FUTURE RISK Page 8

  There’s nothing on the floor at all. No red streaks of blood or dirty towels. There’s no evidence of the macabre scene that took place here just a few short days ago. It’s like it never happened. Everything a dream.

  No, a horrible nightmare.

  But I know that’s not true.

  Waiting for me on the metal top of the display case sits a small card, tented so as to catch my attention. Not willing to cross over to the other side and stand in the space where Mad Dog laid, I pop the card off the top and open it, retreating back beside the kitchen doors.

  In Tabitha’s handwriting is a quick note.

  Nessa,

  Me and the boys helped you clean up.

  Hope it helps,

  Tabitha

  PS. Yes, I made sure they used the good cleaner so it’s to your standard.

  I toss the card on top of the cash register laughing. Poor Tabitha has first-hand knowledge of how high my cleaning standards are. To some people I’m sure it’s crazy but the last thing I want is some salmonella outbreak or something in a place I’m trying to run. You can never be too clean.

  And while I’m super thankful I don’t have to come in and clean up dried blood off the floor, I plan to spend a portion of today guaranteeing this place is Anessa clean. Back in the kitchen, I get busy and gather up all my cleaning supplies. They fit in two hanging baskets I picked up from the dollar store.

  The glass company won’t have a replacement window here until Friday. I assured Bennett I could take care of it myself — even though I was totally lying because I have no idea where you order a window from — but he promised Mack could get me a deal with his hardware connections. It was a huge weight off my shoulders and now having the floors scrubbed clean helps as well.

  I can’t serve breakfast here, but if I clean out the freezers I should be able to have a few options ready for lunch. Maybe enough to pay for having the lights on. That is if people want to eat at a bakery that was a scene of a crime a few days ago.

  The glass front door, which wasn’t broken in the shootout, jiggles. Someone pulling on it trying to get in. Then someone knocks, a fist making contact with the glass. The sound echoes through the entire bakery and I freeze. My heart kicks into overdrive as adrenaline has me flatten against the wall. Slowly… because I’m not sure who is on the other side of the door and the last time I was here someone shot at me, so I’m not in a real hurry to answer it… I creep to the swinging kitchen doors. I drop to the floor and in true ninja fashion scurry from the kitchen to behind the counter working to keep my body hidden. It’s way too soon for Bennett to be back and Tabitha won’t be here for another hour.

  The knocking continues so I crawl to the edge of the counter where a small chunk of wood is missing that I don’t remember before. I try to think of reasons the gash could be there that don’t include a bullet, but fail. I stick my head off to the side enough to see through the glass opening. I release the breath I’d been holding and slouch against the counter.

  Pearl, in another one of her glorious tie-dye heavy dresses, raises her fists and bangs on the glass door again. The many sparkly bangles she has on her wrist scratching at the glass.

  “I’m coming!” I yell and jump up to open the door before Pearl’s bracelets gouge my glass and I have to order more from Mack.

  She barrels on past me carrying a Pyrex dish, a bright pink cover on top. “It’s about time. Why is the door locked? How are people going to get in?”

  “Um… I’m not open right now.”

  “Why the hell not?” Once inside she turns and thrusts the container into my arms. “I figured you might be low on lunch items so I brought some brownies. They aren’t the special kind.” She winks before leaving me to my own devices and taking a seat in her favorite chair.

  “Well, thank you. I think.”

  “Those brownies have won first place and more Pelican Bay blue ribbons at the fair than any other entry. So many that jackass, Pierce’s father, barred me from entering them anymore. The father’s the jackass not so much Pierce. Jury’s still out on that boy.”

  I drop the brownies on the counter, the glass dinging. “Oh…”

  “How long until the coffee’s done?”

  I look behind me into the cold and empty coffee pot sitting lifeless on the counter. “Couple minutes,” I say flipping the switch on.

  “Let me get a knife to cut these.” I start toward the kitchen when the bell above the door stalls my steps.

  Tabitha, wearing a black T-shirt with a gold glitter unicorn above the words ‘I live in a made-up world,’ steps through the door. “I brought pasta salad,” she announces.

  Pearl and I both cringe at the same time with almost identical faces. “Did you make it?” Pearl has the courage to ask.

  Tabitha rolls her eyes with a huff. “Fine, Ridge did. It’s his secret recipe.” She leaves the large red Tupperware bowl on the counter next to the brownies.

  “I’m still mad at you,” I say wiping down the side of the counter just in case someone missed a spot.

  “Me?” she asks, a hand to her chest. “What did I do?”

  I stop wiping and widen my eyes at her in disbelief. “Thanks for telling me Bennett has a son.”

  “Oh that.” She shrugs, her face scrunching up. “It wasn’t my place to tell.”

  “Everyone knows Bennett has a son. If you were part of the phone tree, you’d know this already,” Pearl clucks the reprimand from her seat.

  Tabitha smiles. “See? The phone tree,” she says like it answers everything. “I’ll turn on the stove and we can get this party started.”

  What is happening to my life?

  I’m stuck standing in the exact same spot. “I wasn’t planning to open until lunch. Maybe tomorrow.”

  “Absolutely not, young lady. We haven’t had any place to go for days. This bakery needs to be open within an hour.”

  “An hour?” I chuckle. That’s absolutely impossible.

  “Yes, an hour. How long does it take to make some coffee, cut up a few brownies and stick them on a cute plate?”

  She has a point.

  With renewed determination — although I’m not sure how long that will last — I edge back toward the coffeemaker and put the filter and grounds in the top.

  The door dings and in walks Trish, the owner of the town’s only diner, Bonnie’s. At first I worried she would consider me competition, but she’s been nothing but pleasant the few months I’ve been open. Today her eyebrows squeeze together and she walks with a mean set of determination in her step. When she gets to my counter, she pulls out three large bags of bagels from an oversized canvas tote bag.

  Slapping them on the counter, she next reveals two huge containers of cream cheese. “We thought this might help you get through the morning rush.” With that she turns around and heads out the door calling, “Glad to have you back,” on her way out.

  “Where’s she going?” Katy slides up beside me so quietly I didn’t hear her come in through the kitchen. She places an oversized box on the counter. The top is cut out to showcase the large selection of doughnuts inside. “I thought I’d drop these off before work. They won’t be as good as yours, but they’ll work for a day. Also you need to do something about the sign.”

  “Thanks and what?” I pop open the top of the box sizing up which one I’m going to eat first.

  “The huge pieces of plywood. How will anyone know you’re open?” she asks, her hands waving around in front of her.

  “Um… I don’t know?”

  She pushes the containers of cream cheese closer. “And these need to go in the fridge. I know how you are with your temperatures.”

  “Yeah, thanks.” I grab the containers only to have Tabitha swipe them from my hands.

  “I’ll take care of them for you, boss,” she says flitting back to the kitchen.

  What is going on with people this morning?

  Everything is happening at once and it feels like a hundred people are giving me directions but nothing is getting through.

  Katy taps her fingernails on the counter a few times and says, “Don’t worry about the sign. I’ll take care of it.” She steps away from the counter so fast I don’t question her motives. The glass in the door rattles, but this time not someone knocking. The peaceful morning outside is stolen by the rumble of loud black exhaust as what has to be fifty bikers stop by the side door. Next to them, blocking the entire side street, parks a big white delivery truck with no markings on the side.

  “Oh my,” Pearl says cocking her head in my direction and giving me a “you poor thing look” I’m not really sure what to make of. “You better go outside and take care of that before Bennett brings all the boys down here.”

  The words “he wouldn’t do that” get stuck in my throat because he totally would. I grab a pink apron off the hook and run outside tying it around my back.

  “What the heck is this?” I ask once I reach the curb and come face to face with Dom. He’s not wearing a helmet and the only protection on his body are some leather chaps and a sleeveless vest. I don’t think the numerous patches would keep him safe from all the road rash he would get if he had an accident, but that’s not something I’m ready to say to the burly biker.

  Dom laughs, his eyes catching a ray of early morning sun. It makes him appear almost friendly. Not the intimidating man I met in the hospital waiting room. Then I look behind him to the five bikers waiting on his orders and get nervous.

  “It’s a small delivery. A little something to help you get restarted today.”

  “Well, thank you, but I can’t accept this.” Everyone’s generosity is so nice, but whatever Dom has on the truck is too much.

  He laughs again like whatever I’m saying isn’t important at all. “Sweetheart, I’m not asking you to accept it. I’m telling you I’m delivering it to your kitchen.”

  “Oh.” That’s all I have. Oh. I’d like to think that given more time I’d have a better argument for him, but unlike Bennett whose presence I find sweet and caring, Dom’s large frame is intimidating. So even though I should argue, I don’t.

  Katy sticks her head out of the bakery door. “Bring it around back.”

  Dom nods his head once in her direction and with two fingers flicks them toward the back of my store. All the bikes rumble to life and follow the truck to the back parking lot, Dom with them.

  I’d like a few minutes to gather my wits before heading back into the bakery and figuring out what I’m going to do with the food that’s already been dropped off and find out what the heck Dom is planning to leave in my kitchen, but I don’t get more than fifteen seconds of peace before a red truck comes to a stop where Dom’s bike sat a moment ago.

  Riley, Ridge’s brother, steps out leaving his truck running. “Katy said you needed some spray paint?”

  He thrusts a white paper bag my direction, but I step back refusing to take it. “Spray paint?”

  “Riley, you made it. Don’t worry I’ve got it. Tabitha is overseeing the delivery in the back. I’ll help Riley with the sign.”

  “The sign?” Unsure what she’s talking about, I check around me. Besides the times we’re open listed on the front door, I’ve never had a sign made up. I’d need to name the place before I could order a sign.

  “You can’t keep sending me to take things from my dad’s hardware, Katy,” Riley chastises her as the two of them walk to the front of the store.

  I don’t have any more mental space to deal with whatever they’re going to do, so I decide to look the other way and deal with what’s going on inside the bakery. Cutting brownies doesn’t seem like such a bad idea anymore.

  “I think the coffee is done,” Pearl says as she pours herself a cup from the coffee pot behind the counter. “I hope you don’t mind me making myself at home.”

  I shrug. “Why not?” Not like I run this place anymore.

  The bell chimes one more time and I almost don’t turn around because I don’t want to know who is on the other side. But I’ll have to deal with it eventually, so I might as well get it over with.

  “I wanted to drop this off before I headed to Bennett’s house,” Dolores, in a cute old-style flowery dress hands over a tray of beautifully decorated cupcakes.

  “Thank you.” I accept the covered dish from her and walk it to the counter. My heart bangs around in my chest—not out of fear or anxiety as it has many times the last two days, but something else. Thankfulness. I didn’t expect anyone’s help, but more than enough people have shown me they’re willing to step up and help out when someone needs it. It’s too much to handle and I have to turn my back to the room and wipe a quick tear. My chest burns with appreciation and words I can’t speak for fear I’ll get choked up.

  “Do you want some coffee, Dolores?” Pearl asks totally unaware of the special emotional moment I’m having.

  “I have to get to Bennett’s house, but I’ll stop by later.” Her words get lost over the sound of the bell.

  Pearl shakes her head. “That girl has been no fun since she got a job.” She tops off her own coffee and walks back to the seating area taking up the same chair.

  Katy and Riley come back through the front door as I’m finishing plating the last brownie. “Okay, it’s done. I need to use your sink. I have red on me.” She holds up her hands, showing her fingertips covered in red paint.

  “What did you write?” I ask Riley as he eyes the brownies I put in the display case.

  He shrugs. “I assure you, we’re open.”

  “I assure you, we’re open? Seriously?” I pass a tiny pink plate with the large piece of brownie over the display case and hand him a fork.

  “Yeah, what else is there to say?” he explains taking the first bite of the brownie without even sitting down. “Plus, it’s kind of this joke between us. Don’t ask.”

  “You better hurry up, Anessa.” Pearl wipes a tiny spill from her coffee cup off the table. “The bakery is opening soon.”

  Wiping another tear away I nod, but then her words hit me. “What?” Aren’t I the one to decide when we open?

  “I told everyone to be here by eight.” She takes a sip of her coffee like this isn’t something she should have shared when she first sat down.

  I laugh, the sound getting stuck over a few sniffles. “Right. On it.” What else do you say when Pearl’s decided we’re opening at eight?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Tabitha, wearing one of the bakery’s pink aprons with some form of melted brown goo — please let it be chocolate — all down the front of it, steps out of the kitchen carrying a plate of charcoal briquettes. Except she wasn’t barbecuing back there. She was baking cookies.

  “Your oven hates me.” Her gaze never leaves the plate of her disfigured chocolate chip cookies.

  I cringe, not wanting to have this conversation…again. “I think it’s scared of you. You intimidate it.”

  “Me? How?”

  “Well, yesterday you called it a fucking gutterslut.”

  She taps her foot on the tile floor, annoyance obvious in her pinched features. “Well, if the name fits.”

  There’s nothing left for me to do but shake my head. “Try talking nicely to it. Maybe pet the side every once in a while.”

  “Should I make a sacrifice, too?”

  “No, I think those cookies are the sacrifice.”

  Tabitha waves me away with one hand while using the other to throw the cookies in the trash behind the counter. “You should name this place The Burnt Buns. Then people will know what to expect.”

  More head shakes. “No.”

  Tabitha and Katy have given me many suggestions for names, but they’ve all taken a decidedly sexual turn. And they only get worse as time goes on. Pierce would terminate my lease if I named the place The Squirting Eclair — their top suggestion so far.

  Even the more innocent names of Hot Buns Bakery or Sticky Buns take on new meanings when Tabitha and Katy get to throwing puns around. It’s enough to make someone think I’m operating a burlesque house.

  Katy walks to the small pad of paper hanging on the wall next to the old rotary phone. “No!” she says way too happily for it to be anything good. “I have a better one.” She scribbles on the pad, hiding her words.

  At first I ignore it when she steps away smiling. I go back to filling the deli case with sandwiches for today’s lunch rush. A few seconds even pass this way with me ignoring whatever went on over there. I don’t want to know.

  The problem is I know whatever she wrote on the pad of paper has to be bad for her smile to be so large. Eventually — about thirty seconds later — the curiosity gets to me and I slowly meander over.

  As I expect. It’s bad. “No. I am not naming this place Pie Hole.”

  “It’s missing something. Isn’t it?” She taps her pointer finger to her cheek for a few seconds staring at the tablet of paper. “Oh, I know.” She grabs the pen from the top of the phone and with a quick slash of her hand adds three letters to the front.

  “Yeah,” I say with complete sarcasm. “The Pie Hole sounds so much better. Really classy.”

  “The Pie Hole has potential.” She lifts a single shoulder and wipes the extra crumbs from the plate into the trashcan.

  “No. Just no, Tabitha.”

  “What about Bun ‘R’ Us? It’s memorable.”

  “You’ve been around Katy too much.” I’m starting to worry there isn’t a name out there that these two couldn’t make sound sexual.

  She stops halfway back into the kitchen, her arm keeping the door open. “My Sweet Cakes?”

  Point proven. I shake my head no. “Just go back to burning more cookies. I’ve got the name thing under control.”

  Truthfully? I do not have the name thing under control. I’ve got nothing. We’ve been open two full days since Pearl demanded an 8 a.m. opening on Monday morning. Even though I’m looking at Wednesday afternoon, I’m no closer to picking out a title. And not because Katy and Tabitha turn everything into a sex joke, but because none of them fit.

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