The woman on the floor.
The blood.
Just breathe, Winny.
Someone will do something. Someone will come. They have to.
A horse with ten masters . . .
This can’t be happening.
But the red staining the rags on the floor at Sylvie’s feet is real enough, and so is the red on the fresh towel she’s using to sop up the blood still oozing from Oscar’s bullet wound.
I shake my head, and the trembling threatens to overtake me again. I have to grit my teeth and clench all my muscles to stop it.
“Winny.”
I jump, then realize Scott is right next to me, his lips almost touching my ear.
“Don’t say anything. Just listen.”
I nod, a motion that might be mistaken for a fresh burst of trembling. And maybe it is, a little.
“My phone’s downstairs. In the basement storeroom. We need to get it.”
Toto and Ryan are arguing.
“We should be on our way to see the Chef’s man, Aaron, right now,” Toto says. “Rochelle is waiting for me at her place.”
Ryan’s response is lost, drowned out by Twitch’s rambling, which has grown frenzied again. He’s having a conversation with some invisible guy standing behind him. He keeps mumbling, regularly throwing clipped comments over his shoulder. I don’t want to be here. The promise of a cozy daze calls to me from la-la land, and it takes every ounce of effort I have left to keep my attention focused on the words feathering my ear. The words riding Scott’s warm breath.
“You can get it,” he says.
“What? No!”
“Shh! All you have to do is use the ladies’ room. When you go in there, you can slip out to the hallway and run downstairs, grab the phone, then slip back in. It will take, like, forty-five seconds.”
“But . . . I can’t.”
A horse with ten masters . . .
“You can,” he whispers.
“Why not you?”
“Because the door to the men’s room is in plain sight from here. They’re too busy arguing to notice something hidden in the vestibule, but not something right here in the same room. Pretend you’ve got to pee. Or, better, that you’re going to throw up.”
“Scott.” I pivot and tilt my head to look up into his face. He’s already got a tan from jogging all spring, and scruff that wasn’t there this afternoon shadows his jaw. His hazel eyes are intent, lips hovering so close to mine.
Close enough to kiss.
The way his gaze flicks up and down makes me wonder if he’s thinking the same thing.
What the hell is wrong with you, Winsome? It’s like I can’t even be around him anymore without my thoughts getting all wonky.
I close my eyes for a second then fix them firmly on his. “I’m scared.”
“Me, too.”
Oscar is listening now, and I can tell he likes this plan. “It’s worth a try,” he murmurs. “We’ll keep them distracted. Don’t worry.”
Sure. No problem.
The old man quietly observes our exchange, brain churning behind his sharp expression. Sylvie is too focused on the towels and the blood to pay attention.
So much red.
The room spins, but Scott’s voice in my ear grounds me.
“The phone’s right next to the plastic cutlery. Once you’re back upstairs in the bathroom, use it to dial 911. It won’t work down there. Too much rock.”
“What if they say no?” What if they don’t?
The vestibule is too much like a dark mouth, waiting to swallow me up.
Stop that. It’s just a hallway, a short, three-foot hallway that leads to the door you just went through and came back out of again not five minutes ago.
And what if I can really do it? I can end this, maybe.
I risk a quick glance at the men. Toto shouts at Ryan, who just stands there, taking it all in, almost bored, like he knows he has to let Toto get this tantrum out of his system. Twitch is still talking to himself.
Scott and Oscar are right. If there’s ever a time to try something, it’s now. I take several deep breaths.
“Don’t ask them for permission,” Oscar says. “Just go.”
Sylvie finally catches up with the conversation. “No.” She shakes her head. “Let’s just wait. Ryan will figure out something.”
“Are you out of your mind, Silv? He’s the cause of this. He’s not going to help us. We’ve got to help ourselves.”
A horse with ten masters . . .
Sylvie and Oscar are still arguing, so are Ryan and Toto, but I’m done listening.
After one last deep breath I’m on the move before I can think twice. “Oh my God, I’m gonna puke!” I clap my hand over my mouth and bolt for the vestibule and the ladies’ room door.
8
WINNY
TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES BEFORE CLOSING
Janey’s car stereo blasted, and she sang at the top of her lungs, dancing behind the wheel. Winny was familiar with that glint in her best friend’s eyes; nothing would bring Janey down tonight. And why should it? Weren’t they free? Free from high school, poised to move on and become whatever they wanted. Free to go to Brian’s tonight and let the bass bounce and jiggle their insides while illegal beer fizzled their brains.
Correction: Janey was free. Janey with her plans for next year all set—an acceptance to her first-choice college filed with the university admissions board right on schedule—and out tonight without any of the covert maneuvers Winny had to perform. Janey’s parents let her choose for herself—let her live. She thought about the family portrait that hung in her dining room.
“He looks like a doctor,” Janey had said of Winny’s father the first time she saw it.
And Winny’s mother looked like a lawyer. If her parents had their way, Winny would be an exact replica of them. They were prepared to encourage and insist and coerce until she fulfilled all their visions for her future.
If not for her mom’s note this afternoon, they might have been successful.
Winny tried to lose herself in the shifting swirls of street lights illuminating the sticky night, but with no success. Her psych teacher’s voice echoed in her memory: White Bear Phenomenon, whereby the act of telling yourself not to think about something requires that you bring it to mind in order to give yourself the command.
Winny was white-bearing all over the place tonight.
“Hey!” Janey shouted over the music.
“What?”
“Detour!” She made a right followed by a left a street later.
Letting her head sag backward slightly, Winny let out a pained sigh. “Please tell me you’re not doing what I think you’re doing.”
Janey cut the music. Far from looking repentant, her expression was barely even sheepish.
“Janey . . .”
“Yes, Winsome, my love?”
“Where are we going?”
Janey shrugged. “I need some gum.”
“I have no intention of standing between you and your gum, especially if it’s that grape-lemon kind, but please tell me we’re not going there.”
“What? It’s practically on the way.”
“Oh, please. Like we didn’t just pass two gas stations and a mini-mart. This is about Scott, and you know it.” Winny stared at her knees, which peeked out from beneath the hem of her white ruffled peasant dress.
“Maybe I don’t want to get my gum from any old gas station or mini-mart. I happen to like Café Flores. They buy from Connecticut farms, and you’re the one always going on about supporting local agriculture.”
“Because gum is a local agricultural commodity. We don’t even know if the rumors are true.”
“Oh, they’re totally true. I heard it from Simone who heard it from Jackson who heard it from Rachel who heard it from Becky herself.”
“You’d think she would have said something to one of us, then.”
Janey shrugged. “You know how it goes. Girl meets guy. Girl gets guy.
Girl stops confiding in her friends.”
“Still. Until we know for sure, we should just act normal and stay cool.”
“Like how you acted this afternoon?”
Winny’s face burned. “No. Definitely not cool like that.”
Janey turned on to Milne Avenue and pulled into the first empty spot on the street in front of Café Flores. “Too late. We’re here.” The brakes screeched under Janey’s hot pink sandal and she let loose a hearty laugh, head thrown back. That laugh always meant trouble.
“Why do you sound like some villainous mastermind from a silent movie?”
“First off, ‘villainous mastermind’ and ‘best friend’ aren’t necessarily different things. Second, how could anything sound like anything in a silent movie?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I need to save you from yourself. I’m only saying this because I’m your friend. You can’t even try to pretend you’re not still totally into him, not after what you told me on the phone. What the hell are you waiting for?”
“Let’s see,” Winny said, counting on her fingers. “Confirmation that the guy’s actually single. For the dust to settle. Who wants Mr. Rebound City?”
“You’re all set to move into Rebound City, and you know it.”
“And how about some indication that he actually likes me? Like, one little bit.”
“Oh, come on. You know he likes you.”
“Could have fooled me. I mean, how do you go from asking one girl out to asking out someone completely different the very next day?”
“Yawn. I’m so tired of hearing you whine about that. And technically, she asked him out.”
“But he was the one who said yes.”
“Get over it already. Cut the guy some slack. You did turn him down three times. I mean, come on, what would you have thought if you were him?”
Winny groaned. “But I was legitimately busy.”
“You’re always busy.”
“I know. I know. I’m such an idiot.”
“Forget it. You guys have gotten along great since then—better than great. You can’t fool me. I’ve seen those longing glances you’ve been throwing back and forth, like, all the time. Today seals the deal as far as I’m concerned.”
“What happened today may have been a huge mess-up, though. My mess-up. Ugh.” A little shiver ran through Winny as she recalled Scott’s lips against hers. But what had happened after, the expression on his face. Had it been longing or regret? “It’s like he’s Mixed Signal Man. Dating Becky, but putting out these vibes . . .”
“Everyone deserves a second chance, Win. And he probably needs a friend right now. A friend who can pick him up, brush him off—”
“And kiss the shit out of him?”
“That’s my girl.”
“But—”
Janey held out a palm. “Shush! We’ll just go inside, grab some gum, chat him up a bit, and see what’s what. And, most importantly, we’ll let him know you’ll be at Brian’s.” She raised an eyebrow.
“Everyone’s going to be at Brian’s. That’s not exactly news.”
“Ten minutes, tops, okay? Then we’ll hit the road.”
Winny cracked open her car door and sighed. “Fine.” She’d placed one foot on the sidewalk when, three storefronts down, the door to Café Flores burst open. “Shit!” Winny froze as a familiar blonde stomped onto the sidewalk, beelining for a Honda right in front of the café.
“Becky’s still here,” Winny whispered, ducking back inside Janey’s car.
9
SCOTT
TWENTY-THREE MINUTES AFTER CLOSING
Oh my God, she’s doing it.
“Hey!” Toto shouts as Winny streaks by me.
My heart might explode, like literally explode. I was supposed to keep her safe, and here I am sending her into more danger. What the fuck is wrong with me?
But she makes it. The bathroom door swings shut with a small sigh of hinges that need a hit of WD-40.
“Young man,” Pavan calls to Toto in his almost musical accent. “Why don’t you let the girl be for a minute? She’s feeling very ill, and it will only make everyone feel worse if we have vomit on the floor to mix with the blood, don’t you think?”
Pursing his lips, Toto gazes toward the short hallway and takes a step in that direction, but Ryan puts a hand on his shoulder. “Come on. Let her be for a minute. There’re no windows in there. She can’t go anywhere. We need to stay focused.”
My chest burns from holding my breath, but I can’t seem to exhale until Toto turns away. “Yeah. Right.” He and Ryan cluster together again.
They’re trying to talk quietly, but they’re too worked up to keep their voices down. My brain ping-pongs between their words and thinking about Winny. I want to watch the vestibule like a hawk, but it might give her away, so I try to focus on Toto and Ryan instead.
“You two are amateurs, man,” Toto is complaining. “I can’t believe this shit.” He makes huge movements, waving around the gun he’s still holding. I flinch each time the barrel points in my direction.
Maybe focusing on the vestibule is a better idea after all.
A tiny squeak tells me that Winny has opened the bathroom door. Damn it! I was supposed to grease those hinges two days ago, but I kept forgetting. Ryan and Toto don’t seem to notice the sound, though. When I can’t stand it anymore, I risk a glance.
Nothing.
No sign of her.
A warm hand settles on my shoulder. “She’s through,” Pavan says in my ear.
“Thank God.” I’m too loud, maybe, but Twitch is getting amped up again, and his ranting is good cover. Breathing slowly and steadily, I count out the seconds—one, two, three. Forty-five. That’s how long I told her it would take.
“I’m sorry, Toto,” Twitch mumbles. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.”
Seven. Eight. Nine.
“Will you shut up?” Toto raises the back of his hand, and Twitch immediately goes quiet.
“We need to help you find a response to anger that doesn’t involve physical threats,” Ryan says.
“Do you think you’re being funny right now?”
“No. Sorry.” He sighs and rubs his temples. “Okay. Our original plan—quick in and out—is no good now. We need to figure out what to do about her.” He gestures at the dead woman.
Thirteen. Fourteen.
Toto looks over at the body splayed out on the floor, and I do, too, getting my first really good glimpse of her from this side of the counter.
Oh, God, I know her.
I’m jogged out of my counting for a moment, but I get it together again a breath later.
Sixteen.
Though my brain keeps generating numbers, it’s harder to stay on top of them. Her name is Maggie Hightower or Highsmith, something like that. She comes in two or three nights a week near closing for the old baked goods. Sylvie always throws in extras for her, since Maggie is on a limited income.
Was on a limited income.
Without fail, Maggie would always make a big deal, protesting she couldn’t accept the charity, but Sylvie convinced her to take the extra muffins and bagels every time. They’ll just end up in the trash, otherwise. A lie, of course. Sylvie and Oscar always take the unsellable leftovers home. If we all get through this, will Sylvie and Oscar want them anymore? Will they be able to stand looking at pastries sitting there on their kitchen table or counter or wherever, knowing they got their friend killed?
“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry,” Twitch starts up again.
“There’s no way they’re not reporting this, Ry,” Toto whispers. “Maybe your sister would cover for you over some paper from the register, but this is different. And if she takes him to the hospital, you know they’re gonna ask questions.”
Ryan’s glare bores into Sylvie. “Yeah.” He rubs his face. “You’re right.”
“Fuck yeah, I’m right. We were supposed to come in here, flash some chrome, get the money, and boo
k it. Now we’ve got a situation. What are we gonna do about it?”
Twenty.
“Don’t even.” Ryan takes two steps toward Toto, but pivots at the last second, like he’s thinking better of it. When he’s a safe distance from the other guy, he turns again. “Don’t even try to blame this on me. You know how I felt about—” He shoots a glance at Twitch, still smack dab in the middle of his meltdown. “I told you something like this would happen.”
Pavan, who’d been standing this entire time, back set in a rigid line, drops to a stool. “We’re in trouble,” he says to no one in particular.
Twenty-five.
“We need a plan,” Toto says.
“We need a plan,” Oscar says.
“We’ve got a plan.” Pavan cuts his eyes toward the vestibule. “Now is the time for patience.” He sighs. “How I wish I had a fresh cup of tea.”
Ryan sure looks like he could use a soothing drink or maybe a shot of whiskey. He paces and throws out words around the thumbnail he hasn’t stopped chewing since he came out of the back. “I know we need a plan. I just need to think a minute. Will you shut up?” he bellows at Twitch who’s changed from his chant of I’m sorry to something I can’t quite make out.
Twitch jumps, then falls silent, but he’s still staring at Maggie.
“Just let me think,” Ryan says.
“So, their original plan,” I whisper to Sylvie. “They were going to rob you?”
She doesn’t acknowledge me. Oscar shakes his head. “You know what this is,” he says.
“Please, Oscar,” Sylvie says. “Not now.”
“It’s always not now. When are you going to face reality about your brother?”
“Maybe if you hadn’t fired him—”
“He was selling drugs out of the shop.”
Pavan’s eyes widen, and I bite back the holy fuck that wants to escape my lips.
“Not. Now,” Sylvie says.
My head spins as I try to take it all in. I always thought Ryan was slimy, but this is next-level shit. As if he can feel my gaze on him, Ryan looks at me, and for one moment his eyes meet mine. They widen as he takes in what Toto is whispering into his ear, and he casts them down, looking anywhere but at us.
Ten After Closing Page 5