You don’t care about her. Or him.
The last time I was here, I’d gone into a death spiral, ruminating over how terrible Theo and Brooks had been to me.
I’d even bought a voodoo doll yesterday morning to sooth my inner child.
We are better than this.
“I need my shop open. The cats. My money. Oakley is in my house,” she begged.
“Don’t start throwing her out,” I warned, taking another sip of my coffee. “You don’t want to get a fine for illegal eviction.”
“Brooks probably gave her the house in the will anyway,” she said bitterly. “He ruined everything. I wish I’d never met Brooks.”
Same.
I wiped my mouth. “Hurry up and finish eating,” I ordered. “I’m going to get your shop back.”
The Santa ClawsCafé was the legal definition of a shit show.
Police and crime scene techs were moseying around, talking nonsense and pretending they were in the holiday special ofLaw and Order.
“I’ve been at crime scenes for mass murders in New York City that had less police activity than this cupcake shop.” I handed Moose to Emmie and stepped into the café.
“Excuse me.”
They look up at me. One of the cops beamed. “Marius! Look who’s back in town.”
“You literally saw me over Thanksgiving,” I reminded Bobby.
“Good to see a familiar face.” He rocked on his heels.
He and I had joined forces in middle school on more than one occasion. Safety in numbers from Brooks and his thuggish friends and all.
“Ms. Dawson needs the use of her cupcake shop. You all were here all day yesterday. You don’t need to gather any more evidence.”
One of the crime-scene techs swallowed the cupcake he was eating.
“Are you going to pay for that?” I demanded.
“It’s on the house!” Emmie called. “Did you like it? I added cardamom.”
“It’s delicious!” The crime scene tech flashed a thumbs-up.
“Have another.”
“No. They need to vacate the shop. You are all violating Ms. Dawson’s fourth amendment rights.”
“You mean the right not to have the British move into your house?” Officer Girthman frowned.
“No. It’s a taking. Unreasonable search and seizure. You already searched Ms. Dawson’s shop. You can’t also keep it closed indefinitely. Are you charging her?” I demanded. “Well?”
The police bumbled around.
“I guess we have enough evidence. You can open your shop, Emmie,” Winston said, taking down the crime scene tape.
When they finally left,plied with cupcakes I wouldn’t eat, considering they came from Santa’s little murder bakery, Emmie threw herself into my arms.
It was startling, the softness of her.
