The front door was locked, and the Closed sign was hanging in the bakery window. Marguerite had gone home to shower and change before meeting up with Bertrand at the fund-raiser later. Bertrand was relieved to have some time all alone in the shop. There was a phone conversation he wanted to have while he had a little privacy.
He made the call but got voice mail.
“Hello. It is Bertrand. Give me a call. I am afraid we may have a small problem. It is not insurmountable, but I want to talk to you about one of the provisions in the contract. I will be here at the bakery for another hour or so.”
Bertrand cleaned his work area, wiping down the long, wooden table and placing bowls, measuring cups, spoons, and mixing paddles in the industrial dishwasher. He didn’t want to turn the machine on until just before he left for the fund-raiser. The thing made such a racket.
There would be a light repast after Muffuletta Mike’s funeral tomorrow morning. Boulangerie Bertrand was supplying pastries, which were already made and packed in boxes tied with twine. Between making those along with the desserts for tonight’s fund-raiser and the St. Patrick’s Day goodies for the regular customers, Bertrand had kept the ovens and mixers running all day.
As he carried the pastries to the walk-in refrigerator, Bertrand thought he heard a noise. He stopped. Was someone in the corridor? Was someone in the display and sales area?
Standing still, he strained to hear. He could feel heat rise in his face, adrenaline in response to a perceived threat. But the only sound he heard was footsteps coming from the floor above.
He calculated where exactly the footsteps were falling in the upstairs apartment and decided that Piper was in the bathroom. His supposition was confirmed when he heard the sound of water beginning to flow through the old iron pipes. Piper was drawing a bath.
Did he dare?
Could he use the dumbwaiter and go up? Could he catch a glimpse of her as she bathed, unaware that he was peeking at her from around the corner? The thought of it left him terribly excited. But it was very dangerous. It was one thing to sneak up there and watch Piper in the middle of the night while she slept. It was quite another to venture into the apartment while she was wide awake.
He knew he was taking an incredible chance, yet that only made it more thrilling. Bertrand began to breathe faster and more heavily, knowing that if he was going to do it, he should get into the dumbwaiter and start up there now, while the water was still running.
He kicked off his shoes, ripped away his baker’s jacket, and headed for the corridor. He silently opened the door to the dumbwaiter and began to climb inside. He faced into the dark compartment, his back to the hallway. He didn’t sense the stealthy movement behind him or feel anything until the steel point of the flower nail jammed with deadly force into the side of his neck.