My heart climbs into my throat as I toss the blanket off me and start putting on my jeans. “I’m on my way.”
“Should I call the police, or do you want to?”
“No, don’t do anything. Wait for me. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” There’s no point in calling the police. This has to be one of the Matheson’s. Hell, the police chief could’ve been the one to get the door open.
The fogginess of sleep mixed with adrenaline isn’t a good combination. I almost step out the door without my shoes on and then have to double back again for my keys.
It’s still dark outside when I jump into my truck. My tires throw gravel in a spray as I tear down the road. Rage builds by the second. Those sons of bitches. The whole town knows my house burned down, that I’m struggling. They’re trying to take advantage of that, pile on more problems until I give in. They don’t know who they’re fucking with.
Fewer than fifteen minutes have passed when I turn into the parking lot. My stomach knots as my headlights sweep over the front of the building where the windows should be glowing with warm light in the predawn gloom. They’re shattered.
Diana’s car is parked beside Ethan’s truck. He must be scheduled for prep this morning. Both of them sit on his tailgate, waiting for me, and Diana leaps to her feet as soon as I approach. “Be careful. There’s glass everywhere. I shut off the water, but…” She shrugs.
Wet glass crunches underfoot when I step inside. It’s worse than I imagined. The two windows that weren’tcompletely shattered are a web of cracks. Water stretches across the tile floor under the booths, the tables, and the counter.
Diana and Ethan are right behind me. “You shut the water off to the whole building?” I ask Diana.
“Yes, I didn’t know what else to do. I wasn’t sure exactly where it was coming from. I didn’t want to touch anything in case the cops want fingerprints or something.”
I nod, impressed with her thinking, but it won’t matter. “You did the right thing. Will you call the rest of the staff that are scheduled today and tell them not to come in?” There’s no way we’ll be open.
“Of course.” She steps back outside while Ethan accompanies me behind the counter.
“It looks like they stuffed the sinks with towels and turned the water on,” he says. “It must’ve run for hours.”
He’s right. The counter is soaked, along with the shelves beneath it and all the supplies they held. I open the cash register and the drop box under it. Both are still full of cash.
He stares at the bills, shocked. “They didn’t even take the money? What the hell?”
“They didn’t want money,” I mumble, closing them again. “We won’t be open today. You can go home.”
“No, I want to help. Clean up or whatever you need. You have insurance, right? Diana said you don’t want to call the police, but my dad told me you have to report car accidents to the cops to file an insurance claim. Is it the same for something like this?”
It shouldn’t take a college kid to tell me that but it’s hard to think clearly through the rage and despair. “Yes. Will you look up the non-emergency number and call while I look at the rest of the damage?”
“Sure, yeah,” he replies, eager to do something to help.
While he does that, I venture into the kitchen. The floors are full of water, and they’ve busted a pipe under the sink, but the grills and fryers look okay. The cooler and fridge stand open. They must’ve also cut the power to them because neither are running despite the thermometers that show they’re both at room temperature. It’s not enough that all the food is spoiled. Flour has been flung around like confetti. Eggs and tomatoes are smashed on the floor and walls.
I grip the edge of the counter, trying to steady myself. They took their time. They enjoyed this. Dread is a boulder in my stomach as I walk back out of the kitchen and head toward the coffee bar section.
The sight of the new espresso machine and grinder lying on their side on the floor in three inches of water greets me first. I clench my fists until my knuckles ache. My head feels like it’s going to explode. Ethan slips in quietly, along with Diana.
“Cops are on the way,” he says, staring at the muffins and donuts floating near the cracked pastry display case. He looks up at me. “It was Austin, wasn’t it?”
“Of course it was,” Diana says, her voice cracking with emotion.
“Him or one of his family or somebody they sent,” I agree.
The next couple of hours pass in a blur. Two officers show up, write a report, and take pictures. Customers come to gawk, and word spreads quickly. The response from the community puts tears in my eyes. Multiple other small businesses in town reach out to help in different ways. Hometown Windows removes the cracked glass and assures me the replacements are on the way. A local repair shop volunteers to take apart, clean, and if necessary, repair the coffee appliances at a steep discount.
Despite Diana telling the staff to stay home, a few of them show up to help mop up the water, throw away the food, and clean. Will calls a friend of his and they manage to get the windows boarded up and secured for the time being. Everyone knows who did this and while no one would dare say it where it might be heard, many want to help.
By afternoon, it’s clear we won’t be able to reopen as usual until the windows are replaced, but we should be able to do carryout orders before too long.
I’m standing beside the counter, talking to a few of my regular customers who have stopped by to see what happened when Austin walks in with his wife, Bethany. His eyebrows raise as he looks around. “Hey, I heard you had some kind of break-in here. They really did some damage, didn’t they?” The smirk on his face already has me stepping toward him, but his words push me over the top. “Such a shame.”
It’s no secret that I have a temper. I’ve learned to control it over the years, but everyone has a limit. He doesn’t even tryto put his hands up or move away when I swing at him. I’m not sure what he expected, but it clearly wasn’t me punching him in the mouth and splitting his lip.
