Free Meet Your Baker by Ellie Alexander Page B

your family comes from both sides.”
    I felt like I should apologize, but then Mom bustled up with a stack of napkins.
    “What are you two chatting about?” She nudged the Professor in the arm.
    “Ah, I was singing the praises of your talented daughter.”
    Mom beamed.
    The Professor took another sip of coffee. “You’ll both be glad to know that we have everything we need. You can begin cleaning and preparing to reopen.”
    Mom instantly looked years younger.
    He pulled a business card from a silver case in his pocket. “Call this company. They specialize in this kind of work.”
    “You know me and my ammonia moments. I’ll break out the bleach and gloves.” She tucked her hair behind her ears. Emerald stud earrings sparkled on her lobes. “Actually it will feel good to do something.”
    Mom equates cleaning with therapy. There’s something about scrubbing the toilets with toothbrushes and scouring the sinks that leads to a release of stress. Call it organized or OCD. I’ve always known her to keep a spotless house, but in times of crisis the place absolutely shines.
    After Dad died, the hardwood floors gleamed so brightly you almost needed sunglasses inside and the entire house smelled like it had been dipped in lemon Pledge. Reflecting back on that time made me realize that while the house was always clean, that’s when Mom and I started this pattern of not coming clean with each other. We both clammed up a bit. I don’t think we did it on purpose. It was more a coping mechanism.
    The Professor shook his head, “No, you can’t do this yourself. Call this crew. They get it done in an hour for you.”
    Mom started to protest.
    He pressed the card in my hand. “Call them, Juliet.”
    “I will,” I promised, taking the card. “What about Mia? What’s going to happen to her?”
    “‘Come what may come, time and the hour run through the roughest day.’” He savored the latte and paused thoughtfully. “I’d appreciate you both passing along anything you might hear.”
    Mom nodded.
    “Then I bid you adieu.” He gave another small bow, winked, and set his empty coffee mug on the counter. “I’ll be in touch tomorrow.” He let his gaze linger on Mom for a moment.
    She shook her head and he made his exit.
    What was that about?
    Mom pressed the stack of napkins with her hand and glanced at the clock. “It’s late, honey. You go home. I’ll take care of the cleaning…” She trailed off.
    “No way, Mom. We’re calling the cleaners. Cleaning up jam is one thing but neither of us should be mopping up blood.”
    She turned and craned her neck over the counter. “It doesn’t look that bad. I’m sure I can do it.”
    What was her deal?
    I pulled the card from my pocket and punched in the number before she could say anything else.
    “They’ll be here in an hour. Apparently we’re in the wrong business. It’ll be six hundred bucks.”
    Mom swallowed hard. “Six hundred dollars?”
    “Actually, that seems like a steal for, well, you know—that.” I tilted my head toward the kitchen.
    “If you think so?” Mom sounded unsure.
    “I know so.” I gave her a concerned look. “Mom, is there something you need to tell me about Torte’s financial situation?”
    She looked at me carefully and drew in a deep breath.
    At that moment, the door jingled and Mia raced in.

 
    Chapter Thirteen
    Mia sucked in air in quick gasps. “Is Detective Curtis still here? I really need to talk to him.”
    “You just missed him,” I responded. “Do you want to come in?”
    The door stood open with Mia halfway in, looking frantic. Her brow dripped with sweat and brown curls spilled from the bun on her head.
    She adjusted the notebook and stacks of paper in her hands and wiped her forehead with the back of her arm. “Thanks.” She closed the door behind her and stepped inside. “It’s so hot out there.”
    Mom poured a glass of water and motioned for Mia to join her at a table. “Have a seat. You look