Page 30 of The Killer Cupcake (Poison Cherry #3)

THE COFFE DISAPPOINTS. THE TRUTH IS BETTER THAN A LIE

C armine tapped his silver spoon against the delicate porcelain saucer, the sound sharp as a funeral bell in the café's intimate atmosphere.

"The coffee disappoints?" He nodded toward her untouched cup, steam curling up.

Kathy's lip pressed into a thin line.

"Why are you stalling, Carmine? Every time I ask about Willa, you pivot and weave like one of the street hustlers.

" Her voice carried the cutting edge of barely controlled desperation.

"You promised me answers over this 'mysterious coffee' you kept insisting on.

So either tell me how to get my Willa back from those vultures—or admit this is just another one of Janey's twisted mind games. "

Carmine's slender, dark eyebrow arched with what appeared to be genuine surprise.

“You truly hold anger for Janey? After everything she’s done for you?” he asked.

Kathy's laugh scraped raw against her throat.

"That shocks you? Because we share Elliott Wynn’s blood?

Think all the women in our family are cursed with just his blood.

Janey’s mother, my grandmother, was made from iron and steel and taught us being sweet wasn’t a weakness but our greatest protection.

” She leaned forward across the small table, the café's genteel chatter fading to meaningless static around them. "Janey is?—"

"Say it," Carmine commanded quietly, his ice-pale eyes narrowing to predatory slits. The gentleman's mask slipped for just an instant, and Kathy glimpsed the killer Carmelo had warned her lived beneath the cultured surface.

"Evil." The word tore from her throat. “But not me, and not my Mama. Janey is a devil.”

Carmine didn't flinch, didn't blink. Only the subtle tightening of his jaw betrayed the cold fury coiling like a serpent in his chest. This was not what Carmelo would become, Kathy realized with chilling clarity—a man who loved a woman's darkness so completely he became its willing guardian. She and Carmelo may not be perfect, but they weren’t Janey and Carmine.

A shadow fell across their table like a cloud passing over the sun.

Kathy turned to find Pinkie standing there, wringing her gloved hands with barely contained anxiety, her usually bright eyes red-rimmed and haunted.

"This was a setup from the beginning," Kathy seethed. She surged upward to flee.

But Pinkie caught her wrist, not restraining, but anchoring her with gentleness.

"Please, Kathy." Tears gathered and threatened to spill. “Just five minutes. Woman to woman, heart to heart. I'm begging you."

The raw vulnerability in that plea undid something fundamental in Kathy's anger. She slumped back into her chair as Carmine stood with fluid grace, adjusting his fedora. He pressed a protective kiss to Pinkie's temple—the gesture both tender and submissive—then walked away with the aid of his cane.

“I’m not staying unless you tell me how Willa is. Where is Willa?" Kathy demanded the moment they were alone. "Is she even still breathing?"

Pinkie dabbed at her streaming tears with a delicate lace handkerchief, her composure fracturing like fine crystal.

"My cousin works in the Thibodeaux kitchens, has for years. She's been watching over Willa as best she can."

"You've actually seen Willa?” Kathy gasped.

"Can't get anywhere near her, chère . Thibodeaux land is a fortress disguised as a sanctuary—high walls, armed men who work for the family, secrets buried deeper than any roots.

" Pinkie's voice grew softer, more troubled.

"But my cousin sees her sometimes... walking the gardens on Jean-Baptiste's arm. Smiling at something, he whispered. Letting him hold her hand like they're courting properly. He doesn’t bring her in around the family. She is kept there in one of the cottages for him.”

Kathy's palm cracked against the table with enough force to rattle the delicate coffee cups and silence nearby conversations.

“Kept or a prisoner? That man is taking advantage of her, tricking her. I told you she came to Butts as a little kid, traumatized; she didn’t even talk. We don’t know her real age or birthday. He’s hurting her!"

Pinkie's gaze held steady.

"We warned her, Kathy. That night, Janey and I told her everything, how wealthy men of privilege like J.B.

collect beautiful dark-skinned girls like exotic dolls for their amusement, how the Thibodeaux fortune was built on sugar and suffering, on the broken backs of enslaved people who looked exactly like us, how that same family hurt me.

And when they inevitably tire of their playthings and discard them when the fun fades. "

Kathy went completely still. This wasn't the story Janey had told her at all.

"And Willa? What she say?” Kathy asked.

Pinkie was slow to respond.

“Did she believe you? Understand?” Kathy asked.

“She said she'd rather swallow sweet poison in New Orleans than starve slowly on empty hope in Mississippi, that she was tired of being invisible, of not mattering to anyone. She wanted to be seen—truly seen—even if it was all a lie.”

The truth hit Kathy hard, stealing the breath from her lungs.

Her own tears came then, hot and bitter. Invisible. Willa had named the wound they all carried.

"Why didn't you wake me that night?" Kathy asked. "Why didn't you give me a chance to talk her out of it?"

Pinkie reached across the chipped tabletop, her touch surprised Kathy at how comforting it felt.

"Would it have mattered, ma douce ? Janey told me about your history and her trip to New York. When you ran to Carmelo despite every warning, every obstacle—did any voice of reason stop you?" Her smile was sad. "Some hungers drown out everything else, even good sense.”

Kathy’s heart broke then—for Willa's naive courage, for her own mirrored recklessness, for all the women who'd chosen dangerous love over safe emptiness.

"Will he hurt her?" Kathy asked.

Pinkie's answer was carefully measured, brutally honest.

"Carmine made certain arrangements before she left.

Her body will remain safe—Jean-Baptiste knows the consequences of damaging what's under protection. Her heart? Her mind? Her spirit?” Pinkie gave a helpless shrug.

"When he inevitably tires of her, she'll come home to us. Changed, raw with shame perhaps, but alive. That’s been my experience.”

“But he could love her, right? Like, Carmelo loves me? Is it possible?” Kathy pleaded. “They could actually be in love.”

Pinkie shook his head slowly. “I’ve known of Jean Baptiste since we were kids. Never seen him love anybody but himself. She will survive him.”

"And that's supposed to be enough? Surviving?” Kathy choked out.

"Survival is the first victory for girls like us, chère . Everything else is luxury we can't always afford."

A weighted silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken truths about their world's cruel mathematics. Then Pinkie leaned closer.”I hate to do this. To ask this. When you are so upset, but I have no choice.”

“Ask what?” asked Kathy.

“Janey's having one of her spells.”

“Spells?” Kathy repeated.

“Unraveling—worse than I've witnessed since she came back from California, and Carmine was upset with her. She had left us for two years before she returned, then ran off to you in Butts. It nearly drove him mad.”

“I know, she told me she was in California,” Kathy said. “What do these spells do to her? What causes them?”

“Losing her favorite niece’s love and respect, I suppose. You never know what triggers Janey. Her mind cracks at times, and the spells come and go. Some of them are worse than others. This one looks bad.”

"I don't care what happens to that woman?—"

"She's your blood!" Pinkie insisted. "Love doesn't quit when someone disappoints—it fights harder to pull us back from the edge.

And Janey? She's standing on a very high cliff right now, Kathy. We can’t reach her.

But you might. She was so excited about you and Willa coming.

She planned everything for you girls. In her twisted way, she thought giving Willa to the Thibodeauxs was a good thing. She really did."

Kathy stared toward the café entrance where Carmine waited like a well-dressed soldier; his mission was clear. Guard and protect Janey at all costs.

"Fine," Kathy breathed, the word turning to ash in her mouth. "I'll come. But I'm not promising forgiveness or understanding."

Pinkie's "thank you" was barely audible, a tremor of desperate relief as she guided Kathy toward the door.