Chapter 9: The Guard

I didn't drop the change.

I counted it into the poodle woman's hand coin by coin, and smiled, and said merci like a native.

Then I bent down behind the counter.

"Lex," I said, very low. "Eagles cap. Four back. Don't look."

She looked.

"Oh," she said. "Oh, that's the scooter."

"That's the count-room guard."

"From the Seaview?"

"Every night for six years. He chews gum like it owes him money."

Lexie kept her face pleasant and her hands steady on the pastry tongs.

"Call Ciro," she said.

I thought about Ciro at the head of his table, picking his uncle.

"No," I said. "I'm calling Cillian."

I typed one line under the counter.

Eagles cap in the bakery. Come to the back door. Quiet.

The answer came in two seconds.

Two minutes.

That was it. I liked him better already.

The man in the Eagles cap got to the front of the line.

He looked right at me.

I watched him decide I was a girl he'd seen a thousand times and never once looked at.

"Bonjour," I said. "You're American! Oh my God. Where from?"

He blinked. "Jersey."

"Shut up. Me too. Where in Jersey?"

"Around."

"I'm from Pleasantville," I said. "Isn't that so funny? All this way and I end up selling croissants to somebody from Jersey."

"Hilarious," he said. "Two croissants."

"You know what, the ones in the case are from this morning," I said.

"The almond ones in the back just came out. They're unreal. Let me get you the hot ones."

He shrugged. "Sure."

"Come pick, I'll give you the biggest."

I waved him around the end of the counter.

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