He took statements from each of them — where they’d been, what time they’d returned, what they’d seen. Ruth told the truth about driving to La Stella. She didn’t elaborate on what Frankie had told them about Sal and Needles. Jack looked at her for a long time after she finished, the way a man looks at a jigsaw puzzle when he knows pieces are missing but can’t prove which ones.
He let it go. He didn’t have a choice, he had a ransacked bakery to deal with. He told them to go home, to stay home, and that he’d have the patrol car back outside the bakery within the hour.
“And Nans,” he added at the door. “Whatever you’re thinking about doing — don’t.”
“I’m thinking about making tea,” Nans said.
“No, you’re not.”
“You’re right. I’m thinking about making tea and playing Scrabble.”
Jack promised to get someone to fix the door and left. They heard his car pull away, and then the street was quiet.
Nans checked her watch. “He’ll have the patrol car here by four. We need to be gone before then.”
“Gone where?” Helen asked, though her tone suggested she already knew.
“The storage unit.” Nans looked at each of them. “Tony said Sal is planning to dump everything that isn’t diamonds. That could happen tomorrow morning. Tonight might be our only chance.”
“The storage unit is in Campton,” Ruth said, already pulling up maps on her iPad. “If we leave before four, we’re there before five. Sun sets around five-thirty this time of year, so we’d be arriving near dark.”
“Is that good or bad?” Ida asked.
“Depends on who else is there,” Nans said.
Lexy stood by the counter, surveying the damage to her bakery with the grim focus of someone making a list of things that would need to be fixed and filing it away for later. “I’m coming. Help me board up the door.”
By the time they were done with the door, it was three-fifty.
Ida opened her purse on one of the cafe tables and began inventorying its contents with the seriousness of a field medic checking supplies. Flashlight — small, bright, batteries fresh. Bobby pins — a full card of them, still in the packaging. Tissues. Bandages. Hand sanitizer. A granola bar. Two peppermints. A small can of hairspray.
Ruth stared at the hairspray. “What is that for?”
“It’s multipurpose,” Ida said.
“Multipurpose how?”
“It holds hair in place. It also stings if you spray it in someone’s eyes.” Ida tucked it back into the purse with the calm efficiency of someone packing a parachute. “Multipurpose.”
Ruth tapped her iPad. “I’m texting Frankie our destination. Just in case.”
Nans looked at her. “You think we’ll need backup?”
“I think telling someone where we’re going is basic safety.” Ruth typed the message without looking up, her fingers precise on the screen. “And if something goes wrong, I’d rather Frankie know where to find us than not.”
“Smart,” Nans said.
“I’m always smart,” Ruth said. “It’s the company I keep that’s questionable.”
Before they left, Ida raided Lexy’s fridge for day old pastries. She arranged lemon bars, cookies and scones on a fancy plate. “Presentation matters,” she said, wrapping the plate in plastic wrap.
“Who are we presenting to?” Helen asked.
“You never know.”
The sun was already low when they merged onto the highway, painting the sky in shades of copper and ash.
Ruth drove at exactly the speed limit. Nans sat behind her, watching the mile markers pass, her mind running through scenarios the way it always did before an operation — because that’s what this was now, whether they called it that or not.
