Chương 7
A broken thing was obvious.
A thing pretending to be repaired was harder.
Nathaniel was already there.
I stopped beside my car.
"You need to stop doing that."
He turned.
"Doing what?"
"Appearing places before I get there."
"I have security watching the area."
"That is not an explanation."
"It is the reason."
I walked toward the door.
"You cannot just have people watching me."
"I can."
The way he said it was not arrogant.
That almost made it worse.
I unlocked the bakery.
"That does not mean you should."
He followed me inside.
The smell of coffee still remained from yesterday.
The bakery looked almost normal except for the covered window.
Almost.
That was the strange thing about damage.
Life continued around it.
The ovens still worked.
The lights still turned on.
The chairs were still in the same places.
But everyone knew something had changed.
Nathaniel stood near the counter.
"You should not be here alone."
"I am not alone."
He looked around.
"There is nobody here."
"I have me."
A small expression crossed his face.
Not amusement.
Something closer to admiration.
"You always do that."
"Do what?"
"Act like needing help is a personal failure."
I opened my mouth.
Then closed it.
Because I hated that he was right.
I turned on the lights.
"What did you find?"
He knew immediately what I meant.
"The person in the footage."
"Yes."
"I saw it."
"And?"
He hesitated.
That was becoming a habit.
Nathaniel Caldwell, a man who could apparently negotiate million-dollar deals without blinking, struggled with ordinary conversations.
"It was one person."
"Male?"
"Yes."
"Do you know him?"
"No."
I studied his face.
"That pause means something."
"It means I am trying not to make assumptions."
"Since when?"
That almost made him smile.
"Since I met a woman who asks too many questions."
"I ask appropriate questions."
"You asked a stranger in a restaurant why he did not own a plant."
I crossed my arms.
"He needed one."
Nathaniel looked away.
For a second, I saw the memory pass across his face.
The birthday dinner.
The chair.
The green crayon.
Then it disappeared.
"I have been thinking about that night," he said.
"Why?"
"Because it was the last time someone treated me like I was just a person."
The honesty made me uncomfortable.
Not because I disliked it.
Because I did.
I liked seeing this version of him.
And I did not know what to do with that.
"You are still a person."
He looked at me.
"Not everyone believes that."
"Do you?"
The question stayed between us.
Finally, he said, "I am not sure."
Before I could answer, the bakery door opened.
We both turned.
It was Mrs. Holloway.
She walked in carrying a container of homemade soup.
She was seventy-two years old and had lived on my street longer than most of the buildings.
She also had no ability to recognize when a situation was private.
"Good," she said when she saw Nathaniel.
"You are here."
Nathaniel looked confused.
"Hello, Mrs. Holloway."
She pointed at him.
"You look terrible."
I almost laughed.
Nathaniel blinked.
"Thank you."
"It was not a compliment."
"I assumed."
She placed the soup on the counter.
"You young people think being quiet makes you mysterious."
"I am not young," Nathaniel said.
"You are younger than me."
"That is true."
"And you are carrying something heavy."
Nathaniel glanced at me.
Apparently everyone in my life had decided they could read people's emotions better than I could.
Mrs. Holloway noticed the broken window.
Her face changed.
"What happened?"
I explained briefly.
She listened.
Then she looked at Nathaniel.
"You brought trouble here."
It was not a question.
The room became still.
Nathaniel did not defend himself.
"Yes."
I looked at him.
The simple admission surprised me.
Mrs. Holloway nodded.
"Good."
I frowned.
"Good?"
"Yes."
She looked at me.
"Men who cause trouble usually spend their time pretending they do not."
She picked up her soup container.
"This one looks tired because he knows."
Nathaniel stared at her.
"You are very direct."
"I am old."
"That explains it?"
"It gives me permission."
I had to look away so they would not see me smiling.
Then Mrs. Holloway turned serious.
"Emma."
I looked at her.
"Be careful."
The warning landed differently because she was not talking about Nathaniel.
She was talking about everything around him.
"I know."
"No."
She shook her head.
"You know you are scared."
I became quiet.
"You do not know what comes after people with power decide something belongs to them."
Nathaniel looked down.
Mrs. Holloway noticed.
"I was married to a man who thought being feared was the same as being respected."
She picked up her purse.
"It is not."
Then she left.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Finally, Nathaniel said, "She is intimidating."
"Yes."
"More than most people I know."
"Definitely."
That was the first time we laughed together since the window broke.
It lasted only a few seconds.
But it helped.
Later that afternoon, Detective Ortiz called again.
This time, her voice sounded different.
Not cautious.
Focused.
"We found the person who damaged your bakery."
My hand tightened around the phone.
"Who?"
"His name is Daniel Mercer."
The name meant nothing.
"Do I know him?"
"No."
"Does Nathaniel?"
A pause.
"That is complicated."
I looked toward the bakery entrance.
"Why?"
"Because Daniel Mercer worked for Nathaniel's father."
The room seemed colder.
"Another connection."
"Yes."
"Is he one of the people who hurt Clara?"
"We do not know."
"You said you found him."
"We found him."
"That is not the same."
"No."
Her honesty bothered me.
But I appreciated it.
"We interviewed him."
"And?"
"He said he was warning you."
My stomach tightened.
"Warning me?"
"That is what he claims."
"By breaking my window?"
"His explanation is that he wanted Mr. Caldwell's attention."
I looked around the bakery.
"Why?"
"Because someone else is moving against him."
I went quiet.
"Who?"
May you like
"We do not know yet."
I looked at the street outside.
