Dough or Die

by Winnie Archer

  She stopped talking, but I didn’t need her to finish the sentence. I’d known Emmaline Davis since we were kids playing on the beach together. Even on my worst day, I could finish her thoughts. “Or the driver meant to hit him.”

  Em snapped her notebook closed. “Exactly. And based on what I’ve seen, I’m going with option two. The car didn’t swerve. Didn’t slow. Didn’t stop. The guy is lucky to be alive.”

  She left to talk to her deputies and left me to my thoughts. After Sandra had called for a break, Ben had walked out. What had been on his mind and who had he been on the phone with? Em would get to the bottom of it, I was sure. My biggest question was—and I knew it was hers, too—had Ben Nader been hit by mistake, or had it been intentional?

  * * *

  After Ben Nader was taken away by the paramedics, the people scattered and the street went back to normal. Not that anyone could feel normal after seeing a man mowed down. I know I didn’t. In fact, I felt like I was carrying weights on my shoulders. The man had been standing in the bread shop just hours ago. How had this happened? Why had this happened?

  It didn’t surprise me that both Mack Hebron and Sandra Mays had disappeared. They’d probably gone to the hospital to be with Ben and his family. Zula, Claire, Amelie, and Esmé had come back into the bread shop looking spooked and helpless. “You’re back!” I said, sounding far more enthusiastic than I felt inside. What I really wanted was to send them home, but we had Amelie’s Brezels to bake.

  “I have been outside watching the commotion.” Zula stared, doe-eyed and dazed. “It is unbelievable.”

  Claire’s eyes pooled. She hadn’t known Ben any better than I had, but we did know him a little bit, and seeing him suddenly fighting for his life was enough to send anyone into an emotional tizzy. She swept away her tears. “It doesn’t seem real.”

  Esmé and Amelie nodded their agreement. Esmé rubbed her temples as she had earlier. “I went to the pharmacy down the street and when I came back, he was . . .”

  “We have to hope he’ll be okay,” I said, squeezing her arm, hoping she’d gotten some headache medicine.

  Amelie nodded along emphatically. “I was going to the beach for a few minutes. I heard the screams and I saw the car race away. I-I had no idea it was . . . it had . . . that the car hit that man.”

  “And then left,” Claire exclaimed. “It hit him, then just drove away. Isn’t that illegal?”

  One hundred percent illegal. “Yes, but without a license plate, the police don’t have much to go on.”

  We sat in silence for a minute, then retreated to the conference room where Ben and Sandra and Mack had held the interviews with each of us. We stared at each other from around the table. “I cannot believe this,” Amelie said, her German accent heavier now than it was normally.

  Esmé and Claire both shook their heads. “Everybody told me to be careful,” Claire said. “Watch out for crazy people in America. They were right.”

  “Not everybody is crazy,” Esmé said, but she didn’t sound very convincing.

  Zula stretched her long legs out under the table and folded her arms. “But whoever did this is crazy. That car, it did not stop. It was like a bowling ball going for those—what do you call them?”

  Claire and I answered at the same time. “Pins.”

  Zula gave a succinct nod. “That car was like a bowling ball and Ben Nader was a pin.”

  Esmé’s mouth gaped open. “That makes it sound like it was on purpose.”

  Zula nodded. “That is what I am thinking exactly. That man, he did not have a chance. I will be surprised if he survives.”

  “What do you mean?” Claire asked, horror coloring her voice.

  Zula dropped her arms and sat up straight. “I am saying that the car meant to hit our cameraman, Ben. It went right for him, did not swerve, did not try to stop.” She took a breath. Looked at each of us in turn. “It went right for him.”

  Chapter 8

  The food shelter had long since closed, so I’d given the few remains of the day to the crew members who’d finally returned for their equipment. I needed to distract myself, so I pulled out all the cleaning supplies and gave each baking station a thorough scrub. I moved on to the refrigerator, then to the baking racks. Finally, I went into Olaya’s office and worked on the bread shop’s website. By the time I finished, it was nearly nine o’clock and pitch-black outside. Where had the time gone?

  I knew Olaya would want an update on how the day went after she left. I also wanted to drive Mrs. Branford home. I stopped by my house to pick up Agatha, then turned around and headed back to Olaya’s for the second time that day. As I drove, Zula’s words circled in my head. It went right for him, did not swerve, did not try to stop.

  The video Emmaline had found seemed to show the same thing. Which meant that if Ben died, it would be murder.

  Cloud cover blanketed the night sky, tamping out any starlight. A shiver ran through me. It was too dark. I could hear the crashing of waves as I wound through town, but to my left, the Pacific Ocean was nothing but a dark expanse in the distance. The dark roads were unusually quiet. The townspeople were safe and sound in their homes.

  From out of nowhere, blinding headlights appeared behind me. I peered through the glare in my rearview mirror to see a looming dark SUV. I pressed my foot on the gas. My crossover kicked into gear and jerked forward, putting distance between me and the menacing car. It didn’t work. The driver sped up right along with me, getting closer and closer. I considered my options. If I slammed on the brakes, the SUV would plow right into me. I could stay at my current speed and hope the other driver would decide to go around me. Or I could speed up again, outpacing him. I’d never felt vulnerable in my car, but I suddenly did. I imagined the front grill of the SUV as a growling mouth, the headlights as fiery eyes.

  I shook my head, pushing those images away. It was just an obnoxious driver. I kept at my speed, wishing there were more cars on the road. A sedan came toward us on the opposite side of the street, passing us by. The SUV stayed close, but wasn’t on my tail.

  The guy needed to learn some road boundaries.

  A red light glowed in the distance. I tapped my brake pedal a few times, slowing incrementally. The car behind me fell back. I exhaled a sigh of relief as I pulled to a stop at the traffic signal, my eyes glued to the review mirror. The black SUV idled behind me. It was close, but not too close.

  I tapped my fingers against the steering wheel, impatient for the light to change. A car came up beside me, stopping at the light. I looked over, but the driver looked straight ahead, not even giving a cursory glance in my direction.

  It was a four-way intersection. Several cars drove through the green light, passing in front of me, but my focus was on the car behind me. “Come on,” I muttered, willing the light to change.

  Behind me, Agatha shifted, then settled down again, snoring loudly.

  The light turned green. I slammed my foot on the gas pedal and two-fisted the steering wheel. My car responded by jerking forward. My goal was to put distance between the two cars. In two seconds, though, he was right behind me again, closer than he’d been before.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I flipped on my blinker and moved over. “Just pass me already,” I said, using my left hand to wave him ahead of me. The hit-and-run earlier had me spooked. I didn’t want any type of encounter with a car. Period.

  Finally, the car moved to the left lane next to me. Now it seemed to be taking its sweet time, though, coming up alongside me slowly. Something wasn’t right. It kept a steady pace with me, moving up just enough that I couldn’t see inside any of the windows. All this time, I’d been thinking it was just an obnoxious driver, but now I wasn’t so sure.

  I slowed, holding my breath to see what the other car would do. I’d been afraid that it would slow, too. I didn’t know what I’d do if it did—but instead, it finally sped up. The space between us grew and finally its taillights disappeared into the distance.

 
; “Thank God,” I said, breathing out my relief. I pressed my foot on the gas pedal until I was up to speed, once again. One or two cars came and went, leaving me mostly alone on the road. “What was that about, Agatha?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder at my pug. She rode in the back seat, stretched out on her blanket with her front paws crossed over one another, totally oblivious to the encounter I’d just had.

  This time when she heard her name, she opened her eyes and lifted her head slightly.

  “That was disconcerting, wasn’t it?” I said to her, my heartbeat slowly returning to normal. I looked in the rearview mirror in time to see Agatha give me a slow blink.

  My thoughts returned to the day’s events. I looked at Agatha’s reflection again. “Someone had a big gripe with Ben Nader to run him over,” I said to her. “If that’s what happened.”

  Agatha’s bulbous eyes were at half-mast.

  I continued, as if she’d responded by asking who could have had such a gripe.

  “Good question. I didn’t know the man. He has at least one enemy.” I immediately thought of Sandra, who seemed to collect enemies like other people collected Starbucks stars.

  Agatha gave a guttural growl of a sound, blinked again, then lowered her head on top of her legs.

  “You’re right,” I said. “I’ll talk to Em about it. Maybe do a little digging myself . . . just to, you know, ease my mind.”

  This time Agatha peered at me, not bothering to raise her head. “I’ll keep it to myself,” I told her, as if she’d issued a warning, telling me to be careful. Excluding Olaya and Mrs. Branford. And Miguel, of course. They were my A team.

  Blinding light, reflected in my side and rearview mirrors, intruded into the darkness. Another car zoomed up behind me, riding my tail so closely that I thought it might plow right into me. My heartbeat ratcheted up again. Muscle memory. What the hell was going on? Who was in that car?

  I sped up to put space between us. The car fell back for a few seconds. I started to exhale with relief when it sped up again, riding my bumper like the boxcar on a train.

  “Hang on, Agatha,” I said as I jammed my foot on the gas pedal. The engine revved, caught, and my car shot forward with a jolt. The headlights behind me faded with the distance I put between our two cars. From the back seat, Agatha grumbled.

  “Idiot driver,” I muttered under my breath. The words barely escaped my lips when an impact came from behind. Something hit my bumper, lurching my car forward. My body jerked, my head whipping back again. I kept my hands gripping the steering wheel. I searched the rearview mirror, frantically looking for the car that had careened into me. The street behind me was dark. Empty. I peered at my side mirror and drew in a sharp breath. A car had moved to my blind spot, its headlights off. I could just make out the front bumper. It was the black SUV.

  Under normal circumstances, the people involved in a fender bender would pull over, exchange insurance information, and call the authorities, if needed. That was not happening now. There was no way I was stopping on this dark starless night on a deserted street with a car that had been tormenting me.

  The black blob moved out of sight. I tried to calm down, but it didn’t work. My hands shook. My breath was ragged. I needed to pull over and calm down, but that wasn’t happening until I could lose the car and find a safe, well-lit place.

  I merged right so I could take the next turn, but suddenly I was blinded by lights in my rearview again. The menacing SUV was directly behind me. My heart thrummed in my chest. I sped forward, swerving to get out of the way, but the car behind me was like a heat-seeking missile locked on me. I had to lose it. Were my driving skills good enough? God, I hoped so. I was close to Olaya’s but I couldn’t drive straight there. I needed a place to hide.

  Crazy thoughts circled through my mind. Whoever was behind me seemed to have some sort of personal grudge. It did not feel random. But who would be targeting me . . . and why? Could it be related to Ben Nader’s hit-and-run? I quickly dismissed that idea. It didn’t make any sense. I didn’t know the man—had no connection to him beyond our brief reality TV interaction.

  My opportunity to outmaneuver whoever was behind me came the next second. I veered into the left lane, not slowing down. I didn’t want to give the person any clue that I was about to try to make a wide and erratic right-hand turn. With one eye on the rearview mirror, and the other straight ahead, I raced forward. I was itching to get ready for the turn, but I made myself take a breath.

  Wait.

  Wait.

  Wait.

  Finally, at the last second, I jerked the wheel right. My tires skidded. “Hold on!” I told Agatha, as if she could understand and actually grip something to keep her from flying. I cursed under my breath for never getting one of those doggy seat belts for her. She rolled off her blanket, but righted herself before she plunged to the floor of the car. I checked the rearview mirror. My heart was in my throat, but there was no sign of the car that had been behind me. I didn’t take any chances, though. I took the next right, followed by a quick left, then another right. I came up to row of apartments and made a split second decision. I cranked the steering wheel and turned in. I slowed enough to follow the curves of the parking lot around and away from the street I’d been on. I pulled into a vacant spot, cut the engine and the lights, threw my arm back to give Agatha a reassuring pat, and tried to steady my jackhammering heartbeat.

  I waited.

  And waited.

  All was quiet. No one had followed me into the apartment complex’s parking lot. No car appeared cutting a swath of light in the darkness.

  Finally, I breathed again, dropping my forehead to the steering wheel. My whole body trembled, the adrenaline that had been surging through me seeping right back out again. Had I really lost the car? Had it really been after me, or was it just some crazy person who’d had one too many and decided to play a dangerous game of chicken?

  This time, it took fifteen minutes for my breathing to return to some semblance of normal, and for my heart to slow to an almost regular beating pattern. I checked the time: 9:40. There should be cars on the road, but even if there were, what would that matter? If that car wanted to torment me—which it had done expertly—other cars on the road wouldn’t stop it. I made a decision. I’d take the back roads to Olaya’s. I did not want to get onto the main road again for fear of facing the dark SUV again.

  By the time Agatha and I walked into Olaya’s house, I thought I had myself together, but Mrs. Branford took one look at me, jumped up from where she’d been cocooned on the couch, and raced over to me. “Ivy, what in world happened? You look like you’ve seen the ghost of Lady Macbeth.”

  Only Penelope Branford would name a specific ghost in this situation.

  “Someone hit my car,” I said, my voice shaking.

  She guided me to the couch, where we sat side by side. “While you were in it?” she asked.

  I nodded. “While I was driving.”

  “You were in an accident? Just now?” She looked me over. “Are you okay, my dear?”

  My head moved in a half nod, half shake as I tried to puzzle out what had actually happened. It had been intentional, right? I’d seen the same car twice—once when it had blinded me with its lights, and again when it plowed into my bumper. “Someone rammed into the back of my car.”

  Mrs. Branford’s mouth collapsed into a wrinkled frown. “Just now?”

  She was checking for understanding. This time I made my head simply nod. “I was heading here. A car came up behind me, flashed its brights, then rammed me.”

  Mrs. Branford perched on the edge of the sofa, her cane propped on the floor between her legs. “On purpose.”

  The more I pondered that question, the more convinced I was that it had not been a random act of violence. “On purpose,” I confirmed.

  “But why?”

  I proceeded to tell her about the hit-and-run that had nearly taken Ben Nader’s life earlier that afternoon.

  Her snowy curl
s framed her face as she swiveled her head to look at me. “Will he be all right?”

  I lifted my eyebrows in response. “I don’t know.”

  “And you think it’s related to the car that hit you?”

  I shook my head. “I can’t think of a reason why. I don’t know the guy.”

  She put her gnarled hand on my knee. “Have you angered someone, Ivy? Taken a photograph you didn’t get permission for?”

  I’d spent the rest of the slow, torturous drive to Olaya’s thinking about what kind of grudge anyone could have against me. A year ago, Laura, Miguel’s sister, might have crossed my mind, but we’d buried the hatchet, so to speak. Our history was in the past, and our future was all positive. I hadn’t made any other enemies—that I knew of, anyway.

  “No and no. It had to be an accident,” I said, but saying the words aloud didn’t make it true.

  Mrs. Branford’s mouth twisted into a puzzled frown. “You should talk to Sheriff Davis,” she said.

  I’d considered it, and I probably would—eventually—but I didn’t want to commit to that quite yet, so I replied with a vague, “Maybe.”

  Mrs. Branford wasn’t giving up that easily, though. “Not maybe. Definitely. You may not think you have an enemy, and you may not know who it is, but it seems you do, indeed, have one.” She wagged her finger at me. “You are to take no chances, do you hear me, Ivy?”

  I couldn’t help but grin, despite myself. “I understand, Mrs. Branford.”

  She heaved a put-upon sigh. “One of these days, you will call me Penelope—”

  “Never—”

  “Or Penny—”

  “Uh-uh, I can’t do it.”

  “Or at least Mrs. B.”

  I stared at her, my mouth agape. “Mrs. B?”

  She fluffed her snowy hair. “That is not my preferred choice, but it will do if you so choose.”