Minnesota

Pieces

Connie stared at the piles of éclairs, pies, puff pastries and muffins. It was six o'clock in the morning and Lars wanted to re-open the café. Except he prepared double the usual amount of bread and pastries.

She pointed at the food pile. “Lars? What are you doing? It looks like you've been here all night. Did you come here straight from the hospital and bake all this?”

            “No.” Lars avoided eye contact, though, and the corners of his thin lips dipped down toward his jaw line.

Connie laughed. It had an unfamiliar sound to it, hollow and thin. There hadn't been much reason to laugh lately.

            “Well, I'll make some coffee. I think we both need it.”

Connie didn’t sleep a lick after Cliff's revelation at the hospital. Or after her nightmare, in which Nena was dead and Duane alive, and she only escaped his beating when she awoke, screaming. I suppose it’s a good thing Nena was still at the hospital instead of being awoken by me screaming. Connie shivered.

It hadn’t been a week since the incident, but Connie began to understand the price tag for deception. She thought with Duane's death the whole thing would be over. Now she knew better.

The worry that Cliff may find something to place her there, the fear of the questions that would follow, left her unable to rest. Sure, so far it appeared nothing could be connected to her, but what if it was only a matter of time? Not to mention that at about three a. m. the thought occurred to her that Nena might have been conscious enough to have seen her and that she would remember. Would it be too late to call Cliff and tell him everything?

            She turned the display case refrigeration on, measured ground coffee for the coffee maker and began setting the tables. The smell of fresh coffee saturated the air.

            “I'll be sleeping better tonight. I am sure of it.” Lars brought out more trays of bread. Connie arranged the warm loaves in the display. Lars slumped against the counter, holding the now empty baking tray against his chest.

            “Do you think, she’ll be okay? I mean, …” The small bell at the entrance door chimed, interrupting him. They both turned.

            “See you’re open again.” Cliff stuck his head through the door. Lars nodded and waved him in. “I brought Detective Burrows with me. Detective, this is Lars and Connie, employer and friends of Nena.”

            A burly, tall man with a substantial stomach, barely covered by an excessively starched shirt, stepped in behind Cliff.

            “Good morning. I am sorry about your friend. I hope we can get this mess behind us as fast as possible.” The detective said.

            Lars and Connie looked at each other. Was there a new development?

            “Cliff tells me your pastries are the best in town. Do you mind if we try some?” Detective Burrows spoke with a distinct New York accent.

            “What would you like?” Connie reached for cups and plates. She used the tongues to place a piece of apple pie on a plate. Cliff never deviated from his choice; a large coffee and a piece of apple pie, no whipped cream. Cliff reached for his breakfast and sat at the nearest table.

            Detective Burrows browsed the selection and opted for a raspberry filled donut and black coffee.

            Lars poured himself a cup and joined the two men. He looked at Connie, patting the seat next to him.

            “Any way you can get us more details? I mean, what happened to her? The papers say she was raped, and that Nena killed Duane in self-dense. I mean, Nena? Killing a guy? And I know Duane was an ass, but rape?”

Burrows sipped his coffee, staring at Lars over the rim of the cup. No one spoke for several minutes, and Connie became acutely aware of the traffic outside, the honking of horns and pedestrians walking past.

“Cliff tells me Duane was a regular here. What did you think of him? Did you like him, or did you find him unpleasant?” The question struck her as odd.

            Lars slumped into his chair. “He wasn’t much for company, always sat at that far table back there,” he turned and pointed toward the corner, “kept to himself. But he wasn’t rude or anything.” He paused, looking at Connie. “Well, except that one time with your friend.”    

            Connie nodded. “Monique, my friend, didn't care for the way he spoke to Nena. In turn, he didn't care for Monique speaking up. She thought he had issues with women. He was boisterous, obnoxious, but not violent or anything.”  

            Lars mumbled something. Detective Burrows narrowed his eyes. “What?”

Lars tilted his head. “Nothing, I was just wondering if Duane had anything to do with the other women that went missing over the years. There was an article last year, can’t remember the paper’s name, saying that Minneapolis, the Twin Cities, had really high numbers of missing women. Is it possible they’re connected to Nena?”

            Lars was not easy to intimidate, but the bushy eyebrows of the Detective were large, and the furrowed brow made him look ominous. His green eyes mirrored the pale olive tone of his skin. “Possible, yes, but unlikely.” He sighed without elaborating.

            Connie sat by without saying much. She picked at her bagel with cream cheese, not feeling hungry, especially not under the watchful eyes of Detective Burrows.  He had been throwing her the occasional glance, but she would have preferred if he ignored her all together.

            “So, how long have you known Nena and Duane?” He directed his question at her. Connie forced herself to look at him.

            “A few weeks; originally, I was here on vacation, but then Nena wanted to go see relatives and I offered to stay and help Lars out. He's lost without her.” She managed to smile.

            Detective Burrows didn't. “That's awfully nice of you.”

            For a minute, no one spoke but the Detective's eyes remained on Connie. She forced herself to withstand his gaze.

            Detective Burrows tilted his head, furrowed his eyebrows again. His eyes remained fixed on her.

            Damn, I wish he'd stop staring at me like that. Her fingers wanted to tear the bagel into tiny pieces. It took all her willpower to force them not to.

            “One of these days you'll have to tell me about you, Ms. Constantina.” Detective Burrow’s husky voice uttered. He leaned toward her, and she saw a small razor cut on his jaw line. Connie blushed.

            Without waiting for her response, he abruptly stood up, leaving Connie and Lars startled. Cliff seemed un-phased.

            “Okay then. We have everything we need. For now. Lars, you know your trade, that's the best damn raspberry donut I've had. I’ll have to try the rest of them. Let's go, Cliff.”

            Cliff smirked and followed suit. “Oh, and the hospital called us. Nena’s CAT scan showed the swelling is gone. They're taking her off the medication. She should be awake later today and I told the staff it’s okay to call you to confirm when she’s awake. But don’t go running to her until we tell you it’s okay. Got it?”     

Lars hugged Connie at the good news, and she burst into tears. “That's great, thank you.”

The officers walked out.

            Connie couldn't stop crying. She felt immense relief. It doesn't matter if she saw me there, or if Cliff found anything. I am just so glad she's getting better.

***

The call came later that day, Nena was awake and had already talked to the police officers. Lars and Connie could come by the hospital any time. Café Noir was buzzing with long-time customers that considered Nena a friend. Strangers stopped by because they heard it in the news. Everyone bought something and soon, every loaf of bread, every piece of pastry had sold out. And the front counter was littered with collection jars, asking for donations to pay for the hospital bills that would, without doubt, began trickling in soon.

            “That’s great, we’ll clear out so you can close up and go.” Thomas, the young banker from across the street, began collecting dishes, helping to clear up. He was responsible for the biggest collection jar on the counter.

            “Tell her she didn’t do wrong, killing the bastard. Fucking creep had it coming. Always knew there was something off about him.” Gene, the old farmer that still wore working boots and a hat, despite having lost his farm two years ago, chimed in before pulling the door open and pushing his obese body out.  

Connie busied herself putting dishes into the washer, trying to figure out a way to speak with Nena alone. I need to know what she remembers. What she told the cops so that I can come clean if I have to. It wouldn’t be easy. Lars was eager to get to her. Nena was like a daughter to him. Maybe send him to get some food or flowers, anything.

I need to speak with her alone.