The Baker's Wife by Erin Healy Page B

life, because it was the pendant that was responsible for everything that had happened and was about to happen. Recovering it and returning it to its rightful owners was the only solution that had endured these twenty-five years, though she feared the rock would be long gone by now. For that matter, she didn’t even know if the people it belonged to were still alive.
    What did she know at all, really? In that moment, her own stupidity smacked her into awareness. She might have kicked in that window over a baby’s bassinet, or dropped into the crib of a drug gang armed to the teeth. She might have frightened an old lady into her grave.
    She might have come face-to-face with her own parents, and what then?
    Diane sank onto a red plastic tub between the kitchen and the living room. She was not thinking far enough ahead to keep herself out of jail for very long. The Bofingers would find that broken window and the police would find the phone, and they’d all march up those stairs, cuff her up and cart her off just like last time, only now with a breaking-and-entering charge attached to yet another death. Because the person who had dropped the phone was most certainly dead; Diane’s bad luck dictated it.
    She sat there, a dumb lump, within ten feet of what she’d come for. Even if she had time to move all those boxes, where would she put them?
    She rested her cheek on her fist, weary and indecisive.
    Diane had a vision of Geoff and Audrey Bofinger standing in the apartment’s open doorway, arms crossed, scowling at her as she sat in the mouth of the dark kitchen.
    â€œI’m sorry for breaking your window,” she said to the illusion.
    â€œWhy didn’t you use the stairs?” Geoff said, and Diane shrieked at the sound of his voice. The couple were truly standing in front of her! Not scowling, but—she didn’t know how to read the serious expressions. Anger? Acceptance? Audrey propped the door open with a smaller cardboard box. Maybe she was afraid of being shut in with Diane.
    â€œPlease don’t call the cops,” Diane said.
    The corner of Geoff’s mouth twitched, but she thought it was friendly rather than mocking. “I think the police will be in and out of here long after we wish they were gone.”
    Diane stood. “They’re coming up here?”
    â€œI was referring to their being in the bakery.”
    â€œIt was locked,” Diane said.
    â€œThe bakery?”
    â€œThe front door. Downstairs I mean. You asked me why I didn’t use the stairs.”
    â€œAh. That’s right. But why were you so desperate to get in?”
    â€œI’ll pay for the window. As soon as I can.”
    The kitchen counter formed a prop for Geoff’s backside as he crossed his ankles. “I’m not too worried about the window for now. Why didn’t you tell me what you needed the first time you tried to come up here?”
    â€œI told you I just got out of prison.”
    Audrey looked alarmed. “You didn’t tell me that,” she said to her husband.
    â€œI didn’t think it was important. But I’m sorry.”
    Both Diane and Audrey stood there blinking at him. Diane waited for one of them to ask what she had been in for, and for how long.
    When they didn’t say anything, Diane filled the silence. “Sort of ‘just.’ It was two months ago, actually.”
    Geoff said, “I’d like to hear the story sometime. But for now, why don’t you tell us what it is you need. Maybe we can help.”
    Audrey said, “Geoff, she has a record and Julie’s phone. We can’t—”
    â€œI don’t have that phone. Anymore.”
    â€œBut you didn’t give it to the detective like you said you were going to,” Geoff observed, and Diane wondered why his remark didn’t put her on the defensive in the same way that Audrey’s body language did.
    â€œI’m trying to get back on track. I