by CJ Love
Delia said, “As we discussed, Jeanette, we won’t have stools behind the counters. You can sit in the backroom on your break.”
Jeanette raised her permanently tattooed eyebrow. “I was asking the owner.”
“I’m in favor of whatever Delia is in favor of,” Juliet told her and took a spot behind the display cases filled with donuts and cookies. “Stools, no stools, hiring and firing, everything.”
Paris smoothed everything over with, “Aren’t you a little young to be sitting on the job?”
Jeanette grinned —sort of. It seemed she’d recently had her shots. “Charmer,” she accused and turned to the register again.
Delia took a big breath, unlocked the wooden Dutch door, and opened the top part of it.
No one was there yet.
“It’s not eight,” Jeanette reminded her, leaning on the glass case with her chin in her hand.
“Well,” Delia said, spinning around and taking up a tray of donut holes. “We’re ready for eight o’clock.”
And they waited a bit longer. While the moments passed, she watched the courtyard outside the windows. She never got tired of the view. Her shop and the British pub across the cobblestones were the first ones in the plaza. The architects had designed the square to resemble a quaint village in England. A red mailbox sat on one corner, near a giant tree that gnarled itself over the narrow alleyway. Farther inward were brick storefronts with double doors, ironwork signage, and hanging baskets of cornflowers and dahlias. A river meandered through the hamlet of shops, and there were two stone bridges with gas lamps at each end.
A motorcycle engine revved behind the building somewhere, and Delia knew that Bogart had arrived. It wasn’t two minutes later that the auburn-haired young man came through the kitchen’s double swinging doors and took his place next to Paris. He’d already dressed in his gingham shirt and black bowtie.
And then, suddenly, it was a whirl of activity. Delia met so many people and shook so many hands that she couldn’t keep them straight.
But where is Thomi?
By ten, Thomi still hadn’t made an appearance, and Delia went into the backroom and texted her. There was no response. She checked again at noon, and Thomi still had not seen the text.
Delia closed the shop at two and then stood by the table, watching out the window. Perhaps Thomi would still show.
“Who are you watching for?” Juliet asked, leaning her hip on the table and glancing out the window, too.
“Thomi Edgar,” she said with a smile as she sprinkled flour on the table. “I thought she’d be here this morning, but it’s already closing time.”
“Did you call her?”
“I texted, but she hasn’t seen it.”
Juliet tilted her head, her amber-colored brown eyes finding Delia’s again. “She must’ve gotten pulled away by something.”
“Her father moved in with her yesterday,” she said, her tone holding a lot of meaning.
“Oh.”
Of course, Juliet knew about Thomi’s dad and his blindness. Most people in West Portland and Mayville had heard the news of the Tipsy Louie’s owner being beaten and blinded a couple of months ago. It had been a statewide sensation.
Suddenly, Delia felt the need to confide in Juliet. “That’s probably all it is, but…” She leaned farther on the table, getting flour on her elbows and apron. “I think we’re drifting apart, and it’s breaking my heart.”
“Why do you think that?” Juliet said, giving a slight shake of her head as though trying to understand.
“The dad thing,” Delia admitted, drawing a circle in the flour, “and the Eddie thing.”
Juliet nodded. “Thomi’s got a boyfriend?”
“Yes … but she’s had boyfriends before. It’s never caused us not to talk to each other or not show up for important things.” Delia stopped drawing in the flour and looked Juliet in the eye. “I mean, look at you. You don’t have to be here, Juliet, and you’re getting married in a month.” She raised a finger to stop the response. “And don’t say it’s because your family owns the business. You’re here because you’re my friend.”
Juliet grinned. “Yes.”
“And you dragged that poor man along with you.”
She waved her hand as though she swatted flies. “Amelia is teething. Paris couldn’t wait to help in the bakery.”
“Poor baby!”
Juliet shook her head and wrinkled her nose. “He’s fine.”
“I meant Amelia.”
“Oh, right. Right. But, not to worry. Tribly’s got the baby and is administering an old family recipe for fussy babies. I believe it involves vodka sauce.”
Delia frowned.
Juliet leaned in, unconcerned about vodka sauce, and said, “It was about this time last year that I set out to make some new friends. Very purposefully.” She held Delia’s eyes. “You were my first choice.”
“Aww,” Delia cooed, her heart melting. If her heart-drippings fell to the table, she’d make sweet, sweet cookies.
Juliet aww’d with her and then, “Maybe it’s time for you to make new friends, too. I’m not saying give up on Thomi, just add to your movie-going friend list.”
“You and I have never gone to the movies, have we?”
Juliet shook her head. “I gave you a bakery.”
Delia laughed out loud. “I don’t know how to make friends so well. Thomi and I have been friends since grade school —and I don’t have a bakery to give someone.”
Juliet twitched her lips, thinking. “The first friend I made when I started my search was Abram Fontana. We decided to go ice skating.”
“Did you go? Was it awkward?”
“Not awkward at all because he ended up helping me break into a house … who do you know that you’d trust to break into a house with?”
“Umm, geez, I don’t know,” Delia started —but then something caught her attention. A man moved in front of the window, heading toward the Dutch door.
Juliet must’ve caught movement out of the corner of her eye because she turned. And then she groaned. “Oh no,” she whispered.
The man was Detective Nicolo Montague.
Chapter 2
“Who loses and who wins; who’s in, who's out; And take upon’s the mystery of things, as if we were God's spies.”
Juliet moved toward the swinging door to the front room with Delia hot on her heels. She’d never asked the young woman about her relationship with the detective —actually, she hadn’t even known they’d had one until Montague himself opened up about it.
Well, I say opened up…
He’d said something in an unguarded moment that Delia jumped on. Apparently, Nicolo lost Juliet because he didn’t think Paris was a threat.
How could anyone think that? Paris Nobleman was gorgeous, genuine, gentlemanly, and had a host of other ‘G’ qualities that made him a nuclear threat to any man’s love life.
But perhaps Nicolo was so attractive he wasn’t used to threats of any sort.
Delia remained behind Juliet all the way into the front area.
Nicolo opened the door. He lifted his pale blue eyes and saw Juliet first. He blinked a couple of times, and then his eyes darted toward Paris and Bogart, but mostly Paris.
It was one of those moments where everyone seemed to freeze —like Anna in the Frozen movie —well, everyone but Bogart, who seemed oblivious to anything other than the frog cupcake he devoured in two bites.
Delia stepped forward to break the ice, as it were. She came from behind Juliet and the counter edge. “Hello, Detective. I’m so glad you could make it to the grand opening.” Honestly, Delia couldn’t remember if she invited him or not, but she needed to say something.
Nicolo blinked and then focused his attention on Delia.
Wow, she’d almost forgotten how attractive the man was with his dark blonde hair, which was a bit longer than the last time she’d seen him. The waves curled up away from his forehead and around his ears. Thick dark brows and lash
es made his blue eyes stand out, and he had a sharp nose and full lips.
Delia almost turned and silently questioned Juliet. Are you sure you’re not in love with this guy?
Nicolo was tall, too, and sturdily built with square shoulders and slender hips. He wore blue jeans and a loose-fitting long sleeve shirt of moss green. He leaned toward Delia. “I need to speak to you.”
His words gave her a little start. Maybe whatever he’d called about yesterday had been urgent after all. Was it something to do with Matthew? Delia couldn’t imagine suddenly that Nicolo would come for any other reason. It certainly wasn’t the grand opening that had pulled him here.
Juliet said, “We’ve got to get back to the house anyway.” She turned toward Paris. “Are you ready?
“Yeah,” he said absently, pulling the apron from his waist.
“We’ll wash and return the uniforms right away,” Juliet told her with a hesitant smile, and then she gazed at Detective Montague. “I’m sorry about your mom, Nicolo.”
His brow twitched, and he nodded, then he moved toward one of the café tables and took a seat in a tall chair.
Juliet and Paris headed through the swinging doors and disappeared.
Bogart stepped around the counter and closed the Dutch door. Delia had hired him to mostly clean up in the afternoon, put dishes in the dishwasher, and wipe down all the counters. He was good with customers, too, but he’d only work ten-thirty to four-thirty from tomorrow forward. Bogart worked at the Stove and Keg some evenings to supplement his income and buy motorcycle gas. He raised his hand at Delia. “I’ll be in the back if you need me.”
“Thanks,” she called to him and then took a chair opposite Nicolo. “It’s nice to see you, Detective.” She placed her hands flat on the table. Then, glancing at them, she pulled them back into her lap. Her fingernails were full of wet flour. “Would you like a donut and hot chocolate?” Delia swiveled, ready to stand.
“No, thank you,” he said, placing his clean hands on the table and clasping them in front of him. “I thought you’d come to the station with Edmund yesterday.”
“Eddie? No, I don’t go anywhere with Eddie.”
He jerked his square chin back a bit as though surprised by her answer. “He’s the guy you were watching a couple of months ago, right? I thought maybe you’d changed your mind about him once he defended you the evening that Matthew tried to kill you.”
Delia nodded. “No, I have not changed my mind about him.” His constant blue stare gave her a run-on mouth. “He is dating my best friend, though. Eddie didn’t save her life… Never mind.” She pressed her lips together and widened her eyes. “Sorry, what did you want to talk to me about?”
“Someone bailed Matthew Oswald out of jail two days ago.”
Delia’s heart stopped for a moment, and she squeezed her fingers together hard. “How is that possible? I thought the judge denied bail.”
“He did, but a mistake was made while gathering evidence. The case fell apart.”
Delia leaned forward. “What do you mean, fell apart? He tried to kill Isaac and me. I’ll testify in court. I’m sure Isaac will too.”
“Which he’ll face a trial for, but that’s attempted murder, and the judge allowed bail.”
She pressed her shoulders into the iron chair back. “Mate’s too dangerous to be out on bail.”
Nicolo nodded his head. “That’s why I put a tail on him. Although…” He sat back, too, but keeping his hands on the tabletop. “We don’t know where Matthew is now.” He turned sideways an inch and kept his eyes on Delia.
Delia wrinkled the bridge of her nose. “The police lost him?”
“I was too late … I was out of town.” His eyes went beyond Delia and to the front window. “My mom passed away.”
Delia caught her breath and reached for his hand. “I’m so sorry, Nicolo.”
For a moment, he let Delia hold his hand, but then he gently pulled away.
Her cheeks burned. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
He shook his head. “She had cancer for a couple of years.” Then, clearing his throat again, he said, “Anyway, do you have somewhere to stay until I track him down?”
Delia blinked a couple of times. The detective thought she might be in danger. “Um, no. Not really. Thomi’s dad just moved in with her, and my father is in an assisted living home.”
“No other family?”
“Well, I have two sisters, but there’s no way… I can’t move in with them.” She waved her hand toward the counter. “And I just opened King Lears. I can’t close it now.”
He nodded. “I understand. But, I want you to understand, too, that you might be in danger and think about ways to protect yourself. There’s an upstairs here, right?” he asked, turning in his chair and glancing at the stairway at the back of the room.
“Yes, but it’s not a living space.”
He turned back around and then got to his feet. “Okay, well, think about your options, Delia.” He stopped in front of her chair. “My intention is not to scare you but to make you think about your safety. Oswald might’ve skipped town, or he’s laying low until his court date.”
She got to her feet, too. “Thank you, Detective.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, taking a step backward. “You still have my number?”
“Yes,” she said, following him to the door. “Thank you for coming.”
He nodded, unlocked the door, and slipped outside. “Lock up,” he reminded her.
Delia closed the door behind him and then watched the detective through the window as he moved around the corner and beyond the Stove and Keg. Her heart hadn’t quite returned to its typical pattern.
Mate’s out of jail. He’s on the loose. He could be anywhere, at the Stove and Keg even, watching me right now with a beer in his hand.
Delia leaned closer to the window and searched the people standing outside the pub. The narrow three-story building was painted blue and had a steep A-frame roof with red tiles.
None of the patrons glanced toward King Lears. Still, Mate might be inside, behind one of the many-paned windows, staring out at her right now.
She ducked away from the window fast.
“What do you want me to do with the dough you …?”
Delia jumped a foot.
“Sorry,” Bogart said, holding up his hands as though he was in a bank robbery scene.
“Don’t ever do that again,” she pleaded, grabbing her heart.
His brown eyes were wide. “Uh… I just wanted to know what you want me to do with the dough you left on the table back here.” He hitched his thumb over his shoulder.
“Sorry, Bogart,” she told him, walking away from the door and around the counter. “I got a bit jumpy there. I’ll take care of the dough.” She followed him through the swinging door and then glanced around the two rooms separated by a brick archway. Everything was tidy again —except for her worktable.
“I put all the dishes in the washer and I’m going to head out.” He watched her, maybe to see if she disapproved.
“Of course,” she told him, waving him away. “Thank you.”
He nodded and went out the back door.
“Lock it, please.”
He turned and stared at her again.
“Sorry, big day, lots of emotions coming out of me now.” She leaned one hand on the worktable to balance herself and placed her other hand on her hip, just to look casual. Never mind that a killer was stalking her. “You did great today, Bogart. Have a nice evening.”
He nodded, twisted the lock, and shut the door.
Delia heard it, and then she slumped onto the stool in front of the worktable.
This was supposed to be her day. Remembering her positive self-talk, she thought, I am calm and confident.
Yes, she was and she was going to put food away and go home.
She pulled out a long sheet of plastic from beneath the table and then proceeded to wrap the dough in it.
But, what am
I going to do?
What can I do?
Go to church. Get myself right with God.
She put the dough in the refrigerator, shut the kitchen down, and walked into the front area of the bakery. There she closed down the register and took inventory of what she needed to bake in the morning.
Delia went out the front way.
I’m not going to watch the shadows…
Oh no, I’m watching the shadows!
She needed to get a grip. Nicolo said that Mate had been out of jail for two days. If he meant to find her and kill her, he would’ve done it two days ago —or yesterday. Why wait until today when the bakery opened?
Because he wants me to die on my best day ever.
Delia shook her head and concentrated on her surroundings. She always enjoyed the walk.
She walked past the brick storefronts, noticing the hanging flower baskets. She loved the stone bridges with the gas lamps at each end. It was easy to forget the foreboding feeling when the three o’clock sun warmed to seventy-three, and the trees surrounding the area were full of yellows and oranges and reds. A soft breeze sifted through the corridors of the Hatch, and then Delia was at the fountain that the management always had running with different colored water. Today it was purple. Lavender bubbles formed as the water plopped into the pool.
She took the tiny path through the holly trees and opened Sweaty Freddy’s door —but first, she checked the backseat.
All clear.
Behind the wheel, she started the engine —and the fuel light came on. Delia swore the tank ran dry every ten minutes. But then she had driven into Buffalo two days ago to see her father.
On the highway, she went farther than her exit and wound up on the street that led to the Cheery Cherry Ice Cream Parlor.
I’m not going to stop. I don’t need ice cream; I need gas at the station across the street.