Mike took the croissant and bit off a large piece of the pastry. "Thank goodness for you, Rosa. I hate hospital food," he said as he chewed.
"Small bites," I said anxiously. "What about your throat? Is it okay for you to swallow that?"
Grandma Rosa waved her hand impatiently. "He is fine. The injury was not to his throat. He will have some soreness for a day or two, but let the boy eat what he wants."
I took a cup of coffee from her and held it to Mike's lips. He drank from it gratefully and then kissed me. His lips were cracked and dry, but I didn't care. They tasted like heaven to me.
"The nurse came in earlier while you were asleep," Mike said. "They gave me a swallow test with water to make sure that I could take solids." He bit off another piece of the croissant and gave me that sexy, lopsided grin of his. Such a beautiful smile and one that, after last night, I hadn't been sure I'd ever see again. "I passed with flying colors," he bragged.
"Yes, I can see that." I leaned over the bed and gave him a soft peck on the lips. "Did you get any sleep?"
"Some," he said, but his response didn't fool me. Mike had dark circles of weariness under his beautiful eyes, which regarded me with affection. I almost wept as I ran a hand through his thick mass of curly black hair and sent a silent prayer of thanks up to God. I kissed him again, more passionately this time, forgetting my grandmother was there.
"Now that's more like it," he whispered. "I feel better already."
Grandma Rosa cleared her throat. "Ahem. Now you children behave while I am here. What is the saying? Get a hotel."
I laughed. "It's get a room, Grandma."
"Whatever." She offered me a blueberry muffin, but I shook my head. My appetite had disappeared. Instead, I poured myself a cup of water from the little blue pitcher next to Mike's bed.
My grandmother's wise, dark eyes, which never missed anything, examined my face closely. "You look terrible, cara mia."
"Gee, thanks," I said lightly.
She didn't laugh. "I do not mean that you look unattractive. I meant that you look ill—very tired. Are you feeling okay?"
I ran my hand over Mike's forehead, which was a bit warm to the touch. "I am now."
He started to say something, but I put a finger over his lips. "Are you sure your throat doesn't hurt? I feel bad that you had to spend so much time talking to Brian last night."
"A little," he admitted, "but it's better than it was." He fumbled with the lid on the coffee cup with his left hand and would have knocked it over if my grandmother hadn't grabbed it in time. He sighed. "This is going to be fun."
"Well, that's why I'm here," I reminded him.
My grandmother sat down in the other chair and removed her crocheting from a canvas tote bag. "Go home and take a shower, cara mia. Have a nap. I will stay with Mike."
"No, I want to wait for the doctor."
"The nurse said he won't be around until this afternoon." Mike's eyes were anxious as he watched me. "You need to rest, baby. Would you take care of something else for me while you're at the house?"
"Of course. I'll bring you clothes, razor, and toothbrush. Is there anything else you need?"
He shook his head and gestured to the sling on his right arm. "This is going to limit what I can do for a while. I won't be able to go back to work until I'm healed." He muttered a curse word under his breath and then glanced sheepishly at my grandmother. "Sorry, Rosa."
She waved a hand dismissively. "I have heard it all before, dear boy. Sally's grandfather loved to fuss all the time. Very nasty habit."
Mike smiled at her. "That's cuss, Rosa."
She nodded. "I like that too."
I held out the blueberry muffin my grandmother had offered me to Mike. "Something tells me that you're not going to be an easy invalid to take care of, my darling."
Grandma Rosa grunted. "No patience. Your grandfather had none either. God rest his soul." My grandmother had been a nurse many years ago, before she'd met my grandfather. For the last year of his life, he'd been bedridden with cancer. She'd faithfully taken care of him and sat by his side until he'd passed away, at the young age of fifty-three. I was too young to remember, only being two years old at the time.
Mike took my right hand in his left one. "I was hoping you could pay some bills for me. I had been planning to do it last night after the party. I've let things go the last couple of weeks, and now they're in danger of being late. But if you're too tired, they can wait till tomorrow."
"Don't worry, I'll pay them." Mike was a meticulous businessman. Like me, he prided himself on paying all vendors on time. We didn't like to owe people money.
"You know where I keep everything, right? My password for QuickBooks is our wedding anniversary date. And the invoices to be paid are inside a manila folder in the main desk drawer. You can use my business debit card to pay them. It's in my wallet." He looked around the room. "Although I have no idea where that is."
"Brian gave it to me last night. Oh, and Johnny got the extra set of keys from our house and drove your truck home. It's in the garage, waiting for its owner."
He pursed his lips together. "Yeah, well, it won't be seeing me in action for a while. Look, baby, you're tired, so it can wait till tomorrow."
"That's okay. I'm happy to do it. I'm sure it won't take more than a few minutes." I didn't want Mike to worry about anything while he was in the hospital, but I knew my husband. A proud man, his brain was already working overtime, thinking about possible past due notices that might hurt his excellent credit.
Mike glanced over at my grandmother and then hesitated for a moment before he spoke again. "I'm not going to be bringing in any money for a while. There should be enough in the account to cover the current bills, and I don't want to be charged interest." He closed his eyes and sank back against the pillows. Fine lines were etched into his forehead, and I wasn't sure if they were from worry or pain. Maybe both.
"They're not late yet, right? My vendors give me thirty days to pay." Mike and I preferred to stay out of each other's business affairs whenever possible. We were both a bit bossy and headstrong when it came to our respected professions.
"That's right, thirty days. No, they're not late. There's at least a couple of days left. I can't believe I let them go this long, though."
I rubbed his forehead, which was still warm. "It's hard to remember everything, especially when you're working 16-hour days."
He brought my hand to his mouth and kissed it. "And you don't have any spare time to spend with your beautiful wife who never complains."
"Well, you'll make up for it now," I teased. "I'll be seeing a lot more of you for quite a while."
Grandma Rosa looked up from her crocheting. "Are you two going to be all right? Do you need any money?"
"No." Mike's tone was sharp. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and stared at my grandmother with obvious regret. "I'm sorry, Rosa. I didn't mean to be rude. But you know how I feel about borrowing money."
Grandma Rosa had once put up bail money for Mike when he'd been arrested for Colin's murder, and he'd insisted on paying her back in record time. He was too proud and independent to borrow, no matter how badly we might need the funds.
She frowned at him. "Bah. We are family. You should not feel that way. But I will respect your wishes." She took up her crochet hook again.
"We'll be okay." I massaged Mike's hand between mine. "As long as we have each other, that's all that matters." I had vowed silently last night that if Mike lived, I'd never ask God for anything again. Or at least not for a long time. "I'm just thankful to have you here with me. You gave me such a scare last night." There was a sudden catch in my voice. "You could have easily—" I couldn't go on, but there was no need. He realized what I was going to say.
Mike bit into his lower lip. "I know, baby. And I can't believe that Trevor's gone." Grief and sadness mingled in his eyes, and I longed to kiss them away. I couldn't even begin to imagine the horror that Tina, Trevor's girlfriend, was go
ing through. It could have been me instead of her planning a funeral today. That was when Brian's words from last night came rushing back to me. "How much do you know about Trevor's personal life?"
"Not much," he admitted. "He and his wife divorced last summer, right before he came here. They were living in Virginia at the time. He told me it was amicable, but he needed to start over in a new town, new state. He's got a sister who lives in Colwestern. That's why he decided to come here."
"But, sweetheart, his ex-wife is here—in Colwestern. Brian went to her house last night, and she wasn't there."
Mike raised his left eyebrow. "Erica's here? In town? That's strange. Trevor never said a word about it. She must have followed him."
"Do you know who he worked for before?" I asked.
He frowned and stared up at the ceiling. "I can't remember the name of the guy, but I've still got the notes from my phone conversation with him at home. They're somewhere in my desk. The guy was a solo operation like me."
Thoughts crowded my brain, and they were not pleasant ones. What if Trevor had been shot deliberately? Who wanted him dead, and why? Had he done something terrible, like take someone else's life? His death might have been payback. I wanted answers but wasn't sure where to find them.
Grandma Rosa sipped her coffee with one eye on me. I found myself wondering if she had somehow clued into my thought process. She always knew more than she let on and now pointed at the door as if reading my mind. "Go, cara mia. It sounds like you have many things to do."
* * *
I sat down behind the heavy oak desk in our spare bedroom and pressed the On button for the laptop Mike and I shared. Mike used both the desk and the computer more than I did. I wasn't a fan of social media and only used the laptop if I wanted to Google a recipe. A payroll service provided checks for Josie and our bakery driver bi-weekly, while Mike handwrote checks for Trevor. I did most of the shop's finances from my cell phone in the bakery because it was more convenient, while Mike preferred to use our spare bedroom. He had no on-the-job office, while I could easily sit down in my shop and go through sales receipts. I'd been debating putting a desk in the vacant apartment upstairs over the bakery and turning that into an office.
We both used the same accountant for our taxes, but Mike's system was entirely different from mine. He used a QuickBooks program to keep track of jobs, materials, what he owed vendors, and his bank account balance.
Mike often talked about the various jobs he was working on so that I'd have an idea of where he was on a day-to-day basis. When we were alone together in the evening, he preferred not to talk about his work though. On the other hand, I often regaled Mike with tales of my customers and their antics. He especially enjoyed the stories of Mrs. Gavelli and her irritation over the messages in her fortune cookies.
My husband went wherever there was work to be found but didn't travel out of state. He could perform any job asked of him—from laying a foundation to installing a new roof. Mike preferred not to be separated from me overnight, and the feeling was mutual. We both figured we'd already spent too many years and nights apart.
I tried to keep between five and ten thousand in my bakery account at all times, but it wasn't easy. Like the construction industry, there were certain times of the year that business in the bakery was more profitable, such as holidays and summertime, with its graduation parties and weddings. There wasn't a certain pattern, though. I also made a note to call my health insurance provider and find out how much of Mike's hospital stay would be covered. I didn't want any more surprises.
The invoices had a To Be Paid scrawled on the outside cover of the manila folder. It looked like Mike completed four different jobs in the past month or so, and most likely, they were all ones that Trevor had done since Mike had still been involved in the house restoration. A set of kitchen cabinets, carpeting, and sheetrock for one job. I noticed another invoice for the exact same things and hoped the supply company hadn't charged him twice. I looked at the balance in his checkbook and saw that it read fifty-five hundred dollars. That seemed like a low figure—I knew Mike usually kept between ten and twenty grand in his account. He must have been paid for the renovation job as well, which would have added a significant amount. This didn't make sense. I glanced at the invoices in my hand, fervently hoping there was enough to pay them.
I added the bills together on the computer's calculator. There was enough money, but after paying all of them, the balance in his account would be less than a thousand dollars. I glanced at the two Home Depot bills that were identical to each other and reached for my cell. If there had been a duplicate bill printed by mistake, that would clear up at least two thousand dollars. No location or authorization were on the invoices, so I would need to match them up to the correct job. When I reached customer service, I asked if they could email me the work orders for each slip, and they promised to do so within the hour.
While waiting for the work orders to arrive, I went into the bathroom to take a shower. The hot spray felt wonderful and invigorating, but as I wrapped myself in a giant pink towel, exhaustion hit me like a ton of bricks. I got into our comfortable bed with my phone and scrolled through my unread texts and voice mails. I hadn't talked to Josie since before the shooting, and there were five texts from her. Gianna had filled her in, but I felt terrible for not responding myself. I typed out a message as I struggled not to fall asleep.
I'm fine. Came home to take a nap and pay some bills. Grandma's with Mike. I was so scared he wouldn't make it. Feel like the luckiest girl in the world today. Will stop over at the bakery before I go back to the hospital. Thanks for the prayers. Love you.
The bakery must not have been busy because I got an immediate response. You do what you have to. Get some rest, girl. We're fine here. Take care of your man and let me know if you need anything. Love ya, partner.
For some reason, the simple message brought tears to my eyes. I was so fortunate to have my family and Josie. Sure, my parents were a little wacko, but they'd been wonderfully supportive and caring last night. And Grandma Rosa had been my rock as always. Yes, I was definitely the luckiest girl in the world today.
I set the phone on the pillow next to me and closed my eyes. Even though I was exhausted, sleep did not come easily. In frustration, I punched the pillow and turned onto my side. The house seemed eerily quiet without Spike. My heart started to pound in my ears, and I sat up in bed with a start. What was the matter with me? Mike was going to be fine. Hopefully he'd be home in a couple of days. I needed to rest while I had the chance. Between taking care of him and running the bakery, things were going to be very hectic for the next few weeks. With a sigh, I finally let myself sink into a state of unconsciousness.
A pinging sound awakened me. I opened my eyes and realized it was the email on my phone. I'd only been asleep for a half hour, but at least it was something. Yawning, I stretched and pulled myself into a sitting position as I checked my messages.
Home Depot had sent two separate emails for each work order. I sent the documents to the printer and waited patiently for them to roll out. To my disappointment, the invoices were for two separate locations—the first one had an address of 26 Fairlawn Avenue. Upon delivery it had been signed for by Trevor. The other location was for 55 Reynolds Way. This work order had also been signed for by Trevor.
With Mike being so preoccupied with the restoration, I knew he'd come to rely heavily on Trevor these past few months, so why did seeing his signature on the work orders bother me? Maybe it was because I'd never heard Mike speak about either one of these jobs? My mind wasn't a steel trap every day, but Janice Trembley, my godmother and good friend of my parents, had lived on Reynolds Way for many years. She'd moved across the country last summer to be with her boyfriend in Oregon. If Mike had mentioned the job to me, I would have remembered it for the street name alone.
Something here wasn't adding up. I didn't want to upset Mike with a lot of questions, but uneasiness settled in the bottom of my stomach. Had
Trevor deliberately tried to keep the details of these jobs a secret from Mike? If so, why? What was he hiding?
I glanced at my watch. Almost twelve thirty. If the bakery was still slow and Gianna was feeling okay, I wondered if Josie might accompany me on an impromptu road trip to Reynolds Way.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It had been less than twenty-four hours since I'd been inside my bakery, but it seemed more like a week instead. The last time I'd been here, I was full of excitement about the family dinner that I was throwing in honor of Mike's birthday. Cripes. Nothing ever went exactly as I planned, but last night's events had taken the cake, so to speak. Once Mike started to feel better, I still wanted to have the special dinner for him. Maybe it might help erase some of the horror from the evening before.
Gianna was sitting at one of the little white tables by my front window, a tray of fudgy delight cookies in front of her. She was reading a copy of the Colwestern Journal while she munched away. I smiled as I watched her. She looked adorable—a small smear of chocolate on her chin, and her cheeks flushed pink with what I thought was happiness. I couldn't wait to spoil my nephew when he arrived. Gianna and Johnny knew the sex of the baby, and she'd let me in on the secret but had not told anyone else, wanting it to be a surprise.
Gianna looked up at the sound of the bells and struggled to her feet—not an easy task for her these days. "Sal," she breathed. "How's Mike?"
I wrapped my arms around my sister and kissed her cheek. "He's much better this morning. Grandma stopped by with some food, and he didn't have any problems eating. She's with him now. I want to get back this afternoon before the doctor comes by."
"Thank God." Gianna sat back down and pointed at the newspaper. There was a picture of Trevor on the front page. It looked like a driver's license photo. Above it was a shot of the Colwestern Mini-Mart with police cars and EMT vehicles lined up in front, accompanied by the headline, Local Man Shot and Killed During Robbery.
Sprinkled in Malice Page 6