The second time, I told myself it was just a coincidence.
By the fourth day, I couldn’t tell if it was always the same car or if it just felt the same. Like a shadow with wheels. I never saw anyone get out, never saw the engine start or the brake lights flare. It was just… there.
I didn’t call anyone about it. What would I even say? “There’s a car. It might be following me. Or maybe I’m imagining it. Can you send someone anyway?”
I wasn’t sure if that sounded paranoid or just pathetic, and after my terrible experience trying to reportan actual homicide,I no longer had much faith in the police department in this city.
I did think about starting to lock the café door during the slow hours and leaving the front lights on after close. I never followed through with those little safety measures, but they did cross my mind.
I worked my way through what was left of the morning crowd. Jay showed up around ten and flashed a sheepish grin, but I didn’t scold him. I just handed him a clean towel and turned the music on louder. He was only here two days a week, and I did appreciate the company. He seemed like a good kid, and he had so much heart. As far as I was concerned, that was all we needed here at Ginger & Black.
Midday passed slowly. I read through invoices I didn’t understand and reordered more chai than I probably needed. Ithought about designing new flyers, maybe offering a “quiet cup” special, something dumb and wholesome like that. The idea of all of the business side of this made me nauseous.
By early afternoon, the café was empty again and the hum of the fridge louder than anything else. I leaned my elbows on the counter and stared at the tiny chalkboard near the espresso machine, where we usually wrote a motivational phrase for the day.
Today, it was blank. I frowned at it; I must have forgotten to do it this morning with so much on my mind. I picked up the chalk and wrote:You’re still here. That counts for something.
I didn’t know who I meant it for. Customers, me, maybe both.
I wiped my hands on my apron and glanced out the window to see that the suspicious car was gone.
“Hey, Jay?”
“Yes, Miss Black?”
“What kind of car do you drive?”
His head popped up from behind the bar.
“It’s an old silver Honda. My older sister’s car.”
“Have you noticed a black car parking across the street some days?”
“Not really, but people street park a lot here to carpool up town, since there’s no meters.”
That madesomuch sense. I let out a sigh of relief and rounded the bar to help him finish organizing the syrups. We’d removed them and wiped down the shelf because the caramel had started leaking and now there was a threat of ants. I was already dealing with ants, and I’d been open for less than a month.
“I’m going to prop the door open,” I said when we’d finished, “let some fresh air in, and maybe it’ll feel more inviting?”
“That’s a good idea,” he agreed, juggling wadded-up paper.
I took my broom with me, sweeping the street in front of the door, humming to myself like I always did while enjoyinga mundane task. Then I heard the engine of a vehicle as it approached and slowed. I stood up straighter, pulling the broom against me as I turned.
That black car was on the road, barely rolling by. The windows were down and two men in suits and sunglasses were inside. The one in the passenger seat had his arm hanging lazily out the window. He chewed gum open mouthed, teeth glistening with white gems.
“Morning,” he said, grin peeling back even more.
“Good morning,” I responded, voice shaking. The way they watched me was predatory.
“This your place?”
“Yes.”
Behind them, another car approached, honking its horn impatiently. I jumped at the sound, so wound up in suspicion and fear that I hadn’t noticed it. The driver of the black car rolled down his window to shout expletives and wave his arm in the air.
“Have a nice day, Eden. Stay safe,” he said, and then the driver gunned it down the road.
My heart stuttered, and I dropped the broom, the wooden handle clattering against the sidewalk. They were driving the black car that had been parking across the street. It was no coincidence, and they knew my name. I had no doubt that the encounter had everything to do with the murder I had witnessed in the alleyway.
