The Baker and the Brush
Amber Ann stood in the kitchen of the Lance-Trace estate. She had woken at 4:00 AM to prep and bake. She had olive focaccia and rosemary-garlic potato bread—all of it sliced for sandwiches. She prepared four different types of sandwiches for the construction crews of The Calm Stays and the workers in the spa.
She wanted to feel useful, and she wanted to stay busy.
She sighed and began shifting cooled cookies and freshly baked potato, sweet potato, and yucca chips into lunch bags. The bags only indicated what type of meat graced the sandwiches: pulled apple-cinnamon pork, chicken salad, chicken Alfredo, and shredded roast beef. Other than that, the person wouldn't know which chip, cookie, or juice accompanied their meal.
She smiled at the thought. It was her only sense of control these days—dessert and side selections. Any control was fine for her at this point; any way to show the world she still carried some weight. She prepared three large boxes and set them on the counters for the guards to take to the car.
Dan was currently on the Blue Serene property, filming live on both TikTok and Facebook for his followers to promote his new villas.
The drive to Blue Serene seemed lonely and far too quiet. Her mind roamed over all the things she needed to accomplish today, but she had hired too well, and everything had been assigned. She sighed at the thought of it. Then she puffed out her cheeks and hyped herself up. She would just go deliver food and check on the pastries and the restaurant kitchens.
The caravan reached the furthest villa of the Calm Stays villas, where the painting crew was working. She sat in the car for a long moment, mostly waiting for the guards to tell her she could get out. She saw three men efficiently painting the large villa. She squinted as she looked at one of the men.
Is that Tony Douglas? She frowned—was he supposed to be up so high? She smiled when she saw that he was wearing the specialized charcoal-filter face mask she had given Tony—the real Tony Douglas—just days before. She had discovered that Tony had a rare, violent allergy to the specific VOCs in the industrial primer, and the standard masks weren't enough protection for him.
"Good afternoon, all! I brought some lunch for everyone," Amber called out.
The men climbed down their ladders, and other painters slowly moved toward her like they had been working too hard for too long. "Tony" moved with the same slight hitch in his step that the real Tony had, and he stayed to the back of the group. He had the thick glasses and the lazy eye. He secretly watched Amber as he walked over to the group that was already grabbing bags of food and large cups of cold, fresh juice.
Amber smiled at him as he took a bag and grunted a polite thanks.
The mask was a high-grade seal. With the real Tony's respiratory distress, the intake valves should have been clicking rapidly, fighting to pull air through the charcoal. But this man's breathing was deep, rhythmic, and perfectly calm. Furthermore, the clear silicone seal around the bridge of the nose showed skin that was pale and healthy—no sign of the angry, red dermatitis that the fumes always triggered on the real painter.
Her veins chilled as realization dawned within her. She handed a lunch bag to one of the workers who was asking her about chicken salad, acting as if her mind had been on him the entire time. She calmly jutted her chin toward "Tony" and casually asked about his mask and if he had enough filters.
The man nodded, his lazy eye fixed somewhere over her shoulder as he sat near his ladder to eat his lunch. Amber smiled again, even as she turned and walked away. Her mind was racing. He could never eat that close to the paint before. She had wondered why the man took such a job with his allergies. Now he could eat right on the ladder, next to the paint that caused him respiratory stress.
She walked casually back to the caravan. One of the workers asked if she had any extras. She smiled, never missing a beat, and left ten of the extra bags she had prepared. Amber calmly waited for the guards; she seemed to be casually going through her phone, but she was actually scrolling through her calendar to hide her trembling fingers.
Where was Tony Douglas? Had her family situation caused a man's death? The man had a wife and three young children. He had shown her pictures when she helped him during his allergy attack. She fought not to look around the site or at any of her guards, but she was certain the man identifying as Tony Douglas was not the true Tony.
She calmly got into the SUV and waved to the workers as the caravan moved toward her spa. She still did not allow herself to look back or desperately search for poor Tony's body.
A worker walked up to "Tony Douglas," looking at the paint with a frown. "That face mask Mrs. Trace gave you really saved your life. You couldn't eat near here before."
"I told you he was faking!" another chimed in. "He just wanted some attention."
All the workers laughed. Tony Douglas—Anthony Shaw—silently cursed as he put his head down. He pursed his lips. If these idiots realized it, Amber Ann definitely noticed. He smiled to himself. She was really good. He had not noticed anything off about her.
It didn't matter. Her security was too lax. He had already slipped two doctored mineral waters into her vehicle. None of her guards had even noticed. He almost laughed out loud. He could leave now. His job was already done, and it had been way too easy.