by Becca Bloom
Following the trail of flour, I went into the kitchen and my balled-up emotions quickly shifted from anger to nausea.
Sacks of flour slashed through the middle spilled onto the floor. Bags of sugar confetti and sprinkles, cocoa powder and coconut flakes were strewn across the tiles.
It looked like a tornado had touched down in my poor kitchen.
Whoever had done this was bent on sabotaging me, and I could only think of one man low enough to do it. Had he been outside gloating over what he’d done? Had he been curious to see my reaction?
I looked over the kitchen, and the wreckage inside paled in importance when I saw a large oval on the black-and-white tiles. It was the only spot untouched by dust and looked all the emptier and forlorn for it. My industrial-sized mixer should have been there.
Two little tire tracks trailing out of the kitchen made more sense now. I followed their path out of the kitchen’s swinging door, but they faded out before they passed the counter toward the front door … which made me all the madder he’d smashed out my window. Seriously! Why the pointless destruction? It was unnecessarily malevolent, and it had “Sal” written all over it.
Mammy came down while I was on the phone with Gus. I was glad he’d been the one to answer because I was too upset to spare the extra gray cells to speak Spanish with any clarity.
Mammy tip-toed through the mess, looping her arm through mine and leading me out to the sidewalk while Gus tried to calm me down on the phone.
Miss Patty waved at us from farther up the street, hustling over to join us.
I hung up the phone as Miss Patty approached. She flinched and paced like she was about to burst.
I felt like a pressure cooker coming to a boil, but Miss Patty didn’t deserve to bear the brunt of my pent up rage. No, that I’d save for Sal.
“I’m so glad I ran into you, Jess. I’ve been on pins and needles. Have you found anything that can help Eduardo?” she asked.
Maybe I took too long to answer her, maybe my indignation reflected in my face. I didn’t know. But she looked at my shop, and I saw the moment when she realized what had happened. As I had done earlier, she covered her mouth with both of her hands.
“Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry, Jess! And here I come adding to your problems when you clearly have enough of your own,” she exclaimed in one rushed breath.
“It’s okay, Miss Patty,” I said. The worst was over, the shock was wearing off, and I was already planning how to turn this around and come off the winner rather than let Sal be the cause of my downfall. The weasel wouldn’t win this battle.
She gasped, covering her mouth again and looking around suspiciously, “You don’t think it’s the same person who broke into your apartment, do you?”
“Angry Art Man?” My immediate reaction was to deny the possibility. I’d convinced myself that Angel Flores had broken my door. It seemed to be the only reasonable explanation when nothing had shown up missing from my apartment. He must have been disappointed when he didn’t find my painting.
But why would he break into my shop? No, it didn’t add up.
Sal breaking into my shop, making a royal mess, and stealing my mixer … that checked all the boxes.
Miss Patty and Mammy’s conversation faded into the background as I considered the chances of being the target of not only one but two break-ins within the same week. It seemed a bit overkill. Then again, as Washo had so eloquently put it before, I did tend to draw out the crazies.
Patricio and his crew pulled up beside the park, each of them crossing the street with their jaws open and their eyes riveted on my broken window.
“What happened here?” Patricio asked.
“Someone stole my mixer.” It was getting easier to say now that a plan was forming in my mind.
Miss Patty hugged me to her side, the gauzy folds of her tunic tickling my arm. “I’ll let everyone know what happened. We’ll help you find the mixer or another one to replace it.”
You bet your bottom dollar, we will, I thought, watching her disappear into Sylvia’s kitchen to tell them the news.
Patricio peeked inside the window. Jerking his thumb at the glass, he asked, “You didn’t hear anything?”
Good point. Why hadn’t I heard anything? Why hadn’t anybody?
“No,” I said simply, having no more explanation to offer.
He rubbed his hand over his jaw. “Whoever did this knew what he was doing, Señorita James. You must be careful.”
Abuelita stormed out of the restaurant, Tia Rosa following closely behind on her heels. “This no mean the end of the doughnuts, si? We get the doughnuts in two days?” she asked.
Patricio and his men disappeared upstairs to the terrace. Smart men.
My stomach tied into knots as I realized how unlikely it would be for me to be able to open my doughnut shop in two short days without a mixer.
Smacking her fist against her palm, Abuelita said, “I know who do this. I feel it in the gut.”
For once, I agreed with her.
All four of us looked down the street — to Sal’s bakery.
Chapter 16
By the time Gus got to the crime scene and poked around the shop with me, a small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk. Friendly faces smiled to me in encouragement every time I glanced outside. I was grateful not to have to deal with this alone or I might have marched down the street and strangled Sal. I’d get locked up, and he’d never speak again. Then how would I get my mixer back?
Gus repeated what Patricio had observed minutes before, “The thief knew what he was doing.”
“He?” I asked. Sal was a he.
“He or she. Although, with the weight of your ancient mixer I’m leaning more toward a male,” Gus specified.
I remembered how difficult it had been to get that mixer out of Abuelita’s house and into my kitchen, so I didn’t argue with him. It was the kind of appliance one considered building a store around before attempting to move it. Plus, Gus’ deduction fit my theory nicely. Sal looked guiltier by the second.
“He wore something over his shoes to avoid leaving prints, and I just bet that if I dust this place, we won’t find any.” He added, “We’ll do it anyway, just to make sure.”
Great. More dust. “If I’m going to spend all day cleaning, I might as well have more to tidy up.” Boy, aren’t I the optimist? If I kept this up, I’d end up doing like Pollyanna and playing the glad game. Although I had difficulty thinking of what to be glad about at the moment.
I cast a weak smile at my friends milling about on the sidewalk, waiting for news and showing their support. I loved them for it. I was glad to have them. (Glad. I rolled my eyes at myself. Just call me Pollyanna.)
Martha was there with Fernanda. Washo and Sylvia conversed with Abuelita and Tia Rosa. Jake stood by Mammy.
Miss Patty hovered around for quite a while, but it didn’t surprise me when she raced back to her gallery. She was still convinced that Angry Art Man had something to do with my disappearing mixer, and she wasn’t about to risk losing a painting with a thief on the loose. Because art thieves steal bulky kitchen appliances all the time.
Adi scribbled on a clipboard as she walked between everyone and asked questions. I had no clue what she had taken it upon herself to do, but she looked very efficient doing it.
When Gus and I stepped back out onto the sidewalk, she barged up to us, gripping her clipboard so hard her fingers turned white. “I’ve made a list of places who might have a spare mixer for you to use. Martha offered to go around to the different businesses in town to see what she can scrounge up. Jake will go to all the local appliance stores, and I will help you call the larger stores in Ambato. Everyone else has agreed to stay here to clean up this mess and see what needs to be replaced by Friday night.” Clapping like a general, she shouted, “Okay, people, let’s move!”
I was speechless.
Gus followed Adi with his eyes, trying not to grin. “She loves bossing people around, doesn’t she?”
he commented under his breath.
I patted him on the shoulder. He would have his hands full if he ever worked up the nerve to officially ask her out. I hoped he did. Gus was a good guy.
While Adi took on the role of Project Manager, I tried to sneak inside to lend a hand with the cleaning once Gus’ people finished up. I’d cooled down enough, I could see the error in my murderous thoughts. I didn’t think I’d said any of them aloud….
Unfortunately, Mayor Guerra showed up right then, blinding me with his bright teeth and enveloping me with a cloud of cologne as he and his entourage crowded the sidewalk.
“I heard what happened, Señorita James. We’ll find the criminal who did this.” Mayor Guerra posed beside me and flashed his winning smile as he spoke into the camera, “We’ve got your back, Jessica.”
Hmm. Someone’s been watching American TV.
Adi made a beeline for the mayor, shoving a broom in front of him. “Your timing is impeccable, Mayor Guerra. Come inside and help us clean up this mess.”
I bit my cheeks and held my breath to keep from bursting into laughter at the shock on the mayor’s face. His career path in politics aside, he really was a nice man who had stuck his neck out for me on at least one occasion. But there weren’t many people bold enough to put him on the spot like that in public.
It took him a full second to recover and recognize the opportunity Adi had presented to him. Making sure the camera was recording, he said, “I’m not too busy to help out a cherished member of our community. Baños must have doughnuts! We will rally behind Señorita James for the betterment of our town. Family, friendship, and community!”
“And doughnuts!” Abuelita added.
Unfazed, Mayor Guerra raised his broom into the air in a gesture of solidarity. “And doughnuts!” he repeated, wielding his cleaning tool like a broadsword inside my shop.
Mammy appeared beside me, wrapping her arm around my waist. “That man’s teeth are unreal. He’d make a killing in teeth whitening commercials.”
“I’ll make sure to tell him next time he’s raising money for a campaign.”
Mammy squeezed me closer. “This is better than I thought it would be,” she said.
“Really? My apartment was broken into the day you got here, my painting might be a clue in a criminal investigation, and now someone’s trying to sabotage my grand opening.”
She shook her head. “No one can say your life is boring, Sugar, but that’s not what I meant.” Mammy waved at the flurry of activity inside my shop. Even Gus stayed to clean.
Patricio and his crew had also come down to lend a hand, shoveling flour and sprinkles into their wheelbarrows and carting it to the dumpster.
It made me antsy to join in. I’d much rather clean than make phone calls.
“I couldn’t ask for better friends,” I said.
“You’ve always been the glue that held our family together. You’ve brought these people together, too. You make a family wherever you go.”
Sometimes I missed my family so much I ached, and right now was one of those times. This was the longest I’d been away from them. After Mammy’s comment, I had to wonder how they were doing now that they knew I wouldn’t be coming back home anytime soon.
Mammy must have read my mind. “Don’t be sad, Sugar. You can’t tell me you’d be happier back in Portland. Babysitting for Jessenia when she’s overbooked herself and lending Jessamyn money every time she’s broke isn’t nearly as exciting as running your own doughnut shop and solving mysteries.”
“And Dad?” I worried about him the most.
“He’s driving your mother crazy, but they’re good for each other. They’re figuring it out and are having a blast driving all over the country in their RV. They put up with me just fine, too.” She paused, reaching up to pinch my chin. “The important thing is, I can tell them that you really have found a place where you can live and be the young woman we always knew you could be. We’re so proud of you, Sugar.”
I narrowed my eyes at her, trying to control my smile when her confidence in me made my heart soar. “You were sent here to spy on me?” I teased.
She let go of her hold on me to plant her fists on her hips. “Well, duh,” she said with enough attitude to make Fernanda proud.
I spent the rest of the morning listening while Adi talked on the phone. (My Spanish wasn’t that good yet.) We called every business we could find in the phone book and on Google, but over and over we heard the same reply. The mixers they had were either too small or unavailable for delivery by Friday night.
When Martha and Jake returned with gloomy looks, I knew they hadn’t met with any success either.
With heavy feet, I went downstairs. I wanted to thank my friends for their help and reward them with free doughnuts the second I got my mixer back. My eyes burned and prickled when I saw they’d even seen to replacing the glass in my window. It didn’t have the name of my shop in gold letters, but it’d do.
I held back my tears when their hugs made it difficult not to cry from sheer appreciativeness and mounting frustration.
When the final thanks had been given and the last embraces exchanged, I grabbed a rag and set to polishing the wrought-iron and glass tables in front of the window into a high sheen. I needed a moment to collect myself from the emotional gambit I’d been through.
And so it occurred that I was the first person in my shop to see Sal. He had the nerve to loaf outside on the sidewalk and peek into the window. Don’t think I didn’t notice how he only bothered to show up after we’d finished cleaning up his mess. Had he come to admire his dirty work?
Feeling more defensive than normal, I went outside, letting the front door bang shut behind me.
“Too bad you won’t be able to open on Saturday,” he said.
Ooh, he was smug. It made my blood boil. He was fortunate I knew Gus was still in the kitchen. Otherwise, I might have given into the temptation to bop Sal over the head with one of my heavy chairs.
“Oh, I’ll be open,” I declared, stubbornness fueling my confidence so that I believed myself.
“Without a mixer? That’s crazy.”
I stepped closer to him. “You’ve wanted me to fail all along. It’s awfully convenient my mixer disappeared two days before I open for business.”
Sal held his ground. “Had I planned it myself, I couldn’t have timed it better!” he boasted.
“Did you plan it?” I asked bluntly. Gus stood behind me, and I wanted nothing more than to get a full confession from Sal here and now. It would be good for him — character-building — to spend the night in the single jail cell in town.
“If you find who did this, let me know. I’d love to shake his hand and thank him for being such a clever fellow.”
If that wasn’t a self-congratulatory remark, I didn’t know what was.
When I looked behind me and Gus shook his head instead of pulling out a pair of handcuffs, my fury grew.
Fine.
I waited until the crowd thinned down, leaving the small group of ladies I knew I could count on to help me effect my plan.
We were going to get my mixer back. Tonight.
Chapter 17
“I want the doughnuts. Sal evil man for to keep away the doughnuts.” Abuelita would scorn anyone who dared deny her sweet tooth satisfaction. She didn’t need to be persuaded to go along with my plan.
I looked at Mammy and Tia Rosa. While I was convinced Sal had made good on his threats and had stolen my mixer, I needed our decision to be unanimous. If there were any doubts, I was open to suggestions.
Abuelita smacked her fist against her palm. “He do it. I feel it in the gut. I bet he steal the jewelry and the many painting, too. Sal is the thief!”
I loved her enthusiasm even if it was a bit far-fetched. Sal Lopez a jewel thief? Nah.
It was a good reminder for me to make good on my promise to help Miss Patty though. Once I got my mixer back, I’d focus all of my energy on the stolen pictures and help Eduardo. An
gry Art Man would lead me to them, I was certain.
Tia Rosa scrunched her face at her sister. “You think Sal is jewel thief? He no handsome like Cary Grant.”
Though our reasons differed, Tia Rosa thought it as likely as I did. Then again, both Patricio and Gus had said that whoever had broken into my shop was no amateur. They’d broken the glass without being heard and had covered their shoes so as not to leave tread prints. Could it be possible? Was Sal a worse thief than I gave him credit for? I was angry enough at him to believe him capable of being a master burglar.
“So, do we all agree? Did Sal steal the mixer?” I repeated.
Tia Rosa said, “He only person in Baños no is happy with you doughnuts, Jessica. I agree. I think he do it.”
Mammy rubbed her hands together, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “How do you plan to get it back?”
They were in! My mixer was as good as mine again.
After midnight, the town fell quiet in slumber. The streets were empty.
Sal’s house was sandwiched between two other homes. That limited us to two options: climb over his front wall and drop down into his yard or cut through the padlocked carport along the side of his house. The choice was obvious.
Thanks in good part to Mammy’s booby trap research and her co-conspirators’ all-day foray at the hardware store, we were prepared. We had a wireless drill, and Mammy knew how to use it.
I held the flashlight for her, careful to keep the beam pointed down while she shook her head in disapproval and tsked at the lock.
“Look at this, girls. Pry-resistant boron alloy steel … with a brass key tumbler.”
I had no clue what she talked about, but my savvier accomplices did. They shook their heads and tsked along with her.
Mammy held out her hand. “Drill, please.”
I’d already fished it out of my backpack. “You’re sure it won’t be too noisy?”
