The Box in the Woods (Truly Devious #4)(21)

“Yup!” Carson said quickly. “Here to grab some coffee and . . .”

He stared at the display of baked goods under glass as if he were looking at a collection of captive spiders.

“. . . muffins? Or whatever you want. I don’t drink coffee or eat sugar.”

Stevie looked around the room, at the framed historical photos of Barlow Corners over the years, along with some portraits of an older man. Janelle was closely examining the





bakery case, where three small cakes were on display. One was baby blue, with a delicate pattern of raised white edging, like Wedgwood china. There was one that was covered in butterflies, and a third that was in the form of an exploding volcano.

“Your cakes are beautiful,” Janelle said. “The detail is incredible.”

“Thank you,” Patty said. “Those are samples I did for a wedding this week. They came out really well, so I’ve left them up for display.”

“How did you even make those butterflies?”

“They’re sugar,” Patty said. “Are you interested in decorating cakes? Here. I’ll show you up close.”

She removed the cakes from the case and set them on the counter.

“For this one here,” she said, indicating the blue cake, “it’s designed as a replica of a Wedgwood plate the bride’s grandmother got for her own wedding.”

“How did you get that detail?”

“For that one, I made silicone molds of the actual plate.”

Janelle’s eyes almost glowed at the words silicone molds.

“Oh no,” Nate said quietly. “She’s getting a new craft.”

There was no denying it. Janelle Franklin had never met a craft that she didn’t love.

“With the butterflies, I made them separately,” Patty went on, “but you see the vine work here . . . actually, I goofed this up a bit and had to fill in a mistake with more leaves.





You can cover up a lot of things with icing. Most people work from the middle out when decorating a cake—set your main element in the middle, then go toward the edges and down the sides. It’s true that this helps in terms of not disturbing any edge work by accidentally hitting it as you go. But I’ve always preferred working from the outside in.”

“Like a crime scene,” Stevie said. She didn’t mean to say it out loud. The words slithered out on their own.

Patty looked over the edge of the cake.

“A crime scene?”

“She does this,” Nate explained.

Stevie quickly surmised that this was one of those cases where she sounded weird if she explained, but far more weird if she did not.

“What I mean is that crime scenes are processed from the outside in,” Stevie said. “First, they set up a wide perimeter, closing off the entire area, to make sure the whole scene can be looked at for things like footprints, items, tire tracks, whatever. Then they move closer in toward the body or . . .”

Patty began turning the cake aimlessly, like you might do if a random teenager popped up in front of you and told you your elaborate cake was like a crime scene.

“She does this,” Nate repeated.

“I’m not sure I’m going to look at my cakes in the same way again,” Patty replied.





“I think she’s going to remember you,” Nate said as they stepped outside with their coffees and muffins. “You have a way.”


“It just came out,” Stevie said.

“Those cakes are really impressive,” Janelle said, her thoughts still back in the bakery. “I’d love to make silicone molds. Maybe we can do it in the art pavilion? Maybe we can do a cupcake decorating session? Kids would love that, right?”

She pulled out her phone and started taking notes.

“She’s so pure,” Nate said, watching her and smiling again.

“I’m not sure I like this happy you,” Stevie replied.

“Get used to it. Or don’t. Because no one is going to see me once I get in my tree.”

On the town green, Carson was speaking to a crew that was unloading long poles from the back of a truck. In their life at Ellingham, Janelle had built a Rube Goldberg machine for a national competition. Stevie had many fond memories of Janelle dragging her poles around the workshop, welding and building and generally being a badass. The machine had come to a bad end, but that was not Janelle’s fault.

“Are you going to reenter next year?” Stevie asked, gesturing to the poles.

“Probably not,” Janelle said, understanding at once. “I’m looking for a new kind of project. I’m thinking robotics right now, but I have a few weeks to decide.”

Carson saw them and waved them over.





“Setting up for tonight’s event,” he said as they approached. “To dedicate the Sabrina Abbott Children’s Reading Room. Let me show it to you, since we’re here,” Carson said.


He marched them toward the library next to the green—a classical building painted a prim white, with two columns supporting the front portico. The library was small and a bit out-of-date, but there were several people inside, and the displays looked well-curated. Carson walked straight through the building to the more modern structure at the back. Only one person was inside—a woman in a blue wrap dress, sorting and arranging a long shelf of picture books.