“No chance of that,” I said, not sure that was true. At the thought of my parents, I had enough righteous anger to fend off any attempt at guilt. But when I thought of Grams…
An hour later, Grams poked her head through the door. A pang of remorse stabbed my heart. If my mother hadn't followed her, things might have turned out differently.
Instead, my mom raised an eyebrow at me and said, “You owe all of us an apology. Storming out yesterday and going over to stir up your grandmother was just too much. After all she's done for you.”
Sheree shook her head slowly at me, her gaze heavy. I tried not to care that she was so disappointed in me. I wasn't the one who was wrong here. Right?
“I'm not going to apologize to anyone,” I said, smoothing the edge of frosting at the base of the cake so I could avoid looking at her. “And I don't want to have this conversation again. I meant what I said. I quit. I'm only here because I specifically promised these two cakes, and I don't want to let the clients down.”
“You think I can't bake a cake as well as you?” Sheree challenged, her eyes hot.
Someone save me from my mother in a temper. I started to bite my tongue and then decided—what the hell? Why not just say what I was thinking?
“No, you can't,” I said flatly. “I've spent years learning to design and decorate cakes. Years. And I've worked with these two clients almost as long. I want to make sure they get exactly what they paid for, and I know you can't pull it off. Maybe Grams, but she's out of practice, and she didn't meet with the clients on the design. When I'm done, you can find out how good you are, because I won't be here to pick up the slack. I hope you like being at work before five am and being on your feet all day.”
“Daisy, stop this right now!” My mom's burnished skin went a little gray. “I don't want to hear another word about you quitting.”
“Fine, I won't say a word. I'll say this: if you don't get out of this kitchen and leave me in peace, I'll walk out right now and you can finish the cakes yourself. Hopefully, there's still enough cash around to offer a refund.”
If possible, my mother's face went a shade or two grayer. She left, Grams on her heels. I got back to work, more than ready to get away from the bakery.
West came by an hour later. “Techs are done at your place. The lock wasn't tampered with. Are you sure you don't know what this was about? You can talk to me, Daisy.”
Again, he was looking at me like he knew that I knew what was going on. All I had was the truth. “I really have no idea, West. But I promise that if I figure it out, I'll tell you. I will.”
West gave me the same solemn nod he had at my earlier protest and left. I was washing my hands in preparation for more frosting when my father pushed open the door from the front of the bakery.
“Why was Garfield here?” he demanded. “What does the police chief want with you?”
“My place was broken into, and he was letting me know what's going on,” I said flatly, unable to meet his eyes. I was too angry to deal with him. Too angry to pretend I had my emotions under control.
“If you're quitting, you'll need to move out.”
I nodded sharply, not trusting my voice. He didn't care about the apartment. He was just trying to get a reaction out of me. I knew that, and it didn't matter. My throat was still choked up.
“I don't like you talking to Garfield. Just remember, we're family. If you bring trouble down on one of us, you hurt all of us. Including your grandmother.”
His words spun in my head long after the door swung shut behind him. Why did my dad care what I said to West? I didn't know anything about anything.
Unless I did. What did they think I knew? I remembered my dad and the mystery woman talking in the dark behind the bakery all those weeks ago. But he didn't know I'd seen them, and I still had no idea what they'd been talking about. There wasn't anything else.
Not until this morning and my apartment, but I didn't even know why… And wasn't it weird that my dad didn't even ask about the apartment? I told him my place was broken into and his only comment was that he didn't want me talking to the police?
An uneasy suspicion planted itself in my brain. But why? He had the keys, why break in?