and the work that you’ve done so far,’” Melissa continued, resting her hip against the butcher block work counter. “‘I want to encourage you as you try to expand the scope of the bakery and find ways to bring new business to our town.’”
Melissa wrinkled her nose at that comment. “Easier said than done, Mysterious Benefactor,” she muttered.
“Doughnuts would help,” Brian said, folding his arms over his chest.
Melissa shot him a caustic look.
“Seriously, about one third of the customers who’ve come in the past couple of days have asked about doughnuts.”
“I’m aware of the lack of doughnuts. I used to serve the customers, too.”
“Just sayin’,” he said, holding up his hand.
“Always sayin’,” she returned.
Brian held her steady gaze, wondering why she had hired him. Of course, it wasn’t like he was the most willing employee.
I do my work, he reminded himself.
Melissa returned to her letter, then paused, tapping her finger against her lip. Then she shot Brian a puzzled glance that held a hint of humor.
Now what?
“‘Brian, it wouldn’t hurt for you to lighten up a little. Smile occasionally. Working in a bakery isn’t only for women. There’s a long history of famous chefs and bakers being men.’”
“You’re making that up, City Slicker,” Brian snorted.
“It says it right here,” Melissa returned, holding the letter toward him, her eyes narrowing at his City Slicker dig. “You can read it for yourself.”
Brian waved off the offer, though he was sorely tempted. “I’ll believe you.”
“Whoever wrote it is right,” Amanda said, tossing the towel she used to dry her hands over her shoulder, her blue eyes piercing him. “You’re not always so nice to Melissa.”
Brian didn’t reply to that. Melissa wasn’t always so nice to Brian either.
“Moving along,” Melissa said. “‘Melissa, I want to commend you on making such a drastic change from baking at a hotel in the big city of St. Louis to your own bakery in the small town of Bygones. Amanda, you’re doing good work, but it is important to show up to a job on time.’”
Amanda reared back. “Who is this guy? Santa Claus keeping track of who’s been naughty and nice?”
“How do you know it’s a guy?” Melissa said. “Could be a woman.”
“It’s got to be someone from the town. Someone who’s been in the bakery,” Amanda said.
“That’s not been many people,” Brian replied, thinking of how quiet the bakery had been this morning. He’d spent half of his time cleaning up and tidying the storage room holding the bulk supplies.
“It’s picking up,” Melissa said, sounding defensive. “That’s why I hired you.”
“Even Ellen Langston stopped in to buy some of Melissa’s tarts this morning,” Amanda said, leaping to Melissa’s defense like a mother hen defending her chicks. “And one time I heard her saying there was no way she would set foot in here when she could bake herself.”
“Good for her,” Brian returned, crossing his arms over his chest. “But it’s still been quiet.”
Melissa pursed her lips at his comment. Brian just shrugged. Nothing he could do about the facts. He kept busy, but business wasn’t exactly booming. He wondered if Melissa would be able to keep him hired.
The thought sent a sliver of dread through him. Though this job hadn’t been his first choice, it was a paycheck that he needed right now.
“Maybe it’s Miss Ann Mars who has all the money,” Amanda said.
Brian shook his head. “Doubtful. She can’t make that much selling secondhand goods.”
“She could be, you know, like, a miser?” Amanda said. “I saw someone like that on a TV show. They lived like they were all poor and stuff but they had a box full of money shoved under a board in the floor of a room.”
Brian shrugged. “A miser wouldn’t be throwing money around like this person has. Besides, Ann Mars is far from a miser and you know it, Amanda True.”
“Maybe Miss Coraline,” Amanda persisted. “Maybe she inherited a bunch of money no one knows about.”
“That’s a lot of money to keep secret.”
Brian didn’t want to know who handed out the money. If it was someone he knew, he was afraid he would have a target for the resentment that clawed at him from time to time. He still didn’t understand why out-of-towners like Miss City Slicker here got chosen over someone like him who knew Bygones and the people who lived here.
He dragged his hand over his face, as if to erase the emotions. Until his mechanic work took off, he didn’t have much else going on in his life.
“There’s no sense trying to figure out who handed out the money,” Brian continued. “He or she seemed to have some strange ideas who to give it to.”
Melissa shot him a frown and looked like she wanted to say something when the bell over the door announced a new customer, giving Brian the perfect reason to leave the back room and let Amanda and Melissa get back to their work.
Whitney Leigh, reporter for the Gazette, Bygones’s official newspaper, stood just inside the bakery, her bright eyes behind her glasses flitting around the room as if looking for something she wasn’t finding, her bun like a tight knot at the nape of her neck. She had a camera bag slung over one shoulder and a tape recorder in her hand. Her tailored blazer and narrow skirt looked out of place in a town where most people wore the first thing they grabbed out of the closet, but Whitney liked to look put together. In charge. In control.
“Hey, Brian,” Whitney said when her eyes alighted on him. “I heard you were working here.”
“Hardly worth putting in your paper,” he said, unable to keep the prickly note out of his voice. He could already see the potential picture and accompanying article. Brian Montclair, former mechanic, now baker, complete with pink-striped apron. “What can I do for you?”
“I’d like to talk to Melissa.”
“What about?”
Whitney shrugged. “Just some questions about Mr. Moneybags.”
Brian turned to get Melissa from the back where she was working with Amanda, but she already stood behind him, still holding the envelope containing the letter.
“What can I help you with?” Melissa asked, slipping the letter inside the pocket of her apron.
“Just a few questions. I’m doing an ongoing series on Mr. Moneybags—?”
“Who?”
