Chapter 9 - The Name Eleanor Fontaine

The newspapers broke the story forty-eight hours later.

MARROW FOUNDATION LINKED TO BRIBERY NETWORK.

FORMER FIRE INVESTIGATOR RESURFACES.

FONTAINE BAKERY FIRE REOPENED AS ARSON CASE.

VINCENT MARROW CHARGED.

JEROME VALE CHARGED.

More followed.

Trafficking.

Fraud.

Obstruction.

Witness intimidation.

Money laundering.

Carmine’s companies appeared in nearly every article.

His photograph sat beside words like inherited corruption and under investigation.

He did not complain.

At the Orsini estate, reporters filled the sidewalk.

Nell watched from an upstairs window.

Odette stood behind her.

“You can leave,” Nell said.

“So can you.”

“I may.”

“Where?”

“I do not know.”

Nell turned.

Without the housekeeper’s uniform, Odette seemed older.

Smaller.

Human.

“I testified this morning,” Odette said.

“I heard.”

“I told them everything.”

“Everything?”

“Yes.”

“Including the forged signature?”

“Yes.”

“You could be charged.”

“Yes.”

Nell looked at her.

“Why are you still here?”

“Palmira asked me to stay until she comes home.”

“That sounds like the old Odette.”

“It probably is.”

Nell looked outside again.

“I hated you.”

“I know.”

“I still might.”

“That would be fair.”

“You saved my father.”

“Yes.”

“You helped destroy him.”

“Yes.”

“I want one version of you.”

Odette’s eyes filled. “I know.”

“Villain or victim.”

“I was both.”

“That is inconvenient.”

“It usually is.”

Nell almost laughed.

Then she did.

A small, exhausted laugh.

Downstairs the front door opened.

Palmira returned from the hospital walking under her own power because she had rejected the wheelchair at the entrance.

Carmine walked beside her.

Benny followed carrying medication and looking irritated.

Palmira entered the sitting room.

“Why does everyone look like a funeral?”

Benny answered, “Because you nearly died.”

“Nonsense.”

“You were unconscious for seven hours.”

“I was resting.”

Carmine rubbed his forehead. “Grandmother.”

She smiled. “You look tired.”

“I was shot.”

“Only in the shoulder.”

Nell entered.

Palmira’s face brightened.

“There is the baker.”

“There is the patient who refuses medical advice.”

“I like you.”

“I know.”

Palmira saw Odette.

The room changed.

Twenty-two years stood between them.

Odette lowered her eyes.

“Mrs. Orsini.”

Palmira stared.

“Did you steal Emmett’s letter from my desk?”

“Yes.”

“Did you copy it?”

“Yes.”

“Did you hide the copy?”

“Yes.”

“Did you drug me?”

“No.”

“I know.”

Odette looked up.

Palmira walked toward her.

“You should have trusted me.”

“I was ashamed.”

“That is not an excuse.”

“No.”

“You helped Vincent.”

“Yes.”

“You helped Emmett.”

“Yes.”

“You warned Pike.”

“Yes.”

“You lied to me for twenty-two years.”

Odette began crying. “Yes.”

Palmira slapped her.

Everyone froze.

Odette touched her cheek.

Palmira’s eyes filled.

“That was for the letter.”

Then she hugged her.

Odette broke.

Nell looked away.

Carmine watched his grandmother.

“You foolish woman,” Palmira whispered.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“You should fire me.”

“I am.”

Odette laughed through tears.

Palmira released her.

“You are terrible at retirement.”

“I haven’t retired.”

“You have now.”

Carmine said, “Grandmother.”

“What?”

“You cannot technically fire someone from my house.”

Palmira stared at him.

Carmine paused.

“Technically.”

“Good boy.”

Nell laughed again.

Later that afternoon federal investigators arrived.

Carmine met them in his office.

No lawyers at first.

Benny objected.

Carmine ignored him.

Nell waited outside.

Two hours passed.

Three.

Finally the door opened.

Carmine emerged looking drained.

Nell stood.

“Well?”

“I gave them records.”

“About Vincent?”

“And me.”

Her stomach tightened.

“What happens?”

“My attorneys negotiate.”

“Prison?”

“Possible.”

“You do not seem afraid.”

“I am.”

That surprised her.

“Good.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Good?”

“Fear means history.”

He remembered her words.

She did too.

“Apparently.”

Nell led him downstairs.

In the kitchen, a pecan pie waited on the central counter.

Carmine stopped.

“I changed the recipe,” she said.

“Reduced dark corn syrup?”

“Yes.”

“Toasted sugar?”

“Yes.”

“Pecans longer?”

“Four minutes.”

“And cooling?”

“Seven.”

“Exactly?”

“Obviously.”

He sat.

She cut a slice.

He tasted it.

Waited.

Nell crossed her arms.

“Well?”

“Too sweet.”

Her face hardened.

Then she saw his eyes.

“You’re lying.”

“Yes.”

She slapped his uninjured arm.

“Coward.”

“It is better.”

“Than what?”

“The first one.”

“Good.”

He took another bite.

“What will you do now?”

Nell looked at the pie.

“I do not know.”

“You do not have to work here.”

“I know.”

“Your father’s insurance case may be reopened.”

“Maybe.”

“Restitution.”

“Maybe.”

“What do you want?”

Nell looked at him.

“I used to know.”

“What?”

“A bakery.”

“Then open one.”

She shook her head.

“It is not that simple.”

“Why?”

“Because I failed once.”

“You were attacked.”

“The result looked the same to banks, customers, suppliers.”

“Then make them look again.”

“That sounds like something a billionaire says.”

“It is.”

“I do not want your money.”

“I know.”

“Do not try to buy me a bakery.”

“I was not planning to.”

She narrowed her eyes.

Carmine slid an envelope across the counter.

“What is that?”

“Deed restoration agreement.”

Her expression changed.

“What deed?”

“Fontaine Bakery.”

Nell stopped breathing.

“One of Vincent’s shell companies transferred the property into an Orsini subsidiary.”

“So your family owns my bakery.”

“Temporarily.”

“What does that mean?”

“I am transferring it back to Emmett Fontaine.”

“No.”

“No?”

“You cannot simply give us a building.”

“It was taken through fraud.”

“That is not the same as—”

“Yes, it is.”

Nell stopped.

He pushed the envelope closer.

“No debt. No conditions.”

Her eyes blurred.

“Carmine.”

“It was never ours.”

She opened the agreement.

The address stared back at her.

Magazine Street.

Her bakery.

Her father’s bakery.

Her mother’s bakery.

“What if Dad does not want it?”

“Sell it.”

“What if I do not want to bake?”

“Then do not.”

“What if I want to demolish it?”

“Ugly choice, but yours.”

She laughed through tears.

Then she stepped around the counter and hugged him.

His shoulder protested.

He ignored it.

“Thank you.”

“You are welcome.”

“This does not mean I forgive your family.”

“I know.”

“It does not mean I trust you completely.”

“I know.”

“It does not mean—”

He kissed her.

Brief.

Careful.

Unexpected.

Nell froze.

Carmine stepped back.

“That was probably poor judgment.”

“Yes.”

“Should I apologize?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

She grabbed his coat and kissed him back.

Benny entered carrying a folder.

Stopped.

Turned around.

“Some evidence does not need documenting.”

Nell laughed against Carmine’s mouth.

The sound followed Benny down the hall.

The first night Nell slept in the small apartment above the renovated bakery, she woke at 2:13 a.m.

Smoke.

She smelled smoke.

She sat upright.

Heart pounding.

There was none.

Only memory.

She went downstairs.

Carmine was sitting on the front steps.

“What are you doing here?”

“Benny said the alarm installer finished late.”

“That does not answer the question.”

“I wanted to check it.”

“At two in the morning?”

“Yes.”

“You are very bad at pretending this is not protective.”

“I’m working on boundaries.”

“Poorly.”

He looked at her face.

“Nightmare?”

“No.”

“Lie.”

“Yes.”

She sat beside him.

For a while they watched empty cars pass.

“I smelled smoke,” she said.

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No. But I know what remembering with your body feels like.”

She looked at him.

He did not ask her to explain.

That helped.

Nell leaned against his shoulder.

“The alarm works?”

“Yes.”

“Sprinklers?”

“Yes.”

“Rear exit?”

“Opens.”

“Front?”

“Opens.”

“Basement?”

“Sealed.”

She exhaled.

“Good.”

Carmine looked at the quiet street.

“No chains.”

“No chains.”

Renovation did not begin smoothly.

The city inspector arrived on the second morning and found three problems with the new plans.

Nell stood in the empty bakery holding the report.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Carmine looked over her shoulder.

“Emergency lighting, rear-door clearance, fire-rated separation.”

“I know how to read.”

“I was summarizing.”

“You were billionaire-explaining.”

“That is not a word.”

“It is now.”

The inspector, an older woman named Denise Carter, tried not to smile.

“For what it is worth, Ms. Fontaine, these are ordinary corrections.”

Nell looked around the blackened shell.

“Ordinary is new for this building.”

Denise’s expression softened.

“I remember the fire.”

Nell braced herself.

Then Denise said, “My sister used to buy your mother’s pralines.”

That was all.

No pity.

No dramatic apology.

Just memory.

Nell nodded.

“Then we will fix the lighting.”

“And the door clearance.”

“And the door clearance.”

After Denise left, Carmine said, “I can have contractors here tonight.”

“No.”

“They can fix it faster.”

“I know.”

“Then why no?”

“Because this is mine.”

He stopped.

Nell continued.

“I want to make the calls. Choose the contractor. Argue about the invoice. Get annoyed when somebody is late. I want the boring parts.”

Carmine understood.

For years powerful people had made every important decision around the bakery without her consent.

Even rescue could become another form of control if he was not careful.

“All right.”

She looked at him suspiciously.

“That easy?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“I am internally suffering.”

“Excellent.”

He smiled.

A week later Emmett visited the renovation site.

He stood in the center of the future kitchen and touched the new stainless-steel worktable.

“Different.”

Nell’s heart tightened.

“Too different?”

He shook his head.

“Good.”

She showed him the two new exits.

“This one opens to the alley. This one to the side courtyard.”

Emmett walked to each door and pushed it open himself.

Then again.

Then once more.

Carmine watched from across the room.

Nell did not hurry him.

On the third opening, Emmett smiled.

“Good.”

Nell nodded through tears.

“No chains.”

Emmett looked at her.

“No chains.”

That evening she wrote the phrase on the inside cover of Claire’s recipe book.

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