I shake my head at myself. It’s not like I didn’t know already what it was going to be like to be a kept woman. At least Nick’s mostly a decent guy. It’ll all work out, I tell myself, but I’m not sure I believe it.
Finally I feel a bit more myself, hair combed, face washed, bare feet. I head down to the kitchen to see what I can find for breakfast. I might as well make the most of the day, I figure, so I grab a piece of paper and a pencil from next to the phone and jot down some notes—a rough to-do list to keep me productive for the next few hours. If I can’t actually go to the bakery, I can at least make some plans and crunch some numbers for when Nick does let me get back to business.
Trouble is, when I finish breakfast, I can’t find my laptop. What the hell did I do with it? I know I had it when I first came over to Nick’s place; I was working on it just yesterday.
But I don’t remember taking it home. Mostly I just remember Nick coming by and me getting, well, distracted. I left with him without grabbing the laptop. Or anything else I really wanted to grab so I can do some additional work while Nick insists on keeping me under house arrest.
Shit. I want to smack myself. I’ve got to go back to the bakery. I’m getting panicky just thinking about the laptop and all my paperwork being there. What if Sal shows up and cleans the place out, takes the computer, takes all the work I’ve done, my spreadsheets, my projections, my supplier information, all my contacts? Add to that the laptop is one of the only things I have that’s my own, since it was at the bakery, in the office, when I left with Nick after the engagement party.
I realize I’m actually starting to hyperventilate. God. I can’t let all that go down the drain. It’d be nearly as bad as letting Sal burn the place down and collect the insurance, which I’m positive was in his plans.
I take a slow, deep breath, trying to get my emotions back under control. Fine. I’ll go see if I can find one of Nick’s guys, the ones he said he’d leave to watch me. If I can’t get in touch with one in the next five minutes, I’ll take the car again and go myself. I know exactly where the laptop is—it won’t take me long. In and out. Nothing more. I know Nick won’t like it, but I don’t have a choice.
I don’t see anybody outside. Wherever these supposed protectors are, they aren’t making their presence known. I guess that’s a good thing in some ways, but just at the moment it’s doing me no good. I walk around the front yard for a few minutes just to see if I can scare anybody up. No joy.
The car it is, then. I head for the garage and, five minutes later, I’m on the road.
I don’t see anything suspicious on the street outside the bakery, but I know chances are good that Sal’s either watching the place himself or has one of him men doing it. In fact, the chances are excellent. My panic ratchets up again, this time focused on my own safety rather than that of the bakery. Maybe it’s about time my instincts for self-preservation kicked in. Or maybe not. I waffle for a split second—is it really worth the risk?
Yes. Yes, it is. I get out of the car.
I feel like there’s a giant target painted in the middle of my back as I unlock the door. Reaching inside, I flip the light switches.
Nothing happens. What the fuck? Everything was fine just yesterday. I flip them a couple more times, but the room remains stubbornly dark.
I step inside, and the silence strikes me. None of the refrigerators are working. None of the freezers. Goddammit! Nothing I made yesterday and tossed into the freezer to work with later is going to last. It could be trashed already. The dough I made yesterday, the eggs and milk and cream and…
The trembling anxiety turns into full-fledged panic. I rush into the shop, damn near leap over the counter to get into the back room. Sure enough, everything’s shut down. No electricity anywhere. I open one of the fridges and stick my hand in. It’s almost room temperature—it’s been off for a while. I don’t even want to look into any of the freezers.
Fighting tears, I try to work out my best course of action. Call the electric company? Try to salvage what I can from the storage areas? Call Nick?
Then I realize the silence isn’t the only thing that’s wrong. I smell gas.
Oh my God. With the electricity off, the gas stoves can be turned on and left that way, gas just pouring out into the air, because there’s no igniter to start a flame. Somebody’s done exactly that; the knobs on the stove are turned to On.
This place is a death trap.
I freeze, completely taken over by terror, but only for a split second. I’ve got to get out of here. I’ve got to call Nick. I’ve got to do something—open the windows, let the gas out, let air in to dissipate it before the whole store goes up in flames.