only a single pickup rumbled down the street. Biting my bottom
lip, I debated for a moment about getting out my cell phone. I mean, if the person
snoozing in the horse trough were a drunk it might not be the smartest idea to approach
him alone and unarmed . . . so to speak.
“Hello?” I called out. The sound of my voice echoed against the buildings. Nothing.
I chewed on the inside of my mouth and glanced at my watch. Really, the last thing
I needed was some liquored-up guy hanging out in front of my bakery door.
I got brave. After all, this was small-town Kansas, not downtown Chicago. I took a
deep breath and marched over to the trough. The arms and legs belonged to a man, facedown
in the trough. The trough wasn’t filled, but it tended to catch rainwater, which meant
face-first was probably not a great idea.
“You can’t sleep here,” I said stopping close enough to see he wore a long rancher’s
coat. His cowboy hat covered his face and there was a can of red spray paint on the
ground next to his hand. “Hey!”
My gaze went from the can on the sidewalk to my front façade, where red spray paint
scrawled across the bricks. It read, I N THE SWEAT OF THY FACE, THOU SHALT EAT BREAD . . .
“Damn it!”
I stormed inside the building, plopped the papers on the counter, and grabbed my cell
phone.
“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”
“This is Toni Holmes, down at Baker’s Treat on Main. I’ve got more vandalism and a
drunk sleeping in the horse trough. Can you send out a patrol car?”
“One moment.” There was a pause and I went to the door and glared at the drunk. Whether
he liked it or not, he had been caught red-handed. “A patrol car is on its way, Ms.
Holmes.”
“Thank you.” My heart pounded in my chest loud enough I could barely hear a thing.
“Where are you, Ms. Holmes?”
“I’m currently standing in the doorway to the bakery.”
“Good, please stay there and stay on the phone until we get there,” dispatch said.
“It’s for your own safety.”
“You mean the safety of the drunk,” I said. “Because this really pisses me off.”
“Yes, ma’am,” dispatch said.
A tan sedan parked in front of the bakery. My brother’s school friend, John Emerson,
got out. “Hey, Toni, what’s going on?”
“I’m waiting for a patrol car.” It took a lot of work not to stomp my foot. “I’ve
got a bit of a thing . . .” I waved toward the trough. “Oiltop Police are on their
way. Come on in and pour yourself some coffee. As soon as they get here, I’ll come
in and get you a pastry.”
John stopped next to me and assessed the situation. “Darn fool vandals. You want me
to rouse him out from the trough?” He nodded at the sleeping man.
“No thanks, dispatch says not to touch anything.” I pointed at my cell phone.
John nodded his bald head and pulled the phone from my hand. “Hey, Sarah, how are
you? Yep, that’s what it looks like.” His dark eyes twinkled at me. “Want me to bring
you a couple of those apple turnovers? Will do. Here you go.” He handed the cell back
to me. “Sarah wants two of the apple turnovers to go.”
“Sarah?”
“Hey, Toni.” The dispatcher sounded less professional. “It’s Sarah Hogginboom. I was
two grades down from you in school. John brought me some of your turnovers the other
day. They were great.”
“Um, thanks.” I shook my head. Another car pulled up and two women dressed in nurse’s
uniforms got out. “Listen, I have customers . . .”
“Keep them away from the vandal,” Sarah said. “You should be able to hear the sirens
now.”
In fact, now that she mentioned it, police sirens were echoing down Main Street as
the car turned off of Central and onto Main.
“What’s going on?” one of the two women asked.
“Nothing to worry about.” I opened the door wider. “Come on in and help yourself to
coffee. It’s free this morning.” Hopefully
lip, I debated for a moment about getting out my cell phone. I mean, if the person
snoozing in the horse trough were a drunk it might not be the smartest idea to approach
him alone and unarmed . . . so to speak.
“Hello?” I called out. The sound of my voice echoed against the buildings. Nothing.
I chewed on the inside of my mouth and glanced at my watch. Really, the last thing
I needed was some liquored-up guy hanging out in front of my bakery door.
I got brave. After all, this was small-town Kansas, not downtown Chicago. I took a
deep breath and marched over to the trough. The arms and legs belonged to a man, facedown
in the trough. The trough wasn’t filled, but it tended to catch rainwater, which meant
face-first was probably not a great idea.
“You can’t sleep here,” I said stopping close enough to see he wore a long rancher’s
coat. His cowboy hat covered his face and there was a can of red spray paint on the
ground next to his hand. “Hey!”
My gaze went from the can on the sidewalk to my front façade, where red spray paint
scrawled across the bricks. It read, I N THE SWEAT OF THY FACE, THOU SHALT EAT BREAD . . .
“Damn it!”
I stormed inside the building, plopped the papers on the counter, and grabbed my cell
phone.
“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”
“This is Toni Holmes, down at Baker’s Treat on Main. I’ve got more vandalism and a
drunk sleeping in the horse trough. Can you send out a patrol car?”
“One moment.” There was a pause and I went to the door and glared at the drunk. Whether
he liked it or not, he had been caught red-handed. “A patrol car is on its way, Ms.
Holmes.”
“Thank you.” My heart pounded in my chest loud enough I could barely hear a thing.
“Where are you, Ms. Holmes?”
“I’m currently standing in the doorway to the bakery.”
“Good, please stay there and stay on the phone until we get there,” dispatch said.
“It’s for your own safety.”
“You mean the safety of the drunk,” I said. “Because this really pisses me off.”
“Yes, ma’am,” dispatch said.
A tan sedan parked in front of the bakery. My brother’s school friend, John Emerson,
got out. “Hey, Toni, what’s going on?”
“I’m waiting for a patrol car.” It took a lot of work not to stomp my foot. “I’ve
got a bit of a thing . . .” I waved toward the trough. “Oiltop Police are on their
way. Come on in and pour yourself some coffee. As soon as they get here, I’ll come
in and get you a pastry.”
John stopped next to me and assessed the situation. “Darn fool vandals. You want me
to rouse him out from the trough?” He nodded at the sleeping man.
“No thanks, dispatch says not to touch anything.” I pointed at my cell phone.
John nodded his bald head and pulled the phone from my hand. “Hey, Sarah, how are
you? Yep, that’s what it looks like.” His dark eyes twinkled at me. “Want me to bring
you a couple of those apple turnovers? Will do. Here you go.” He handed the cell back
to me. “Sarah wants two of the apple turnovers to go.”
“Sarah?”
“Hey, Toni.” The dispatcher sounded less professional. “It’s Sarah Hogginboom. I was
two grades down from you in school. John brought me some of your turnovers the other
day. They were great.”
“Um, thanks.” I shook my head. Another car pulled up and two women dressed in nurse’s
uniforms got out. “Listen, I have customers . . .”
“Keep them away from the vandal,” Sarah said. “You should be able to hear the sirens
now.”
In fact, now that she mentioned it, police sirens were echoing down Main Street as
the car turned off of Central and onto Main.
“What’s going on?” one of the two women asked.
“Nothing to worry about.” I opened the door wider. “Come on in and help yourself to
coffee. It’s free this morning.” Hopefully
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