“That car,” she said. “I don’t suppose you recognize it.”
I sat Bailey in the middle of the room, where it’d take her at least a full minute to get up to any trouble, and peeked between the slats. A dark car, probably black, sat out on the street that formed a T with ours, facing our apartment building. I squinted. Between the distance and the glare on the glass, I couldn’t tell whether those shapes were passengers or merely seats.
“No,” I said. “Why?”
“I saw it there last night. Kind of odd. When I got back from the store this morning, it wasn’t there. Now it’s back.”
It could be anything out on the street. I wasn’t sure why this particular car spooked her, except that it did look rather shiny—as in clean—for this area. And though I couldn’t quite tell from the shape of it, it seemed somewhat new. Nice cars in a bad neighborhood spelled trouble.
“It’s probably nothing,” I said. “Or the neighbor in 6A. He’s got shifty eyes.”
“Yeah,” she agreed. “Probably nothing.”
It looked like I’d rubbed off on even Shelly. I didn’t like seeing her shaken—that wasn’t her—so I went for distraction. “Bailey has a new trick.”
“Oh?” she asked, some of the scary flatness fading from her eyes.
“Bailey, catch.” I gently tossed the large, soft ball to her. She pounced on the ball as it hit the floor, accurately guessing the arc if not quite catching it midair yet.
“Yay!” Shelly clapped. “Who’s my good girl?”
Bailey giggled. Previously we had only played roll, so this was a whole new world for her. I left them to their new game so I could change and get to work.
The bakery was a study in facades, the front of the shopping-strip building all brick, with fancy porticos and signage. Back in the employee parking lot, the cement was exposed, shorter than the brick wall. The contrast reminded me of a movie-set prop.
The inside was split too. The front room, where the customers came in, was spacious and tiled and clean. The back rooms were unfinished, the innards of the building exposed and cramped. Between the two, it was fitting that I was in the back. It wasn’t pleasant, just where I belonged.
When I went inside, my coworker and slacker supreme lounged against the counter. I forced myself to smile at him as I clocked in. “Hey, Jeremy.”
He glanced at me—my mouth, not my eyes—and then away. “Hi, Allie.”
“So…what have you got for me?”
“Two wedding cakes in the freezer. Cupcakes on a timer. Rick took an order for tomorrow.”
“Shit, tomorrow? What for?”
“Don’t know,” he mumbled, staring intently at the refrigerator beside me.
I managed a weak smile. “All right. I’d better get started.”
He shrugged and went into the bathroom. His shift was up when I got in, so it’d be on me to make whatever order Rick had agreed to.
After washing my hands and checking on the cupcakes, I went in search of Rick. He looked up from his paperwork. Not bothering with his customer smile, he said, “We got an order for a birthday cake. Fifty people. Over-the-hill theme. Tomorrow.”
“Jesus, Rick.”
“Don’t start with me. This is business.” Yes, business. The business where I cooked the cake using my recipes, decorated using my ideas, and took home a barely legal hourly wage. I wasn’t too bitter about that, but I didn’t want to work overtime on top of it. Not when Bailey was home with Shelly, and Shelly needed me back so she could go to work and make much more money selling her body.
Meanwhile the Sweet Spot was billed as an authentic family bakery with an eye on modern trends. No, Rick wasn’t my family. And judging by the covert looks he’d steal when he thought I wasn’t looking, he didn’t think of me that way either. But he didn’t touch me, and that made this better than Shelly’s job. Maybe.
“Fine,” I said. “Is that all they said?”
“She wants it classy.” He rolled his eyes.
I smiled slightly, commiserating. “Right. Over-the-hill, fifty people, classy. Got it.”
The back was empty, bathroom door open, so Jeremy had already left. I got to work on the cake batter. In reality the decorating was the easy part. The painful part would be all the waiting that would happen while baking, then cooling, then the first coat, then the full-on decorating. I’d have to work past my shift today to get it done, for sure. Most likely I’d stay up late tonight, rolling out fondant pieces on my counter at home so I could apply them to the finished cake tomorrow.
I barely heard Rick’s yell over the whir of the electric mixer. I flipped it off and listened.
“Allie. Phone!”
Only Shelly had this number; only Shelly would care to call. Well, I had to talk to her anyways, ask her if she could watch Bailey late today. Wiping my hands on my apron, I grabbed the plastic receiver.
“Shelly?”
Silence.
“Hello?”
I looked at the phone, then put it to my ear. Still nothing. I hung up. Poking my head out onto the floor, I called to Rick, “Nobody there.”