Chapter 4

“Old fools are babes again.”

 

 

She watched the woman for a moment longer and recognized her face, too. It was Knee-Sock Lady. It was the only thing Delia knew to call the woman since she didn’t know her real name. But, she was Mate Oswald’s girlfriend. Yes, killer Mate. The woman was his murder associate. 

Mate had admitted it to Delia as he held her at knifepoint. He’d said he’d known the woman and that there was so much going on that Delia didn’t understand.

Why is she here?

The woman certainly didn’t look like a shopper. She looked like an assassin. Was she packing a weapon underneath that oversized red sweater of hers? And where was she heading, to the Stove and Keg across from King Lears?

Delia stepped carefully toward the edge of the building and peeked around the corner. 

Oh! The woman was much nearer than Delia had expected. She was in front of the bakery and pulling on the Dutch door. When it didn’t budge, she cupped her hand and peered into the darkened shop. 

Oh geez, oh geez, oh geez! Who is she looking for, me? Did Mate send her?

The woman turned her head left, and then …

Delia’s heart rocketed, and she pressed her back against the brick.

Don’t just stand here waiting for death! I don’t want to sleep with the fishies!

Delia shoved off the wall and ran down the alley. There wasn’t enough time to jam her key into the lock and jump back inside the bakery, so she scurried toward the first alley intersection and sprinted through it. 

The store on her right was Alice’s Umbrella Shop. To her left was Top Shoppe Hats. Delia yanked on the hat shop’s door and bolted inside.

There was a gentleman behind the counter near the back of the store. He was with a customer, but poked his head around the fellow and called, “I’ll be with you momentarily.”

Momentarily, yes. That’s how I expected hat shop people to talk.

Delia moved toward the far end of the shop and stopped next to a display wall.

Wooden shelves went as high as the ceiling. Cubicles displayed bowlers, pork pies, and panamas. She stepped along until she reached a round table with stacked boater hats on it.

No one passed by the window on the alley side.

Where’d you go, Knee Sock?

After another few seconds ticked by, Delia stepped around the table and slipped toward the front window. She stood behind an excellent hat display of fedoras and trilbies made of tweed and colorful wools.

Movement on her right side caused Delia to spin around.

A red sweater caught her eye … Knee-Sock Lady!

Delia grabbed a hat and stuffed it on her head. Then she crouched low behind another round table and waddled toward the center of the shop. 

“May … I help you?” a male voice asked close by.

“No, I’m fine.”

He cleared his throat. “Are you?”

Delia glanced at the shop owner standing next to her. He reminded her of one of the hosts on the British Bake-Off show. The beige-haired lady named Sandi. Except this was a man with thick big beige hair that lay like roof tiles.

Peering out the alley window again, Delia slowly rose to her height.

Knee-Sock Lady was gone.

“I wanted to see how this looked on me,” she told the shop owner. 

“Well, it’s a bit large,” he said, turning his face to the side, but keeping his brown eyes on her. “Because it’s a man’s hat.” His nametag read Felix.

“Is it?” she asked, pulling the hat off her head and gazing at it. “Well then, never mind.” Delia handed the man the fedora and strolled out the door.

She peeked through the window of the umbrella shop. There were customers there but no one in a red sweater.

Which way to go?

Delia eyed the back alley but then moved into the plaza and the water fountain that spurted colored water. Today it was purple-hued.

Plenty of shoppers milled about. Delia stayed close to two women who moved toward Lucky Cat Yarns. When they stepped into the shop, Delia made for the holly trees and the employee car park.

Wait, will she be in the parking lot? Is she waiting for me?

Delia stopped near the bushiest tree and watched the lot. There were six lanes of parking spaces and most of them were filled these days. There was Sweaty Freddy in the front row. She longed to be inside him and whiff that old nacho smell.

Clopping noises came from Delia’s left side. She turned.

A man walked toward the car park.

I know him.

It was the owner of the Stove and Keg British pub across the courtyard from King Lears. Delia had met him a couple of times. 

Daniel Curran. 

He had curly brown hair and lovely pale brown eyes. His smile was the absolute best; it could melt glass. 

“Hey,” he called, waving to someone.

Something red moved across the parking lot … Knee Sock Lady!

The pair embraced. Warmly. For over ten seconds. Fifteen … Finally, Daniel pulled away and draped his arm around the woman’s shoulders. They walked toward the last row of cars.

Delia stood on her tiptoes and moved a holly branch out of the way so she might see where they went. Already the berries were deep red, and one flipped up and nearly took her eye out. She pushed the branch away again.

Where…?

A car engine started.

Delia ducked and stuck her head farther into the leaves.

A vehicle moved. Delia heard the gears shifting. There … a car-top with ski rails began to move slowly in the back of the lot. It made it to the end of the marked spots and then turned, just as slowly, toward the road.

Red! 

It was Knee-Sock Lady, all right, and Daniel Curran. 

Delia’s heart slowed, and she let go of the holly leaf. Rolling her shoulders, she tried to relax. 

I have strength of heart and clarity of mind.

Heck yeah I do!

Pulling her purse in front of her, Delia pulled out her keys, and walked toward Freddy.

I have strength of heart and clarity of mind.

Clarity, clarity…

Knee Sock Lady obviously hadn’t been shopping. She never went anywhere but the bakery and had a look inside the windows. If she were waiting for Daniel, wouldn’t she have met him in the pub? Or maybe the woman was killing two birds, yadda yadda. She’d always planned to meet Daniel, but on a whim —or Mate’s request —visited the bakery before he left his job.

Clarity… clarity…

Was Mate’s heart set on a revenge killing? Nothing was out of the question, really, was it? She’d known Mate for nine months before she found out he was a murderer; had actually thought of him in a romantic way.

Delia opened Freddy’s door. She needed to take a step up before she slid onto the front seat. Then, quickly, she locked the doors and started the engine. She drove slowly and kept her eyes open for the car with ski rails.

 

 

Five minutes later, she pulled into the Boroughbridge’s gravel lot and parked Freddy next to Eddie’s Mustang. She glanced to her left.

Ugh, he’s in the car.

She’d wait a minute, pretend she was searching for something in her purse…

Three minutes later, Eddie still sat in his front seat. He bent his head as though he gazed at his phone.

Delia cracked open the passenger door and slipped out. Then she shut the door quietly and got as far as the Freddy’s tailpipe.

The Mustang’s door squeaked open. “Hey, Delia.”

In her head, Gangsta’s Paradise started to play.

Eddie’s boots crunched in the gravel. He’d dressed in jeans and a gray sweater that fit nicely on his square shoulders. His hair was nearly black because it was wet, as though he’d just come out of a shower. He smelled woodsy, too, like he’d washed with tree bark and leaves. He said, “I’m pretty sure I saw that Matthew fellow today.”

Delia’s stomach dropped. “You mean Mate?”

“I thought his name was Matthew Oswald.”

“Yes, yes, but we called him Mate.” She turned toward the building and gazed up at her kitchen window. It was closed and hopefully still locked.

“I didn’t see him here,” Eddie said, putting up a palm as though to stop her thoughts. “I saw him at the Tipsy Louie office.”

“Why were you there?” Her voice had gone much higher than she had expected, so Delia cleared her throat.

Eddie seemed to notice because his brows shot up on his handsome face. “I was… Louie asked me to bring…” He frowned. “Is there something wrong with me being there?”

Holy yes!

“No,” Delia said. “No, not at all.” She shifted her weight to her other foot. “So Mate was there, was he?”

He shrugged. “I thought I saw him. He was with the guy who lives down the hall. The one Matthew stabbed and left for dead.”

“Isaac?”

Eddie’s frown deepened. “Maybe I’m imagining it. Montague said to be careful. I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“No, it’s okay,” she said, waving a hand in dismissal. “It’s just that I can’t imagine Isaac wanting to see him. I wonder if he told the detective about it? I wonder if he’s still alive to tell the detective about it?”

“He’s still alive. I saw him and his wife in the hallway when I left Thomi’s apartment.”

“Are you sure it was Mate? I mean, you didn’t really know him.”

Or did you?

“True,” Eddie said, nodding. “But I’ll never forget his face. Or his knife.”

Delia nodded. “I’m sure.”

He dropped his hand and started to turn, “See you later. I’m off to get Chinese for Thomi…” and then he grimaced before he said, “and her father.”

Delia turned toward the house and crunched through the gravel, wondering if Thomi knew how Eddie grimaces before he says her father? But, of course, it doesn’t matter what Eddie thinks; Thomi had taken on the responsibility of caring for her father. She wasn’t going to toss the old man out just because her boyfriend didn’t like him.

I hope.

The thought made Delia think of her own father in an assisted living facility near Buffalo. I’ll go see him on Monday.

She entered the apartment building. The front room had a large green patterned rug in front of the stairs. Another rug ran parallel to it and led to the mailboxes beneath the stairs. Delia hadn’t checked her mail in a couple of days. What was the use? She didn’t want to see her bank statement and had no interest in tree trimming ads or a mattress sale. But she moved toward the boxes anyway because if she left too much junk in the tiny box, then the mailman, Darnell, would yell at her again to get a PO Box.

I don’t want a PO Box, Darnell!

Delia had just pulled open the metal box when she heard footsteps coming down the stairs. And then, “You didn’t tell him we’re moving?”

It was Isaac Kent.

Delia put one foot forward, thinking to peek around the wall and ask him if he really had met with Mate at Tipsy Louie’s, but Isaac’s wife, Courtney said, “I didn’t tell him anything. I’m not telling anyone, or we won’t get out of here alive.”

Delia’s eyes widened, and she leaned farther because Courtney had dropped her voice on the last word. They won’t get out of here alive? That was a bit dramatic, wasn’t it?

Or is it?

A lot of dramatic events had happened at the Boroughbridge House.

Delia stayed put now that she knew Courtney was on the other side of the wall. They were not chummy, no, because Courtney had an affair with Delia’s boyfriend, Alfie. It all happened before Alfie died, but it was hard to get over something like that. Courtney would probably say it was hard to get over the fact that Delia told Isaac about the affair. Anonymously, of course, because, well, confrontation and all. 

She missed whatever Isaac said next, but not Courtney’s response. The young woman lifted her voice, “Of course I don’t trust him. He already tried to kill you once.”

Their footsteps came closer and then died out as they made it to the carpet and headed for the front door. 

Delia peeked around the corner. She only saw the back of the pair before they closed the door. Something stood out, however. Courtney wore regular slacks. That was remarkable because she usually only wore what Sanya Ashbury wore: Yoga pants. Whatever Sanya did, Courtney did, even CrossFit. Had the two fallen out?

Delia returned to her mailbox, removed the junk, and locked it.

So, the Kents are moving out.

The couple’s conversation proved one thing to Delia. Isaac had seen Mate, and Courtney was scared about it. That’s why she’d said, He already tried to kill you.

But, how did moving from Boroughbridge stop Mate from threatening them? He no longer had an apartment in the building, so why move? 

Maybe they’re scared of someone else, but who? Louie?

That was a thought; Louie was both of their bosses. But who was scared of the blind man in his sixties? 

Before going to her own apartment, Delia knocked on Thomi’s door. She’d brought two cupcakes with her from the bakery. They were in a box in her purse, and they were a peace offering of sorts.

Not that Thomi was upset about anything. No, the peace offering was more about Delia righting the relationship in her mind than anything else. She wanted peace with her best friend, and she didn’t want to feel offended every time Thomi chose Eddie over her.

Thomi never said she’d stop by the bakery during the grand opening, and she’s got a lot going on in her own life with Louie moving in.

Thomi answered on the second knock and yanked open the door. “Yes?” she said before ever setting eyes on Delia. Her tone was full of impatience. Once she saw who it was, she let out a long sigh. “Oh, hi Delia.” Frowning, she stepped aside. “Come on in.”

Delia felt the tension coming off of Thomi. The girl held a bed pillow in her hand and then turned and tossed it on the couch.

Louie sat in his wheelchair at the square dining room table. He was still in his maroon robe and striped pajamas. 

In her peripheral, Delia saw broken glass on the floor near the wall next to the kitchen. Dark liquid covered the beige carpet.

Thomi pointed to the spill. “He won’t let me help him and threw a tantrum. So now, I’ve got more cleaning to do.”

“I can’t help you,” Louie said, his voice high and a tad whiney and loud. “I’m blllliiiind.”

Delia winced. Wow. 

Stepping over the broken glass, she set the box of cupcakes on the counter and went into the kitchen. “I’ll help,” she called, grabbing the trashcan near the refrigerator. She went back into the dining area and bent to pick up the shards.

Thomi dropped her shoulders in relief. “Really?”

“Yes, I’ll clean the floor and try to get a cupcake down him. Then, you finish the bed … or whatever you were doing.”

“Cupcakes?” Louie asked, his chin coming off his chest.

Cupcakes decorated as frogs are what holds civilization together.

 

* * *

 

The following day, Delia arrived at King Lears at eight, just to get a fresh start on the baking. The shop was closed and there were still two hours before Becca would come, and it gave Delia time to sit with a Pink Drink and plan her baking strategy.

Becca was great with bread and cookies, and Delia had given her different recipes to test. Becca always nailed it and sometimes went further and added new ingredients.

I should make friends with her. She is already a work buddy … I’ll ask her to go to the movies.

Putting the key in the backdoor lock, Delia twisted it. 

The knob didn’t click.

Delia turned it the other way, which locked it.

It’s broken? I know I locked it just before I saw Knee-Sock Lady.

Perhaps Becca was already inside. Delia had given everyone a key, even Jeanette.

She opened the door. The lights weren’t on in the kitchen or work area.

So weird…

And then it hit her. Was someone inside; had Mate jimmied the lock and now waited in the dark for her to go inside?

Her heart rate tripled, and she remained planted in the doorway. “Becca?”

No one answered.

Should I call the police, tell them I’ve had a break-in?

Have I had a break-in?

Should she call Nicolo? But what if it’s nothing and he thinks I’m crazy? Delia shrugged. Better crazy than knifed. Pulling her shoulder bag around in front of her, she put her hand inside.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” someone said behind her.

Oh, her nerves! Every one of them lit up and sparkled like those fancy birthday candles. Delia whipped around.

Bogart’s eyes widened, and immediately he went into a karate stance with one knee up and arms out to the side —like he was the Karate Kid.

That tamped her nerves. “What are you going to do, kick me or fly off somewhere?”

Bogart lowered his knee and stood straighter. “Why did you turn on me like that? I thought I’d stumbled onto the set of Hellraiser.”

She laughed. “Sorry. I didn’t know you’d already come in. What are you doing here?” 

“I can’t find my earbuds. Maybe I left them here.”

“Oh,” she said, turning back around and moving out of the doorway. She set her purse on the counter and flipped on the lights. It was a brighter workspace than the customer areas, which were soft for ambiance’s sake. Stainless steel dominated the kitchen. There was a commercial deck oven and an extensive gas range against one wall. In the center of the room were two square workspaces with mixers and bowls on the lower shelves. Three rack trolleys lined the other wall. There were two refrigerators besides the walk-in. Along another wall were shelves of baking pans and pots, with the bottom half lined with plastic bins full of dry ingredients. 

Delia asked, “How were you looking for earbuds in the dark?” Turning, she saw the back of him moving into the work area by the big arched window. She followed him.

He was a tall thing in his jeans and a gray sweatshirt. Bogart was letting his auburn hair grow out, and it curled at his collar seam. He moved a box aside that sat on top of the wooden worktable. “What do you mean, looking for them in the dark?”

Delia stopped in the middle of the room and put her hands on her waist. “You didn’t turn on the lights.”

He turned all the way around. “You just turned on the lights.”

Her stomach threatened to light the fancy candles again. “You just got here?”

“Yeah.”

“You hadn’t already unlocked the door? It was unlocked when I turned the key.”

“I didn’t unlock it.” His eyes widened again. 

Delia swallowed hard. “The only reason I came inside was that I thought you were already here.”

“Wait…”

“Mate could be here,” she said, gazing at the swinging door.

“Oh, God!” Bogart cried. “Who’s Mate?”

She faced him again. “A murderer released on bail and out for revenge.”

“He’ll kill me first.” Bogart was so scared he’d stopped blinking. “The gay guy always gets it first.”

Delia whispered, “Should we look out front?”

“Why should we do that?”

“To make sure we’re safe in here.”

His upper body moved backward a fraction. “Of course, we’re not safe. Mate is here!”

“Well. We don’t know that.” She stared off for a second, thinking it through. “Maybe I turned the key the wrong way the first time and thought I’d locked it, but I’d unlocked it …” Looking at Bogart again, Delia stepped forward and whispered, “All we have to do is look through the door. We’ll be able to tell if someone is out there. He has no place to hide.”

“Why are you whispering?” he whispered.

She rocked her upper body back and forth. “Because he could … technically … be out there, and I don’t want him to hear me.”

“I don’t need earbuds this badly,” Bogart said quietly. “Resales are on Amazon for twenty-five dollars.” 

“You’ve got twenty-five dollars? To spare?”

He dropped his shoulders. “I don’t have a spare twenty-five, no.”

“I’ll buy you some earbuds if you go out there with me.” 

“I want a good pair, not a resale.”

“Fine,” she whispered. Delia took a steady breath and pushed on the door, not much because the hinge squeaked. She’d never noticed that before! 

This was a brand new door… probably a resale.

“Is anyone there?” Bogart asked, close to her ear.

“I have to open the door all the way first.” She pushed a little more firmly, but then paused. “Listen, Bogart. If something happens in here, I think we should both run.”

“You didn’t really need to tell me that.”

She pushed the door farther open. There was enough daylight streaming through the windows to see inside the front room. 

“I don’t see anyone.”

“What about the counter?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“On the other side of the counter?”

“Well, I can’t see the other side of the counter.”

Bogart grabbed her shoulder.

The shock of it went straight through to her ankle boots.

“We need a weapon,” he muttered. “Wait here.”

Two seconds later, Bogart was behind her again. “Got the rolling pin.”

“Marble?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s go.” Then, chest tight, Delia pushed the door all the way open and tiptoed toward the back of the counter on the register side.

Noises came from outside the shop. Across the courtyard, at the Stove and Keg, waiters put down chairs and scooted tables into different positions.

It was all so normal, and it caused Delia to relax a little. If Mate was in the building, she could alert the waiters by pounding on the windows or running outside.

The waiters headed back into the restaurant.

Crap.

Bogart tapped her on the shoulder. Then, when she turned, he mouthed, “Why did you say crap?”

“I didn’t,” she mimicked back.

Did I? 

Delia pointed to the display case half-full of cupcakes and Cornish pasties. “Go around the counter.” She waved a circle, trying to show Bogart what she wanted him to do.

He grimaced and shook her head. “Come with me,” he hissed.

“I’ll stand watch.”

He narrowed his eyes and leaned toward her. “I thought this was a group thing. You and me.”

“You’re the one with the weapon.”

“All right, fine. I hope we die together,” Bogart said and then tiptoed toward the display case, reached his arm over, and dropped the rolling pin over the edge. 

The sound of marble hitting tile sent a shockwave through Delia’s shoulder. Goosebumps on her neck rushed onto the back of her head.

And then, the swinging door behind them crashed open. “WHAT IS GOING ON? WHAT HAPPENED?”

More goosebumps, many, many more goosebumps covered Delia’s entire body. 

But it was only Becca, standing in the doorway, wide-eyed and with her mouth open. “What broke?”

“Delia’s brain,” Bogart said. He’d whipped around the same as Delia. “She thought someone was out here and made me come with her.”

Becca’s thin brows bunched together. “Huh? Someone broke in?”

“No,” he said, reaching for the light switch. “If they did, they’d be dead on the floor. I dropped a marble rolling pin on them.” He walked around the counter and gazed at the floor. “No dead guy.” Bending, he picked up the rolling pin and set it on the counter. Bogart eyed Delia. “I still want earbuds.”

“Yeah, yeah” she said, rolling her shoulders and trying to relax. “There’s still upstairs to check.”

“No,” he said, crossing behind the counter again. “I don’t have the nerve for it. Besides, if anyone started to move around up there, you’d hear it. Just run for the door.” He handed Delia the rolling pin. “Keep this beside you at all times.”

“Right.” She took a large breath and nodded. “Right. But, no one is here. I’m just a little jumpy, that’s all.”

Becca narrowed her lids and eyed Delia. “Why are you jumpy?”

“Um, I didn’t sleep well, that’s all. I wouldn’t let Clawdius outside, and he kept sitting on my face.” 

“Is that your boyfriend?” Becca asked. “Claudius? I haven’t heard that name since I was forced to read Shakespeare.”

“No, no, Clawdius is my cat.”

Bogart said, nodding, “That makes more sense.”

“Never mind,” she said, shooing them back toward the work area. “We’ve got work to do.”

“I don’t,” Bogart reminded her. “I’m on my way to wash my bike.”

She nodded. “Lock the back door on your way out, please.” Finding her Pink Drink, Delia took a gulp of the caffeinated stuff and pulled out a piece of paper from her purse. She handed it to Becca, who’d followed her. “Will you start on these loaves of bread? I’m going to sit over at the worktable and figure out what else we should make.” Her heart had barely returned to a normal rhythm and her ribs hurt from all the heavy breathing she’d done.

Setting the drink aside, she pulled out a small notebook.

The view distracted Delia. The sun was up, throwing beams across the front of Bloomfield Hatch. The beams laced into the old tree and shot pink sunshine onto the courtyard.

I believe in my dreams; I believe in myself.

Delia relaxed her shoulders and let out a long soothing breath…

Until a high-pitched, spine-chilling scream let loose from behind her.