Bake it to the limit, p.6
Bake It to the Limit, page 6
“It's very lovely,” Rita told Rhonda as a breeze lifted her hair up off her shoulders. “I fell in love with this little town the first time we visited. It's a shame this beautiful day is being ruined by a murder.”
Rhonda looked across the street and spotted the Peppermint Coffee Shop, an easy walk for bored deputies in need of fresh coffee and donuts. A hand-carved wooden sign stood outside the front door of the coffee shop: an oversized cup of coffee painted red and white, with a little boy dressed in a winter coat standing next to it. The little boy was smiling and pointing at the cup of coffee.
“Rita, Joey's death hasn't ended our lives,” Rhonda said. “We're going to solve this case and get our bakery open...and who knows, maybe I'll put up some more smiley face stickers?”
“Not on your life,” Rita replied, rolling her eyes. “One sticker on the cash register is enough.”
“We'll see,” Rhonda teased. “Now, let's get back to our bakery and see what we can do. We can’t do anything with the investigation until Brad calls us back, but we have about four hours before we have to be at Erma's for dinner. That should give us enough time to at least get the old appliances out of the kitchen and into the back alley. Tomorrow, we'll rent a truck and haul the appliances off.”
Rita agreed. “I guess you’re right. There isn't much we can do right now,” she said. “Brad is burning up the phone lines for us and there's no sense in crowding his office.”
“No, there isn't,” Rhonda told Rita, forcing her voice to sound positive. “Brad said he will call or drop by the bakery if he finds out anything. In the meantime, there's no point in letting good work hours go to waste.”
She drew in a deep breath and walked her eyes up and down the street. A few people—mostly elderly or retired folks—were out and about, strolling here and there, enjoying the afternoon. She didn't see any sign of a threat. Yet, her gut told her that whoever killed Joey Stally was hiding in Clovedale Falls; she knew Rita felt the same threat. But threat or no threat, Rhonda wasn't about to cower and hide her head in the sand. Clovedale Falls was her home, and she wasn't about to run scared.
“Ready?” she asked Rita.
Rita looked around. “Rhonda?”
“Yes?”
“If this were the old days and cops were still cops, would we have really retired? I mean, if cops were still like Brad?”
“I doubt it,” Rhonda confessed. “We retired because times changed on us...people changed us...and justice betrayed us. When a cop can't trust another cop, it's time to throw in the towel.”
Rita put her eyes on Rhonda. “Brad is a good man,” she said thoughtfully. “I feel we can trust him with our lives. And it's men like Brad that made me want to become a cop to begin with—men who stand for truth, honor, and justice. Men who don't back down from a fight.” Rita looked down at her purse. “I feel we did back down from a fight when we retired.”
Rhonda understood what her sister was feeling. “Rita, when we first became cops, times were different. We became cops when the world began to take a serious nosedive.” She looked around, watching an old man carrying a newspaper as he entered the coffee shop. Next to him, a younger woman passed by staring into her mobile phone, almost tripping over the sidewalk in front of her. She sighed. “People have changed,” she said. “Little towns like Clovedale Falls are the last strongholds for people who still want to live normal, decent lives. Big cities have become polluted crime centers run by criminals dressed up like politicians. Sure, we might have thrown in the towel, but we had good reason to.”
“Sometimes,” Rita said, “I think about the children...my mind goes back to the drug-infested neighborhood we helped clean up. I think about those children sitting in doorways, scared to come outside and play because drug dealers are standing on every street corner with guns. I think about their hungry faces. And then I think about what we helped that neighborhood become.” She smiled. “We helped get the drug dealers out, clean the streets, put a playground in, and really make a difference.”
“We did make a difference,” Rhonda promised. “But it's up to people to make the difference. People matter.” She motioned around with her hands. “Now it's time to make a difference in Clovedale Falls. We have to focus on our town and let the outside world go on destroying itself, if it really wants to.”
“Boy,” Rita said, “if Dad could hear us talking now, he'd swear we weren't his daughters.”
Rhonda laughed. “Tell me about it. When did we become adults?”
Rita shrugged her shoulders. “Time has a tendency to fly when you least expect it,” she replied and drew in another breath of fresh, cool air. “Rhonda?”
“Yes?”
Rita looked around. “I want to be happy in this quaint little town and forget about my former life once this investigation is over. I’m serious. I want to begin a new life and be happy.”
“You will be,” Rhonda promised.
Rita bit down on her lower lip. “I know I've been a little on edge about our finances, and I'm sorry. I only want everything to go right for us. I want our bakery to be a grand success, and I want our lives to be filled with peace and happiness.” She looked at her sister lovingly. “You're all I have, and I never want to see you hurt or disappointed. I never want to be hurt or disappointed, either.” She drew in a deep breath. “I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'm very scared that failure might be our fate, and if that happens, we might have to leave Clovedale Falls and return back to the ugliness we thought we escaped for good. I honestly don't think I could stand that.”
Rhonda reached out her hands and put them on her sister’s shoulders. “Rita, listen to me,” she said tenderly. “We're not going to fail, do you hear me? People said we wouldn't last a day in the Navy, and we did. People said there was no way we would ever become cops, and we did. We always accomplish what’s in our hearts, don't we?”
“Well...yes.”
“And we manage to do so not just because we are stubborn goats, but because we have faith in the Lord,” Rhonda continued. “It's always been our belief that God will put us where we need to be in life. We're not going to fail, Rita, I promise. We're going to grow old in our bakery and live in our cabin until it falls to the ground.”
Rita stared into her sister’s loving eyes and felt a hopeful smile touch her lips. “Promise?”
“You bet I promise,” Rhonda smiled. “Now let's…”
She stopped speaking when she spotted a black car turn the corner of Turtle Dove Lane and slowly begin driving toward the sheriff's office. “Rita…”
“My hand is already in my purse,” Rita assured. She locked her eyes on the car and cautiously eased Rhonda toward the hood of her SUV. “Be prepared to drop and start shooting.”
“I'm ready,” Rhonda asserted as she stuck her hand inside of her purse and wrapped it around the grip of her gun.
The black car drove up to Rita's SUV and stopped. Rita and Rhonda waited. A few seconds later, the back door opened and a man who appeared to be in his early seventies appeared. “Valentine DeVivo,” Rhonda whispered.
Rita felt fear grip her heart. “Stay calm,” she whispered.
Valentine DeVivo calmly smoothed out his expensive black suit and ran his hands through his thick gray hair. “Nice day,” he said in a thickly accented voice. His Sicilian accent was so heavy, there were twice as many vowels in every word when he spoke. His voice was unmistakable to the Knight sisters, who knew his crime family too well.
Rita and Rhonda watched Valentine reach into his right pocket, retrieve a pair of black shades, and slide them over his eyes with hands that were wrinkled but still extremely powerful. “Valentine DeVivo isn't allowed in the country,” Rhonda whispered to Rita. “Vinnie and Frank took over for him. Too many warrants out for his name.”
“I know,” Rita whispered back.
“Oh yeah, you do,” Rhonda said, watching Valentine look around with ease and confidence. She shuddered.
“We should talk,” Valentine called out casually. “We should walk and talk.”
Rita glanced at Rhonda.
Rhonda nodded. “What at do you want, Mr. DeVivo?” she asked.
“Is a very nice day, no?” Valentine said again. “We should walk and talk on a fine day like this.” Valentine snapped his right fingers at the black car. “Go park and get food. Be back in one hour.”
To Rita and Rhonda’s relief, the black car drove away.
“What do we have to lose?” Rhonda asked, and removed her hand from her purse.
Rita studied Valentine, then followed her sister. “Okay, Mr. Valentine, let's walk and talk.”
Valentine looked at Rhonda and then at Rita. “We walk and talk in peace,” he pointed out, eyes flickering to their purses only briefly. “My days of being a hard man are finished.”
“Are they?” Rita asked.
Valentine nodded his head. “Yes,” he said, and pointed down the street. As he started in that direction, he stopped, then pointed at Rhonda. “Only you. Your sister can stay here. If we don't return in one hour, she can release the dogs on me.”
“No deal,” Rita objected.
Rhonda looked at her. “Rita, I'll be okay,” she promised.
“No deal,” Rita confirmed. “I'll walk behind you.”
Valentine shrugged his shoulders. “Good enough,” he said, and began walking.
“I'll stay close,” Rita promised Rhonda.
“I know you will,” Rhonda replied, gave Rita a quick hug, and caught up to Valentine. “Okay, Mr. DeVivo, what do you want to talk about? I'm sure you’re not here because you're interested in the Pumpkin Festival.”
“Can't an old man enjoy this little town, all the sights and sounds others enjoy?” Valentine asked.
“Depends on who that old man is.”
Valentine clasped his hands behind his back. “I admit my reputation sometimes make people to become—how you say?—worried. Alarmed,” he said. “My younger years were not very clean.”
“You murdered people and stole from the poor,” Rhonda pointed out. “You’re wanted on at least a dozen Interpol warrants.”
Valentine didn't deny the accusations. “I was a monster, yes,” he agreed. “Very horrible things.”
Rhonda glanced over at Valentine. To her shock, she saw an old man filled with sorrow for the life he had once lived. “What do you want, Mr. DeVivo? Why did you want to talk?”
“Joseph Stally was killed,” Valentine said. “Joey Stally, as you know him. Unless I find out the killer, my two sons also will be killed.”
“Oh?” Rhonda asked. She turned this over in her mind, trying to search his tone for lies.
Valentine walked past a candy shop, stopped, studied a display window full of delicious peppermint fudge, and looked at Rhonda. “Joey stole millions from the family. He skimmed off the earnings for decades. As you maybe guess, he only gave up a small slice of the pie and hid away the rest for later.” He gave a wan smile, looking sad.
Rhonda glanced over her shoulder at Rita, who waited at a respectful distance. “What does any of this have to do with me and my sister?” she asked.
Valentine focused his eyes back on the peppermint fudge. “I was hoping you could tell me,” he said in a low voice.
“Mr. DeVivo, my sister and I have no idea why Joey Stally came to Clovedale Falls. All we know is that he was poisoned.”
Valentine grew silent. He stared at the peppermint fudge for a long time. When he spoke, his voice was very careful. “If I do not find who is killer of Joey Stally, my two sons also will die.” Valentine shifted his eyes over to Rhonda. “There is...a person...he say that my two sons, they know where is this money Joey stole from me.”
“Do they?”
“No,” Valentine answered frankly. “But no matter to him. If my sons do not bring this money within the seven days, they are dead. Morti. You understand?” He focused back on the peppermint fudge. “You help me locate this killer, this person who poison Joseph Stally. If we find him, I will pay...I will pay the money he wants.” The man did not look at her, as if he did not even question whether she would help him or not; he simply assumed she would.
Rhonda shook her head. “Mr. DeVivo, my sister and I are retired, law-abiding citizens. We can't—and won't—break the law for anyone. If your sons are being threatened, you need to report—”
“Report? Report my sons? My own family? To the feds?” Valentine asked Rhonda, his thick gray eyebrows rising into his wrinkled forehead in shock and anger. “In this family, it is not done. You learn to trust no one. I do what has to be done to make sure business runs smooth.” He glanced at Rita, then back to Rhonda. “Smooth. Understand? No feds. I will pay this man who killed Joey, to spare my sons. That is not breaking the law. That is a father caring for his sons. Nu padri, capisciu?”
“Mr. DeVivo, if I find out who killed Joey Stally, he will be arrested,” Rhonda promised. “I'm going to abide by the law.” She steadied herself. “I'm not sure what you were expecting to find, Mr. DeVivo, but you're asking the wrong person for help.”
Valentine slowly removed the sunglasses from his face and locked eyes with Rhonda. “You and your sister are why my Vincenzo, my Vinnie, is in jail today. As for Franco…Frank did something very stupid and got put in prison himself. But Vinnie—”
“Vinnie DeVivo murdered Chuck Langston.”
“Langston was no-good rat,” Valentine snapped. In the background, Rhonda spied Rita tense up and begin to go for her gun. Rhonda subtly shook her head at her. “My son rid the world of a rat and nothing more.”
“Your son murdered a man and is paying the penalty.”
Valentine narrowed his eyes. “Ms. Knight, I am truly sorry for the monster I once was,” he said in a low whisper, “but if anything happens to my two sons, you are to blame for not listening when I came to you and asked for help. And then I am not responsible if sleeping monsters wake up and find you and your sister here in sweet little village in the hills.”
“Don't threaten me, Mr. DeVivo,” Rhonda warned.
Valentine slowly put the sunglasses back over his eyes. “I am a man who never threatens,” he said. “I am a man who makes good on my word.”
“I'm not going to help you, Mr. DeVivo,” Rhonda said, holding her ground.
“If you cannot help me,” Valentine replied, “say goodbye to nice home, nice bakery, and nice sister, because rest of my life, I will dedicate to your suffering.” Before Rhonda could respond to this final outrageous threat, Valentine simply turned and walked away, looking unconcerned.
Rita hurried up to Rhonda. “We have a fight on our hands,” Rita said worriedly. “A man like Valentine DeVivo never goes back on a threat.”
“Tell me about it,” Rhonda said, watching Valentine walk down a leaf-covered sidewalk. “That man has really put the cherry on top of this awful day.”
“Surely it can’t get any worse,” Rita said, and walked Rhonda back to their SUV.
Brad leaned back against an old 1978 Westinghouse stove, took out his wooden pipe, lit it, and said, “I could arrest Mr. DeVivo.”
“I'm sure Valentine DeVivo has a team of lawyers who will eat us alive if we arrest him on charges of threats,” Rhonda said as she reached for a bottle of cold water. The bakery felt warm after they had spent some time moving the heavy old appliances toward the back door, and they still had a ways to go. “Besides, can we even prove what he said, Rita?”
Rita nodded. “Not really,” she said, and went back to munching on the candy bar in her hand. Whenever Rita was upset, she turned to junk food. Unlike Rhonda, who had the discipline to eat bran muffins for breakfast, Rita craved chocolate, but seldom gave in to her desires until her nerves demanded otherwise. Sugar was Rita's hidden friend that helped her remain calm under pressure. “Besides, I don’t think his threats are the real problem. Mr. DeVivo isn't a stupid person, Brad. He's concerned about the welfare of his two sons—awful creatures that they are—and he will do anything to save them. He’s more valuable to us walking around, where we can hopefully track him, than he is in a holding cell, where a lawyer will spring him out, and then he’ll go underground. It’ll be useless getting any info out of him then.”
“Plus he’s too smart. His threats won't hold up in a court of law,” Rhonda finished for her sister. “He’ll unleash sleeping monsters? That could mean anything. There’s nothing substantial. Hey, that candy bar looks good.”
“Have it,” Rita offered. “I have another in my purse.”
“Uh...” Rhonda paused, darted her eyes over at Brad, and shook her head. “You know I have my reasons for wanting to stay healthy.”
“I know,” Rita sighed and polished off her candy bar. “But when times are tough my stress can only pay attention to the present situation, what can I say?” Rita looked down at her stomach. “I'm very thankful we come from parents who stayed skinny no matter what they ate. I never met a dish of ice cream I couldn’t walk off in an hour.”
From across the room, puffing on his pipe, Brad looked at Rhonda and then Rita. He wondered why the two women—two women who were very beautiful in body and heart—were not married. Surely, Brad thought, the two had caught the eyes of many men—men who were obviously too stupid to understand the sweet love each had to offer. But Brad knew it was better to not ask than to ask and offend, and risk upsetting delicate subjects. Sure, Rita and Rhonda were tough on the outside, but Brad knew, like most, they likely had delicate hearts that needed love and not prying questions. “Doctors call that having high metabolism,” he told Rita. “Some folks are blessed that way.”
“I guess so,” Rhonda said and glanced down at her stomach with eyes that wondered why bran muffins were so important. “Stay healthy, find love,” she whispered.
“What?” Brad asked.
