Page 3 of A Bear in a Birdbath

It was, arguably, short of perfect. There was a disaster every week, by the end of her trial month, Margo was positive that Harriet was using the business as a front for money laundering, and the staff was the surliest, most motley crew she had ever been a part of.

And Margo had never been happier.

Best of all was Eva.

Eva was as petite as Margo was monstrous, with fluffy light hair trimmed short, and big, shy blue eyes in a heart-shaped face.

Another of Harriet’s obvious pity hires, the sweet, skittish woman was in Margo’s ledgers as her personal assistant, but she didn’t seem to do any actual administrative work. She made terrible coffee, stuttered on the phone or in the face of any visitor who spoke above a whisper, and had no idea how Harriet’s file system worked.

In fact, she seemed to be working as Harriet’s exclusive tailor, concocting frivolous and fancy dresses with no purpose that Margo could discern.

That was not Margo’s first clue that there was something underhanded happening with Harriet’s business.

“You’re wondering why I need a ballgown to be a baker,” Harriet said, when Margo brought in the suspect books and gave a violet velvet gown on a dressmaker dummy a long suspicious look.

“I’m wondering why we have a seventeen thousand dollar cash payment for a two hour catering job marked Candid Cupcakes.”

“Hmm,” Harriet said, pursing her lips. “That one is probably a little obvious.”

“If you’re going to be doctoring your records, you shouldn’t make them that blatant,” Margo said blandly. “It’s just…tacky.”

“You don’t care what I’m really doing?” Harriet said shrewdly.

“I care that you’d do it so stupidly you drag the rest of us down with you,” Margo countered. She’d lost any civic loyalty she felt when she was evicted from her ancestral bridge, but the staff of Patty Cakes had become like family.

Harriet was refreshingly honest. “Look, Nancy Drew, I steal expensive things from rich people who won’t miss them, and this business is a front for laundering money and hiring people who need work because life dealt them a hard hand,” Harriet said bluntly. “I understand if you have an ethical problem with that and will grant you two weeks severance if you choose to leave.”

Margo spent several sleepless nights wrestling with her conscience and finally came back to Harriet’s office with a counter-proposal.

“I’ll be your manager, but only if you actually let me manage.”

Harriet furrowed her brow and gestured for Margo to go on.

“Let me make the business solvent in actuality, not just in image, and I want to set up a retirement fund for the employees and offer better benefits and hours.”

Harriet grinned dangerously. “Are you unionizing my staff?”

“Would that threaten you?” Margo growled back, even as she recognized that she was treading on dangerous ground.

Harriet only laughed in delight. “Do it, Delores!” she commanded, referencing the famous union hero, Delores Huerta. “Keep your correct ledgers and I’ll keep mine, and I’ll absolve you of any wrong-doing if I’m discovered. You keep the riff raff down and the staff from thinking they could take advantage of me, and I’d be sorry to lose you.”

That had been the start of a long and successful partnership, and Margo was happier than she’d ever been in her life, too smart to yearn for more that she knew she couldn’t have.

The bakery was quiet now, closed for the holiday between Christmas and New Year’s, and Margo missed the bustle of the diverse crew in the bakery. No one was swearing in the kitchen or dropping pans. There were no customers, no bakers, no candy makers with wooden spoons going after knuckles. The only one in the whole building was Eva, two floors above, and Margo told herself she was imagining the creak on the stairs when she heard it.

Then the front door gave its cheerful alert and Margo was up from her bed to march up and see what could possibly have drawn Eva out from her cozy, quiet rooms.

3

EVA

Eva stared at the phone. Why were they so hard?

Understanding the device was simple enough. A number called a person, the commands were obvious, she listened here and spoke there. But knowing what to say was the hard part. Gathering up the courage to dial and to then have a conversation with someone that she couldn’t see and get social cues from...it was a kind of torture.

Her shoulder blades itched.

But debts mattered, to her more than most, and she had one to pay off. She held the phone at arm’s length and pushed the connection button while holding her breath, as if it was a hand grenade or can of biscuits under pressure.

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