Chapter 8 - The Night Our Lie Became Public
Police cleared Bennett's Bakery at 1:13 a.m.
Nothing was stolen.
Nothing obvious had been damaged.
That was worse.
Whoever entered had wanted us to know they could.
The back lock showed no forced entry.
Someone had used a key.
Only four people had keys.
Me.
Danny.
My morning baker Rosa.
And the landlord.
Roman stood outside the police tape looking furious.
“Don't.”
“I haven't spoken.”
“I recognize the face.”
“What face?”
“The one where you decide laws are optional.”
“They're inefficient.”
“Roman.”
He exhaled.
“Fine.”
Detective Ellis emerged holding an evidence bag.
Inside was a bakery key.
Not mine.
Not Danny's.
Found on the office floor.
Stamped into the metal was a tiny number.
My landlord kept numbered duplicates.
I called him.
Key seventeen had been issued two years earlier.
“To who?”
Paper shuffled.
Then silence.
“Mr. Harper?”
“I have the name.”
“Tell me.”
“Marco Bell.”
Roman's face changed.
Marco had access to my bakery long before Roman and I ever met.
That meant this wasn't about our fake relationship.
At least not originally.
The next morning, Lily sat at my kitchen table.
“Was Uncle Roman lying when he said you're safe?”
I glanced at him.
Roman looked wounded.
“He shouldn't have promised that.”
Lily nodded.
“Mom used to say adults promise things when they're scared.”
Roman sat across from her.
For once he didn't hide.
“I am scared.”
Lily stared.
He continued.
“I'm scared something will happen to you.”
Her eyes filled.
“I'm scared too.”
He reached across the table.
She took his hand.
I turned away because some moments didn't need witnesses.
That afternoon, we reopened.
My choice.
Customers arrived.
Some because they loved us.
Some because the gala scandal was all over social media.
I served both.
At closing, Roman helped carry chairs.
“You're terrible at this,” I said.
“At chairs?”
“At being useful without commanding anyone.”
“I'm improving.”
He put one upside down on a table.
Wrong table.
I moved it.
He frowned.
“You could have told me.”
“Growth.”
He laughed.
Then Danny shouted from the kitchen.
“Clare!”
We ran.
He stood beside the industrial refrigerator.
A foul smell filled the room.
Behind a stack of flour bins was a cardboard box.
Roman moved toward it.
I stopped him.
“Police.”
He looked at me.
“Now.”
He called.
Detective Ellis arrived.
She opened the box wearing gloves.
Inside lay a dead rat.
Around its neck was pink ribbon.
The same shade as the peonies Roman had brought me.
May you like
And beneath it was a photograph.
A photograph of me asleep in my bedroom.
