by Hadley Finn
That’s where she’s wrong, but I don’t correct her. She planned the whole thing. I’m trying not to be just a bit impressed and—I hate myself for it—envious.
“His Friday lunch, which is really just an “afternoon delight” ran longer than normal, so I got angrier and angrier. When the door handle jiggled, I assumed he’d had too much to drink, which was just icing on the cake. I grabbed the gun from the nightstand and went to the hall where I could see the front door but not be seen. When he turned to close the door and lock it, I walked straight out and put three into his back. My hands stung and my ears were ringing and I was just so relieved when he fell over.
“But it wasn’t Enzo!” She pauses for dramatic effect.
What I want to say is fuck or thank fuck, but I say the only thing I can. “Go on.”
“It was his employee, Rockwell. You were at his engagement party. Were you a friend of his? Oh, no. Maybe I shouldn’t be telling you this. I didn’t think this through at all.”
“It’s fine. Please continue.” I steady my tone and try to make myself sound calm, even though I’m anything but.
“I dialed Enzo. I didn’t want to and, honestly, I was terrified he would think I was going to kill him but I didn’t know what to do. I told him I’d killed an intruder. I was so scared and didn’t know it was a friend until I tried to drag him away from the front door so I could get out of there.”
She is crafty, lethal, and cunning. She planned the whole thing.
“Enzo made some calls, apparently, and even before he was home, he’d sent cleaners to remove the body and then housekeeping services to handle the house. I mean, I knew he was dirty, but I didn’t know he was this dirty. Who has the resources to efficiently handle a body? Beyond that, who has a team that could do so without flinching?
“So, I killed a man. And I haven’t stopped shaking or sobbing since I pulled the trigger. If it had been Enzo, it’d have been worth it, but now it’s too much. What do I do now?”
My mind is whirling. I want to say, “Finish the job or run the hell away,” but she isn’t asking Sean. She’s asking Father O’Ryan how to be absolved and live with having taken a life she never meant to.
“Are you asking for your penance?”
She pauses.
“Zera?”
“Is living with Enzo not penance enough? Is knowing I took an innocent life not penance enough?”
“You tell me.”
Her resounding silence lasts until I break it.
“I can’t say. But you asked me what you do now. What do you need from me, Zera? How can I help you?”
What I’m desperate to do is run to find Sirona and see if she’s okay. Alternatively, I want to wait and let her come to me. I’m no second fiddle. I force my mind back to the here and now.
“I don’t know, Father. I mean, I came straight here. The cleaners are still at the house. I just needed to get this off my chest.”
“It was today?” I try not to let my tone rise or my panic bleed through into my voice.
“Yes. That’s why I wanted to know what to do now.”
“I didn’t assume you were asking for advice, so I’m sorry.”
“Of course you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t know what this is like, taking a man’s life.”
Oh, how wrong she is, but I’m not about to make my confessions to this woman.
“I’m sorry, Zera. Go in peace. And I mean that—find and protect your peace.”
Zera Calabrese wants her husband dead so much so that she was willing to pull the trigger and put the bullets in his back herself.
I keep my seat through three more confessions. I comment and “um-hm” and “ah” at all the right places. I keep my seat until the booth is empty and there is no sound except for my own breathing, no smell but the alcohol-induced sweats.
When my mind is calm, I head home, shower, grab my knife, and the silver doubloon. I disable the tracker on my car and head toward Petites Fleurs.
From the street, the shop looks less inviting than it has even since I first came here. And it needed a little TLC even then.
I loop around the building before making my way to the front.
The bells ring out when I open the door. At least there’s that. It’s a welcome sound after its previous absence.
A heated conversation abruptly stops and an eerie silence falls over the bakery. No greeting meets my ears.
My gut tells me something isn’t right. So I open the front door as if I’d left and quietly pad to the bathroom area.
“Thought you’d be saved by the bell, did you?” Enzo Calabrese’s voice is practically a sneer.
Silence.
“Answer me when I talk to you, you little whore.”
There’s a reply but it’s so faint, I cannot make it out.
“That’s better. Now… Where were we?” His loud shoes squeak across the floors, giving away his position. “Ah, yes. About Clara?”
When I hear the sob rip from her chest, I move. I’m down the hall in an instant and standing in Sirona’s office. Enzo’s surprise is evident and his body language softens from confrontational.
“Father O’Ryan, don’t you always seem to be in the right place at the right time when Miss Dugas needs a savior?”
“I don’t know about that. She has exceptional petits fours and they’d make a great Thanksgiving dessert, assuming you don’t like pumpkin pie.”
“And?”
“And what?” Turning to Sirona, I ask, “Where’s Clara? Hoping she’d split a cupcake with me.” I pat my abs.
“Gwen picked her up after school so she and Sarah could have a playdate. She’ll be back quickly. Won’t be but a couple of minutes."
I can read that loud and clear.
“You don’t mind if I wait here, do you? Not a fan of the tone Mr. Calabrese was using with you when I walked in.” I turn to him and stare defiantly, waiting for him to school his features or show his colors. It could go either way.
When he raises his hand, I brace, but stand firm, defiantly maintaining eye contact. The clap of his fat, damp palm on my cheek is worse. It’s the arrogance of a man who thinks he can touch me while demeaning me with a self-aggrandizing move. “No need to be concerned, Father. I was just leaving.”
When his meaty palm pats my cheek the second time with a firmer grip, I rip my face away. “Glad to hear it.”
As his swagger leads him to the rear door, he throws over his shoulder, “We’ll continue this tomorrow, Sirona.”
I never take my eyes off of him until he is through the door and gone. I wait, finger over my lips, not allowing my gaze to lose focus until I hear the sound of the car start and drive away.
“Do you have a deadbolt?”
She doesn’t answer but she rushes past me to the rear door and throws the metal plate over a loop and drops a padlock through the hole, fumbling and clanking while she does it.
“That was his white Escalade?”
She nods.
“What time is Clara supposed to be back? Honestly this time.”
“Gwen is dropping her off at the apartment after closing.”
“Lock up the front and kill the lights. I’ll stay until you’re finished doing what you need to do.”
“What I need to do?” She seems confused by my comment.
“Store stuff. End of day. Books. I don’t know, but I’m guessing you don’t just walk out at night without some routine.”
She shakes her head, not to negate what I’m saying, but almost to clear her thoughts.
“Yeah. Several things. You mind waiting?” Her voice is stronger now, the cracking from the tears less evident.
“Nope.” I walk away. I hit the restroom, wash my hands, check my reflection in the mirror. I pace the store, walk behind the counter.
I make my way down the hall to the cooler full of butter and eggs and metal shelves full of white cardboard boxes. Toward the corner, there’s a metal meat hook. Weird, but I assume it came with the place.
I open the freezer and see more supplies.
Farther down the same hall is a pantry with dry goods, including flours, sugars, and food coloring. The shelves hold big metal bowls and piping bags, and other detritus of a high-end bakery.
Sirona is at a desk, eyes fixed on the computer, when I return to her office. There’s an awful lot of paper for a business that is mostly conducted in a kitchen and with online supply ordering, it feels old-school.
“Lots of paper.” If I were flirting, I’d facepalm that line. What am I doing?
“Yeah. Printouts. I like having a backup. It’s not environmentally-friendly, but I try to reconcile the day on the computer and take some proof home of what I’ve accomplished. Lots of those binders are ideas. Wedding cakes, design ideas, things like that.” She throws a hand over her shoulder and waves in the general direction of the shelves brimming full of binders, with colored sticky notes sticking out, while still focusing on her computer.
“Think Enzo will ever leave you alone?”
Her fingers still over the keyboard as her eyes lift to mine, and she slowly shakes her head once.
“Ever?”
One more silent shake.
“What are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing. No real alternative for me.” Her eyes drop at that statement.
“Sirona?”
She lifts her eyes again.
“Are you in danger?”
A quiet nod greets me.
“What if I could help?”
“You can’t.” And with that, she goes back to her data entry.
I wait a minute or two before pressing, “What if I could?”
“I won’t burden you with my problems, but just to say, there’s not enough money or time to make that work.”
“Money or time,” I repeat aloud, mostly to myself and ponder options. “What about distance?”
“What do you mean?”
“If you left New Orleans…”
She shakes her head. “He’ll find me.” She makes eye contact and quietly adds, “Afraid I’m stuck, Sean.”
The sound of my name on her lips does it.
I move to the desk and lean over her, taking her mouth. Spearing my tongue between her lips, I feel her moan and I deepen the kiss. When I pull away, I brush her lips with mine.
“You’re not.” Another lip touch. “Trust me?”
She simply nods while keeping my eyes.
“Here’s what we’ll do,” I start to lay out the plan I’ve been considering for months.
When I’m done, she’s contemplative. Then her eyes roam, taking in her office. They look around to the shelves and stare off into the distance. It’s as if she’s seeing memories rather than objects. Finally, she simply nods and says, “Okay.”
I’m shocked she agrees but I’m elated too. I pull her from her chair and kiss her again, celebrating. Her replying smile is all I need.
I reach out my hand to hers and she takes it. I give her a few moments as she collects her thoughts and a few things to take home. Then we continue as we would any other night—me to the front door, where the bells ring as I leave—and where she locks up behind me. I take off for the Quarter. The Accord lights behind me tell me she’s still with me.
It’s the pair behind those that concern me.
We make it to her house and she locks the doors behind us. I’d love to say I take it all in, but I don’t.
“Need you to get together everything you may need or want. Everything else is details.”
She shuffles around, mostly in circles for a few minutes before I cut in.
“Sweetheart, need you to focus. Get what you need for Clara first. That’ll be easiest.” I sit at the kitchen table, grab my phone and set the plan in motion, buying tickets, shooting an email to Bobby about the car title and additional paperwork. “What’s your birthday?”
“Sean…?” It’s tremulous. Her lip quivers and her eyes brim with unshed tears. “This is foolish. I can’t explain but I’ll never be free.”
“Do you want to be?”
“What kind of question is that?” she spits back. Anger is good. I can work with anger.
“A real one. Do you or do you not want to be free?”
“Of course I do—”
I break that sentence off with a harsh kiss. “Then trust me. I’ll make you safe. Clara will never be in danger. If you want to be free, I’m offering you a life preserver.”
She stares until she slowly nods once. Her resolve must be solidifying because with that she takes off to Clara’s room and I hear her moving about.
“Pictures,” I holler as I continue my tasks. “And recipes. Whatever says ‘home’ to you.”
She continues on, her sniffles audible, but she continues nonetheless.
A knock has me on high alert. I reach into my pocket and palm my knife. Sirona simply walks right past me and removes the chain, throwing the door wide while an already-in-conversation Clara strides right on in, continuing her verbal onslaught.
Sirona thanks Gwen and gives her a hug. Must be unusual because Gwen starts before slowly hugging back. Sirona tells Sarah how darling she is and thanks Gwen again before shutting the door, throwing the lock and rehooking the chain.
“Poppa Sean!” Clara bounds up to and flings herself into my arms.
“I came to the shop today to see if you’d share a cupcake with me, but you were on a playdate.”
“Which flavor did you get?”
“I didn’t have anyone to share with, so I skipped it. Another night?”
“Yes!”
“Clara, bath time. Think you can get your back if I let you do it by yourself?”
“Yes!”
“Okay. I’ll run the water while you pick out pajamas and brush your teeth.”
“Okay!” Off she runs, dropping her backpack on the floor at my feet, whirling out of the room.
“Does she always have this much energy?”
Sirona hesitates before nodding. “Unless she gets sugar, in which case, she has more.”
I turn my head up and smile at her. “How many times have I thrown you under the sugar bus now?”
“A fair few.” She smiles, genuine this time, and goes back to run Clara’s bathwater.
When she returns, she compiles a few goodies that must have sentimental meaning and checks on Clara. She puts her down for the night and comes back out. She looks tired.
I’m finishing up my to-do list and shoot a quick text to Bobby telling him to check his email in the morning. He replies with a thumbs-up. Clara has a ton of energy. Bobby has that in a boy plus an infant. I need to give him a raise.
“What’s next?
“You got the pictures, recipes, mementos. Do you have everything else you need?”
She nods. “Will have it all done.”
“You’re not going to like this part,” I start.
Her wariness is palpable. She shuffles to the table where I sit and slides into the chair across from me.
“There are already so many parts I don’t like. Which one is this?”
“This is where I tell you that Clara needs to stay with me and you need to go alone.”
“You can’t be serious.” Her exhaustion is gone and anger laces her tone.
“This is deliberate and intentional and I’m very serious.”
“Fuck that! I’d never leave her.”
“Exactly. Anyone watching—and make no mistake, they’re watching—will look for the two of you. Your names and descriptions will be expected together.”
“She’s my everything.”
“I know. And you would never leave her.”
“Exactly.”
“So, you agree that if you went alone, you’d blend in and be less recognizable?”
“It doesn’t matter. I won’t go along with this!”
“She’s a handful and she’s wonderful and she’s sunshine for me. No one, and I mean, no one will harm a hair on her head.”
“You’re ask
ing me to sacrifice my daughter for my safety. No. Absolutely not!”
“I’m asking you to sacrifice your comfort for her safety and for yours. You’re not thinking strategically.”
“I’m thinking like her momma!” Her voice is fiery.
“Can you guarantee her protection? Can you guarantee your own?”
She drops her head into her hands and shakes with angry tears. I walk around and squat next to her, rubbing her back.
“I can’t lose her,” she says, sniffling.
“What if she were to lose you?”
Her head springs up and the panic in her eyes is chilling. “She can’t.”
“You’re right. Let me make sure she’s safe, so you can make sure you are.”
“I can’t abandon her.”
“You aren’t. You’re entrusting her to me for a very brief time, knowing I would lay down my life for hers.”
She holds my stare for a long time, searching me. “Okay, but I’m not happy about it.”
“Duly noted.”
By midnight, she’s dead on her feet. I peek out the windows and notice the Escalade is still outside.
“I need to go.”
The fact that she doesn’t fight, but looks resigned instead, tells me this might be wearing on her but she won’t argue.
“I hope to get Enzo or his goon to follow. If I can, good. If I can’t, you need to call me. I’ll be back at four thirty. Get what rest you can. Need a wake-up call?”
“I run a bakery, Sean. I do crack of dawn more often than not.”
I hold her eyes and nod once. Walking to the door, I turn and ask, “You scared?”
“Terrified.”
“Really?”
“Of course. But sometimes you do it because it’s the best choice.”
“That’s my girl. Lock up behind me.”
Hand on my knife, I make my way to my car, slide in, and pull out. Headlights follow me. That’s not good, but it’s better than the alternative. I have brights in my rearview all the way to the rectory. They stay longer than necessary after I park but eventually slowly pull away.
Once inside my house, I shoot Sirona a text.
Me: I was followed. Let me know if anything sets off your radar tonight.