The Sourdough Wars

You saw me at the warehouse in China Basin.”
    “Then what are we arguing about?”
    He shrugged, as if in regret. “It didn’t occur to me to go back to the other Fail-Safe place to look for the starter. I thought it was in China Basin. That’s why I was there.”
    So Tony had attempted to steal the second starter, but he hadn’t succeeded. That meant somebody else had it.
    “I most sincerely wish,” said Tony, “that I had thought to go to the other place.”
    He certainly looked sincere. If I ever saw naked greed on anyone’s face, it was all over Tony’s. “But how did you know about the second warehouse?” I asked.
    He shrugged again. “I bribed someone at Fail-Safe.”
    “Well, tell me something else. How did a nice boy like you learn how to burgle?”
    “That’s the easiest part of all. You don’t own a building that needs security systems without learning how to disable them. Have you ever dealt with any burglar-alarm people? They’re always careful to tell you how a burglar can disable their cheaper systems so you’ll buy the more expensive ones. Then, of course, they have to tell you how those can be disabled, too. It’s not worth it for most burglars, but it was for me. You can’t know what having that starter in my bread did for me. Or—I guess you can. You’ve tasted the bread.”
    I just nodded, not willing, even as mad as I was, to tell him I didn’t think it made much difference.
    “Rebecca, listen to me.”
    I listened.
    “I’ve got to ask you something. Please don’t turn me in.”
    “Don’t turn you in? Look at my best suit.” I pointed to the doughy heap on the floor.
    “I’m sorry about that. Genuinely sorry. I’ll buy you a new suit—I’ll buy you as many suits as you want—”
    “Mr. Tosi. Please.”
    He flushed. “I apologize. I wasn’t offering you a bribe. I mean, I guess it sounded that way, but I kind of got carried away. Listen, what good would it do to turn me in? I’ve had that starter for two years.”
    “It’s Anita’s.”
    “It doesn’t exist anymore. It’s all mixed up with my starter. I can’t return it, and no harm was really done by my having it.”
    “I don’t think Anita would see it that way.” I gathered up my purse and stood up. “I advise you to work on controlling your temper.”
    “Listen, I’m sorry—you can’t imagine….”
    I left him carrying on that way, fully intending to tell the cops what I knew. He’d burgled and tried to burgle a second time and nearly killed me in an entirely undignified way. What if Rob had had to write a story headed “Sourdough lawyer smothers in dough trough”? What if my mom and dad had had to read it? What if I never found another black suit on sale for half price? Being a city girl, I’d never seen any wet hens, but I could sympathize with them.
    I stormed into my office in my oversize white dress, hair still streaming, and stopped Kruzick before he could speak. “Open your mouth and I shove your typewriter in it.”
    He nodded, grasping the urgency of the situation, and held up two fingers. Then he held up one finger and tapped out numbers on an imaginary phone. Then two fingers, embracing an imaginary lover and puckering up in a pseudo-kiss.
    I got it: The first word was “call” and the second was “Rob.” Seeing my comprehending look, he touched his nose in the charades sign for “You got it, boss.” I liked that way of communicating with him. If only I could frighten him into permanent muteness.
    Chris’s door was closed, which meant she was with a client, so I went straight into my office and called Rob. “I know where the starter is.”
    If I’d hoped to surprise him, I was disappointed. “Okay,” he said. “I’m on deadline.” And he hung up.
    What was this? I called back and asked him.
    “I’m on deadline, Rebecca. I just called to let you know where the starter was, but you already know. So let’s talk later, okay?” He hung up again.
    My dialing finger was getting worn out, but I wasn’t going to stop now. When I had him on the line, I said, “Something tells me we’re talking at cross-purposes.”
    “Dammit, not now. I gave Alan the message.” And for the third time in a row, the love of my life hung up on me. Not only hung up on me, but left me to the tender mercies of my antic secretary. Feeling a little like Job, I considered the possibilities. I could wait until his deadline was past. I could burst into tears and suffer Kruzick’s idea