That should make me feel better.
It does not.
Darlene is already there, standing in front of the dead display case with a cigarette hanging unlit from the corner of her mouth and a broom in her hand like she is considering whether violence against appliances counts as closure. Her gray hair is pinned crookedly. Her black cardigan is buttoned wrong. She has been crying or not sleeping, and either way I know better than to mention it.
“You’re late,” she says.
“It’s five twenty-two.”
“You’re usually down here by five ten.”
“I was lying upstairs pretending unconsciousness might come back.”
“Any luck?”
“No.”
“Same.” She kicks a small piece of glass toward the dustpan. “The case is dead.”
“I know.”
“I mean dead dead. Not mostly dead, not ‘Kauss can grunt at it and make it behave’ dead. It’s gone to pastry equipment heaven, where everything is overpriced and nobody has parts.”
I walk closer, the floor cold through the soles of my shoes. The display case that once held lemon tarts, almond twists, chocolate crescents, and cinnamon rolls like little edible promises is a gutted thing now. The front glass is gone. The inner shelves are cracked. The cooling coils sit exposed and dark.
My throat tightens.
Darlene sees it and immediately becomes mean because she loves me. “Don’t get sentimental over refrigeration.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re looking at it like we buried it with military honors.”
“It was my grandmother’s.”
“Your grandmother hated that case.”
“She did not.”
“She called it a temperamental little bastard with delusions of grandeur.”
I blink. “She did?”
“Frequently.”
That helps. Not enough, but some.
I run my fingers along the counter instead of touching the case. “We open with dry goods only today. Coffee, breads, rolls, shelf-stable pastries, soup at lunch if the warmer still works. No chilled items.”
“Look at you, making business decisions in a crime scene.”
“Don’t call it that.”
“That’s what it is.”
“No.” I turn toward her, and the word comes sharper than I intend. “It’s a bakery.”
Darlene’s eyes soften for half a second before she beats the softness to death with practicality. “Fine. It’s a bakery with criminal décor.”
