and I don’t know Fast Teddy or who his friends are. You might want to call Porter Anderson,” I said vehemently.
The cop raised his hands and said, “Calm down, Miss Cameron. I know this is difficult for you. We’re trying to get a lead on who might be behind this incident, that’s all. I’ll check with Detective Anderson and see what light he can put on this for us.” The officer flipped the notepad closed, tucked it into his pocket along with his pen, and dipped his head to me as he walked toward the door.
The other cops, but one, followed suit. He stayed behind and asked if I had any plywood or cardboard he could use to cover the broken glass. There’d been a recent delivery from my supplier and I had folded the empty cardboard box into a manageable size before storing it in the recycling bin. I put up a finger and said, “Wait here, I’ve got just what we need.” I returned with the cardboard, a heavy duty cutter, and a roll of duct tape.
Together, we sealed the interior and exterior portion of the broken glass, diminishing the draft greatly. I thanked the man and watched as he drove away. It didn’t take long to sweep the glass shards from the floor and dump them into a trash bin.
By the time I’d finished, I realized it was almost time to open the shop. Quickly heading to my apartment, I showered and changed clothes. The wall clock struck the hour and I raced down the steps and into the bakery, flipping light switches as I strode through the small shop.
Bins and baskets lay waiting for breads, rolls, and whatever else I had on hand. Bill Mutton banged on the back door to retrieve his usual order for the pizzeria. I handed him a tray from the fridge, filled to overflowing, and watched him leave.
At the door, he asked, “You’ll be at the party tonight, won’t you?”
I nodded, even though I’d forgotten and the event was the last thing on my mind.
“We’re gathering at Charlie’s, don’t be late. Are you bringing a snack? I’ve got pizza bites to make, and Helena’s making grand little sweets.”
“I’ll bring something delicious, don’t worry. See you later,” I said and closed the door behind him.
In the bakery, I turned the radio on and tuned in Christmas music. I flipped over the door sign from closed to open and took some time to bring out the fare I’d had left from the day before. Bread sticks were merrily tied in clusters with red and white string. The pain au chocolate pastries lay lined up on glass shelves under the clear countertop. Crackers resembling stars and suns were bagged in cellophane and tied with red and green ribbon. Cottage bread, also known as peasant bread, a round bread with a smaller round bread baked on top of it, lay stacked in baskets. I gazed at it and wondered how the English had come up with the name. It resembled a chignon hairdo rather than a cottage. I smiled and kept busy.
By ten o’clock there’d only been one customer and two window peepers before BettyJo sauntered into the room. About the same time, the radio announcer began his newscast by stating Joshua Hardin and his wife had been taken into police custody for the murder of Ms. Eliza Vanderkemp. He went on to say how shocked his fellow senators and congressmen were over the news. I smirked, said who cared about them, and asked BettyJo if she’d like to celebrate with a glass of wine.
“So early?” BettyJo asked while glancing at her watch.
“Hell, it has to be five o’clock somewhere in the world, right?” I asked and grinned.
“I guess, but let’s have tea instead.”
“Sure, why not.”
Her smile faltered as BettyJo looked at all the baked goods that filled the shop. “Have you had any sales today?”
I shrugged. “One.”
“I’m so sorry, Melina. This is terrible.”
“I know. Mrs. Gallagher and her dear husband threatened to ruin me and by gosh, I think they just might. Come on, let’s have tea.” I took her elbow and we went through the swinging doors.
After
The cop raised his hands and said, “Calm down, Miss Cameron. I know this is difficult for you. We’re trying to get a lead on who might be behind this incident, that’s all. I’ll check with Detective Anderson and see what light he can put on this for us.” The officer flipped the notepad closed, tucked it into his pocket along with his pen, and dipped his head to me as he walked toward the door.
The other cops, but one, followed suit. He stayed behind and asked if I had any plywood or cardboard he could use to cover the broken glass. There’d been a recent delivery from my supplier and I had folded the empty cardboard box into a manageable size before storing it in the recycling bin. I put up a finger and said, “Wait here, I’ve got just what we need.” I returned with the cardboard, a heavy duty cutter, and a roll of duct tape.
Together, we sealed the interior and exterior portion of the broken glass, diminishing the draft greatly. I thanked the man and watched as he drove away. It didn’t take long to sweep the glass shards from the floor and dump them into a trash bin.
By the time I’d finished, I realized it was almost time to open the shop. Quickly heading to my apartment, I showered and changed clothes. The wall clock struck the hour and I raced down the steps and into the bakery, flipping light switches as I strode through the small shop.
Bins and baskets lay waiting for breads, rolls, and whatever else I had on hand. Bill Mutton banged on the back door to retrieve his usual order for the pizzeria. I handed him a tray from the fridge, filled to overflowing, and watched him leave.
At the door, he asked, “You’ll be at the party tonight, won’t you?”
I nodded, even though I’d forgotten and the event was the last thing on my mind.
“We’re gathering at Charlie’s, don’t be late. Are you bringing a snack? I’ve got pizza bites to make, and Helena’s making grand little sweets.”
“I’ll bring something delicious, don’t worry. See you later,” I said and closed the door behind him.
In the bakery, I turned the radio on and tuned in Christmas music. I flipped over the door sign from closed to open and took some time to bring out the fare I’d had left from the day before. Bread sticks were merrily tied in clusters with red and white string. The pain au chocolate pastries lay lined up on glass shelves under the clear countertop. Crackers resembling stars and suns were bagged in cellophane and tied with red and green ribbon. Cottage bread, also known as peasant bread, a round bread with a smaller round bread baked on top of it, lay stacked in baskets. I gazed at it and wondered how the English had come up with the name. It resembled a chignon hairdo rather than a cottage. I smiled and kept busy.
By ten o’clock there’d only been one customer and two window peepers before BettyJo sauntered into the room. About the same time, the radio announcer began his newscast by stating Joshua Hardin and his wife had been taken into police custody for the murder of Ms. Eliza Vanderkemp. He went on to say how shocked his fellow senators and congressmen were over the news. I smirked, said who cared about them, and asked BettyJo if she’d like to celebrate with a glass of wine.
“So early?” BettyJo asked while glancing at her watch.
“Hell, it has to be five o’clock somewhere in the world, right?” I asked and grinned.
“I guess, but let’s have tea instead.”
“Sure, why not.”
Her smile faltered as BettyJo looked at all the baked goods that filled the shop. “Have you had any sales today?”
I shrugged. “One.”
“I’m so sorry, Melina. This is terrible.”
“I know. Mrs. Gallagher and her dear husband threatened to ruin me and by gosh, I think they just might. Come on, let’s have tea.” I took her elbow and we went through the swinging doors.
After
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