She put her hands palms down on the glass display case and leaned forward, eyes narrowed, face totally drained of color. “Make your choice. My minion or death.”
There were assorted bagels on a tray on the top shelf of the case and the bagels under her hands were vibrating.
“Well?” she said.
The bagels were dancing, rattling against the tray.
“Would you mind stepping back?” I said. “You’re disturbing the bagels.”
The bagels weren’t the only things getting disturbed. I was completely freaked. Early was emitting so much energy I was sure my hair was standing on end.
“I demand an answer,” she said, raising her voice, her teeth clenched. “I command you to give me an answer now.”
She pounded the countertop when she said now, and Zzing . . . a bagel jumped off the tray and flew the length of the display case.
“Jeez Louise,” I said to her. “You need to relax. You’re leaking energy. You’re going to self-combust if you keep going like this.”
Clara came into the shop. “Is everything okay out here?”
“Leave this room,” Early said. “This is a private conversation.”
“Excuse me? I own this room,” Clara said.
“I will not tolerate insolence,” Early said, her voice a notch below a shriek. She grabbed a heavy glass jar off the counter, threw it at Clara, and hit her square in the forehead. Clara crumpled to the ground, and I went after Early, smacking her on the side of the head with a baguette. She growled and reached for me, and I threw a cherry cheese Danish at her. The cheese Danish caught her mid-chest,
leaving a gooey splotch on her suit jacket.
“This is a St. John,” Early said, wild-eyed. “You do not do this to a St. John Knit!”
Glo ran out of the kitchen with a ten-pound sack of flour. “I’m pretty sure I’ve enchanted this,” she said, shoving the flour at me. “Hit her with this, and she’ll turn into a rock. And then we can bury her, or throw her in the ocean, or something.”
I pitched the sack of flour at Early, it hit her in the head, broke apart, and flour spewed everywhere.
“Stand back,” Glo yelled to me. “Don’t get any of the flour on you, or you might turn into a rock, too.”
I jumped away from Early, and Glo and I hid behind the counter, peeking over the top to watch the transformation.
Clara was next to us, kneeling behind the display case, looking ashen with a gash in her head that was dripping blood.
“What the . . .” Early said, taking stock of her St. John Knit suit.
She was covered head to toe with flour, but she wasn’t a rock.
“I was in a hurry,” Glo said. “I might not have done it exactly right.”
Early wasn’t moving. She just kept staring down at her suit. I looked at her more closely and realized her eyes were darting around.
“I don’t think she can move,” I said to Glo. “I think you made her like a rock.”
“Bummer,” Glo said. “What should we do with her? I guess we could still throw her in the ocean.”
I looked over at Clara. “We should get Clara to the hospital.”
“Get her out of here first,” Clara said. “I’m not leaving my bakery unprotected with Nutso here in the front shop.”
“Nutso looks to be stuck in one spot,” I said to Clara.
“Yes, but the frickberry hasn’t come in yet,” Glo said. “So this might not last forever.”