Neither spoke.
A heater clicked somewhere behind the wall.
Carmine slowly sat again.
“A fire.”
“Yes.”
“Accidental?”
“That’s what the report said.”
“Do you believe it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Nell hesitated.
Because this was the part she had never said aloud.
Not to police.
Not to lawyers.
Not even to her father after he became ill.
She walked toward the window.
“My father kept duplicate recipe books.”
Carmine waited.
“One stayed in the bakery kitchen. The other stayed in our apartment.”
“Where is the second?”
“I don’t know.”
“You lost it?”
“My mother took it.”
Carmine’s eyes narrowed.
“You said your mother left.”
“She did.”
“With the book?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Nell looked at him.
“Because she was working for Bellarose.”
The room went silent.
Carmine did not react immediately.
That was what made him frightening.
Other men rushed to fill silence.
Carmine used it.
Finally he asked, “Your mother helped Bellarose take the bakery?”
“I don’t know how much she helped.”
“But she stole the recipes.”
“Yes.”
“And then disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“What was her name?”
Nell closed her eyes for one second.
Then opened them.
“Lydia Brisco.”
Carmine repeated it once.
“Lydia Brisco.”
Nell nodded.
He picked up the telephone.
She immediately said, “No.”
Carmine looked at her.
“Do not look for her.”
“Why?”
“Because I already did.”
That surprised him.
“For three years after she left.”
Nell swallowed.
“I found her once.”
“Where?”
“Houston.”
“What happened?”
“She told me never to contact her again.”
Carmine said nothing.
“She said the bakery was dead, my father had destroyed his own life, and I should stop trying to resurrect things that deserved to stay buried.”
Nell’s voice remained controlled until the final word.
Then it cracked.
Only slightly.
She hated herself for it.
Carmine replaced the telephone receiver without dialing.
“What happened to her after Houston?”
“I don’t know.”
He studied her.
Nell wiped one palm against her skirt.
Then she looked at the deed again.
“What does Bellarose want from you?”
“Distribution access.”
“To the restaurants?”
“And the port.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Why?”
“Because he already has distributors.”
Carmine nodded.
That was exactly what had bothered him.
Bellarose’s proposal was profitable.
Too profitable.
Men did not voluntarily surrender margin unless they wanted something more valuable.
Nell looked down at the document.
Then she whispered, “The basement.”
Carmine heard her.
“What basement?”
She looked at him.
“Fontaine Bakery had a storage basement.”
“And?”
“My father rented half of it to another business before I was born.”
“What business?”
“A wine importer.”
Carmine’s attention sharpened.
Nell continued.
“When Bellarose took the building, he didn’t just get the bakery.”
She pointed toward the contract Carmine had mentioned.
“He got access beneath it.”
Carmine was already moving toward the door.
Nell caught his sleeve.
He looked down at her hand.
She released him.
“If you go there,” she said, “don’t use the front entrance.”
“Why?”
“Because my father designed that kitchen.”
May you like
Her face had gone pale.
“And there’s another door Bellarose never knew he knew about.”
