Why am I not surprised?”

“I know you have an aversion to anything remotely associated with the word weenie since you’ve realized you’re a giant vagina worshipper, but trust me. You’ll love it.”

Without missing a beat, their eyes met and they both blurted, “That’s what he said!”

Jonathan opened the door, laughing, and told her, “Get some work done, for god’s sake. See you tonight.” And he was gone.

Cassie shook her head, smiling. She had no idea how he did it, but Jonathan could change the energy in the room. She wished she had similar powers, but maybe it was enough that she had him. She sipped the caramel macchiato, gazed out the window for another minute or two, then turned to her paperwork and forced herself to focus.

***

Emerson was pumping hard. She was off the lake trail today, had followed the road slightly out of town, and was surprised how wide the shoulder was, how much space she had to ride.

After the meeting with Arnold Cross, she’d needed to clear her head. Something about the man had been cloying; she felt like he was still with her even after she’d left Klein’s office. A walk to the water had helped relax her slightly, but she still felt uncertain, indecisive. She’d driven back to the cottage, changed into some suitable riding gear (if she was going to stay much longer, she might be wise to visit Cassie’s shop and get some new clothes), and hopped on her rental bike without stopping to talk to Mary, Mr. Gruffton, or anybody. She just pedaled.

It was cold. Colder than she’d expected now that the sun had disappeared behind the gray cloud cover. She’d passed three different houses decorated for Halloween before it had even occurred to her that today was October 31. She hadn’t purchased biking gloves from Mindy, so she was wearing a light pair of knit gloves she’d found in the cottage coat closet. They were helping a little, but not a lot, and her hands and face were tight from cold. She knew if she glanced in a mirror, her cheeks would be bright red. Still, the physical activity felt amazing, and the briskness of the air was doing its job on her brain. She was no longer overwhelmed by her situation. It was still there, but she felt like she had a better handle on things. At least for the moment.

Her thighs were starting to ache with the exertion, and she took a few turns, then headed back to the cottage, slowing when she approached the path around the lake. On her way through town, there was a large number of tourists crowding the sidewalk, so she hopped off the bike and walked it for a ways, noting the shops as she passed. Peering through the windows of Cassie’s store, she could see that it was bustling. Once through the main thoroughfare, she got back on the bike and pedaled the rest of the short way to the inn.

As she walked down the sidewalk past the main building on her way to the cottage, the bike next to her, a shrill beeping caught her ear. She stopped, tilted her head. Was that a smoke alarm? She leaned the bike against the house and went in the back door.

The kitchen wasn’t filled with smoke, but there was definitely something burning. Just as Emerson opened her mouth to ask what was going on, Mary swore loudly and dropped a blackened pan into the sink. Then she leaned her hands on the edge of the counter, dropped her head down between her shoulders, and burst into tears.

Emerson swallowed hard, torn between the easiest course of action (leaving quietly) and what she knew was the right thing to do (stay). Her debate lasted a good fifteen seconds before she pressed her lips together, shook her head, and stepped farther into the room.

“Everything okay?” she asked loudly over the beeping. Mary’s whole body jerked, and she wiped quickly at her face. Wanting to give her time, Emerson pulled a chair from a corner, stood on it and yanked the battery out of the smoke alarm. The sudden silence was blissful. She climbed down and opened a couple windows, helping to air out the room while Mary collected herself. After a few moments, Emerson asked again, “Everything okay?”

Mary sighed deeply, shook her head. “These damn muffins. These damn blueberry muffins of your mother’s. They’re a signature here. Every guest expects the homemade blueberry muffins each morning. They’re in the pamphlet, for crying out loud. Today, I finally decided I should try my hand at making them, and this is the third pan I’ve burned to a crisp.” Her eyes welled and she looked at Emerson with such pleading that Emerson would have done almost anything to prevent any more crying.

“I can make them,” she said before she even realized the words were out of her mouth.

“You can?”

“Are you kidding? Mom showed me how to make her special recipe when I was ten. She was actually teaching me a lesson.” Emerson smiled at the memory. “Remember that big snowstorm? When was it? 1994? All the schools were closed for, like, three or four days. On the third day, I told Mom I was bored. Big mistake. We made muffins for hours.” Mary’s face broke into a smile and Emerson felt a surprising wave of relief. “It’s true. I’ve been making them for years. They’re my go-to when I have to bring something to a party. I can’t cook to save my life, but nobody can compete with my blueberry muffins.”

Mary held Emerson’s gaze, sniffed once, then gave a nod. “Okay. I think all the ingredients you need are right here. Except for the blueberries.” She gathered things up off the table, shaking her head with irritation as she dumped them into the sink. “How much have I wasted on buying fresh blueberries just so I can torch them to bits in the oven?” she muttered. “I’ll go pick you up another couple pints.”

“You can get frozen ones, too. They’ll work just fine,” Emerson added as Mary left the room. “And they’re cheaper,” she called out. A few seconds later, she heard a car start up.

“Okay, then.” Emerson stood, clapped her hands once, then rubbed them together as she surveyed the detritus scattered about. Mary wasn’t kidding about having tried more than once. There was flour all over the table, dirty dishes lined with leftover batter, three spatulas, and the microwave stood open, as did the oven. The open windows were helping immensely to clear the air, even though the temperature in the room had dropped significantly. Emerson closed them back up and began the task of washing all the dishes.

She couldn’t work in a dirty kitchen. That was rule number one.

“Let’s get to work.” For the first time in a very long time, Emerson felt invigorated.

***

Emerson was just about finished when she heard Cassie’s voice from the other side of the kitchen door.

“Oh my god, what is that heavenly smell?” Emerson heard some muffled conversation, assumed a couple guests were on their way out. Mary’s voice sounded from behind the counter.

“That, my dear, is the lovely aroma of the famous Lakeshore Inn blueberry muffins.” Her voice grew wistful. “It’s been less than two weeks, but boy have I missed that scent.” There was a pause, then a change of subject. “Where’s my boy?” She called out, and Emerson could hear the scrambling of canine paws.

“Weren’t they Caroline’s secret recipe?” she heard Cassie ask. “I didn’t know you could make them.”

“I can’t. Emerson made them.”

That was her cue. Emerson came out from the kitchen doorway. She wore her mother’s floral print navy blue apron, handprints of flour decorating it. She was pretty sure she must have had a smear of batter streaked across her left cheek, because Cassie stared at her. In her hands, she carried a plate of enormous muffins that looked too beautiful to be eaten, even if she said so herself.

“Wow,” was all Cassie could say as her eyes darted from Emerson’s face to the muffins steaming on the plate and back again.

“Go ahead,” Emerson said, gesturing with her chin. “Try one. They’re just out of the oven, so they’re hot. Be careful.”

Cassie didn’t need a second invitation. She and Mary each grabbed a muffin, Cassie tossing hers from one hand to the other to cool it down. Gordie sat politely, his eyes zipping from one woman to the other trying to gauge who was most likely to share. When Cassie finally broke a piece off and tasted it, her eyes closed and humming sounds came unbidden from her throat. “Holy crap.” Cassie held her fingers in front of her mouth as she spoke. “These are
sinful
!”

Behind the counter, Mary’s eyes had filled with tears as she chewed. She turned to Emerson and smiled, and there was a combination of gratitude and grief on her face. “They taste just like your mother’s,” she said softly. “Thank you.”

Emerson’s gaze darted from the plate to the floor to Cassie and back. With a quick nod, she said, “Good. You’re welcome.” After another beat of awkward discomfort, she retreated to the kitchen. Cassie followed her.

“That was amazing.”

“What was?” Emerson glanced over her shoulder as she slid a muffin pan into the oven.

“Making Mary feel better the way you did.” Cassie leaned her forearms on the table, braced herself there.

Emerson lifted one shoulder. “It was nothing.”

“It was something.”

They looked at each other for a beat, and Emerson looked away first.

“Hey,” Cassie said suddenly. “There’s a Halloween party tonight at my friend’s house. Want to go?”

Emerson cocked her head and gave Cassie a look. “Um, no. Halloween parties are not my thing. In fact, parties aren’t really my thing. But thank you.”

“What about trick-or-treating?”

“What about trick-or-treating?”

“Is that your thing?” Their eyes held and Cassie chuckled. “It’s just that I promised my niece and nephew I’d take them trick-or-treating, give their parents a break. Plus, my sister likes to stay home and answer the door. It would be more fun if I had company.”

“What about the party?”

Cassie waved a hand. “I can skip it.”

Emerson’s first inclination was always to politely decline such invitations. She didn’t enjoy crowds or parties or groups of people she didn’t know. She preferred to be either alone or with a small handful of friends. But she’d been baking muffins for a while now with no interruptions from Mary or anybody, so it wasn’t like she was craving down time. Plus, Cassie was looking at her with those big, brown eyes and that expectant grin Emerson was growing used to. It was just trick-or-treating. Just walking. How bad could it be?

“Okay.”

Cassie flinched as if Emerson had startled her. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay, you’ll go trick-or-treating with me?”

“Yes. I’ll go trick-or-treating with you.” Emerson couldn’t help but grin at Cassie’s excitement.

“Seriously?”

“You’re pushing it.”

“Okay. Sorry. That’s great. That’s awesome. I’m so happy!”

Emerson shook her head. “You’re way too easy.”

“Yeah, don’t let that get around,” Cassie said with a wink. “We’ll swing by and pick you up around seven-thirty. Okay? It’ll be me, a ninja, and Elsa from
Frozen
. And Gordie, of course.”