She brought up the web browser on the shop's little netbook now.
“Some kook wrote a blog about visiting your store,” the woman said.
Becca typed her name into the web browser and did a search. Sure enough, the first story that came up was
“My Morning with the Bakery Bitch”
at a blog called Megan's Musings. She skimmed a few lines. “I did not toss a cupcake at her,” she grumbled into the phone. “I would never do that. I have respect for cupcakes.”
Renee chuckled over the line. “Yeah, well, I got a kick out of it. We like feisty! And when I saw it and realized I could get in touch with you, it just felt lucky, because we'd been trying to hunt you down ever since a couple of
Saved by the Bell
kids fell through.”
Hunting her down
sounded apt. “I wouldn't think you'd have trouble drumming up talent for your show.” She used the word
talent
in its Hollywood sense, meaning warm bodies on a set, not Webster's definition of a person with artistic aptitude. There was no shortage of kids who had strutted before a camera at some time or another, either under their own steam or at the behest of an ambitious stage parent.
“We have lots of candidates, but it's early days yet, and frankly, we're hoping to find someone who can add a little sass to the lineup.”
“I'm not sassy, or bitchy,” Becca said. “Or if I am, it's just something I do as a non-professional now, for free.”
“Well, why give it away?” Renee asked. “Sell it, honey!”
Even as a joke, the insinuation that she should just pimp herself out for financial gain made it all that much easier for her to bring the conversation to an abrupt end. “Thanks for calling, but as I said, I'm not interested. At all. In fact, I'm very busy right now and need to go.”
As she clicked the End Call button, she could still hear the tinny voice of Renee Jablonsky bleating at her through the device's tiny speaker.
She blew out a breath.
Walt angled a glance her way. “Something wrong?”
“Oh no. Just a nuisance call.”
“You get lots of those?”
“Not really, no.” She frowned. “Why would I?”
“I don't know.” He shrugged. “Unless it's on account of you were on television.”
She felt astonished, and suspicious again. Just whom had she invited into her life? “When did you find that out?” she asked him.
“I knew from looking at you. There are televisions everywhere, even in jails.”
“And yet you let me think that you were just a harmless guy sitting on a bench in front of the store. Pam worried you were a bum, but it turns out you're something even worseâa stalker.”
“No, I'm not.” He eyed her clutching the phone, ready to call 911. “I don't care that you were on TV. But it's a fact, isn't it?”
“Yes, it's a fact. And you didn't mention it.”
“I didn't think you would have wanted me to.”
“Is this some kind of shakedown? Because let me assure you, the expression âblood from a turnip' would not be out of place in any kind of extortion scheme involving my finances at the moment.”
“I don't want anything.
You
talked to me yesterday, and offered me a ride home,” he reminded her. “
You
told me to come in today.”
True. Still, a part of her brain wondered if this man had mastered some kind of circumstantial jiujitsu that allowed him to be in the right place at the right time to play on her sympathy and get her to invite him into her life. Which she never should have done. She saw that now. It was madness. She should have given him a twenty-dollar bill to assuage her guilt and then left him alone.
“Look, I know I asked you to come work here, but maybe it would be best if weâ”
“Set some ground rules?” he asked, cutting her off. “Fine by me. I won't mention television again. Heck, I don't even like TV.”
“That wasn't really what Iâ”
“And if you want, I'll tell you all about what I did, because you got a right to know.”
She thought about this. If he tried to candy-coat his crimes, she would know right off that he was not only a criminal, but an unreformed weasel. “What did you do?”
“Armed robbery. Well, actually, I had a drug possession before that. Then, I got caught robbing a liquor store with a buddy. But I can't even say that it was all his idea and I just drove the car or something like that. I planned it. I got us the guns we used. I was cranked up on coke, which doesn't excuse anything. But just so you know.”
Okay, maybe passing the buck wasn't his style. The man still had serious problems. He made her uneasy. Probably had something to do with the words
armed, robbery,
and
cranked up on coke
.
“I'm clean now, though,” he assured her. “Have been for over a decade. And I finished my parole.”
“Lookâ”
“I'll just stay a week or two. You don't have to pay me, even. If I could just work one week, and then you could provide me with some kind of reference, that would be a big help.”
“You can't work for nothing. That's crazy.”
He laughed. “Believe me, I've done it before.”
“The Strawberry Cake Shop isn't a lockup.”
“But you're just doing this for charitable reasons. I get that, and I appreciate it.”
“Look, I might have to pay you minimum wage, but you're not going to be a slave here.” Looking into his sad eyes, she felt a surge of anger at herself for being such an idiot as to fear this man. This was how the poor got poorer. How people slid from bad luck to disaster. Because people like her were too uptight, too removed from their own humanity to give them an opportunity. “In fact, forget thatâyou're an employee here, and you'll start off at the same salary that my other employee started at. It won't make you rich, but . . .”
But maybe it would give him a fighting chance.
“Well, all right. Whatever you say. But it's just for a week.” He went back to sweeping. “Or two.”
Becca nodded, then froze.
Wait. What had just happened? A minute earlier, she'd intended to tell him to go. Somehow he'd not only succeeded in hanging on, he'd also brought her around to insisting on paying him above minimum wage for the privilege of being on pins and needles for the next week. Or two.
How had he managed that?
Chapter 5
Olivia's current scheme was to combine her love of horses with her upcoming birthday party. “Mom can't say no if it's for my birthday, can she?” She glanced at Matthew but didn't wait for an answer, probably fearing what it would be. “And then, once she sees how fun it is, and how it's not a big deal, she'll let me ride all the time.”
“What if some of the people who you might want to have at your birthday party don't like horses?” Matthew asked her.
Her brow puckered. “Why would I want to be friends with someone who doesn't like horses?”
“Because if you limit yourself to people who only like the exact same things you like, you're going to end up with no friends.”
“Lots of people like horses.”
“Some people are afraid of them.”
“Only people like Mom,” she scoffed.
“Okayâcase in point. Wouldn't you want to be friends with your mom?”
“You mean, if she wasn't my mother?”
“Right.”
Olivia's face contorted in thought. “You mean if she was just another kid in middle school?”
“Yes.”
“Same grade as me?”
Great. He'd intended this to be one of those slam-dunk questions. “The point is, it's hard enough to find people in the world you want to be friends with without setting up arbitrary boundaries.”
“How can it be hard to find people to be friends with?” Olivia asked. “That's crazy. I'm surrounded by a whole school full of people. And then there are, like, hundreds of schools like mine in this countryâmaybe even thousandsâand then hundreds of countries. Right? There are
so many
people in the world, it's mind-boggling. And Mom said I could only invite twelve.”
“Yes, I know, but . . .” He'd completely lost the thread of his argument. Conversations with Olivia often ended with him trying to chase down some face-saving pat phrase, and he frantically sought one now. “You don't want to measure people with too rigid a yardstick.”
“I'm not measuring anybody,” she argued. “I'm just trying to make up a guest list.”
He was relieved to approach the cake shop and end the conversation. Twenty feet from the door, however, Olivia stopped dead in her tracks. In front of the shop, a man was sleeping on a bench, his hat pulled over his eyes. A few feet away, a couple of boys leaning against a tree were spitting sunflower seeds at the sleeping man. Olivia's hands flexed into fists, and before Matthew knew what was happening, she exploded into a run. She hit the biggest boy full tilt. “Quit it!” she yelled, nearly knocking him over. The bag of seeds went flying.
The older boy's return shove sent her sprawling to the pavement.
“Hey!” Matthew sped forward.
But Olivia was quicker. Before Matthew reached the melee, she rebounded from the sidewalk and leapt on the boy's back like a pro wrestler. “Leave him alone!” she yelled.
The boy tried to shake her off. “Leave
me
alone, freak!”
Matthew jumped into the fray and pulled Olivia off. She was still bristling with anger. “You're disgusting! I'm going to tell Ms. Andrews what you did!”
“We weren't doing anything.” They looked Matthew up and down, obviously trying to size up whether he was an adult who could actually wield any authority. “We were just feeding seeds to the birds.”
“Liar!” Olivia yelled.
Matthew glanced over at the man, who was waking now. When he sat up, sunflower seeds cascaded down his clothing. The guy brushed them off with a confused frown.
Why had the man been sleeping on a bench in the middle of Leesburg?
“Come on, Olivia.” Belatedly, Matthew added to the boys, “You two should be ashamed of yourselves.” Their faces were set in expressions of resentment. Matthew tugged Olivia away from them.
“They shouldn't be able to get away with that,” she said, outraged.
“Well . . . the man was asleep. There was no harm done.”
“No harm done?” Olivia yelled. “They were
spitting
on him.”
“Spitting seeds,” he agreed. “I saw.”
“It was so meanâand disgusting!” She flashed one last angry stare back. “I'm never sharing my lunch with him again.”
“Wait.” Matthew spun back, but the two boys were sprinting down the street. “That was Grover?”
That little punk?
“Grover and his big brother, Justin,” Olivia said. “I hate boys.”
He shook his head. It was like Hell's Kitchen in Leesburg all of a sudden. He glared at the man on the bench. Weren't there laws against vagrancy? At that moment, another woman passed by the bench, giving wide berth to the man, and Matthew felt a pang as he opened the door for Olivia. Seeing someone treating the man like a pariah made him embarrassed for his own uncharitable thoughts.
As they stood in line, he commented, “It was good of you to stand up for someone less fortunate.”
“Do you think that man's homeless?” Olivia asked.
“I don't know.” Matthew peered over the people in front of them, catching just a glimpse of the top of Becca's head. She stood at a butcher-block island in the back of the store, chopping something. Another woman with blond hair swirled into a bun was helping customers.
“If he's homeless,” Olivia said, “he might be hungry.”
“Or he might just be a guy who fell asleep.”
She twisted her lips in skepticism. “That bench doesn't look very comfortable. I don't think I could fall asleep there.”
It was finally their turn in line. Matthew was prepared just to grab some stuff and leave, but when they reached the counter, Becca noticed them and came forward, smiling. “I thought I spotted you two.”
“Olivia insisted we come,” he said. “She wanted toâ”
“Can I have two carrot cupcakes, please?” Olivia said, interrupting.
“Of course.” Becca bagged up the cupcakes and handed them over.
“I'll be right back, Matthew.” As soon as the sack touched Olivia's hand, she dashed for the door.
He watched her go, then turned back to Becca. What now? “Well, she
did
want to talk to you. But apparently something's come up.”
Becca laughed lightly and leaned against the end of the counter. “Ten-year-olds aren't known for long attention spans.”
“When Olivia wants something, her attention can stay fastened on that one thing as if it had been bolted to her brain. I don't know why . . .” He glanced at the closed door, as if it would offer him some clues about the vagaries of Olivia's behavior.
“Well, at any rate, I'm glad I have the chance to thank you.” His expression must have reflected his cluelessness, because Becca added, “For your wise counseling last night.”
He had to think for a moment to remember.
Stranger danger,
or something like that. “Did it do you any good?”
“Sort of. I took your adviceâtrust but verifyâbut then ignored the findings.”
He frowned. “Look, if you're in some kind of trouble . . .” He was about to tell her that she should go to the police, or consult a lawyer, but she waved away his second attempt to give advice.
“Nah, I think it will all work out.”
The woman behind the counter with her released a skeptical grunt, which was the first time Matthew realized anyone was listening to them.
Becca smiled again, more tightly. “But thanks for the offerâand for the late-night help. If you're ever out of work, you could find a second career as an agony aunt.”
“Have Platitudes, Will Travel.” He laughed. “Something tells me I'm better off as a government policy analyst.”
“Is that what you do?”
“I'm afraid so. Not exactly Palladin.”
The woman behind the counter tapped Becca's shoulder and nodded toward the front window. “What's going on out there?”
Matthew turned. While he'd been talking with Becca, a drama had been unfolding in front of the store. A police cruiser idled at the curb, its lights flashing, and a group had gathered.
Olivia.
He hurried for the door. He should have been paying attention, not chatting with the cake lady. As he stepped out of the shop, the scene in progress stunned him. The crowd was bigger than he'd expected. In the center of it all were two uniformed officers, the guy who'd been sleeping on the bench, and Olivia.
Olivia, to his dismay, was standing at a rigid forward-leaning angle, like an attack dog preparing to charge. At a cop.
“He was
not!
” she shouted at one of the uniformed men.
Oh Lord.
Matthew muscled forward through the crowd.
Olivia rolled her eyes in relief when she saw him. “Matthew, tell them that he wasn't bothering me.”
He tensed. Someone had been bothering her? “Who?”
“Walt,” she said in exasperation, and then pointed to the man on the bench.
Matthew's brain tried to catch up. How had Olivia managed to strike up a first-name acquaintance with a street person? She'd only left the shop a few minutes ago.
The cop explained. “Sir, we received a phone tip that this man was bothering people. When we drove up, we found him with this young lady . . .”
The man named Walt blinked in confusion. “I just fell asleep. I didn't mean to harm anybody. Especially not the girl.”
“He didn't hurt me,” Olivia said. “That's idiotic!”
“Olivia . . .” Matthew said, smiling nervously at the policemen.
“Well, it is,” she insisted. “
I
bugged
him.
First, I woke him up when the boys were spitting seeds at him, and then I wanted to give him a cupcake.”
Was that why she had peeled out of the cake shop? So she could give away her spare cupcake?
The second cop looked at Walt. “Sir, we have regulations about sleeping in public spaces here. Vagrancy laws. If you don't have a place to stay . . .”
“I didn't mean to fall asleep,” Walt said. “I just dozed off, is all.”
Someone jostled past Matthew. Becca.
“He's not a vagrant,” she told the policeman. “Walt works for me. I'm sure he didn't mean to break the law.”
“No, I didn't.” Walt's answer, spoken to Becca, seemed as much to reassure her as the two cops.
“It was Grover and Justin Sams who called you,” Olivia said. “I'd bet anything on it. They were spitting seeds at Walt while he was asleep, and I chased them off.
They're
the ones you should arrest. They live over on Loudoun Street. I don't know the number, but I can show you the house.”
Olivia was fired up and ready to go, but one of the cops stopped her. “We're not arresting anyone. We received a complaint, so we had to check it out. We're just glad no one was hurt.”
Walt looked apologetic. “I'm sorry, officers. It won't happen again.”
“That's fine.” With a nod of agreement, the cop and his partner circled back to their cruiser.
The crowd started to break up.
“Walt, come on in,” Becca said. “I'll get you some coffee.”
“Just a sip of decaf would hit the spot,” he said. “If it's no trouble.”
Matthew was eager to hustle Olivia away from there. “Stupid Grover,” she muttered.
“Yes, Grover is stupid, but you shouldn't talk to the police like that.”
“How? I was just telling them the truth, and they were being so slow and stupid.”
“I think
methodical
and
thorough
are the right words in this context,” he told her.
“Okay, but all those people were standing around looking at Walt like he was a criminal. I had to say something. You were the one who told me it was good to stand up for people.”
“Yeah, but . . .” They'd gone a few steps when he remembered that he still owed Becca for the cupcakes. He turned back around and flagged her down as she was going inside. “WaitâI forgot to pay you.”
She stopped in the door as if she intended to block him bodily from approaching the cash register. “Those cupcakes are on the house, with my thanks.”
“Thanks?” he asked.
“For standing up for Walt.” She smiled at Olivia. “But bringing that man cupcakes was like bringing coals to Newcastle. I might not be able to pay people much, but people who work for me get all the cupcakes they want.”
Olivia's eyes bugged. “Wow. Can I work for you?”
Becca laughed. “Maybe in a few years.”
“I thought maybe Walt was hungry,” Olivia explained. “He looked homeless.”
“Oliviaâ” Matthew warned.
Before he could finish the rebuke, Becca interrupted him. “Forget it. I hope if I'm ever in trouble, someone like Olivia will be on my side.”
Olivia tugged on Matthew's jacket. “Can we stay? I wanted to ask her about the stables.”
Matthew hesitated. “I need to get back, O.”
Becca stepped down and walked right up to Olivia. “Tell you what. If you ever want to try riding, I'll take you out with Harvey.”
Oh great,
Matthew thought, just as Olivia exploded with joy.
“Seriously?” Olivia asked.
Becca must have caught his less-than-thrilled expression, because she added the caveat, “If your mom will let you.”
Olivia stopped hopping with elation and came back down to earth with a thud. “Oh.”
“I really appreciate what you did today,” Becca told her again. “Thank you.”