Crumbled to Pieces

by Catherine Bruns

  "I'll try to get home earlier tonight," he promised. "It's nice to have plenty of work—and money—coming in, but not worth all the time I'm spending away from my beautiful wife. I'm planning to clear a couple of days so we can go away for our anniversary."

  I ran my finger over the stubble gathered on his chin. "We don't have to go anywhere special. I just want to be alone with you." Then I hesitated. "Uh, I hate to spoil the moment, but did you ever make it over to Allegra's last night?"

  He stiffened slightly against me. "Yeah, I was there."

  Uh-oh. If anything, I knew my husband, and Mike's attitude indicated to me that something had not gone as planned. "Was everything all right?"

  "Yeah." He frowned then let out a deep breath. "Actually, no."

  What was going on? "You couldn't fix the faucet?"

  Mike's jaw hardened. "Well, you see, that's the problem. There was nothing wrong with the faucet."

  My brow furrowed, and I stared at him in confusion. "I don't understand. Why would she say it was broken then?"

  His face reddened with obvious discomfort. "Sal, I don't know how to tell you this, but—that woman—I think you should try to get her out of there, if it's possible."

  He was starting to frighten me. "What did she do? Break it on purpose?"

  Mike shook his head and swallowed hard. "Nothing like that. She—she asked me if I wanted to spend the night. With her."

  My jaw almost hit the floor. "Excuse me?"

  "I couldn't quite believe it myself," he admitted. "She answered the door in a see-through nightgown." He shut his eyes as if trying to block out the vision. "It was one of the most embarrassing moments of my life."

  "Oh my God." Now I was livid. "That old woman made a pass at you? You're like—what— forty years younger than her! Are you sure you didn't imagine it?"

  Before he even responded, I had to admit to myself it was a possibility. I'd overheard Allegra say something to Nicoletta about "that bakery girl's husband" after I'd shown her the apartment while Mike had been there as well. At the time, I'd just thought it had related to repairs, but perhaps not. "I don't believe this. What else did she say?"

  He stared down at the bed, unable to meet my eyes. "Sal, let's not talk about it anymore, okay?"

  I lifted his chin with my fingertips and forced him to look into my eyes. "Tell me."

  He blew out a ragged breath. "It's not so much what she said but what she did."

  "Okay, you're really scaring me. What did she do?"

  "She…" Mike stared down at the bed again. "When I was under the sink, on my knees, she came up behind me and…" He practically squirmed. "She copped a feel."

  "She did what?" I pushed the covers and Mike back angrily, surprised at my sudden strength. I hurried across the room to the closet and threw on a pair of jeans. "Why, that dirty old woman. There's no way I'll put up with her groping my husband, and I'm going to tell her so—right now."

  "Sal!" He grabbed my arm and whirled me around to face him. "Please. I don't want anyone to know about this. Good God, it's embarrassing enough that I had to tell you."

  "But she had no right to do that! It's…sexual harassment! What about the whole 'me too' movement? It applies to men as well, doesn't it?"

  He scrunched up his face as if in acute pain. "I'd rather just forget about the whole thing."

  "What did you do after it happened?" I asked.

  Mike's face was stoic. "Well, I was a little shocked but managed to get up from under the sink and calmly told her everything was fine. Then I said the next time it acted up, someone else would be coming out to have a look. I picked up my tools and left. I think she got the message."

  Poor Mike. From the expression he wore, it looked like he'd lost his best friend. It was almost comical, except this was no laughing matter. That woman—despite her age—had made it clear she wanted my husband. Mike had never had a shortage of admirers, and women always stared or checked him out whenever we went somewhere together. This was a new one, though. To think this woman—close to my own grandmother's age—would do something of that caliber made my blood boil. It was obvious to me now why Allegra kept needing repairs at the apartment.

  "Please, Sal." His face and neck were both a beet red color. "Promise me you won't tell anyone. Not even Josie."

  "Fine," I sighed. "If that's what you really want, then I won't say anything. I still think we should confront Allegra together, though."

  He shook his head furiously. "She'd only deny it. I would rather let this go away on its own. By the way, do you happen to know what kind of business she's running? There's a display case almost identical to yours. It was the only piece of equipment I saw in the place."

  "Josie and I saw the case being delivered yesterday," I said. "Nicoletta's selling homemade candy and varieties of gourmet nuts, I believe. It may end up bringing in some new customers for my shop as well."

  Mike traced a finger down the side of my face but looked unconvinced. "Well, that would be one way to look on the bright side, I guess."

  Puzzled, I stared up into his handsome tanned face. "What does that mean?"

  His dark blue eyes were troubled as he spoke the same words Josie had the day before. "It means this woman is going to be nothing but trouble for us, Sal. You can pretty much count on that."

  CHAPTER TWO

  Josie raised her slim hand and pointed at the sign that was attached to our front door, held in place with black electrical tape. "Did she even ask you before she put it up?"

  I raised an eyebrow in warning, then gave the elderly man I was waiting on his little pink box filled with jelly thumbprint cookies and Josie's newest creation, double chocolate chili cookies. They had a delicious spicy bite to them without being overpowering. "Thanks so much. Have a great day."

  After the man had departed, I joined Josie at the door. "No, she didn't ask. I thought she was going to put a sign by the stairs. But let's not talk ill of our tenant while customers are in the shop, okay?"

  She made a face. "Why not? There's nothing positive to say about the old bat, that's for damn sure. She makes Mrs. Gavelli look like Mother Theresa. Her grand opening is only causing more work for us. Did you see the dirt she tracked in by our front door this morning? I had to sweep it up."

  We paused as the door opened, the string of silver bells on it jingling away merrily, and two middle-aged women nodded politely at us before ascending the stairs. "Yeah, I know. Gee, Allegra's already getting a steady stream of customers, so whatever she's doing up there, she's doing it well. She also took out a half-page ad in the Colwestern Times. That had to cost a small fortune."

  Josie shook her head and walked into the back room. "Figures. I was kind of hoping she'd go bankrupt on her first day. There's something else I wanted to mention. I'm pretty sure she used our ovens this morning."

  I grabbed a mitt and removed a tray of vanilla cookies from the oven. Josie placed another tray of the cookies that had already cooled in front of her on the wood block table and began to ice them with her creamy fudge frosting. "Are you serious?"

  She nodded, her thin lips twisting into a frown. "There was debris on the bottom of a couple, and I just cleaned them yesterday. Two of them were still warm when I arrived to open the bakery, and she was already upstairs."

  "That's strange. Allegra has a stove up there." Cripes. I hoped hers wasn't on the blink. She'd want Mike to come fix it, and as far as I was concerned, that was no longer an option.

  "Hey, Sal!" a male voice yelled from the storefront. "Where are you?"

  Josie peered out the doorway. "What's your father doing here?"

  "He probably needs to lay in to a fresh supply of fortune cookies. Maybe he's mentioning them in his blog today." One never knew with my father. I went out to greet him with Josie following.

  Domenic Muccio was seated at one of the little white tables by my front window and was in the process of setting up his laptop. Oh boy. "Hi, Dad. What are you doing here?"

  "I need som
e peace and quiet to work on my book," he grumbled. "Your mother has got some of those flighty real estate agent friends of hers at the house for brunch. All their yacking was giving me a headache."

  Josie struggled to keep a straight face. My mother had a real estate license, but as far as I knew, she'd never made a single sale. She changed careers as often as some people changed their socks. Her latest venture consisted of assisting my father with his death blog, which he wrote faithfully every day. She would proofread his comments and make suggestions. Based on the success of the blog, he had decided to write a book, which consisted of past posts, long-winded narratives about the deaths of famous people he admired, and rambling, uneven observations attributed to the entire death process. He even kept two coffins in the house—one in the living room and the other in my old bedroom. They helped with his thought process, or so he said.

  I couldn't very well ask my father to leave but was afraid he'd stop customers on the way in and ask about their plans for the hereafter. While I didn't want to be mean, we couldn't afford to lose customers. As I thought about how to phrase my words, Dad strolled casually behind the display case and helped himself to a cup of coffee from my Keurig on the counter. I took in his outfit and winced. My mother was known for dressing like a teenager, even though she was over fifty. Dad was the complete opposite and openly embraced his age.

  "Nice legs, Domenic." Josie grinned. He was dressed in a faded Mets T-shirt, beige cargo shorts, and white socks paired with brown leather sandals.

  He raised one leg in the air proudly. "Thanks, Josie. I've worked hard on these gams, let me tell you." At the age of sixty-seven, he was rapidly losing his hair and gaining a girth to his stomach. The doctor had warned him to take off a few pounds, especially after the minor stroke he'd had last year, but my father always said life was meant to be enjoyed. He paired the concept with plenty of delicious, rich Italian food. It didn't help matters that my grandmother was a fantastic cook.

  "Dad, you're welcome to stay as long as you promise not to talk about the blog to our customers," I said. "They're here to buy cookies, not plan their funerals."

  He gave me a thumbs-up and sat back down. "No problem. Just get your old man a couple of fortune cookies and some of Josie's genettis, and you won't hear another peep out of me. I'll be as quiet as a corpse in a funeral parlor."

  Jeez Louise. "Dad, please. You'll scare customers away if you talk like that."

  He made a motion of locking his lips and throwing away the key. "No worries, baby girl. I'll be good."

  "Yeah, right," Josie mumbled in a disbelieving tone.

  Resigned, I went behind the counter to grab a piece of waxed paper then placed three fortune cookies and two genettis together on a paper plate. The Italian glazed cookies with colorful nonpareils looked inviting, and again, I had to force myself from indulging. Lately all I seemed to think about was food.

  As I was setting the plate in front of my father, the two women who had come in a few minutes ago descended the stairs, each carrying a little white box. They nodded politely at us and opened the front door as a woman with two little girls bounded in and right up the stairs.

  Dad watched them, a genetti poised against his lips. "What's your new tenant selling, Sal?"

  I opened the display case to make room for a tray of jelly cookies. "Some varieties of homemade candy. I believe she's selling gourmet nuts too."

  His brow wrinkled as he watched me. "But you don't know for certain? What if she's dealing drugs?"

  What was it with everyone and this drug theory? "Dad, there's no way Allegra is dealing drugs. Mrs. Gavelli is upstairs with her."

  He gave a loud harrumph and cracked open a fortune cookie. "Well, I wouldn't put anything past anyone these days, especially that old broad. I still can't believe she's taken the woman in to live with her. Allegra is causing nothing but trouble in our neighborhood."

  Josie grabbed the back of the chair next to my father and clutched it between her hands. "Why? What's going on?"

  "She called the cops on the Gardners across the street," my father explained. "They had a party the other night, and Allegra complained that they were making way too much noise."

  It seemed Allegra was busy making new friends everywhere.

  Dad crunched the cookie around in his mouth and watched as two more women came in, nodded to us, and then went upstairs. "I may have to go see what all the fuss is about." He stared down at the message in his hands. "Hey, check this out. I got one that says, 'You should write a book!' I knew there was something to these babies when you first decided to make them. Wait a second." He scratched his head thoughtfully. "Aren't you printing your own messages now?"

  "Sometimes," I admitted. "But we still buy them from the novelty store once in a while."

  He put the message in his shorts pocket. "This is a good omen. Now if only Steve Steadman would answer my emails, I'd be all set."

  "Who's Steve Steadman?" Josie asked before I could poke her in the ribs. It sounded like it was related to his book, and everyone in the family was tired of hearing about it.

  My father chewed on another cookie as we waited for him to respond. "He's a big-time literary agent who lives in Nevada. He has a passion for books about death, and he's made some huge deals for his clients. For some reason he doesn't seem to be getting my emails, though."

  Josie turned away in an attempt to hide the smile on her face. Somehow, I suspected Mr. Steadman was getting his emails okay. He sounded like a smart guy to me. If he ever responded to one of my father's notes, Steve would be doomed because my father would never leave him alone again. Dad was a bit like a stray dog at times. Once you fed him, he stayed.

  "Make yourself comfortable, Dad. Josie and I have some cookies to frost in the back room."

  He rose to his feet. "I think I'm going to take a little trip upstairs and see exactly what they're selling. Be right back."

  We left him lumbering up the stairs and went into the back room. I started to cover the vanilla cookies with fudge frosting while Josie peered into one of the plastic storage bins we used to store the extra fortune cookies.

  "I baked five dozen fortune cookies yesterday, but there's only about a dozen in here. Did you use them, Sal?"

  I shook my head. "I noticed that too. I thought maybe someone requested them for a party and you forgot to tell me about it."

  Josie's mouth formed a thin hard line. "I bet the old lady upstairs stole them."

  "Will you stop? You can't go around accusing people like that."

  She removed her apron and flung it on the counter. "I want to see what's going on up there too. And if I spot any fortune cookies lying around, you can bet there's going to be hell to pay."

  She started for the doorway but was interrupted by my father's presence. He stared from me to Josie, and I noticed the color had disappeared from his usually ruddy cheeks.

  "Dad, what's wrong?"

  He opened the white paper bag in his hand and drew out three jelly cookies and a fortune cookie. "Sal, are you aware that Allegra's running a bakery upstairs?"

  My chest tightened with discomfort. "What are you talking about? She's selling homemade candy."

  My father gave me a sympathetic look and handed us each a jelly cookie. "No, baby girl. She's got some candy and nuts up there, but she's also selling cookies, and they're just like yours. Hers are cheaper too. A lot cheaper."

  Josie's face suffused with anger. "What exactly is going on here?" She bit into the cookie that my father had handed her, and then swore. "This is my exact recipe. That old lady is a thief!"

  "I can't believe this." Not knowing what else to do, I walked into the front room and sank down in the chair next to my father's laptop. "Why would she do such a thing?"

  "Because she's evil," Josie spat out. "What mystifies me is how she ever expected to get away with it."

  I raised my hand in the air. "Calm down. We've got to think this through rationally and not do anything stupid. The woman has a lease, a
nd she's got rights. Let me get Gianna on the phone. The first thing we need to do is find out how we can legally remove her from the building."

  "You mean throw her bony butt out of here," Josie snapped. "Well, I have no problem hurling it into the street."

  "Stop it," I said with exasperation. "We could get into big trouble if we lay so much as a finger on her."

  My father nodded wisely, his mouth full of jelly cookie. "Sal's right, Josie."

  Josie's nostrils flared. "Then I'm going upstairs to have a talk with little miss copycat baker. She can't use my recipes without my permission! She must have lifted the fortune cookies and my recipes from the back room. The nerve!"

  She started for the stairs, but I was quick to stop her. "Wait a minute. I'm just as upset as you are, but it's not going to do any good to get into a fight with the woman, especially when she has customers upstairs." Who were probably our former customers, come to think of it.

  Josie scowled, and her cheeks flushed a bright red. "Then what do you suggest?"

  I turned to my father. "Dad, would you please go upstairs and ask Allegra to come down here for a minute? Don't tell her why, though."

  "Sure thing, baby girl." He started back up the stairs, whistling under his breath, and took another bite of jelly cookie. "Hey, these might even be better than yours, Josie."

  "What the hell!" Josie screeched and bounded for the stairs again.

  It took all my strength to keep her in place. "Listen to me! We're not going upstairs to make a scene. When she comes down here, we'll have a calm, cool, and rational talk with her."

  Josie folded her arms over her chest. "I don't think that's possible. But if it is, then what?"

  Then I hurl her bony butt into the street. How I wished it was that simple. Frustrated, I blew out a long breath. "I'll have to check with Gianna." My sister was a public defender, but she'd at least know what type of steps I should take or could refer me to someone. "I think sometimes that tenants have more rights than the landlord. Maybe if I tell Allegra it's not working out and give her time to find another place—plus a partial refund—she'll leave graciously."