Jane stared at him for a moment. Though only a few years her junior, Diego felt worlds younger.
He sighed. “I get it. That’s a no. No sweat. I still like you, Jane.”
Easiest to just pretend they’d never had the conversation. “Can you pull up information on Phillip’s father, Dr. Adam Keiser?”
“Sure.” A new screen popped up with a summary of Dr. Adam Keiser’s life.
Sad that the life of a man who’d helped so many could be condensed into a few paragraphs, his death a random traffic statistic.
Jane read down the list of accomplishments, pausing when she saw that he and his wife had co-owned a bakery in Fremont for a time. She let that sit, staring at the name of the bakery. They hadn’t investigated Phillip’s parents too deeply, more concerned with Phillip’s victims. Just a casual background search on Dr. Keiser, trying to see where he’d done his residency and follow-on clinics, hoping for some rhyme or reason to Phillip’s choice of vics.
Yet Lena Keiser had been lost to the Harvester crime ring as well. And she’d owned a bakery—Best in the State Cookies.
Her cousin, Maria Lito, made the best chocolate chip cookies in the state.
Something clicked in Jane’s mind, the beginning of a pattern that didn’t yet make sense.
“Diego, I’m heading out to check on something. I’ll be back. I have my phone.”
“Everyone leaves me.” He sighed.
“While I’m gone, do me a favor and get as much information on Lena Keiser as you can. She’s related to the Kaminskis, but I’m not sure of her maiden name. It might be Kaminski. It might not.”
“On it.”
She left him, excitement stirring at the knowledge she’d taken one step closer to the truth.
When Jane arrivedat the address of the old bakery, she found it boarded up.
An older woman sweeping the front step of a flower shop next door glanced at her. “It’s been closed three months now. The new owners tried to make the bakery work again, but it could never come close to the magic of Lena Keiser.”
“Oh?”
The woman stopped sweeping, happy to chat. “I’ve been in business for seventeen years. When Best in the State Cookies moved next to me, my income tripled from all the foot traffic. I was doing great for over a decade. I like to say they helped build my business. Then Lena passed away a few years ago, and Maria couldn’t keep it going without her.”
“What happened to Lena?”
The woman started sweeping again. “Hit and run accident. Some fool teenager. I don’t blame him. I blame his parents for not keeping a better eye on him.”
“How did Lena’s family take it?”
“Her husband died too. He was in the car with her when they got hit. Their son never was the same. Such a sweet boy. Or man, I should say. He was in college at the time. Peter…no, Phillip. He had a mental breakdown and disappeared. I hope wherever he is he’s all right.”
“Sad story.” Jane studied the front of the store. The front banner had faded. It wasn’t Best in the State Cookies, but some cartoonish logo with chocolate chips floating around it.
She said goodbye to the woman and walked down the block and around to the alley behind the stores. Jane needed to see it inside. Her intuition screamed at her to give it a look.
Her cousin could often hear the truth when interrogating people. She watched the person talking and read their nonverbal cues, heard different intonations when they answered and had learned to study their breathing as well. Jane saw patterns in behavior and in the details that didn’t always mesh. Her instincts often gave her a boost where others would notice nothing.
And right now, she needed to get inside this abandoned bakery.
The back door should be locked, but she tried it anyway.
The doorknob turned. She pushed it open and stepped inside, closing it behind her.
The early afternoon sun lit up the space, and she imagined its former charm. Black-and-white floor, red stools, and expansive white granite countertops. A cookie bar with framed pictures of treats hung on the walls.
And there, at the front counter near the register, sat an 8x10 family portrait of Phillip and his parents smiling at the camera. A plain, black flip phone lay in front of the picture. On a piece of paper next to it, he’d written a phone number in bold block numbers and spelled out:CALL ME.
