“I’m making a test batch tonight,” I said and promised to bring him a sample.
I MADE A STOP AT THE GROCERY STORE FOR SUPPLIES and headed home. Shortly after Charlie died, I’d thought of selling the house and moving to a condo. It had really been more Peter’s suggestion, telling me I should downsize. Now I was glad I hadn’t done it. With two dogs, two cats, too much yarn and Samuel as a temporary resident, I needed the space. I was sure Samuel would make some other living arrangements in the near future. But I was willing to put money down that when the time came for him to move, the cats would stay with me.
I was looking forward to taking my time and enjoying making the rolls. Even if Samuel was home, he’d probably be in his room and not in my way.
It had become an automatic response to check the Perkins’ house as I drove by. From the street it looked dark. Not even the porch light was on.
I shut off the motor and grabbed the grocery bag. Along with the baking supplies, I’d picked up a pint of ice cream. One of the things I’d said I liked about being on my own was being able to have an occasional ice-cream dinner and not have anybody look askance. No cars in front of my house and no cars in the driveway. I pulled into the garage and the automatic door shut with a rumble. I walked into the backyard and looked ahead to the back door. And no one ruffling through things in my house. The door was locked and any mess inside was strictly my fault.
Once inside I saw there was a note on the table. Barry had stopped by and given the dogs yard time along with feeding them and the cats. Feeling like a lady of leisure for the moment, I set the grocery bag down and took out the pint of ice cream. First things first. I’d have my Bordeaux and strawberry dinner and then begin baking.
I took a bowl of ice cream and settled in the middle of the couch and put my feet up. The dogs plumped down on either side of me and the cats jumped up and perched on the back of the couch. I let out a big satisfied ah as I took my first spoonful of my favorite ice cream.
The back wall of the den was all windows that looked out on the backyard. Something moving outside caught my eye, and I sat bolt upright and almost choked on my mouthful of ice cream. A moment later I heard someone fidgeting with the back door lock. Was it a key or someone with a hairpin?
I marched to the kitchen and grabbed a broom, ready to do battle as the door opened.
I raised the broom, ready to smack whoever entered. Luckily I looked before I swatted. Barry and Mason walked in, talking about football. They both looked up at the same time.
“Oh, you’re home,” Barry said, giving the raised broom a strange look.
“Hey, Sunshine, what are you doing, trying to sweep the ceiling?” Mason said with a grin.
I set the broom down. “I got a little nervous when I heard someone fiddling with the back door.” I glanced from one of them to the other. Something wasn’t right. They were acting friendly toward each other. “What’s up with you guys?”
“Sunshine, even with a BlackBerry you still have to answer it or look at your messages.” When I didn’t get what he was talking about, he asked to see it. I found it in my purse and handed it over. He hit some keys and displayed a list of messages, he’d left. He’d left voice mail messages, too.
“I stopped by the bookstore this afternoon and you weren’t there, either. Finally I came by here. Greenberg was in the yard with the dogs. I hung around awhile to see if you were going to show up. When he finished with the animals and you still weren’t here, we decided to get some dinner together.”
I looked at Barry for confirmation and he smiled and nodded. “Yeah, we went to a sports bar and got some burgers. Some football game, huh, Mason?”
Hmm. I suddenly felt very left out.
“Molly, if you’re not going to answer your phone or call anybody back, you can’t expect us to sit here and starve waiting for you,” Barry said.
“I was working,” I protested.
“I know,” Barry said. “And now I get how you feel when I make plans and then don’t show up because I have to follow some lead.” He turned to Mason and made some comment about some great football play, but there was something in his manner that implied that Mason could now leave. Mason played Mr. Dense and walked through the kitchen toward the living room.
I retrieved my ice cream, which was quickly turning into mush. Barry followed both of us.
“I have the dog sweater in the car,” Mason said, gesturing toward outside. “I got to something that said decrease and I didn’t know what to do.”
I really wondered about that. It meant he was working on it on his own, and from what I’d seen, he only worked on Spike’s future coat when I was around.
“Molly’s had a long day. I don’t think she’s up for crochet lessons,” Barry said, putting his arm around my shoulder.
I heard the front door open. “Is this door ever going to get fixed?” Samuel said. He looked at the three of us in the living room. “What’s going on?” Ryder, the kid from down the street, came in behind him and waved a greeting with his video camera. At the same time Barry’s cell went off. It was his son, Jeffrey. He was done with rehearsal and going to get dropped off. When he heard where Barry was, he said he’d get dropped off at my house.
Mason looked at the bowl in my hand. “Was that your dinner?”
I nodded and he chuckled. “And we ruined it for you, huh?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said, going back to the kitchen. “Look guys, I have baking to do for work.”
“Baking!” they all said together. So much for peace. Ryder had never seen anyone actually make something with yeast. Apparently, the best his mother did was a cake mix. He videoed the whole rising process and was going to do some time-lapse trick. He couldn’t capture the smell though. The yeasty smell mixed with the spicy scent of the cardamom spread throughout the house as the dough rose.
The front doorbell rang and then I heard a key in the lock. The door opened and shut, and a moment later, my older son, Peter, came in the kitchen. “What’s with the front door and do you know that a channel three news crew is out front?” he said. He looked at the flour-covered counter and Ryder videoing me shaping the rolls. It was hard to tell if Peter was coming from some event or just a long workday. Not a hair out of place or a wrinkle in his dress shirt. He certainly didn’t get that perfection from my side. I hadn’t realized at first that he wasn’t alone. A slender woman in a dark suit and heels so tall my feet hurt in sympathy was with him.
Explaining the door was easy, but not the news crew. Peter and his companion followed me into the den, where Barry and Mason were watching ESPN. I flipped to channel three and had the eerie encounter of seeing my street on the screen. Kimberly Wang Diaz was doing a remote. It turned out there was nothing happening next door, it was just the news style now to have field reporters do their stories in the area where something had happened. The story was an update on Bradley and his apparent suicide and the investigation into his business.
“More investors are coming forward,” Diaz said just before going to a tape of her standing in front of the building where Bradley had his office. An older woman I recognized as a bookstore customer came out holding her head down. Diaz asked her for a statement. The woman looked as if the wind had been knocked out of her. The reporter again asked her for a statement. The woman was probably too dazed to think about what she was doing and told the reporter she’d turned over her life savings to Bradley. “He was such a nice family man. And so helpful. I was trying to figure out my Medicare options and I was so confused. Bradley spent an afternoon helping me straighten it all out.” She sighed. “How can he have left his business in such a mess? Those investigators are saying all the money is gone. It just can’t be. It was all I had.” The woman’s eyes filled with water and, in a moment of humanness, Diaz touched her shoulder and said how sorry she was.