A Cup of Murder

I was also considering buying more of the building. If I could get a good deal from Mr. Pickard, I'd take his space too, but mainly I was interested in the shops on the other side of Mr. Pickard. Hunter had shown me what good Mexican food should taste like, and I wanted to use the space to open a Mexican restaurant. The tiny shop next to Mr. Pickard, I was going to convert into a single small office, and then use the rest of the space as a lobby to give access to the space above the shops, which I'd refurbish and rent as office space. I didn't know if I had the capital to realize all my plans, but I was bubbling with enthusiasm.

After my aunts return, I'd had many conversations with them about their gifts. I'd learned that not only could Aunt Elizabeth sense someone's emotional state, but she could also influence it. She had to be within a step or two of the person, and the effects were temporary, but often, the little nudges she could give were enough to get what she wanted. She wouldn't admit it, but I suspected she'd used her influence to calm and relax me the night they'd arrived home, and to ease my burden over the loss of Mom. Since they'd returned, coping with my loss, and the stresses of running Coffee w/ Cream seemed a little... easier somehow.

I'd also learned that there was no theoretical limit to what Aunt Victoria could move, but the more massive the object, the less control she had over it. I'd watched her lift my truck one night in the parking lot of their shuttered lodge. It didn't seem to strain her, but the truck was constantly bobbing and jerking, and when she put it down, it landed with a crashing bounce that made me wince. Once the novelty of their abilities wore off, I realized how useless Aunt Vicki's talent was. If the object was small, about the size of a grain of rice or smaller, she couldn't grasp it at all, and the larger it became, the less control she had over it. She said it was like handling something slippery. Holding something light and slippery was fairly easy, but holding something heavy and slippery was much harder. She'd demonstrated the concept by having me pick up a series of steel balls she'd used to develop her talent. After she'd sprayed them with cooking spray, she had me try to pick them up using only my fingers. Picking up the BB sized one was impossible, but as the balls got bigger, it got easier... until it started getting hard again. The ball that was slightly bigger than a softball, I couldn't pick up at all, just like the BB. Making a picture fly across the room was impressive, but mostly useless.

Aunt Liz's talent was more useful, something she admitted she used to calm upset or unreasonable customers. Tramree Resort was an amazing place, but I now had an inkling as to why it had such a stellar reputation.

I, on the other hand, didn't seem to have a gift. I'd shown absolutely zero ability to see the future or past other than the one vision I'd had on the side of the road, and maybe the weird dream I'd had the night before... though I still wasn't convinced that the dream wasn't the result of the energy drink I'd consumed.

I couldn't decide if I was happy I didn't have a gift or not. On the one hand, it might be fun to know what was going to happen before it did, but on the other hand, there had been nothing fun about the one vision I'd had. It had been violent and it had made me sick. If having the gift involved that, I was prepared to pass.

Movement caught my eye. I smiled. "How's my girl?" Hunter asked as he entered.

"She's fine."

"Good to know. I have some news."

"What?"

He stopped at the counter, well away from my other customer enjoying her coffee and a book. "Figgette's trial is set to begin May eighteenth," he said, his voice low.

I sighed. "Finally."

"Yeah. He's run out of plays and he's finally going to have to answer for what he did."

"Good. Too bad there's no death penalty." Hunter looked at me but didn't say anything. He knew my feelings toward Figgette. "Well, I'm sorry, but I am."

"Even if there was, Second Degree Murder wouldn't carry the death penalty." He paused. "He's going away, Cam, and you need to be satisfied with that. Don't let him ruin your life over something you can't change."

I sighed again. "I know. I'm trying."

"I know you are," he said, his voice full of compassion.

"Be patient with me."

"Always."

I smiled. Maybe it was Hunter, and not Aunt Liz, that was helping me cope. "Your regular?"

"If you don't mind, brew master."

"One Special, coming up."

I turned to my task with a small smile. I may not have a gift, but I didn't care. Every day was a little easier than the day before, and I felt like I was taking control of my life. I waited as the machine hissed and gurgled. I filled the cup, added the dollop of ice cream, and then drew a heart with cream.

I didn't need a gift to make me happy, and I couldn't miss what I'd never had. I picked up our two cups and started toward our table by the window, an involuntary smile tugging at my lips as Hunter smiled at me.

I slid Hunter's cup in front of him and settled across the table from him. As expected, he reached across the table, and I took his hand. Gift or no gift, I was as happy as I could be since Mom died... and for now, that was enough for me.