The Bachelorette, page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Author's Note
Also by Cara Kent
The Bachelorette
Copyright © 2023 by Cara Kent
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Author's Note
Also by Cara Kent
There was something surreal about being in a diner at night, at least in Heather’s opinion. Though, like going to your high school or local mall after dark, she figured that most people would agree that some places morphed into something weird at night. Especially places that specialize in breakfast food.
During the day at Dottie’s Diner, you’d find happy young people drinking milkshakes and sharing huge plates of fresh, steaming fries. But once the sun sank behind the distant mountain range, the natural glow was replaced by blinding fluorescence, which ushered in the walking dead. They flitted around the liminal space, throwing themselves against the light like moths and leaving dust on the garish interiors as they dipped their coiled tongues into sugary coffee. All the while, the envious blackness pressed hard against the windows, begging to be let inside. A darkness they’d have to embrace once they’d had their fill of whatever they sought.
Tonight, Heather sought sobriety and tranquility after a noisy night at Sherwood’s down the street. She found the latter in spades as most remained silent, their heads bowed over coffee steam as if the plastic booths were wooden church pews. There were, of course, some chatty zombies—po-faced divorcees and surly truckers seeking quiet chit-chat with the friendly waitress. Though Heather was not usually among them, the excess of bourbon had gotten the better of her.
“This is really good,” Heather slurred at the waitress, Missy, as she passed by on the other side of the glossy, fire truck-red counter.
Missy stopped and smiled. “Well, I’m glad you think so. You know, we’re famous for our fried chicken sandwich.”
“I can see why,” Heather replied, gesticulating with the sandwich to emphasize her point. Her firm grip and overenthusiasm squirted mayo out the sides and sent shards of crunchy lettuce slices skittering across the counter, and she scrambled to lick up and sweep up her mess. “Oh, man, I’m sorry. I had some drinks at... Sherwood’s? Yeah, Sherwood’s.”
“Honey, don’t be sorry,” Missy laughed. “Half the folks that come in here are in worse condition than you, and at least you keep your eyes up here.” Missy gestured to her pretty but crinkled face and winked a blue-shaded eyelid.
“Low bar,” Heather said dryly and took another bite.
“That’s night shifts for you. Always a little weird after eight,” Missy replied, adding credence to Heather’s theory about diners at night. Something about it reminded her of a movie. An anime. Something a friend had made her watch.
She clicked her fingers, forming the title on the tip of her tongue. “Spirited Away!” she exclaimed to the irritation of the man two seats down.
“What’s that now?” Missy asked, bemused.
“It’s a movie. This place kind of reminds me of it. Spirits wandering in at night begging to be served.”
Missy laughed. “Sounds about right. Want some more coffee?”
“Please,” Heather begged. “I start my new job tomorrow.”
“Oh yeah, what do you do?”
“Detective. Homicide. Well, I was homicide. In Seattle. Now I guess I’m more of a...” Heather trailed off, clicking her fingers again.
“Jack of all trades?”
Heather smiled. “Yeah. Let’s go with that.”
“Wow. Well, look at you, Miss Thing,” Missy cooed. “A big shot city detective in my diner.”
“Your diner?” Heather questioned. “Why don’t you get someone else to work the night shift?”
Missy shrugged. “I like to stay busy. Plus, I feel bad making the young girls work on Saturday nights. Or Sunday mornings, if you catch my drift.”
“That’s nice of you.”
“Well, it’s not like I have any parties to attend.”
“You and me both,” Heather chuckled. “So, who’s Dottie?”
Missy broke into a bright grin. “My late mother. Taught me the secret recipe for that fried chicken in that sandwich you’re eating.”
“God bless Dottie,” Heather enthused before taking another sumptuous bite.
“She would have loved you,” Missy remarked. “Couldn’t get enough of true crime stuff.” She paused thoughtfully. “You know, I didn’t even think our little town was big enough to need a detective.”
“And that is exactly the point.”
“Looking to put your feet up, huh? Can’t say I blame you. Seems like the type of job that’ll get you hankering after some peace of mind. Tell you what, you’ve picked the right place. Glenville will be good to you.”
“I hope so,” Heather sighed.
As if the word peace was a jinx, a persistent, four-to-the-floor bassline began to hum in the linoleum beneath Heather’s feet, and she turned to see a bright pink limousine pull up in the parking lot. Missy groaned, and Heather span completely on her mustard-colored stool, pressed her back to the rounded counter edge, and watched with fascination as five women in mini-dresses, feather boas, and sashes clomped toward Dottie’s Diner.
“Shit,” Missy hissed, and Heather agreed.
The bachelorette party burst through the door in an expected manner—screaming, giggling, and talking over each other incoherently—before dropping into a nearby booth. That peace Heather so desperately craved was shattered, and she rubbed her forehead and considered taking her chances out in the night. Just as she was about to cram the last three bites into her mouth and head out, Missy topped up her coffee, begging her to stay with a pointed look. Heather obliged, thanking Missy and turning back around. It was for the best. She was still far from sobriety, her taxi’s arrival was still thirty minutes away, and the world outside was close to freezing.
From what she overheard, the girls were also there to sober up after one too many. Or several. The difference was that their plan was to get ‘back on it’ as soon as they had some carbs in their stomachs. On the other hand, despite probably only being half a decade or so older than these party animals, Heather’s only post-diner plans were showering and sleeping.
Heather couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a night out like that with friends. Furthermore, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d even crossed a nightclub’s threshold, and she knew for a fact she had never been inside a limousine. Not that she’d ever wanted to, even when she had gotten married back in 2014. Maybe if she’d had a close group of friends, they would have coaxed her into a silly blowout with inappropriately shaped straws, but she didn’t, so they hadn’t.
Curious and more than a little tipsy, she blatantly glanced over her shoulder at the group of women. The bride-to-be—a narrow-faced, waspy blonde wearing a tiara and an excessive amount of mascara—made a comment. Everyone in her party laughed wildly like a group of hyenas though she didn’t seem the comedic sort. Heather supposed that was the benefit of these sorts of parties. Everyone else’s job is to ensure the light shines on you.
A man at the other end of the counter grumbled, but the girls didn’t notice. Or if they did, they didn’t care. Why would they? They were too young and vibrant to give a second thought to the drab, unhappy people that surrounded them. They were daytime diner people. Mere tourists who delighted in mocking the natives.
They also didn’t seem to care that they were being watched. And watched they most certainly were. These foreign creatures were just as fascinating as they were annoying to the regulars, and Heather joined many of the other night owls in observing this flock of preening parakeets.
One girl looked a little younger than the rest and was clearly less comfortable in her own skin from how she adjusted and fussed with her dress and hair. She also lacked the glamour the others possessed in spades. There were no long nails, false lashes, and perfect cat eyeliner. Admittedly, she’d tried—her hair coiled into lank hair-sprayed ringlets and her body covered in a sticky shimmer—but still, she stood out with her natural, imperfect skin and slightly frumpy dress. She was, however, very pretty, Heather thought, with the same upturned nose and delicate bo
A younger sister, Heather decided, performing pointless detective work out of sheer boredom.
On the other side of the table were three more women. The one on the far end by the window was startlingly beautiful, with the highest cheekbones Heather had ever seen. She was also unbelievably—possibly unhealthily—thin, and wore a skimpy black dress the same color as her long shiny hair. Heather’s hair had looked like that once when she hadn’t been subsisting off of instant noodles and whiskey, and she envied its luster as the girl flicked it around, laughing, shrieking, primping.
Hard as it was to do, Heather forced her eyes along the row to the woman wedged in the middle. She was what her dad would call a ‘punk rock chick’, with a red and black streaked bob, a nose stud, and a couple of small but edgy tattoos. Dice, daggers, a Cupid giving the middle finger, flaming cherries, and a barking dog were what was on display, but Heather assumed there were many more, and on her feet, she wore chunky platforms instead of stilettos.
Finally, Heather looked at the last girl, who half hung off her padded seat from the lack of space. Like Heather, she was brown-skinned, but her hair was curled and chocolate-colored, arranged into two space buns on either side of her head with sparkly knocker balls. Her tinkling giggle and persistent goofy grin made her seem sweet, and Heather noticed that her credit card was out and heard her ask for her much drunker friend’s orders. Heather pegged her as the group mom and wondered what kind of friend she would be in a similar group.
As she stared vacantly at the table, lost in thought, the bride-to-be’s younger sister turned, stared at Heather, and shattered the trance. Heather turned sheepishly back to her now lukewarm coffee and downed it, hoping to flee the scene before the inevitable confrontation began.
Missy, apparently a psychic, shook her head and refilled the little cup. “Don’t worry about them. They’ll be gone in a jiffy.”
Missy was right. These women had no intention of staying somewhere so passé, and as soon as their sandwiches and fries were handed over—wrapped up in greasy, gingham paper—the girls cheered, heaved themselves to their feet, and clattered toward the exit. The heavy door creaked, the bell jingled, and the music in the limo started up once more.
Heather relaxed as she heard them pull out of the parking lot until someone’s shoulder brushed against hers, and she watched out of the corner of her eye as the bride-to-be’s younger sister sat beside her. She smelt of cheap perfume, cherry-flavored lip gloss, hairspray, and sickly-sweet fruit-flavored shots. Her tongue was a little blue when she spoke.
“Sorry if we were bothering you,” she garbled.
Heather gave her the politest smile she could muster. “You didn’t.”
“Yes, we did,” the girl insisted. “I saw you glaring.”
“I wasn’t glaring. That’s just my face, I promise.”
The girl cocked her head as she unwrapped and bit into her bacon cheeseburger. “Huh. It is just your face.”
“Told you. Besides, who am I to deny anyone the American right to grab a burger in the middle of the night?”
“Still, we shouldn’t have been so loud. We got kicked out of a cocktail bar earlier because they wouldn’t stop screaming. The club was better, at least. Can’t hear anything over the music.”
It seemed all this was as much this girl’s thing as it was Heather’s, and that a sweaty club was both their ideas of hell on earth. A kindred spirit.
“I didn’t know there was a club around here. Or a cocktail bar,” Heather said.
“There isn’t. Good thing, too, or else I’d get dragged along a lot more often. We went a couple of towns over. Now they’re heading to my sister’s place.”
Heather was also relieved that there were no bustling nightclubs in Glenville. Something about the idea really ruined the cozy small-town ideal.
“And you don’t want to go with them?” she inquired.
The girl shrugged. “I don’t know. I think I’m done for tonight. Had kind of a crappy week.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“You don’t have to do that,” the girl said.
“Do what?”
“Pretend you care about me.”
Heather rolled her eyes. “Miss me with that crap. Do I look like someone who’d pretend to care?”
“No.”
“Plus, I haven’t spoken to anyone who isn’t being paid to be nice to me in weeks. Humor me.”
The girl ripped into her burger and sighed deeply after swallowing. “I think I’m tired of this town. Working at the grocery store and dating my high school sweetheart. It feels... small.”
“Then hit the road. You might find you want to come back eventually, but you’ll never know for sure if you never go anywhere. Hell, take your boyfriend with you.”
The girl smiled sadly. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be taking him.”
“He’s no good, huh?”
“He is to me. But I’m not sure that’s enough anymore.”
“Then screw him. Go find yourself in New York or something. Or go crazy. Sell some crap and go to Paris. Or London. I’ve been to both, and they’re great. I know it’s a cliche, but you really are young enough to do anything.”
The girl’s mouth curled upward at the corner. “Thanks.”
“Don’t sweat it,” Heather said, looking over her shoulder at the rumbling of wheels. “Hey, my taxi’s here. Want a ride? I’ll pay.”
“Thank you for the offer, but I’m good. I need some more coffee if I want to wake up tomorrow.”
“Are you sure?”
The girl bobbed her head. “Yeah. I live just around the corner. Ten-minute walk max. Five if I take off these damn shoes.”
Heather drummed her fingers on the counter and glanced around at all the middle-aged men who were pretending not to look in the young woman’s direction. Heather pulled out her wallet, laid some bills on the counter for the food and coffee, and beckoned Missy over.
She slid a fifty across, and Missy raised her eyebrows. “That’s a lot more than twenty percent,” she tittered.
“Keep an eye on her, please. A lot of hungry-looking fellas in here, if you catch my drift. And you—” Heather said, turning to the girl and handing her twenty bucks, “—For coffee. Or a taxi. Hopefully, both.”
“Thanks!” the girl enthused. “Hey, what’s your name?”
“Heather.”
“Jenny.”
Heather nodded. “Jenny. Get home safe. And enjoy the wedding. Hope the marriage is a happy one.”
The girl faltered a little at that but kept smiling and offered a small wave as Heather pressed her back against the door and span to face the cold autumn night.
Colorful polka-dotted pointed hats adorned a variety of heads, a huge tray of cupcakes covered the right side of the front desk, and a handmade banner that read, ‘Welcome Heather!’ was draped across the hallway entrance that led to the staff room and Sheriff’s office. There were even party poppers on the desks next to ancient laptops, and though some went off, most of the strings went un-yanked as Heather made her entrance.
As if that aspect of the fanfare wasn’t feeble enough, the smiles mustered by her new coworkers were weak, and Heather felt as if she’d tracked dog crap into her new place of work. She sniffed to make sure, but all she could smell was vanilla frosting. It was a small mercy but not one that answered her question regarding the sour atmosphere.
She raised a hand, mirroring the muted energy, and was relieved when a short Black woman, who looked to be in her mid-thirties, ran from the staff room with a sweeter-than-sugar expression. Her cherubic face was framed by a sleek asymmetrical bob that swung to and fro as she approached, her baby-like hand outstretched. Heather recognized her from somewhere and glanced at the helpful paper name badge everyone in the room had adopted.
Tina Peters. Peters, Peters, Peters, she thought until it finally clicked.
Tina Peters was the weekend volunteer at the pound who had helped Heather adopt an ambitious three dogs a few weeks back. Of course, she also had a weekday, paying job, and Heather was glad it was this one. Having a friendly face around would help pass the inevitably dull days ahead.
“Heather!” Tina exclaimed in a loud whisper, as if not wanting to break the surface of the stagnant atmosphere. “I’m so glad you’re here. How are the dogs? Do you want a cupcake?” Before Heather could answer, Tina continued. “I made them. Some are vegan because, well, you know, it’s hard to tell with you city types.”
