“You like me?” I repeat.
“Is that so hard to believe?” He turns in his chair to face me. “I want to help. This place means something to you?”
“I guess.” It doesn’t have any sentimental value. But it keeps a roof over our heads, and it allows us to be out of our father’s house. He always has unsavory people coming and going. I didn’t want Ryan to have to grow up in that environment. So the coffee shop has always guaranteed that I could provide him a healthy place to grow up. “It’s all I really know how to do and clearly I’m doing it wrong.”
“Then let me make a few calls and get you some new distributors.” The way the man is looking at me would probably have me agreeing to almost anything.
“Okay,” I agree. I have to do this and put my pride aside. It’s not just about me; it’s for Ryan too. We need this place to survive.
“You won't regret this.” It sounds like a promise. I pray he’s right.
Chapter Five
Miles
“This sucks big monkey balls.” I toss the papers down in disgust.
“What’s wrong?” My sister peers over my shoulder at the notes I’ve typed in from the calls I’ve made to all of Eden’s distributors. “Wait. Her dad has been ripping her off?”
“I talked to all of the distributors, and they deny that they’re charging those amounts, so he must be doing the orders and sending her fake invoices. How am I going to tell her this? Her own dad.”
“You’ll figure it out.” Violet pats me on the shoulder and starts to walk away.
I snag the hem of her sweater. “Wait. Give me some solutions.”
“Are you asking me because I’m a woman and you want to know what to say to another woman?” she teases.
“Maybe?”
“Shouldn’t have spent all your time in your office and maybe you wouldn’t need to beg me for help.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have spent all my time coddling you when you were younger and smothered you with a pillow and maybe you wouldn’t be so difficult.”
“Did you just threaten me? Mom,” Violet yells. “Miles just said he wished he would’ve murdered my younger self.”
There’s no response from our mother. Long ago, she figured out that ignoring us was the only way for her to come out unscathed. Violet and I fought a lot as kids mostly because she swears I pushed past her to get out of the womb first. I maintain that she is slow and that is not my fault.
“She’s not going to respond.” I swivel away from Violet and recheck the numbers.
“I wonder if the mom knows.”
“I think the mom died.”
“Oh, that’s terrible.”
“Yeah.” We know how she feels. Our dad died five years ago. He’d always been sick, and one day his frail ticker gave out. It was sort of a blessing for Mom, though. She didn’t have that burden anymore. “I think I need to feel her out. If she has a good relationship with her pops then I’m going to confront her old man. If she hates him, then I’ll lay out the details.”
“I’m surprised you don’t have a whole dossier on her already.”
“I wouldn’t do that. She’s not a business interest.” Violet gives me a shaky smile and ruffles my hair, a silent gesture of appreciation. She always does these little vibe checks to see if I’m being a decent human. “Love you, Vi.”
“Love you too, bro.”
She takes her leave, and I contemplate murder for the umpteenth time. Her stalker is getting out of prison in a few months, and that’s making her more on edge. Once he’s out, I don’t know what we’re going to do. Before he got put away, I ruined him. He had a few businesses, and I cratered those by setting up a few cons that he bought into immediately. I took his house, his car, and all his money. I warned his friends and acquaintances that if they so much as breathed in his direction, I’d do the same to them. When he gets out, he’ll have no resources, which may make him extra dangerous.
A man backed into a corner with nothing to lose is someone to fear. I need to keep that in mind if I ever confront Eden’s dad.
* * *
To get my mind off murder I track down my Eden. The Daily Drip is busy as ever, and I don’t have much opportunity to speak with her. I keep ordering as rent for my table but I can’t eat it all, so I dump the bear claws, scones, blueberry and cranberry muffins, cookies, and macaroons in a bag. I’ll drop them off at the closest shelter. The one waitress, Clare, has stopped bringing me coffee.
“Heard you were allergic,” she says. “Who’s allergic to coffee? That seems abnormal to me.”
“Me too,” I agree.