Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
They were quiet on the drive back to Brooke Ridge Falls, which was unusual for a car containing Ida.
They pulled into Brooke Ridge Falls at half-past two. Ruth turned onto Main Street, and Nans saw it before anyone else — partly because she was watching for it and partly because after decades of solving problems, her eyes went to the wrong thing in any picture the way a magnet found iron.
The front door of The Cup and Cake was open.
Not ajar. Open. The glass panel nearest the handle was shattered, and the door stood wide, swaying slightly in the breeze. Shards of glass glittered on the sidewalk like ice chips.
Ruth pulled to the curb. Nobody moved for a moment.
“No,” Lexy whispered.
They got out of the car and walked to the bakery in a tight group, Nans in front. The bell above the door was still attached, and it chimed when Nans pushed the door fully open — that same cheerful sound, absurdly out of place.
The bakery was wrecked. Not the casual destruction of the morning — this was thorough, methodical, the work of someone who was looking for something specific and didn’t care what they ruined in the process.
The display cases were smashed, glass everywhere. The pastry trays had been pulled out and dumped — eclairs and muffins and croissants crushed on the floor. The register was open, the cash drawer pulled out, but the money was still in it — scattered bills, undisturbed. They hadn’t come for cash.
Behind the counter, every cabinet was open.
Flour bins had been pulled from the shelves and emptied onto the floor.
Sugar canisters upended. The big fifty-pound bags of all-purpose flour that Lexy kept in the pantry had been sliced open, their contents spilling across the tile in white drifts, as if someone had run their hands through every one, searching.
Searching for diamonds.
Lexy walked through the destruction without speaking. She touched the edge of a smashed display case, ran her fingers across the counter where a tray of cookies had been swept to the floor.
This was her bakery. Her life’s work. The place she’d built from nothing.
Helen’s hand went to her mouth. “Oh, Lexy.”
“They think I have more,” Lexy said. Her voice was flat, controlled. “They think I found the diamonds and hid some. It would have been nice if they busted in through the back door though, that one is already damaged.”
“Because that’s what they would have done,” Ruth said quietly.
Nans was already on the phone. Jack answered on the second ring, and before Nans could speak, he said, “I know. A neighbor called it in. I’m on my way.”
“How bad is it from the report?” Nans asked.
“Bad enough. Is Lexy there?”
“She’s here.”
Jack was quiet for a beat. “Tell her I’m coming. And Nans — where have you been all morning? Because the patrol car I posted saw Ruth’s sedan leave three hours ago with all of you in it.”
“We went for a drive. Fresh air. Very therapeutic.”
“Nans.”
“We’ll talk when you get here.”
She hung up. Jack would be furious, and he’d be right to be furious, and it wouldn’t change a single thing.
Ida stood in the middle of the destroyed bakery, her purse clutched to her chest. “They sliced open every bag,” she said. “Every single one. They were running their hands through the flour.”
“Looking for more diamonds,” Helen confirmed.
“Which means they don’t know how many were in the original bag or someone took some somewhere along the line,” Nans said. “And as long as they’re not sure—”
“They’ll keep coming back,” Lexy finished.
The words hung in the air, settling over the ruined bakery like the flour dust that covered everything.
Ruth set her iPad on the one clean section of counter, her expression grim. “So this isn’t just about finding the recipe anymore.”
“No,” Nans agreed. “It’s not.”
“I want my recipe back,” Lexy said. “And I want these people to stop destroying my bakery.”
“Then we need to get to that storage unit before Sal dumps what’s left,” Nans said. “And we need to do it today.”
“Tonight,” Ruth corrected, checking her watch. “Jack’s going to be here in minutes, and he’s going to park us somewhere and tell us to stay. If we’re going to the storage unit, it needs to be after he’s done processing this scene and thinks we’ve gone home like good, sensible women.”
Outside, a siren wailed — distant but getting closer. Jack, making good time.
Nans looked at each of them in turn: Ruth, already calculating logistics on her iPad; Helen, worried but resolute; Ida, clutching her purse like a soldier with a sidearm; and Lexy, standing in the ruins of her bakery with flour in her hair and fire in her eyes.
“Tonight,” Nans agreed. “We go to the storage unit.”