Donuts and Handcuffs

It was hard to find any evidence that would actually stick. An incident simply appearing far too convenient was not enough to get a search warrant. Even with a tiny bit of circumstantial evidence, these things usually seemed to be swept under the rug.

I’d seen instances like this happen for years, but this time was different. This was my new neighborhood. Not only could a fire rage out of control and destroy my home and business, but much more importantly, these were now my people.

The news report had said no one has been injured from the other night’s fire, but had the arsonist taken any precautions? There was no doubt in my mind that it was arson. Like my father always said, if something smells fishy, it’s likely due to fish, so keep paddling around.

I felt a wave of rage sweeping through me that I didn’t want to believe was part of my character. How dare someone threaten my people’s safety? This was my turf, now. This was my home. And if I learned nothing else through my incredibly strange childhood, it was that a person must defend their home above all else.

There is no way that I could let this continue.

For the next few hours, I sold cookies to moms with toddlers, muffins, and coffee to workers needing a break, and brainstormed whether or not I should take matters into my own hands.

It was severely disturbing to me that I knew I could go find evidence on my own. It filled me with everything from self-loathing to curiosity to relief that I knew that I could stop this before it got worse.

All the police needed was some kind of hard evidence to do a full investigation. All they needed was an anonymous tip, complete with some sort of documentation such as computer files, emails, or video footage.

All they needed was one person to go through the building owner’s office and drop off any evidence to the police.

If I did this, I would be one of the good guys, by being a criminal.

Breaking and entering was a criminal offense. No matter how I tried to sugarcoat it by knowing that I was helping everyone in this area, it would still be a crime. Even if I stole nothing but data that should be shared, it would be illegal.

By doing what was right, I would be breaking every rule I had ever made for myself. I would cross lines I swore I would never cross.

As I scrubbed and swept the shop, I tried to keep my mind away from the thing that was freaking me out most of all. If I were caught, I would have a criminal record. Which would, I assume, completely cancel any chance of a real relationship with Daniel.

If I were investigated, they would find out my real name, and where I came from. If I were arrested, someone might try to hold me accountable for many things I had nothing to do with. It wouldn’t be fair, but I would understand why others would think that way.

The thought of no longer having Daniel in my life felt like a truck parked on top of my chest. I could barely breathe. In such a short time, he had given me so much comfort, so much warmth. The feelings brewing between us were opening things inside me that I didn’t even believe truly existed.

I desperately wanted to be the woman of his dreams. The good girl. The nice baker who made everyone smile, and made him laugh.

But if my building burned to the ground, I didn’t have enough insurance to rebuild. And if my neighbors were killed over something that I could have prevented, I would lose my mind. If any of the adorable little toddlers who waved and grinned at me every day were hurt due to something I could have prevented, I could never live with myself.

It was strange how suddenly I was absolutely fine with doing something illegal as soon as I thought of those children. It was like a switch being flipped, with an almost audible snap.

The decision was made. I would have to get some evidence myself, and stop this before it got worse.

It probably wasn’t such a big deal. I’d been trained for this. I knew precisely what to do, as accurately as I knew precisely what recipe to use for sugar cookies. Every move, every piece of the puzzle, was already in my brain, in my hands.

As soon as I cleaned and locked up the shop, I went home to begin mission planning. I made myself a str

ong cup of coffee and opened my laptop to do something I had sworn I never would.

After disconnecting from my own wi-fi, I borrowed an open connection from the gaming cafe three doors down. I felt guilty about knowing their password, but it was on the sign just inside the door. I couldn’t help that I read it backwards in the security mirror.

Using a special safe browser that did not allow any trace or footprint, I quickly searched for the owner of the property where the arson took place. I wasn’t allowing myself to think that it had been an accident for one second.

If something seemed way too convenient, it probably was. There was no way an accidental fire was going to earn someone millions.

Thankfully, the owner’s name wasn’t very common. It makes people a lot harder to search for if they have a plain name, which is why I had chosen Saunders as my moniker for my new, semi-anonymous life.

But Vincent Robotham owned fourteen properties in Toronto, six of which were in this neighborhood. They were all older apartment buildings, and in the epicenter of a neighborhood that was becoming gentrified.

They had also been purchased just four years ago. His other properties were much further uptown, and were all condo developments. Which meant there were five more buildings in this neighborhood that were potential targets for “accidental” fires or other disasters, so that they could be ripped down, leaving dozens of families homeless. These were people who could never afford the glossy new condos that would pop up a few years later.

Digging further, I didn’t find any reference to a hardware store, but that didn’t mean anything. It could be under a different name.

Suddenly I remembered another detail of Daniel’s story, and looked up Robotham with the name of that new condo development – Carmeletta. Sure enough, that was the hardware store family’s last name. This new developer was her brother-in-law.