Uptempo, Down
Novel
One.
Edna McCloud wipes her hands on her apron as a warm trickle of sweat courses down her neck and along her spine. Even though the air conditioner is set to a chilly sixty degrees, the temperature in the kitchen must be close to ninety… which is nearly equivalent to today’s outdoor temperature. With the oven working overtime since early this morning, the air inside For the Love of Cupcakes is heavy with humidity and the sweet aroma of vanilla.
Glancing at the rack of cute espresso cakes cooling on the counter, Edna determines her next order of business ought to be filling them with ganache and then icing them with chocolate mousse. Sighing, she sets the timer for her vanilla bean cakes before moving to the refrigerator and retrieving a container of heavy cream. At the sound of the door swinging open, however, she glances over her shoulder to find Kaila standing there.
“Two things,” the teenager says in her sing-songy way. “Number one, Mrs. Nelson is wondering if she could order a dozen carrot cake and two dozen white chocolate-raspberry for next Sunday. I know you have that big order for the Crenshaw wedding on Saturday, though, so I wanted to check before I told her it was fine. Is it fine?”
Edna dons a tired smile. “It is.”
Mrs. Nelson is a regular customer and has always been a pleasure to work with. Of course she’s willing to find time to make a dozen carrot cake and two dozen white chocolate-raspberry cupcakes.
“What’s the second thing?”
Kaila tilts her head, causing the high ponytail that she wears to fall over one shoulder. “I don’t know what’s going on, but there are all sorts of police cars and ambulances about a block south on Crescent Way. Mrs. Nelson says the street’s completely shut down.”
“But she doesn’t know why?”
Kaila shakes her head. “An accident of some sort, I guess.”
Returning the cream to the refrigerator, Edna unties her apron and lifts it over her head. She isn’t someone who generally cranes her neck in order to observe another’s misfortune, but in all her years of living in Moonglow, she can’t recall ever witnessing anything more than a minor fender bender.
For the majority of each year, the quaint town positioned along North Carolina’s coast is a quiet one. Only during the warmer months are the sidewalks crowded and the restaurants bustling, for it’s then that the beachgoers infiltrate Moonglow and alter its usually-sleepy pace. Shops that closed after Thanksgiving again open their doors; the boardwalk, a lonely fixture from November through April, again becomes a popular point of rendezvous for adults and teens alike. Vendors sell their wares by the ocean, seagulls scavenge for fallen French fries, and the ocean air carries a medley of delectable aromas: golden hush puppies, beer-battered shrimp, and the almost-undetectable (but still very there) frozen scent of sugary-sweet ice cream.
In addition to sunshine, sand, and a softly rolling surf, it’s music that tempts so many tourists. At least in June, because that’s when Moonglow’s annual music festival is held, beginning on Thursday afternoon and stretching late into Saturday night. Many concertgoers are forced to camp on the beach or find lodging in the surrounding towns, for even as early as March, it’s often impossible to book a room at one of the charming bed and breakfasts or locally-owned hotels that the tiny town has to offer.
With the festival mere days away, Edna understands that traffic—both the kind that involves feet and that which comprises tires—is at its heaviest. She knows that this weekend will be busier than usual, and that the breakfast crowd will swell as a result. Hence, the extended amount of time she’s spent in her kitchen today.
Edna really shouldn’t take a break—she has so much left to do!—and yet, she finds herself following Kaila to the front of the shop to join Mrs. Nelson by the door. Stepping onto the sidewalk, she peers down Crescent Way, alarmed by the number of red-and-blue flashing lights. The town’s soundtrack, which is normally a mixture of chatter created by both people and gulls, is instead swirled with shrill sirens and terrified shouts. Edna’s chest grows tight. She places a hand to her sternum, attempting to quell the over-fast thumping.
“Any idea what’s going on?” Harry Jefferson voices the question from across the street. He wears his thinning hair longer on one side so that it can be swept across the shiny crown of his head—a technique that fools no one. In his right hand, he holds a tray cluttered with an assortment of empty pint glasses. Behind him, a crowd of early-afternoon drinkers congregates at the window, craning their necks to peer around golden capital letters painted on the glass: CADENZA’S.
Two doors down from Edna’s own shop, Marie Allefore stands by a rack of t-shirts geared for tourists and volunteers, “One of my customers just told me a car veered off the road and nearly took out a couple of pedestrians. Looking at all that hubbub, though, I have to wonder if it did take out a pedestrian.” She pulls a face, obviously concerned, and turns her attention back to the commotion taking place on the next block.
Footsteps sound from behind Edna, pounding the pavement with urgency. The clumsy shuffle-fwap of sandals seems to hinder the progress of two men as they jog, shirtless, past For the Love of Cupcakes. “If Lucy’s right and that’s them…” one pants, the words saturated with fear. His hair is thick and dreaded, his back is muscled and tan.
His voice, Edna can’t help but think, is unexpectedly alluring.
“Come on,” the other urges, resting a hand on his friend’s shoulder and pushing him forward. “We don’t know anything for certain. Let’s just…” But his voice fades as they continue down the block, hurrying toward the disturbance that’s halted all traffic on Crescent Way.