“I think we all need to be cautious around her, that’s all.”
“She doesn’t look like much of a threat, I have to say,” said Maya as Renee’s smiling countenance popped up on the computer screen, her round face friendly and welcoming. Renee posed in front of shelves of colorful intricately decorated cakes and pastries. She was chubby, like someone who enjoyed her own food a little too much, and about Bronwyn’s age. I knew only too well what Renee was really up to, but even so, it was hard to look at her and convince myself she was trouble.
Excellent disguise, cupcakes. They hid a multitude of sins.
Selena had wandered off and was now teasing Oscar with a muffin, holding it over his head. Oscar snorted and looked about ready to head-butt her. I decided to let them sort it out themselves.
I turned back to the computer screen. What was I hoping to get from looking at Renee? Some glimmer of what was going on?
“What did Renee do while she was at Lucille’s Loft?” I asked Maya. “Did she say anything, ask questions about me, maybe?”
“Um, let me think,” Maya said. If my questions struck her as odd, she didn’t mention it. Maya had grown used to my bizarrely inquisitive ways. “She admired the fabrics, the dresses, the rainbow of thread choices. She asked for a few samples, and had some questions about prices. Nothing out of the ordinary that I can think of.”
“You ate one of the cupcakes? You didn’t feel strange in any way?”
She shook her head. “Other than dreaming about it? No. I ate a meat pasty, too. So did you, as a matter of fact.”
“I did? When was this?”
“Day before yesterday, I think? I brought you one, remember? Flaky pastry, ground meat, onion, carrots, mushrooms, cheese . . . I’m getting hungry just thinking about it,” Maya said.
I did remember, and it was delicious. Maya often brought me things from home, or from the café down the street. It hadn’t occurred to me to question its origins.
“Are you worried about it?” continued Maya. “I don’t think any of us are suffering any ill effects.”
“I suppose you’re right. But in the future, we should all be a little wary of Renee and her baked goods. One more thing.” I dropped my voice. “Would you look up a man named Henry Petulengro? He has a law office in San Francisco. I need his phone number. He’s Sailor’s lawyer.”
“Have you seen him?” Maya whispered as she located the lawyer’s Web site. “Is he okay?”
I nodded, jotted down the lawyer’s number, then ducked into the back workroom to call his office. As the phone rang, I noticed several of Selena’s drawings scattered on the table. Each featured a cupcake with black icing. Selena drew a lot; this probably didn’t mean anything special.
Petulengro’s voice mail picked up, and I left a message saying I was Sailor’s fiancée, and asking him to get back to me.
I turned around to see Selena standing just this side of the curtains, staring at me.
“What’s going on?” she demanded.
“Nothing, I . . .” I was about to brush her off but noticed the matching polka-dot dresses Selena and I had picked out for the Magical Match Tea. She was so much like I was at her age: old enough to pick up on things, but not experienced enough to know how to interpret them. Fifteen was a confusing, disorienting age in general, but even more so for someone like Selena, who didn’t have friends her own age to bounce worries off, much less to share carefree activities with.
She deserved the truth.
“Sailor has been arrested,” I said.
“For what?”
“For . . .” Okay, the truth was one thing, but the whole truth was something else. I didn’t want to scare her. “For a crime he didn’t commit. He’s in jail, but I’m fixin’ to figure this out and get him released.”
She stared at me for a long moment. Emotions filled her near-black eyes, but the rest of her affect remained flat. Not long ago her grandmother had been held in jail, and Selena had been homeless for a brief time. Just the memory of this vulnerable young woman—barely more than a girl—wandering the streets of San Francisco on her own made my heart skip a beat.
“I like Sailor,” she said.
“I do, too.”
“You got my abuelita out of jail.”
“I was able to help her, yes.” And now, I thought, I had to help Sailor. I had to. There was no other choice. If only I had a clue how to go about it.
“You said I could be a bridesmaid. Me and Maya.”
“And you will be,” I said, hoping I wasn’t lying. “You’ll be a great bridesmaid. Selena, what made you draw these cupcakes like this?”
She shrugged. “I like cupcakes.”
“Are they . . . burned? Why are they all black?”
“I dunno—that’s how they were in my head. So . . . can I help? I mean, with Sailor?”
My heart surged. For Selena to worry about someone else—and to offer to help—showed a lot of growth.
“Thank you, sugar,” I said as I crossed over and gave her a little squeeze. “At the moment I can’t think of a way for you to help, but I surely do appreciate the offer. As will Sailor, I know. What you can do right now is to pick out your bridesmaid dress so Lucille will have time to alter it, if need be. Have you found one you like?”
She shook her head. “Nothing fits.”
Selena used to be painfully thin and pinched, but had been filling out recently; like Oscar, Selena loved to eat. Today she wore a sweater studded with sparkly brooches that had once belonged to an elderly woman named Betty, who had been kind to Selena. The style was much too old for her, and despite her worn Levi’s, Selena could not have looked less like her teenage contemporaries if she’d been wearing one of the shop’s spangled, shoulder-padded tops from the eighties.
“Well, we’ll just have to find you something, then, won’t we?” I looped
