They locked up the bakery front door and went around the block to the alley behind the buildings on that stretch of Main Street. Each building had a back door facing the alley, most of them identical — plain metal, painted gray or brown, marked with small address numbers you’d have to squint to read in daylight, let alone at four in the morning.
Nans looked down the alley. To the left: a dry cleaner. To the right: a vacant storefront, and beyond that, a small restaurant called Bella Notte. It was one of those places that seemed perpetually on the verge of opening — a hand-painted “Coming Soon!” sign in the window, a faded construction permit, and ageneral air of abandonment that suggested “soon” was a flexible concept.
Bella Notte’s back door was almost identical to Lexy’s. Same gray metal, same concrete delivery step. Two doors down. In the dark, at four in the morning, you’d never know the difference.
Nans cupped her hands against the window and peered inside. The kitchen didn’t match a restaurant under renovation — no tarps, no sawhorses, no debris. It was clean. Unusually clean. Bare stainless steel counters. Swept floor.
“This isn’t a renovation,” Nans murmured.
“What kind of restaurant has a kitchen that clean?” Ida said, peering over her shoulder.
“The kind that isn’t actually a restaurant,” Ruth said. She was examining a placard by the front entrance. “Registered to something called Starlight Dining Group.”
“That sounds made up,” Helen said.
“Most shell companies do,” Ruth said.
Nans stepped back. “This is where the bag was supposed to go. Let’s go to my place. I need to think.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Frankie called backin two hours. Nans and the ladies were sitting in her dining room discussing the case.
“Ruthie. You need to come see me.”
“Can’t you just tell me over the phone?”
“Some things are better in person. Bring your friends. I’ll make lunch.” A pause, and then the warmth in his voice shifted to something more careful. “And Ruthie? Don’t talk about this on the phone again.”
Ruth hung up and looked at the others with the expression of someone who’d just agreed to attend her own execution. “He wants us to come to the restaurant.”
“La Stella?” Ida’s eyes lit up. “I’ve heard the lasagna is incredible.”
“We’re not going for the lasagna,” Ruth said.
“We can do both,” Ida said reasonably.
“Let’s go fill Lexy in.”
Lexy was waiting for them at the bakery.
She was sitting on a stool behind the counter, a bag of frozen peas pressed to her temple. Jack had taken her to the urgent care, confirmed no concussion, and told her to rest. She had nodded and driven straight back to the bakery.
“I’m coming with you,” Lexy said. It wasn’t a question.
“You have a head injury,” Helen said gently.
“I have a headache. There’s a difference.” Lexy set down the frozen peas. The bruise on her temple had deepened to a dark purple, but her eyes were clear and sharp. “I’m closing the bakery today anyway because of the back door and that’s my great-grandmother’s recipe in that bag. I’m not sitting here while someone else looks for it.”
Nans studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Bring the peas.”
They took Ruth’s car — the blue Oldsmobile that Ruth kept immaculate in a way that bordered on religious devotion. Helen sat in front. Nans, Ida, and Lexy sat in back, Ida’s purse occupying the space of a fourth passenger between them.
The drive to the restaurant took twenty minutes. Ruth drove precisely at the speed limit, hands at ten and two, and refused to acknowledge Ida’s suggestion that they could “save time” by taking the shoulder around a slow-moving truck.
La Stella sat on a side street that couldn’t decide if it was gentrifying or giving up. The building was old brick, the sign hand-painted in gold script, and the windows were tinted just enough that you couldn’t quite see inside from the street. A black Cadillac was parked out front — polished, gleaming, the kind of car that made a statement about its owner without needing a bumper sticker.
Ruth parked across the street. It wasn’t a smooth parking, the wheels on left side were up on the sidewalk. She sat for a moment with her hands on the wheel.
