My eyes bug out of my head as I read the amount mentioned on the small piece of paper.

  “Mr. Sanchez, I hope you don’t mind, but I asked around to get an idea of the rent of this area. This isn’t even half of what I was told.”

  He takes the paper from my hand and puts it back in his pocket, sliding the agreement towards me which mentioned the sensible amount that I had been informed about.

  “It is what you will pay me for the first three months. Deal or no deal?”

  Stupefied to my core, I gawk at him. “But… why?”

  “When I was young, an Italian man trying to make his place on American soil, all I had wanted was for someone to give me a chance to prove myself. Sadly, no one did. Today I am giving you a chance. Because I feel that you are different, and tomorrow, you’ll do your best to pay it forward.”

  Jutting my chin up to mask my trembling mouth, I extend my hand to him.

  “Deal.”

  He smiles as he gives my hand a firm shake.

  “All the best to you, Lily.”

  I squeeze his hand, “Thank you. For everything.”

  Feeling the wetness, I swipe at my face to wipe the tears trickling down. I put my phone back inside my pocket.

  “Putting on a show for the people? Let me just tell you that no one is interested in watching you.”

  I take a deep breath before facing the council member with a smile. Of course. It’s Tom’s aunt.

  Behind her, giving the perfect image of lap dogs, Tom and Rhea stand with their heads lowered. I haven’t really interacted with Tom that much, but for Rhea to side with them is devastating.

  “Cat got your tongue?”

  My eyes return to the smirk on her face. She looks too smug after insulting me. I don’t want to create a scene but I also can’t let her get away with it.

  “I’m here for Marco, not to address baseless and unwarranted opinions about me. Have a memorable day.”

  In the worst way, I angrily add in my head, as I march away from them. I shake my head. I can’t believe Rhea. If a person who used to see me first thing every morning doesn’t trust me, I don’t expect other people to. But a little decency wouldn’t hurt.

  I spot an empty seat at the edge and hurry towards it. As soon as I sit, the man in the seat next to me stands up and leaves. I fist my hands in my pockets, wanting to clobber someone, or myself if it gets the edge off.

  Hannah rises onto the stage, giving my anger a pause to simmer. While she speaks, my eyes scan the crowd. Max is sitting a few rows up with one of his gym fellows. The police are here too, positioned at the entrances and among the crowd. Though I can’t see Sadie or Detective Roberts. My eyes stop at Polly, who is already looking at me with pitying eyes. I guess I will find out the reason in the next second.

  My lungs burn with the need to scream when Cora steps onto the stage. She is the perfect image of misery, with hunched shoulders and red face. Wiping her nose with a tissue, she timidly approaches the mic, a paper in hand.

  “Marco was a dear friend of mine.” A friend you might have killed.

  “I am honoured to have known him. He seemed fearsome but was always polite.” Polite, my ass.

  “I hope our capable detectives bring him closure by apprehending the killer soon. Just as well; diabetes is on the rise in our community.” Son of a—

  Unable to control myself, I shoot to my feet. Countless gazes swivel to me. Keeping her eyes on me, Cora folds her paper before ending her speech.

  “I wish Marco peace wherever he is, and more strength to his family.”

  As she descends, people start murmuring to each other, pointing at me. With my nails digging into my palms, I stride to the front where she is.

  This ends right here, right now.

  Cora’s face loses colour when she sees me approaching. I’m almost upon her when a hand grabs at my elbow. My dad’s voice pulls me out of the red haze.

  “Let it go, Lil.”

  I watch, heat pouring out of every pore, as she sinks back into her seat. With an arm around my shoulders, Dad turns me around and leads me away.

  “Go back, Dad. I was just leaving.”

  He looks like he’ll protest, so I step away from him.

  “You sure, cupcake?”

  I nod before leaving. Once I’m outside in the fresh air, I open my fist, the crescent shapes in my palm bleeding.

  ***

  There’s only one thing that would calm me down for sure. Since my bakery is closer, I go there to bake something to control my nerves. I park my bicycle and move to unlock the door, when I see it is already unlocked. That’s strange. I pocket the keys and step forward, opening the door.

  My heart stops the second I do. It plummets to the floor before coming right up to beat in my throat. My kitchen is in shambles. The place is completely turned upside down. Unable to tear my eyes away from the horror, I stay frozen in place until wetness on my cheeks breaks me out of the stupor.

  I close the door. The bottom step looks like a good place to sit right now. I’m considering it when I’m called out.

  “Miss Grayson.”

  I look up and see Detective Roberts walking into the alley. I didn’t call the police yet, right? With his black hair and all black clothes, he looks more like an angel of death than a knight in shining armour.

  “Good morning.”

  I nod, my throat still clogged with a huge lump.

  “I’m sorry to drop in on you like this, so soon after the memorial. I went to the front but it was still closed.”

  He stares at me, waiting for me to say something. But my mind is numb, leaving my heart berserk. Who would do something like this? Did they trash the front too?

  His gaze pins me in place as his brows furrow, “Are you okay?”

  “The front is locked?”

  He nods, “Yes.”

  “Did someone call you here?”

  “No,” his brows furrow, “Miss Grayson what is going on?”

  “Then, I’m sorry, but why are you here?”

  My eyes water again and I can hear the exasperation lacing my words. He must hear it too, because his keen eyes look around us, searching for anything to clue him in on what’s going on.

  “Detective Ro—”

  “I came to give you this.”

  He takes out something shiny from his pocket and extends it to me. I look down. It’s my bracelet. The one I dropped in the interrogation room. How did he find it after so many days?

  “Thank you,” I manage to whisper.

  With tears swimming in my eyes, I attempt to close the clasp on my wrist three times before he steps forward, muttering a curse beneath his breath. Somehow, his bigger fingers nimbly manage the task in the first try without even touching my skin.

  I try to breathe, but suddenly everything feels too heavy to handle.

  Someone broke into my safe place and trashed it. I could’ve been inside.

  I nearly keel over.

  “Miss Grayson?”

  “Someone broke in,” I wheeze out.

  He’s immediately on guard. “Where?”

  I turn around and open the back door. Within an instant, he steps around me and goes inside. I hear him talking on his walkie-talkie but it’s all a blur. I lean against the wall next to the door and try to regulate my breathing. My mind wanders through every possibility. I even think of the expenses for the repairs. I open my eyes when I hear him step down in front of me.

  “Did you have security cameras installed?” He asks, his voice urgent.

  I shake my head. He tuts and rubs his forehead.

  “Did you see someone when you came here? Or someone suspicious on the way here?”

  I shake my head again.

  “When did you arrive?”

  “A couple of minutes before you.”

  “Did you touch anything inside the kitchen?”

  “Just the handle.”

  “It’s not broken,” he states. “Someone used a key. Who else has a copy?”

  “Max and umm… Marco.”

  “You need a security system,” he emphasizes. “This is not safe, Miss Grayson. You could’ve been inside. Do you have someone to handle it for you?”

  “I can do it myself.”

  He shakes his head, mumbling to himself and pulls out his phone, walking a few feet away.

  “Lily!”

  I turn at the sound of my name to see Max jogging towards me. He stops short a foot away, spotting the detective.

  “What is he doing here?”

  “Max—”

  He cuts me off after glancing into the kitchen.

  “What the hell?”

  He steps inside to take a closer look.

  “Don’t touch anything,” I warn him.

  He comes out and holds me in a hug. I convince myself to take comfort in it.

  “Please tell me you’re not hurt.” His words are muffled into my hair.

  “I’m okay,” I say and step back when I hear a throat clear.

  Detective Roberts looks between the two of us. I glance back at Max, and am surprised by the hostility on his face.

  “Hello Mr. Sloan. Do you mind answering some questions?”

  Max squares his shoulders, “Not at all Detective.”

  They step away just as a cop car arrives at the mouth of the alley. I see Sadie get out with a couple of other officers. The ones with the bags go straight inside while Sadie stops next to me.

  “You good?” She asks, her empathetic eyes much similar to Mr. Williams’s.

  I shrug, trying to curb the tears.

  “Do you have any ideas about who it could’ve been?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t even know why someone would do this.”

  “Could’ve been a rager, or just someone trying to get back at you for Marco.”

  A whine erupts low in my throat as tears escape my eyes, “But I didn’t—”

  “We know that,” she whispers, “but the rest of the town doesn’t. And now, after Cora’s shout out, they’re going to keep coming at you until they find someone else. You need to be prepared.”

  I shut my eyes and take a deep breath.

  “Hey,” she squeezes my shoulder, “you’re fine. I know you’re stronger than you look.”

  The two men return. I notice they’re almost the same height, with Max being only a couple of inches taller. Sadie straightens up, barely acknowledging him.

  “You should head home for the day,” Detective Roberts addresses me. “We’ll seal the place while we check for fingerprints and set up surveillance for the night.”

  “But I’ve never—”

  “It’s okay, Lily,” Max gives me a reassuring smile. “It’s for the best.”

  “Never what, Miss Grayson?” Detective Roberts urges me to finish my sentence.

  “Closed my shop for a whole day in two years.”

  He glances at his partner. Sadie, miraculously understanding what he means, turns to me.

  “If you feel up to it, you can come back later in the evening. But I don’t think you’ll be able to use the kitchen. So, if you want to sell something, you’ll have to bake elsewhere.”

  I glance at Max. He knows there isn’t any selling or baking to be done.

  “You know what, I think I’ll take the day off.”

  “Good call, Miss Grayson,” she shoots me a reassuring smile.

  The detectives leave me and Max alone. I grab my bicycle. Max stops me by a hand on the handle.

  “Let’s go have lunch.”

  “I might throw up.” I say, still feeling sick to my stomach.

  “Hot chocolate, it is then.”

  We walk to a nearby kiosk and grab hot chocolate before taking a seat on a bench.

  “How are we going to pay for the repairs?”

  I scrape off the sticker on the cup with my nail.

  “I’ll manage,” I say after thinking it through.

  “I can pay—”

  “No.” I refuse at once. We’d had this talk before. I didn’t want any money from him. Or anyone, in fact. “Thanks, but I’ll manage.”

  His head dips to the side as he looks at me. “You don’t seem too affected by this.”

  My nails dig out of my injured palm as I flatten it against my knee. Not too affected. I cried thrice in the past thirty minutes, even though I’m not a crier, and he says I’m not too affected.

  “You’re right. I’m just pissed. I don’t understand what I ever did to them to come at me like this.”

  “Maybe now they will back off,” he shrugs.

  “What do you mean?”

  He puts aside his cup and turns to me. “Now the town will see you as a victim too, and they’ll stop bullying you.”

  “Victim?” I gape at him. “Max, how can you think like that?”

  “I’m not saying I’m glad for what happened, but it’s not a loss either.”

  My lips pull down in a frown as I try to think of it his way. It feels like dirty politics.

  I shake my head, “No Max, it is most definitely a loss. We weren’t faring too well to begin with and now this added expense. It is a huge setback on my plans.”

  He sighs and puts an arm around my shoulders.

  “It’s okay, we’ll go through it together, like we always do.”

  8

  Chapter 8

  I am cleaning Loki’s water fountain when the doorbell rings. The clock reads 6:50 a.m. I frown, thinking who it could be. Given how semi-social I usually am, and how notorious I am these days, no one comes to mind. Still, I put down the filter and tighten my robe as I have yet to get dressed after my shower.

  Polly stands on my porch step with a vase in her hands. I cross my arms, not very happy to see her. She clears her throat, shifting on her feet.

  “What do you want?”

  She holds out the vase in her hand. Blue flowers peek out from the top.

  “Blue hydrangeas,” she offers me a small, sheepish smile. “They symbolize regret.”

  “Do they now?”

  “I’m sorry, Lily.” She sighs, scratching at her palm. “I shouldn’t have doubted you. And I’m sorry for what happened at the memorial. Cora was way out of line.”

  “At least she’s honest about her hatred for me. It doesn’t disappoint me anymore.”

  Her face falls and I hate myself for hurting her. But I remind myself of how she hurt me and close the door on her face. Weeping silently, I go to my bedroom to get dressed. Loki finds me when I’m wiping my face and rubs himself against my legs, clearly sensing my distress.

  “It’s okay, Loki. I’m just finding out that people don’t need reasons to blame someone, no matter how long they’ve known them.”

  He meows in response before jumping up to lie down at the foot of the bed. I put on my jeans and black turtleneck with black combat boots. The dark clothes match my mood at least.

  When I reach my bakery, I find a huge man sitting on the stoop with a bag at his feet. He glances up and stands as soon as he sees me. I cautiously stop a few feet away as he does. He is really tall and built, his arms the size of my head that could easily squeeze the life out of me. With his afro cut closely to his head, and the sheer size of this man, I’m guessing he used to be a bodyguard.

  “Miss Grayson?” His voice is deep and gravelly.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m here to set up your security system.”

  “Security system?” I repeat to confirm. “But I didn’t call you.”

  “Roberts did,” he picks up his bag. “If you don’t mind—”

  I instinctively step in as he advances towards the door to my bakery.

  “Hold up. Detective Roberts?”

  He glances down at my raised hands, then back at my face, making me conscious of how puffy it was because of all the crying.

  “How many other Aiden Roberts do you know?”

  Heat rises to my ears.

  “Of course,” I nod and unlock the front door.

  He did say he’ll arrange someone. But I didn’t think he actually would. How much do I have to pay this guy?

  “Where are you going to work right now?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  He deadpans, “To stay out of your way.”

  “Don’t you have someone coming to help?”

  “No.”

  We are at an impasse. If there was someone other than him, I would’ve busied myself with baking for them. Judging by his figure, I don’t think he enjoys sweets. Still, I think it’s best to ask.

  “Would you like me to whip up something for you to eat?” His eyebrows raise in surprise at my question. “A croissant, muffin, cupcake, bis—”

  “No,” he stops me from listing more items. “Thank you.”

  “How do you like your coffee?” I ask.

  “Black.”

  I nod to myself, having guessed his answer already.

  “You can start anywhere you like.”

  I breathe in relief when he doesn’t ask any questions and walks to the back. Busying myself behind the counter, I prepare our coffees. A drilling sound jars the walls.

  Within no time, he is back out. He strides to the front door with a stepping stool in hand. After drilling, he steps down to pull a camera from his bag. Once he is done, he comes back inside.

  I offer him his cup. He grunts and wordlessly goes to my office. Wait. My office? There’s no need for a camera there. I follow him, about to call his name, when I realize I don’t even know it.

  “Hey, what’s your name?”

  He enters my office and powers up the age old computer that came with it.

  “Do you use a laptop?”

  “No, I had my friend update and install new software on this computer. It works just fine now.”

  He nods and starts typing away after the computer boots up. I wait for him to be done.

  “Here you go.”

  I peek over at the screen. It shows surveillance from the two cameras.

  “Personally,” he points at the window. “I think you need one more outside this window and one over the counter overlooking the shop.”

  “Any other day, I would’ve told you that you’re wrong. But after yesterday, I won’t,” I sigh. “You can do whatever you like. Just tell me how much I owe you.”

  He picks up his bag and walks outside, “Nothing. You don’t owe me anything.”

 

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