Austentatious

someone else, worked its magic on someone else. I was, rather unbelievably, on the right track here—I just needed a little more information. Closing my eyes, I took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to inhale a little patience, a little calm to temper the piston firing of my heart.

“What happened then?” I finally asked quietly, reverently.

“Cat called off the wedding and hared off to parts unknown with big ideas.”

“What sort of big ideas?” The words caught in my throat, but I forced them out. I needed to hear this story.

“The war was on, and Cat wanted to be where things were happening. In the thick of it, I suppose. Always was a busybody.”

“And the journal?” I cringed inwardly, suspecting I knew the answer.

“When she broke it off with Tyler, she told me it was her journal’s idea. I thought that was bullshit and told her so, so she showed me the page with the words, one little bossy instruction: ‘Don’t marry him.’ ’Course I accused her of writing it herself. So then she slid the key into the lock—”

“Hold on. There isn’t a key—or a lock. The key plate is just decorative.” Could this possibly be a mistake? Was there another magical journal floating around somewhere between here and Fredericksburg? Beck would be thrilled.

“It’s all part of the ruse,” he assured me, an edge to his voice. “And once she turned the key, it was impossible not to believe her. Her words reappeared—and everyone else’s right along with them—”

I heard a rushing pop in my ears, and my eyes telescoped, seeing only the journal, propped innocently beside P&P in the bookshelf. Everyone else’s?

“And I read them. Didn’t change my mind, but hers was made up. So she left, taking the book with her.”

Now we were getting somewhere....

“So how did you ... ?” At this point I didn’t even know which part of this whole thing to try to wrap my head around first.

“She died. In England. And that magic book of hers got shipped over in a brown box with the rest of her personal effects. Right about now you’re probably wishing that book had been forgotten across the pond somewhere, aren’t ya?”

“It’s too early to tell,” I told him honestly, determined not to get distracted. “So what happened to the key?”

“Oh, it came back too, but I never slipped it into the lock again—chicken, I guess. I take it from all the questions that it wasn’t with the journal.”

“No,” I confirmed, slumping in my seat, a little defeated. “It wasn’t.”

My free fall back to ignorance came too fast, and all at once I was dizzy, my head spinning. Okay, deep breath, start again. “Any ideas?”

“I’d start with that Violet character. Best lead you got.”

“You’re right. Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Nelson, and I’m sorry to have brought up sad memories of your sister.”

“Never mind that. It’s past.”

On impulse I asked one final question. “Just out of curiosity—was she happy with her decision?”

“Far as I know. Sent plenty of postcards from all over. Didn’t seem to miss Tyler one little bit. Him, on the other hand, never stepped foot outside Gillespie County. But that doesn’t prove a thing—Cat done gone and messed with fate.”

“Yeah,” I answered, my voice sounding faraway. I could relate to Tyler’s situation. I’d recently come to the conclusion that my dad had planned Walt Disney World vacations around hurricane season and trips to Europe around the impossibility of scoring last-minute passports. Cat Nelson may have messed with fate, but at least she’d gone somewhere.

“Okay then. Good luck to you.” He hung up with a click in my ear, and it barely registered, my thoughts were in such a tussle over this new information. Evidently I needed to go back, yet again, to Violet’s and fend off the Purveyor long enough to find the key. A key that was likely to ratchet up the insanity yet another dubious notch.

The cupcakes momentarily forgotten, I unearthed my laptop and powered it up, crossing my fingers that Violet’s was open on Sunday. It wasn’t. My search was going to have to wait until Monday. I was going to have to sneak off to search for a magical key on the same day I hoped to be promoted to manager. Perfect.

As I turned back to the morning’s cupcake distraction, I was conscious of the fact that I should call Beck. I knew she was waiting to hear from me, and I had plenty to tell her. But while I was confident she’d forgive me for rousing her so early on a Sunday, I didn’t really want to go into the whole business right now. I’d call her eventually ... or she’d call me.

I was assembling the cupcakes, my hands coated with gooey macaroon mixture, when the phone rang again. Of course it was Beck, a.k.a. Karma.

“Hey,” I answered, the phone jammed between my ear and shoulder.

“Hey! What are you up to today? Wanna meet up?”

“Um, sure,” I blurted, thinking fast. If I invited her to brunch, I’d only have to rehash the wedding details a single time. “How about brunch? I’m already meeting Gabe, and he’s as avidly curious about my one-night solo social whirl as you are.”

“Okay, sure,” she enthused.

“One thing, though—he doesn’t know about the journal.”

“So you want me to keep Fairy Jane on the down-low?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Not a problem. As long as you promise to fill me in later.”

“I’ll do you one better. I’m meeting Gabe at Moonshine downtown at noon. Meet me there ten minutes early, and I’ll catch you up.”

“Gotcha.”

With my afternoon satisfactorily arranged, I hung up the phone and returned to the task of forming little coconut caps on the cooled, ganached cupcakes, easily sliding into the unruffled calm that comes from mindless repetition. It didn’t even occur to me to call Gabe to see if he minded a third.

Beck made an entrance in a swirly red miniskirt and turquoise sweater, her hair pulled back in a sparkly barrette, causing me, in my jeans and nubby sweater, to feel just the slightest bit drab. Squelching that feeling, I waved from the bench seat beside the hostess station, and she hurried over, all giddy anticipation. She dropped a hug around my shoulders and then sat back, clearly ready to get right to it.

“So? Spill it, chick. Did you call the dude in Fredericksburg?” Seeing my nod, she continued, “Tell me about that first. Then the wedding, then whatever else you got.”

“Fine, but as soon as Gabe shows up, we’re nixing all journal-related conversation and sticking with the wedding replay, okay?”

“Got it.”

I relayed the general gist of my conversation with Elijah Nelson amid a great deal of gasps and the occasional wild-eyed comment: “Shit! There’s a key? Wow—and she never came back? Un- freakin’-believable.” When I finally finished, she seemed confused. “And you didn’t go back in to look for the key?” Her tone was distinctly accusatory.

“I waited to call him until this morning,” I said, speaking slowly. “And it turns out they’re closed on Sundays. Finding a matching key amid all that clutter seems like kind of a long shot, though. Unless the Nazi knows where it is and is willing to say.” I raised my eyebrows to indicate my level of confidence in that turn of events.

“I don’t know how you stand it. The suspense is killing me. Don’t you wish life could be like the movies, all action without the filler?”

“Um, no. I’m a big fan of the filler.” She cut her eyes over to me, clearly wondering if I could possibly be serious.

“What’s your Plan B, if the key doesn’t want to be found?” she said.

My eyebrows crinkled down in reaction to the ongoing LOTR analogy and I said, “A lot of the same: floundering around without a clue, hoping things start making sense on their own. But I’m not