Chapter 15: Milwaukee

By the time I unlocked the bakery door, the sidewalk was empty.

An envelope sat on the step, held down by a pebble.

Inside was a printed photo, taken through the window an hour earlier.

It showed the two of us at the counter, and it was clear enough to read the bag of flour.

On the back, in Slade's neat hand, he had written: Saturday after next. Everyone sees.

Minnie held it by one corner.

"He's going to put it on the screen at the gala," she said.

"Then we take the screen first."

"We need more than a screen."

"Then we need Milwaukee," I said.

The next morning, Maggie drove us there in her own car on her day off, with a coffee cake on my lap.

Minnie stayed behind to guard the shop.

"You go," she said. "She'll talk to two strangers sooner than to the second wife."

"Is that what you are?" Maggie asked.

"Apparently I'm number two."

The house in Milwaukee was a small yellow bungalow with a yard full of dead tomato plants.

A woman about thirty-six opened the door in a gray cardigan with a dish towel over her shoulder.

She looked at Maggie, and at me, and at the coffee cake.

"If you're selling something, I don't want it," she said.

"We're not selling," I said. "We know Slade Merrick."

The towel slid off her shoulder and she caught it.

For a moment she looked ready to shut the door.

"I got six years of quiet," she said. "I'm not interested in having it back."

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